CORNELL
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

 

GIFT OF

Prof. Francis E. Mineka

 

 

 

 
 

DATE DUE

 
48049

H2AS
1890
MARY HOWITT
 

Woodburytype,

 
MARY HOWITT

fin Hutobiograpby

EDITED BY HER DAUGHTER

MARGARET HOWITT

“ Confide to God that thou hast from Him; oh, thou soul weary of
wandering! Confide to the Truth, that which is from the Truth within

thee, and thou shalt lose nothing.”
St, AucusTmE.

LONDON

ISBISTER AND COMPANY Limirep
15 & 16 TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN WC
cp GOLeL i

74] S A /

AYOUl tp ~y
PREFACE.

——~>—_

How this autobiography gradually grew into shape can best
be told in my mother’s own words, drawn from the correspon-
dence of half a lifetime.

In 1843 she thus addresses her elder sister, Anna :—

“‘ Many tenderly endearing incidents came crowding into my
mind of our young life in Uttoxeter, especially connected with
thy unselfish, amiable, sweet spirit, which seems to me without
ashade. Thou and I had been for years, nay, all our girlhood
one, we had no thought or feeling unshared. There are little
incidents which have occurred in my life, such as a look, a
changing colour, nay, even a sigh, that will remain in my mind
forever. It isespecially so as regards thee and those times. I
remember so much, which, I dare say, thou hast forgotten, but
which draws my heart, as by the most powerful attraction to
thee. How I shall like to talk over these things with thee ! ”

Endowed with a retentive memory, deep-rooted affections,
and poetic feeling, my mother delighted to speak of the past
with her children. We, in our turn, were always asking this,
that, and the other question, when incidents especially charmed
vi PREFACE.

and interested us. She had, in a little juvenile work belonging
to her, “Tales for the People and their Children,” and entitled
“‘ My Own Story,” given us some details of her childhood. But
as the autobiographical sketch ceased when she was ten, it did
not suffice us. It seemed to us like a beautiful idyllic romance
to hear of the two tender, poetical, enthusiastic sisters, Anna
and Mary, as maidens on the banks of the Dove.

The very restricted, silent, almost conventual life which
they led, even their quaint, plain attire, had a charm of original
purity about it, with a vernal freshness and fragrance as of
primroses and cowslips. We were always wanting agreat deal
more information of a girlhood distinguished by a keen love of
nature, an insatiable hungering and thirsting after poetry and
books, and an undercurrent of artistic impulse and vitality.
We wished that all her graphic descriptions could be connected
together in one clear, consecutive narrative.

In the summer of 1868, much, therefore, to our satisfaction,
she wrote a chronicle of her parentage and early life, which,
when completed, she read to our aunt Anna, receiving from
her additional information aud useful suggestions. Then the
memoirs remained in abeyance until after my father’s decease
in the spring of 1879, when her mind became once more
steeped in recollections, especially of her husband’s life and
character.

In August, 1879, my mother, physically suffering from the
shock of her bereavement, writes from Dietenheim, her summer
home in the Tyrol, to her elder daughter, Anna Mary :—

“T sit in my upper chamber with the door open to the
balcony, the awning up, and a pleasant gentle breeze refresh-
ing me, as if an angel softly wafted an air-fan. I watch the
shadows of the swallows flitting over the sun-lighted awning,
PREFACE. vii

but the birds I see not, excepting such as fly past more distantly
and leave no shadows. Through the iron railings of the bal-
cony I see the pleasant landscape, and the people busy in their
rye-harvest, the crops of which they are bringing home. How
delightful it is! a quiet life, which the Heavenly Father per-
mits, and which is so sweetened by the remembrance of all my
dear departed ones,

“ Then, in memory, I go back with you to the old times. I
do not think I have forgotten any incident. I walk again
amid the crocuses of the Nottingham meadows, by the full,
flowing, placid Trent; wander with you under the old, yet
ever new, elm-trees of Clifton Grove. We visit once more
Hardwicke Hall, Annesley, and Thrumpton. We sit down as
of yore in the friendly basket-maker’s cottage at Wilford. All
this morning and yesterday I have been occupied with the
past, not, however, so much yours as pre-eminently mine,
making in thought a little harmonious narrative of a still
unwritten chapter of my youth.”

To THE SAME.

“ Dietenheim, September 13, 1879.—What a most beautiful,
accurate, and appreciative article on your beloved father’s
works is that in the July number of the Edinburgh Review,
under the heading ‘Rural England!’ I wonder who the
writer is. I think some one living in one of the south-eastern
counties, from the familiar references to the country features

and incidents of such a locality.”

“ Meran, February 1880.—Your aunt Anna is getting me all
the information possible about our father’s family. She is
searching, for the purpose, through old Monthly Meeting

s
viil PREFACE.

books, which have been lent her. I cannot tell you how kind
and helpful she is. She never seems to feel it a trouble to
be bothered by me.”

“December 21, 1880,—I had quite forgotten many of my poems
and tales, and have begun, when in the humour, to read them.
It is just like perusing the works of some one else, so com-
pletely had they passed out of my mind. I had in earlier days
such a constant, enduring sense of the struggle for lifein my
soul or in my brain, that I had not time, I regret to say, to
elaborate my work, or to dwell upon it with any fondness and
lingering. I am, therefore, quite thankful when I come upon
any really good sentiment or bit of simple, true religion.”

Towards the close of 1884 she writes to a friend :—

“My dear married daughter, Anna Mary, came to see us at
Meran the beginning of May. It was nearly three years since
we had met, and I thought it would probably be our last meet-
ing on earth, I naturally supposing I should be the first sum-
moned hence. She came to Meran at the time of the roses,
bringing with her a collection of drawings and sketches which
she had earlier made of her parents’ ‘Homes and Haunts.’ She
began at once to make sketches of our present surroundings,
with a sense of their being needed. Towards the end of June
we left for Dietenheim. There, too, she made many drawings
and sketches, as she had always done on her visits to us, for
the character of the place was kindred to her spirit. In July
the weather was intensely hot. On the night of the 19th a
violent gale suddenly came up from the north. The icy wind
seemed to pierce her. She complained of sore throat, which
rapidly developed into diphtheria; and on the night of July 23rd
PREFACE. ix
she passed away. Now the sketches so thoughtfully and
lovingly made by her will illustrate the ‘ Reminiscences,’
which I have promised the Editor of Good Words to write for
that periodical. It seems strange to me, after my long rest
from all literary labour, and now devoid of all authorly am-
bition, to be thus engaged. I shall, however, have Margaret’s

co-operation.”

To her friend, Mrs. Gaunt, she says, later, December 27,
1885 :—

“Tt is very gratifying to us to find that you read those
‘Reminiscences’ with interest, for we desire that they who
have known and loved us in former days should do so. I say
we, because Margaret helps me. I drew up, some years ago,
the original autobiography of my youth ; and all that follows,
being of later date, has to be filled in, and to receive its life-
touches, so to speak, from old family letters, of which we have
many hundreds. These letters are regular chronicles of long-
past days, and naturally furnish the groundwork and the
incidents of the narrative, which is, as you may believe, in-
teresting, and often somewhat sorrowful. But the canvas on
which our pictures are drawn is of a necessity so circumscribed,
that we are often disheartened by being compelled to omit
many portions which are interesting and curious, and even
valuable, as being bits of real life. However, these are only
‘Reminiscences’; and some time or other, if people like them,

much fuller pictures may be given.”

The desire being generally expressed for these brief ““ Remi-
niscences”’ to be expanded and amplified, my mother com-

menced gradually making the needful preparations. I read to
=x PREFACE.

her letters for the purpose of selection; she also wrote down,
under the name of “Gathered-up Fragments,” past events as
they might occur to her, and which her amanuensis had to
incorporate in the narrative. This occupation, though slowly,
was nevertheless steadily pursued to within a few weeks of her
death, and when the framework was sufficiently completed for
the autobiographic character to be maintained throughout. By
the kindness of various correspondents and intimate friends
placing her letters to them at her daughter’s disposal, the
work has been much enriched, and finally brought to a close ;
and it is hoped in her spirit.
Marearer Howrrr.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

 

Portrair or Mary Howitt (from a photograph) ‘ Frontispiece
THe Home at UTTOXETER : : 5 : ‘ ‘ ¥ “12
THe Rey. ANNE CLOWES . ‘ 5 ‘ 5 ‘i s . 36
Mrs. CLOWES ATTENDED BY TWO GENTLEMEN OF THE TowN . 37
Anna BorHamM aT Croypon . . “ . : ‘ . 45
Home oF Wittiam Howirr aT Heanor . s 7 i . 73
AckworTH ScHOOL . ‘ x . : , ‘ , . 76
Tuomas Howitt oF HEANOR (WitLI4AmM Howirt’s FatHER) . 89
Our Frest Home aT HEIDELBERG . : 5 - _ . 155
OLp Mint wear HEIDELBERG . 4 : : . . . 157
Our SzeconD HomE AT HEIDELBERG ; : 5 Z . 166
Tur Extms, LowER CLAPTON . : ‘ 5 5 5 . 181
BEtsizE Lane, St. Jonn’s Woop . : ‘ ‘ : . 194
AnpREw MaArvELw’s CoTTaAGE, HIGHGATE ‘ : : » 218
CuarLtes Matuews’ House, HIGHGATE . ‘ ‘ 3 . 214
Wru1smM AND Mary HowiTT at THE HERMITAGE . : . 227
West Hitt Lovce . ‘ : , : 3 ‘ ‘ . 234

Pen-y-BRYN . ‘ w ¢ ; . ; : z . 246
xil LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

THE ORCHARD

Mayr-am-Hor

ENTRANCE TO BACK-YARD, MAYR-aM-Hor
THE FREsco

THE ELABORATE PILE OF WHITE FAIENCE IN THE SALOON
Mayr-am-Hor FROM THE KITCHEN-GARDEN
THE CLOsED ENTRANCE-GATE .

A Bit oF THE LARGE UPPER Hat.

A PEEP INTO THE SALOON

ONE OF THE OLD ParmnTED Doors .
MARIENRUHE

MarIENRUHE: VIEW LOOKING WEST
ARCHWAY OF VILLAGE CHURCH

CrUCcIFIX ON THE COMMON

VIEW OF THE Via SISTINA AND THE VIA GREGORIANA, ROME.

PAGE

296

297

298.

331

332

340
CONTENTS.

 

CHAPTER IL.
PARENTAGE AND DESCENT.
1758—1800.
PAGE

Pargenat Ancestors—Life and Character of Samuel Botham—His Marriage
with Ann Wood—Her Ancestors—Her Youth—Some Celebrities—Her
Change of Religion—Cornish Friends—Samuel and Ann Botham settle
in Uttoxeter—Birth of their First Daughter, Anna—Removal to
fg ake erenes hoe of their Second Daughter, Mary—White-

iffe . “ : s ‘ F . s 3 2 $ 5 » 1

CHAPTER ILI.
EARLY DAYS AT UTTOXETER.

1800—1809.

Rerun to Uttoxeter—Enclosure of Needwood Forest—Peace of Amiens—
The Training of Anna and Mary—Going to Meeting and Ministering
Friends—Mr. Copestake and “Poor Miss Grace’’—Home Education—
‘The Rev. Anne Clowes ’’—Visit of Aunt Sylvester—Two Births and
Two Deaths—A Juvenile Love-Letter—The Pupils of Mrs. Parker . 17

CHAPTER III.
GIRLHOOD.

1809—1821.

Bourn for Croydon—Jubilee of George III.—At School in Croydon—Un-
expected Return Home—At School in Sheffield— Quaker Missionaries—
Ann Botham and her Daughter Anna visit South Wales—Self-culture—
The Battle of Waterloo and Earlier Alarm of a French Invasion—Com-
mencement of the Bible Society—Methodists in Uttoxeter—Taking up
the Cross—The Astle Family—The Vicar’s Library—The Bells and
their Books—Other Literary Loans—‘‘ The Hermit of Warkworth ”’—
Visit to Leicester—Death of the Princess Charlotte —William Howitt at

Uttoxeter—Courtship—Marriage . 5 5 4 44

CHAPTER IV.

MY HUSBAND'S NARRATIVE.
1792—1821.

Tue old Family of the Hewets—The Charltons of Chilwell—Thomas Howitt
marries Phebe Tantum—The Fall and its Owners—Heanor—Little
William Howitt Comforts his Parents in Affliction—The Character of
his Mother—Boyhood in the Country—At Ackworth School—Studying
the Classics—Ia sent to School at Tamworth—Neglects the Study of
French—Rural Occupations and Pastimes—A Victim to the Theories of
Rousseau—Apprenticeship at Mansfield—Bible-Meetings—A uthorship
_-Visit to Uttoxeter—W ooing—Settles at Hanley—Marriage . . 70
xiv CONTENTS.

CHAPTER V.
FIRST YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE,
1821—1830.
PAGE

Resmence at Hanley—Thomas Mulock—Unitarians—Stay at Heanor—
Pedestrian Tour in Scotland and the Lake Country—Settle in Notting-
ham—Early Literary Attempts—Publication of the ‘‘ Forest Minstrel ””
—Marriage of Anna Botham to Daniel Harrison—Birth of Anna Mary
Howitt—Death and Interment of Lord Byron—L. E. L.—Joseph John
Gurney—Charles Botham goes to Sea—His Death—Birth of Charles

| Botham Howitt—Publication of ‘‘ The Desolation of Eyam ’’—Parental

Affection—Death of Canning—Nottingham Crocuses—Death of Charles

a The Book of the Seasons’’—Charles Pemberton—Visit to 2

ondon °. a : 7 x + . ‘i a a . $6

CHAPTER VI.
IN NOTTINGHAM.
1830—1836.

Tue Annuals—Friendship with Alaric and Zillah Watts—The Chorleys—
Mrs. Hemans—Taste in Religion and Art—Visit of the Wordsworths—
Riots in Nottingham—Death of Sir Walter Scott—“ History of Priest-
craft ’—The Nottingham Deputation to Earl Grey for Separation of
Church and State—‘‘Sketches of Natural History’”—‘‘The Seven
Temptations ”’—<“ Wood Leighton ’’—Radicalism—The Irish Question
—District_ Visiting—Daniel O’Connell at Nottingham—Tour in the

North of England and Scotland . és _ 117
CHAPTER VII. .
AT ESHER.
1836—1840.

Removat to Esher—W. Howitt engaged on the Constitutional—O’ Connell
and the Dublin Review—Friends and Yearly Meeting—‘ Birds and
Flowers ’’—Failure of the Constitwtional—Thackeray and Dickens—
Surrey Scenery—“ Colonisation and Christianity ’’—A Female Friend of
Keats—The British India Society—‘‘ Hymns and Fireside Verses ?—
“The Boy’s Country Book’’—Popular Education—Article on
“Quaker”’ in the Encyclopedia Britannica—Quakerism—Quaker Dele-
gates to the Anti-Slavery Convention . é ‘ . 5 : - 138

CHAPTER VIII.
IN GERMANY.
1840—1843.

AnrivaL at Heidelberg—German Experiences—Tour in Germany—Gustav
Schwab — Dannecker—Uhland—At Herrnhut—Moritz Retzsch—Berlin
—Meyerbeer—Conclusions—Returmn to England - 2... ,s«253

‘CHAPTER IX. ;
AT CLAPTON.
1848—1848.

Ittwess and Death of Claude Howitt—The Thirteen ‘‘ Tales for the People
and their Children ’—Success in England and America of the Transla-
tions of Fre inka Bremer’s Novels—Visit to North Wales—Removal to
CONTENTS. xv

PAGE

the Elms—Tennyson—H. C. Andersen—W. Howitt at the Words-
worths—The Anti-Slavery Question—F. Freiligrath—Actresses and
Unitarians—The People’s Journal—Howitt’s Journal—The Co-operative
League—An Hour of Great Darkness—Resignation of Membership in
the Society of Friends—Death of Mary Howitt’s Younger Sister and of
her Mother . fi : : ‘ F ea A . . 168

CHAPTER X.

IN ST. FJOHN’S WOOD.
1848—1852.

Sxrritz near Regent’s Park—John Cassell—The Youl Forgeries—Anna
Mary Howitt in Munich—Commencement of the Household Words—A
“Song of the Shirt’’—At Filey and Scarborough—Ballads of
“Richard Burnell’? and “Thomas Harlowe’’—The ‘No Popery’’
Movement—The Apparition of Lord Wallscourt—Harriet Martineau’s
Disbelief — Scandinavian Literature— The Pre-Raphaelites — First
great Exhibition in Hyde Park—Private View at the Portland Gallery
Visit to Cambridge—Fredrika Bremer on her Travels—Discovery of
Gold in Australia—William Howitt and his Two Sons sail for Mel-
bourne . : é < ‘ ‘ S : : . 192

CHAPTER XI.

THE HERMITAGE.
1852—1857.

Removat to The Hermitage—Woolner and his Colleagues—Kindness of
Miss Burdett Coutts—A Haunted House in Holborn—“ Uncle Tom’s
Cabin ’’— Address of the Women of England to the Women of America
on Slavery —Ennemoser’s ‘‘ History of Magic’’—Growing Belief in the
Supernatural—William Howitt’s Illness in the Bush—-Rumoured Death
of the Queen—Meeting at Stafford House—Arrival in London of Mrs.
Stowe—Table-Turning and Spiritualism—The Uttoxeter Chimes—
Return of William Howitt—A Project of Procuring Parliament Hill
for the People—Petition to Secure to Married Women their own Pro-
perty and Savings , ; : ; . : . 212

CHAPTER XII.

WEST HILL LODGE.

1857—1866.

Removat to West Hill Lodge—Summer Sojourns—Marriage of Anna Mary
Howitt to Alaric Alfred Watts—In the Isle of Wight—Charlton Howitt
Emigrates to New Zealand—His Death there—Alfred Howitt, the
Explorer—In Society—Pen-y-Bryn—The Abuses of Trapping—

Adelaide Procter—At Scalands  . 5 233

CHAPTER XIII.

THE ORCHARD.
1866—1870.

Counrey Life at the Orchard—“ The Earthly Paradise ”—At Mrs. Craik’s
—Swinscoe Wakes—The Charms of Clerical Life—An Appointment to
the Bishopric of Oxford—Aber Horse Fair—The Attractions of Pen-
maenmawr—Hafedunos—Two Birthday Letters—Dora Greenwell—
Quitting England . g j : ‘i . 250
xvi CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XIV.
IN SWITZERLAND AND ITALY.
1870—1871. =

PAGE

Journzr to Switzerland—Happy Condition of the Swiss—Incidents at
Brunnen—Breaking out of the Franco-German War—At Zirich—In
Ttaly—Rome—The Political State of the City—The Flood—Arrival of
Victor Emmanuel—A Mad Carnival—Anecdotes of Keats—An Irascible

Landlord—Celebration of Golden Wedding . 260

CHAPTER XV.

ROME AND TYROL.
. 1871—1879.

Tue Attractions of Rome—Summer Home in Tyrol—At Overbeck’s Villa
in Rocca di Papa—Love of Rome, but not of Papacy—Where Located
—TThe Art Brethren of St. Luke—The Monastery of St. Isidore—
Church of 8. Maria Riparatrice—Gentlemen of the Religious Tract
Society—The Scandinavians in Rome—‘‘ Ginx’s Baby’’—Liife of Pére
Besson—Protestants in Rome—Visit of the Bishop of Argyli—Mrs.
Gould’s School—A Scotch Philanthropist and Garibaldi—The Trappists
of the Tre Fontane—Holy Week—Margaret Gillies—Fatal Illness of
Margaret Foley—Her Death at Meran—The Deaths of Victor
Emmanuel and Pius [X.—Election of Cardinal Pecci as Pope Leo XIII.
_William Howitt on the Pincian Hill and at Mayr-am-Hof_ .. . 274

CHAPTER XVI.
THE HOME IN MERAN.
1879—1882.

55, Via Srstrva—Knitting up of Old Ties in Rome—English Clergymen,
Friends, and Acquaintances—The Illness, Death, and Interment of
William Howitt—Decease of Frances Howitt and James Macdonell—
Life’s Appian Way—Smiles and Tears—Desire to Die in Rome—
Cardinal Newman—Buddhism—At Meran—Building Marienruhe—

Schloss Pallaus—Death of Mary Howitt’s Sister Anna . 301

CHAPTER XVII.

IN THE ETERNAL CITY.
1882—1888.

Prayer for 1882—Conversion to the Catholic Church—Arrival of Eldest
Grandson—Mr. Leigh Smith’s Arctic Expedition—Inundations in
Tyrol — Confirmation at Brixen—Easter Celebrations—William
Woodall, M.P., and Harry Furniss—The Rosary—Passing away of
Mrs. Alfred Watts—The Duke and Duchess Charles of Bavaria—Wel-
come Guests—Military Manoeuvres before the Emperor of Austria—
Serious Ilness—‘*t The Dream of Gerontius’’—Last Birthday on Earth
—The Queen’s Jubilee—Returning to Rome for the Papal Jubilee—
Yorkshire Visitors—Safe Arrival in Rome—Pilgrimages—Purport of
the Jubilee—Prayer for 1888—Visit to the Vatican—The Blessing of
Leo XIII.—The End . ‘5 : : 3 , s . 822
MARY HOWITT.

ee.

CHAPTER I.
1758—1800.

I can best commence my narrative with a few particulars
respecting my father and his family. He, Samuel Botham,
was descended from a long line of farmers, who had lived for
centuries in primitive simplicity on their property, Apsford,
situated in the bleak northern part of Staffordshire, known as
the moorlands. It was a wild, solitary district, remote from
towns, and only half cultivated, with wide stretches of brown
moors, where the undisturbed peewits wailed through the
long summer day. Solitary houses, miles apart, stood here and
there. Villages were far distant from each other. There
was little church-going, and education was at the lowest ebb.

The town of Leek, in itself a primitive place, might be called
the capital of this wild district. It was the resort of the rude
farmers on the occasion of fairs and markets. Strange brutal
crimes occurred from time to time, the report of which came
like a creeping horror to the lower country. Sordid, penurious
habits prevailed; the hoarding of money was considered a great
virtue.

The Bothams of Apsford, who had accepted the teaching of
George Fox, might be preserved by their principles from
the coarser habits and ruder tastes of their neighbours, but
refined or learned they certainly were not. The sons, walking
in the footsteps of their fathers, cultivated the soil; the
daughters attended to the house and dairy, as their mothers
had done before them. They rode on good horses, saddled
and pillioned, to meeting at Leek on First-day mornings and
were a well-to-do, orderly set of people.

Now and then a son or daughter married “out of the

B
2 MARY HOWITT.

Society,” as it was termed, and so split off like a branch from
the family tree, with a great crash of displeasure from
the parents, and ‘“disownment,” as it was called from the
Monthly Meeting. In the ancient records of the Staffordshire
Monthly Meeting, preserved by the Friends of Leek, they
appear, however, to have been generally satisfactory members,
living up to the old standard of integrity of their ancestress,
Mary Botham, who, a widow at the head of the house in the
days of Quaker persecution, was imprisoned in Staffordshire
jail for refusing to pay tithes. In Besse’s ‘“Sufferings of
Friends” Mary Botham is also mentioned as set in the stocks
and put into jail in Bedfordshire, leading to the supposition
that she travelled in the ministry.

Years glided uneventfully on, generation followed genera-
tion, until 1745, when the rumvur that “the Scotch rebels
were coming” filled the scattered inhabitants of the Moor-
lands with terror. Even the quiet Friend, John Botham of
Apsford, might have prepared to fight; one thing is certain,
he hurried wife and children out of the way, and buried his
money and valuables. Butthere was no need of fighting—
hardly of fear. The Scotch soldiers, Highlanders, who came
to that secluded spot, only demanded food. They sliced the
big round cheeses and toasted them on their claymores at the
kitchen fire. James Botham, the youngest son of the house,
then a lad of ten or twelve, and who died at the age of eighty-
nine, watched them thus employed, and talked of it to the last.
I remember as a child being one of his most eager listeners.

John Botham, like another King Lear, divided his property
during his lifetime amongst his children. But his eldest son,
another John, although he received the comfortable old home-
stead as his portion, being naturally ofa roaming, sociable dis-
position, removed in the year 1750, at the age of twenty-six,
to Uttoxeter in the more southern part of the county. A
small but long-established company of Friends, chiefly consist-
ing of the two families Shipley and Summerland, resided there.
William Shipley’s sister, Rebecca Summerland, a comely well-
endowed widow, between thirty and forty, living in a house
of her own, may have been from the first an attraction to the
new-comer from the moorlands,

She had married young, and had at the time of which I
PATERNAL GRANDFATHER. 3

speak two sons, remarkably tall and stout youths, both amply
provided for, and quite ready to be their own masters. Many
men had looked upon the widow as a desirable wife, but she
had declined all proposals, until wooed and won by John
Botham, six years her junior. She became his wife in 1755.

Their first son was born in 1756, and called James; their
second, Samuel, in 1758, and he was my father.

My grandmother’s second marriage brought her much dis-
quietude. It was an enduring displeasure to her grown-up
sons, and made a considerable breach in the hitherto united
meeting. I use here the phraseology of Friends, “ meeting”
in this sense being equivalent to church or religious body. She
speedily discovered, moreover, that her husband had no faculty
for regular business. He was an amateur doctor, with a turn
for occult sciences, and later on for animal magnetism—a
system of cure by means of “sympathetic affection ” between
the sick person and the operator, introduced by Father Hehl, a
Jesuit, at Vienna, about 1774. For this purpose my grand-
father used Perkins’s metallic tractors—two small pointed bars
of brass and steel, which being drawn over the diseased parts
of the body were supposed to give relief through the agency of
electricity or magnetism. He also prepared snuffs and vege-
table medicines. His roving sociableness, combined with a love
of nature, caused him to spend much time amongst friends and
acquaintances up and down the country. His accredited
healing powers, his grave and scriptural way of talking, his
position in the Society of Friends, he having been an
acknowledged minister from about his twenty-fourth year, the
interest he took in mowing, reaping, and other agricultural
pursuits, perhaps in remembrance of his early years at Apsford,
made him welcome in many a village farmhouse and Quaker’s
parlour, whilst he, on his part, cast aside his wife’s anxieties
and all needful forethought for the future of their two sons.

Rebecca Botham, therefore, took upon herself the entire
management of affairs. She placed James with a merchant
in Lancaster; at that time a place of greater maritime and
commercial importance than Liverpool. She apprenticed
Samuel to William Fairbank, of Sheffield, one of the most noted
land-surveyors, whether amongst Friends or others.

Unfortunately the ever-prudent and affectionate mother died

B2
4 MARY HOWITT.

in 1771, in the first year of the apprenticeship of her youngest
son. Probably about the year 1784 or 1785 the latter returned.
to Uttoxeter to establish himself there in his profession. On
his so doing he made an appalling discovery. His father had
mortgaged the greater part of his wife’s property, and a con-
siderable portion of the income that remained was needful to
pay the interest.

The ill-will with which the elder half-brothers regarded
their mother’s second marriage was increased by these after-
circumstances. They considered that they had not only been
robbed of their birthright, but that it had been squandered by
their stepfather.

It was a joyless beginning of life to my father. He was,
however, young and endowed with much of his mother’s
spirit and determination. He sold some of the less valuable
property to free the rest, and was also enabled speedily to
make money, being employed to enclose the Heath, an extent
of common land to the north of the town; the appointment fell
like a gift of God’s providence into his hands. This and other
professional earnings, together with the aid of his brother
James,who had settled in Liverpool as a broker in West Indian
produce, gradually enabled him to redeem the mortgaged estate.
Yet even this praiseworthy success was clouded by the death
of his brother, who was carried off by fever only six weeks after
his marriage, in 1787, to a young Friend, Rebecca Topper.

My father seldom spoke of the sorrowful commencement of
his career. On one occasion he related, however, what in a
moment of weakness and failing trust in God he had been
tempted to do. In those days a popular belief in the occult
power of so-called witches prevailed. The most noted of the
period and locality was Witch Hatton, who lived in
the high moorlands, from where his father came. To her
he went in the darkest time of his perplexity, when he could
see no possible means of rescuing his father’s affairs from
their terrible entanglement. He did not reveal to us, his
daughters, what the witch had said or done. He simply told
us, with a shuddering emotion, “he had left the house with deep
self-abasement, inasmuch as he saw that he had been in the
abyss of evil.”

He was a man of a singularly spiritual turn of mind, holding
PARENTS’ MARRIAGE. 5

with entire sincerity the Quaker doctrine of the indwelling
influence of the Holy Spirit. He sought its guidance with the
simplicity and faith of a child ; and when disappointment and
loss came, received them submissively as a needful discipline,
and steadily persevering in his own legitimate calling, gave
thanks in the silence of his spirit for the training which the
Divine Teacher had vouchsafed.

The extreme accuracy of his work was appreciated by land-
owners, and many largeestates in Staffordshire, Shropshire, and
South Wales were measured by him.

When thus employed in 1795, on Mr. Talbot’s property, at
Margam, he attended the First-day Meeting of Friends at Neath,
and met, at the hospitable table of Evan Rees, Ann W ood, a con-
vinced Friend, on a visit to Evan’s wife, Elizabeth.

They saw each other frequently, and became well acquainted.
On one occasion, at dinner, she suddenly learnt his regard for
her by the peculiar manner in which he asked, ‘ Wilt thou take
some nuts, Ann Wood ?”

She took them, saying, “I am very fond of nuts.”

“That is extraordinary,” he replied, “for so am I.”

There was in those parts an aged ministering Friend of so
saintly a character as to be regarded in the light of a prophet.
One First-day morning, after they had both been present at
meeting, this minister drew her aside and said, “If Samuel
Botham make thee an offer of marriage thou must by no means
refuse him.”

Accordingly, he was before long her accepted suitor. In the
year 1796, on the sixth day of Twelfth Month, they took each
other for man and wife, after the prescribed simple form, ‘in
the fear of God and in the presence of that assembly.” They
were married in the Friends’ meeting: house at Swansea, where
the bride’s mother lived in order to be near her favourite
married daughter and son-in-law. In the certificate the bride-
groom is stated to be an ironmaster, 80 that he must at that time
have considered the ironworks with which he was connected as
likely to become the established business of his life. He was
thirty-eight and she thirty-two.

My mother was attired in a cloth habit, which was thought
suitable for the long journey she was to commence on the wed-
ding-day. She travelled post with her husband into a remote
6 MARY HOWITT.

and unknown land, and as they journeyed onward the weather
grew colder and drearier day by day. They were to set up
house in the old home where he had been born, and his father
was tolive with them.

But now let me give some account of the Quaker bride before
she arrives at Uttoxeter and is introduced to her new connections. .
She was the granddaughter of the much-abused patentee of Irish
coinage, William Wood, who, as the Rev. David Agnew states
in his “ Memoirs of Protestant Exiles from France,” was fourth
in descent from Frangois Dubois, who with his wife and only
son fled after the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, in 1572, to
Shrewsbury, where he founded a ribbon manufactory. By 1609
his descendants had anglicised their name to Wood. Removing
to Wolverhampton, they purchased coal-mines there and built
iron-forges, some of which remain in operation to the present
day. In 1671, during the reign of Charles II., my great-grand-
father, William Wood, was born, and became a noted iron and
copper founder.

In the reign of George I. the deficiency of copper coin in
Treland was so great that for pence small coins, called “raps,”
and bits of cardboard of nominal value, were in circulation. The
Government determined, therefore, to remove this pressing want
by supplying Ireland with a much better copper coinage than
it had ever before possessed.

William Wood, yielding to the corrupt usage of the day,
gave a bribe to the Duchess of Kendal, the king’s mistress, to
procure him the contract. It was granted him in 1722-23, and
he issued farthings and halfpence to the value of £108,000,
superior in beauty and value to those of England. « They
were,” says Leake, “undoubtedly the best copper coin ever made
for Ireland,” and Ruding confirms the statement in his “ Annals
of Coinage.” Dean Swift, however, audaciously asserted that
the English were intending to enrich a stranger at the expense
of the whole of Ireland, and amongst other balladsand lampoons,
excited the people by the lines :—

‘The halfpence are coming, the nation’s undoing,
There is an end of your ploughing and baking and brewing,
In that you must all go to rack and to ruin.”

He next anonymously issued a series of papers entitled “The

Drapier’s Letters,” supposed to be written by a poor but inde-
THE IRISH PATENTEE. 7

pendent-spirited draper, who did not mean to be ruined without
a good hearty outcry. He thus worked up the nation to the
pitch of rebellion.

It was in vain that the Government published the official
report of Sir Isaac Newton, then Master of the Mint, who tested
the new coinage in 1724, and pronounced that, in weight, good-
ness and fineness, it rather exceeded than fell short of the con-
ditions of the patent ; in vain that it declared no one was com-
pelled to take the money unless he liked. The excitable popu-
lation would not receive it. Wood’s effigy was dragged through
the streets of Dublin and burned, whilst the portrait of Dean
Swift, as the saviour of Ireland, was engraved, placed on signs,
woven in handkerchiefs, and struck on medals. The ministry,
having no alternative, withdrew Wood’s patent.

The Dean had branded the unfortunate patentee in “The
Drapier’s Letters” as “a hardware man and tinker ; his copper
was brass, himself was a Woodlouse.” He was in reality very
wealthy, lived in a fine place at Wolverhampton called The
Deanery, a venerable building, at present used as the Conserva-
tive Club, and surrounded by a small deer-park, now built over.
He held at the time of the patent, as we learn from “ Ander-
son’s Commerce,” vol. iii. p. 124, a lease of all the iron mines in
England in thirty-nine counties, He was proprietor of seven
iron and copper works, and carried on a very considerable manu-
facture for the preparation of metals.

After the withdrawal of the patent Wood appealed to Sir
Robert Walpole for compensation, stating that he had six sons.
The minister said, “Send your sons to me, Mr. Wood, and I
will provide for them.”

“Do me justice, Sir Robert,” he replied, “and I will provide
for them myself.”

As an indemnification for his losses £3,000 per annum was
granted him for a term of years.

Wood later wrote a remarkable work on the advantages of
Free Trade, which he dedicated to George II. His extensive
mines and forges were inherited by some of his sons. William,
the eldest, had the Falcon Iron Foundry, at Bermondsey, and
cast the iron railings round St. Paul’s Churchyard.

Charles, the fourth son, and my grandfather, was born in
1702. He was appointed when quite young assay-master in
8 MARY HOWITT.

‘Jamaica, a lucrative post, as the gold, which at that period came

to England from the Spanish Main, was taken there to be tested.
The office was given him by Sir Robert Walpole as further com-
pensation for the losses which the family had sustained by the
withdrawal of the Irish patent. Former assay-masters had
returned home rich, but being a man of high principle, he never
soiled his hand or conscience by bribe or perquisite, and after
thirty years of service in the island he came back in moderate
circumstances, having merely amassed great scientific know-
ledge, especially about metals.

On December 138th, 1750, William Brownrigg, M.D., F.R.S.
(through William Watson, F.R.S.), presented to the Royal
Society in London specimens of platinum, a new metal hitherto
unknown in Europe, and stated in an accompanying memoir :—
“This semi-metal was first presented to me about nine years ago
by Mr. Charles Wood, a skilful and inquisitive metallurgist, who
met with it in Jamaica, whither it had been brought from
Carthagena, in New Spain.”

My grandfather, who was thus the introducer of the extremely
useful metal, platinum, became the brother-in-law of this learned
Dr. Brownrigg, who, descended from an ancient Cumberland
family of position, dwelt at his estate, Ormathwaite Hall, in that
county. He married Dr. Brownrigg’s sister, Jemima, a lively
and fascinating widow, and built Lowmillironworks, near White-
haven. From Cumberland he removed to South Wales, and
became active in establishing the important Cyfarthfa ironworks,
near Merthyr Tydvil.

My mother was the youngest of Charles Wood’s children.
He regarded her with intense affection, and chose to have the
child with him in his private room, where he spent much time
apart from the rest of the family, to whom pleasure was the
object of life. Surrounded by his books, he read to her, heard
her read, and taught her pieces of poetry, of which he was
extremely fond ; and when the sound of laughter, singing, and
dancing reached them from a distant part of the house, would
clasp her to his heart and even silently shed tears.

Seated on a low stool at his knee, she learnt his opinions on
public events. He awakened within her a deep detestation of
slavery, the horrors of which he had witnessed in J amaica,
where, possessing sufficient knowledge of medicine he had com-
SOME CELEBRITIES. 9

pounded healing ointments for the wounded slaves. His wife and
other children could never see the unchristian spirit and atrocity
of slavery ; nor did they feel any sympathy with his views, when,
on the breaking out of the American War, he sided with those
whom they deemed rebels. He taught Ann that the citizens of
the United States rose to assert their rights as men in the resis-
tance of tyranny, and inspired her with such admiration for
Washington that he ever remained her ideal hero and patriot.

After my grandfather’s death, the thoughtful Ann, who had
thus lost her best friend and protector, occupying a painfully
isolated position at home, resolved to become independent by
taking a situation.

Kind friends approved of her determination ; amongst them
the wife of Dr. Samuel Glasse, rector of Hanwell, one of the
chaplains to George III., and who kept a celebrated school for
young gentlemen of position. Ann thus being recommended
to Dr. Horne, the noted commentator on the Psalms, then Dean
of Canterbury, later Bishop of Norwich, she was engaged by
his wife to take charge of their children. She always retained
a grateful remembrance of the amiability and kindness of the
Dean, whose poem on autumn—

“See the leaves around us falling,”

had, from this circumstance, a peculiar interest for my sister and
me, aschildren. The Dean’s daughters, however, did no credit
to their excellent parents. They were proud and imperious ;
she could not govern them, and was consequently dismissed.

She afterwards spent some pleasant months at the Glasses’ ;
and whilst she became the especial protector of the fags, took
a deep interest in all the pupils, amongst whom she was wont
to mention the Earl of Drogheda. His mother “the ever-
weeping Drogheda,” was so styled, I believe, from her abiding
grief at the loss of her husband and stepson by drowning when
crossing from England to Ireland.

She met at the Glasses’ amongst other celebrities, Dr. Samuel
Johnson once or twice; and Miss Burney frequently, and used
to relate how much people were afraid of her, from the idea
that she would put them in a book.

Dr. Glasse procured for my mother the post of companion
to Mrs. Barnardiston, a wealthy old lady of a very sociable dis-
Io MARY HOWITT.

position, although enfeebled by paralysis, who entertained
judges, generals and admirals with their womankind at her
town house near Turnham Green. These guests regarded my
mother as little better than a servant, and often showed it.
But on accompanying Mrs. Barnardiston to Weston, her seat
in Northamptonshire, she met with much kindness from the
neighbouring aristocracy and gentry, old Lady Dryden espe-
cially treating her with marked favour, and there was constant
visiting between Weston and Canons-Ashby, the splendid home
of the poet Dryden’s family.

Towards the end of the summer spent in Northamptonshire
my mother was recalled to South Wales, as her sister Dorothy
was about to be married and to live at Swansea, and she must
replace her at home.

Her solitary position in her own family, combined with an
ardent craving for spiritual light and rest, had led her during
her travels to inquire into the Catholic faith. She had come
in contact with an abbess, and contemplated entering her com-
munity, but was deterred from taking the step by a young nun,
who told her “all was not peace in a convent.”

In South Wales, still searching for light and assurance, she
yielded to an earlier influence. She had, as a child, attended
with her father a public meeting held by a ministering Friend
in Merthyr, and although she could never afterwards recollect
the preacher’s words, they had, in a vague but indelible
manner, appealed to her inner nature. Her mother, discovering
that she possessed a secret drawing to Friends, told her that
her father had left it as a dying request, that if any of their
children showed an inclination to join that body she should not
oppose it, as he had himself adopted its religious opinions.
Full of gratitude to her mother for this communication, Ann
Wood sought and obtained membership.

My grandmother, deciding to reside near her favourite
married daughter, soon found she could dispense with the
society of Ann, more especially as the latter had united her-
self toa sect with which she had nothing in common. My
mother, therefore, was at liberty to associate with her own
people, and her life became most consonant to her tastes.

She resided chiefly at Falmouth, on the most agreeable terms
of truly friendly intercourse with the distinguished family of
THE HOME AT UTTOXETER. II

the Foxes; and with Peter and Anna Price, a handsome couple
of a grand patriarchal type, but comparatively young. Her
dearest friend was Anna Price’s relative, Kitty Tregelles, a
sensible, lively young woman, to whom she felt as a sister.

She always reverted with peculiar pleasure to her life in
Cornwall. It was a time of repose to her, spiritually and
mentally; whilst her natural love of the poetical and pictur-
esque was fostered by the many grand, beautiful legends con-
nected with the wild rocky shores and seaport towns, and also by
the old-fashioned primitive life and simple habits of the people.
She likewise treasured most happy memories of Neath, where
dwelt her staunch and valued friends, Evan and Elizabeth
Rees, under whose roof, in 1795, she met the faithful partner
of her future life, as already narrated.

My father took his bride to an unpretending, roomy, old-
fashioned house. We see the back of this home of my unmarried
life reproduced on the next page, not exactly as it was in those
days, when, instead of the present greenhouse, a large porch
adorned with a sundial screened the garden-door. In the quaint,
pleasant garden grew no modern species of pine, but hollies and
arbor-vitee, with a line of old Scotch firs down one side. This
garden, sloping to the south, was separated by a low wall and
iron palisades from a meadow, through which ran a cheerful
stream, and it was crossed by a small wooden bridge that led into
beautiful hilly fields belonging to my father. The house, built in
the shape of an L, enclosed to the front a court, divided from
the street by iron palisades, and paved with white and brown
pebbles in a geometric pattern. At one time three poplars
grew in the court, but were cut down from their falling leaves
giving trouble. A parlour and bedroom, reached by a separate
staircase, looked to the street, and were appropriated to my
grandfather.

The arrangement of the home life would have been excellent
had the father-in-law been a different character. His peculiar
temper, ignorance of life outside his narrow circle, and inability
to allow of dissimilarity of habits and opinions, made him
undervalue a daughter-in-law from a great distance, who had
chiefly lived among people of the world, and who after joining
the Society had become accustomed to the more polished usages
of the Friends in Cornwall and South Wales.
12 VARY HOWITT.

She came as an alien amongst her husband's kindred ; for
the little intercourse between the different parts of England
made people meet almost as foreigners. Her cast of mind,
manners, speech, the tone of her voice, even the style of her
plain dress, were different from theirs. She was considered by
the half-brothers, who remained irreconcilable, and their sons
and daughters-in-law, to be “high,” and was nicknamed by
them ‘The Duchess.”

The one really unfortunate circumstance in my mother’s rela-

 

THE HOME AT UTTOXETER,

tionship to her father-in-law was her nervous sensibility to strong
odours, which brought on intense headaches that affected her
eyesight. His occupation of drying and pulverising herbs, by
which the house was often filled with pungent smells and im-
palpable stinging dust, was not only offensive to her, but
productive of intense pain. The old herb-doctor, who could
not induce her to try his head-ache snuff, was obdurate, and
made no attempt to abate the nuisance.
BIRTH OF ANNA BOTHAM. 13

In September, 1797, a little daughter was born, the naming
of whom was for some time a serious difficulty. The father
wished her to be called Ann, after her mother; his wife
demurred, not choosing there to be an old Ann anda young
Ann in the family. The grandfather almost insisted on
Rebecca, or Becky, as he called it, after the deceased grand-
mother. The parents would not acquiesce, and the grand-
father made it almost a quarrel. Fortunately, just then came
Ann Alexander from York, on a religious visit to Friends’
families in the county of Stafford, and when staying in Uttox-
eter took great interest in the mother and her first-born child.
A sort of compromise, therefore, was made, and the child
called Ann-a, which implied a compliment to Ann Alexander.
The father was pleased to have the dear mother’s name given
to the little daughter, and the mother indulged her affectionate
remembrance of her beloved friend Anna Price, though she
kept this sentiment in her own heart.

In 1798 Samuel and Ann Botham went to Coleford, in the
Forest of Dean, to commence a new chapter of life, trusting,
with the divine blessing—it was thus that they spoke of
their Heavenly Father—it would be the beginning of a pros-
perous career; and they took with them the lovely little Anna,
who, in the quaint demure costume of her parents’ sect, looked
like an infant saint, whilst her attendant, a grave young
Quakeress, resembled a nun.

Of the time spent at Coleford I will quote from a memoran-
dum by my mother. She writes :—

‘‘After I had been married about a year my husband
received a proposal from his partners, the Brothers Bishton,
to exchange his shares in the very advantageous iron-forges
in which they were concerned for a principal share in some
ironworks in Gloucestershire. He had already rejected the
proposal when it was again renewed. Being naturally of a
confiding disposition, incapable of taking any unfair advantage,
and never suspecting others, especially his old friends, of being
less upright than himself, he at length fell in with their
scheme, and we removed to Coleford, in the Forest of Dean.
I may say that from the time we left Uttoxeter everything
went ill with us. All the money which my husband could
command he embarked in this affair; and when he wrote to
14 MARY HOWITT.

his partners for an advance of money, as much on their account
as his own, they held back on the plea of not being prepared.

“The winter of 1798-9 set in with unusual severity. Deep
snows fell, which were succeeded by such heavy rains that
the brooks rose like rivers, flooding the new works. In one
night, so to speak, we saw our money swept away. Nothing
could be more gloomy than our prospects, and it was our
belief that the longer we stayed the worse matters would get.
Some Friends who came there at that time on a religious visit
said that ‘we were not at home.’ Truly we felt that we were
not so. Nothing could be done with the Brothers Bishton.
They seemed to care neither for the ruin of the new works nor
the risk my husband would run by their recommencement.

“Tt was at this time, when our fortunes were quite at the
lowest, a period of distress and great anxiety, that our second
daughter Mary* was born, the twelfth of Third Month, 1799.
Ruin almost stared us in the face. My husband was despond-
ing, and nothing but a firm reliance on Providence supported
me. I, however, never lost faith to believe that He who
careth for the sparrows would in His own time open a way
for us, and guide us where we ought to go.

“To add to the darkness of this time, I may mention that
there were some amongst my husband’s relations who, having
heard of our troubles and disappointments, wrote to him,
insinuating that ‘his proud wife had brought this cross upon
him ; that if he had been satisfied to remain single, none of
these calamities would have fallen to his lot.’ This was a
great sorrow to me, because I not only knew it to be most
untrue, but because I feared it might sour his temper. How-
ever, my mind remained fixed on our Heavenly Father, and
He did not fail us.

“One morning my husband came into my room, and desiring
the nurse to leave it, I perceived an unusual cheerfulness and
composure in his countenance and a greater kindness in his
voice, as, turning to the bed, he thus addressed me :—‘ Ann,
thou wast always averse to my entering into this partnership.

* Tremember as a child our parents speaking of the peculiar signific
my sister’s name and my own; she was Anna, in Hebrew, Grace, va tee
at the time of her birth had been gracious to them. I was Marah, or bitterness.
coming at a season of sore trouble and anxiety. :
AT COLEFORD. 15

If I had followed thy advice I should have steered clear of
this trouble and loss. But as it has come upon us, it behoves
us to bear up as best we can. I have had this night a dream
in which I have seen the course which we must pursue. I
thought I was mounted on a very small white horse, so small
that my feet nearly touched the ground, and that I was in
the market-place of Coleford. I thought that I whipped and
spurred the horse, but to no purpose; he would not move.
The people came out of their houses and stood laughing. I
then bethought myself to lay the reins on the horse’s neck. I
did so, and he set off at full speed, bearing me out of the
town, so that I was presently half-way to Ross. On this I
woke, and at once it was clear to my mind that we must sell
our furniture, leave this place, and return to Uttoxeter. Those
were the resolves suggested by my dream, and when I went
downstairs I found a letter from Imm Trusted, of Ross, who
wishes me to survey his land, and to take up my quarters at
his house whilst engaged in the business.’”

This seemed to my dear parents an indication of the Divine
Will regarding them. My mother adds that they were “both
drawn into a great stillness, feeling that nothing more was
required from them but a firm reliance on Providence, who
would assuredly open a way for them out of their difficulties.”
The next day being Week-day Meeting at Ross, my father
went thither, and took lodgings for his family whilst he should
be engaged in his surveying business; “and,” says my mother,
“we believed that meanwhile some way would open, under the
best direction, for our future movements.” :

“In the course of three weeks,’ she continues, “ our furni-
ture was sold; our feather-beds, and such things as could be
packed in hogsheads and large boxes were sent on to Uttoxeter,
and we left Coleford with only £60 in our pockets.

“We stayed three weeks at Ross, the Trusted family, who
were Friends, treating us with the greatest kindness.* Whilst
we were tbere, three ministering Friends, Sarah Lumley, Aun
Ashby, and Joseph Russell, came on a religious concern to
families. In one visit, whilst sitting with us, Sarah Lumley

* A little daughter named Elizabeth had been born just about the time of
my birth, and I am glad to record the firm, faithful friendship that exists
between my warmly esteemed contemporary and myself,
16 MARY HOWITT.

said that ‘the cruse of oil should not waste, or the barrel of
meal fail, until the Lord sent rain on this barren waste, and
that He would bless both basket and store.’ One of them also
said, in addressing me, that ‘the Lord’s hand was stretched
out to help, and that neither the water nor the fire of this
tribulation should overwhelm me.’

“These consolatory passages,” continues my mother, ‘helped
to strengthen us both, and enabled us to take sweet counsel
together through the solitary path which we had yet to tread.”

This fragment by my mother, written some years after-
wards, is the sole record we possess of those dark times. In
an interesting little work, however, entitled “Something about
Coleford and the Old Chapel,” published at Gloucester in
1877, reference is made, at page 24, to Coleford being my birth-
place, and we learn that I was born in a small suburb called
Whiteleeve or Whitecliffe.

“The house,” adds the author, “is a mysterious-looking
place, with a neglected appearance, as if it had seen better
days, which was likely the case. In one of the windows of an
evidently unused room stood for some time a beautiful cast-
iron grate, or rather the back of a grate, for a large fireplace
circular in shape, bearing date Edward VI., 1553.

“A few years after Mr. Botham’s departure another foreigner
came upon the scene. This was Mr. David Mushet. He had
been for some years a celebrity in the scientific world; his
writings in the Philosophical Magazine were well known, as
was also his discovery that the Black Band ironstone in
Scotland was not, as hitherto supposed, a wiid coal, and despised
accordingly, but an ironstone of the greatest value, containing
with the ore a proportion of coal, which served in the furnace
as fuel.

“Tt is no exaggeration to say that the Black Band brought
many millions of profit to the Scottish iron trade, whose rise
and progress, and the prominent rank it has since held in the
ironmaking world, date from the era of Mr. Mushet’s discovery.

“The Whitecliffe ironworks were not carried on long. After
a time Mr. Mushet had grave reasons for being much dis-
satisfied with his partners, who had been introduced to him
by one of the leading men in London, and he withdrew.
Whitecliffe has been silent ever since.”
CHAPTER IT.
1800—1809.

My parents were again settled at Uttoxeter, and my father,
humble and submissive after his adversity in the Forest of
Dean, was speedily to see that God had not forsaken him, but
was preparing for him a better lot in the old home than he
had sought for himself in the new.

In 1800 a Commission sent out by the Crown to survey the
woods and forests decided that “the Chase of Needwood,”’ in
the county of Stafford, should be divided, allotted, and enclosed.
This forest, dating from time immemorial, and belonging to
the Crown, extended many miles. It contained magnificent
oaks, limes, and other lordly trees, gigantic hollies and luxu-
riant underwood, and twenty thousand head of deer. It was
divided into five wards, one being Uttoxeter, and had four
lodges, held under lease from the Crown, its lieutenants,
rangers, axe bearers, keepers, and woodmote court. To be
surveyor in the disafforesting was an important post solicited
by my father. Months of anxious suspense had, however, to
be endured before the nominations could be known. In June,
1801, the Act for the enclosure was passed, one clause con-
taining the appointment of the surveyors. Their names would
be published in Stafford on a certain day; but my father felt
he could not go thither to ascertain his fate; he should be
legally notified if appointed.

On the day when any favourable decision ought to arrive
by post, my mother, waiting and watching, saw the postboy
ride into the town, then, somewhat later, the letter-carrier
enter the street, deliver here and there a letter, and pass their
door. She did not speak to her husband of a disappointment,
which he was doubtless equally experiencing. But after they
had both retired to rest, if not to sleep, they heard in the
silence of the little outer world the sound of a horse coming
quickly up the street. It stopped at their door. My father’s

c
18 MARY HOWITT.

name was shouted by Thomas Hart, the banker. He hastened
to the window, and was greeted by the words, “Good news,
Mr. Botham. I am come from Stafford. I have seen the Act.
You and Mr. Wyatt are appointed the surveyors.”

It is still a pleasure to me to think of the joy and gratitude
that must have filled those anxious hearts that memorable
night. On the other hand, as a lover of Nature, I sincerely
deplore any instrumentality in destroying such a vast extent
of health-giving solitude and exuberant beauty in our thickly-
populated, trimly-cultivated England. On Christmas Day,
1802, Needwood Chase, a glorious relic of ancient times, older
than the existing institutions of the kingdom, older than
English history, was disafforested. It was followed by a scene
of the most melancholy spoliation. There was a wholesale
devastation of the small creatures that had lived for ages
amongst its broadly-growing trees, its thickets and underwood.
Birds flew bewildered from their nests as the ancient timber
fell before the axe; fires destroyed the luxuriant growth of
plants and shrubs: No wonder that Dr. Darwin of Lichfield,
the Rev. Thomas Gisborne, and Mr. Francis Noel Mundy,
living respectively at the lodges of Yoxall and Ealand, in the
forest, published laments over the fall of Needwood, descrip-
tive of the change from sylvan beauty and grandeur to woful
devastation.

For upwards of nine years the work of dividing, allotting,
and enclosing continued. The rights of common, of pasture,
of pannage (feeding swine in the woods), of fuel, and of making
birdlime from the vast growth of hollies, claimed by peasants,
whose forefathers had built their turf cottages on the waste
lands; the rights of more important inhabitants to venison,
game, timber, &c., had to be considered by the Commission of
the enclosure, and compensated by allotments of land. On
May 9, 1811, the final award was signed, by which the free-
holders’ portion was subdivided amongst the various persons
who had claims thereon. Practically the two surveyors had
to decide the awards It was, consequently, a source of deep
thankfulness to my father, who had throughout refused gifts
from any interested party, that all claimants, from the richest
to the poorest, were satisfied.

From the date of my father’s appointment as surveyor in
ENCLOSURE OF NEEDWOOD FOREST. 19

the disafforesting the clouds of care rolled away, more especially
as the Messrs. Bishton unexpectedly paid their debt incurred
by the losses at Coleford. With a light and thankful heart
he planned with Mr. Wyatt the dissection of the forest. Some
parts, the property of the Crown, were to retain their wood-
land aspect, but to be opened with ridings; some were to be
laid out in woods and pleasure grounds surrounding the forest-
lodges; some to be cut through with roads leading amid
extensive farms. As he laid out the ground he sometimes
permitted his children to accompany him, thus enabling us
from infancy to become acquainted with the spirit of Nature.
Indeed, a great amount cf enjoyment came to Anna and me
out of the forest enclosure. Our knowledge of the world
around us became less circumscribed. Our mother, a good
walker in those days, would sometimes take us to meet our
father at certain points arranged beforehand, perhaps at the
house of some forest farmer, where we could have tea, and
return home pleasantly in the evening. Our father, always
on foot over his land measurements, seemed never tired, and
always glad to see us.

I remember particularly one Saturday afternoon, we had
gone to the village of Gratwich, about three miles from
Uttoxeter. We were seated at tea with a friendly farmer, his
wife, and their little girl about our age, to whom our mother
had that afternoon taken a pretty piece of pale blue print for
a frock, and were all as cheerful and happy as could be, when
im came Thomas Bishop, a clog and patten maker by trade,
but who was constantly in our parents’ employ to do all sorts
of odd jobs. He had come in kot haste to announce the arrival
of two ministering Friends, and as these worthies were always
entertained at our parents’ house, they were required to return
as soon as possible. It was, I believe, David Sands and his
companion from America, and Thomas Bishop was ordered to
say that they had written beforehand to apprise my father.

Our little tea-drinking was abruptly terminated, and off we
set. I remember being carried by Thomas Bishop, and must
have fallen asleep, for after a consciousness of looking down
upon hedges all was oblivion, until I found myself at home ;
and Anna and I were hurried to bed because of the ministers
in the parlour.
20 MARY HOWITT.

Then I recollect a curious little epoch in my life, as we were
returning one evening from a forest ramble with my father.
It was the first evidence to my mind that I could think. I
remember very well the new light, the gladness, the wealth of
which I seemed suddenly possessed. It has curiously con-
nected itself in my mind with passing a pinfold. That par-
ticular spot seemed like the line between rational and irrational
existence; and so childish was I in intellectual life, that it
seemed to me as if before I passed the pinfold I could only say
and think “Bungam”—such was the expression in my mind
—but that after passing it I had the full use of all intelligible
speech.

Many a long happy summer day had we spent already in the
forest, when, I being then five or six years old, our father took
Anna and me with him to be out from morning till evening.
Towards noon we were wearied by our long ramble, and were
left to recover from our fatigue under the spreading shade
of an enormous oak. Around us lay a small opening in a
forest glade, covered with short herbage. This was enclosed
by thickets of black holly, which, in contrast with the light
foreground, seemed intensely sombre; under these grew the
greenwood laurel, with its clusters of poisonous-looking berries,
and whole beds of fair white stellaria. In other spots flourished
enchanter’s night-shade and the rare four-leaved herb-paris,
bearing its berry-like flower at the central angles of its four
leaves.

There was an undefined feeling, half of pleasure, half of pain,
in being left alone in so wild a spot. We heard the crow of
the distant pheasant, the coo of the wood-pigeon, and the laugh-
like cry of the woodpecker. We watched the hare run past
from thicket to thicket. At the same time we remarked a
strange unceasing low sound, a perpetual chirr-chirr-chirring
somewhere near us.

We asked a stout forest lad carrying a bundle of fagots to
explain it. He seemed amazed to find two children, like Babes
in the Wood, seated hand in hand at the foot of an old oak.
Speaking in a low, but distinctly articulated whisper, he said,
‘It’s my Lord Vernum’s bloodhounds. They are out hunting,
and yon sounds are the chains they drag after them.”’ So say-
ing, he dashed off like a wild stag. The horror that fell on us
THE PEACE OF AMIENS. 20

was intense. Indeed, had we been left to ourselves and our
terror I know not what would have become of us; but our cry
of, ‘Father ! father!” speedily brought him to us. ‘ Itis the
grasshopper, and nothing more,” he said, “‘ which has caused
this foolish alarm.” Listening for a moment, he traced it by
its sound among the short dry sunny grass, then held it in his
hand before us.

My parents, on returning from the Forest of Dean, had
temporarily resided in a small semi-detached house belonging
to them, having let the old home on a short lease. By March,
1802, however, they must have removed to their usual habita-
tion in Balance Street, with my grandfather for an inmate, as
my very earliest recollection is a dim remembrance of the old
man delivering, in the kitchen, some piece of intelligence which
was received by the assembled household with expressions of
joy. I was told later that it must have been his announcing
the Peace of Amiens.

My grandfather did not long remain under the same roof,
for having, in a moment of great excitement, wounded the little
Anna with the large scissors he used to cut out the strong veins
of the leaves, which he dried, and feeling it a sad mischance,
he was made willing to remove himself and his medicaments.
He took up his abode with some good, simple people in a com-
fortable cottage on the enclosed land, that had formerly been
the Heath. At this distance he acquired for us children a cer-
tain interest and charm. The walk to his dwelling was plea-
sant, His sunny sitting-room, with the small stove from which
pungent odours issued, the chafing-dishes, metallic tractors, the
curious glasses and retorts and ancient tomes excited our imagi-
nation; in after years we perceived that it must have resembled
the study of an alchemist. Here, amongst his drying herbs
and occult possessions, he taught the poorest, most neglected
boys to read, from a sense of Christian duty, which was gene-
rally regarded as a queer crotchet ; for it was before the days
of Bell and Lancaster, and when ragged schools were unima-
gined.

How well do I remember him! His features were good, but
his countenance severe ; over his very grey hair he wore a grey
worsted wig, with three stiff rows of curls behind, and was at-
tired in a dark-brown collarless suit of a very old-fashioned
22 MARY HOWITT.

cut, wearing out of doors a cocked hat, also of an old Quaker
type, a short great-coat or spencer, and in winter grey-ribbed
worsted leggings, drawn to the middle of the thigh. Although
a stickler for old customs, he was one of the very first in the
Midland Counties to use an umbrella. The one that belonged
to him was a substantial concern, covered with oil-cloth or
oil-silk, with a large ring at the top, by which it was hung up.

Having a reputation in the Society as a minister, he now and
then paid visits to other meetings, but never very far from
home ; and considering himself connected with Phebe Howitt
of Heanor, by the marriage of his step-son John to her aunt,
felt it doubly incumbent to repair at times to that Derbyshire
village. With Thomas and Phebe Howitt, the parents of my
future husband, we had no personal acquaintance, merely a
somewhat disagreeable association from his having obtained from
them the plant asarabacca, which had caused my mother violent
headaches and was the chief ingredient of his cephalic snuff.

In their society the simple, religious, and therefore the
best side of his character was exhibited. He was consequently
described to me in after years by my husband as a welcome
guest, generally arriving at harvest-time, when he would
employ himself in the pleasant field-labour, quoting beautiful
and appropriate texts of Scripture us applicable to the scenes
around him. This I can well understand, from an occurrence
in my childhood.

Rebecca Summerland, the daughter of my half-uncle John,
had married, in 1801, a Friend named Joseph Burgess of
Grooby Lodge, near Leicester. She became the mother of a
little boy—William—with whom, when staying at his grand-
parents’, we were permitted to play. On one of these happy
occasions, their rarity enhancing the delight, we were enjoy-
ing ourselves at aunt Summerland’s when our grandfather
unexpectedly arrived. Our parents were absent from hume
—probably at Quarterly Meeting—and he, wishful to look
after us, had come to take us a walk. To refuse was not to
be thought of. We very reluctantly left little William and
started under his escort. But our grandfather was unusually
kind and gentle, and to give us a treat, took us to see our

father’s small tillage farm at the distance of a couple of miles
from home.
A SERMON ON NATURE. 23

He talked about the trees and plants in Timber Lane, which,
winding up from the town to the top of a hill, was hemmed
in by steep mossy banks, luxuriant with wild flowers and
ferns, and overarched by the boughs of the oak, hawthorn,
and elder, having a clear little stream gurgling along one side.
When we came out on the open breezy hill, with the high
bushy banks of Needwood Forest extending before us in
wooded promontories for many a mile, there were lambs and
young calves in the fields, and primroses ; and so as we went
on our minds were calmed and interested. At length we
reached the farm of eighteen acres, which we had last seen
in autumnal desolation. Now all was beautifully green and
fresh ; the lower portion closed for hay, the upper filled with
vigorous young vegetation; tender blades of wheat springing
from the earth, green leaflets of the flax for our mother’s
spinning just visible; next, the plot reserved for turnips;
the entire field being enclosed by a broad grassy headland, a
perfect border of spring flowers, of which we had soon our hands
full. Our grandfather showed us the tender, delicate flax, and
contrasted it with the rougher growth of the turnip and the
grass-like blades of wheat, and preached a little sermon about
God making every plant and flower spring out of the dry,
barren earth. As we listened the last shadow of discontent
vanished. The walk back was all cheerfulness and sunshine,
and we were taken to aunt Summerland’s to finish the visit,
happier than we had been on our arrival.

This walk gave my sister Anna her first taste for botany.
She probably inherited from our grandfather her passionate
love of flowers, and she learnt from his copy of Miller’s “ Gar-
dener’s Dictionary,” which became her property after his death,
to appreciate the wonderful beauty of the Linnwan system.

It is impossible to give an adequate idea of the stillness and
isolation of our lives as children. Our father’s introverted
character and naturally meditative turn of mind made him
avoid social intercourse and restrict his participation in outward
events to what was absolutely needful for the exact fulfilment
of his professional and religious labours. Our mother’s clear,
intelligent mind, her culture and refinement were chastened
and subdued by her new spiritual convictions and by painful
social surroundings. Our nurse, Hannah Finney, was dull and
24 MARY HOWITT,

melancholy, seeking to stifle an attachment which she had
formed in the Forest of Dean for a handsome carpenter of
dubious character and unconvinced of Friends’ principles.
Each of our reticent caretakers was subjected to severe inward
ordeals, and incapable of infusing knowledge and brightness
into our young minds. At four years of age little Anna had
been unable to talk, and had therefore been sent daily to u
cheerful old woman who kept a dame school, and in more lively
surroundings had acquired the power of speech.

In fact, after we could both talk, being chiefly left to con-
verse together, our ignorance of the true appellations for many
ordinary sentiments and actions compelled us to coin and use
words of our own. To sneeze was to us both akisham—the
sound which one of our parents must have made in sneezing.,
Roman numerals, which we saw on the title-pages of most
books, conveyed no other idea than the word ick/ymicklydictines.
Italic printing was soft/y writing. Our parents often spoke
together of dividends. This suggested to me some connection
with the devil. I was grieved and perplexed to hear our good
parents talk without hesitation or sense of impropriety of those
wicked dividends. Had there been an open communicative
spirit in the family, these strange expressions and misappre-
hensions would have either never arisen or been at once cor-
rected.

Our mother must, however, have taught us early to read, for
I cannot remember when we could not do so ; but neither she
nor our father ever gave or permitted us to receive religious
tuition. Firmly adhering to the fundamental principles of
George Fox, that Christ, the true inward light, sends to each
individual interior inspirations as their guide of Christian faith,
and that His Spirit, being free, does not submit to human
learning and customs, they aimed to preserve us in unsullied
innocence, consigning us to Him in lowly confidence for gui-
dance and instruction. So fearful were they of interfering
with His workings, that they did not even tech us the Lord’s
Prayer; nor do I remember that they ever intimated to us the
duty of each morning and evening raising our hearts in praise
and petition to God. Yet they gave us to commit to memory
Robert Barclay’s “ Catechism and Confession of Faith,” a com-
pilation of texts applied to the doctrines of Friends, and sup-
THE WORD OF GOD. 25

posed “to be fitted for the wisest and largest as well as the
weakest and lowest capacities,” but which left us in the state of
the perplexed eunuch before Philip instructed him in the Holy
Writ.

It was the earnest desire of our father that our attention
should be directed to Christ as the one great, all-sufficient
sacrifice; yet, nevertheless, so entirely was the fundamental
doctrine of the Saviour being the Incarnate God hidden from
us, that we grew up to the age when opinions assert themsel\ es
to find that our minds had instinctively shaped themselves into
the Unitarian belief, out of which we have both been brought
by different means. As regards my sister Anna, she has said
that she found in reading “‘ Ecce Homo” the exact counterpart
of her own youthful views of Jesus, which had grown up in the
unassisted soil of her mind. A singular exhibition this of the
natural untrained growth of a young ingenious intellect hedged
round with the narrowest pale of religious observances, from
which all outward expression was excluded, in the belief and in
the silent prayerful hope that the Diviue Spirit would lead it
into all truth.

The Bible, being acknowledged a secondary rule and subor-
dinate to the Spirit, had been neglected in many Friends’
families. This led the Yearly Meeting, in the early part of the
century, to recommend Friends everywhere to adopt the habit
of daily reading the Scriptures; and my father, deputed by
the authorities, endeavoured without success to induce the other
members of our meeting to comply with the advice. He him-
self had ever set them the example, and whilst bearing his
testimony that it is the Spirit, not the Scriptures, which is
the ground and source of all truth, diligently studied the
Bible, at the same time refusing to call it the Word of God, a
term he only applied to Christ, the true Gospel.

His ardent desire to fathom the deeper teaching of God
made my father value highly and read industriously the life
and writings of Madame Guyon, those of Fénelon, S. Francis
de Sales, Michael Molinos, and others, all of a mystical ten-
dency. ‘“Telemachus” was also to him a very instructive book,
which he read, not as an interesting story, but as a work of deep
religious truth ; interpreting the aged Mentor, the guide of
the young Telemachus, as the Divine Syirit, thus influencing
26 MARK HOWITT.

and directing the inexperienced human soul, It was a sort of
« Pilgrim’s Progress ” to his honestly seeking spirit.

Each morning a chapter of the Bible was read after break-
fast, followed by a pause for interior application and instruction
by the Holy Spirit; the purpose of tbis silence being, how-
ever, never explained to us. In the long winter evenings
Friends’ journals, “The Persecution of Friends,” and similar
works were read aloud ; and when gone through were succeeded
by “ Foxe’s Book of Martyrs””—a large folio edition, with en-
gravings that made our blood curdle ; as to the narrative, we
listened, yet wished not to hear, until, proving too terrible
reading just before bed-time, it was set aside.

I had also to read to my father during the day, when some
mechanical operation left his mind disengaged. Thomas 4
Kempis was a great favourite with him; not so with me, as I
understood the constant exhortation to take up the cross to refer
to using the plain language and plain attire of Friends, and our
peculiar garb, many degrees more ungainly than that of most
strict Friends, was already a perfect crucifixion to Anna and me.
The New Testament never came amiss. On one such occasion
I received from my father a stern reprimand for having, when
reading the miracle of the loaves and fishes, as related by St.
Mark, inserted, as he supposed, the adjective ‘“‘ green ” in the
thirty-ninth verse : ‘“ And he commanded them to make them
sit down in companies upon the green grass.”

He broke in sternly, “ Mary, thou must not add or take from
Scripture.”

‘Please, father, it is green grass,” I replied.

«“ Let me see, let me see!”’ he exclaimed ; and after looking
at the verse, said in a surprised but appeased tone, “T had
never noticed it.”

We children went to meeting twice on First-day, walking
-demurely hand-in-hand behind our parents; and once on Fifth-
day with our mother alone, if our father was absent in the
forest or elsewhere surveying. These meetings were far
from profitable to me. The nearest approach to good which I
remember in these seasons of silent worship was the circum-
stance that the side-windows were reflected at times, probably
owing to the sun’s position, in a large window placed high
above the gallery looking down the meeting-house and oppo-
THE MEETING-HOUSE. 27

site to my seat. These windows of light, seen through the
larger one, in the sky as it were, represented to me the windows
of Heaven. It was these or similar ones, I imagined, which
were open in Heaven when the rain poured down for forty days
in the time of Noah. The sight of these beautiful windows
was a privilege, I believed, granted to me when good. This, I am
sorry to confess, was the nearest approach to Heaven which those
silent meetings afforded me. The blotches of damp on the meet-
ing-house walls presented to me, however, wonderful battles from
the Old Testament; the knots in the backs of the old wooden
seats merely secular subjects, odd and grotesques heads and
faces of human beings and of animals. How grieved would
my parents have been at this want of mental discipline !

Our uncle, John Summerland, and his wife, lived on the same
premises as the meeting-house, which was divided from their
dwelling by a garden ; and it was strangely interesting to us
children, when paying them a visit, to go alone into our place
of worship. Even now I remember the strange eerie effect of
lifting the heavy iron handle that raised the ponderous latch
and sounded through the empty building with a solemn res-
ponse. It was most exciting to us on these occasions to be at
liberty to sit even in the gallery, where the preachers, when
they came, sat; to go over to the men’s side and try how it
was in our father’s seat or in John Shipley’s, and then to go up
into the chamber where the “‘ Women’s Meetings of Business ”’
were held.

William Burgess—the one boy we were permitted to asso-
ciate with, from fear of contamination—was our companion
in these bold explorations. He seemed, however, to be most
attracted by the graveyard, a pleasant little green field into
which the side-windows of the meeting-house looked, and
where in the spring-time, a sheep, with her lamb or lambs,
would be turned in to eat the abundant grass; often breaking
the deep silence of some meeting for worship by their gentle
bleatings. This ever awoke a peculiar feeling in our childish
minds, a sort of sense of appropriateness from their relationship
to the Saviour, the Good Shepherd, and the Lamb of God.

‘The visits of ministering Friends, men or women preachers
from a distance, and who, as I have said, took up their abode at
our house, sometimes for two or three days, always produced a
28 MARY HOWITT.

little home excitement. A ministering Friend was supposed to
be brought into such close communion with the Divine Source
of Light and Truth, that he or she was permitted to act as the
mouthpiece of the Holy Spirit. We children, therefore, never
lost a certain awe of ministering Friends, believing they were
aware of the exact state of our souls. This was especially the
case when their mission was what was called “ paying family
visits.” Then they sat alone with each household, dropping
into silence, probably at the close of the meal, and spoke, it was
believed, directly to the individual souls of those present.

Sometimes a noted preacher came with what was called “a
concern to hold a public meeting ; ” and this was to us children
quite thrilling, for our father’s factotum, Thomas Bishop, then
delivered circulars from house to house: “respectfully invit-
ing the inhabitants of Uttoxeter to attend a religious meeting
of the Society of Friends, commonly called Quakers, at the
club-room of the Red Lion Inn.”

The excitement was still more increased to us by the Red
Lion Inn being in a different part of the town from the meet-
ing-house ; for it was only as a matter of necessity that we
children were ever taken through the streets. Our world
seemed to enlarge itself simply by going out in an evening,
walking through the market-place and the inn-yard, and
through the inn itself, with our eyes wide open and our minds
all astir; though meekly following in the wake of our father
and mother, and the ministering Friend, male or female. Then,
too, the sense of importance and suspense when we entered the
large club-room, with its chandelier and its side-lights all ablaze,
and the raised bench placed for the occasion, having a table in
front, on which the minister might lay his hat when he rose
to preach or pray—‘supplicate,” Friends called it—or if a
woman, on which she might lay her bonnet, which she took off
preparatory to rising to address the meeting. Thomas Bishop
was always in requisition on these occasions, showing people to
empty seats and preserving order at the door.

Sometimes these meetings, from being very large, the
preacher earnest and eloquent, and the audience attentive to
the end, notwithstanding the long silence with which they had
opened, and even closed, were pronounced very satisfactory by
our parents. I cannot but believe that the preparatory silence,
PUBLIC WORSHIP. 29

the peculiar style of preaching, the long occasional pause in
the middle of a sentence, the high rhythmical tone into
which the preacher rose as he or she increased in earnestness
and fluency, and then the sudden transition by a return to the
natural tone of voice, must have struck the unaccustomed
listeners as at least very peculiar.

I am not, indeed, aware of any great or good effect ever
being produced by these meetings, held in a room which often
served as the stage for far more entertaining, and perhaps even
instructive, spectacles to the townspeople. It was used as a
theatre by the Stantons, a respectable dramatic company from
Newcastle, and it was at the Red Lion that the celebrated Miss
Mellon, afterwards Duchess of St. Albans, made her début.

When the preacher was of less repute, the gathering would
be invited to the Friends’ meeting-house, which our father and
Thomas Bishop would then prepare for the occasion, by remov-
ing a set of large wooden shutters which separated the upper
loft, that usually formed the ‘‘ Women’s Meeting of Business”
from the meeting-room. Thusa large open gallery was formed
capable of holding many persons, and which gave a full view
of the preacher and the assembly below. On one such occasion
a curious and rather awkward incident took place. The preacher
was a woman-Friend, and concluded her discourse by describ-
ing the New Jerusalem, the inhabitants of which should no
more say, “I am sick.” With these words, as if impatient to
make an end, she sank down into the seat behind her. On this
one of the medical men of the town, who sat in the middle of
the meeting, and who evidently had not been paying attention
to the thread of the discourse, sprang up, and leaning forward
in the crowd, said in a professional tone, “Is the lady ill?
Can I render any assistance ?’’ A dead silence prevailed—and
we must suppose that the truth dawned upon the medical mind,
for after repeating the question with the same result, he seated
himself, amid the suppressed smiles of all who were not Friends.

Everything was education to us children, and we learnt much
by the pleasant drives to Monthly Meeting at Stafford or Leek,
that of Uttoxeter being every third month. I do not think it
was a general rule for Friends to take their children with them
to these meetings when held at a distance. But as our parents
were most anxious to bring us up in the way we ought to go,
30 MARY HOWTTT.

Anna and I alternately accompanied our parents, sitting be-
tween them on a small turn-down seat affixed to the gig for the
purpose.

If bound for Stafford, we passed Henry Pedley’s, the old
weaver’s, where our mother went every spring, taking us
children with her, to choose the patterns in which he should
weave the linen yarn which she had spun in the winter.
Beyond the weaver’s, the entire road was known to us only by
these Monthly Meeting drives. First came the old handsome
red-brick hall of Loxley, with its park; then what was called
Parson Hilditch’s, a pleasant parsonage standing a field’s-length
from the road ; and just beyond, the little red-brick schoolhouse,
where Parson Hilditch taught the village boys, who, coming or
going, as we passed, made their bow. This was distasteful to
my father, as savouring of “hat-homage.” If a beggar or
other petitioner addressed him bare-headed, he would say
politely and kindly, “Put on thy hat;” but if the man, from
a sense of duty, humility, or perhaps servility, did not comply,
he would become almost angry and say, ‘‘ Unless thou put on
thy hat I shall not talk with thee.”

The point of greatest interest, however, on the road to
Stafford was the old castle of Chartley, standing close to the
highway. It was an ancient, very grey pile of ruins, on the
edge of a fine old park, in which were preserved the remains
of the original wild breed of British cattle, similar to those at
Chillingham. Chartley belongs to the Earl of Ferrers, and
the new house, which had been begun several years before,
stood unfinished, owing to a quarrel between the old Lord and
his son, Viscount Tamworth. It was a strange, unhappy
family, in which murder had at one time brought the head of
the house to the gallows. Moreover, in the old castle Mary
Queen of Scots had been confined. All this had been told us
on the first occasion of our driving to Stafford, and once being
told was sufficient. It furnished us with a great deal to think
about. Chartley had a romantic history, though at that time
we did not know what romance meant. It and its surroundings
were all wonderfully weird and hoary. I, was the oldest-
looking place we had ever seen.

The next point of interest was Weston Hall, a tall-gabled,
old Elizabethan mansion, standing a little apart from the road,
STAFFORDSHIRE CATHOLICS. 31

which was here a long heavy ascent, worn, rather than cut
through the soft sandstone rock. We next looked out for
Ingestre, the seat of Lord Talbot, standing far off in the park.
We felt in some mysterious way asif the place almost belonged
to us. We did not remember when we had not heard of Lord
Talbot. My father had a great regard for the family, and
knew every inch of their estates. Next came Tixall Hall, with
its fine old Gothic gateway.

Of Stafford town itself we knew little, only that it had a
castle and was famous for making shoes, which it was currently
believed were manufactured for sale rather than for wear. The
meeting-house was a queer place, older and not so nice, we
thought, as that of Uttoxeter ; the woodwork of the window-
frames and benches was unpainted, and so old that the very
grain of the wood stood up in ridges, the softer portions being
worn away with time. The Friends were few and simple, and,
with the exception of the family of William Masters, awoke
no interest in us.

Sometimes in these drives we might chance to pass a person-
age for whom we children cherished the same high regard as
our parents, and who seemed in a manner connected witb us,
from his wearing some of my father’s cast-off garments. It
was old Daniel Neale, the worthy Irish beggar. His figure was
short and spare, and considerably bent forward; yet he walked
with long strides and a firm step, bis tall staff being rather a
companion than support. A cheerful, contented old countenance
shone forth between his bushy white Iccks, his coat was
buckled with a broad Jeathern strap, and over his shoulder he
carried a capacious wallet.

He was kindly received and entrusted with messages by the
old Catholic families, who, surrounded by Protestant neigh-
bours, at a time when religious differences made a wider separa-
tion than they do at present, lived in a dignified seclusion, yet
in good-fellowship amongst themselves. I introduced Daniel
Neale in “ Wood Leighton ;” a work that clearly indicates the
effect produced upon my mind by the consistent piety of the
Staffordshire Catholics.

The journey to Leek was considerably longer than that to
Stafford. We went out of the town quite at the other end.
We passed the village of Checkley, and never forgot having
32 MARY HOWITT.

been shown there, on the first occasion of a drive to Leek, the
three tall gaunt-looking stones which met our eye. They
marked the graves of three bishops slain in an ancient battle
fought many long ages ago, at a place called The Naked Fields,
from the circumstance of the three bodies being brought
naked from the battlefield three days afterwards and buried
there.

At the little town of Cheadle we stayed to bait the horse,
and then going forward came to Chettelton, then to Whitly
rocks, a wild district of the moorland country to which Leek
belonged.

The Friends of Leek had all a cold, bleak, moorland
character. They were not a well-favoured race, and were
veither good-mannered nor affuble. The one exception was
Toft Chorley, a gentleman with very little appearance of the
Quaker about him. He had a country dwelling on the moor-
lands, but was always at his town house in Leek on Monthly
Meeting days to receive and entertain Friends.

One spot of surpassing interest to us children was “The
Hall” at Uttoxeter. It was a large, irregular brick mansion,
standing by the roadside outside the town, and though much
dilapidated, must originally have been a place of importance.
Here Mr. Thomas Copestuke, the great jeweller and lapidary,
had dwelt and carried on an important and extensive trade,
which in the last century brought much wealth to Uttoxeter.
The articles usually made were tiaras, silver buckles, and all
kinds of jewellery. Small white pebbles could be abundantly
picked up in the néighbourhood, which were purchased by Mr.
Copestake, if without fault, at a penny apiece; but after they
had been polished and cut, they had the appearance of stones
of the first water. He was also entrusted by the Government
with orders for “Stars of Honour.” It took about three
weeks to make one of these decorations, which when finished
was worth about £100. Mr. Copestake, when at the height of
his prosperity, employed a hundred and forty men, without
reckoning apprentices. On the town side of the old hall was a
large court, enclosed from the road by an ancient red-brick
wall. Round the three inner sides of this court were erected
workshops two storeys high, the upper storey having long
casemented windows for the greater admission of light, and
“POOR MISS GRACE.” 33

here in old times Copestake’s jewellers and lapidaries had
worked. He had unfortunately damaged his great trade and
his reputation by mixing an alloy with gold in the manufacture
of gold lace. Birmingham, Derby, and even London began to
compete with imitations and cheap inferior articles, and carried
off the demand from Uttoxeter. In our childhood, therefore,
the workshops had fallen into decay, the court was overgrown
with grass, and the whole had a strange air of desolation
about it.

Now and then, however, the courtyard was turned to account,
as on an occasion which remains indelibly stamped on my
memory. Here came an equestrian troop, and no doubt a
better place for the exhibition of their feats could hardly have
been chosen ; the old deserted shops, with their flights of steps
outside and their large windows within, afforded tiers of boxes
as ina theatre. We, the children of Friends, brought up with
Puritanical rigidity, to whom the very mention of a play, a
dance, or a horse-rider’s exhibition was forbidden, were never-
theless conducted surreptitiously to the show by two young
women-Friends who had been permitted to take us a walk. It
was a summer evening, and passing through the weather-beaten
door in the old red wall, we came into a crowd and could only
get standing-places. I could not see much, only people laugh-
ing. There was a great deal of shouting and merriment, and
a great deal of crushing where we stood. Nevertheless, it was
to us little girls very exciting, and it was quite dusk when we
got home, where we never spoke of the adventure.

Mr. Copestake’s daughter, Grace, dwelt in the desolate old
mansion, which had the reputation of being haunted. She was
a tall, slim, middle-aged lady, attired in the narrow-skirted
classical style of those days, which made her look still thinner.
The townspeople, in half-wondering compassion, called her
“Poor Miss Grace,” from her want of conventionality. She
was, in reality,a lady in reduced circumstances, who strove to
maintain herself, and was certainly one of the earliest of that
race of independent, clever women who have given a marked
character to the present century.

She introduced the “ lace-work,” as it was called, into the
town, and which, after the lapidary-work ceased, thus became
the staple trade of the little town. Once I accompanied my

D
34 MARY HOWITT.

mother in a call on Miss Grace. After we had been seated
with her in her own room, which was comfortable enough, lofty
and wainscoted with dark oak, she led us into a huge barn-like
apartment, whose walls, denuded of their original wainscot or
tapestry, revealed rude unfinished masonry, than which nothing
is more unsightly. Here the lace frames stood side by side,
with girls busily working at them.

Miss Grace, I believe, did not find her establishment sufli-
ciently remunerative to continue it many years. She retired
from it, and the frames became widely scattered through the
town.

To my sister Anna and myself Miss Copestake was a perfect
heroine. There must have been some expression in her eyes or
tone in her voice that drew us to her and made her lady-like
form and face indelible, so that we both have remembered to
‘old age her slim figure attired in black silk, with a large lace
shawl held close in her folded hands, her upright carriage and
firm step, and her gracious smile. The force of repulsion or
attraction is most strongly felt when social intercourse is
limited, and none in these days of free interchange of thought
and opinion can understand the singular feeling produced on
our childish minds by persons not “members of our Society.”

In 1804-5 my father was employed by the Corporation
of Leicester for the enclosure of the town fields. He
laid out the race-ground and a new public walk, which has
become a great improvement to the town, from its fine trees
and shrubberies full of flowering undergrowth. The maps
were very handsome, and, to our admiration, bound with blue
ribbon, the colour of the Corporation. This commission, with
surveying in the forest and for numerous noblemen and
gentlemen, often necessitated his absence for days and weeks
at a time. My mother, being thus disengaged, would require
us to sew or knit for hours together at her side, whilst she
busily plied her needle or her wheel in the parlour or the
garden-porch. I particularly remember her spinning in the
porch, because, it having a brick floor with a second porch
below opening into the basement storey, the wheel gave a
hollow, louder sound, which caused us to bring our low seats
close to her knee, that we might catch every word of her utter-
ance. Never ceasing our employment—for, to use her phrase,
HOME EDUCATION. 35

“we must not nurse our work’”’—we listened with breathless
attention to exciting tales of her ancestry and of her unmarried
life. She repeated to us “Lavinia” from Thomson’s
“Seasons,” and other poems she had learnt from her father.
Her mind, too, was stored with verses which she had met with
here and there, both grave and gay.

Of the former order were the lines written by Charles the
First the night before his execution, and which both she and
we greatly admired, “Auld Robin Gray,” “Lord Rodney’s
Victory,” “Upon yon Belfast mountains I heard a maid
complain,” &¢. And amongst her jocular verses, “‘ Amo, amas,
T loved a lass,” and “The Derby Ram,” which had been a
favourite of Washington’s, and said by him to children for
their amusement. It begins :—

“As I was going to Derby,
Upon a market-day,
I spied the biggest ram, sir,
That ever was fed upon hay.
Tow de row de dow,
Tow de row de da.”

During these hours of unrestrained converse she would
become lively, almost merry, even silently laughing. It was
a revelation of her character quite new to us, and we were
happy under its influence. There was a term of endearment
peculiar to her, “My precious,” and which had in it a deep
tenderness not easily to be forgotten. :

Self-withdrawal from her children had become, as it were,
habitual to her, and we were still left an easy prey to whatever
influences might be exerted on us by servants; for by friends
or acquaintance there could be comparatively none. Indeed
the only healthy outlet we had was the garden and our love for
each other.

Hannah Finney, our nurse, unable to conquer her attachment,
had married the worthless carpenter, and plagued her own
heart ever after. Our parents had sought long and anxiously
fora proper substitute, which they believed they had ultimately
met with in a country-woman about thirty, who knew her work
as if by instinct, speedily expressed a desire to attend meeting,
and by her irreproachable conduct, sobriety of dress, and

staidness of demeanour, won their entire confidence. N: anny,
D2
36 MARY HOWITT.

as she was called, equally pleased and, alas! ensnared us
children. She had a memory stored, I suppose, with every
song that ever was printed on a halfpenny-sheet or sold in a
country fair, which she repeated in a wild recitative, that
attracted us as much as if it had been singing. She was
familiar with ghosts, hobgoblins and fairies; knew much of
the vice, and less of the virtues of both town and country life ;
and finding us insatiable listeners, eagerly retailed to us her
stores of miscellaneous—chiefly evil—knowledge, under a seal
of secrecy, which
we never broke.
We trembled when
we heard her utter
an oath, but had
no hesitation in
learning from her
whist—she always
playing dummy and
using a tea-tray on
her lap as a card-
table.

Nanny’s’ wild,
strange communi-
cations invested
even our dull sur-
roundings with a
life and charm, and
whilst causing us

THE REV. ANNE CLOWES. often to put our

own or her con-

struction on the actions of our neighbours, made us study their
dispositions and sympathise with their needs.

With what excitement, for instance, did we note any inter-
change of civility between our mother and Mrs. Clowes, the
wife of a clergyman, and who styled herself in consequence the
Rev. Anne Clowes! After his death she continued to reside in
Uttoxeter. She was known by everybody, and was an honoured
if not an acceptable guest in the best houses of the neighbour-
hood; yet she lived without a servant in a narrow alley, and
had neither bell nor knocker to her house-door, on which her

 
“THE REV. ANNE CLOWES.” 37

friends were instructed to rap loudly with a stone. She
occupied an upper room, confusedly crowded with goods and
chattels of every description picked up at auctions, and piles of
earthenware and china, having the casements filled with as
many pieces of rag, pasteboard, and cobwebs as small panes of
glass. She slept in a large salting-trough, with a switch at her
side to keep off the rats. This mean and miserable abode she
termed, in her grandiloquent language, ‘The hallowed spot,
into which only were introduced the great in mind, in wealth,
or in birth,” and on one occasion spoke of “ a most delightful
visit from two of Lady Waterpark’s sons, when ‘the feast of

 

MRS. CLOWES, ATTENDED BY TWO GENTLEMEN OF THE TOWN, RETURNING
FROM AN EVENING PARTY.

reason and the flow of soul’ had been so absorbing that one of
the Mr. Cavendishes, in descending the stairs, had set his
foot in her mutton-pie, which was ready for the baker’s oven.”

Each Whitsuntide we saw her marching at the head of the
Oddfellows’ Club, with a bouquet of lilacs and peonies blazing
on her breast up to her chin, holding in one hand a long staff,
her usual out-door companion. She was not insane, only a very
original person running wild amongst a number of other
eccentric worthies, all of whom left marked impressions on
our minds.

In the summer of 1806 we felt brought into very close
contact with the gay world by a visit from aunt Dorothy
Sylvester. She accompanied our mother from London, where
38 MARY HOWITT.

the latter had attended Yearly Meeting. As they arrived late
one Seventh-day night, she was first seen by us children the
next morning, fashionably attired for church, which drew forth
the involuntary exclamation from one of us, “Oh! aunt, shan’t
thou be afraid of father seeing thee so smart?” We soon
perceived that he and our mother, whilst adhering to their rule
of life, did not obtrude it on their visitor.

They offered her the best that their house contained, and in
her honour gave little entertainments to ‘« worldly people” of
their acquaintance. She was driven by my father to all the
pleasant places in the neighbourhood; into the forest, now in
its progress of demolition, where at the royal lodges occupied by
his acquaintance they were hospitably received. For myself, I
only remember being taken on one of these excursions; and
this was to Ingestre.

I have already said that my father was constantly employed
by Lord Talbot. This was Charles, the second Earl of that
name, who, holding serious views and greatly respecting my
parent, had long conversations with him about Friends, their
principles and peculiarities, and accepted from him Clarkson’s
“Portraiture of Quakers.” My aunt was very handsomely
dressed, and I in my best. My father would never allow Anna:
and me to wear white frocks; but to go to meeting in summer
we might have little thick white muslin tippets. In such a
cape, precisely like those still worn by some charity-children, a
plain little bonnet, a print frock, the pattern so small as to
produce merely a grave, sober colouring, with sleeves to the
elbow, and opened behind, showing my drab calamanco
petticoat; mits covering the arms, and shoes high on the instep
like those of boys, though women and girls wore boat-shaped
shoes—behold me arriving at Ingestre.

My father seemed quite at home at the Hall. Lord Talbot
received him with kindness, and whilst they remained together
my aunt and I were conducted by a servant to a magnificent
room, where an elegantly attired lady welcomed us. Next we
were led to another handsome apartment, where a splendid
dinner was served. Lord Talbot was then with us, and my
father, and all seemed very cheerful. Afterwards our host sent
for his little son, Viscount Ingestre, then five years old, to make
my acquaintance. I was dreadfully shy, and my aunt, doubtless,
VISIT OF AUNT SFYLVESTER. 39

was very, much ashamed of my country breeding. But the
little Lord was polite and gentle, and so by degrees I overcame
my self-consciousness, and talked comfortably with him at a
distance from the others.

‘We must have been some hours at Ingestre, and returned
home delighted, bringing with us an immense mass of green-
house flowers, amongst which were some splendid geraniums
—a plant, I believe, just then introduced—a large bunch of
hoja, the Carolina allspice, and the lemon-scented verbena. I
mention these flowers because they were all new to us; and this
lemon-scented verbena became so connected in my mind with
Ingestre, that I never saw it even when a woman grown, and
when life had produced many richer experiences, without its
recaliing the memory of my childhood, and that long, long
passed away visit.

At length our aunt’s stay came toa close, and a farewell
party was given, at which a tall thin lady was introduced to
our sober family circle as our aunt’s travelling companion to
London. How her mincing ways, sentimental drawl, and her
gauzy transparent costume astonished us children! We ap-
proved of our aunt’s appearance, her stately form being set off
by her rich silk gown and elaborate turban of gold tissue.
Nevertheless, we were most of all impressed by our mother’s
calm self-possession, and the quiet grace with which she main-
tained, in her modest attire, her peculiarities as a Friend.

Let me describe our mother as she was in those days. Not
handsome, but of a singularly intelligent countenance, well-cut
features, clear grey eyes; the whole expression being that of a
character strong and decisive, but not impulsive. She was of
middle height ; her dress always the same. The soft silk gowns
of neutral tints of her wedding outfit were carefully folded
away on the shelves of her wardrobe, for her husband disap-
proved of silk. She wore generally a mixture of silk and wool,
called silkbine, of a dark colour, mostly some shade of brown.
The dress, being made long, was worn, even in the house,
usually drawn up on each side through the pocket-holes; the
effect of which was good, and would have been really graceful
if the material had been soft and pliable, but the thread of both
silk and wool was spun with a close twist, which produced a
stiff and harsh fabric. A thin double muslin kerchief covered
40 MARY HOWITT.

the bust. Her transparent white muslin cap of the ordinary
Quaker make was raised somewhat behind, leaving the back
hair visible rolled over a small pad.

In the November of the year 1806 a great event occurred—a
baby sister was born, and called Emma. We had hitherto
been two sisters; now we were three. Our astonishment and
delight over the sweet little blue-eyed creature were un-
bounded.

In the following May our old grandfather quietly passed away,
in his eighty-third year, and was laid to rest in the green grave-
yard by the silent meeting-house.

A twelvemonth passed, and fresh surprises awaited us. One
summer First-day, at the close of afternoon meeting, our
parents were mysteriously summoned from the meeting-house
door to visit our father’s old half-brother, Joseph, whom, as he
had been a confirmed invalid for many years, we children had
never seen. An hour later we were fetched from home, and
taken for the first time into a large gloomy house, along mys-
terious passages into a dimly-lighted chamber. Our parents
were sitting there in solemn silence on either side of an arm-
chair, in which reclined a large-limbed, but fearfully emaciated,
pallid old man. We were taken up to him. He spoke to us
in a feeble, husky voice; then, like an aged patriarch, placed
a trembling hand on each of our heads and blessed us. We
were then quietly led away, our parents remaining with him.

The next morning we were told that our uncle Joseph had
died in the night. Again, a few mornings later, on July 9,
1808, we were told that a little brother had been born to us in
the preceding night. In the midst of our amazement and yet
undeveloped joy arose the question within us, ‘ Will our
parents like it?” for we had the impression that they never
approved of boys. The doubt speedily vanished, for their in-
fant son, who was named Charles, was evidently their peculiar
pride and delight. Under these circumstances, surely there
was no family in the county that was happier than ours.

Anna and I almost lived in the nursery, as we were devoted
to our sweet little sister Emma, and our new treasure, baby
Charles. The nursery, too, was one of the most cheerful
rooms in the house, furnished with every suitable comfort and
convenience. A light and rather low window looked over the
A JUVENILE LOVE-LETTET. 41

whole neighbourhood; there we sat for hours. Rhoda, the
highly respectable nurse who had been engaged for Charles,
was a new and interesting character to us. Her parents dwelt
in the market-place, and she told us she had seen the bull-
baiting there every year. It was a horrid, cruel sight, which
we should never have thought of witnessing, and our father
had tried year after year to put a stop toit But Rhoda’s de-
scription was like a traveller’s account of a bull-fight in Spain:
you disapprove, but read the narrative. Then she had her
own books, which she lent us, ‘‘ The Shepherdess of the Alps ”’
and the “ Arabian Nights,’ over which, as a matter of course,
we sat hour after hour reading with unwearying wonder and
delight. We, in return as it were for her good offices, brought
up into the nursery for her to read the best books we knew of,
namely, the “Life of Madame Guyon” and “Telemachus.”
The former work was our favourite, from the glimpses it gave
us of what our father termed the “dark ages of Popery.” I
question whether Rhoda attempted either of them. Her head
was full of private interviews with secret sweethearts. She
wrote her love-letters, and we children must write ours.

I do not think that Anna, who was a year and a half older
than I, was bewitched by the sorceries of this dangerous youny
woman ; but I was so far captivated by her talk, that I wrote
a letter about love and marriage at her dictation. When I
think of myself, the simple child of nine, brought up, as my
parents believed, in perfect innocence, my soul so pure that an
angel might inscribe upon it words direct from the Holy Spirit,
I feel the most intense compassion for myself. Poor child!
Nanny had already dimmed the brightness of mv young spirit’s
innocence; now came another tempter, and whilst our parents
slept, as it were, sowed the tares and the poison seed in the
fruitful soil of my forlorn soul. ‘Madame Guyon” lay on a
shelf in one of the nursery cupboards, and between the leaves
Rhoda laid my unholy letter.

All this had totally passed out of my mind, when one First-
day, after dinner, my father inquired for the “ Life of Madame
Guyon.” It was immediately brought, and he, dear good man !
sat down to read it before going to afternoon meeting.

My heart aches to think of the dismay and the astonishment
of sorrow that must have filled his soul when he came upon
42 MARV HOWITT.

the evil paper in my child’s handwriting. He himself had
taught me to write, and this was the fruit of that knowledge.
What length of time elapsed after this painful discovery, he
and my mother sitting together in grieved consternation, I can-
not say. Summoned to their presence, I went down without
fear or anticipation of evil. I was confounded by the revela-
tion of my enormous ill-doing. Alas! poor father and mother,
their sorrow was very great, yet not much was said. It was
now time for afternoon meeting, and we must all go.

I suppose I felt something as our first parents did when God
called to them in the garden. But, strange to say, I do not
think I regarded my offence as the enormity my father and
mother did. I was both ashamed and afraid; nevertheless, I
had not written those evil, idle words out of my own heart, but
at the dictation of another, and with small knowledge of what
their meaning implied. A sad silence and solemnity lay on
my parents’ countenances; they did not, however, inflict any
punishment. I was neither degraded nor humbled, only bitterly
ashamed,

A Baptist minister, of the name of Stephen Chester, and his
family were my father’s tenants in the house adjoining our
dwelling. With them lived a most excellent, highly culti-
vated lady, a Mrs. Parker, or Mary Parker, as she was called
in our Friendly fashion; a woman of rare intellect and the
highest endowments. She hada day-school of five-and-twenty
or thirty girls, and my parents held her in high esteem.

That very First-day evening, I believe, whilst their minds
were still agitated with irritation and sorrow, they requested a
visit from her. They laid the whole affair before her. She
advised that first and foremost we should be removed from
the influence of servants. I think, too, that she must have
seconded their own hope that I was but the instrument, and
that, like a parrot, I had been made to repeat the offensive
words without knowledge of their import. It was her advice
to make no great matter of this ugly affair. Let it be for-
gotten ; only guard against any further fall and all further in-
fluence of evil. It was the conviction of their own minds.

It was arranged that we should become Mrs. Parker’s pupils.
My father, still faithful to his idea of separation as a safe-
guard from evil, stipulated that we should sit apart trom the
PUPILS OF MRS. PARKER. 43

other girls, have no intercourse with them, and that she, the
head of all, should have an especial eye upon us.

A happy, pure, and beneficial period now began for us. I
was never reminded of my late offence. If my parents and
teacher forgot it, so I might have, if the fidelity of my memory,
and the knowledge both of good and evil which grew and
developed as years advanced, had not kept it alive, and inter-
preted it like the words “‘ Mene, mene,” on the wall. In the
meantime the beautiful, lofty, and intelligible moral teaching
of our beloved instructress opened my eyes to the loveliness of
purity, the infinite richness of Nature, and so led me up insen-
sibly to the Creator. Anna and I no longer mistook evil for
good or good for evil; and we soon began to perceive the dark-
ness and ignorance out of which we had come, and to rejoice in
the large, bright, glorious world of which we also were denizens.

Our parents, too, were satisfied with our behaviour and pro-
gress. We were exposed to no danger; in going and returning
we merely passed from our house to that adjoining. We sat
apart from the other girls, but were friendly with all. Amongst
various injunctions given when we commenced this school-life
was the one that we should always leave on the Saturday morn-
ing before the scholars were examined in the Church Catechism,
which concluded the week’s lessons. Nevertheless, either this
rule was relaxed, or the hour of instruction must have been
altered from our excellent teacher discovering our benighted
condition, and feeling it her duty to remedy it. We never
stood up with the class, but by means of listening to it
we first learnt by heart the Lord’s Prayer and the Ten Com-
mandments.

Happy would it have been for us had Mrs. Parker been
engaged from the first as our resident governess, and we com-
mitted entirely to her training for the next five or six years;
she living with us in the house, taking us walks, and nurturing
and cultivating those peculiar talents which afterwards became
developed through difficulty, and at the best only imperfectly.
It was a splendid opportunity for our training, spiritually and
intellectually, which was disregarded by our parents, who only
recognised Mrs, Parker’s tuition as a temporary expedient
until we could be sent to a Friends’ school.
CHAPTER III.
1809—1821.

We had not been a year under her tuition when the change in
our education came. Our governess was anxious to give up her
school and leave Uttoxeter; and my parents therefore decided
that we should immediately be transferred to the York school.
This seminary for girls enjoyed a high reputation in the Society.
It was, moreover, conducted by Ann Alexander, through
whose involuntary intervention my sister’s name had been
decided upon.

Ann Alexander, however, informed my parents that she
either wished to withdraw, or had already withdrawn, from the
oversight. She recommended most warmly that her little
namesake and her younger sister should be sent to a school
just commenced at Croydon by two young women-Friends,
Sarah Bevan and Anna Woolley, who had been educated for
tuition at York school, and were in every way well qualified.

We children had never heard of Croydon. Mrs. Parker
took the map of England and showed us where it was, above a
hundred and fifty miles off; then by what route we should go.
“How happy we should be at school,” she said, “with com-
panions of our own age; and what a pleasure and satisfaction
it would be to be able to improve ourselves more than we could
do at home!” We were very sorry that our schooling with
Mrs. Parker was over; it had certainly been the happiest,
most free and diversified portion of our young existences. Still,
she promised to write to us and never to forget us. There was all
the excitement of a journey to London before us, and our kind
friend and teacher suffered more, I believe, in the prospect of
the separation than we did.

How well I remember the garments that were made for us!
Our little brown cloth pelisses, cut plain and straight, without
plait or fold in them, hooked and eyed down the front so as to
avoid buttons, which were regarded by our parents as
JUBILEE OF GEORGE III. 45

trimmings, yet fastened at the waist with a cord. Little drab
beaver bonnets, furnished us by the Friend hatter of Stafford,
James Nixon, who had blocks made purposely for our ultra-
plain bonnets. They were without a scrap of ribbon or cord,
except the strings, which were a necessity, and these were
fastened inside. Our frocks were, as usual, of the plainest and
most homely fabric and make. Besides our small wardrobes
we had few possessions. Anna took with her Mrs. Barbauld’s
Hymns, as these praises of Creation and Nature were very
sweet to her; but when, amidst new scenes, she longed to read
those aspirations of a grateful and ad-
miring heart, she sought vainly for the
book in the contents of her trunk. It
had privately been removed by our
teachers.* I had with me Mrs, Trim-
mer’s “ Robins,”’ which was a source of
never-failing delight to me.

On the 24th of Tenth Month, 1809,
I being ten years of age, my sister a ~
year and a half older, we left home for
school, under our mother’s escort. Per-
haps our parents, in their unworldliness,
had forgotten that on the morrow, the
25th of October, all England was to
celebrate the fiftieth year of King
George the Third’s reign. Be it as
it may, we children knew of the ap-
proaching festivity, and were thereby
reconciled to the pain of leave-taking.
We were glad we should be travelling,
as in Uttoxeter we should have seen none or little of the
rejoicings. The greatness of our curiosity made us eager to
start; and as we drove through the outskirts of our town, by
Tutbury and its castle to Ashby-de-la-Zouch, where we had a
fresh post-chaise, and then on to Grooby Lodge, where we
spent the night, we had the delight of watching the busy pre-

 

ANNA BOTHAM AT CROYDON.

* In a report of the great Friends’ school at Ackworth for 1800 occur these
words:—‘‘The London Committee advised the introduction of Barbauld’s Hymns
and the ‘ Catechism of Nature;’ but the Country Committee rejected them as
unsuitable, and adopted ‘The Rational Dame.’’’ It was this Country Com-
mittee that had imparted their views to our Yorkshire teachers.
46 MARY HOWITT.

parations. Even our Quaker relatives, the Burgesses, we found
in a mild state of excitement in anticipation of the morrow.

Leicester, as we drove through it next morning, was all
agog—bells ringing, flags flying, huge bonfires kindling. The
jubilee had set the British population in motion, and the king’s
highway swarmed with peasants on foot and in waggons,
farmers in gigs and spring-carts, gentlefolks on horseback and
in carriages. All were dressed in their best, and sporting blue
and red ribbons. In this town, bands of music were heading
processions of school-children, militia-men and clubs were
marching to church or chapel; in the next, oxen and sheep
were roasting in the streets, and big barrels of ale were tapped,
or ready to tap. Here, divine service being over, the congrega-
tions streamed out to feast: there, a smell of roast beef
and mutton pervaded the inn, where we halted; with a
hurrying to and fro, a clatter, laughter, singing, and hurrah-
ing that was deafening. On we drove through villages and
towns, where the lowest class, including the paupers, were
being entertained at long tables in the open air, the families of
the squire and clergyman looking on all smiles and good-
humour. As the day advanced the madder grew the revel.
We felt as if we were out to see the fun. Horses and chaises
were not always ready at the towns where we expected relays,
and as we waited people in their turn eyed us—the pleasant-
looking Quaker mother and her two quaintly-dressed little
daughters overflowing with ill-suppressed wonder and merri-
ment.

During the evening the sight of drunkenness and sound
of quarrelling, although accompanied by strains of the in-
cessant music, somewhat damped our mirth. But it rose
again as we entered Dunstable, our night-quarters. The
effect was magical. One vast blaze of light, great “G. R.’s”
shining forth everywhere, with a dazzled and enchanted
sea of spectators. The gentlemen of the neighbourhood had
dined at our inn, and a grand ball was about to begin.
The obliging landlady led us to an upper gallery, whence we
could look down on the arrivals, Our mother, who accom-
panied us, even permitted us to watch the opening dance.
Perhaps she herself enjoyed this glimpse of the gay, moving
scene, for she did not reprove me when, overcome by the day’s
AT SCHOOL IN CROFDON. 47

excitement, by the music and flutter, I was seized with an un-
controllable fit of laughter.

The next day we were in London—London! How the very
thought transported us with joy and astonishment! But
London was not half as brilliant as Dunstable had been—was,
in fact, quite gloomy. Extinct crowns, stars and “G. R.’s”
blankly met our gaze, and whilst bearing evidence to the glory
that had been, suggested the ashes of a fire that had gone out,
or the wrong side of a piece of tapestry.

We dined in London, and in the afternoon proceeded to
Croydon. The house which Sarah Bevan and Anna Woolley
occupied was at the West End, and, I think, No. 2, and
opposite to the Rising Sun. It was at the entrance of the town
from London ; and, consequently we were no sooner in Croydon
than we were at our journey’s end.

We felt ourselves in a new world at school. I do not
remember that we were unhappy, or had any longings for
home. We were all in all to each other, and had been so
through the whole of our lives, and could give to each other
the comfort and sympathy we needed. But we very soon felt
we were different from those amongst whom we were placed.
Many indeed were the mortifications caused us as the children
of rigidly plain Friends out of aremote midland county brought
into the midst of London girls, all belonging to the same
denomination, it is true, but whose Quakerly attire and life-
experience were less precise, were even different from ours.
There were ten or twelve girls when we arrived. I believe the
number was to be limited to sixteen. We were the youngest,
peculiar, provincial, but Ido not think in general knowledge
we were behind the others. We seemed to them, however, to
have come from the uttermost ends of the earth; the very
word Uttoxeter was to them uncouth, and caused laughter.

Each girl had her fancy-work. We had none, but were ex-
pected by our mother to make in our leisure moments half-a-
dozen linen shirts for our father, with all their back-stitching
and button-holes complete. We had never learnt to net, nor
had we ever seen before fine strips of coloured paper plaited
into delicate patterns, or split straw worked into a pattern on
coarse net. Hach girl could do this kind of work. It was
one of our characteristics that we could do whatever we had
48 MARY HOWITT.

once seen done. Wecould hackle flax or spin a rope. We
could drive a nail, put in a screw or draw it out. We knew
the use of a glue-pot or how to paper a room. But fancy-
work was quite beyond our experience. We soon, however,
furnished ourselves with coloured paper for plaiting, and straw
to split and weave into net; and I shall never forget my admi-
ration of diamonds woven with strips of gold paper on a black
ground. They were my first efforts at artistic work.

We had also the great happiness of being allowed our own
little garden, which contained a fine holly-tree that belonged
exclusively to ourselves. If my sister had a passionate love
of flowers, I was equally endowed with a deep appreciation of
trees. The Scotch firs in our garden at home, the spruce firs,
arbor-vite, and Weymouth pine in a neighbour’s; the group
of tall poplars, which I never failed to see when sitting in our
silent meeting, had been my dear familiar friends from infancy.
Tt was splendid late autumn weather when we arrived at
Croydon, and I do not remember any beginning of winter. It
must, therefore, have been a fine season, enabling us to be
much out of doors. What a new pleasure we had in finding
skeleton ivy and holly-leaves under the alcove-shaped summer-
house at the end of the general garden! This delight, how-
ever, was soon stopped, as Mary M., who had the character of
being the black sheep of the flock, having spoken from the
summer-house to some young cadets of Addiscombe College,
that part of the garden was closed to one and all of us.

Brought south, and into proximity with the capital, we were
met at every point by objects new to our small experience,
whose beauty, grandeur, or perfect novelty stirred the very
depths of my child-soul. We had both of us an intense love
of nature and inborn taste for what was beautiful, poetical, or
picturesque. Our souls were imbued with Staffordshire scenery :
districts of retired farms, where no change came from age to
age; tall old hedges surrounding quiet pastures ; silent fields,
dark woodlands, ancient parks, shaded by grey gnarled oaks
and rugged, gashed old birch-trees; venerable ruins, shrouded
by the dusky yew. The calm of this old-world and primitive
scenery, together with the peculiar character of sunrise and
sunset, and of each alternating season, had profoundly affected
our feelings and imaginations. Now a fresh revelation came to
AT SCHOOL IN CROYDON. 49

both of us equally, but somewhat differently, so that I had best
confine myself to my own recollections.

Much that was attractive in our new surroundings, at the
sime time, troubled me, filling my heart with indescribable
sudness, and awakening within me an unappeasable longing for
T knew not what. It was my first perception of the dignity
and charm of culture. My impressionable mind had already
yielded to the power of Nature; it was now to feel and accept
the control of Art. Yet I was at the time, in my ugly, un-
usually plain Quaker garb, no better to look at than a little
brown chrysalis, in the narrow cell of whose being, however,
the first early sunbeam was awakening the germ of a higher
existence.

The stately mansions, with all their latest appliances of
luxury and ease——their sunshades, their balconies filled with
flowers, the graceful creepers wreathing colonnades, heavy-
branched cedar-trees, temple-like summer-houses half concealed
in bowery garden solitudes, distant waters, winding walks—
belonged to a new, vast, and more beautiful world. No less
interesting and impressive were the daily features of human
life around us. A hatchment over a lofty doorway, a splendid
equipage, with its attendant liveried servants, bowling in or out
of heavy, ornamental park-gates, would marvellously allure my
imagination. There was a breadth, fulness, perfectedness
around us, that strikingly contrasted with the restricted,
common, prosaic surroundings of the Friends in Staffordshire.

In our home-life Christmas had been of no account. It was
neither a season of religious regard nor yet of festivity. How
astonished were we, then, to hear the London girls anticipating
a great deal of pleasure and social enjoyment, with much talk
of Christmas good-cheer! We were familiar with plum-
pudding and mince-pies, but not with Twelfth cakes, of which
much was said, and which were to be brought back with them
after the holidays. To our astonishment, the school broke up
for Christmas, all the pupils going home except Ann Lury, of
Bristol, and ourselves. She received from her relativesa goodly
present of chocolate, Spanish chestnuts, and oranges, but we
had no box of seasonable good things.

Although the school management was extremely defective
and the tuition imperfect, there was an excellent custom of

E
50 MARY HOWITT.

making, during fine weather, long excursions of almost weekly
recurrence. At about eleven the pupils, attended by one of

-the mistresses, set out, the train being ended by a stout serving-
woman, who drew after her a light-tilted waggon containing
abundant provisions for our midday meal. So through Croydon
we went to the open country, to the Addington Hills, or as far
as Norwood—all no doubt now covered or scattered over with
houses: up and down pleasant lanes where the clematis, which
we only knew as a garden plant, wreathed the hedges. Now
and then we rested on some breezy common with views opening
far and wide. Sometimes we passed through extensive lavender-
fields in which women were working, or came upon an encamp-
ment of gipsies, with their tents and tethered horses, looking
to us more oriental than any similar encampment in our more
northern lanes.

Surrey breathed to Anna and me beauty and poetry, London
the majesty of history and civilisation. From the highest point
of the Addington Hills we were shown St. Paul’s in the
distance. It sent a thrillthrough us. Even the visits sanctioned
by our teachers to the confectioner’s for the purchase of Chelsea
buns and Parliament gingerbread enhanced our innocent en-
joyment.

Our stay at Croydon was prematurely ended by the serious
illness of our mother. After leaving us she had caught a
severe cold during a dense fog in London, which brought on
an illness that had lasted long ere danger was apprehended.
Then we were sent for. We returned home in the care of
James Dix of Leek, a Friend whom we had known from child-
hood. He was the Representative from the Cheshire and
Staffordshire Quarterly Meeting to the Yearly Meeting in
London, and took us back with him after the great gathering
had dispersed. Before our arrival at home a favourable
change in our dear mother’s condition had occurred. We found
her weak, seated propped up with pillows in a large easy-
chair, and suffering at times from a violent cough. Still, she
was advancing to an assured recovery.

In August of 1810 my sister was sent to a Friends’ school held
in high repute at Sheffield, but owing to an alarm of fever in
the town, was recalled in the depth of the winter. She then
remained at home, whilst my mother took me to the same
AT SCHOOL IN SHEFFIELD. 51

school the following spring. It was conducted by Hannah
Kilham, the widow of Alexander Kilham, the founder of the
New Methodist or Kilhamite Connection, by her stepdaughter
Sarah, and a niece named Ann Corbett, of Manchester ; all
Friends by convincement.

Hannah Kilham, an ever-helpful benefactress to the poor,
devoted herself to a life of active Christian charity. She
treated me as one of the older girls, I being tall for twelve,
and often took me with her in her rounds. Once she sent me
alone to a woman whose destitute condition so awoke my com-
passion as to induce me to bestow on her my last sixpence,
with the hope uttered, “ May the Lord bless it!” This was
followed by self-questionings whether by my speech I had
meant in my heart that the Lord should bless the gift to the
sufferer or to me—then penniless. Another time, at nightfall,
she made me wait in a desolate region of broken up ground
and half-built, ruinous houses while she visited some haunt of
squalor. It seems strange that a highly conscientious woman
should leave a young girl alone, even for a few minutes, in a
low, disreputable suburb of a large town. But she was on what
she felt to be her Master’s errand, and I doubt not had com-
mitted me to His keeping; for whilst I was appalled by the
darkness and desolation around me, I saw the great comet of
the autumn of 1811 majestically careering through the heavens,
and received an impression of Divine omnipotence which no
school teaching could have given me.

Sheffield never affected me as Croydon had done. The only
point of extraneous interest was the fact that the way to
meeting led throught the Hart’s Head and over the doorstep
almost of the office of the Iris newspaper, making me hope, but
in vain, to catch a glimpse of the editor, James Montgomery.
Hannah Kilham had advocated with him the cause of the
climbing-boys, as the juvenile, much-abused chimney-sweeps
were then called ; and we had in the school the complete set
of his poems. I greatly admired them, particularly “The
Wanderer in Switzerland,” and he was one of my heroes.

It was at Sheffield that I grew painfully conscious of my
unsightly attire. The girls had, for fine summer Sundays,
white frocks, and sometimes a plain silk spencer. I had nothing
bat my drab cotton frock and petticoat, small Friend’s bonnet

E2
52 MARY HOWITT.

and little shawl. On week-days, when they wore their printed
frocks, I could bear it; but First-days were bitter days to me.
There was no religion to me in that cross; and I rejoiced that
the trying, humiliating day only came once a week, when I had
to appear in the school-train, marching down to meeting, the
one scarecrow, as it appeared to me, of the little party.

In 1812 I left this school, which was some years later dis-
continued. When the general peace came the benevolent
Alexander of Russia visited England, and admiring the prin-
ciples and usages of Friends, determined to employ members of
the Society in his schemes for improving the internal condition
of his Empire. This led to Sarah Kilham accompanying the
family of Daniel Wheeler, when, in 1818, he emigrated, by
invitation of the Czar, for the purpose of draining and culti-
vating land on the Neva. Her stepmother, in 1823, went as a
missionary to Senegambia, in the company of two men-Friends,
John Thompson and Richard Smith, taking with them Mate-
mada and Sandance, two natives of Africa who had been
redeemed from slavery by Friends and educated in England.
From the intense heat of the tropical climate, the difficulty of
communication by land and water, and other impediments, the
missionaries had much to bear. Debility and sickness ensued,
and my former schoolmistress returned home to die.

Richard Smith remained in sole charge of their little estab-
lishment, labouring with inconceivable fortitude and patience,
but after a few months of incessant toil and suffering he sank a
victim to the climate, and died July, 1824, aged forty. He
was a native of Staffordshire, and a convinced Friend, who
occasionally attended Uttoxeter meeting; and we girls had
little idea of the love of God, thirst for souls, spirit of self-
sacrifice, and other Christian virtues which were hidden under
his strange and, to us, forbidding aspect.

Before he embarked for Africa he came over to our house to
take leave of my parents and sisters. Silence being the rule of
his life, he walked into the parlour, sat in stillness with the
members of the family for twenty minutes, rose up, shook
hands with each, and so departed without uttering a word.

I must here briefly mention a circumstance which produced
on Anna and me an effect similar to a first term at college on
the mind of an ardent student. It was her visit with our
A VISIT TO SOUTH WALES. 53

mother to relatives and friends in Wales, an effect which was
as vivid and lasting on me as if I had accompanied them. It
happened in the late summer of 1813. From Birmingham the
journey to Bristol was made in a stage-coach, where, after being
closely packed in the inside with our mother’s old friend, Evan
Rees, two other Quakers, Thomas and Sarah Robinson, bound,
like themselves, for Swansea, and a sixth passenger, they
arrived, after a long day, at midnight. The intention had
been to proceed immediately by packet; but owing to contrary
winds, they were detained for three days in Bristol, our mother,
Anna, and Evan Rees being entertained the while under the
hospitable roof of the Gilpins. Charles Gilpin, afterwards the
well-known M.P., was then a little boy just running alone in a
white frock. Joseph Ford, an old Friend, who considered it his
duty to act as cicerone to all strangers, members of the Society,
visiting the ancient city, kindly conducted them to St. Mary’s
Redcliff, in memory of poor Chatterton; to the Exchange, Clifton
—very unlike the Clifton of to-day; down to St. Vincent’s rocks
and the banks of the Avon, where they picked up Bristol
diamonds, which Anna brought home with her.

At length they went on board, but the wind remaining due
west, instead of reaching their destination in twenty-four hours,
they were tossed about for three whole days and nights. Not-
withstanding the attendant fatigue and discomfort, Anna saw
and enjoyed the rising and setting of the sun at sea, the gulls
and other marine birds, the moonlit nights, the phosphoric light
on the vessel’s track—all new and wonderful sights to a girl
from the Midland Counties.

At Swansea they parted from their three Quaker companions,
and a life of liberty began for Anna, At our relatives’, the
Sylvesters, there was no longer any restraint in talk and
laughter. Our uncle was jovial, witty, and clever in general
conversation. Our aunt, who was always well dressed, was
affable, and set every one at ease. Charles, our frank, manly
cousin, of eighteen, and his young sister, Mercy, were most
cordial.

The first week was spent in receiving calls from our mother’s
former acquaintance and from those of our aunt, who came out
of compliment or curiosity to see the Quakeress. Then followed
the return calls. It was a bright, free, gay existence, and my
34 MARY HOWITT.

sister enjoyed it. The visit to our mother’s intimate friend,
Anna Price, then a widow, living no longer at F. ulmouth, but
at Neath Abbey, with her six grown-up sons and daughters,
left still more golden memories. There was in the polished
circle a freedom of intercourse which was cheerful, even mirth-
ful, tempered by the refinement of a high intellectual culture.
Quakerism had never worn to Anna so fair an aspect.

Christiana, the second daughter, took the young, inexperienced
guest into her especial charge, and when walking with her in
the beautiful grounds, most tastefully laid out amongst fine
monastic ruins by the eldest son, Joseph Tregelles Price (who
was, I believe, several years later, the first to intreduce steam-
navigation between Swansea and Bristol), she answered all her
timid questions, and even anticipated her desire for knowledge.
Edwin Price, who died at the early age of twenty-three, often
joined them in these walks, spoke on literature, and recom-
mended for perusal Rollin’s “‘ Manner of Studying and Teaching
the Belles Lettres,” which was just then engaging the atten-
tion of himself and his brothers and sisters—all lovers of
literature. The young Prices were admirers of Dante, Petrarch,
and Spenser, of whose works Anna and I were ignorant. They
later fell into our hands, and we devoured them eagerly.

Deborah, the eldest daughter, edited the Cambrian, a perio-
dical that dealt with all subjects connected with the ancient his-
tory, legends, and poetry of Wales—the subjects, in fact, which
later gave such value to Lady Charlotte Guest’s ‘‘ Mabinogion.”
She was engaged to Elijah Waring, a Friend of great erudition
and fine taste, then visiting at Neath Abbey. They became
the parents of, amongst other gifted children, Anna Letitia
Waring, the authoress of —

‘+ Father, I know that all my life
Is portioned out for me,”

and other beautiful and favourite hymns; a patient sufferer,
content, without much serving, to “please perfectly,” and
though filling what she might call “a little space,” having
love and respect bestowed upon her in no common measure.

A visit of a week or ten days to our uncle, William Wood,
at Cardiff, gave a bias to Anna’s mind which she never lost.
She acquired a permanent interest in parentage, inherited
qualities and characteristics, and the teachings to be derived
A VISIT TO SOUTH WALES. 55

therefrom, by listening to our Uncle William’s genealogical
conversations; for he was well versed in the family descent
and traditions, spoke much of our ancestors, Woods, Brown-
riggs, Annesleys, and Esmondes, and gave our mother some otf
the ill-fated Irish halfpence. His copy of “‘ Lavater’s Physiog-
nomic Fragments” introduced her to a new, somewhat cognate
field of study. She imparted the taste to me. We hunted out
Lavater’s work, in the possession of an Uttoxeter acquaintance,
and adopting the system, afterwards judged, rightly or wrongly,
of every one’s mind and temper by their external form.

Through this visit to Cardiff, Anna and I became first
acquainted with the romance of King Arthur. She had been
taken to Caerleon, and told there the grand old story of the
hero’s coronation at that ancient spot, of the knights who were
his companions, and the institution of the Round Table. Our
uncle, William Wood, seeing the interest which she felt in the
legend, gave her a printed account. It must have been brought
out by some Archeological Society, for it was a quarto, con-
taining fifty pages or so of large print. Caerleon figured in it
largely. We both became perfectly imbued with the glorious
historic romance, which never lost its effect on either of us.

Whilst at Cardiff an excursion was made one beautiful Sep-
tember day to the village-like city of Llandaff. Divine service
was being performed in the chancel of the ruined cathedral.
The cloisters and graveyard were fragrant with the scent of
thyme, sweet marjoram, southernwood, and stocks; here and
there bloomed monthly roses, the first Anna had ever seen
growing in the open air.

The Quaker mother and daughter t. travelled home by coach
through Newport by Tintern, catching a delightful glimpse of
the beautiful scenery of the Wye. From Monmouth to Glou-
cester they had for fellow-passenger a clergyman of the Church
of England. He spoke with our mother of the country, the
war with Napoleon, and finally of religion. She, full of intelli-
gence and earlier acquainted with much good society and fine
scenery, surprised him by her replies. He asked how she knew
so much. She answered, in a slightly aggrieved tone, “ By
conviction and observation.” After a pause he said apologeti-
cally, “I thought the Society of Friends was too secluded and
taciturn a people to interest themselves in worldly matters.”
56 MARY HOVTTT.

The episode resembled the stage-coach journey of the
Widow Placid and her daughter Rachel in the “ Antidote
to the Miseries of Human Life,” a religious novelette of that
day.

I must now return to the time when our school-life was sup-
posed to be over, and our education perfected. Our father,
however, was greatly dissatisfied with our attainments. Our
spelling especially was found defective; and though Anna, at
Croydon, when failing to spell “soldier” correctly, had the
spelling-book thrown in her face by the choleric Anna Woolley,
yet it was I who offended most in this way at home. Thomas
Goodall, the master of the only boys’ school in the town, was
engaged to teach us spelling, Latin, the globes, and indeed
whatever else he could impart. He was a man of some learn-
ing, who in early life, when residing in London, had been
brutally attacked in some lonely street or passage by a lawless
band of ruffians, the Mohocks. His face still bore the marks of
their violence, being scarred with deep wounds, as if made with
daggers and knives.

Death having deprived us of this teacher, a young man-
Friend of good birth and education was next employed to lead
us into the higher branches of mathematics. He made him-
self, however, so objectionable to us by his personal attentions,
that we very soon refused his instructions. Although we never
revealed the reason, our father, perhaps surmising it, allowed
us to have our own way, and being earnest students, we hence-
forth became our own educators.

We retained and perfected our rudimentary knowledge by
instructing others. Our father fitted up a schoolroom for us in
the stable-loft, where twice a week we were allowed to teach
poor children. In this room, also, we instructed our dear little
sister and brother. I had charge of Emma, and Anna of
Charles. Our father, in his beautiful handwriting, set them
copies, texts of Scripture, such as he no doubt had found of a
consolatory character. On one occasion, however, I set the
copies, and well remember the tribulation I experienced in con-
sequence. I always warred in my mind against the enforced
gloom of our home, and having for my private reading at that
time Young’s “ Night Thoughts,” came upon what seemed to
me the very spirit of true religion, a cheerful heart gathering
SELF-CULTURE. 57

up the joyfulness of surrounding nature; on which the poet
says—

“Tis impious in a good man to be sad.”

How I rejoiced in this!—and thinking it a great fact which
ought to be trumpeted abroad, wrote it down in my best hand
as a copy. It fell under our father’s eye, and sorely grieved
he was at such a sentiment, and extremely angry with me as
its promulgator.

When the summer days were fine and the evenings warm,
we carried the school-benches into the garden, and thus did our
teaching in the open air, on the grass plat, with borders of
flowers and trees round us.

We were very busy girls, and had not through the day an
idle moment. Our mother required us to be expert in all
household matters, and we ourselves took a pride in the internal
management being nicely ordered. Our home possessed a
charm, a sense of repose, which we felt, but could not at the
time define. It was caused by our father’s correct, purified
taste, that had led him to select oak for the furniture, quiet
colours and small patterns for the low rooms. The houses of
our neighbours displayed painted wood, flaming colours, and
large designs on the floors and walls.

I feel a sort of tender pity for Anna and myself when I
remember how we were always seeking and struggling after
the beautiful, and after artistic production, though we knew
nothing of art. Iam thankful that we made no alum-baskets
or hideous abortions of the kind. What we did was from the
innate yearnings of our own souls for perfection in form and
colour; and our accomplished work, though crude and poor,
was the genuine outcome of our own individuality. Before
speaking of some of these efforts I must mention a style of
ornamentation which influenced our minds as the A. B. C. book
of classic form and beauty. I refer to the paste or plaster
decorations of mantelpieces which were made in Uttoxeter,
although the taste for them had decreased. They were round
or oval medallions let into wooden mantelpieces, which were
mostly painted white ; there were also border ornamentations,
the design often floating nymphs bound together by chaplets of
flowers, festooned from point to point with lovely medallions
58 MARY HOWTTT.

and trophies. These elegant designs were perfectly classic,
exactly in the style of Flaxman and Wedgwood.

Kindred to these chimney-piece decorations was the Wedg-
wood ware. The black Wedgwood inkstands and teapots, with
their basket-ware surfaces, were in almost every house. The
delicate blue vases and jugs, with their graceful classical
figures, were less common. These we greatly admired, and
borrowing one now and then from some friendly acquaintance,
made in a very humble way a replica of the figures. To do
this we took the thickest and finest writing-paper we could
obtain, and laid it in boiling water, so that it became a pulp.
Pressing the water out of it, we applied the soft paste-like
paper carefully over the design, and leaving it to dry, we
obtained a clean, fair copy of the admired group or figure ;
often extremely perfect, and which, being cut round or oval,
made a sort of medallion, Of these we formed a considerable
collection, which caused us great pleasure.

Again, we very successfully etched landscapes; flowers, and
figures on pieces of glass. Although we could make no use of
them, they might very well have furnished panes for a case-
ment. We also made transparencies simply by different thick-
nesses of cap-paper. The best that I remember was after an
engraving of Tintern Abbey.

In the summer of 1815 came the news of the battle of
Waterloo, and with it terminated the long war with France,
a time of conflict that had cast slant shadows over our child-
hood.

The great adversary of England was not spoken of as Buona-
parte, but Napoleon, and many religious persons, our father
probably amongst the rest, thought that he was the Apollyon,
the man of sin, whose coming foretold the speedy approach of
the Last Judgment. Our father restricted himself to reading
one weekly newspaper, and did not communicate the contents
to us children, and yet from our infancy upwards we were aware
of the terrible war which became year by year more awful and
menacing. News of bloody battles, ending in glorious victories,
set the church bells ringing, and the tidings penetrated our
house. Fast-days were proclaimed every now and then, but
never being observed by our parents, remained unintelligible to
us, and became associated in my mind with our neighbour,
ALARM OF A FRENCH INVASION. 59

Stephen Chester, the Baptist minister, and the people who
attended his meeting-house, as we termed his chapel.

The chamber formerly occupied by our grandfather, but
now empty, adjoined our playroom. The window looked into
the street, and from it we eagerly watched the town lads play-
ing at soldiers, and even young recruits being exercised before
our house. The very air was full of soldierly, military excite-
ment, and terror. An excellent woman once nursed our mother
in an illness, whose husband was an English prisoner in France,
and now and then she received a letter from him, smuggled out
of the country, and arriving long after date. She dwelt in
Uttoxeter, and the advent of such a letter quite entranced us.

Our parents took little drives in the pleasant summer even-
ings, mostly one of us children going with them. They talked
together of the war, of fearful battles, the increasing price of
food, the distress of the poor, the increase of the army, of the
jails being filled with young men-Friends who were resolutely
determined not to serve in the army. The hatred and bitter-
ness against the French that rose up in our young hearts I
cannot describe. We were frightened out of our wits at the
prospect of an invasion ; but I remember consoling myself with
the thought, when driving through Lord Vernon’s park at
Sudbury, that at all events those frog-eating French would
marvel at such magnificent trees, because they could have
nothing like them in their miserable France.

For years I was thus the prey of a terrible anxiety, until at
sixteen this incubus ceased, and I began to breathe freely and
to take an interest in a new and prominent feature in the reli-
gious world.

It must have been in 1815 that our Uttoxeter Bible Society
became a branch of the British and Foreign Bible Society,
which had been established in 1804. To constitute it as such,
the Rev. J. Owen and the Rev. C. Steinkopff, two of the secre-
taries and founders, came to Uttoxeter and dined at our house
with Mr. Cooper, the clergyman of Hanbury, and an Indepen-
dent minister of Tutbury, who had compiled an “ Epitome of
the History of the Christian Church.” The Friend, William
Masters, who accompanied the two latter guests, repeated some
lines that had passed between the Dissenter and the Church-
man on the road, when seeing a windmill and a church.
6o MARY HOWTTT.

The Independent :—

‘* Yon turning mill and towering steeple
Proclaim proud priest and fickle people.’’

To which the Episcopalian replied :—

“ Yon busy mill and lofty steeple
Provide with grace and food the people.”

This was after some ready and witty remarks between the
two ministers at table concerning immersion and sprinkling.

A public Bible meeting was held in the Red Lion, with Lord
Waterpark in the chair ; and Anna and I were greatly puzzled
what attitude to assume when prayer was offered and the doxo-
logy sung. Large circulars were distributed through the
town, headed either with the royal arms or a portrait of George
the Third, and below was printed his Majesty’s desire that
every child in his kingdom should read the Bible.

Our father was a most zealous and steady supporter of the
Bible Society. This and other benevolent institutions brought
him in contact with pious and excellent individuals of various
religious denominations, amongst whom he ever behaved as a
most strict and consistent Friend. He never spoke of a chapel
any more than of a church—a word which he had a scruple in
using excepting in its highest spiritual sense. He never, how-
ever, like some ancient Quaker worthies, called it “the steeple-
house” or “daw-house,” but would say the “parish meeting-
house,” or in a half deprecative tone, “the church so called.”

The Methodists just about this time established themselves
in the town, and had built a large and what was then thought
a handsome chapel. Celebrated and eloquent ministers preached
oceasionally from its pulpit; and the Methodists altogether
made an impression in the town, more especially as they began
to count every now and then some important conversion among
the townsfolk.

They had first appeared in the neighbourhood in our grand-
father’s days, and this through a respectable family of the
name of Sadler, dwelling at the old Hall in the near-lying village
of Doveridge. These Sadlers were most earnest in the new
faith ; and a son named Michael Thomas, not then twenty, a
youth of great eloquence and talent, preached sermons, and was
stoned for it. Sir Richard Cavendish and the clergyman of
METHODISTS. 61

Doveridge countenanced their farm-servants and some rough
fellows who pelted both the boy-preacher and his listeners,
which caused Michael Thomas Sadler to write a stinging
pamphlet that was widely circulated. It shamed his persecutors,
and almost, I think, wrung an apology from them. The
ardent young man went to Leeds, which he represented later
in Parliament. On one of his visits to Doveridge he came to
Uttoxeter and called on my father, who greatly respected him.
His gentlemanly bearing, handsome dress, intelligent face,
and pleasant voice we thought most unlike the usual Uttoxeter
type.

John Wesley was not equal, in our parents’ opinion, to George
Fox; yet his followers formed a worthy Christian body, and
were less offensive than the state Church, from their demand-
ing neither tithes nor rates.

A new mortification and trouble had in the meanwhile come
into our lives, with the wearing of caps and muslin neckerchiefs.
The fashionable young Friend’s cap had a large crown, which
stood apart in an airy balloon-shape above the little head, with
its turned-up hair, which was seen within it, like a bird in a
cage. This was a grievous offence in our father’s eyes; our
caps were accordingly small and close-fitting to the crown,
which gave them to our undisciplined minds the character of a
nightcap. Dresses in those days were cut low on the bust, and
the muslin kerchief we were expected to wear, not being shaped
to the form, required much pinning and folding. Anna having
pretty, sloping shoulders, could wear her kerchief much more
easily than I mine, which tore with the pinning, and looked
angular in spite of all my pains.

In the autumn of 1815 or 1816 our parents went for a tour
in North Wales. We greatly enjoyed their absence. The
weather was stormy, and I remember our taking off our caps
and running in the garden with our hair flying, and a sense of
delicious freedom came to us as the wild wind lifted our hair.
The few leaves that were left on the apple-trees were sere and
blown about with every blast, and a few frost-touched apples
still hung on the boughs.

Susanna Frith, a young Friend, who was considerably older
than ourselves, and possessed independent means, much general
knowledge, and refined manners, was now residing with our
62 MARY HOWITT.

widowed aunt Summerland, also her near relative. Sym-
pathising with us in our insatiable love of reading, she came
constantly to see us during our parents’ absence, and read to us
some manuscript poetry of a pastoral character, which, as it
described the declining autumn, we greatly liked. Two lines
alone remain with me :—

“Tn this sick season at the close of day,
On Lydia's lap pale Colinetta lay.”’

We had a feminine love of dress, to which we gave vent in a
very innocent manner. We could not make pretty, fashionable
gowns for ourselves, as we should have liked; for we had only
one style cut from a permanent paper pattern. Our friend,
Miss Martha Astle, however, although poor, might wear a dress
in the height of fashion, and being no needlewoman herself,
whilst sewing was to- us second nature, we made two summer
gowns for her in the privacy of our own chamber. We could
not wear muslin collars, but we indulged ourselves by drawing
pretty patterns and embroidering them for Martha. Once she
went to the subscription ball, and what interest we took in her
attire!—a white muslin and green satin bodice, which we
thought elegance itself.

Oh! those balls given at the White Hart, the chief inn of
the town; what a trial they were to me! I confess to a
jealous feeling of repining that we likewise, beautifully dressed,
could not be conveyed in the one post-chaise of the town, which
I heard rapidly careering from house to house, bearing the
ladies to the ball, and have thus our share in the general enjoy-
ment. The wife of Squire Hodgson lent her private sedan-
chair to her intimate female friends; but to that honour I did
not aspire.

We took Martha Astle with us on our botanical rambles, for
we pursued the study of botany with the most ardent un-
deviating industry. She had no taste for it, but liked our
company.

We had been on terms of civility with the Astles from our
infancy. Martha was about our own age, and dwelt with her
mother, Jane Astle, as we called her, in lodgings. There was
also the husband, Captain Astle, who lived alone with the son
Edmund in another part of the town. “Daniel Astle,” in
THE VICAR’S LIBRARY. 63

Friends’ parlance, was one of the oddities of the locality; yet
he was a very clever man, had been an acquaintance of Dr.
Samuel Johnson, and was the artist of the sketch of the great
lexicographer and himself inserted in Boswell’s “Life of
Johnson,” edited by Hazlitt. Captain Astle, although trained
for the Church, had entered the army and served in America,
but was said by my parents, and every one else in Uttoxeter, to
have run away at Bunker's Hill and hidden in a pig-sty. The
very street-boys would shout at him, “ Bunker’s Hill, Bunker’s
Hill; run, the cannon-balls are coming.” This made him very
irate. He had on his return to England entered the Church,
and though generally called Captain Astie, was the incum-
bent of Bromshall. He never could read the lesson from
the Old Testament if it referred to the pathetic history of
Joseph and his brethren, the clerk performing that duty in his
stead.

Although our parents had usually next to no acquaintance
with the vicar of Uttoxeter, yet an exception was made in the
case of the Rev. Jonathan Stubbs, from his joining our father
in the attempt to suppress bull-baiting, one of the most popular
amusements of the wakes. He was a good and learned man,
who met with his death about 1812 in consequence of being
thrown out of his gig. The grief of his parishioners was great,
that of our parents no less sincere. My mother felt drawn, in
tender sympathy, to call on his afflicted widow, and took me
with her. When we were ushered into the room where Mrs.
Stubbs and her only child, little Jonathan, sat sorrowfully side
by side, and I found myself for the first time in the company
of a widow in weeds, it was to me a most solemn occasion.
What my mother said I know not, but she and the widow wept
together, and were ever after friends. And when our eager,
persistent system of self-education had begun, when we bor-
rowed books wherever we could, and spent many hours every
day and late into the night reading, Anna and I found Mrs.
Stubbs of the greatest assistance. She lived near us, and
retained her husband’s library of the classics, the best English
and foreign divines, and standard works on history and
topography. They were all beautifully arranged, “ready,” as
she said, ‘‘ for Jonathan, who was to be educated to walk in his
father’s footsteps. In the meantime the books were at our
64 MARY HOWITT.

service, with one proviso, every volume taken out must be
restored to its place.”

I can never sufficiently return thanks for the unrestricted
range of that scholar’s library, which not only provided us
with the hest books to read, but made us aware of the beauty of
choice editions—Tonson’s ‘Faerie Queen” and other important
works, handsomely bound in quarto and embellished with fine
plates, at which we were never tired of gazing, some of the
landscapes remaining in my memory still. Nor have I ever
forgotten Piranesi’s magnificent engravings of Rome, brought
from that city by the Evanses of Derby, and lent by them to
their friend Mrs. Stubbs.

Our father having been induced again to speculate, had done
so, fortunately for us, in partnership with Mr. Bell, the banker,
with whose two charming daughters, considerably older than
ourselves, we were permitted to be intimate. We loved Mary
Bell for her brightness and amiability, and we admired Dorothy
more particularly for the delicate beauty of her features. In-
tercourse with these superior and intelligent young women and
their parents was doubly an advantage and a comfort to us,
from our peculiarities as Friends never making any difference
with them, whilst they treated our craving for knowledge, our
love of flowers and all that was beautiful, as a matter of course.
They resided in a fine old house, where the Duke of Cumber-
land had been lodged and entertained on his way to Culloden.
The bed he had slept in remained in the tapestried chamber
he had occupied. From the shelves of the handsome well-
furnished library Mary lent us the first novel we ever
read, “Agatha; or, The Nun,” written by her cousin, Miss
Rolleston. Possessing the current literature of the day, the
Misses Bell supplied us with Scott’s metricai romances and
Byron’s poems.

It was from their maternal uncle, Mr. Humphrey Pipe, if I
mistake not, that we borrowed Dugdale’s “ Monasticon” and
Camden’s “ Britannia.’ These heavy volumes could not be
hidden away, like many borrowed books, in our pockets, and
thus being seen by our mother, afforded her the same intense
pleasure as ourselves, she spending many hours, I believe, in
conning their pages and in studying the grand illustrations of
the “ Monasticon.”’
“ THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.” 65

Our associate, Susanna Frith, lent us “ Elizabeth Smith’s Life
and Letters,” with a few similar works. She was a distant
relative of the Howitts of Heanor, and told us much of the sons,
especially of William, who possessed remarkable talent and
great learning.

In the winter of 1815—16 our cousin, Martha Shipley, was
married to our cousin, John Ellis, of Beaumont Leys, near
Leicester. They likewise were related, but not so closely as
to make the union objectionable to our Society. Before the
wedding an unusual event occurred, inasmuch as Anna and I
spent a couple of days with the bride-elect. During the visit,
launching forth into our favourite topic, poetry, she in response
took us into her bedroom, and producing out of a drawer from
between her shawls a small volume, read to us the “‘ Hermit of
Warkworth.” Fascinated by the delightful ballad, we likewise
procured it, but not without difficulty, and what appeared to us
a great outlay.

The Ellises, like the Shipleys, had never been on very inti-
mate terms with our family, from the elder members having
imbibed the old prejudice against our mother as proud. <A better
understanding was now brought about. In the early autumn
of 1817 Anna and I paid a delightful visit to our warm-hearted
cousin, Rebecca Burgess, at Grooby Lodge.

Going on First-day to meeting in Leicester, we thus saw and
were seen by the family at Beaumont Leys. They invited us
to their house, and the visit extended for weeks. Cousin Martha
had died the preceding January in giving birth to a little son.
The widower’s mother, a quiet, consistent Friend, kept his
house. His sister, Anne, a very agreeable young woman,
devoted herself to the motherless baby, Edward Shipley Ellis,
who, like his father, became in after years so prominently con-
nected with railways.

Cousin John Ellis and his intimate companion, a handsome
young man from the north, named Daniel Harrison, who was
to him as a brother, were, to our agreeable surprise, truly intel-
lectual, We became in consequence extremely communicative,
and many times since have I hoped that we girls did not make
ourselves absurd by our display of knowledge. We were deep
in history at the time, and soon perceived that in many branches
of the vast subject we were better read than they. Our cousin

F
66 MARY HOWITT.

John delighted in the acquisition of every kind of knowledge.
Daniel Harrison was especially fond of eloquence. He carried
in his pocket a little book, ‘The Constellation,” out of which
he enjoyed reading aloud fine passages. He was somewhat
troubled with religious doubts, warred desperately against the
eternity of punishment, and induced us to study Scarlett’s
«Translation of the New Testament,” in which “ age-lasting ”
is put for “everlasting.” It was a work that met with our
father’s disapproval.

Amongst the many subjects on which Anna and I expressed
ourselves very fully at Beaumont Leys was our low estimation
of the endowments and culture of ordinary young men-Friends,
amongst whom we had, be it said, would-be suitors. Anne
Ellis declared us mistaken, and mentioned some shining lights.
“ There was,” she said, “the young Irishman, Thomas Knott,
whose speech at a Bible-meeting at Southampton had been
printed and greatly admired. There was David Drape; but
neither of them equalled William Howitt. She had made his
acquaintance at an excursion of young Friends to Kenilworth,
after Warwick Quarterly Meeting. He was more than a
scholar—a born genius, and most agreeable.”

Her brother and his friend made merry at her eulogy of
William Howitt. We had, however, received a similar testi-
mony from Susanna Frith, and took her part.

The news of the death of the Princess Charlotte at Claremont,
on November 6, wrung the heart of all England. It was like a
thunder-clap at Beaumont Leys, where the young wife had met
with the same death ten months earlier. Our cousin John, who
for the last few weeks had astonished every one by his cheer-
fulness, bowed under the public sorrow as if it had been his
private grief. A gloom fell over the household. Cousin Anne,
Daniel Harrison, Anna, and I heard the funeral sermon deli-
vered on the occasion by the celebrated preacher and writer, the
Rev. Robert Hall, then pastor of the Baptist congregation at
Leicester. It was the first time I had attended other public
worship than that of Friends.

Again it was autumn, twelve months after our Leicester
visits, when William Howitt came to Uttoxeter to see his cousin,
Susanna Frith. We were delighted to accept her invitation to
meet him.
COURTSHIP. 67

He addressed us with great cordiality, and spoke in gratify-
ing terms of his desire to make our acquaintance, having learnt
much of our tastes and pursuits from his cousin.

Botany was the first intellectual topic on which Anna and I
ventured to open the treasures of our knowledge to our new
acquaintance. It was in a walk which he took with his cousin
and us that same afternoon. Crossing pleasant pastures, where
we had gathered in the spring the meadow fritillary, a peculiar
and beautiful flower, which this accomplished botanist told us
he himself had never found, we went by the banks of the sweet,
placid Dove to the old mill, where all around was peaceful and
picturesque. It is nearly sixty-seven years since that walk,
which comes back to me with such fresh, fragrant memories as
I write. Thanks be to the blessed Lord, the great Botanist, for
the simple, natural tastes which He had given me! It was the
first link in the golden chain of His providence which united
my life with that of one of the best and purest of men.

Before the close of the year I became the affianced bride of
William Howitt. He was six-and-twenty, and I nineteen. My
father, although he never allowed his emotions, or even his
affections, to evince themselves, to our surprise, almost laughed
when the important matter was settled, hiding his pleasure by
the remark, ‘It was all in the usual order! The young women
of Uttoxeter Meeting were always sought in marriage, those of
Leek but seldom.”

The tastes of my future husband and my own were strongly
similar, so also our mental culture; but he was in every direc-
tion so far in advance of me as to become my teacher and guide.
Knowledge in the broadest sense was the aim of our intellectual
efforts ; poetry and nature were the paths that led to it. Of
ballad poetry I was already enamoured. William made us
acquainted with the realistic life-pictures of Crabbe; the bits of
nature, life, and poetry in the vignettes of Bewick; with the
earliest works of Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Shelley; the first
marvellous prose productions of the author of “ Waverley,”
the Edinburgh Review, and other works of power and influence.
I say us, because Anna was, as it were, the very double of
myself, and shared in every advantage that came to me.

We had always enjoyed walking, but girls alone cannot
tramp the country as boys and men can. With William as a

F2
68 MARY HOWITT.

most delightful and efficient companion, we could enjoy to the
full the Arcadian scenery that surrounded us. We took him to
our favourite Alton Towers, that wonderful region of beauty
and romance, which was growing up year after year under the
Earl of Shrewsbury’s taste and religious ardour ; to the secluded
ruins of Oroxden Abbey; to the airy heights of the Weaver
Hills; to the ancient lordly oaks and birches of Bagot Woods ;
to the still more hoary fragment of nature’s antiquity, Chartley
Moss; to Tutbury and Sudbury.

It was a happy time, yet accompanied by some little clouds
and rufflings of the smooth current of daily life, which must
always be the case when strong characters are brought into
juxtaposition.

Opposition to my father was never thought of by his family,
which consisted entirely of submissive women, with the excep-
tion of his young son, who, strange as it may seem, had his will
in all things, and would, seated on the hearth-rug, laugh and
talk all sorts of boyish nonsense unreproved.

William’s family, on the contrary, consisted of but one female,
the mother; whilst the father and his six sons, who were not of
a rigid type of Friends, talked freely, laughed loudly, and main-
tained their own opinions, each differing more or less from the
rest. His character was fortunately aimable, unselfish, but full
of strong individuality, originality, and dislike to all coercion.
This caused him to examine and discuss every subject with a
freedom of thought and expression that surprised Anna and me.

I recall one First-day evening in the early days of our court-
ship—one of those long silent First-day evenings when we sat
with our books round the table; my mother looking weary, as
if she wanted her knitting, an occupation which beguiled many
dull hours on a week-day. My father was seated apart in his
arm-chair, with a candle on the mantelpiece shedding its light
on the pages that he was perusing in “John Woolman” or
“ Madame Guyon.”

Tt was in such a scene that I was shocked and startled by
William suddenly bursting out with, “ Mary, what is thy
opinion of the Godhead of Christ ?”

I knew not what to say. I had, in fact, never thought of it.
My mother looked up with a kind of quiet astonishment, My
MARRIAGE. 69

father closed his book, and remarked with solemn gravity of
tone, “We have nothing to do with such subjects, William.”

Had the latter attempted to argue the point, it would have
been felt a profanation—a touching of holy things with unclean
hands. Religious discussion was never heard in our family,
where the aim, as I have said, was to preserve the soul in
passivity for the divine inward revelation, which was not to be
subjected to the natural reason of man.

On the 16th of Fourth Month, 1821, we were married, I
wearing my first silk gown—a very pretty dove-colour—with
bonnet of the same material, and a soft white silk shawl. Shawls
were greatly in vogue, especially amongst Friends, and my
attire was thought very appropriate and becoming. For a
wedding-tour my husband took me to every spot of beauty
or old tradition in his native county—romantic, picturesque
Derbyshire.
CHAPTER IV.

MY HUSBAND'S NARRATIVE,
1792—1821.

I witt now impart to the reader some characteristic traits
and incidents which my husband wrote down of his family and
his youth, as they form a fitting prelude to the history of our
married life. He tells us :—

The Hewets dwelt ia the reign of Henry the Eighth on their
estate of Killamarsh, which was situated three miles from
Eckington and ten from Chesterfield. Of the two sons, William,
the eldest, went up to London, became an opulent mercer, and
dwelt at his shop on London Bridge. In 1547 the nursemaid
of his only child, Anne, when playing with the infant at an
open window, accidentally dropped her from her arms into the
Thames, flowing sixty feet below; but the prentice-lad,
Edward Osborne, leaping instantly into the river brought the
child safe toland. She grew up, and was given, with large
estates purchased by her father, then Sir William Hewet, in
marriage to her preserver. Osborne was knighted in 1582,
when Lord Mayor, and became, with his wife Anne Hewet, the
progenitors of the ducal house of Leeds. Sir William Hewet,
likewise Lord Mayor of London, whose name still survives in
his munificent charities, shines forth the one bright example of
prudence, industry, and benevolence; for the descendants of
his brother were, from generation to generation, a rude, jolly
carousing lot. The property of Killamarsh passed to the
Osbornes ; whilst the junior branch of Hewet, from whom I
am descended, obtained through marriage Wansley Hall, Not-
tinghamshire, and other estates. When dwelling at Wansley,
the family changed the name from Hewet to Howitt.

My great-great-grandfather, Thomas Howitt, married, in
1680, Catharine Charlton, only child and presumptive heiress
of Thomas Charlton, of Chilwell, Esq. Chilwell is a village a
few miles from Nottingham, on the Derby road, and the
CHARLTONS OF CHILWELL. qI

Charltons had possessed property there for generations. Thomas
Howitt, then of Eastwood, Wansley Hall being already sold, so
disgusted his father-in-law by his drunken, rollicking life, that
Mr. Charlton told his daughter, if she would consent to leave
her husband he would settle the estate upon her and her children.
The daughter refused to part from her husband, worthless as
he was; and the old squire, cutting her off with a shilling,
adopted Mr. Nicholas Charlton, a barrister, whose name he had
seen in a trial case, and left him his property. The prodigal,
thus suddenly ousted, did not seem to resent the intrusion of
the stranger in his place, for my father used to relate that the
disinherited man frequented the house of the new proprietor
at Chilwell.

The Charltons still flourish at Chilwell. The present squire,
Thomas Charlton, married a daughter of the late Mr. Walter,
proprietor of the Times. I well remember not only his father,
William Charlton, a captain in the Nottinghamshire militia and
county magistrate, but his grandfather, a colonel in the same
regiment, This Colonel Charlton came frequently to our house,
my father being the manager of a colliery at Heanor, the joint
property of Colonel Charlton and of Edward Miller Mundy
Ksq., of Shipley Hall, about a mile from Heanor, the moiety
of Mr. Mundy being leased to Colonel Charlton. He was a
well-bred county gentleman, easy and unaffected in his manners,
and, according to my conceptions as a mere boy, extremely well
informed. He would get me to read the newspaper to him,
correcting my pronunciation of proper names, which I uttered
as they were spelled ; “Strachan,” for instance, which I did not
give, as customary, “Strawn,” but as if spelled “Stratchan.”
He also strongly recommended me to read the works of Pope,
whose poetry, he asserted, was by far the most perfect in the
English language. To my father, “Tom,” as he always
familiarly called him, he was uniformly kind and even generous,
and always anxious “to make some reparation for the ‘injury
inflicted,” he said, “on you by your ancestor, not mine.”

The Howitts had continued by their jollifications to dissipate
their property, and the broad lands had fallen away piecemeal.
Younger sons had been rectors of Eastwood. They were
hunting, feasting parsons, persecutors of Quakers and other
religious vermin. In its turn Eastwood was sold, and the
52 MARY HOWITT.

Howitts, reduced by the extravagance of their roystering fore-
fathers, possessed hardly more than the roof. over their heads.

A spirit of thrift, economy, and sobriety came into the race
with my father, Thomas Howitt; and it wasa maxim with him,
that “a man who gives his children habits of truth, industry,
and frugality provides for them better than by giving them a
stock of money.” In 1783, when twenty years of age, he
was received into the Society of Friends at Codnor Breach
Meeting, in the county of Derby. Three years later he married,
at the same meeting-house, Phebe Tantum, only daughter of
Francis and Elizabeth Tantum, of The Fall, Heanor.

The family bearing the singular name of Tantum, the Latin
for “only,” is the only family that I ever heard of possessing
that cognomen. The first we know of is Francis, born in
1515, and dwelling in Loscoe, a neighbouring village to
Heanor. The Tantums were amongst the first to embrace
Quakerism, and that probably directly from George Fox, who
came preaching thereabouts in the days of the Commonwealth.

They resided for upwards of two hundred years at The Fall,
cultivating their own land. The estate which had derived its
name from the steep descent from the village, had considerably
diminished in course of time, and when my grandfather had
it, was reduced to a mile in length.

At the period to which my memory runs back, my grand-
father Tantum must have been near the close of his life. I
was only in my third year when he died; yet I have a vivid
recollection of him as a man of middle stature, but of substan-
tial build, dressed in a dark Quaker suit and broad hat, and
with gentle, kindly manners.

From my mother’s account of his character, he was decidedly
of an intellectual turn and poetical taste; and I have no doubt
that my brother Richard’s literary idiosyncrasy, as well as my
own, were derived from him. He occasionally wrote verses, but
they were rather satirical squibs on the follies of some of his
neighbours than any more ambitious attempts. His love of
the best English writers was intense, and furnished him with
the greatest enjoyment of his life. Addison’s « Spectator ”
was an immense favourite with him, and I still possess his
copy. He was very fond of Shakespeare ; of all writers, how-
ever, Milton was his admiration.
AELANOR. 73

About The Fall, which was an old grange, there were always
dogs and guns, for shooting and coursing appeared from time
immemorial to have been pursued with much gusto by the
Tantums; and my mother’s only surviving brother, Richard,
was in my boyhood the great sportsman.

Iand my three older brothers (Tantum, my parents’ first
child, died in his fourth year) were born in the same parish, at
Heanor Wood, the house of our paternal grand-parents; my
three younger brothers at the house my father bought, with
about thirty acres of land, in Heanor.

 

HOME OF WILLIAM HOWITT AT HEANOR.

This village of Heanor, the scene of my childhood, boy-
hood, and youth, is photographed, with every house, field, wood,
common, footpath, and dell, with the most absolute and
familiar distinctness, on my memory. Itis, in reality, dreadfully
metamorphosed by the increase of population and the dismal
devastation of smoky collieries. My memory only commences
at the house my father purchased. It was a rambling old place.
The portion of it looking up the sloping village street was
much more recent than the half overlooking the garden and
74 MARY HOWITT.

country. The view on the garden side was very airy and
pleasant. It included the ample vale of the Erewash, with
Eastwood, formerly the abode of our family, and its church
lying opposite on the hillside at two miles’ distance.

My paternal grandfather, William Howitt, died on Novem-
ber 6, 1799, when I was nearly seven years of age. I remem-
ber my father coming in greatly distressed, having just
witnessed his decease. He sat down on announcing the event
to my mother and gave way to a paroxysm of tears. I was
much affected by the scene ; and certainly moved by some in-
fluence beyond my childish mind, I went quietly away into a
distant room, got a chair, and reached up to a bookcase contain-
ing a large Family Bible. I took it down and carried it, asa
considerable load for me, into the room where my father was
sitting sunk in his grief. The book seemed to open almost of
itself, and I began to read the first words that caught my eye.
They were in the 14th chapter of St. John: “Let not your
heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in Me. In
My Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I
would have told you. I go to preparea place for you.” I was
carrying the book away, when my father stopped me, took and
opened it, and read the verses in evident astonishment. He
then said, “‘I was not aware there were such words.’”’ He dried
his tears and seemed wonderfully comforted.

My mother was one of the most truly pious and affectionate
women that ever lived. Wherever there was distress her
immediate desire was to relieve it. At home the love of her
children was ever lively, ever on the watch for their welfare
and comfort. Amongst the poor she was a general mother.
In all their troubles and sicknesses, night or day, she was the
first person who came into their thoughts and for whom they
sent. Very little ghostly comfort was to be derived from the
clergyman, and till the Methodists got a strong footing in the
parish, she was the only person to whom the villagers could
have recourse on their beds of sickness or death. But no
friend could they have on such occasions who could more
sincerely strengthen and encourage them. She had the most
fervent love of the Saviour, the most profound faith in Him and
in His promise that whosoever came to Him He would in no wise
cast out. She would read to them from the Gospel the most
PHEBE HOWITT. 75

beautiful instances of Christ’s all-embracing regard for His
people. The lost, the erring, the long-time denier and rejecter
of Him, she showed them, were still welcome to Him. His
pardon had no narrow limits, His love no scantiness ;_ these
were infinite, like all the Divine attributes; and the inimitable
parable of the Prodigal Son showed that God was ever ready
not only to forgive the most abundant sin, but to run to meet
and welcome back the sinner, when he came home truly
penitent. Great was the solace of her constant declaration that
Christ said that He came not to call the righteous but sinners
to repentance.

The blessing she was in the long-benighted parish it is not
easy to conceive. People of all sorts sent for her as freely, and
without any idea of apology, as they would send for any
minister or doctor whose duty it was to attend them. In the
most winterly nights she would be called up to people taken ill,
and often she had to go for a mile or more through the dark
solitary fields, crossing the single plank of the brook, or wading
deep through the miry lanes often in frost and snow, often in
deluging and pelting rain, or roaring and whistling winds.
Nothing could prevent her going. She would put on a thick
cloak and hood and strong shoes, and with her maid-servant,
Sally Wilton, equally muffled up and carrying a lantern, away
they went.

But though my mother was firmly convinced that Jesus
Christ was the certain and unchangeable Saviour of sinners,
she was the last to attempt to salve over unhealed wounds.
She was plain and uncompromising in her denunciations of the
hardened impenitent. Many a combat she had with the wicked
ones of the parish, and spoke thunder and lightning to them,
which often made them tremble.

Boyhood in the country! Paradise of opening existence!
Up to the age of ten this life was all my own, and I revelled in
it. My mind and faculties were so far expanded as to be
conscious of all the charms of rural life, and I took in
its pleasure and attractions in unlimited draughts. These and
succeeding years in the same scenes stamped on me for ever
an indelible love of Nature and all her objects, and an
intolerance of long abode in towns. Those early days and
habits modelled the whole of my existence, and exerted an
76 MARY HOWITT.

i

indomitable influence on my fortunes. With that charming
country all around me, I was as Adam in Eden. All within
that horizon had an attraction for me. I knew of no other
world, and therefore cared for nothing beyond.

I was allowed to range about very much at my own will, in
a manner at which I am now astonished. I wandered far and
wide, through fields, woods, and by streams, without any care
or fear. I haveno recollection of any of my brothers being my
companions in these rambles ; some of the village boys often
attended me, bearing the familiar names of Chicky Pig, Tom

 

ACKWORTH SCHOOL.

Spink, Ned Newton, and so forth. They were always under
my command, and each daring foat was left to me, such
as climbing the loftiest trees, scaling high walls and the
precipitous sides of stone-quarries after birds’ nests. My grey
pony, Peter Scroggins, and my white terrier, Pry, made a large
figure in my life. Peter I rode far and wide, and Pry was
always my attendant. I was finally sent to the great Quaker
school at Ackworth, near Pontefract, in Yorkshire. Though
the boys and girls occupied the opposite sides of the main
building, and had their schools in the opposite wings, during
play-hours brothers, sisters, and cousins were allowed to walk
together on the central pavement; and it was generally
AT ACKWORTH SCHOOL. 17

understood the bonds of relationship were pretty widely
extended on this common walk. The boys had gardens below
their wing, and a playground also behind, surrounded by
a wide colonnade, where they could resort in wet weather, and
where on a bench were ranged the boxes containing their books
and play-things. There was also a little field behind the main
building, to which the boys, and I suppose the girls, were
occasionally admitted for variety, but on different days. Thus,
though the children were not allowed to go out of bounds,
except once a month, for a long country walk, or for a
half-day’s play on the common, they had abundance of room
for exercise and amusement. Parties of boys, too, were
drafted off to work in the gardens in summer, gathering
peas, weeding, and the like. Others were selected to work on
the farm. These were boys who were from the country, and
knew something of agricultural labour. I was often one
of these detachments, the farmer, Samuel Goodwin, having
been at my father’s, and knowing my liking for such employ-
ments. In fact, the days thus spent out in the fields were to
me the most delightful of holidays.

The establishment had been originally a foundling hospital,
but not having answered, it had been bought ty Friends as a
school for a plain English education for all members of the
Society. In fact, we got there a very excellent English
education. We were well grounded in English orthography
and grammar; for our superintendent, Dr. Binns, had
published a spelling-book, and Lindley Murray, a member of
the Society, a grammar. There was also a succession of
reading-books, compiled by Lindley Murray, through which
we went; but that was about all. At that time provision for
teaching geography, history, or natural history was very
defective, or rather was non-existent. There was no attempt
to supplement arithmetic with mathematics or algebra. Neither
Latin nor French was taught. This was a great loss to the
children, and occasioned an awful waste of time. Since my
Ackworth school-days, however, the plan of education has
happily been much extended and improved. Long before
I left I had learnt all that was then taught, and used to spend:
a great portion of my school-hours in reading any books that I
could borrow; and these were all such as had undergone
78 MARY HOWITT.

a strict examination by the superintendent or committee of the
masters; and it may be supposed what was the Quaker rigidity
of this censorship when, long years afterwards, my “ Book of
the Seasons,” being sent to one of the boys by his parents, it was
taken away by the superintendent on the plea that it was “a
worshipping of Nature.”

Of the details of the life at this school, I have given a full
and true account in my “ Boy’s Country Book,” which isa real
transcript of my youthful life. Of many of the most striking
characters who then lived at Heanor and its neighbourhood,
and impressed themselves on my imagination by their
originality, independent humour, and oddities, I have also
written in various places.

I was about three years and a quarter at Ackworth. In
that period I acquired an intense love of reading, which always
remained with me, and wrote poetry, such as it was; some
stanzas on Spring being afterwards sent by my Tamworth
master to the Month/y Magazine, the same journal in which
Lord Byron’s first production appeared. This juvenile effort
of mine was given with my name and as written at the age of
thirteen. Somebody afterwards showed it me, to my great
surprise.

On returning from Ackworth I remained a short time at
home, resuming all my rural amusements and employments
with undiminished zest. I extended my miscellaneous know-
ledge by the perusal of the translations of Homer, Virgil, and
Horace, and of Fénelon’s “ Telemachus,” of the “ Spectator,”
and “ Guardian,” “ Pilgrim’s Progress,” “ Hudibras,” an edi-
tion with woodcuts, which I found most amusing. I had,
moreover, learnt the inhumanity of robbing birds’-nests, though
I never lost the admiration of their beauty, and even now am
fond of peeping into one and luxuriating on the loveliness of
their construction and of their eggs. I was soon after,
despatched to a Friends’ private seminary at Tamworth.

The master, Joseph Hudson, was a very young man, scarcely
older than some of his pupils. In his school were youths who
would be called to engage in business of considerable extent,
but I do not recollect any teaching likely to prepare them
efficiently for such occupations. One thing, however, was
taught, and which I most absurdly omitted to avail myself of,
AT TAMWORTH. 719

and that was French. Monsieur Bruno Hamel, a French émigré,
who kept a shop of sundries not far from the school, including
a good assortment of walking-sticks, canes, and fishing-tackle,
was the teacher, and was naturally anxious that I should join
his class. But my father had put it to my option, and, like a
young simpleton, [ declined! I thought to myself, “I am an
English country lad. I am not likely to go to France. I have
no inclination to do so. Why should I learn the language? ”
My resolve was one that I have severely rued ever since.

For the rest, that twelve months at Tamworth remains in my
memory as a most pleasant time. Our master, Joseph Hudson,
if he was neither anxious nor qualified to carry on our educa-
tion to any great height, was extremely desirous that we should
enjoy ourselves, and have abundance of healthy action. Again
the “ Boy’s Country Book” gives a perfect picture of our doings
there—our long walks in the bowery lanes of the country
round to distant villages and past old halls; our delicious bath-
ings in the Anker and the Tame; our nut-gatherings; our
visits with some of our schoolfellows, the Fowlers, to Alder
Mills, cotton-mills and pleasant villas inhabited by the Fowler
brothers, about a mile from the town ; Gemgate and Briggate,
and the old toffy-woman’s shop opposite to the school, and my
fishing from the bridge at the bottom of Briggate for perch
amongst the broad leaves of the water-lilies. These are all
living, delicious pictures, as it were, of a long-gone and other
life; with wanderings on the slopes of the old castle, all set
round with escutcheons of the Ferrers, Lords of Tamworth,
from the simple horse-shoe, the sign of the original profession
of the family, ferrieri, or smiths. But oh! that insane neglect
of French; it lies like a black spot amid all the boyish plea-
sures of that epoch.

Between leaving Tamwortb, when about fifteen, and going
out ’prentice at seventeen, I returned to rural occupations at
home. From my eldest brother Thomas, who was the principal
manager on the farm, I had contracted a taste for shooting and
angling. In the winter days we used to wade through the deep
snows of the fields, with one gun betwixt us, after redwing or
Norway thrushes, fieldfares, and now and then a hare or a
partridge, which then were neither so numerous nor so rigidly
watched over as now.
80 MARY HOWITT.

In our winter evenings we used to amuse ourselves with
“ fox-and-goose,” draughts and dominoes. Cards were inter-
dicted, and by Friends looked upon as devil’s books. We also
spent much time round the kitchen fire, where many a country
tale was telling, in making beehives of straw, sewing the rounds of
the straw together with split blackberry briars. We made mole-
traps also, and wove nets for bird-and-fish catching. Books
also we got, the “ Spectator,” in which Roger de Coverley, Will
Wimble, and the wanton widow doing penance by riding back-
wards on a black ram were never tiring favourites. ‘“‘ Robinson
Crusoe’’ and “Pilgrim’s Progress” had many a reading, feasting
our eyes on all their personages represented in the quaint wood-
cuts; so, too, Philip Quarles’ “Emblems.” The “ Eccentric
Mirror,” in several volumes, illustrated, in which all the
odd characters of various countries figured, was an immense
favourite.

But of all the books that ever fell into our hands, none had
so bewitching an effect as Winterbottom’s “ History of the
United States.” It was a book that fired us up to a spirit
of emigration, that, had we been as free to act as we were
willing, would have carried us over to America, and turned us
all into Republicans of the thoroughest grit. We were clam-
orous that our father should sell his property, take us over, and
buy a “wide, wide world” of his own—Howitt County at
least. In fact, had he taken our boyish advice, it would have
been the wisest thing he ever did.

Fond of rural occupations, I never had the idea of becoming
really a farmer. Indeed, I had no particular inclination for
any profession. How few boys have! My father began now
to say I must learn a trade. He had imbibed the notion of
Rousseau, that every lad, whatever his position, should be set
to learn a mechanical trade, so that, if everything else failed,
he could always get his bread by the labour of his hands. An
absurd idea, because it must take up a certain number of years
just at the time that a boy should be learning the profession,
to which, after all, he would have to devote himself; and
because such proper professions, in nine cases out of ten, would
be found amply sufficient to keep a man from absolute starva-
tion. In short, the case is so plain that the sophisms of Rousseau
have long fallen in this matter before common sense. Yet how
A VICTIM TO ROUSSEAU. 81

many men at that time suffered from them! JI had once
occasion to call on Mr. Davenport at Wotton Hall, Staffordshire,
where Rousseau had found a home when in England, and on
mentioning the name of Rousseau, Mr. Davenport said, “ That
is to me of all names the most odious, for I had the misfortune
to be brought up on his principles by my father, who was a
convert to his opinions.”

I do not believe that my father ever read a line of Rousseau’s,
but he had adopted his opinions from hearing them discussed
and applauded, probably in the Liberal newspapers, but more
probably by Colonel Charlton. Be it as it might, my father
was bent on carrying out Rousseau’s theory amongst his six
sons. It was thought that the profession of an architect or
builder would suit me. Heaven knows on what data or ideas
of my particular fitness for such a profession this conclusion
was arrived at. I had not the slightest fancy for such an occu-
pation ; I had not the slightest fitness for it. Calculation, so
necessary for an architect, was my aversion. In fact, I had
never seriously employed a thought on the future. All that I
knew was, that I was very fond of the country and of books.
Well, to be an architect, according to my father’s notions, I
must first be a carpenter. I might just as well have been a
bricklayer or a smith ; they are also mechanical trades, without
which houses cannot be built; and I have no doubt that it was
a mere chance that I did not commence life by wielding a trowel
or a sledge-hammer. Rousseau would have approved any of
the three.

My father was acquainted with a Friend at Mansfield, one
Richard Hallam, who carried on the mixed business of builder,
carpenter, and cabinet-maker. He had a great respect for him
as a man who had come into the Society by convincement,
according to the Quaker phrase; and it was arranged that
I should go thither for four years, é.e., till I was twenty-
one. I made no resistance. I had not the slightest inten-
tion of following any such business, and I went to this pro
tempore employment regardless of the awful waste of time that
it was.

Mansfield was a quiet old town, which formerly lay in the
heart of Sherwood Forest, the great haunt of Robin Hood and
his merry men, and the extensive remains of the forest still

G
82 MARY HOWITT.

came up near it. It was a place that, by its agreeable memories
and the spots and traditions connected with it, pleased my
poetical imagination and rural tastes. I went, therefore,
mechanically through my daily duties, and spent my leisure
hours in early mornings, long summer evenings, and on Sundays,
in rambling about and making myself acquainted with the local
amenities of the neighbourhood and their historic memories.
The forest, a vast waste of heather, undulating with hill and
dale, scattered with spreading oaks, and enlivened with clear
trout streams rippling away over bright sands—the whole region
was sandy—amongst freshest grass and flowers; the larks carol-
ling overhead, and the linnets of different kinds twittering and
singing in the gorse and broom; with here and there a wood,
such as Harlowe Wood, and a clear lake or dam, as that of
Inkersole, abounding with wild fowl, made it an enchanted
region to me, where I nursed my poetic feelings and left behind
me the real world as completely as Robin Hood and Little John,
Will Scarlet and Friar Tuck, had done there long before. Was
there not Fountain Dale, where Friar Tuck and Robin Hood
had their lusty encounter? Were there not ruins of a hermitage
still, by the Rainworth Water? Was not Newstead Abbey,
with the dawning fame of Byron already upon it, not more than
five miles dista: t, in the very heart of the forest ; and Annesley
and Mary Chaworth just beyond ?

On the road from Mansfield to Sutton-in-A shfield, which was
three miles distant, about half way was an old water-mill, cele-
brated as the scene of the ballad of the King and the Miller of
Mansfield. The actual mill of the ballad had long disappeared,
but this was also a very old mill standing exactly on the same
site, at the head of a great dam, and which brought back to the
mind the King riding up from the chase in Sherwood, where he
had lost his attendants, and the many adventures with John,
dubbed by the King Sir John, and with dame Cockle.

On another side of the town, at about a mile or a mile and a
half’s distance, was the village of Mansfield Woodhouse, its
name sufficiently indicating that it had ages ago been simply a
house in the woods of Sherwood Forest. The name of the place
was familiar to me from George Fox, always one of my greatest
heroes, having preached to the people from the churchyard, and
having been thrown by the mob, instigated by the parson, over
APPRENTICESHIP. 83

the church wall on to the road, and severely injured. There
was an old hall, once the property of the Digbys, with grand
old gardens, having old-fashioned alleys, quince and medlar
trees, and sundials, all things exciting my admiration. There
were also, not far distant from the village, in the fields, the traces
of a Roman villa. There were the foundations of walls, and
remains of tessellated pavements in highly coloured patterns,
retaining their original colour perfectly. No care, however,
had been taken by the proprietor of the field, or the archzo-
logists of the neighbourhood, to protect the remains, and the
people who had visited it had very much destroyed the pave-
ment by taking away some of the cubes.

When my twenty-first birthday arrived I had gained a good
deal of skill in a profession acquired only to be abandoned. I
received my indentures from my worthy master, accompanied by
commendations and good wishes, took my way homeward over
Sherwood Forest, and as I went, tore up the indentures and
scattered them on the winds.

I had now a new profession to select and acquire, but I felt
no urgeut haste, and my father felt none. I suppose he thought
he had discharged his duty towards me, and was content that
for a while I should work on the farm. Four of us six brothers
were at home; two were at school. Whole days from early
morning I used to spend in angling. Izaak Walton was become
one of my fanatically favourite authors, and thus angling and
sauntering along the banks of streams amid the grass and
flowers of spring and summer made my Elysium, as they made
his.

During the seven years betwixt my return from Mansfield and
my marriage, my whole time was not spent in rural labours
and amusements. I was constantly studying and continuing
my education. I devoted much time to the acquisition of
French and Italian. Of course, as I had no instructor, my pro-
nunciation must have been unique ; but my object was chiefly
to read the best works in these languages, and so far I succeeded
very well. I read many French authors, and procured from
Derby a pocket-set of the Italian classics, including Dante, Tasso,
Boccaccio, Petrarch, and Guarini’s “ Pastor Fido.”

I was at the same time an indefatigable student and experi-
meuter in chemistry, botany, and the dispensation of medicine.

G2
84 MARY HOWITT.

T also learnt Latin of an Independent minister at Ilkeston, the
Rev. Joshua Shaw, who had been a fellow student of Dr. Pye
Smith, Dr. Bennett, and other leading Independent ministers. He
was a great advocate of the Bible Society, and had established a
local branch. The circulation of the Bible wasa thing that I
thoroughly accorded in as a self-evident duty in a Christian.
nation. I began now regularly to attend and speak at Bible-
meetings and committees, the benefit of which, as training for
public speaking, I felt at an after period.

Mansfield still remained one of my most pleasant resorts. I
used to enjoy my rides by Annesley and over Sherwood Forest
thither. On one of these occasions, returning home, and about
a mile from Newstead, I saw a young gentleman approaching,
leading his horse. Looking attentively at him, I observed that
he limped on one foot, and it instantly occurred to me—Lord
Byron! As he came up I took a close survey of him, and saw
that it was really he. I could recognise him not only by his
limp, but by the portrait I had seen at the abbey. He was
coming from the direction of Annesley, and had probably been
indulging some sad remembrances by a ride round by the resi-
dence of Mary Chaworth. He had now published the first
cantos of “ Childe Harold,” and wus in the zenith of his fame.

During this period the “Sketches of Geoffrey Crayon,” by
Washington Irving, had appeared. These produced the liveliest
impression of pleasure onme. Here we had the scenery and peo-
ple of England delineated by a foreigner in a manner that threw
over them a new and poetic light. He had seen everything in
England, especially its rural scenery and life, through the poetic
atmosphere of a reverential affection for the land of his ancestors.
All was Arcadian beauty and dreamy legend, as of Rip van
Winkle and the loves of village life. I was very much inocu-
lated with the spirit of this book, and making a pedestrian tour
through the Peak of Derbyshire, I felt that my model of style
and sentiment was in the pages of “Geoffrey Crayon.” This
tour I printed in a quarto literary paper, called the Kaleidoscope,
published by John Smith, one of the editors of the Liverpool
Mercury, under the title of “ A Pedestrian Pilgrimage through
the Peak,” by Wilfrid Wender. I have no doubt, if I were to
read it now, I should be astonished at the little wonders made
into great ones, hills into mountains, and the like.
VISIT TO UTTOXETER. 85

In the autumn of 1818 I paid a visit toa relative, Susanna
Frith, at Uttoxeter, and thus first saw Mary Botham, destined
to become my best friend, truest companion, and wife.

Whilst Susanna and I were talking of old family affairs, in
came a very comely and bright young lady-Friend, to whom I
was introduced. Shewas Anna Botham. I was greatly pleased
with her grace and intelligence. Very soon came in another
sister, whose lively and clever appearance charmed me. I had
heard much of the Botham family, though the only member I
had ever known was the old Friend, John Botham, these young
ladies’ grandfather. I accompanied them home to call on their
parents, who received me most cordially.

My visit to Uttoxeter proved an actual piece of idyllic life.
We had a series of tea-parties, of walks in the very pleasant
country round, and excursions to distant places of beauty and
interest ; and the result was, that I felt persuaded that in Mary
Botham I had found the true future companion of my life.
Soon after my return home I proposed, and was accepted.

During the next two years frequent were my visits to the
quiet old town of Uttoxeter. Many charming rides and rambles
we had. My bride-elect and her sister were extremely fond of
botany, which gave an unwearying interest to our walks. They
were enthusiastic lovers of poetry, especially of the ancient
English and Scotch ballads, and were, besides, extremely well
read in English literature in general. They, like myself, wrote
poetry. In a word, we were extremely congenial in our tastes
and. pursuits.

Early in 1821 a chemist of Derby, who had opened a concern
at Hanley, in the Staffordshire Potteries, wished to dispose of
this business. As a commencement, though with no view of
permanent settlement there, I purchased it; and on April 16,
1821, I married Mary Botham in the little meeting-house of
Uttoxeter, and we went to reside at Hanley.

W. H.
CHAPTER V.
1821—1830.

I was not elated by the change in my circumstances when I
accompanied my husband to our home at Hanley, in the Staf-
fordshire Potteries; nor, I think, was he. William, however,
simply regarded the business he had taken as a temporary
concern, with which he should part as soon as he could assure
himself of a good position elsewhere. It was speedily discovered
by some of the more active spirits of the place that he was not
a mere tradesman, but a man of talent, bold independence of
thought, and great originality, and they flocked around him,
eager to engage him as a champion, both in public and private.

I am astonished, when I remember the strict observance of
our religious duty which prevailed at my home, that my father
made no objection to my going to reside at a place in which
there were no Friends, and where the nearest meeting was at
Leek. I likewise ought to have felt it a melancholy change,
and should have done so if the religion in which I had been
educated had taken vital hold of my soul. As it was, I do not
remember, during the seven months that we dwelt at Hanley,
that either William or I went on the Sunday to any place of
worship. Our life and education as Friends had not, it seems
to me, in recalling years of spiritual deadness, even excited
any curiosity about other forms of faith.

The Staffordshire Potteries were strongholds of Dissent. Of
course, the Church of England was there, but though probably
some of the richer master-potters might be members, the great
body of the people were Dissenters of every variety of opinion.
Large chapels abounded, and to the Potteries came the wildest
experimenters in religion; amongst others, Thomas Mulock.
We had been told much of this extraordinary man, who had
been private secretary to George Canning; and, as an excep-
tion, we went to hear him. Lord Byron mentions him in a
THOMAS MULOCK. 87

letter to Moore, December 9, 1820, as “ Muley Moloch, the lec-
turer,” who had endeavoured to convert him to some new kind
of Christianity.

The place of worship was a large, bare, whitewashed upper
room in a china-factory. Seated on benches made of planks,
supported on piles of bricks, were about fifty persons; there
were several ladies of wealth present; the remainder of the
congregation consisted of potters in their working clothes, their
wives and children.

A round three-legged deal table served as pulpit and read-
ing-desk, placed in the middle of the great room. At it stood
Thomas Mulock, a young, handsome, well-bred man. He was
clad in a blue dress-coat with gilt buttons, a buff kerseymere
waistcoat, then the fashion, and white trousers. His linen was
beautifully fine and clean ; his hands adorned with rings, and
delicately formed.

In his harangue he plainly intimated to us that since the
days of the Apostles the true faith had been revealed to no one
but Thomas Mulock. All preachers, all missionaries were en-
gaged in an occupation they knew nothing about. The only
honest man he had heard speak was the clergyman of Stoke,
who candidly confessed that he “knew not God.”

When he had ended, a very tall working potter, in his long
white apron, knelt down and prayed that our hearts might be
changed, and returned heartfelt thanks to the Almighty for
having sent amongst us such a “burning and shining light.”
Yet no sooner had he resumed his seat than the preacher rose
and severely reproved him.

He declared the potter’s prayer an astonishing instance of the
blindness of the human understanding. He had been for a
long period teaching and explaining the real nature of the
Christian religion; now he heard a prayer put up that our
hearts might be changed. Had he not told them a hundred
times that our old hearts could never be taken away? A new
heart might be given us ; but the old Adam’s heart would still
remain within us, and be perpetually trying to corrupt the new
heart.

The poor potter looked down in humiliation at this reproof,
and the ladies wept.

Mr. Mulock grew to be greatly admired in the neighbour-
88 MARY HOWITT.

hood ; he married a rich wife and had a handsome chapel built
for him at Stoke. It was later purchased by the Society of
Friends, and became their meeting-house.

There was at the period of our sojourn at Hanley a small
body of Unitarians, who were endeavouring to introduce their
opinions to the great mass of chapel-goers. My husband,
whose mind had a tendency to Unitarianism, was eagerly
sought after by them, particularly as he was discovered to be
an able disputant. He had no little pleasure in advocating
their cause against the vast majority of Nonconformists, who,
he thought, showed a spirit of intolerance towards them. In
this way he was not without an agreeable excitement in a life
otherwise uncongenial, He had besides the enjoyment of
authorship, furnishing to the [a/eidoscope, and still under the
pseudonym of Wilfrid Wender, some papers on Uttoxeter,
which he called Deckerton.

After a summer and autumn spent in Hanley, my husband
advantageously disposed of his business, and we proceeded to
Heanor, where my parents-in-law had invited us to reside with
them, until we could suitably establish ourselves in Nottingham.

I was very kindly received by my husband’s relatives, who, I
speedily noticed, were not only hospitable but clannish. Thus,
any member of any branch of the family, be it ever so remote,
was welcome. The house was roomy, if not large, and three or
four additional persons sitting down to table made no difference.

The father, Thomas Howitt, was a large, important-looking
man, with a personality not easily forgotten. He sat for hours
at his old high desk, or near it, sometimes busy writing, and
sometimes poring over old manuscripts, copies of old wills, and
deeds connected with county families. He took immense interest
in pedigrees, and was considered an authority upon them, even by
lawyers. He knew the most remarkable instances of longevity
in the county of Derby, and could relate endless anecdotes.

Phebe Howitt, exercising tke greatest self-sacrifice, was also
gifted with a singular talent for the study and practice of
medicine. Thus the constant treatment of the sick and the
preparation of vegetable medicines, carried on most efficiently
at Heanor, made ine quickly perceive what a fascination the place

and its mistress must have had for my old grandfather,
Botham.
A PEDESTRIAN TOUR. 89

My husband, inheriting the same taste from his mother,
ought to have been educated for a physician. Now, however,
deploring for himself the time lost in his training, he had deter-
mined that the future of his youngest brother, Godfrey, should
be provided for. He had become his tutor, and after educating
him in all the preparatory branches, had induced the parents
to send Godfrey as a medical student to Edinburgh.

 

 

 

THOMAS HOWITT OF HEANOR

yas

WILLIAM HOWITT’S FATHER).

In the spring of 1822 we resolved to visit Scotland, whose
scenery, history, traditions, and literature had become part of
ourselves; and as Godfrey had just very successfully com-
pleted his studies at Edinburgh, pay him a well-merited compli-
ment by joining him in that city, and accompanying him home.

Supplied, therefore, with absolute necessaries in a light valise,
and attired in clothes that defied all changes of weather, we
started from Heanor one April morning at five o’clock, seated
go MARY HOWITT.

on saddle and pillion, which proved a most easy and sociable
mode of transit, and rode through ill-kept lanes, overhung with
thick trees, and across open commons to Derby. The next day
it snowed as we travelled on the top of a coach from Derby to
Liverpool. On April 11 we set sail from Liverpool, and had
our first experience of a steam-packet and the sea.

On the 12th we were put ashore by a ferry-boat at Dumbar-
ton, and set foot on Scottish ground with an emotion of plea-
sure.

On Monday, April 14, we started on foot for Loch Lomond,
up the beautiful Vale of Leven; saw on our way the monu-
ment erected to Smollett?s memory, and the scenery of his
“ Roderick Random,” by which name this native poet is chiefly
called here. In the afternoon we sat down on a sunny bank at
a short distance from Loch Lomond, and were joined by an
old merchant, who travelled from Renton to the different
villages on the loch-side, supplying them with the staff of life,
cakes and ginger-bread. He carried on the top of his basket
of good things what he deemed the greatest necessity and luxury
of all, a well-worn Testament, out of which it was his wont
to read a few passages, and expound and dialogue upon them
with the good dames and hoary shepherds to whom he adminis-
tered his temporals; and from the specimen he gave us, we
thought he had a very extraordinary gift of discernment that
way. He strongly recommended us to lodge at Rowardennan,
where there was “a very fine, clever, discreet woman, who
bought bread of bim.”

We took tea at Lues. With the exception of the inn and
one or two other houses, it consisted of a cluster of genuine
Highland huts amidst a group of trees, then covered with a
profusion of blossom. Our walk after tea led us along the
margin of the lake, which slept, still and beautiful, in the last
rays of the sun. By the time we arrived at the ferry of Row-
ardennan it was deep twilight, and the ferryman, snugly
seated at his whiskey, desired us to “ wait a wee.” Not being
inclined to wait, we applied to another proprietor of a boat,
who ordered a boy to take us across. The lud had his cows to
milk, and he therefore desired us “to wait a wee.” It was
only by force of menaces that we got him off at length, and
then, ither to revenge himself or alarm us, or both, he led us down
AT ROWARDENNAN. gl

through a rough hollow, across a deep-ploughed meadow into
a wood, where it was too gloomy to discern anything many
yards; here he stopped and whistled, but seeing we discovered
nothing but a desire to get over, he at length led us to his
boat, and out we pushed into the lake. If ever we were in a
scene of gloomy grandeur it was then, paddling at nine o’clock
across the water with scarcely enough light to discern our course,
but enough to perceive the savage cliffs that rose around, and
which seemed to cast down from the sky a deep stillness upon us.

The inn at Rowardennan we found after some stumbling
about in the dark, every window and door being closed; and
on entering, discovered a goodly family, father, mother, and a
troop of children, seated round a blazing wood-fire. Our
appearance seemed to excite that sort of surprise and anxiety
which unprepared-for guests occasion. A candle was lighted,
and we were requested to walk upstairs; but having full assu-
rance that we were then by the only fire in the house, there we
determined to seat ourselves. Our landlord had much the
air and attire of a gamekeeper, and our landlady was a comely
matron of superior stature. She begged to know if we would
wait for a “fool” to be cooked. Declining this offer, we
managed to make a supper of their oat-cake, their whole stock
of eggs, three in number, procured a glass of whiskey toddy,
none of the best, and added a supplement out of our own
budget.

Our landlord’s conversation made us some amends. He had
been up Ben Lomond as guide to Sir Walter Scott; like every-
body else, he had read his works ; and it was in this very house
that young Rob Roy celebrated his marriage with his fair cap-
tive, and stayed a few days before he proceeded to his own
dwelling. The kitchen where we sat was a scene fit for the
pencil. Around the ample fireplace hung several pairs of tartan
hose, wet with traversing the spongy moors. On the floor,
among sticks, dust, half-roasted and half-crushed potatoes,
crowded the whole tribe of dirty half-naked children and
several large shepherd-dogs. Overhead were guns and a
variety ot household implements. About one-fourth of the
room was occupied by a press-bed with sliding panels, which,
from its aspect, appeared to be the nest of the chief part of the
family.
gz MARY HOWITT.

In our bedroom the sheets were so thoroughly saturated
with peat-smoke that we did not lose the odour of it for days.
In the morning we heard our host and hostess engaged in a
warm debate. He dropped a word now and then in a subdued
tone, but our “fine, clever, and discreet woman’’ was loud and
impetuous; and from a few of her shrill accents that reached
us, we guessed that a lack of viands for our breakfast had
raised her fiery indignation. At length mine host fled into .
the wilderness, and after a long delay our breakfast appeared—
good tea, raw sugar, boiled eggs, mutton-ham, and dirty salt.
Such was our sojourn at Rowardennan, the Duke of Montrose’s
inn. Alas that our old merchant had not arrived here before
us with his wheaten loaves! This was the only place in Scot-
land of which we had reason to complain; and the poverty of
the people was evidently the cause.

A little before ten o’clock we set out to climb Ben Lomond,
at the foot of which we had slept. The ascent is reckoned
about six miles, and we found it a laborious task of four hours.
We waded deep in heather, crossed rocky and impetuous tor-
rents, laboured up acclivities only to see unsuspected hollows
which must be descended; but the most impeding obstacles
were the black and trembling bogs, which intercepted our
course every few yards, and which required a good deal of
boldness, contrivance, and circumspection to pass. As we
advanced, however, and paused at intervals to rest, the most
extensive and grand prospects opened before us, whilst we
became more and more impressed with the profound silence
which reigned over the immense barren and lofty solitude in
which we were. Not a sound seemed to live there but the
twitter of a small bird always found in heather, the casual call
of the raven, the less frequent and more plaintive cry of the
plover, or the bleat of the solitary sheep wandering on a far-off
slope, or coming to look down gravely with its grey face from
some eminence above.

Labouring with increasing ardour, we at length stood upon
the summit. What a prospect! At the south-west foot of the
mountain lay Loch Lomond in full view, an expanse of water
twenty-eight miles in length, scattered with as many beautiful
islands; the Clyde, Dumbarton, and the southern part of Scot-
lind; Argyleshire, with its lochs, woods, and mountains; the
ON BEN LOMOND. 93

coast of Ireland—but it would be useless to enumerate the dis-
tant places visible from it. Yet we were not so much amazed
at the vastness of this extensive survey as at the tempestuous
sea of mountains which the Highlands exhibited. They lifted
their bare and abrupt peaks into the sky; some brown in the
nearer view, some splintered and desolate, some shrouded in
snow, some black beneath the frown of a passing cloud, and
some blue in the softened distance.

‘When we had surveyed this magnificent scene about half-an-
hour, the clouds began to gather, and at length closing upon
us, involved us every moment in deeper gloom. The wind
began to whistle with the hollowness of an approaching storm.
It became suddenly extremely cold, and the snow fell as thick
and heavily as in the depth of winter. We were upon the very
edge of a tremendous chasm, which could hardly be distin-
guished from the solid mountain, except by the snow in its
bosom. The darkness became so great that we could not dis-
cover each other at more than an arm’s-length. We were
therefore obliged to hold each other’s hand, and in this manner
we endeavoured to retrace our steps till we could get below the
cloud. Fearful of stepping into the chasm, we held so much in
the opposite direction that we speedily bewildered ourselves
amidst a chaos of rocks, which forbade all further progress and
almost any return. At length we regained our old station,
and in the space of two hours, sometimes stopped by precipices,
sometimes by torrents, and sometimes fearful of being engulfed
in the tottering bogs, and all the time sinking deep in the wet
spongy moss, the rain pouring down plentifully, we escaped in
safety to a farm-house at the foot.

Women, children, and clamorous dogs had long noticed us
descending, and were assembled at the door gazing in astonish-
ment at our temerity ; but as we approached they all withdrew
into the house, and when we reached the door everything was
so still there might have been no soul in it; we, found, how-
ever, no less than thirteen persons. Having sat, chatted, and
rested ourselves with the solitary family, we crossed the river
by some stepping-stones, and pursued our way down the
sublimely desolate Glen Dhu.

Our road led us to the borders of beautiful Loch Ard, and we
found ourselves in the scenery of some of the most interesting
94 MARY HOWITT.

incidents in the Waverley Novel of “Rob Roy.” We passed
under the rocks where poor Bailie Nicol Jarvie was suspended
from a tree by the skirts of his riding-coat. The authorship of
the tale had not at this epoch been definitely determined ; yet
with whatever person we conversed about “‘ Rob Roy”’ we were
told that the Rev. Dr. Grahame, of Aberfoil, had furnished Sir
Walter Scott with many materials worked up in that story. A
similar testimony is borne by the author himself in a note to
the novel. Dr. Grahame afterwards said to us, “It is in vain
to look for any other man in whom all the qualifications for
such authorship meet. Whilst Sir Walter might be supposed
to be studying the scenery of ‘Rob Roy,’ I accompanied him
twice to most of the places in this part mentioned in it. When
we were sitting by this cascade, Sir Walter, his daughter, and
myself, I noticed the effect it had upon him. Apparently
aware of my observance, he requested his daughter to sing, in
order to divert my attention. Whilst she sang he sat with his
eyes fixed on the surrounding scenery. I thought it would not
be long before I saw this spot placed in a prominent situation,
and the appearance of the tale of ‘Rob Roy’ realised my suspi-
cions. Helen Macgregor gives her ever-memorable breakfast
to Bailie Jarvie and Frank Osbaldistone in this beautiful and
romantic scene.”

At the clachan of Aberfoil we found a neat little inn, as the
author of “Rob Roy” had promised, instead of the old hut
immortalised by the contest of the worthy Bailie, in which he
valiantly set fire to Garschattachin’s new plaid with a red-hot
ploughshare. In the morning we called on Dr. Grahame, the
venerable minister, and were received at the door by him
wrapped in his plaid. We were treated with great kindness,
and on taking leave of his amiable family, he, together with a
young lady visitor and a youth, his pupil, accompanied us to
the beautiful cascade already mentioned, and put us into the
way for the Trosachs.

We read the “Lady of the Lake” on the banks of Loch
Katrine, and were surprised that it did not express more. We
read it afterwards, and were then surprised to find it express
so much.

We reached Edinburgh on Saturday night, April 19, and
found Godfrey well, azd very snugly established in his bachelor
IN EDINBURGH. 93

quarters, which were six storeys high. Liverpool, where we
had spent a day sight-seeing before embarking for Scotland,
had, by its bustle and magnificence, amazed us. We had, in
our simplicity, compared it to ancient Rome and Athens. Yet,
after seeing Edinburgh, our enthusiasm was cooled. We dwelt
opposite the College, and admired the richness and beauty of
its Grecian architecture; and noted the same character in other
public buildings, feeling, however, there might be a little too
much monotony of design. We walked the princely streets of
the New Town, and breathed the invigorating breezes which
sweep from the ocean through them, feeling an exultation of
heart at the power and prosperity of man. No words could
convey our delight and enjoyment of the magnificent prospects
visible in all directions.

But what pleased me most were the relics of Mary Queen of
Scots preserved in Holyrood; above all, her workbox, covered
by embroidery on white satin, representing Jacob’s dream, the
work of her own hands. It was impossible to look at the angels
ascending and descending upon the ladder without involuntarily
forgetting the mighty space which had intervened since she
had deftly traced out those figures, and without admiring the
simple taste and piety demonstrated in the choice of the
subject.

We had the curiosity to attend service at the Gaelic Chapel,
originally erected for the accommodation of the National Guard,
consisting of Highlanders, and which, since its abolition, had
been continued for that of the servants and work-people of thecity,
who were principally mountaineers. There were a few liveries
in the congregation, which had otherwise a most plebeian and
workaday appearance, and was composed chiefly of old people.
Large nightcaps and snuffy noses were seated all the way up to
the pulpit-door. A little, round, fat minister of the Gospel
preached in Gaelic to them. He also addressed to us a short
portion in English, during which the Gaels took the opportunity
of clearing their throats, coughing, spitting, scraping with
their feet, and making a most outrageous uproar.

The Friends we found a very small and orthodox set, uncon-
taminated by the fopperies of fashion. They received us with
much kindness. We learnt they made but few disciples in
Scotland. Once an old woman did by chance get into the
96 MARY HOWITT.

Friends’ Meeting at Edinburgh at First-day worship, and after
sitting two hours in all the fidgety torment natural to those
who have not been accustomed to “the subjection of the activity
of the natural will,” on coming out, said to the person next
her, “An unco’ place this, where there’s neither prayer nor
praise!”

We bade farewell with regret to Edinburgh, the queen of
cities, on May 4th, and accompanied by Godfrey Howitt, pro-
ceeded by coach to Lanark.

We were deeply interested in Robert Owen’s enthusiastic
dreams of the perfectibility of human nature, and hoped to
make the acquaintance of the philosophic philanthropist, but
in this we were disappointed. We were prepared, by his pro-
clamations of the excellence of his theory and practice, and
by the reiterated praise of visitors to his model factories and
dwelling-houses at New Lanark, to find the utmost practical
perfection, and in this too we were disappointed.

On the Sunday morning we went down to New Lanark, and
found the younger children in the schoolroom, with three or
four masters. One of the latter ascended a pulpit, with which
the room was furnished, and read a chapter of the Bible;
another, succeeding him, uttered a prayer. During this service
the children were perfectly heedless of everything but playing
tricks and talking to each other. We never saw a more insubor-
dinate little crew. Remarking this afterwards to the teacher who
had delivered the prayer, we inquired if they never proceeded
to some species of coercion to effect order. He replied, “No,
never ; it is contrary to Mr. Owen’s system.”

We had, the evening before, been attended about the grounds
by a boy, whose uncommon acuteness and intelligent remarks
on all subjects of our inquiries had excited our admiration.
We asked him, amongst other things, whether the masters ever
flogged the scholars. He replied, with a look round to see that
the coast was clear, “Joost sometimes!”? We were more dis-
posed to believe the boy than the master.

As we returned towards Lanark, a considerable number of
work-people were going up to kirk. To one of these, a shrewd
old man, we addressed ourselves, by observing, “ What a plea-
sant situation they had, and how happy they must be.” He
replied, ‘‘Why, very well, very well.” We observed that
SIR WALTER SCOTT. 97

their establishment had been much talked of in very distant
places. “Ay,” said he; “the farther off the more talked about,
I dare say.” “But you have a quiet, orderly little village
here, and must be very comfortable,” added we. To which he
rejoined, ‘ Why, if a man drinks or thieves, he must be
marching ; but there are other things besides these, enough to
prevent the place being too pleasant.” ‘“ Well, but we suppose
you find things so comfortable as to induce you to stay here.”’
“Ay,” answered he; “it’s a long way to travel to the next
factory, and then there’s a chance of not getting work.” “But
you get good wages?” ‘Small, small.” ‘However, if your
wages be small, such is the excellence of Mr. Owen’s system,
that you find them sufficient ; and then you have your children
brought up in a manner that must render them happy and
virtuous for life.” ‘‘ Well, a deal has been said about it,” re-
plied the old man. ‘Mr. Owen has a many fine notions, but”
(in a low tone, and coming close to us) “though it is treason
here, I must say it, ’tis but patching up poor human nature,
that, if it be stopped in one place, will break out in another.”
“A prophet is not without honour, save in his own country.”
Such were the things and feelings of which we got a glimpse
at the very fountain-head of this system of social regeneration.

From Lanark we went down Tweeddale to Peebles. Nor
did we fail to visit the Abbey of Melrose, and as much as pos-
sible after the direction of Scott, “in the pale moonlight.” We
slept at the inn at Melrose; and the next morning, seated at
breakfast, we heard a carriage drive up to the door. Then in
rushed a waiter, exclaiming, “If you want to see Sir Walter
Scott, it’s he!’? We hastened to the window, and beheld the
greatest genius in the North. He was seated quietly reading
a newspaper while the horses were changed. He and a friend
were taking a drive to Kelso, and although they had only come
three miles, had put their horses into a foam.

With eyes not satisfied with seeing, nor ears with hearing,
we set out on our way to Selkirk, by Abbotsford. We
walked into the gardens, then gay with brilliant borderings of
blue gentian, passed the house, saw Lady and Miss Scott through
the plantations, gathered plenty of flowers and leaves as relics,
and bade a silent and contented adieu. We pursued our course
through Selkirk and Ettrick Forest to Hawick. The next day

H
98 MARY HOWITT.

we walked down Teviotdale, and, on the following, along the
Border by many a moss-trooper’s tower to Gretna Green.

Here the whole population was alive and astir, believing us
gentlefolks in disguise, who had been just married. We might
be supposed such, as William, Godfrey, and I all wore tartan
cloaks. We were told at the inn that the number of marriages
were on the increase, and that David Long accomplished them
by reading over the English marriage-service at various prices,
from a glass of whisky to one hundred pounds. From his habit
of loitering at the blacksmith’s shop, the notion had spread that
it was the smith who performed the ceremony. David Long’s
only trade, however, was that of Gretna parson. It was an
established custom for him and the post-boys at Carlisle to share
profits; aplan so effectual, that whenever acouple reached Carlisle,
they might consider themselves secure. The happy pair were
driven along towards Gretna by a guide, who seemed to have
his spurs rowelled with lightning, and horses that would
run down the sun. But, alas for the pursuer ! not a soul would
stir. The horses were all engaged, or they were lume, and the
post-boys were lame and blind too; and if they did actually
convey their impatient cargoes out of Carlisle, there might be
half the kingdom married before they would arrive at Gretna.

I find the remainder of our tour noted in a letter to my sister
Anna, dated Heanor, 5th Mo., 15th, 1822 :—

“After leaving Gretna we slept at Ireby, the commencement
of the beautiful scenery of the English lakes. Except the
views from Ben Lomond, the scenery of the Trossachs and Loch
Katrine, we have seen nothing finer than Keswick vale and
lake. Tell mother, one of the most delightful spots in Keswick
vale is Ormathwaite Hall; a fine old house, situated under
Skiddaw, overlooking the most enchanting and paradisiacal
landscapes, with a sweet view both of Bassenthwaite and Der-
wentwater. Dr. Brownrigg was still highly spoken of. An old
man, who lives in a cottage by the Hall and says he has lived
under the family for threescore years, knew me to be of the
Brownriggs immediately. He recognised the family likeness
before I told him my relationship. The yew-trees, which
accompany this, we got out of the grounds, as we thought
mother would like a memorial of the old place.

“We climbed Helvellyn on First-day morning and walked
EARIV LITERARY ATTEMPTS. 99

down by Grasmere and Rydal. The sun shone out over the
mountains, and danced in living light over the little lakes. The
gaily-dressed villagers were sitting at their doors or walking
about, and seeming at least to enjoy every delight that man
can know. Wordsworth’s cottage on Rydal Mount is truly an
abode that should satisfy a poet’s heart. Miss Wordsworth we
saw, @ tall, rather proud-looking lassie, but the old bard was
invisible.

“We looked back with sorrow upon the mountains we were
leaving, and reached Kendal about nine o’clock. We left that
town the next evening at six by coach, and passing through
Lancaster and Manchester, reached Mansfield yesterday.”

A busy and in some respects agreeable life now began for us
in Nottingham. Although my husband was in trade as a
chemist, literary labour industriously went on, and at the same
time mental improvement, for never did we cease in the pursuit
of knowledge. The remarkably well-supplied public library of
Bromley House furnished us with constant stores of literature,
and if by any chance a rare or, to us, useful book was not there,
William did not hesitate to purchase it. Some memorable
occurrences likewise left their impressions on our characters.

In 1822 we arranged a joint collection of poems in manuscript,
which some judges of poetry had urged us to print. Earlier
literary attempts had always been made in partnership with my
dear sister Anna. As girls, Milton and Pope in his translation
of Homer had possessed our fancy. The sonorous, hervic
measure became our gauge of the mechanism of poetry. We
commenced a grand epic, laid in the early days of British
history. It was called “ Quindrida,” from the heroine, the
daughter of an archdruid, herself a priestess beautiful and good,
and loving her country with a pure devotion. We did not
write it together, but each produced separate parts and united
them. It perished, with much more, in one of those holocausts
which very properly occur in the experience of most young ambi-
tious authors, the day having come when scales fall from their eyes
and the gold of their youthful enthusiasm shows itself as dross.
Grand heroic poems and prose were given up, and our after
efforts were confined to short poems. Occasionally Susanna
Frith, who took such a kindly interest in our intellectual efforts,
encouraged us to read them to her; with this exception, we had

H2
100 MARY HOWITT.

no auditor or critic. Yet I remember in those young days,
when our sanctum sanctorum was the little school-room, sending
privately, with Anna’s co-operation, two poems to a pocket-book,
signed “ Mary of Uttoxeter.” It was first in 1827, many years
later, that we accidentally learnt they had duly appeared.

In the spring of 1823 “The Forest Minstrel and other
Poems,” by William and Mary Howitt, was published by
Baldwin, Cradock & Joy, Paternoster Row. The verses were
descriptive of country sounds and scenes, and had arisen, as
stated in the preface, ‘not for the sake of writing, but for the
indulgence of our own overflowing feelings.”’ They were pre-
sented to those who, like ourselves, were devoted disciples of
natural beauty and of simplicity.

The copy before me bears the inscription, “ Richard Howitt,
Nottingham, May 1823.”’ This younger brother of my husband
was my contemporary, and at the time of which I am writing,
our fellow-inmate. He possessed a most poetical, sensitive
mind, was caustic, humorous, a quiet punster, deeply versed in
Nature, and sympathising in all noble movements and vital
human interests. Although thoroughly awake in congenial
society, he would lose himself in some poetical dream when
uninterested in his companions. He was well versed in litera-
ture, and was fond of old-fashioned poetry, but it must be
choicely good.

In the summer of 1823 my husband and I removed to the
market-place, Richard remaining in the small house we had
been occupying in Parliament Street. Our new residence was
opposite the Long Row, just facing the lower corner of the
Exchange. It was part of a fine old mansion built by a French
architect for his own abode, and its history is recorded in the
annals of Nottingham. In its best days it must have had a
good deal of internal decoration. It had lofty doors, much carv-
ing over the great mantelpieces, handsome ceilings, and several
wainscoted rooms. I greatly liked the house, and felt much
at home in it.

In the late autumn of 1823 my sister Anna became the happy
wife of Daniel Harrison. I was at the wedding, and, according
to the custom of those days, both her bridesmaid and I accom-
panied her to her new home at Everton, a suburb of Liverpool.
A few weeks later, my father, after a very short illness, quietly
LORD BYRON’S FUNERAL. 101

expired on December 19th, 1823. I again met Anna at the
funeral, and she afterwards returned with me to Nottingham,
where, on January 15, 1824, my beloved daughter, Anna Mary,
was born. A long and dangerous illness followed. My husband
and Anna watched and waited by my bed of sickness; and
whilst I lay utterly unconscious, offered in their agonised hearts
a prayer that was mercifully granted. They saw me awake,
rescued from death.

Following now the chronological thread of events, I write
to my sister Anna, from Nottingham.

“7th Mo., 18, 1824.—Poor Byron! I was grieved exceed -
ingly at the tidings of his death; but when his remains
arrived here, it seemed to make it almost a family sorrow. I
wept then, for my heart was full of grief to think that fine
eccentric genius, that handsome man, the brave asserter of
the rights of the Greeks, and the first poet of our time, he
whose name will be mentioned with reverence and whose glory
will be uneclipsed when our children shall have passed to dust,
to think that he lay a corpse in an inn in this very town. Oh!
Anna, I could not refrain from tears.

“ Byron’s faithful, generous, undeviating friend, Hobhouse,
who stood by him to the last, his friend through good and evil,
—he only, excepting Byron’s servants and the undertakers,
came down to see the last rites paid. Hobhouse’s countenance
was pale, and strongly marked by mental suffering.

“ But to particulars. On Fifth-day afternoon the hearse and
mourning coaches came into Nottingham. In the evening the
coffin lay in state. Thecrowd wasimmense. We went among
the rest. I shall never forget it. The room was hung with
black, with the escutcheons of the Byron family on the walls ;
it was lighted by six immense wax-candles, placed round the
coffin in the middle of the room. The coffin was covered with
crimson velvet, richly ornamented with brass nails; on the top
was a plate engraved with the arms and titles of Lord Byron.
At the head of the coffin was placed a small chest containing
an urn, which enclosed the heart and brains. Four pages
stood, two on each side. Visitors were admitted by twelves, and
were to walk round only; but we laid our hands on the coffin.
It wasa moment of enthusiastic feeling to me. It seemed to
102 MARV HOWITT.

me impossible that that wonderful man lay actually within that
coffin. Jt was more like a dream than a reality.

“ Nottingham, which connects everything with polities, could
not help making even the passing respect to our poet’s memory
a political question. He was a Whig; he hated priests, and
was a lover of liberty; he was the author of ‘Don Juan’ and
‘Cain.’ So the Tory party, which is the same as saying the
gentry, would not notice even his coffin. The parsons had their
feud, and therefore not a bell tolled either when he came or
went. He was a lover of liberty, which the Radical Corpora-
tion here thought made him their brother; therefore all the
rabble rout from every lane and alley, and garret and cellar,
came forth to curse and swear, and shout and push, in his
honour. All religious people forswore him, on account of his
licentiousness and blasphemy ; they forgot his ‘ Childe Harold,’
his ‘ Bride of Abydos,’ the ‘ Corsair,’ and ‘ Lara.’

«The next morning all the friends and admirers of Byron
were invited to meet in the market-place, to form a procession
to accompany him out of town. Thou must have read in the
papers the funeral train that came from London. In addition
to this were five gentlemen’s carriages, and perhaps thirty
riders on horseback, besides Lord Raneliffe’s tenantry, who
made about thirty more, and headed the procession, and were
by far the most respectable ; for never, surely, did such a shabby
company ride in the train of mountebanks or players. There
was not one gentleman who would honour our immortal bard
by riding two miles in his funeral train. The equestrians,
instead of following two and two, as the paper says they did,
most remarkably illustrated riding all sixes and sevens. _

«William, Charles, Thomas Knott, and that odd Smith
(thou rememberest him) went to Hucknall to see the interment.
It, like the rest, was the most disgraceful scene of confusion
that can well be imagined, for from the absence of all persons
of influence, or almost of respectability, the rude crowd of
country clowns and Nottingham Goths paid no regard to the
occasion, and no respect or decency was to be seen. William
says it was almost enough to make Byron rise from the dead to
see the scene of indecorum, and the poor, miserable place in
which he lies, though it is the family burial vault.

“That mad-headed, impetuous Smith was, like the rest,
BYRON’S MOURNERS. 103

enraged at the want of respect which was the most marked
trait of the interment. Although he had that day walked in
the heat of a broiling sun fourteen miles, he sat up and wrote a
poem on the subject, which I send asa curiosity. He composed
and copied it by three o’clock in the morning, went and called
up Sutton, very much to his displeasure, had it sent to press by
six o'clock, and by nine had the verses ready for publication.
Byron’s servants took four-and-twenty copies, and seemed
much delighted with it.

“Ts it not strange that such an unusual silence is maintained
by the poets on the subject of his death? It reminds me of
the Eastern custom of breaking all instruments of music in
any overwhelming grief, or on the occasion of the death of
some favourite. It seems a theme too painful for any buta
master-touch, and he is gone that could do best justice to such
a subject.”

On 10th Mo., 28, 1824, I write, however, to my sister :—

“ Thou hast heard, I suppose, of ‘Lord Byron’s Conversa-
tions,’ by Captain Medwin. By the extracts given in the
different papers, as kittiwakes to the appetite of the public, I
am more offended and disgusted with Lord Byron’s sentiments
than I ever thought to be. We have his bust on the chimney-
piece, and so angry am I that I should like to demolish it, were
it not ornamental.

“Speaking of Byron reminds me of an anecdote I heard
related the other evening. Some of Byron’s friends were in
Italy, Trelawny, Leigh Hunt, and Westmacott among the
number. One evening, in high spirits, warmed with romantic
sentiment, they wandered along the banks of the Arno to the
valley delle Donne, mentioned in the ‘ Decameron.’ Sitting
down, they imagined that the spirits of Dante and Boccaccio
might unseen be hovering around them, when, in the midst
of the conversation, Leigh Hunt begged them to be silent, and
desired Westmacott not to stir, for upon his hat had settled the
largest and most beautiful butterfly he ever saw. All admired
it amazingly, but the greatest wonder was, that it was perfectly
black. Then, resuming the conversation, one suggested the
idea, that as the Greeks symbolised the soul by the butterfly,
some one of their friends in that country might then be dead,
1e4 MARY HOWITT.

and his soul have made them a passing parting visit in the
shape appropriate to Greece. The idea struck all. They noted
down the day and hour, and soon after the news reached them
that on the same date, April 19, 1824, Byron had died at Mis-
solonghi, in Western Greece. Now, there is a good ghost-
story of the nineteenth century, worthy of all acceptation.

“So Daniel has bought the ‘Improvisatrice.’ Didst thou
know that L. E. L. was a ward of Jerdan’s, the editor of the
Literary Gazette ? whence his abundant and extravagant puffs
of her. She is, I understand, rather short, but interesting-
looking, a most thoughtless girl in company, doing strangely
extravagant things; for instance, making a wreath of flowers,
then rushing with it into a grave and numerous party, and
placing it on her patron’s head. Bernard Barton sent her one
of his last volumes, and in reply, after some remarks on the
poetry it contained, she sent him, in high glee, a full account
of a ball she had just attended, particularising all the dresses,
forgetting she was writing to a sober Quaker. However, she
is but a girl of twenty, a genius, and therefore she must be
excused.

“ We have had, since I last wrote, the company of Joseph
John Gurney, for three daysin Nottingham. We were a great
deal with him, and I was very glad to understand he professed
himself much pleased with us, but it was nothing to the
pleasure his society diffused. We had a sort of carnival then,
not only on his account, but to honour Jeremiah Wiffen, the
translator of Tasso, who was in Nottingham for ten days.
Joseph John Gurney has a most comely person, gentlemanly
manners and deportment, is an agreeable companion, and, above
all, isa good man. He told William he did not quite approve
of the almost wngualified praises bestowed on Byron in the
‘Poet’s Thoughts’;* at the same time, he remarked, after
reading in his deep, sweet voice some of the stanzas, that he
must confess ‘it was a beautiful, very beautiful thing,’ and
then almost complimented William on his poetic talent. I
abominate flattery, but commendation from persons on whose
candour and judgment I can rely has charms, and such praise,

* «A Poet’s Thoughts at the Interment of Lord Byron, by William Howitt,
one of the authors of the ‘ Forest Minstrel,’’’ &. London: Baldwin, Cradock,

end J oy; 1824. It was later inserted in ‘‘The Desolation of Eyam, and other
oems,
FAMILY BEREAVEMENT. 105

whether given to William or myself, is always welcome. This
was much from a Quaker minister, was it not? Bless the good
man, and prosper his goings, is my farewell to Joseph John
Gurney.

“Give my dear love to Charles, and say I hope he is
well and happy. He knows not the anxiety and fond wishes
I have for him.”

Although we were aware of my brother Charles’s passion
for the sea and shipping, and even dreaded its consequences,
yet we had cast our fears away, when he consented to being
articled in October 1824—the date of my last letter—to Mr.
Rowland Roscow, a merchant of Liverpool.

Alas! how little attention do parents and guardians pay
to the innate tastes and abilities of the young! Had Charles,
who displayed great skill with his lathe, been placed with
a shipbuilder, instead of with a merchant, his sad fate and our
misery might have been averted.

The pride and hope of his family, and the admiration of
all beholders, Charles had hitherto led a most guarded and
secluded life. His mind had been carefully trained in moral
and religious principles by his indulgent but anxious father,
and his attractive exterior and manners subjected to the
peculiarities of Friends. Now, placed in a more exposed
situation in a large seaport, the natural bias speedily asserted
itself. His dress, language, conversation, the tone of his
voice, assumed so completely the character of a sailor, that a
stranger would have supposed him born and bred at sea,
and, although giving great satisfaction to Mr. Roscow, in
August, 1825, he suddenly disappeared.

A letter, addressed to his sister Anna, and brought to land
by a pilot, informed his disconsolate relatives, that, “but for
his mother, he should earlier have carried out his resolution to
go to sea. He hoped, however, that, as she would henceforth
be burdened with no expenses on his account, she would allow
herself greater comforts. He expected to be out for three
months, and would write again from Quebec, where he should
be in about four weeks.”

We learnt by inquiry later, that he had engaged himself
with the captain of the trade-ship the Lady Gordon ; that his
106 MARY HOWITT.

indentures were procured, but owing to the hurry in which the
vessel went to sea, were left unsigned. Although the thought
was bitter of the idolised son and brother having thus severed
himself from his relatives, we believed he had acted from good
but mistaken motives, and would ultimately do well wherever
placed. In the second week of November the shipping intel-
ligence mentioned the Lady Gordon as lying off Quebec. She
would then be homeward bound; and my mother hastened to
Liverpool to meet her son.

A few days, however, before the Lady Gordon sailed up the
Mersey, a letter came to her from Charles, with an account of
his having hurt his leg in climbing the rigging. When the
ship reached Quebec he had been so much reduced, and the
wound so bad, that he was taken, he said, to a “nunnery hos-
pital,” where he was receiving every attention.

On December 18, 1825, the Lady Gordon came into port, and
brought a letter from Dr. Holmes, the chief surgeon of the
Hotel Dieu Hospital, addressed to our mother, stating that our
poor brother had undergone an operation, his leg being am-
putated a little above the knee; but his constitution was so
reduced he sank under it. Dr. Holmes had been with him
when he passed away, and his last words were of his mother.

Charles had asked his physician if there were any Friends
in Quebec, and he had replied he knew of none, but that he
himself was very much of one, having been educated at a
Friends’ school in England, and that he still corresponded
with some Friends. From that moment Dr. Holmes felt a
still greater interest in the noble, patiently enduring youth,
and they became mutually much attached to each other. The
gentle nuns, overflowing with love and pity, soothed and tended
the sufferer in his sisters’ stead. The priest was also very
kind in regularly visiting him; Charles, however, preferred
the company of Dr. Holmes, who read to him in his own Bible,
for which he had sent to the ship.

The statements of the crew of the Lady Gordon, and especially
of the ship’s carpenter, told a terrible tale. Soon after leaving
Liverpool the vessel had encountered head-winds and heavy
seas; the sails were split by the hurricane, and as soon as
new ones were put up they were rent in twain. The ship had
been out a month when Charles met with the accident, and he
MELANCHOLY TIMES. 107

lay for three weeks, often delirious, before port was reached
and medical aid obtained.

Anna had a later visit from a Quaker sea-captain, named
William Boadle. He had been in a provision-shop in Quebec,
when a French physician entered, and after observing his attire
and mode of speech, told him that a youth, a stranger from
England, and one of his Society, who was lying ill at the Hotel
Dieu Hospital, had requested him, if he saw any Friend, to ask
him to callon him. Captain Boadle went immediately. He
sat some time with Charles, who confided to him the whole sad
story, from the moment of his forming the desperate resolution
of going to sea to the occasion of his being in the hospital. He
lamented most deeply the error into which he had fallen,
but spoke of the comfort he had derived from the Scriptures,
expressed the most yearning affection for his beloved, distant
relatives, and the most unbounded gratitude to his devoted care-
takers. He thought the doctors and nuns did more for him
than for any other patient.

And we, in England, his sorely bereaved relatives, whilst
believing that Divine love had found our treasure and borne
him to the haven of peace, where the wicked cease from
troubling and the temptation to sin is at an end, nevertheless
felt for long weeks and months that we must still wake from a
terrible dream to find our bright, buoyant Charles in our midst.

In February, 1826, I gave birth to a son, who received the
name of Charles Botham.

Shortly after—2nd Mo., 2Ist, 1826—I wrote as follows to
my sister :—

“T hope you do not experience, as too many do now, the
effects of these most melancholy times. It is, indeed, enough
to make the most thoughtless considerate. On all hands are
we surrounded by misery. Mich and poor all participate.
The poor are starving, and the rich and respectable classes are
reduced to distress as bad to them as actual want.”

“* Nottingham, 2nd Mo., 19th, 1827.—Poor Mrs. Hemans is
in great sorrow for the death of her mother, to whom she seems
te have been fondly attached. They had hardly ever been
separated, all her children having been born under their grand-
mother’s roof. Do not think me vain, dear Anna, when I add
108 MARY HOWITT.

something more about Mrs. Hemans. I had a letter from
Zillah Watts, in which she says Mrs. Hemans particularly
inquires after me, and expressed herself an admirer of my little
productions. I hope the time may come when I may be one
among the high-souled and truly noble, and may look back to
these days, as one does to a dim and cheerless morning that
ended in a bright and glorious evening.”

“4th Mo., 22nd, 1827.—I hunger and thirst after acquain-
tance who are highly gifted in mind or profound in acquired
knowledge, and for this reason should prefer decidedly a large
town or a capital, where, in general, talent congregates. Never-
theless, there is many a fine mind, brilliant imagination, and
much sound judgment to be met with even in obscure places.
Think of Wordsworth fostering in quiet seclusion one of the
loftiest and purest imaginations of the present time. Many,
indeed most, and to their great loss, consider him as only fit for
a child, writing of his ‘ Little Celandine,’ his ‘ Leech-gatherer,’
pedlars and potters. But the fault is in themselves, not in the
poet, who, like a true alchemist, turns all things to gold. He
is the philosopher of nature and poetry.

“Speaking of men of superior minds in obscurity, reminds
me of an old man in this place, William Haslam, the very pro-
totype of Wordsworth’s Matthew. He occasionally calls on us,
and his piety, refined and elevated sentiments, and his very
correct judgment, joined to a most enthusiastic taste for the :
higher order of poetry, render him a most agreeable companion.
Such persons are rare, but occasionally meeting with those
possessed of higher intellect makes me pine for more society of
the kind. Our humble old friend always strikes out some new
idea, and furnishes food for thought, sometimes for days after-
wards.”

William’s and my joint-work, entitled “The Desolation of
Hyam, and other Poems,” appeared in 1827, and I write to
Anna from Nottingham, 6th Mo., 24th :—

‘Nobody that has not published can tell the almost painful
excitement the expectation of first opinions occasions, Really
for some days I was quite nervous. William boasted of pos-
sessing his mind in wise passivity, and truly his imperturbable
PARENTAL AFFECTION. 109

patience was quite an annoyance; I therefore got Rogers’s
beautiful poem ‘Italy’ to read, and so diverted my thoughts.
William had, a few days ago, a letter from Wordsworth. It
was merely to say that, the evening before, he had returned
from a journey, when he found the volume, which he is pleased
to call ‘elegant,’ and that he immediately wrote, though he had
time only to turn over the pages, in doing which ‘he was glad
to find several poems which had afforded him no small gratifi-
cation before then.’ ”

“7th Mo., 18th, 1827.—Hast thou, dearest Anna, by any
chance, seen the notice of our book in the Eclectic Review? The
writer considers us anti-Quakerish, licentious in style, evidenc-
ing the same in sentiment, devoted body and soul to poetry and
Lord Byron; and, moreover, William is atheistical.

“William has received a charming letter from David M.
Moir (‘ Delta,’ of Blackwood), and he says as much for the
book as Conder, of the Ee/ectic, says against it.

“T have just now received a letter from Mrs. Hemans.
It is a great encouragement. She says, to use her own
words, ‘if she has the pleasure of seeing us at Rhyllon,
she can prove to us how long she has admired and derived
pleasure from our writings by many manuscripts of them.’ She
selects as some of her favourites the very things the Eclectic
abuses. She congratulates me, I can fancy, with a mournful
reference to herself, in possessing in a husband a kindred spirit
and a friend; and still more, she invites me, if agreeable to
myself, to continue the correspondence.”

“8th Mo., 12th, 1827.—Dearest Anna, I rejoice that the
danger to thy dear little Mary is now removed. A child never
twines itself so much in one’s affections as when, in suffering,
it shows a meekness and uncomplaining patience. You could
die for it; you are almost sorry, as Leigh Hunt says, that you
have so much to praise. The affection of parents is a wonderful
and a mighty thing, coming with the little helpless stranger,
and becoming more strong and imperishable as the object which
excites it may require its guidance or protection. How could
the love and oversight of the Almighty be presented to our
hearts more touchingly than in the love of a parent? He has
110 MARY HOWITT.

represented Himself to us in that character, and has Himself
implanted in the heart that holy principle which we all feel and
venerate, and upon which He founds the resemblance. There-
fore I would regard Him with love rather than fear, and rest
assured that as a father seeks the well-being of his children,
and punishes but to amend them, so does our great Father act;
only with more mercy, with more justice, and without caprice
or passion. J am sometimes bewildered and almost overpowered
with the astonishing idea of the state for which this must be a
preparation. What are we to be? almost stupefies me. We
know, dear Anna, that we are here; we know not whence we
came; we have hopes and desires for the future, and the
wonderful organisation of the whole structure of Nature to con-
vince us that we are under the superintendence of some mighty
and mysterious power. But of the secrets and marvels of the
future existence we are ignorant; yet are we supported with a
secret assurance that the object of our existence is for our
ultimate happiness, when or where we can only conjecture. I
have some idea of a gradual ascent in the scale of existence,
and I do not think it irrational, though perhaps a little unscrip-
tural. Whatever our destiny may be, I hope, with all senti-
mentalists, that the affections may be more than flowers meant
only to adorn our earthly pilgrimage; and that those we love
and cherish in this life may be allowed to share with us, and
we with them, the more refined and more holy ties of a spiritual
existence.

“Art thou not grieved to hear of poor Canning’s death? I
have not mourned for the dead, for long, so sincerely as I have
mourned for him. I made up my mind on Fifth-day not to
mention his name, that I might not hear he was dead, for I had
a conviction that must be the case. William was from home.
I thought I would not go to bed with that sorrow on my spirit,
so shut myself up for the evening, when the demon of per-
versity sent a man under the window crying the suffering and
death of the lamented statesman; and I do not know, in truth,
when a more melancholy mood beset me.”

“3rd Mo., 10th, 1828.—I took a solitary walk to-day, which
I enjoyed very much, the atmosphere was so delightfully balmy
and bright, revealing the clear, blue distance, till every object
NOTTINGHAM CROCUSES. ITI

on the horizon, to the distance of between twenty and thirty
miles, was brought forward quite in strong relief. In front lay
our fine green meadows stretching away down to the Trent,
that looked like a river of polished steel more than silver; and
between it and the horizon were the dark woods of Clifton and
Thrumpton, showing even at that distance a hue of life which
they never assume till this season. But perhaps the greatest
beauty in the landscape was one peculiar to our meadows—our
inimitable crocus-beds. It is impossible for any who do not see
them to conceive their extraordinary beauty, shining out clear
and bright in many places to the extent of twenty acres, one
entire bed of lilac flowers. Nota faint tint of colouring, but
as bright as the young green grass, with which they so charm-
ingly contrast. The fields of Enna never could be more
beautiful than our meadows. A bed of asphodels or roses
could not look half so delightful as these, because, growing
close to the ground, they entirely cover it. There is another
charm attached to these flowers besides their beauty, and it is
the pleasure they afford to children. You see them flocking
down, as if to a fair, all day long, rich and poor carrying their
little baskets full, and their hands and pinafores full, gathering
their thousands, and leaving tens of thousands behind them, for
every day brings up a fresh supply.”

“Ath Mo., 13th, 1828.—How strangely and suddenly are my
prospects changed, and my heart covered, as it were, with a
thick cloud! I hardly know, my dear Anna, how to write; my
thoughts seemed tossed. I have much to say on one subject,
and yet I almost fear encountering it. Alas! how much sorrow
have I known since I last wrote! I have seen our dear little
Charles cut off in a moment, in the midst of his childish beauty
and winning ways, and, above all, with his heart overflowing
with the most remarkable affection. His merry antics have
amused me as much almost as they have him. Our house seems
silent and forlorn, and there is a void in my heart which no
other child can ever fill.

“Though, dear Anna, I have spoken yet only of sorrowful
memories, I must not ungratefully forget the mercy which has
been mingled with judgment. Never before—and my heart is
fullin writing it—never did I know the value of many a blessed
112 MARY HOWITT.

promise in Scripture. From the pleasant books, in which, in
the sunshine of my security, I took such delight, I have turned
with distaste, and found in the beautiful and assuring words of
Christ comfort and hope; and, dear Anna, without affectation,
I can truly say, were the power to recall the dear boy given us,
we would not do it. The blow has been a severe one; but
there are some things that call for thankfulness in it, and
assure me that there was a sparing and a merciful hand under
all, so that I hope it may tend to our good, and not lightly be
forgotten.”

“ Nottingham, 11th Mo., 6th, 1828.—I think, upon the whole,
the Winter Wreath is as good a book as most of the annuals,
for they are a chaffy, frivolous, and unsatisfactory species of
publication, and are only valuable as works of art. How little,
how very, very little, good writing there is in the whole mass
of them! But that they serve to keep a young author alive in
the mind of the public, and often draw upon him the favourable
notice of reviewers, and bring in a little cash, I would forswear
the whole community of them.

‘7 received two days ago a very nice, kind letter from Maria
Jane Jewsbury. Thou knowest the interest I have long felt in
this really clever and amiable girl. She also sent me her last
volume, ‘ Letters to the Young,’ a work very different from her
former ones, but of a most worthy and excellent character. I
do not pretend to any experience in religion myself, but I do
admire the sense and acknowledgment of religion in others,
where it is unaccompanied by cant or pretence. Thus is it in
this little volume.”

“12th Mo., 6th, 1828.—Thou hast no idea how very interest-
ing William’s work, now entitled ‘The Book of the Seasons,’ is
become. It is nearly ready for printing. It contains original
articles on every month, with every characteristic of the season ;
a garden department, which will fill thy heart brim-full of all
garden delights, greenness and howeryness, and dews and
flowers; with a calendar of all garden flowers as they come out.
Mountain scenery and lake scenery, and meadows and woods,
hamlets, farms and halls, storm and sunshine—all are in this
delicious book, grouped into the most harmonious whole.
CHARLES PEMBERTON. 113

Besides, there are calendars of English botany, entomology,
and of the migration of birds, with their habits and haunts.”

“Ist Mo., 25th, 1829.—How cold it is, dear Anna! Excuse
me talking of the weather, but in faith I must to-night; I am
shivering, though close to the fire. Cold is like love; ‘he'll
venture in where he dare’n well be seen,’ and where a midge
cannot enter, he’ll find out the way. But to think of the poor ;
my heart is troubled indeed when I consider them, poor children
and poor o/d people. I think of the aged, with their chilled
blood, which is always cold; of their stitf limbs, which cannot
use quicker motion; and their scanty clothing of many carefully
kept but thin garments, till I am really distressed. Our poor
old uncle, James Botham! I have even remembered him; yet
he was a comfortable man, with his greatcoat and worsted
gloves and short gaiters. Canst thou not see him, dear Anna,
with his hurried steps, in the very impotence of age endeavouring
to hasten along ; yet a child at four could soon have distanced
him! Well I have remembered our poor old uncle thus, till
my eyes have been full of tears. So itis, the longer we live
the more we look to those who have been, with a chiding of
spirit, as if we had disregarded them while living. Our dear,
dear father, many sad remembrances crowd in my heart some-
times when I think of him.”

“ April 26th, 1829.—I wish, dearest Anna, thou couldst have
enjoyed the amazing talent of Pemberton, as I did last week.
Truly it is wonderful. Such power of passion as I could hardly
have imagined; he really is tremendous. We Friends, who
are brought up from our earliest infancy under such calm rule,
and are so much taught to subdue all emotions, cannot form
any conception of the force and sublimity of human passion.
Not bursts of fury—those we do sometimes witness—but of the
stronger and more lofty passions: grief, love, indignation,
remorse. These were some of the traits he gave us, in the
characters and feelings of Macbeth, Virginius, and Shylock.
Feeling the truth and sublimity of these representations, I still
more admire the human heart and soul, which, like a deep
ocean, though often calm and clear as a mirror, can be wrought
up to such awful storm and reveal such rich and unfathomable

I
114 MARY HOWITT.

depths. Depend upon it, dear Anna, there is a very great deal
to be learned from such acting.”

I interrupt the epistolary narrative to add a few particulars
about poor Charles Pemberton. He was a man of good family
but of erratic genius, both an actor and lecturer, and his life a
perfect romance of adventure and misfortune. He had been a
good deal in America, where he passed through every variety of
experience, and had brought back with him a nature fresh
as that of a child. When in London, he dwelt principally in
the circle of the religious lecturer and (later) Member of
Parliament, W. J. Fox, and his friends, the Misses Flower.
Of these ladies, the younger sister became Mrs. Adams. She
was the authoress of a sacred drama, “ Vivia Perpetua,” and
other religious poetry, but is chiefly known by her exquisite
hymn, “Nearer my God to Thee.” Her sister was a splendid
musician, whose performances on the organ caused the chapel
of W. J. Fox to be visited on Sundays by crowds, who were
not exactly followers of that gentleman’s religious teaching.
Pemberton had married in his early manhood a handsome
actress, who was the misery of his life. They had been parted
some years, when he happened once to be staying with us in
Nottingham, at the time of the great autumn Goose Fair. He
was always a partisan of the people and their sports, and took
a lively interest in the booths and travelling circuses. At the
door of one such exhibition Pemberton recognised a showy
woman, painted and bedizened in feathers and tinsel, as his
wife. Fortunately my husband was with him, as he seemed
momentarily out of his mind; he uttered some terrible
exclamation of despair, and forgetting everything but his grief,
rushed out of thecrowd. After this occurrence, we saw him no
more for many months. I do not remember, indeed, that we
ever saw him again in Nottingham. He came to visit us
at Esher when in broken health, and on the eve of his departure
for Egypt, whither he was going by medical advice. If he
did not die in Egypt, he must have done so shortly after his
return.

I write to my sister from Nottingham :—
“10th Mo., 18th, 1829.—Speaking of beautiful poetry, there
VISIT TO LONDON. 115

is a piece of Miss Bowles’s in the Souvenir that is to me perfect;
its tenderness and pathos haunted me for days. It is the dying
mother to her infant. Miss Bowles is certainly a most charming
woman. Have I ever told thee what kind, cordial, sisterly
letters I have had from her? In her last she speaks a great
deal about herself. She has, she says, long ceased to be young,
and has known many tossings and tribulations, and so I can
believe. Her heart has known sorrow, and therefore she
sympathises with it so kindly.”

“ Nottingham, 12th Mo., 13th, 1829.—Thouw art quite right
about Mrs. Hemans’s poetry, and thou art not by any means
peculiar. But it is no stately undertone of German in it that
offends thee. She wants true simplicity. Her heart is right,
but her taste is rather vitiated. It is just like her dress; it has
too much glare and contrast of colour to be in pure taste. I
felt this when I saw her.

“Now, dear Anna, what wilt thou say when I tell thee
William and I set out for London the day after to-morrow ?
My heart beats at this moment to think of it. I half dread it.
I shall twenty times wish for our quiet fireside, where day by
day we read and talk by ourselves, and nobody looks in upon us.
I keep reasoning with myself that the people we shall see
in London are but men and women, and perhaps, after all, no
better than ourselves. If we could, dear Anna, but divest our
minds of se/f, as our dear father used to say we should dao, it
would be better and more comfortable for us. This is the only
thing that casts a cloud on our proposed journey. In every
other respect it is delightful, almost intoxicating. I recall to
myself the old fame of London, its sublime position in the
world, its immensity, its interesting society, till I feel an
impatient enthusiasm, which makes quite a child of me again.
Think only, dear Anna, to hear the very hum of that immense
place, to see from afar its dense cloud of smoke! These things,
little and ordinary as they would be to many, would, I know,
under particular circumstances, fill my eyes with tears and
bring my heart into my throat till I could not say a word.
But then to stand on Tower Hill, in Westminster Abbey, upon
some old famous bridge, to see the marbles in the British
Museum, the pictures in some of the fine galleries, or even 1o

12
116 MARY HOWITT.

have before one’s. eyes some old grey wall in Eastcheap or the
Jewry, about which Shakespeare or some other worthy has
made mention, will be to me a realisation of many a vision and
speculation. We do not intend to stay more than a week, and
thou mayst believe we shall have enough todo. We are to be
with Alaric and Zillah Watts, and have to make special calls on
the S. C. Halls, Dr. Bowring, the Pringles, and be introduced
to their ramifications of acquaintances; Allan Cunningham,
L. E. L., Martin the painter, and Thomas Roscoe, we are sure
to see, and how many more I cannot tell.”

“ My Dear Anna,—Actually and truly I write from London,
and in great haste, just to prove to thee that thou art not
forgotten. I cannot pretend to tell thee one-tenth of the sights
we have seen or one-twentieth part of the kindness of our
friends. Alaric Watts is one of the most gentlemanly and
obliging persons I ever saw, with a nice, well-bred wife and a
dear little boy.

“T am also exceedingly pleased with Thomas Pringle ; he is
a good man. We have met L. E. L.; she isa pretty, merry,
fidgety little damsel. Mrs. Hofland isa very ordinary-looking,
very countrified old lady, but very kind and motherly. We
have not yet seen Barry Cornwall, Allan Cunningham, and
Geoffrey Crayon; Dr. Bowring has, however, promised to
invite the latter to meet us to-morrow evening. T. K. Hervey
is visiting at the Watts’s at this time. He is a singular
looking young man, but very agreeable.”
CHAPTER VI.
1830—1836.

THis was the period when the annuals—those “butterflies
of literature,’ as L. E. L., herself a butterfly, called them
to me—found favour with the public. Alaric Watts was
the editor of the Literary Souvenir, one of the very best of this
class of productions. Both he and his wife had become our
beloved and valued friends. Zillah Watts, the sister of two
remarkable men, Jeremiah and Benjamin Wiffen, was highly
gifted, and born, like myself, in the Society of Friends. We
were the same age, and greatly attached to each other. The
chief bond between us at this time was literature, and the style
of our correspondence may be seen in letters given in the “ Life
of Alaric Watts,” by his son and my son-in-law, Alaric Alfred
Watts, which was published in 1884.

In our visit to London at Christmas 1829, my husband and I
first made the personal acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. 8. C. Hall.
He was then editing the Amulet, and his wife had accepted
the editorship of the Juvenile Forget-Me-Not. This acquaintance
grew into a lifelong friendship. Allan Cunningham edited The
Anniversary, and Thomas Pringle the Friendship’s Offering,
whilst our friend William Chorley, at Liverpool, was editing
the Winter’s Wreath.

It was on a visit paid to my sister Anna that I first came in
contact with the interesting Chorley family. The father must
have been dead some years, and the Quakeress, Jane Chorley,
her three sons and one daughter, dwelt with her brother, Dr.
Rutter. William, the eldest, especially applied himself to
literature. John, the second, was brimful of elegant scholarship
and music. Henry, then twenty, and equally musical, was of
a delicate constitution, and suffered from shyness. He was
very affectionate and generous-hearted, and became to me asa
brother. He was himself devoted to authorship, and assured
118 MARY HOWITT.

me that “no good work could ever be accomplished without
time, reflection, and prayer.” In 1833 he settled in London,
became a regular writer on the staff of the Atheneum, and three
years later he issued his “ Memorials of Mrs. Hemans.”

This amiable and accomplished poetess, anative of Liverpool,
and my senior by five years, had been brought up in the
seclusion of North Wales, and without being regularly educated,
had acquired the knowledge of several languages, and stored
her memory with everything worth possessing in the whole
range of poetry. She resided at Rhyllon, near St. Asaph,
having a kind, protecting friend in the Bishop, until the
marriage of her sister, in 1828, broke up the household. She
then removed to Liverpool for the education of her five little
sons, arriving there in the autumn of 1828. She settled in the
village of Wavertree, and writing to me in the following
December, speaks of “many things pressing on her heart,

_ amongst these, the want of hills, the waveless horizon, wearying
her eye, accustomed to the sweeping outline of mountain
scenery. It was a dull, uninventive nature around her.”

On my next visit to Liverpool I found Mrs. Hemans the
object of tender solicitude to the Chorleys, who were her chief
friends. She was persecuted by sightseers, especially by the
homage of importunate young ladies, so that she trembled to see
a muff enter her little parlour, lest it should conceal an album
‘within its treasure caves and cells,” saying she considered it
“unjustifiable in people always to come armed with their
pocket-pistols.”

It was summer-time when we met; and once, as we were
sitting together, little Charles Hemans ran into the room holding
a dark Bengal rose, and exclaiming, in gleeful admiration,
“Oh mamma, the red rose of glory!” Upwards of forty years
later I gave him, in Rome, a bunch of the same roses, and
attached to them, in writing, his juvenile appellation.

I must not omit one great and lasting benefit which we
derived from our intercourse with Mrs. Hemans and the three
brothers Chorley. They were all enthusiasts for the German
language and literature, and inspired us with the same taste.
William Chorley especially aided and encouraged us, directing

our studies and supplying us with books from his large collection
of standard German works.
TASTE IN RELIGION AND ART. 139

Returning now to my correspondence with my sister, I find
the following :—

“ Nottingham, June 14, 1830.—Why, dear Anna, if thou
feelst the disadvantage and absurdity of Friends’ peculiarities,
dost thou not abandon them? William has done so, and really
Iam glad. He is a good Christian, and the change has made
no difference in him, except for the better, as regards looks.
I am amazed now how I could advocate the ungraceful cut of a
Friend’s coat; and if we could do the same, we should find
ourselves religiously no worse, whatever Friends might think.
I never wish to be representative to any meeting, or to hold the
office of clerk or sub-clerk. All other privileges of the Society
we should enjoy the same. But I am nervous on the subject.
I should not like to wear a straw bonnet without ribbons;
it looks so Methodistical; and with ribbons, I again say, I
should be nervous. Besides, notwithstanding all his own
changes, William likes a Friend’s bonnet. In all other
particulars of dress, mine is just in make the same as everybody
else’s. Anna Mary I shall never bring up in the payment of
the tithe of mint and cummin; and I fancy Friends are
somewhat scandalised at the unorthodox appearance of the little
maiden. As to language, I could easily adopt that of our
countrymen, but think with a Friend’s bonnet it does not
accord; and I like consistency. I quite look for the interference
of some of our exact brothers or sisters on account of my
writings ; at least if they read the annuals next year, for I have
a set of the most un-Friendly ballads in them. What does
Daniel say about these things? I hope he does not grow rigid
as he grows older.

“T trust thou hast plenty of nice little shelves and odd
nooks for good casts and knick-knacks. I love to see these
things in a house, where they are well selected and used with
discretion. Let us accustom our children to elegant objects, as
far as our means permit. I think one might manage so that
every common jug and basin in the house were well moulded,
with such curves as would not have offended the eye of an
Athenian. There is much in the forms of things. J wish I had
my time to live over again, for with my present knowledge,
even in the buying of a brown pot, I could do better. Thou
120 MARY HOWITT.

wilt perhaps smile at this as folly, yet so fully am I impressed
with its importance, that I point out to Anna Mary what
appears to me good and what faulty. Morally and intellectually
we must be better for studying perfection, and it consists a
great deal in outward forms. Even a child can soon perceive
how in houses some things are chosen for their grotesqueness
or picturesqueness, which is distinct from beauty. I do not
know why I have written thus, for thou feelst these things just
as much as I do.”

“ Nottingham, Dec. 26, 1830.—It is impossible to tell thee
how I long for some mighty spirit to arise to give a new
impulse to mind. I am tired of Sir Walter Scott and his
imitators, and I am sickened of Mrs. Hemans’s luscious poetry,
and all her tribe of copyists. The libraries set in array one
school against the other, and hurry out their trashy volumes
before the ink of the manuscript is fairly dry. It is an abomi-
nation to my soul; not one in twenty could I read. Thus it is,
a thousand books are published, and nine hundred and ninety
are unreadable. Dost thou remember the days when Byron’s
poems came out first, now one, and then one, at sufficient
intervals to allow of digesting them? And dost thou remember
our first reading of ‘ Lalla Rookh?’ It was on a washing-day.
We read and clapped our clear-starching, read and clapped,
read and clapped and read again, and all the time our souls
were not on this earth. Ay, dear Anna, it was either being
young or being unsurfeited which gave such glory to poetry in
those days. And yet I do question whether, if ‘ Lalla Rookh’
were now first published, I could enjoy it as I did then. But
of this I cannot judge; the idea of the poem is spoiled to me
by others being like it. I long for an era, the outbreaking of
some strong spirit who would open another seal. ‘The very
giants that rose in intellect at the beginning of the century,
Southey, Coleridge, ‘and Wordsworth, have become dwarfed.
Many causes have conspired to make literature what it now is,
a swarming but insignificant breed; one being the wretched,
degraded state of criticism; another is the annuals; and, in
fact, all periodical writing, which requires a certain amount of
material, verse or prose, in a given time.”
VISIT OF THE WORDSWORTHS. 121

“ Nottingham, April 3, 1831.—I know, my kindest sister, thy
warm interest about us and our literary progress, and therefore
I am glad to think thou wilt be pleased to see the triumphant
course of the ‘ Book of the Seasons.’ I dare say thou hast seen
the notice in the Atheneum some weeks ago. This month
there are excellent reviews of it in the New Monthly, the
Eclectic, the Westminster Review, and Blackwood’s in the
“‘Noctes.” Our literary friends have been most kind, Delta,
Bowring, the Halls, and above all, our indefatigable friend,
Alaric Watts. Josiah Conder, too, has made the amende
honorable for his former offences against William by his
gracious criticism.”

“ May 3, 1831.—My little Anna Mary is gone again to
Uttoxeter; and Emma was also to have gone at that time but
for unexpected guests, who have been with us a week to-day—
no others than Mrs. Wordsworth and her daughter. This day
week, as we were dressing in the morning, Mr. Wordsworth
was announced, Of course, we were very glad to see him. He
was on his way home from London, and Mrs. Wordsworth, who
was with him, was taken ill on the road, and had arrived in
great agony in Nottingham the night before.

He came, poor man! in much perplexity to ask our advice.
We recommended that Godfrey should see her, and insisted on
her removal to our house, which was accomplished with some
difficulty the same afternoon. Here she has accordingly been
since. She is now nearly recovered, and I suppose will leave
us the day after to-morrow. Wordsworth greatly pleased me.
He is worthy of being the author of the ‘ Excursion,’ of ‘ Ruth,’
and those sweet poems so full of human sympathy. He is a
kind man, full of strong feeling and sound judgment. We
very much enjoyed the little of his society that we had, for he
stayed but one night with us. My greatest delight was that
he seemed so much pleased with William’s conversation. They
seemed quite in their element, pouring out their eloquent senti-
ments on the future prospects of society, and on all subjects
connected with poetry and the interests of man.

“Not less are we pleased with Mrs. Wordsworth and her
lovely daughter, Dora. They are the most grateful people ;
everything we do for them is right, and the very best it can be.
122 MARY HOWITT.

“T am glad to tell thee that they are quite delighted with
Emma. ‘Here the dear creature comes!’ Mrs. Wordsworth
constantly says, when she hears her foot on the stairs; and I
do not wonder at it, for a kinder, gentler, more affectionate
nurse than she is cannot be, perpetually doing, silently and
unknown, some pleasant and acceptable service.”

The year 1831 was not only memorable to us by this visit
from the Wordsworths, but from the riots in Nottingham. A
few years earlier the lowest class in the town, elated with pros-
perity, had become a perfect nuisance to society by braving all
order and defying all authority, and had taught us that, if once
inflamed by rage, these roughs would make Nottingham a dan-
gerous place.

After the accession of William IV., in June 1830, we looked
forward with fearful apprehension, till, in November, the Grey
Administration was formed, and then we again began to hope.
Those were certainly melancholy times. The poor were suffer-
ing dreadfully. Labourers in the southern counties toiled like
slaves for sixpence a-day, and with every spark of independence
smothered, from the necessity of receiving parish relief. No
wonder, then, at the spirit of insurrection among these poor
peasants. Nay, sensible men, well-wishers to their country and
the cause of humanity, began to consider the incendiary spirit
as one likely to produce good, that nothing short of it would
turn the attention of the rich and influential to the miserable
condition of these hewers of wood and drawers of water.

The trade of Nottingham depended very much for a market
on France and the Netherlands, and after the disturbances on
the Continent it suffered dreadfully. Poor people worked in-
cessantly sixteen and seventeen hours a-day, and could then
only earn from sixpence to eightpence. No wonder, therefore,
at attempted revolution; more especially as the toilers heard
‘of the country’s money being lavished by millions. I, who
never in my life had been a politician, and whose prejudices
from childhood had been in opposition to democracy, now most
cordially allied myself in spirit with the party who cried out
for radical reform.

On October 7, 1831, the Reform Bill was rejected by the
Lords; and three days later Nottingham Castle, the property
BURNING OF NOTTINGHAM CASTLE. 123

of the Duke of Newcastle, was burnt in the political excite-
ment.

My husband thus describes the scene, witnessed from the top
of our house, which was flat and leaded :—

“ First in the dusk of the evening, the vast market-place of
six acres filled with one dense throng of people, their black
heads looking like a sea of ink, for the whole living mass was
swaying and heaving in the commotion of fury seeking a vent.
Suddenly there was a cry of ‘To the castle! to the castle!’ to
which a fierce roar of applause was the ominous echo, and at
once this heaving, raging ocean of agitated life became an
impetuous, headlong torrent, struggling away towards Friar
Lane, leading directly to the castle.

“ Anon arose a din of deafening yells and hurrahs from the
wide castle-court. The mob had scaled the walls. They sur-
rounded the vast building as a stormy tide surges tumultuously
round an ocean rock. Anon and a red light gleamed through
the different rooms in view, followed by the hoarse roar of the
monster crowd without. The flames rapidly spread, filled the
whole place with a deep fiery glow, mingled with clouds of
smoke that burst from the windows and streamed up roofwards,
tipped with tongues of flame, hungry for the destruction of the
whole fabric. Through all this, even when fire seemed raging
through the whole building, there were seen figures as of black
demons dancing, as it were, in the very midst of the flames in
the upper rooms, whilst cries as dread and demoniac were yelled
forth from below. In fact, numbers of these incendiaries, made
drunk with their success, were still dancing in the rooms, in
delight over their revel of destruction. When all access by
the staircase was cut off, and only when driven by the aggressive
flames, did they issue from the windows and descend by the
projection of the stonework, which, luckily for them, was of
that style in which every stone stands prominent, leaving a
sunken band between it and its fellow.

«Soon the riotous, voracious flames burst through the roof,
sending down torrents of melted lead, and to heaven legions of
glittering sparks and smoke as from a voleano. The scene was
magnificent, though saddened by regret for the destruction of a
building which, though not antiquely picturesque like its pre-
decessors, was invested with many historical memories, and by
124 MARY HOWITT.

its size, symmetry, and its position on the bold and lofty rock,
formed a fine feature in the landscape. It was a steadily rainy
night, yet the wet seemed to possess no power over the raging
mass of fire. Frequently parts of the roof or beams within fell
with a louder thunder, and sent up fresh volumes of smoke,
dust, and coruscating sparks. The rioters had torn down the
wainscotings of cedar, piled them up in the different rooms and
fired them, and the whole air was consequently filled with a
peculiar aroma from the old cedar thus burning. In the
morning the great fabric stood a skeleton of hollow doorways
and windows, blackened walls, and heaps of still smouldering
and smoking materials within.”

Returning to my letters to my sister Anna, I write from

“ Nottingham, Oct. 16, 1832.—Were you not grieved at the
death of Sir Walter Scott? Never did there live a man who
has so largely contributed to the happiness of his race. He
seems tome to have been at this particular time an especial
benefactor, because sorrow and care are, as it were, let loose in
the world, and man needs recreation ; like the poor Paisley
weaver who said the greatest pleasure he enjoyed in these bad
times was reading Sir Walter Scott’s tales.”

“ April 22, 18383.—One’s heart grows sore with looking upon
the present prospects of English society. Any change, it
seems to me, provided it affected the aristocracy and the
immensely rich, as well as the middle and lower classes, must
be an improvement. One grows almost reckless about political
changes, so utterly hopeless are human affairs becoming. Were
it not for the tie children are of necessity, and the obligation
they impose upon us to have a fixed home, I could like to turn
gipsy or lead the life of a wild Indian, and have no home or
hardly any country, except such as chance and circumstance
gave us. At least, such a life I should very much like to try.
I dare say, dear Anna, thou wilt think I have lost my senses or
am grown very wicked to have such strange notions. I am not
going to do any wild thing, nor am I doubtful of Providence.
But what thoughtful person can look round on the strange
disorganisation of society without regarding that life as the
best and most rational which reduces one’s wants to the smallest
“ HISTORY OF PRIESTCRAFT.” 125

number, and makes us less dependent upon others than the
present state of things necessarily obliges us to be?

“Our approaching journey to London is partly one of
business; nevertheless, we cannot anticipate a visit there, par-
ticularly at this season of the year, without having many
delightful visions of much to be seen and done. I wish it
were possible to persuade you to take just this once a trip to
Babylon. Only think what we might do! Why, we would go
down to Croydon for a day, and we would live our schoolgirl
rambles over again; would see those green hills where were
actual shepherds, and where on the white stony tops we sat
down and ate our dinners.”

“ Nottingham, June 15, 1833.—With this you will receive a
copy of the ‘ History of Priestcraft.’ I do not anticipate its
entirely meeting with your approbation, though I must be free
to say I think George Fox, William Penn, and Robert Barclay
would have hailed it asa book of good fellowship; but, some
way, Friends have adopted a more timid policy in these days,
and are more inclined to concede to the powers that be than
stand boldly opposed to them. Perhaps you have heard that
this book of William’s was denounced in the Yearly Meeting
by Luke Howard as a libellous work, and one which he cautioned
Friends not to read. This in reality would do the book good,
the very caution inflaming curiosity and attracting attention to
it. ‘hough perhaps you may think some portions written in
too vehement a spirit, I am sure there is a great deal that will
delight you; you will feel that the general tone is manly and
right, and that it contains much beautiful writing.

“JT suppose thou wilt, dear Anna, expect some account of our
London visit; but really I have very little to tell thee. I can
imagine you will be inclined to censure me for not making a
point as of duty in attending the Yearly Meeting. But let me
beg of you to remember one thing—mother can understand it,
I am sure—what a serious obstacle is the distance of places one
from another in London. We were three miles and a half from
meeting, with persons not Friends, who, therefore, had no ar-
rangements made for attending meeting; and to walk back-
wards and forwards that distance, with no Friend’s house to
rest at, was what I could not do, and to take a coach was what
126 MARY HOWITT.

we could not afford ; therefore we were obliged to reconcile our-
selves to stop away, and did the more easily from the specimen
I had; and especially because there was nobody there we cared
to see.

“With the neighbourhood of London, we were extremely
pleased. The banks of the Thames are less beautiful for pas-
toral effects than the banks of the Trent, and this is owing to
the tide, which leaves a muddy shore for part of the day. But
when you come to Richmond, where such trees as you see in
pictures or fancy in poetry grow in their bountiful luxuriance
to the river’s banks, it is all you can desire for rich river
scenery ; and the view from Richmond Hill is certainly one of
the most glorious of the kind that can be conceived, such an
excess of fertile beauty as no pencil can represent, and you
wonder at the audacity of any painter attempting it.

“For a quiet, little, less-pretending place of great beauty we
like Highgate, and should not be disinclined to take up our
abode there. A modest cottage in a garden buried among
trees would be the height of my ambition. How happy should
Ibe to make thee and thine welcome in such a spot at High-
gate!”

“January, 18384.—William has been in London for the last
week. If you see the London papers, you will have noticed his
name mentioned for good or evil according to the politics of the
paper. Joseph Gilbert and he were delegates from this place
to the great meeting in London. He has attended several other
meetings, and been so warmly received that in one instance he was
obliged to come down from the platform before he could put an
end to the people’s marks of approbation.”

Until the publication of the “History of Priestcraft” my
husband had lived in great privacy in Nottingham, where the
Radical portion of the population now claimed him as their
champion. This led to his being deputed, in January 1834,
with the Rev. Joseph Gilbert—the husband of Ann Taylor,
joint-authoress with her sister Jane of the charming “ Original
Poems for Infant Minds””—and a third Advanced Liberal, Mr.
Hugh Hunter, to present to Government a petition from Not

ot-
SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE. 127

tingham for the disestablishment of the Church.* They had
in consequence an interview with Earl Grey, and presented
their memorial praying for the separation of Church and State.
His Lordship, after reading the petition, told the deputation
that he was sorry to find the expression of such sweeping mea-
sures, which would embarrass the Ministers, alarm both Houses
of Parliament, and startle the country. He wished they had
confined themselves to the removal of those disabilities connected
with marriage, burial, registration, and such matters, for on
these heads there existed, both in himself and his colleagues,
every disposition to relieve them. He further added, that if
personal disabilities were removed, he could not conceive what
actual grievance would press upon Dissenters. Did they want
entirely to do away with all establishment of religion ?

William Howitt, who, as a Friend, had been brought up to
reject all dependence on ‘‘a man-made ministry” and the out-
ward ceremonies of religion, and who believed that compulsory
payments for the propagation and support of Christianity were
not sanctioned by its Divine Founder, replied from his con-
science, ‘“‘ That was precisely what they desired.” On this Earl
Grey declared decidedly that he should give his strenuous op-
position to every attempt to remove the Establishment. He
belonged to the Church, and he would stand by it to the best of
his ability. He considered it the sacred duty of every Govern-
ment to maintain an establishment of religion.

“People are not so easily frightened at changes now-a-days,”
replied William Howitt, adding that “to establish one sect in
preference to another was to establish a party and not a re-
ligion.”

My husband held the opinion that if a State religion be
deemed advisable for each nation, it should for the Irish, owing
to the belief of the majority, be Catholic; and he felt a deep
concern at the coercion sometimes practised on them to enforce

* We are told in the ‘‘ Autobiography and other Memorials of Mrs, Gilbert,”’
edited by her son, Josiah Gilbert, 1874, vol. ii. p. 129, that ‘‘ the first public
meeting in the kingdom to consider the abolition of a Church Establishment
was held in Nottingham in 1834, and Mr. Gilbert moved the first resolution, in
which he endeavoured to set the tone of the meeting, and to imbue it with his
own religious spirit. A deputation to Earl Grey was decided upon, a leading
member of which was Mr. William Howitt. The blunt straightforwardness,
racy English, and ready tact in his interview with the Premier tell with quite
dramatic effect, even in the dull pages of the ‘ Annual Register.’ ””
128 MARY HOWITT.

an alien creed. In this he had a warm sympathiser in my
mother, who, from an early experience in Wales, had learnt
a wise method of treating the Irish. She had heard, when a
child, a gentleman say to her father at Cyfarthfa, “Mr. Wood,
the Welsh are a sensitive people. They still consider them-
selves a conquered nation. You may lead them by a fine thread,
bat I defy any man to draw or drag them with a cart-rope.”’
Her father had acted upon the hint, and no people were, in
consequence, more esteemed by all classes than he and his wife.
At one time the Uttoxeter vestry made it a rule that Irish
labourers passing through the town should not be relieved at
the vagrant office. Mr. Bladon, a highly respected draper,
went, therefore, in haste to my father to fix on some mode of
relief, and they jointly undertook to provide a small fund,
could any one be found to act as relieving officer. My mother
immediately offered her services, and, aided by her husband,
assisted in the course of time four hundred Irish.

Famine was then prevalent in their country, and she took
care to inquire of each applicant how much he or his friends
had received of the money sent from England. She always
obtained the same answer; the funds were entrusted to the
Protestant clergy, who refused to dispense them to those who did
not attend their ministry. My mother, warning the labourers
to speak the truth, as she should commit the statements to
paper and make inquiry, carefully noted the name and address
of each clergyman mentioned. Joseph Burtt, a Friend con-
nected with Ireland, after assuring her that she had been terribly
imposed upon, took the written statements for the purpose of
obtaining their contradiction or confirmation. He brought
them back the next time he visited Uttoxeter, with a written
remark affixed to each, such as—“ This is true,” “This is cor-
rect,” “Sad, but true.” Nor did she ever forget how the Irish
labourers, calling after my father’s death, on hearing the
tidings, knelt down and, with tears, prayed for his soul.

My husband combined with his intense appreciation and love
of nature, and his affection for all that was good and true, a
fiery detestation of every form of human injustice or oppres-
sion; and this made him a violent partisan in real and some-
times in imaginary wrongs. His hatred of what he felt to be
priestcraft had been engendered from infancy by the ignorance,
“ SKETCHES OF NATURAL HISTORY.” 129

brutality, and petty tyranny exercised by the incumbents in
his native village, and whose conduct and ministrations were in
most glaring contrast with those of his mother, the servant and
consoler of the parish. In Nottingham he found a warm ally
in Mr. Benjamin Boothby, a powerful and remarkable man, of
strong intellect and strong prepossessions, anti-Church to the
core, philanthropic, and an active agent in the improvement of
the borough.

William had published his “History of Priestcraft”’ with
Effingham Wilson, and I shortly afterwards made my appear-
ance from that house in a very humble guise, a small square
volume, with poor woodcuts, entitled ‘Sketches of Natural
History ’’; in a very unattractive form, I thought, in comparison
with Mrs. Austin’s “The Story Without an End,” which Wilson
had just before published. My husband used to amuse our
children with off-hand explanations of Bewick’s vignettes. It
is impossible to describe the fascination of those evening hours,
when the father, with the children clustered round him or on
his knee, told the imaginary story of the wonderful picture,
only a couple of inches, perhaps, in dimension: the two old
cronies talking together leaning on their spades—the blind
fiddlers—the village lads riding astride on the gravestones
—the pigs in the garden, and so on. It was a never-end-
ing series of village life, related in a rich comic vein, or with
true pathos and tenderness. My little poetical sketches had
reference to Bewick’s woodcuts of birds and animals, and were
written down because the children liked them. They still
live, and other children read them, under one of the various
titles with which Messrs. Nelson are too fond of disguising
old friends.

To my sister Anna I write, February 28, 1834 :—

“Have you chanced to see a good notice of my ‘Seven
Temptations’ in the last week’s Atheneum, the only review
which has yet appeared, excepting the Literary Gazette, which
was designed, in the technical phrase, to ‘damn the book’?
The cry is, ‘Poetry don’t sell,’ and perhaps it does not as much
as it did. If, however, my volume is unsuccessful, I suppose
I shall adopt the cry rather than allow that mine is not either
good or original. The new edition of the ‘ History of Priest-

K
130 MARY HOWITT.

craft’ will be out in a very few days. It contains four entirely
new chapters, and is much improved.”

“ Feb. 10, 1885.—Thou wilt see the announcement of William’s
next work, ‘The Rural Life of England.’ It is full of English
scenery and feeling, and of everything that makes a country
life delightful, with a fine spirit of human sympathy running
through it. I am busy, too, in writing ‘A Year in the Country;
or, The Chronicle of Wood Leighton’—a great effort for me,
being nothing less than three prose volumes. I began it about
New Year’s Day, and have finished one volume. It is an
engagement with Mr, Bentley. Wood Leighton is Uttoxeter,
and I have imagined a legacy of property there coming to us
from an old bachelor relative. The place is all new to us. We
go to take possession, find there an old housekeeper—our
cwn Nanny. Finally, we are so pleased we determine to remain
a year. Then follow descriptions of the country and all kinds
of character and story. Tell me what thou thinkst of it.”

“ November 5, 1885.—You would receive a Nottingham
Review this last week. It was sent for you to read ‘The Death-
ery of a Perishing Church,’ an article which has made the
town all alive this week. It seems as if the Archdeacon and
William were never to cease their controversy. Samuel Fox is
so delighted with the article that he has had it printed on
a large sheet of paper, and circulated gratis the whole town
over.”

On December 31, 1835, my husband, against his will, was
elected by the Council an alderman of the borough of Notting-
ham, and was regarded by the Radical party as their chief
representative. His political sentiments at this period are well
reflected in his correspondence with our valued friend, Miss
Bowles.

On April 25, 1835, addressing her at her place of abode,
Buckland, Lymington, in the New Forest, he says :—

“I sincerely sympathise with you on the havoc made in your
beautiful woody lanes. When Lord Denman gets into office, I
shall use all my Radical influence to get a rat-catcher’s place in
your Forest. Then you and Mary and I will set our heads
RADICALISM. 131

together, and write such things about it as shall make every oak-
tree sacred. Not an axe shall be lifted upon a tree, except for
the legitimate purpose of shipbuilding. When reform gets a
little vent, depend upon it, it will not be so rampant as it is now.
It is pent up, and therefore ready to break everything down that
itcan. It is chafed, and therefore puts itself in an attitude
of destructiveness. When the mind and gentlemanness of the
country see that reform must go on, they will gradually fall
into its ranks, and infuse a little more taste, a little better
blood, into the cause.

“The Whigs have a sort of mushroom liberality. They are
liberal that they may be thought so, not for the love of it; and
the Radicals are more politicians than people of taste. These
things will change for the better, I hope. Ofone thing I am
sure: the Whigs and Radicals have a great deal to learn with
regard to the honour and the strength derived in respecting
kin and party. For myself, I am as aristocratic about old oaks
as you can be.” :

On February 9, 1836, he writes to the same correspon-
dent :—

“Tn that sweet retirement of yours, what but thoughts and
feelings for your own and general delight ought to spring up?
If such a little paradise were mine, [ would forget politics and
be poetical and happy spite of Churches, Constitutions, Houses
of Lords, Humes, or O’Connells. But it is my fate to be
dragged into public botheration, and I shall never be free from
it till I am free of Nottingham. Iam anxious to complete my
‘Rural Life of England,’ but am daily driven away from it by
the nuisance of a Town Council that I sincerely wish at Van
Diemen’s Land. I wish we lived near you. I think our indi-
vidual Radicalism and Toryism would then amalgamate into
something very rational, very generous, and very beneficent.
I often think of your dear place and country, and the time I
strolled about with you and sat with you on stiles in that fine
autumn weather by woodland walk or hurrying stream with
great affection. I should have valued that journey if it had
left me only that pleasant memory, but it has left many; and
I sometimes talk to Mary of places and things that I en-
countered that fill her with poetry, some of which is already
in print.”

K 2
132 MARY HOWITT.

On March 6, 1836, I write to my sister :—

“IT want to make thee, and more particularly dear mother,
see, as I have done long, that Iam not out of my line of duty
in devoting myself so much to literary occupation. Just lately
things were sadly against us. Dear William could not sleep at
night. The days were dark and gloomy. Altogether I was
quite at my wits’ end. I turned over in my mind what I could
do next, for, till William’s ‘ Rural Life’ was finished, we had
nothing available. Then I bethought myself of all those little
verses and prose tales that for years I had written for the
juvenile annuals. It seemed probable to me I might turn
them to account. In about a week I had nearly all the poetry
copied; and then who should come to Nottingham but John
Darton. He fell into the idea immediatly, took what I had
copied up to London with him, and I am to have a hundred
and fifty guineas for them. I must call this a signal interference
of Providence for us. Is it not a cause of thankfulness, dearest
sister, and have I not reason to feel that in thus writing I am
fulfilling my duty ?

“T do not know whether you would see a Nottingham Review
I sent two weeks ago to mother, containing an abstract of
William’s speech at the Irish meeting. The effect of that
speech was really wonderful. I was not well, and could not
go out, or I should have attended the meeting, and seen the
effect myself. I am told that the audience was quite carried
away—now all enthusiasm, again perfectly breathless, now all
in tears. The greatest and richest men wept like children;
one old man covered his head with his handkerchief to weep in
private. Yet when William entered the hall he had no idea
of saying more than about half-a-dozen sentences. He said it
seemed to him like inspiration, and he wondered at himself;
and even when he sat down in the thunder of applause, he
himself wept, and returned thanks to the Almighty that he had
been so enabled to advocate a great cause.”

“ March 22, 1836.—This day I was looking over the adver-
tisements in a newspaper, and saw the Bible advertised which
thou saidst you were taking in; the very sight of it filled my
heart anew with affection, and I determined to work hard and
finish a pinafore I had in hand, and so secure an hour in the
DISTRICT VISITING. 133

evening to finish my letter. Now, therefore, I am writing, the
children being in bed, and William gone to meet a committee
anent a grand O’Connell dinner, which we are to have on
Easter Monday in Nottingham; a very great concern it is to
be, and one in which I take vast interest. I will send you an
account of it by newspaper.

‘I do not know whether I ever told thee that I have a district
which I visit for the Nottingham Provident Society. I used
even to question whether such visitations were proper for females.
My opinion, however, altered with consideration, and I volun-
teered my services. Now, I must confess I never had more
entire satisfaction with anything I ever did than with this. I
cannot tell thee the almost love—I suppose it is charity—I
feel for my poor people, nor the benefit I have been able to do
to some of them. I say this not in boasting, but in thankfulness,
because I never could have imagined, with the little we have to
spare, our being able to serve so essentially any poor families.
I have actually shed tears both of sorrow and joy with these
poor people. Then there is another view in which this work
interests me, but in a far inferior degree, and that is in the
variety of character which we find among the poor. In a
common way, one looks on them as on a flock of sheep. All
seem alike. All have many children, little leisure, poor clothes,
and are all more or less dirty. But one does not sit with
them five or ten minutes once a week without soon detecting
very marked and curious varieties, and hearing many most
touching and interesting bits of family history, of trouble or
sorrow, or equally interesting display of human nature, which
has often made me think better of my race for their sakes.”

William Howitt’s speech in the Town Hall on the Irish
question, in which he eloquently referred to O’Connell, led to
a spontaneous determination by the audience of inviting the
‘Liberator’ down to a public dinner. He came, being met
in the suburbs by acommittee of gentlemen in carriages, and
conveyed through the town amid the acclamations of immense
crowds. This visit brought us into personal and very friendly
contact with Mr. and Mrs. O’Connell.

My husband at this time, when most anxious to complete his
“ Rural Life of England,” was daily debarred from literature
134 MARY HOWITT.

by the duties imposed on him in the Town Council. We
therefore deemed it prudent for him to withdraw from the
arena of public debate to a more secluded place of residence,
where, unconcerned in municipal affairs and national measures,
he could, in the study of Nature and the pursuit of general
literature, laudably satisfy his intellect and his affections.

On August 30, 1836, I write from the village of Wilford to
Miss Bowles :—

“This letter must be one of explanation; and first of all
you must know that we have left Nottingham as a place of
residence, but are now returned to it for a few days after a
three months’ tour in the north of England and Scotland. On
our return we found your volume, for which accept our sincerest
thanks. We have not yet read it steadily, for we have been
back only a very few days, and we had our dear children to
gather again about us, to talk and listen and idle with them ;
therefore this letter of mine is but to inform you that your
volume is received, and will have an early perusal; then you
shall hear again from us, and at that time I hope to be able to
tell you of our whereabouts, which is to be somewhere in the
neighbourhood of London, and to which, as you will believe,
we are impatient to be hastening, for as yet our habitation is
unselected, and we have a pleasant vision of being settled
down in our new home before winter.

“JT should extremely like to give you some idea of our most
delightful journey, but that I hardly know how to begin. A
great deal of it you will find embodied in ‘The Rural Life of
England ’; to gain information for which work the journey was
especially taken, at least in the north of England. We saw a
good deal of the people, especially in the Yorkshire dales and in
Northumberland, and much to interest and please us. Above
all, we received much kindness from persons whom we met as
strangers. Our journey in Scotland was entirely of curiosity,
not of business, and accordingly we moved along much more
rapidly, and dwelt much more on generals than particulars.
Some time or other we may, perhaps, have the great pleasure
of talking over with you our visit to Staffa and Iona, our sail
up the Caledonian Canal; our Sunday at Kilmorack, during
the administration of the Sacrament to the Gaelic congregation;
certainly one of the most striking ceremonials—the time,
A TOUR IN THE NORTH. 135

place, and people being taken into consideration—that we
ever witnessed.

“ What a fine incident is that of yours which you call ‘The
Mechanic!’ I could tell you much that we have seen in the
lives of the poor that you could tell as touchingly. Human
hearts are holy things.”

In connection with the pleasant tour above alluded to, I
would add that at Blackburn we visited my beloved sister,
Emma, and her husband, Harrison Alderson, cousin to Daniel
Harrison. We then paid a most interesting visit to Stonyhurst
College. We drove, likewise, tandem with a young Friend,
who was anxious to show us all the wonders of the wild York-
shire scenery round Ingleborough, by Weathercote Cave, Hurtle-
pot, and Gingle-pot. We wandered amongst the simple, primi-
tive dales-people. After a delightful stay of several days at
Rydal Mount with the Wordsworths, we proceeded to New-
castle-on-Tyne, on a pilgrimage to the haunts of Thomas
Bewick. His two daughters, maiden ladies, became, from the
date of this visit, particular friends of ours.

We went to the ruins of Lindisfarne Abbey, in Holy Island ;
to Warkworth, remembering the delight which Anna and I
had in our first knowledge of “The Hermit of Warkworth,”
whilst my husband had rejoiced over the same beautiful ballad
asa schoolboy at Ackworth. To many another romantic or
historic spot we wandered, which my husband afterwards
graphically described in his “ Visits to Remarkable Places.’

We had a delightful stay in Edinburgh. Immediately after
our arrival, a public dinner was given to Campbell, the poet, at
which the committee requested my husband’s attendance, and
that he would take a share in the proceedings of the evening,
by proposing as a toast, ‘‘ Wordsworth, Southey, and Moore.”
To this he consented.

This banquet was our first introduction to Professor Wilson
(“Christopher North”) and his family. I sat in the gallery
with Mrs. Wilson and her daughters, one of whom was engaged
to Professor Ferrier, who likewise took part in the speeches
below. We could not but remark the wonderful difference,
not only in the outer man, but in the whole character of
mind and manner, between Professor Wilson and Campbell—
136 MARY HOWITT.

the one so hearty, outspoken, and joyous, the other so petty
and trivial.

The Wilsons were extremely kind to us during our stay in
Edinburgh, as indeed were each of the several classes of
literary society which gave such a distinguishing character to
that intellectual centre. There was the Blackwood clique, to
which, of course, the Wilsons belonged. Then the set who
composed Mr. Tait’s stronghold for his magazine. By Mr.
Tait we were invited to a tripe supper, and introduced to Mrs.
Johnstone and the rest of his local contributors. I found it
very agreeable and amazingly entertaining in its way. There
was the group connected with Chambers’s Journal; and,
happily for us, Robert Chambers, that most genial, intelligent,
and interesting companion, made himself our cicerone in
Edinburgh, showing us every place of interest, and presenting
us to every person of character or note, not omitting Mrs.
Maclehose, the Clarinda of Burns. She was then a very old
woman, and, pleased by our call and our admiration of the
poet, wished us to drink out of a couple of glasses given to her
by Burns. This, however, her servant would not allow; she
locked them up in the cupboard whence they had been produced
for exhibition, put the key in her pocket, and brought in their
stead three ordinary wine-glasses.

There was a fourth little group in this wonderful old city
that showed us much kindness, the Friends’ family of William
Miller, the Nature-loving artist and admirable engraver. I
have a most pleasant remembrance of breakfasting with these
excellent Friends: the abundantly supplied table, the pure
white linen, the kind, courteous, quiet manners, with the reading
of the Scriptures and the solemn pause of silence that ended
it. There was a young poet of great promise in Edinburgh,
by name Robert Nicoll. We took the liberty of introducing
him to the Millers. He accompanied us on this occasion, and
was very much impressed by the peculiar character of breakfast
in a Friends’ family.

From Edinburgh we went to the Western Isles, taking the
steamer at Glasgow. Our experiences at Staffa, Iona, later at
Kilmorack and the field of Culloden, are all duly narrated by
my husband in his ‘‘ Visits to Remarkable Places.”

We must have walked some hundreds of miles on this tour,
IN SCOTLAND. 137

than which I can imagine nothing more delightful. I am
thankful that now, at the age of eighty-six, I can still retain
such an unbroken sense of the Divine goodness to His two
unworthy children; who did not, I fear, though they enjoyed
the good which He so liberally bestowed, remember that it all
came from His gracious hand, and thus did not thank Him
as He deserved.
CHAPTER VII.
1836—1840.

We took possession at Michaelmas, 1836, almost without self-
exertion, of a charming home at Esher, in Surrey, procured by
the instrumentality of our kind and efficient friends, Mr. and
Mrs. Alaric Watts. They had removed from London to Ember
Lodge, Thames Ditton, and at the distance of three miles had
seen a house which they rightly conjectured would suit us.

West End Cottage—for such it was called—was an old-
fashioned, roomy dwelling, lying at the foot of the ridge on
which extends the pleasant, mile-long village of Esher. It had
a young, well-stocked orchard, a most productive garden, con-
venient paddock, and a fine meadow by the river Mole, with
the right of fishing and. boating to the extent of seven miles.
The furniture was to be disposed of with the lease; and it
being but scanty, we supplemented it with purchases made at
Hampton Court, and in 1887 at the sale of Talleyrand’s furniture
in London; for the old and noted ambassador had returned to
France and retired from public life.

We were speedily settled in our charming home; and I had
the delight of sharing the children’s joy over cow, pig, poultry,
pony and chaise; and my husband’s satisfaction in his study
lined with books, and in the attractive features of the neigh-
bourhood,

On December 3, 1836, I write to my sister :—“ Thou wilt
be glad to know, dearest Anna, that our prospects are brighter
than ever they have been, and our income will be better than
it was in our most flourishing days at Nottingham. In con-
sequence of an article which William wrote on Dymond’s
‘Christian Morality,’ Joseph Hume, the Member for Middlesex,
“ THE CONSTITUTIONAL.” 139

wrote to him, and has opened a most promising connection
for him with}a new Radical newspaper, the Constitutional.
O’Counell seems determined to make him the editor of the Dublin
Review, * and even when he just lost his wife, wrote him, on
November 27, a most kind letter—and a letter which has
materially promoted his interest with the party. I cannot but
see the hand of Providence in our leaving Nottingham. All
has turned out admirably. We have, indeed, much to make us
thankful. A new life seems opened before us; and I sleep as
I never have slept since I was young.”

“ Feb. 9, 1837.—Nothing has given me a more unpleasant
confirmation of my opinion of Friends’ contracted and sectarian
feeling than our experience in this neighbourhood, including
the town of Kingston. Some Friends came from that meeting
to announce to us the receipt of our certificate, with the utmost
solemnity and shut-up-ness. They never said they were glad
to have an addition to their meeting, that they hoped our
residence had proved so far agreeable, or that it might
do so, or even that we might have our health. They had
no congratulations, no good wishes. Perhaps they felt none.
But if so, it was not according to my notions of Christian
charity, that wishes good to all men. They warned us
against literature and politics, and when William inadvertently
used the word Radical, the man-Friend asked if he thought
that word a desirable one for a Friend to use. Everything with
these Kingston Friends was warning and prohibition. They
would not read books. They would not go into society. They
would not look at a newspaper, nay, even would not admit a
newspaper into their houses. Now, is not this a miserable state
to bein? Yet these are among the approved and most ortho-
dox members.”

“ Esher, May 30, 18387.—-I do not think there ever was a
time when I had so strong a love for my own kith and kin, or
such a yearning desire to see them. Some of the Friends here

* O’Connell deemed William Howitt admirably adapted to deal with political
and literary topics; but there was, as he affirmed, most serious obstacle to
his becoming the editor of the Dublin Review, for it was ‘‘ emphatically and
polemically Catholic.”’
140 MARY HOWITT.

are ten times more formal and dress ten times more absurdly
than in the North or the Midland Counties. For instance, I
have seen men-Friends all in drab, with horn buttons and little
pudding-crowned hats ; and women there are who will not have
a gather or plait in a garment, and who wear cloth bonnets.

«We have been up to London to attend one or two sittings
of Yearly Meeting. But as it was Seventh-day and we not
very knowing in such matters, we found the regular sittings
were not held—at least of the women-Friends. I, therefore,
spent the time with Christiana Price, at the White Hart, opposite
the meeting, which house, I dare say, dear mother will recollect
as a great resort of Friends. I was very much entertained by
the passing in and out of the dowager-like old lady-Friends,
who came sweeping in, with their long dark serge gowns and
large crape shawls; the assiduous attendance of their quiet,
well-fed servants; and, above all, with the original style of
conversation of Christiana Price. She isa very pleasant woman,
and retains a most kind and delightful recollection of thy visit
to Swansea. We talked it all over. She related many anecdotes,
to which I had to respond, ‘ Oh, yes; and I can tell thee some-
thing more.’ Very amusing indeed it was to see the strong and
faithful impression all that thou hadst told me had made on my
mind. Christiana said it was like an echo of her youth coming
back. I saw her brother Joseph also, and was very much enter-
tained by his apparent astonishment at my dress.

“ Among the stately old ladies was Elizabeth Fox, of Fal-
mouth; I think a really handsome woman. She was very
inquisitive after dear mother. She said she knew her well in
their young days, and loved her dearly, and had stayed some
time with her before any of us were born.

“Saturday night we spent with some friends of ours near
Tottenham. In going there we passed a long array of the
wealthy Friends’ houses. Tottenham is a sort of court-end, and
all looked so bright, rich, and well-to-do. There were such
traces of wheels in and out, and such a quiet dawdling in
and out of stout, handsomely dressed Friends. There lives
William Ball, who married the rich Ann Dale, and whom we
had seen at the Wordsworths’, for he is building a mansion at
Rydal.

“On First-day morning we went to meeting, and to Devon-
AT VFEARLY MEETING. I4t

shire House, rather thoughtlessly, for Newington would have
teen the right meeting to attend to see the grandees of the
Society. But I was glad we went as we did. The sight of
Friends in meeting is beautiful. The women-Friends in such
multitudes, all so pure, so gentle, so sweet-looking. Nothing
is more striking than the perfect quietness with which they sit,
hundreds of them, side by side, like images in marble, all in
the same style, with their heads a little inclined on one side,
and the head always looking small in proportion to the body,
and the effect of that is good.

‘Sarah Grubb’s sermon, however, was the strangest I ever
heard, full of denunciation, and in a spirit of animosity and
division. There she stood, a good-looking woman, in garments
sufficiently flowing to give effect to her figure and gestures,
raising her arm and pouring forth a really eloquent, but to my
mind unchristian sermon, and, like some ancient sibyl, repeating
in a high shrill key her denunciations, which were meant to be
prophetic. ‘Itiscoming! Itis coming! It is coming!’ she
said, speaking of judgment on the Seceders, and so continually
that it really produced an effect on the meeting. It was such
a sermon as Christ could not have preached. The Seceders may
be wrong, but they have, many of them, erred in the desire to
do right; and with a feeling of this kind they ought to be
spoken of, especially in public, with consideration.

“Our garden is now so lovely that I feel as if we had no
business to have all its beauty to ourselves. The lilacs are out ;
so is the broom, white and yellow, and the guelder-rose, that
tree for which we had so great a desire at Uttoxeter, Our
garden would of itself furnish us with employment; and it
seems to me that it would be such a pure and heavenly life,
especially if we at the same time wrote books that did the
world good.”

“ Esher, July 28, 1837.—Dearest Anna, we have had a great
disappointment, and a great source of uneasiness and anxiety,
from what promised when we first came here to be a satisfactory
engagement. I mean William’s employment on the Constitu-
tional, After the most harassing and vexatious conduct on the
part of the newspaper company, he was swindled out of every
farthing. Oh! it was a most mortifying and humiliating thing
142 MARY HOWITT.

to see men professing liberal and honest principles act so badly.
As thou mayst suppose, this was a great blow; and the very
money we had calculated upon for our summer expenses was not
forthcoming.

“A month ago, when in the very depth of discouragement
and low spirits, I set about a little volume for Darton, to be
called ‘Birds and Flowers,’ and have pretty nearly finished
it. William in the meantime has finished his ‘ Rural Life,’ and
sold the first edition to Longmans.”

My husband, in some private memoranda, says regarding his
connection with the Constitutional :—

“It was an attempt to establish a daily Liberal paper, which
should especially support the political, economical, and financial
reforms advocated by Joseph Hume. The misfortune was that
it was commenced without sufficient capital.

“ Joseph Hume requested me to write one or two articles
weekly. Busy as I was with my own more agreeable labours,
I did not feel justified in absolutely refusing to lend a helping
hand to a good cause. The papers used to be sent down to me
in the morning, and I had to read them and have my article
ready by ten o’clock in the evening, when the post left for
town. The Constitutional did not seem to make its way. I
heard more and more of many difficulties. Sad news was soon
given me by the editor. There were nofunds, The proprietors
were going on in desperation, without being able to pay a single
contributor. He told me that they had a correspondent in
Portugal, who had been sent out to report on the disturbances
there, who was totally destitute of funds, and was writing the
most imploring entreaties for remittances. He said Laman
Blanchard, who had a wife and five children dependent on his
pen, was writing daily articles, and for months had not been
paid.

“One day Major Carmichael Smyth, the active manager, told
me that he had sent for his son-in-law, Mr. Thackeray, from
Paris, where I understood he was correspondent for a London
daily paper, I think the Morning Post, to come and take the
editorship of the paper. Just as I was going out of the office,
which was in Fleet Street, I met on the stairs a tall, thin
THACKERAY AND DICKENS. 143

young man in a long dark-blue cloak, and with a nose that
seemed some time to have had a blow that had flattened its
bridge. J turned back and had some conversation with him,
anxious to know how he, Thackeray, proposed to carry on a
daily paper without any funds, and already deeply in debt. He
did not seem to know any more than I did. I thought to
myself that his father-in-law had not done him much service
in taking him from a profitable post for the vain business of
endeavouring to buoy up a desperate speculation. How much
longer the Constitutional struggled on I know not. That was
the first time I ever heard or ever saw William Makepeace
Thackeray. I withdrew from the paper.”

And in the same memoranda he notes :—

« At Esher we took long drives in our pony-chaise over the
heathy commons and through the woods. On one such occa-
sion we met, near Hook, on the Brighton Road, Charles
Dickens, who had in 18386, become a favourite with the
public through his “Sketches by Boz.” He was walking with
Harrison Ainsworth. I have no doubt they were both on the
look-out for facts, images, or characters to weave into their con-
stantly appearing fictions; and in Dickens’s next production,
‘Master Humphrey’s Clock,’ I was amused to see that our stout
and wilful pony, Peg, had not escaped his observation, but had
been set to do service in Mr. Garland’s chaise. By the by,
all down the Portsmouth Road, about Esher, you see traces of
his quiet notice of everything; in poor Smike’s journey with
Nicholas Nickleby; in the names of Weller, the Marquis of
Granby, and the like; as in later years you could trace his
names in the Hampstead Road, as Sol’s Arms, in his long walks
from Tavistock House round by Highgate and over Hampstead
Heath back again,”

In October, 1837, my little volume of poems, called “ Birds
and Flowers,’ appeared. In sending a copy to Miss Bowles
from Esher, October 23, 1837, I say :—

“JT quite despair of making you at all conceive of the
entirely rural, nay, perfectly wild region in which we live. The
144 MARY HOWITT.

land is full of fine places, it is true, but they lie only here and
there in the midst of woods.

Poverty, in its squalid sense, as we knew it in the manu-
facturing districts, we have never seen here. The people are
ignorant and improvident, but the cottagers are seldom without
a pig, and they all have a garden, and right of common upon
which they raise large flocks of geese, keep a cow, and often
a pony. The men appear always employed, and whatever they
have to sell, as fruit, geese, mushrooms, and such things, they
ask a great price for.

‘Much of the open land about us is sufficiently hilly to give
great diversity and character to it, particularly as it is covered
with heath, fern and gorse. We have often stood in the midst
of these solitary wilds and looked round us for miles on extents
of brown common and wood, and wondered how it was possible
that we could be only about two hours’ drive from London.

“The sole feature the country wants is running water.
There are none of those pleasant little, pebbly, clear and living
streams, that we have found elsewhere in scenery of a similar
character. Another want there is also, and that is the village
church, with its goodly spire or tower of old grey stone. The
churches are few and most grotesque, low wooden erections,
more like dovecots than parish churches. They are, in fact,
exactly like those one sees on old Dutch tiles; but even these,
in the midst of woods, often produce a very picturesque effect.

‘Dr. Southey’s description of Brixton and its neighbourhood
as it was when he wrote ‘Joan of Arc’ there, might be taken,
in many respects, for the neighbourhood of Esher; but then we
possess what Brixton never did, and that is rich old memories,
for the whole district is full of them. ‘The tower of Asher,
my Lord of Winchester,’ as Shakespeare says, whither Wolsey
fled in his trouble, is a short quarter of a mile from us to the
left; at the same distance from us, to the right, Claremont,
with its fine woods. Hampton Court is but a walk, and there
are the cartoons of Raphael, to say nothing of the historic old
palace and its stately gardens. Richmond, Oatlands, Windsor,
Runnymeade, Chertsey, the retreat of Cowley, and St. Anne’s
Hill, the abode of Charles James Fox, are but short drives.
Then we have a grand old Roman Camp, called Casar’s, just
by us, in a hilly region of wood and fern, commanding one of
“ COLONISATION AND CHRISTIANITY.” 145

the most splendid views I ever saw. Do not, my dear Miss
Bowles, despise our residence as a cockney box in a cockney
neighbourhood; such a place would have been little enticing
to us. William must have space to range over, and here he
finds it, and freedom equal to the freedom of your ancient
forest.”

Witit1am Howitt to nis Brotuger RicHarp.

“ Esher, Feb. 25, 1838.—I am glad to say that ‘ Rural Life’
is doing very well, and Longmans are anxious for another book
from the same author. JI am working hard at ‘ Colonisation and
Christianity,’ and mean it to be out in May. If thou canst give
me any hints, or furnish me with a good motto or two, I shall
be glad. I take a rapid review of the behaviour of the Christian
nations of Europe to all the natives of the countries they have
seized in all quarters of the world. After May I shall begin
the ‘ Visits to Remarkable Places,’ which I hope to make an
interesting volume.

“Do you know that the wife of our surgeon here, Mrs. Neville, '
is an old friend of John Keats? I believe I might say an old
flame. Many of his verses were addressed to her; and a very
lovely young woman she was, I doubt not. She sent us the
other day three sketches of him to look at—one of them in
youth and health; one lying in his berth reading while passing
through the Bay of Biscay on his way to Italy; and one as he
lay with his head on the pillow just before death. They were
done by Mr. Severn, the young artist who went to Italy with
him, and are very interesting.”

“Colonisation and Christianity,” by William Howitt, is an
able and good book, that has now long been out of print. Its
publication led to the formation of the British India Society,
which issued in a separate form the part of the work relating
to India. My husband, amongst other important facts, pointed
out that, were the native tanks kept in repair and the grand
native system of irrigation only properly sustained, the awful
famines in India would not occur. John Bright, made ac-

re
146 MARY HOWITT.

quainted with the abuses of our Indian system, took up the
question in the Chamber of Commerce in Manchester, and then
in Parliament, which dissolved the East India Company and
introduced measures of reform. He and Professor Fawcett
both powerfully protested against the reforms in India being
inadequate, and especially against the neglect of the obvious
means to prevent famine.

Mary Howirr to Miss Bow ss.

« Jan. 8, 1839.—A very happy New Year it must needs be
to you, and you must allow William and myself to congratulate
you most cordially on the era which it is to accomplish in your
life. Now, I wonder whether you thought we should be sur-
prised. I can tell youno. Mrs. Bain called one day and told
me to guess who was going to be married. As she glanced to
the books on the table, I asked, ‘Is the lady literary?’ <‘ Yes.’
Well, as it was not likely to be Joanna Baillie, I said, ‘ Miss
Bowles.’ ‘Oh! you are a conjurer,’ replied my friend—‘ but
the gentleman?’ Admiral Bain, my friend’s husband, intend-
ing to give me a hint, said, ‘I have been at his house.’ That,
however, was no clue; still, J did not hesitate, and said, ‘ Dr.
Southey.’

“Now, will not this convince you what a natural, joyful
thing it seemed to be? I had the pleasure of making William
guess, when he came in from his walk; and then we paid a
delicious mental visit to your cottage, and gave you our entire
heart-sympathy. May the Almighty bless you, and crown
your life with such happiness as you so well deserve.

“Tam quite cheered to know that you did not disapprove of
‘Colonisation and Christianity.’ William felt the least in the
world sorry afterwards that a copy had gone to you. Not that
he feared you could disapprove of its general spirit, but that there
might be reasons why such a volume should not be quite to your
taste. I thought it was horrible and dismal reading for a
lone lady. Dear Miss Bowles, this again reminds me of your
future. You will have more cheery company than the cat and
the canary-bird, and the portraits of the dead ancestors. I
shall never pity you of a winter’s evening now, let you be
reading ever so melancholy a book.
POPULAR EDUCATION. 147

“On the very day your last letter came I was going to write
to you to request the permission to inscribe my little volume of
‘“Hymms and Fireside Verses’ to you. William is going to
send you a book, which you can present to some young boyish
cousin, if you please. It is ‘The Boy’s Country-Book,’ being
the real life of a country boy. The engraver, Mr. Williams,
has embellished it, I think, very beautifully.

‘‘ You would be shocked, as we were, to hear of poor L. E. L.’s
death. We feared, when she went with her husband to Africa,
that her days might be looked upon as numbered, but we never
thought they were so few. It is indeed a melancholy fate, and
reminds us of poor Miss Jewsbury. It was dreadful to think of
her dying attended only by such a strange being as her husband,
Mr. Fletcher. Her relations have not received one syllable
from him to this day.

“Poor Miss Jewsbury! It was she who gave us most of the
carols which are quoted and alluded to in the ‘ Rural Life.’
She knew how I doted on carols and ballads, and, half in joke
and half in earnest, she collected at Manchester and its neigh-
bourhood all the halfpenny carols and songs that she could,
and had them beund for me.” —

I make mention, in the above letter, of Admiral Bain. This
excellent and enlightened man, deploring the crass ignorance
of the labouring class in Esher, succeeded, with much difficulty
and opposition on the part of the gentry, in setting on foot a
village school at his own cost. The affluent feared making
their servants and labourers intellectual by teaching them to
read and write. On our arrival at Esher, the only school-build-
ing in the neighbourhood * was in the distant and obscure hamlet
of Oxshott, due to the beneficence of the Royal Family. It
bore the inscription, “The Royal Kent School, founded in
1820 ;” buat it was no longer used. The windows were broken,
and the whole premises in a state of dilapidation. The farmers
were glad that so it should be, as the peasants, if educated,
would no longer be beasts of burden. In Esher the benevolent
Admiral would not be thwarted, and the poor children began,
about the year 1836, to receive a useful English education.

* A dame-school had been commenced by the Princess Charlotte in one of the
lodges of Claremont Park, but was discontinued after her death.

L2
148 MARY HOWITT.

Lady Noel Byron, the poet’s widow, was actively engaged in
promoting national education. She favoured my husband’s
religious and political views; and in 1836, admiring his
«« Address to the Society of Friends,” an article which had
appeared in the April number of Tait’s Magazine for that year,
had been desirous for its publication in a tract form for general
circulation. She was living at Fordhook, near Ealing, when
we resided at Esher, and made our acquaintance through our
mutual friend, Mrs. Joanna Baillie.

Lady Noel Byron introduced us to her son-in-law and
daughter, the Earl and Countess of Lovelace, who, like herself,
were extremely interested in the formation of industrial schools.
She had organised a school in 1834 in Ealing Grove, under the
charge of Mr. E. T. Craig, in which boys were successfully
educated for agricultural pursuits; and, when we became
acquainted with her, was anxious to meet with a suitable
schoolmaster to form and manage for her a similar institution
at Kirkby-Mallory, in Leicestershire. Such an individual was
procured for her by my husband.

During our life at Nottingham, William had discovered and
encouraged the intellectual ability of a poor man named
Ephraim Brown. He put into his hands works that were
calculated to soften down a natural ruggedness of character
and to cultivate his mind, which was of no mean order. Brown
evinced genuine gratitude to his benefactor, and a most anxious
desire to help others of the labouring class to think, reason, and
reflect. Village education was at that time confined to reading,
writing, and arithmetic, without any attempt at the culture of
the understanding, the intellectual powers of the child being
totally neglected. His great ambition, therefore, became to
help to draw pvblic attention to the subject of popular educa-
tion, so that, suitable measures being enacted, he might still
live to see his beloved native land enjoying, like her favoured
sister, Scotland, a wise, flourishing, and enlightened rural popu-
lation. He embraced most thankfully Lady Byron’s offer, learnt
the system in her model school at Ealing, and then commenced
a fellow-establishment at Kirkby.

I well remember, when staying at Lord Lovelace’s seat, East
Horsley Park, during a long drive through a southernmost
remote portion of Surrey, how here and there a solitary peasant
COTTAGE SCHOOLS. 149

in white slop stared at the ladies dashing by in carriage and
four; and bow Mrs. Hippersley Tuckfield, another guest of
Lord Lovelace’s, explained to his two sisters, the Hon. Misses
King, and myself, as we bowled along, the system of education
which she was carrying out on her estates near Bristol. She
had the most needful instruction imparted to poor children by
voluntary or paid teachers in cottages. She was opposed to the
erection of expensive school-premises and great gatherings
together of children, believing that the formation of their moral
and religious characters could only be individually effected in
small centres of tuition. She maintained that by her method
the entire juvenile population could in a very few weeks be put
to school almost without effort or sensible cost.

In Lord Lovelace’s schools we saw, during our first visit, a
hundred and thirty bright, happy, busy children; the boys
acquiring the most common handicraft trades, and the girls
learning dairy, laundry, and other household work.

To this period belongs a.“ First Book for Reading” that
I wrote, and which was published, I believe, at the cost of
sixpence.

Returning now to my correspondence with my sister Anna, I
thus address her, February 1, 1839 :—

“Tt is impossible that anything so kindly meant as thy
remonstrances could offend us. But I really cannot tell to
what it alludes. I have never contributed to any periodical
for these three years at least, except Chambers’s Journal; and to
that five articles. To none of these can thy remarks apply.
‘The Friend’s Family’ is the only one that describes Friends,
and I had no desire in it of ‘ministering to a depraved public
taste.’ I myself should feel great interest in a faithful sketch
of a Moravian family.

“Then, as to William’s contributions to periodicals, it can
- only be to Tait’s Magazine, for he has not written in any other
for years. His articles on Friends there contain not one word
which is not true, and had any object but that of pandering to
bad passions. Their aim has been to make known to the public
what is really noble and peculiarly Christian in the profession
and practice of the Society; and he has done so more than any
150 MARY HOWITT.

other writer that has written on the subject. I grant that he
has spoken freely of many of their outward peculiarities; and
that he has done with design, because he saw clearly that
these were capping the foundation of the Society’s simplicity
and usefulness, and that they had come to be regarded by the
Society itself as the essentials of the faith, or at least of its
practice. He firmly believes this, and he did, im my opinion,
quite right to speak of them as they deserved.

“T think thou art wrong in saying they have injured his
reputation in the literary world, for we have continual evidence
with how much interest they are read—and that not by gossip-
ing, idle readers—and how much they have tended to the better
features of Quakerism being understood. Owing to these very
papers William has been employed to write the article, ‘ Quaker,’
for the new edition of the ‘ Encyclopedia Britannica’ ; that is
anything but a proof of his good name having suffered. On
the contrary, we looked upon it as one of the most flattering
and gratifying testimonials to his fair reputation ; for none but
acknowledged and first-rate writers have ever been employed on
that work. That part of the ‘Encyclopedia’ is just about being
published, and the article, therefore, will soon be before the
public. William has gone carefully through upwards of a
hundred Friends’ books, old and new, in order to make it
perfect. The former article was very unfavourable to Friends,
and especially to the character of George Fox.

“My dearest sister, if thou knew how earnestly desirous we
are, how it is the frequent cause of our humble supplications,
that, in our day and generation, we may be enabled to do good
by making virtue lovely, and teaching how simple and glorious
is Christianity, thou wouldst not suspect us of any such false
designs as thou speakst of. With such desires it is impossible
that we can ever willingly or knowingly have perverted our
talents.”

My husband revisited the north of England this spring for
his work on “ Remarkable Places,”’ and, in so doing, paid a visit
to our relatives in Liverpool. On May 13, 1840, I say, in a
letter to Anna :—

“William quite interests me by what he hints of a certain
conversation he has had with thee on the state of the Society of
QUARERISM. 15t

Friends. It is deplorable, and marks decline every way. I
wish there were a fine, right-minded, active, and liberal body of
Christians that one could join fellowship with. There is some-
thing very good and very comfortable in a religious community,
if it were but established on Christian, not on sectarian prin-
ciples. I can imagine something so holy and affectionate in true
religious fellowship and brotherhood. I doubt if we must not
wait for its enjoyment till we get to the Better Land.

« We try to make our children Christians without reference
to any sect or party whatever, and except in the fundamental
doctrines of old Quakerism, such as abhorrence of war and
principles of universal religious and political liberty, Auna
Mary is no more a Friend than the Archbishop of Canterbury.
The boys will grow up the same. Alfred is full of thought,
has an interesting mind, and holds, young as he is, very decided
opinions. Even Claude, though a wild lad as ever lived, thinks
for himself, and now and then gives his opinion most oddly.
The other day he held an argument with a gentleman, whom
we do not know, on the Opium Question—taking the side of
the Chinese, of course. He told us when he came home, for he
was much excited, and what arguments he had used.

“ The two little ones will, I think, be brought up in excel-
lent order. My young Friend in the nursery, Eliza, is a real
jewel. It is quite affecting to me to see her nice methods, and
to visit her and the children at the nursery-breakfast, Charlton
sitting quietly in his small chair to hear a chapter of the Testa-
ment read.”

We had at this time made arrangements to reside for some
years abroad, being attracted by the alleged advantages attend-
ing education in Germany. At the beginning of June, 1840,
we were in London, at 20, Ely Place, whence I write to my
sister on the fifth of that month, telling her we were so far on
our way. I add :—

“We dined on Sunday with the women-Friends who are
delegates from America to the Anti-Slavery Convention, and
with that noble American abolitionist, William Lloyd Garrison.
The English Friends, whose women go up and down preach-
ing, and who have their meetings of discipline, have, neverthe-
152 MARY HOWITT.

less, refused to receive these women-delegates from America.
I wish thou couldst see and hear Lucretia Mott. She is a
glorious, noble-minded woman, and a plain Friend too. The
English Friends will not receive her because she is a Hicksite.
They also say they think women thus sent by an entire nation
are out of their sphere.

““We go on board our vessel to-morrow, the Batavia, for
Rotterdam, en route for Heidelberg.”
CHAPTER VIII.

1840—1843.

We made a prosperous and merry journey from London to
Bonn, in the delightful companionship of Clara Novello, now
Countess Gigliucci. We then sailed up the Rhine, which we
found worthy of its fame, as far as to Mannheim, and thence
drove by carriage to Heidelberg.

We were directed in that city to a widow lady, who could
speak English, and were able, immediately on arriving, to rent
the first-floor in her abode. We had scarcely done so, when
Lord Lyndhurst’s brother-in-law came to engage it for him. It
was, in fact, a favourite dwelling. There Jean Paul Richter
had been wont to enjoy an evening revel. The Emperor
Alexander of Russia, when proceeding on his march to France
in the rear of Buonaparte, had taken up his quarters in it to
his great satisfaction, and left above its door a brass plate with
an inscription, calling on every Russian hereafter to respect and
spare the house. It faced the river Neckar, having at its back
overhanging woods and terraced walks, with a secluded foot-
path ascending to the famous castle of Heidelberg, which, once
the home of the unfortunate Princess Elizabeth Stuart, and
devastated in turns by lightning; fire, war, and finally by its own
princes, still proudly stands on its vantage-ground. The castle-
gardens, open to the public, were just above us; and thence
we surveyed the vast plain of the Palatinate stretching away
beyond the Neckar valley, with the distant Vosges mountains
shutting out France.

Mrs. Jameson had furnished us with an introduction to Rath
and Frau Rathin Schlosser. They were a noble-hearted and
highly-accomplished couple, who gathered around them the
154 MARY HOWITT.

noted and cultivated of all nations at their country-house, Stift
Neuburg. It had once been a convent; was situated two miles
from the city, on the opposite bank of the Neckar, and filled
with choice works of art. Mrs. Jameson had also given us a
letter to young Wolfgang von Goethe, the grandson of the
famous poet, whom, most painfully shy and averse to society,
we nevertheless met a fortnight after our arrival at a ball given
at Stift Neuburg in honour of his relative, Rath Schlosser’s
birthday.

Wolfgang von Goethe, plain in person, yet bearing a remark-
able likeness to the portraits of his grandfather, proved, on
nearer acquaintance, a very intellectual and interesting young
man, of a most retiring and sensitive nature; but although he
was kind enough to say that he felt with us unusually happy
and at his ease, we saw but little of him. He shunned the
company of his fellow-students in the University, preferring to
lead the life of a modern hermit; and, shutting himself in his
room, perused religious works of Rath Schlosser’s selection.

Fascinated by the novelty of the situation, we were far less
fastidious, and willingly mixed with some of the large moving
population of the dear old University town. We also knew
many of the students—youths with abundant masses of flaxen
or black hair under very small caps, and addicted to smoking,
beer-drinking, and fencing, which they dignified by the name
of duelling—but who were, on the whole, gentlemanly, agree-
able, and unassuming,

The colony of our country people was small in those days.
It contained, however, for some months after our arrival, the
novelist, Mr. G. P. R. James, and his wife. He was an amusing
companion, brimful of anecdotes. Captain Medwin, noted for
his ‘“ Conversations with Byron” and his friendship with
Shelley, was a resident; he was a man of culture and intelli-
gence, aristocratic in his tastes, and finding my husband unpro-
vided with an English newspaper, politely sent him regularly
the Court Journal.

For the sake of our children we sought German acquaintance,
we read German, we followed German customs. In all the first
delight of glorious weather and unexplored scenes, we let our
new acquaintances introduce us to quiet valleys, with their fast-
flowing streams, rich grass, gorgeous flowers, and incessant
“PUAATACINIL LV AIOW LSU. Uno

 
GERMAN EXPERIENCES. 137

chirp of the grasshopper; to deep woods full of bilberries,
whence we obtained wide views over forest and plain. We let
them conduct us to many sweet spots—Neckarsteinach, the
Wolfsbrunnen, the Stiftmill, where, in the spring, grew the
little turquoise blue squill; and to other quaint old mills and
half-timbered homesteads with ancient walls and orchards,
where peasant girls, with clear eyes and picturesque dresses,
were washing and drying the linen on the delicious green hill-
sides. After days of happiness, unclouded as the sky above us,

 

OLD MILL NEAR HEIDELBERG.

we returned home, when the sunset cast an amber and lilac glow
over hills and woods, to tea, music, and merriment.

Anna Mary, then seventeen, spent a very joyous winter. It
seemed to her the happiest of her life. Her young German
friends found waltzing as needful to them as food or air. Thus
there were many impromptu dances and much delightful singing.

Our practical knowledge of the Christmas-tree was gained in
this first winter in Heidelberg. Universal as the custom now
is, I believe the earliest knowledge which the English public
had of it was through Coleridge, in his “ Biographia Literaria.”
158 MARY HOWITT.

It had, at the time I am writing of —1840—been introduced
into Manchester by some of the German merchants established
there. Our Queen and Prince Albert likewise celebrated the
festival, with its beautiful old German cvstoms. ‘hus the
fashion spread, until now even our asylums, schools, and work-
houses have, through friends and benefactors, each its Christmas-
tree.

We kept the festivity in irue German fashion, all the arrange-
ments being made, at our expense, by some willing, indefatig-
able natives of Heidelberg. The whole affair surpassed any-
thing that we, with our Quaker education, could have imagined.

On April 2, 1841, I write to my sister Anna :—

“William is just now on the eve of his departure for Eng-
land, for a stay, I expect, of about three months—the longest
separation it will be which we have had since we were married,
and it makes me low-spirited. He has completed his last three
months’ work; that is, ‘The Student Life of Germany,’ which
a young German friend of ours, himself a student, has this
winter written for him, and which William has translated from
the original MS. It is a clever, curious, and interesting work,
but Iam not quite sure whether you, and especially our other
dear relatives, will not see great cause to find fault with some
things init. For instance, the driuking-songs; but unless this
very characteristic feature of student life had been given, the
book would have been incomplete.

“The spring here is like weather come down from heaven.
All appearance of winter has long been gone. The hillsides are
getting green; the almond-trees are all in flower, many trees in
early leaf. The nightingale, we are told, has already been
heard, and the blackbirds, thrushes, and woodlarks sing all day
long. I greatly regret that William must leave Germany this
sweet spring season ; but then, if he did not go to England, he
could not finish his second series of ‘Remarkable Places,’ nor
could ‘ The Student Life’ be correctly and safely published. So
business, like the devil, drives.”

After the return of my husband from England, we made,
accompanied by our eldest daughter, a tour in Germany, setting
out in pouring rain, at the beginning of August.
SCHWAB AND DANNECKER. 159

In Stuttgart we called on Gustav Schwab, the poet. He did
not possess any great originality, but was of a poetic tempera-
ment, which found beautiful expression in verse, and some of
his poems William had translated for ‘‘ The Student Life.” We
found him a man of fifty, very old-fashioned, with a homely
wife, dwelling in a simply-furnished house. The rooms were
supplied with great wooden presses, full of homespun linen,
hard couches covered with blue-and-white check, and with
books, engravings, and casts of the famous writers of Germany.
The poet himself, in homespun, resembling a farmer from the
plough, was evidently pleased by our attention. He regarded
us as benevolent strangers, who bade him be of good cheer, and
go on in the straight but unfashionable path of poesy. At least,
so we interpreted his broad smile and his bows down to the
ground, repeated over and over again, cordial, yet so embar-
rassed, and to us so embarrassing.

Nor can I forget our visit in the same city to the studio of
the great, renowned, and pious sculptor, Dannecker. Amongst
other glorious works, he had produced a grand conception of
Christ ; and we could not look at this representation of our Lord
without tears of love and devotion, for there seemed to breathe
perceptibly from it a spirit of holiness. Whilst Dannecker was
employed upon the model in his studio, a little child suddenly
entered, full of fun; but the moment it saw this divine statue
it exclaimed, in a soft, low voice, “‘ The Saviour !’’ and, folding
its hands, fell on its knees before it. I can well believe this,
for so touching, so inspiring a countenance I never saw. The
sculptor was, at the time of our visit, eighty-three. We asked,
“Could we not see him?” and accordingly we were shown an
old man with long white hair, resting on a raised seat in his
garden—that was Dannecker! Whilst we were looking at him
with a feeling of reveience, the attendant went and told his
wife, I suppose, of our enthusiasm. We were then invited to
walk into the garden and shake hands with him. We did so,
of course, and greatly pleased he seemed. He took us round
his garden and showed us his flowers and his trees, evidently
thinking, dear old man! that they would give us just as much
pleasure as his immortal works had done. He died before the
close of the year.

From Stuttgart we went to the university town of Tiibingen,
160 MARY HOWITT.

a place so ancient that we felt the students must imbibe exclu-
sively old divinity, abstruse sciences, and black art. Here we
paid a visit to the renowned German poet, Johann Ludwig
Uhland. It seemed as if he had lived all his days in the
glorious world of his own fancies, untroubled and unvisited by
anything so material as three English travellers, and appeared
in consequence both unhappy and uncomfortable until his wife
came. She arrived from the garden with her knitting-basket
on her arm and a book in her hand, which she had been read-
ing there—it was Milton’s “ Paradise Lost” in English. She
took such an incursion naturally and easily, and made us kindly
welcome.

We spent a fortnight in Vienna, the capital not merely of
Austria, but of German gaiety; thousands, and tens of thou-
sands, were seated in the gardens—netting, knitting, listening
to the musical bands, drinking coffee and sugar-water, and
eating ices. There was the Folk’s Theatre, with its comic
representations ; the opera; there were concerts, and fireworks
all in full action. Imperial gardens and parks were open, and
the public walked in them, and through the very courts and
gateways of palaces, as if they were their own. We were
already aware of the freedom thus enjoyed by the people, from
our experience in Baden and elsewhere. We had noticed the
Grand Duke come into a country inn, call for his glass of ale,
drink it, pay for it, and go unceremoniously away. The
Emperor of Austria and the King of Prussia might also be
seen walking about amongst their subjects. Archdukes and
princes sat in public places with their friends, unassumingly
drinking coffee. These royal and ducal personages were treated
with quiet respect, and whilst everywhere popular, were
exempted from all crushing and being stared at.

We grew quite tired of sight-seeing, and looked forward to
our two days and nights’ continuous travelling in an Evlwagen
over the whole extent of Bohemia as a season of respite and
relief. We started on September 7 for Prague, journeying on
without stopping, except to eat and change horses. Oh, how
different was the heavy, lumbering Eidwagen in appearance
from a smart English mail-coach !

It was at Znaim, I think, where we arrived the first night,
that we could obtain no fresh relay of horses. Great was the
AT HERRNHUT. 161

consternation. They were required, we were told, for M. Thiers,
whom my husband saw quietly seated asleep in his carriage, at
the inn-door.

How strangely unvaried was the scenery through which we
passed! Mycompanions often slept. I generally kept awake,
and studied the dreary, solitary character of the landscape ;
and one afternoon, in so doing, I saw a house on fire, situated
at about a quarter of a mile from the road, on one of the
immense plains. There was little smoke, but a mass of burning
fire, which looked colourless in the hot sun. I woke my
husband and daughter, but our exclamations of surprise and
sympathy produced no response in the postillions or remaining
passengers ; the latter were doubtless asleep, and the officials
were indifferent to the spectacle of fire and the misery it
implied.

Prague, of course, interested us greatly. Then on we
journeyed to Dresden, where we vastly enjoyed the opera.
From the Saxon capital we went to Herrnhut. I was much
pleased with this peaceful settlement of Moravians—the clean,
cheerful exterior of the houses, the well-kept streets, the
pleasant gardens. Herrnhut lies high and bleak. The night
of our arrival was intensely chilly; we were driving in an
open carriage, and all took cold. The next morning there was
a strong frost. The dahlias and the potatoes were frozen.
But the sky was clear and the sun bright. We walked about
and saw all that was to be seen. We were greatly interested
by our conversation with the meek, quiet people, who all
seemed so good. The healthy men had cheerful, serene
countenances; the mild-looking women wore caps of snowy
linen, tied with ribbons of various colours, denoting the wearer
to be maiden, wife, or widow. We heard music of a soft
devotional character through open windows, intimating either
worship or social enjoyment. Herrnhut seemed a haven of
peace. The piety of these Moravians struck us forcibly, after
the very little religious belief which we had met with amongst
the Lutherans, whom we found full of sentiment and human
affection, yet very cold in their love of Christ and His holy
faith. They had, in fact, become philosophised out of their
religion. The Rationalists had gained ground, especially
among the students, and Strauss, in his “ Life of Christ,” was

M
162 WARY HOWITT.

believed by his numerous disciples to have undermined for ever
the entire fabric of Scriptural revelation.

Of the Catholics we knew but little. I had, however, from
our first arrival in Germany, been much touched by the way-
side shrines and crucifixes; they seemed to me like religious
thoughts on the highway—true guide-posts to heaven. The
Catholic character of the valley of Petersthal, near Heidelberg,
had likewise a charm for me. There were little images of the
Virgin in niches on the fronts of the cottages, which, although
wretched plaster figures gaudily coloured, indicated much
devotion. At the end of the valley was a small chapel of a
most simple and ancient appearance, surrounded by solemn
woods. Every object in the edifice bespoke poverty, and was
of the most primitive construction, forming the greatest contrast
to the magnificent interior of Cologne Cathedral, for instance ;
and yet in both reigned the same spirit of sanctity and of
prayer.

And let me now say, what I regard as one of the most
important and marvellous circumstances of my life, but of
which I certainly was not conscious for the greater part of it,
that through periods of forgetfulness, wilful error, experiments
of faith, doubt and despondency, I was never utterly forsaken
by the Holy Spirit. I attribute this watchful, undying
fidelity of Divine Love as greatly due to the sincere, heartfelt
prayers of my excellent parents, and their having, to the best
of their knowledge, committed their children to the Divine
Guide, the Enlightener.

But to proceed with our travels. At Dresden we visited
Moritz Retzsch ; and my daughter Anna Mary writes to a cor-
respondent, September 22, 1841: “He lives a few miles out of
Dresden, in a small country house at the foot of the Weinberg,
in the village of Losnitz. It seemed an out-of-the-world sort
of a place, a chain of low hills covered with vineyards; at the
foot a few scattered white houses, with green shutters and red
roofs; in the foreground a bad road and two or three desolate
gardens. This was the scene of Retzsch’s home, and with a
blue sky and plenty of autumn colouring, the place did not
want for picturesque effect. The house in itself is very
humble, the rooms small and badly furnished. While we were
making these hasty observations, a stout man of middle size,
MORITZ RETZSCH. 163

with an abundance of wild grey hair, stood before us. This
was Moritz Retzsch.

“ Although he was outwardly polite, we could see he did not
recognise in our name that of the admirer of his works, who,
two years since, had sent him a flattering letter and a book of
poems from England. At length a mist seemed to vanish from
his eyes, and stretching across the table, he seized mamma’s
hand with both his, and began shaking it until his very arms
must have ached. Five minutes later, his whole face beaming
with pleasure, did he again begin violently with both hands
the same process; but this time it was papa’s and my turn.

“Now we must eat some of his grapes; must go to his
painting-room upstairs; must see his wife’s album. Through
several very narrow passages, up a very small flight of steps,
and through one or two little bedrooms did he conduct us,
until we fairly entered his ‘ working-room,’ as he called a tiny
chamber. There he opened the table-drawer and exhibited to
us mamma’s letter, carefully folded up among a heap of lead-
pencils, sketch-books, indiarubber, and penknives. Then, from
under a heap of papers, he drew forth his wife’s album. It
would be impcssible to mention a tenth of the gems which we
saw as we turned over the leaves of this remarkably rich book.
Suffice it to say that it contains at least half-a-dozen designs
equal to his ‘Chess-players.’ There were many drawings
revealing some exquisite sentiment or half-hidden moral. One
particularly pleased us. It was his portrait, just a sketch of
his head and face, with an exquisite border of fanciful and
poetical figures—a perfect swarm, and imaging forth, as he
said, his own mind.

“While we were turning over the pages of the album, he
read to us his own explanations of these sketches, every now
and then breaking off into half-moralising, half-sentimental
and poetical remarks, quite in the spirit of his ‘ Fancies.’ We
went with the intention of spending half-an-hour with him,
when behold, as we closed the book, the call had already lasted
two hours! In another hour’s time we must be ready to start
for Leipzig ; and thus, in spite of all his great kindness, and
his offer to show us still more of his drawings, we were
obliged to hasten away.

“ He and an amiable young girl, whom we imagined to be

M2
164 MARY HOWITT.

his niece, accompanied us to the gate, and as long as we could
keep sight of them did we see them still gazing after us, good,
kind Retzsch waving his cap in token of adieu.”

From Leipzig we proceeded to Berlin. It was very
different from the present magnificent capital. Along every
street and before every house, even in the finest parts of the
city and in the neighbourhood of the King’s palace, was a
stagnant sink, which filled the whole air with its rank odour.
The inhabitants told us that it was impossible to drain the
city, as it stood on a dead flat. Into one of these sinks we saw
a little boy of about five years plunged headlong, as he was
playing on the causeway, by a rough fellow who was going
carelessly along. Nobody seemed to care. He was left to
scramble out, and after cleaning his face and mouth in some
degree from the filth, began to ery piteously. We asked the
boy where he lived, and he showed us a little girl about his
own age who was standing by and quietly knitting, With
the utmost difficulty we compelled her to take her brother
home, and were aided by a good man, who seized her sternly by
the arm and forced her to go on with the boy, who all the time
was weeping.

King Frederick William IV., who had recently ascended
the throne, was embellishing his city, and in the portico of the
Museum opposite to the palace we observed Cornelius at work,
adorning it with frescoes. Schelling, the brothers Grimm,
Humboldt, Savigny, Riickert, Rauch, Schinkel, the Tiecks, poet
and sculptor, with other famous men, had been drawn to Berlin
by the sovereign, who wished to render his reign illustrious by
science and art.

On Tieck, the poet, His Majesty had bestowed a pension, on
the condition that he spent three months in the year with him.
We had the pleasure of visiting this oldest veteran of German
literature in his charming house just below the palace of Sans
Souci at Potsdam, given him for his use by the King.

After leaving Berlin, we saw Magdeburg and the wild
scenery of the Harz mountains; and stayed in the beautiful
Selke valley at Alexisbad. Owing to its being late autumn,
the guests were all gone, and the place was considered closed
for the season. How astonished, therefore, were we, and a
MEVERBEER. 165

young Englishman travelling with us, the son of Dr. South-
wood Smith, to hear in an adjacent apartment the most brilliant
performance on the piano! It reminded our fellow-traveller of
the music in “ Robert le Diable” and “ Les Huguenots”; and
we learnt from the waiter that it was actually the great com-
poser himself. He was staying on at the bath to secure quiet
and leisure for the composition of a new opera. The next
morning, as we were dressing, we saw our young companion
paying his respects in the garden to Meyerbeer, and then walk-
ing about with him. The opera thus being composed at soli-
tary Alexisbad was “Le Prophéte,” which, although shortly
afterwards finished, was first performed some eight years later.

We visited Luther’s cell at Erfurt, and his retreat in the
Wartburg. In Weimar we were most kindly received by
Wolfgang von Goethe’s mother, then in delicate health. She
showed us many interesting mementos of her great father-in-
law; and also the common little table that Schiller had be-
queathed to his friend Goethe, and which showed the simple
life of those renowned geniuses.

On our return to Heidelberg we had the most sorrowful
revelation of human nature. We found we had been sur-
rounded by much plotting and cunning from fellow-inmates ;
we removed, therefore, in the spring of 1842 to a house recently
erected at the opposite end of the city, and amidst fresh, healthy
associations shook off all lingering recollections of the people
who had deceived and cheated us. Here we had as a near and
congenial neighbour a daughter of my maternal relative,
Richard Fryer. He was the first Liberal member for Wolver-
hampton, and noted, before the days of Cobden and Bright, for
his persistent advocacy of the abolition of the corn-laws. His
daughter, inheriting his great ability and force of character,
was especially dear to me from having known much tribulation:
high talent or a chastened spirit being ever in my eyes far
nobler and far more winning than exalted birth or worldly
riches.

Our new and agreeable residence, which is now enlarged and
converted into the Victoria Hotel, was situated on the Andage,
or public walk leading to the station, for the railway had been
brought to Heidelberg. We rented the highest floor, and thus
commanded a magnificent view of the great plain stretching
166 MARY HOWITT.

out before us, the Rhine glancing in the sunny horizon, the
distant mountains rising heavenward, and the green, round,
vine-covered familiar hills flanking the foreground.

Here we learnt how best to live in Germany. In the first
house we had native servants, who could speak English. They
had all the views of pampered English domestics, and, what
was worse, they cheated us in a hundred ways. By degrees our
eyes were opened; we sent our fine servants away, and engaged in

 

OUR SECOND HOME AT HEIDELBERG.

their stead, for half the wages, a regular German maid-of-all-
work, with no knowledge of English, and we found our pocket
saved and our comfort increased every way. In fact, we just
understood the true mode of living in Germany when we were
preparing to leave it.

On November 19, 1842, I write to our friend, Miss Bowles,
then Mrs. Southey, and whose wedded bliss had been almost
immediately blighted by Southey becoming imbecile :—
RETURN TO ENGLAND. 167

“You did us justice when you gave us credit for caring to
hear about you, We knew how painfully occupied was your
mind, as well as your time, by your dear husband’s grievous
infirmities, and we saw sufficient reason for your silence.

“Qur residence in Germany now approaches its close. In
the spring we return to England; though we leave our elder
boys behind us at their school, and our daughter in a French
family. Greatly as I have enjoyed our German residence, I
begin to have a longing for England, a sort of enthusiasm grow-
ing up for my native land, which I was glad enough to let sleep
while it was convenient or desirable for us to live out of it. We
have attained, I think, our present object in coming, We have
given our daughter opportunities of accomplishing herself which
we had not in England; and we have made ourselves well
acquainted with the establishment in which the boys will be
placed. We regret extremely not having been able to reach
Italy this autumn, which was our original intention. The pro-
ject is delayed, but by no means abandoned. ,

“After Easter we shall be in England, but of our exact
whereabouts I cannot at present speak, as we do not intend to
return to our former residence at Esher.”

The journey back to England was carried out as proposed ;
its chief and most agreeable feature being the pleasant halt
made at St. Goar, on the Rhine, to visit Ferdinand Freiligrath.
He was a young lyric poet, and a great admirer of English
poetry. His renderings of Coleridge, Burns, Southey, Scott,
and other authors read as originals. He liked my productions,
and had introduced specimens to his countrymen. His accom-
plished wife, Ida, daughter of Professor Melos, of Weimar, and
Goethe’s god-daughter, was then, or perhaps a little later,
engaged with her husband in the translation of the “ Forest
Sanctuary,” and some of the minor poems of Felicia Hemans.
CHAPTER IX.

1843—1848.

On our return to England, in April 1843, I was full of energy
and hope. Glowing with aspiration, and in the enjoyment of
great domestic happiness, I was anticipating a busy, perhaps
overburdened, but, nevertheless, congenial life. It was, how-
ever, to be one of darkness, perplexity, and discouragement.

Just before our departure from Heidelberg we made a pedes-
trian excursion into the remnants of the ancient Hardt Forest.
There, seated at the foot of a mighty pine tree, Frau von
Schoultz, the niece of the Royal Academician, Thomas Phillips,
sang so splendidly, in Swedish, Tegnér’s “Old Gothic Lion,”
an heroic national air greatly beloved in Sweden, that some
peasant-girls cutting an early growth in the glades of the wood
came forth, and with brandished sickles kept time to the
strain.

It was a lovely day and a beautiful scene, yet marked by an
unspeakable sadness, which was afterwards to dim the bright-
ness of our lives. Our handsome, nimble little Claude, then in
his tenth year, and called by his preceptors, for the sweetness
of his disposition and his brilliant attainments, der goldene
Junge, was perceived to be lame. He said, “It was nothing.”
But when we insisted. on an explanation, he confessed to his
right knee being tired. “It hurt him just a little; nothing to
speak of.”

He continued to limp, and we, naturally troubled, to ask,
“What did it mean P ”—“ He fancied it was sprained. He had
felt it ever since——(mentioning an English youth), following
him up the staircase, had, for a joke, lifted him up by the
collar over the balustrade, which was not much more than a
CLAUDE HOWITT. 169

yard above the pavement. Somehow he had slipped out of his
hands and dropped, but he had lighted on his feet. He had
not been hurt. He only felt his knee when he was tired.”

Poor Claude! He seemed so bright and cheerful, that, by
some strange chance, although shocked by the disclosure, we
accepted his explanation. The entire party returned home
weary ; and he seeming not more so than the rest, we forgot,
in the stir and occupation of leaving Heidelberg, our momentary
anxiety.

But after my husband and I, with the younger children, had
arrived in England, and we were busy settling in a house we
had taken at Upper Clapton, we received a letter from our
daughter, Anna Mary, that filled us with dismay and anguish.
Claude’s knee had developed the most alarming features of
disease. The English physician at Mannheim, who had seen
him, desired that his parents might be immediately apprised, and
he taken home.

I write to my sister from The Grange, Upper Clapton, July
23, 1843.—“T do not know whether dear mother has told thee
of poor Claude’s sad accident, and of his being now at home
perfectly lame. Oh! it has been the saddest trial we ever had
in our lives! Never was my heart so wrung ; never did I shed
such bitter tears as I have done over this poor child! William
fetched Claude from Germany. He then took him to Mr.
Liston, one of the most eminent physicians in London. He
could counsel nothing but amputation. We could only consent
to this as the very last means. William thought then of
taking him to Sir Benjamin Brodie; but that kind, excellent
man, Joseph Pease, of Darlington, a very particular friend of
William’s, begged him first to ask the advice of Dr. Bevan, a
Friend, a very clever and conscientious man, whom, supposing
Claude were his child, he should employ.

“Dr. Bevan recommended Mr. Aston Key, and under his
care, accordingly, Claude was put. He, like Liston, thought
the case was most serious. He would not give us hope, but
said there was a chance of his regaining the use of the limb.
Thou canst believe, dear sister, what an awful trial this is.
You have had experience of a similar affliction, and can sympa-
thise with us. Alas! I was proud of Claude, who, I fancied,
170 MARY HOWTTT.

would make a figure in life. I am humbled now. I throw all
on the mercy of God, and hope and trust that He may bless the
means which we make use of to restore him.

«Among the many blessings that I have, I must not forget
dear William. He has the heart of an affectionate woman,
with all the solidity of judgment and the firmness of the most
masculine mind. Night and day is he always ready to help, to
comfort, to suggest, and, what is more than all, to do. He
carries Claude in his arms up and down stairs. He thinks
nothing a trouble; he is never out of temper. I grumble,
despond, and am petulant; he is none of these.

“And now, what do I mean to do with regard to ‘the
Society ?’? Nothing, dear Anna. If they will let me alone, I
shall let them alone. We shall occasionally go to meeting,
but shall endeavour to find some place of worship near us,
which may suit us better than Friends’ meeting. Our children
would derive no benefit from going there, and for their sakes
we must find some place of worship where we may take them
regularly. I fancy in religious opinion I differ from thee,
because mere creeds matter nothing to me. I could go one
Sunday to the Church of England, another to a Catholic chapel,
a third to a Unitarian, and so on; and in each of them find
my heart warmed with Christian love to my fellow-creatures
and lifted up with gratitude and praise to God. But indeed
each day, each passing hour almost, preaches some sermon to
me; and if I never entered an acknowledged place of worship,
I should believe that, in my way, my worship would not be
unacceptable to Heaven. Nevertheless, we feel it right that
the children should be brought up with some little religious
discipline as to mere outward form; and, please Heaven, we
will endeavour in the home-life, to instil into their souls the
spirit of Christian love.”

“ Sunday, Oct. 15.—How art thou, beloved sister, this fine,
fresh autumn morning ? Oh, how lovely everything looks!
It has been a stormy week, rain, mist, and wind; but all now is
calm, bright and fresh. It does one good, for it reminds one
of such periods in one’s own experience. This morning, as I
went into the garden, there was a sound of church bells, a
murmuring as if the very air was full of them. Now and then
CREEDS. 17?

there dropped noiselessly a dead leaf from the trees above.
There is nothing much to tell in all this, but it impressed my
heart with a feeling of love and assurance that made me happy-
I loved every one connected with me, and my heart sprang
towards thee.

“We have apprehended for some time that the system of
bandaging was not applicable to Claude’s case. A friend of
ours, whose son suffered from a similar accident, confirmed our
opinion, and we have now put Claude under the great homao-
pathic practitioner, Dr. Epps. I hope thou art not one of those
who look on homeeopathy as quackery.”

“Sunday, Oct. 22.—Thy last interested me deeply, and
awakened in all our hearts the deepest sympathy. We are
quite sure that nothing but the most sincere conviction would
have induced thee to take so decided a step as joining the
Church of England. We all think that thou has done quite
right; and we admire and love Daniel for his kindness and
co-operation in it. I shall not, of course, write anything to
our mother about thy change of opinion; but when she comes
to us, as I believe she will shortly, I shall then have a talk
with her, and can no doubt make her quite satisfied with it. I
am sure that she will be reconciled, and most likely think, as I
do, that sincere conviction is of fur greater worth than an
educational belief. May God give thee peace, as I do sincerely
believe He will, in this step which thou hast taken.

“T am a little uneasy how we are to manage when dear
mother comes, for it is our bounden duty to make her visit as
pleasant as we can; and I am afraid that she will see much of
which she will be inclined to disapprove; yet I hope, in the
spirit of love and good sense, she will bear with us.

“We have Eliza back, and to-day dear little Meggie has
been with her to meeting, and for the first time. Charlton and
Alfred go to church with their tutor, Herr Miller. Charlton
went to meeting one Sunday. When he came back he said, ‘ I
shall always go to that meeting, I like it so much !’—‘ And
why Charlton?’ we asked. ‘Oh! because there is a dog-kennel
there.’ Poor fellow! what a reason for going to meeting!
Meggie would say she liked to go because all the people were
so good to her, and smiled at her so kindly.”
172 ALTARY HOWITT.

« Oct. 29.—Our dearest mother seems troubled rather by our
making use of homeeopathy for Claude. She has an idea, I
fancy, that it is in some way connected with the spread of
the Catholic religion. It is true that it was introduced by a
German, and he might be a Catholic, but it is not peculiar to
that body of people. Dr. Epps is almost a Friend in many of
his opinions. He is a most remarkably kind person, and has
something almost apostolic in his manners. We knew him
first in Nottingham, after William had published his ‘ History
of Priesteraft.’”

*« Sunday Morning.—We are now more than ordinarily busy.
Fredrika Bremer has written a new novel, and sends it to us
before publication. We began its translation this week, and
hope, by beginning to print immediately, to be able to publish
it at the New Year; about the time it will appear in Sweden
and Germany. Weare writing as fast as possible, and with
such an invalid as Claude in the house, every moment is
taken up.

“How true is what thou sayest of the Church prayers! I
always feel it so; and because the Church service is so good, so
beautiful, and so applicable to all hearts and all states, the
sermon itself is of less consequence.

“T think this letter of Emma’s will please and interest you
all. It is a delight to see how entirely they seem to be in their
right place in America; nor could I, even for the selfish
pleasure of near interccurse, wish them back. When I write
to Emma I shall speak of the change in thee, in the manner in
which we think it ought to be regarded. I have never written
of it to our mother, but I have spoken to her of my own views
very freely, and I fancy that she takes it all now much more
easily. I have told her not to trouble herself about the com-
motions in the Church of England, &c., &c.; and she has
written more cheerfully on that subject. I imagine, neverthe-
less, dearly beloved sister, that thou and we should differ, not
quarrel remember, about some points. Thou wouldst find us
desperate Radicals, Corn-Law League, universal-suffrage people.

But what would that matter? We could agree heartily to
differ.”
LOVE AND FAITH. 173

“ Sunday Afternoon.—Poor dear Claude! It is one of his
bad days. His legis painful to him, and keeps him sadly fret-
ful and uneasy. He has shed many tears, and that is by no
means usual with him. We have, however, an invitation out
for to-morrow evening, where we can take him; and, poor
child! it is such a pleasure to him to go out now and then to
see fresh people, and lie on a fresh sofa; thus I feel quite
obliged to any one who will let us take him with us. This
will do him good, will make him to-morrow forget his pain. He
has a great quantity of books in his little carriage, and we have
a boy to attend upon him, who draws him about all day long.
Were he not my child, how interested I should be in the pale,
sweet-countenanced boy, who is always reading, let one meet
him in his carriage when one may! Mr. Tegg, the publisher,
has been most kind in sending him books—several pounds’
worth. Oh, how grateful to Mr. Tege I am!”’

“ March 3, 1844.—Anna Mary, Alfred, and I have been this
morning to the Unitarian chapel, and have heard a sermon,
which pleased us greatly, on religion being a thing of every-
day use and application. Dear William’s prepossessions are all
very strongly in favour of Friends, and he would like each of
us to attend meeting; but then he is obliged to confess how
very little instructive or beneficial it is. He goes himself now
and then, and would go oftener, could he leave Claude ; and for
him, who can, as Friends say, ‘‘ centre his mind down,”’ it may
be right, but for me it very rarely is so. A Friends’ meeting
is only good for me when I am tired, mind and body, and want
perfect quietness.

“Do not be shocked, dear sister, at our attending a Unitarian
chapel; for they are the people, after all, with whom we seem
to have most unity of feeling and opinion. If, however, we
lived in a village where there was a good clergyman, I should
go to church. But here, where all are Puseyites and a proud
congregation, sitting in luxuriously cushioned pews, I should
hardly like, nor could in conscience join them. I do not, by
any means, call myself a religious woman in the common sense
of the word. Love and faith make up the perfect Christian.
Love I have, but, alas! I want faith, When I think of
William’s mother, with her deep religious feeling, her faith,
174 MARY HOWITT.

which was strong enough to remove mountains, how short do I
see myself! I sometimes could almost wish that I were a good
Catholic ; for they, of all people, have faith; and it is faith
that gives to the soul its strength and assurance.”

“ March 10th, 1844.—A week of great anxiety and painful
watching almost by night and day has brought us round to
Sunday again. Poor Claude has had a bad week. Oh Anna!
if he recovers, I shall believe that the Almighty has spared him
for some great and good work. JI used to wish that Claude,
with his keen, clear intellect, should be a lawyer. I now would
wish for him to be a preacher of the Gospel, to show forth to all
how good and powerful and rich in love God is. But the Lord’s
will be done, and so that His will be accomplished in and for
Claude it will be right, and far better than we, with all our love
for him, could bring about.”

Wiiiram Howitr to Anna Harrison.

“ March 12, 1844.—Mary’s letters, I know, have made you
aware by what a frail thread our dear Claude held possession of
life. That slight filament gave way this morning. At twenty-
five minutes past eleven o’clock he breathed his last most easily
and peacefully. I think you never knew the dear lad, with his
extraordinary powers, great wit and humour, and of a loving
disposition. He has been taken from us exactly on the day
twelve months on which the youth who occasioned his injury
came to Heidelberg.”

Here may be added, that once, when his father, in great
distress of mind, suddenly exclaimed to him, “I wish the lad
who dropped you had to undergo all this, dear Claude,” raising
his eyes with an expression of sorrow and surprise, he replied,
“Oh papa! don’t say that; I cannot bear the thought of it.
Please let my love be given to him, for I remember him with
nothing but kindness.” And the message was sent.

“‘ March 19, 1844.—My dearest sister, we are to myself a sort
of riddle. We all feared and dreaded that the poor dear child
DEATH OF CLAUDE HOWITT. 175

could never be restored to us, yet we hoped and deceived our-
selves to the last. I did not realise that he was actually going
till within a few hours of his death. Yet he had, I now can
plainly see, been stricken by the hand of death for several days.
He has been like an angel, whom we entertained unawares. I
I hope and trust the blessing of his presence will not soon depart
from us. It seems to me that he has fulfilled his mission, which
was to draw our hearts upward to God.

“For him, dear child, I can have no fears. There was
nothing but love in his soul. No rancour, no bitterness. Oh,
what a consolation itis to us now to remember this! He
opened his heart two or three times to us, and how beautiful and
consolatory a view it gave us! He confessed the little sins that
lay heavy on his conscience, and seemed comforted when we
could assure him that the Almighty would forgive them and
much more.

‘But still, dearest Anna, could I but have realised to myself
the near approach of his end, I would have had more conversa-
tions with him on such subjects, and I earnestly hope and trust
that the sin of omission may not be attributed tome. He was
ten and a half, yet his mind seemed matured in these twelve
months of sickness. We shall not remember him as the child,
but as the friend, the beloved companion of so many sorrowful
months. May it only please the Almighty that we may be
worthy to meet with him, where there is no more sorrow, no
more suffering, and no more parting!

‘‘ He was buried yesterday afternoon in the Friends’ burial-
ground at Stoke-Newington. Many Friends met us at the grave,
and three ministers spoke. It has knit my heart to Friends,
for I believe they all sympathised with us.”

“ April 2, 1844.—Thy letter, my dearest sister, was indeed
like the voice of the truest and sweetest affection. J have
turned to it again and again, and I feel that, among the
blessings which I enjoy—and I enjoy a great many—is that of
having a sister like thee. I have received several letters on this
sorrowful occasion, which are precious to me, and which | shall
keep among my valued things.

«Yes, dearest Anna, I will believe that whom ‘the Lord
chasteneth He loveth.’ I am sure that there is much good in
176 MARF HOWITT.

affliction, and my present, most earnest prayer is, that the good
which we all feel in this sorrow may not soon pass away. I
dare not make covenants, lest I should break them, else I would
covenant with God and with myself to make this great grief
useful to myself and to others. How can we indeed be teachers
of others in any way, more especially in the best of all ways—
that of guiding them heavenwards—unless we have been
baptised in sorrow ? We cannot see the beloved of our souls
taken from us without longing to follow after. We are linked,
as it were, to heaven, and minds of a high and pure character
are permitted also to have glimpses into heaven, where they
are; and thus what we have known and felt we can speak
of.

“Do not suppose, however, dearest sister, that I am one of
the favoured who are permitted to have the heavenly visions. I
am like the women sitting by the sepulchre, who love much and
sit in their sorrow, for they know not yet that their Lord is
risen. I cannot tell thee how I long, however, to comfort
mourners like myself. Oh, how I love them! How I long to
sympathise with them! And I have, in my weakness, besought
of the Almighty that the good results of this affliction may be
in me the power to soothe and to strengthen such as mourn.

“TI see how beautiful is resignation, but this can only be per-
fected by faith. May God, in His mercy, give it to me. ‘ Lord,
I believe; help Thou my unbelief!’ Such is the ery of my
heart, and happy beyond all worldly possessions is it to dwell
in the light of faith undoubtingly, unquestioningly.

“How true it is that in the midst of life we are in death! To
us it seems as if our dearest Claude was the only one who had
died, as if death had only visited our house. But if we walk
out or go to a place of worship, or where many persons are
assembled, we see almost every third person in mourning like
ourselves. I cannot tell thee how my heart warms to such.
Their hearts have been wrung like ours. Their eyes have wept
bitter tears. I long to sit down with them and talk to them of
their dead. It is so pleasant to me to talk of Claude that I
fancy they would like it too. I could listen for hours to
mothers or loving sisters who would tell me of beloved and
long-waited-upon invalids. And oh! dearest sister, I think if
there be one blessing greater than another, it must be the
THE DEPARTED. 177

recovery of such an invalid, the watching the beloved one
gaining strength, advancing from one stage to another towards
health. How little do people think of these things! and yet
they are among the best blessings of life.

“To-morrow I intend again to commence my regular avoca-
tions. Poor dear Claude! at this very moment I see the
unfinished translation lying before me, which was broken off by
his death. Alas! I could have shed burning tears over this.
How often did he beg and pray of me to put aside my transla-
tion just for that one day, that I might sit by him and talk or
read tohim! I, never thinking how near his end was, said,
‘Oh no, I must go on yet a page or two.’ How little did I
think that in a short time I should have leisure enough and to
spare! Oh Anna! of all the agonising feelings which I know,
none is so bitter as that longing for the dead. Just one day, one
hour of their life, that one might pour out the whole soul of
one’s inextinguishable love before them, and let them feel how
dear, inexpressibly dear, they are. My very heart at times dies
within me from this deep and agonising longing. But, dearest,
when we have angels in heaven, does not death seem robbed of
its terrors? :

‘‘T wonder how it is with families in heaven, for there must
be different degrees of worthiness in the different members.
Some must have lower places than others. I would be content
to sit on the lowest footstool might I only be permitted to behold
the glory and the bliss of my beloved ones, and to make
compensation to them in some way for my shortcomings on
earth.”

“ April 17, 1844.—The Friends have been most kind to us.
They permitted us to choose the spot where dear Claude should
lie. They did not even wish him to be buried among the
children, and they will allow us to plant shrubs and flowers on
his grave. He lies near Charles Lloyd, the poet, on whose grave
some Friend has planted a cypress. It isno use telling one that
the resting-place matters nothing to the dead. That is true,
but it does matter to the living. Jesus wept at the grave of
Lazarus. The women wept at the tomb of Jesus, and hearts
that love truly and sorrow deeply want the same indulgence. I
am sure that it is pleasing to God that they should have it. I

N
178 MARY HOWITT.

do not see exactly how Friends’ minds can be operated upon,
but I am sure that if this question could be fully discussed, very
many among them would feel the same.”

I must not dismiss this subject without further mention of
Mr. Tege.

A simple, somewhat affecting little story, called “A Night-
Scene in a Poor Man’s House,” having appeared in my friend
Mrs. Alaric Watts’s “Juvenile Souvenir ” at Christmas, 1838, it
was read by the publisher, Mr. Tegg, of Cheapside. He imme-
diately wrote and proposed that I should furnish him with a
series of books to illustrate household virtues. He wished the
number to be thirteen—a baker’s dozen, as he said. My hus-
band induced me to agree; and Mr. Tegg, a very peculiar man,
who, from arriving in London a poor Scotch lad with a few
halfpence in his pocket, had now by his quick wit and industry
amassed a fortune, behaved through the whole transaction in
the most straightforward, satisfactory manner. He punctually -
paid for each MS. as he received it, never advertised the works,
and yet one edition succeeded the other; this large, silent sale
being perhaps accounted for by his extensive connection with
the colonies. The series appeared under the general title of
“Tales for the People and their Children.” From my earliest
childhood I possessed a most keen sympathy, together with a
deep interest, in lives and experiences different from my own,
and which often caused my parents to censure my inquisitive-
ness. Yet this did not check the promptings of my heart, and
my retentive memory thus acquired a store of incidents chiefly
connected with poor people, their small joys and great sufferings,
which I was in this manner able to turn to account.

Here I may mention, in connection with literary engage-
ments, that we had not been long at Heidelberg when a new
realm of mental wealth unexpectedly opened to my husband and
me. Our excellent and highly-accomplished friend, Madame
von Schoultz, had derived much alleviation from the study of
Scandinavian authors in a time of terrible suspense, caused by
the mysterious disappearance of her Swedish husband, who, it
was subsequently discovered, lost his life in the Papineau rebel-
lionin Canada. With her we commenced Swedish, a delightful
employment, which might be called a relaxation rather than a
MDILE. BREMERS NOVELS. 179

labour, for here were no puzzling terminations as in German,
but a similarity of construction with the English, which made
it, and its cognate Danish, of comparatively easy acquisition.

Fredrika Bremer’s novels of Swedish family life delighted us
by their originality, freshness, and delicate humour, and we
determined to introduce them to the English reading public.
My husband and I translated “The Neighbours” and ‘The
Home’’ from the German versions, but in the new editions
which speedily followed we compared and revised them with the
Swedish. In England and America they immediately met with
wide recognition, although, when we first translated “The
Neighbours,” there was not a house in London that would
undertake its publication. We printed and published it and
others of the Bremer novels at our own risk, when such became
the rage for them, that our translations were seized by a
publisher, altered, and re-issued as new ones. The men in our
printer’s office were bribed from America, and in one instance
the pirated sheets appeared before those we ourselves sent over.
Cheap editions ran like wildfire through the United States, and
the boys who hawked them in the streets might be seen deep in
‘© The Neighbours,” “The Home,” and “The H Family.”

The first of very many letters which I received from Mdlle.
Bremer expresses her pleasure at the English publication of
“The Neighbours,” and is dated Stockholm, February 21,
1843. She speaks modestly in it of her productions, and is sur-
prised that her common-place delineations of every-day life
should suit the fastidious taste of England. Nevertheless, she
hopes still to write more worthily of the life in her native land,
saying in conclusion, “Sweden is a poor but noble country ;
England is a rich and glorious one; in spirit they are sisters,
and should know each other as such. Let us, dear Mrs. Howitt,
contribute to that end.”

To the best of my ability I united with her in so doing.

In the summer of 1844 I had the delight of visiting my
beloved sister, Anna Harrison, and her family. At the end of
July I was taken a charming little trip of five days from Liver-
pool to Llanberis and back, by my brother-in-law, Daniel, in
the company of Anna, their eldest son, Charles, their uncle,
Richard Thompson, who was a most delightful old Methodist,
and Mary Harris, an agreeable young woman-Friend of inde-

n2

 
180 MARY HOWITT.

pendent means. We had a rough but amusing voyage to the
Menai Bridge, where there was an excellent inn. Telford’s
marvellous erection did not then pair with the Britannia
tubular bridge, but uniquely spanned the strait in airy
sublimity. We walked to it, viewed it on all sides, and knew
not how sufficiently to admire. We ascended a hill to obtain
a peep at the mountains, and how lovely they looked, lying
calmly and magnificently in the repose of the late evening, with
Snowdon in their midst! Enraptured by the view, and the
thought that I was actually in the land which had been the
object of my childish desires and fancies, I kept silently repeat-
ing what my parents had often said when I was young: ‘‘ We
really will, some time or other, take a cottage in Wales, and
spend a few summer months there.”

In the.autumn of 1844 my husband and I removed from The
Grange to one of a couple of well-built, substantially finished
residences of the last century, situated in Lower Clapton, and
called ‘The Elms,” from the row of noble elm-trees in their
front. It contained ample wainscoted chambers and a broad
staircase of polished oak, leading to spacious reception-rooms.
The windows at the back looked into the pleasant garden, with
its creeper-festooned walls, long lawn, and flowering shrubs ;
and beyond to quiet meadows, through which flowed the river
Lea, to vast marshes and the woodland line of Epping Forest.

We had for our next-door neighbours, and thence for life-long
friends, Mr. Henry Bateman and his family. He was the
brother-in-law of the Rev. Thomas Binney, on the committee
of the Religious Tract Society, and deservedly esteemed in
Nonconformist circles for his active benevolence, promotion of
religious freedom, calm, outspoken denunciation of evil, unflinch-
ing adherence to duty, and faithful trust in God under all
circumstances.

The earlier portion of our residence at The Elms was very
pleasant. I recall it with a tender regret as worthy and befitting
in every way. The house was commodious, our children well
cared for and happy. Their chief and favourite companions
were Arthur Bateman, the children of my beloved widowed
friend, Mrs. Todhunter, and the five little granddaughters of
Dr. Southwood Smith. Octavia Hill, the third of these
sisters, often stayed with Charlton and Meggie. She was their
TENNYSON. 181

chosen playmate and counsellor, and devised, even in their
games, schemes for improving and brightening the lot of the
poor and the oppressed.

The retiring and meditative young poet, Alfred Tennyson,
visited us, and charmed our seclusion by the recitation of his
exquisite poetry. He spent a Sunday night at our house, when
we sat talking together until three in the morning. All the
next day he remained with us in constant converse. We
seemed to have known him for years. So, in fact, we had, for

 

THE ELMS, LOWER CLAPTON.

his poetry was himself. He hailed all attempts at heralding a
grand, more liberal state of public opinion, and consequently
sweeter, more noble modes of living. He wished that we
Englanders could dress up our affections in a little more
poetical costume; real warmth of heart would lose nothing,
rather gain by it; as it was, our manners were as cold as the
walls of our churches.

“There shall be no more sea,” says St. John, in the Revela-
tion. Tennyson spoke of reading that verse when a child, and
182 MARY HOWITT.

not being able to reconcile himself to a future in which the sea
did not exist. How many poets, painters, and other lovers of
Nature have felt the same.

Turning now to another welcome visitor, my husband, on the
announcement of his intended “ Visits to Remarkable Places,”
had received, in 1838, a letter from Manchester, signed KH. C.
Gaskell, drawing his attention to a fine old seat, Clopton Hall,
near Stratford-on-Avon. It described in so powerful and
graphic a manner the writer’s visit as a schoolgirl to the man-
sion and its inmates, that, in replying, he urged his correspon-
dent to use her pen for the public benefit. This led to the
production of the beautiful story of “Mary Barton,” the first
volume of which was sent in MS. to my husband, stating this
to be the result of his advice. We were both delighted with it,
and a few months later Mrs. Gaskell came up to London, and
to our house, with the work completed. Everybody knows how
rapturously it was received; and from that time she became
one of the favourite writers of fiction.

Meanwhile I was devoting myself to Danish literature, which
my knowledge of the Swedish and German languages made me
easily understand. H.C. Andersen’s “ Improvisatore” I first
translated from the German version, but after mastering Danish
I made my work, as far as possible, identical with the original.
It appeared at the beginning of 1845, and gave great pleasure
and satisfaction to the author, who felt himself gracefully and
faithfully reproduced in English. He begged me to continue
translating his works; he longed to be known and to be loved
in England, as he was on the Continent, where, from the prince
to the peasant, all were so good to him; appreciation, fame,
joy, followed his footsteps. His whole life was, in consequence,
a beautiful fairy-tale, full of sunshine. It was in this strain
that he wrote to me from Denmark and Germany. I translated
his “ Only a Fiddler,” “O. T., or Life in Denmark,” “The
Constant Tin Soldier,” and other of his ‘““ Wonderful Stories,”
his “‘ Picture-book without Pictures” and “A True Story of
my Life.” The “Improvisatore’”’ was the only one that went
into a second edition ; the other books did not pay the cost of
printing. Nevertheless, Andersen, having been assured in
Germany and Denmark that my husband and I had made a
fortune out of his translations, came himself to London in the
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 183

summer of 1847, to make an advantageous monetary arrange-
ment with us. He felt, he wrote me, that I had always acted
as a sister to him, and was deeply grateful to me; and as he
could not bear the thought of our discussing money together,
Herr Hambro, his banker and countryman, would do so in his
stead. My husband saw Herr Hambro several times on the
subject, and from him heard of the exaggerated ideas that
Andersen had of our gains. The worthy banker undeceived
his friend, and although disappointed of his hope, Andersen
wrote to me on August 28, 1847, the day before he left Eng-
land, begging me to translate the whole of his fairy-tales. His
Leipzig bookseller had brought out a German edition, beauti-
fully illustrated, and the woodcuts could be procured for a
small acknowledgment. I was then deeply engrossed in other
literary work, and foolishly, it now seems to me, let the pro-
posal drop. Unfortunately, the over-sensitive and egotistical
nature of this great Danish author much marred our intercourse.

I may give, as an example, an incident that occurred on
July 31, 1847. We had taken him, as a pleasant rural experi-
ence, to the annual hay-making at Hillside, Highgate, thus
introducing him to an English home, full of poetry and art, of
sincerity and affection. The ladies of Hillside, the Misses
Mary and Margaret Gillies—the one an embodiment of peace
and an admirable writer, but whose talent, like the violet, kept
in the shade; the other, the warm-hearted painter—made him
cordially welcome. So, too, our kind and benevolent host, Dr.
Southwood Smith, who was surrounded at this merry-making
by his grandchildren, Gertrude Hill and her sisters. The
guests likewise were equally anxious to do honour to Andersen.

Immediately after our arrival, the assembled children, loving
his delightful fairy-tales, clustered round him in the hay-field,
watched him make them a pretty device of flowers; then feel-
ing somehow that the stiff and silent foreigner was not kindred
to themselves, stole off to an American, Henry Clarke Wright,
whose admirable little book, «‘ A Kiss for a Blow,” some of
them knew. He, without any suggestion of condescension or
of difference of age, entered heart and soul into their glee,
laughed, shouted, and played with them, thus unconsciously
evincing the gift which had made him earlier the exclusive
pastor of six hundred children in Boston.
184 MARY HOWITT.

Soon poor Andersen, perceiving himself forsaken, complained
of headache, and insisted on going indoors, where Miss Mary
Gillies andI, both most anxious to efface any disagreeable
impression, accompanied him; but he remained irritable and

out of sorts.

Some passages in my letters may now deserve attention.
To Miss Marcarer Gii1es I write in the summer of 1845 :—

“ All the time William was in the neighbourhood of Rydal
it poured with rain. He was one whole day a prisoner with
the Wordsworths ; but the day was pleasant indoors.

“‘ He says both Mr. and Mrs. Wordsworth are tolerably well;
and dear Mrs. Wordswerth sat mending her shoe, while the
room was full of strangers, who had called to honour the poet.
There was, among others, an American general there, an advo-
cate of slavery, with whom William and Mr. Wordsworth had
a great argument, All the day afterwards Wordsworth kept
rejoicing that they had defeated the general. ‘To think of the
man,’ said he, ‘coming, of all things, to this house with a
defence of slavery! But he got nothing by it. Mr. Howitt
and I gave it to him pretty well.’ The Latrobes, I think from
Africa, were there to dinner. In the evening the Bishop of
Salisbury was expected, but he did not come. Some Friends
came, however, and it seems to have been a right pleasant time.

“Poor Dora had gone to Portugal. She was in a very sad
state of health. Her husband’s brother was there; and they
thought that a voyage out and a stay of some time might be of
essential benefit to her. On the contrary, she had been taken
with a very serious illness, and they had been much alarmed.
This is very melancholy. They talked in the very kindest
manner of you. This last bit is what I wanted most to com-
municate. They who love us truly will not lightly change.”

Next we have allusion to a friendship which grew deeper
and stronger as the years rolled on. I say in

“ Nov. 1845 (after a visit to the seaside).—Thou inquires, dear
sister, who our friends the Smiths are, who contributed so
much to make our Hastings sojourn agreeable. The father is
ANTI-SLAVERY MOVEMENT. 185

the Member for Norwich, a good Radical and partisan of Free
Trade and the abolition of the Corn Laws. Objecting to
schools, he keeps his children at home, and their knowledge is
gained by reading. They have masters, it is true, but then
the young people are left very much to pursue their own course
of study. The result is good; and as to affection and ami-
ability, I never saw more beautiful evidences of it. There are
five children, the eldest eighteen, the youngest eleven. They
have carriages and horses at their command ; and their buoyant
frames and bright, clear complexions show how sound is their
health.

“Every year their father takes them out a journey. He
has had a large carriage built like an omnibus, in which they
and their servants can travel, and in it, with four horses, they
make long journeys. This year they were in Ireland, and next
year I expect they will go into Italy. Their father dotes on
them. They take with them books and sketching materials ;
and they have every advantage which can be obtained for
them, whether at home or abroad. Such were, and are, our
friends the Leigh Smiths, and thou canst imagine how much
pleasure we were likely to derive from such a family.”

Nor must we overlook the following, written late in the
year 1845 :—

“Our friend, William Lloyd Garrison, is now in London,
with one of the most interesting men I ever saw, a runaway
slave, Frederick Douglass. The narrative of his life, written
by himself, is most beautiful and affecting. William met with
him first in Dublin, and now that he is in Londen we have
seen a good deal of him. I wish I could lend you some of the
very interesting and heart-rending anti-slavery books that have
been given to us, and which have so wholly absorbed my
thoughts that now, like many a good old Friend, I can talk of
nothing but ‘ the dear Blacks.’

“ Ferdinand Freiligrath, the German poet and our valued
friend, has been now for some time an exile from his country,
on account of what we English should call very innocent
writings, but what the Germans term seditious. He is a fine
poet and a noble, good man. We have induced him to come
186 MARY HOWITT.

to England and try his fortunes here in this land of commerce.
He was brought up a merchant, understands many foreign
languages, and is thus a most desirable person in a counting-
house. He came here rather more than a fortnight ago, and
was with us two weeks. On Saturday he went to Rotterdam
to meet his wife and child. Now I am expecting them to
arrive any moment.”

“ Nov. 80, 1845.—The Freiligraths have been living in
lodgings near us, and found it very expensive; and as he is
now in the office of Messrs. Huth, German merchants, we
advised them to take a house and furnish it. I went with
them on Saturday, and we chose their furniture, and it quite
delighted me to see what pleasure they felt in having a house
of their own. Later on the same day, when Freiligrath
returned to the office, one of his employers asked him what he
had done, how much he had bought, &c. ‘Well,’ said good
Herr Huth, ‘I shall now pay for this furniture, and I sincerely
wish you well in your new home.’

“Poor Freiligrath was greatly overcome, and I can assure
you that we were all quite affected when we heard of it. It
has made our friends so happy. He says he shall serve the
merchants now with heart-service. What a glorious world this
would be if every one did all the kindness that was in his
power! ”

My mother was at this period residing with us, and I am
struck with affectionate admiration at the remembrance of her
great tact and forbearance under circumstances not readily
assimilating with her convictions, and of her keen observation
and good sense, which would have preserved us from sundry
pitfalls, had we been willing to profit by them. She chiefly
employed herself reading or knitting in her own room, and
merely saw our intimate friends, who were very favourably
impressed by her peaceful exterior and unsectarian utterances.
But whilst she highly approved of our literary productions and
general sentiments, she took exception to our advocacy of the
stage, from the persuasion that virtuous persons, assuming ficti-
tious characters, became ultimately what they simulated. She
ACTRESSES AND UNITARIANS. 187

consequently eschewed some exemplary actresses—our familiar
associates—terming them “stage-girls, whom she pitied, but
whose accomplishments she abhorred.”

All Friends, however, were not so severe as my excellent
mother in their condemnation of actresses, for Charlotte Cush-
man met with just appreciation from the son of the plain
ministering-Friend, William Forster, of Tottenham. This was
the celebrated William Edward Forster, who had not yet been
disowned for marrying out of the Society, or taken any promi-
nent part in the government of his country, being chiefly
known asa staunch Liberal and joint-proprietor with Mr. Fison
in the Greenholme worsted-mills, near Burley, in Wharfedale.
On one occasion, when Charlotte Cushman, with her intimate
friend, Eliza Cook, was staying at Mr. Forster’s Yorkshire
residence, she received from him an entire piece of alpaca of
his manufacture, and of a new dark colour called steel-blue.
It was worn by both ladies with no little pride. Miss Cook,
who dressed in a very masculine style, which was considered
strange at that time, with short hair parted on one side, and a
tight-fitting, lapelled bodice, showing a shirt-front and ruffle,
looked well in her dark, steel-blue alpaca; and Miss Cushman,
who possessed a strongly-built, heroic figure, not the less so.

We had at that time become constant attenders at the
Unitarian chapel in Hackney, the minister being the much-
beloved Dr. Sadler, who later edited the Life of Crabb Robin-
son. There was also a Unitarian chapel at Stoke Newington,
where formerly the husband of Mrs. Barbauld had preached.
My husband and I went on one occasion to this chapel to hear
a remarkable man, Joseph Barker. He came from Yorkshire,
and preached powerfully in racy dialect. So great was his
reputation, that all the Unitarian ministers of London and the
neighbourhood were assembled to hear him. His sermon
depicted the Saviour, not as the mighty, omnipresent Son of
God, but the Son of Man, the friend and fellow-sufferer of the
human race, the great Teacher, the lover of each individual
man, woman and child, and who was, as he expressed it,
“a loomp o’ luv.” Barker, who had been a Methodist,
never remained steadfast in his opinions. He next wandered
on from a humanitarian belief into infidelity.

In 1846 my husband, at first merely a contributor, became
188 MARY HOWITT.

one of the editors and part-proprietor of a new cheap weekly
periodical, the People’s Journal, which we hoped to make a
good work, that would help to better the moral and intellectual
condition of the working classes. In the course of the year I
write to my sister :—

“What canst thou mean by thinking that the People’s
Journal is not Christian in spirit? Of all things has it been
our aim from the first, and will be to the end, to make it the
organ of the truest Christianity. The bearing of all its contents
is love to God and man. There is no attempt to set the poor
against the rich, but, on the contrary, to induce them to be
prudent, sober, careful, and independent; above all, to be
satisfied to be workers, to regard labour as a privilege rather
than a penalty, which is quite our view of the case.

“Tt does not, to be sure, cry up Church and State. It does
not say that the present social institutions are perfect. But it
endeavours to have all reforms made in the spirit of Christianity
and for the purposes of Christianity. No living beings, dearest
sister, can estimate Divine Revelation higher than we do. It
is the greatest boon to man under all circumstances, be his
station in life what it may. Nevertheless, it is in the spirit of
Christianity to raise man in the scale of being, to enlighten
and enlarge his understanding, to ennoble and purify his heart.
It is his greatest ornament in prosperity, his best consolation
in adversity. It is the poor man’s safeguard and friend. No
one, however poor in this world’s goods, can be abject who has
the light and comfort of the Gospel within his soul. This,
dearest sister, if it be sound and true, is the foundation on
which this little journal is built; and, please God, with His
benediction, it shall be made an instrument of good and of
blessing in a thousand ways.”

“ Dec. 18, 1846.——This comes to tell you that William will
sleep at your house on the night of January 5. He is toattend
a soirée of the Mechanics’ Institute on the 6th, and from there
goes to Leeds, where he takes the chair at a soirée of the Co-
operative League, of which he is a sort of father. We are
very, very busy, as on the 1st of January comes out our own
Howitt’s Journal. We have discovered that the manager of the
THE CO-OPERATIVE LEAGUE. 189

People’s Journal has kept no books, and has mismanaged the
whole thing dreadfully. I hope we shall get out of the
business free of loss. William has attended many public
meetings in London latterly, and speaks splendidly. It is the
very time for us to establish our paper. Do not be anxious
about us; we are all in high spirits; and it is perfectly
cheering to see how warm and enthusiastic people are about
our journal.

“We have had Tennyson with us a good deal lately. We
quite love him.”

My husband, considering the remedy for the wrongs of
labour to be the adoption of the co-operative principle, or the
combination of work, skill, and capital, by the operatives them-
selves, had written “Letters on Labour,’ which led to the
foundation of the Co-operative League. Its object was to
supply the industrious classes, both male and female, with
gratuitous information on the great social questions of the day,
unfettered by sectarian theology or party politics, with the
motto, “ Benefit to all, and injury to none.” He was asked to
preside at co-operative meetings, and to lecture on the subject
in different towns of the kingdom. In complying, a series of
disappointments, however, soon proved to him that it would
require years of active, steady effort before any practical success
could be attained ; the millions being quite unprepared calmly
and wisely to consider great principles.

The Leeds Co-operative League, called also “The Redemp-
tion Society,” and which was exceptionally prosperous, held its
first anniversary in January, 1847. It was during William’s
absence to preside at this meeting in Leeds, where the interest
displayed in co-operation by the entire population formed a
cheering contrast to the general apathy, that I was subjected
to a peculiar experience, whose awful reality has never passed
away from my mind. I had retired to rest in good health and
spirits, when suddenly a strange, alarming sense of perplexity,
of impending, all-embracing darkness and evil, overwhelmed
me. My terror made the heavy four-post bedstead shake under
me. I was not ill or faint, nor did I think it requisite to call
assistance. I knew the power which controlled me was either
mental or spiritual. Surely I must have cried to God for help,
190 MARY HOWITT.

as slowly the horror of great darkness passed away, and all was
tranquil within me. It was, I am willing to believe, a token
permitted by Divine love and wisdom to warn and prepare me
for the discipline required to loosen my trust in the creature,
and to place it wholly in the Creator. It preceded a time of
calamity. We had speedily severe monetary losses and morti-
fications, and gained new and sad revelations of human nature.

Assisted by Samuel Smiles, a most able defender of the rights
of industry and the benefits of self-culture, and other gifted
and popular writers, we sought in the pages of Howitt’s Journal,
in an attractive form, to urge the labouring classes, by means
of temperance, self-education, and moral conduct, to be their
own benefactors. Unfortunately for ourselves, the magazine
proved, like its predecessor, a pecuniary failure; and Ebenezer
Elliott remarked to us, in a shrewd, pithy letter :—“Men
engaged in a death-struggle for bread will pay for amusement
when they will not for instruction. They woo laughter to
unscare them, that they may forget their perils, their wrongs,
and their oppressors, and play at undespair. If you were able
and willing to fill the journal with fun, it would pay.”

Forty years later I write to my beloved friend Miss Leigh
Smith :—

“T am more deeply interested than I can tell you in ‘ All
Sorts and Conditions of Men.’ It is the first by Besant that
I have read. It affects me like the perfected fruit of some
glorious tree, which my dear husband and I had a dim dream
of planting many years ago, and which we did, in our ignorance
and incapacity, attempt to plant in soil not properly prepared,
and far too early in the season. I cannot tell you, dear Nannie,
how it has recalled the hopes and dreams of a time which, by
the overruling of Providence, was so disastrous to us. It isa
beautiful essay on the dignity of labour,”

In August, 1847, in a letter to my sister, I remark :—

“Thou wilt be glad to hear that we have drawn up our
resignation of membership, signed it, and when thou readest
this, it will be noised abroad that we are no longer Friends.
NO LONGER FRIENDS. 19!

Strange as it may seem to thee, I have an old love of the
Society. I know that the majority of Friends are narrow-
minded, living as much in the crippling spirit of sectarianism
as any denomination whatever; and I know that they and I
never could assimilate; yet I do love them all, with an
ingrained sentiment, which makes me feel as if somehow they
were kindred tome. It is strange, perhaps, but there is not
one so-called religious body that I could conscientiously con-
nect myself with. There is, to my feelings, a want of real
spirituality, a want of a real, child-like, loving trust in them
all. Jam not quite sure whether I should not find in the
writings of Swedenborg what best accorded with my views and
feelings. Anna Mary has been reading a good deal on these
subjects lately, and from what she and others tell me, there is
more truth in Swedenborgianism than one commonly finds out
of the New Testament.”

In the first days of January, 1848, I communicated to Anna
the sorrowful intelligence of the death of our beloved sister in
America ; and in the following May, that our dear mother had
peacefully breathed her last. She was interred in the Friends’
burial-ground, Stoke Newington, by the side of Claude.
CHAPTER X.

1848—1852.

Ar Michaelmas, 1848, we removed from Clapton to 28, Upper
Avenue Road, near Regent’s Park. Here commenced our long-
standing connection with John Cassell, who, from a humble
origin, rose, by his own industry and frugality, to be rich and
powerful; nor did he ever forget the true use of money,
employing it to diffuse happiness and moral improvement to all
around him. My husband contributed to the Standard of
Freedom, of which he was the proprietor, and, later on, wrote
his History of England—from the reign of Edward the First
to the death of George the Third, and which he faithfully and
successfully based on the broad principles of national, not caste,
interests.

With John Cassell we procured a permanent engagement for a
Mr. Edward Youl, who had been a clever contributor to Howitt’s
Journal. In this situation he displayed remarkable efficiency, but
when he had been a year with Mr. Cassell he became very lazy,
and consequently, upon repeated warnings, was discharged in
the summer of 1849. We did not wish to abandon Mr. Youl, and
Mr. Linwood, a Unitarian minister, who had become a Congre-
gationalist, and the purchaser of the Eclectic Review, consented
to meet him at our house one Sunday evening, to secure him as
a regular contributor. On the previous Friday, however, Mrs.
Copeland, a respectable lodging-house keeper, of 11, Upper
Stamford Street, Blackfriars, made me the surprising and
terrible disclosure that Youl had rented rooms in her house for
the purpose of receiving relief in my name, in answer to forged
letters setting forth my destitution. My husband immediately
obtained a warrant for Youl’s apprehension, and a detective
THE POUL FORGERIES. 193

put on his track, and the next day, proceeding himself along
Stamford Street, recognised at a great distance the culprit
approaching. Youl suddenly disappeared, diving down a side
street. On the morrow he wrote a begging letter in my name
from York, to Macaulay, and received £10 by return of post.
The detective traced him to Liverpool, where he seemed to sink
into the ground. Some years afterwards John Cassell encoun-
tered him sitting opposite to him in a New York eating-house.
Although disguised, he knew the voice and features, and
accosted him by name. Youl, however, most coolly denied
ever having been in England. He had forged my name to,
amongst others, Lords John Russell, Lansdowne, Mahon, and
Brougham. The latter had instantly sent the appeal to Lord
John Russell, with a strong recommendation to settle a pension
on me, had applied on my behalf to Miss Burdett Coutts, and
himself forwarded £20. Sir Robert Peel had generously
remitted £50. The letters returned to me were in a crawling,
exaggerated strain. In acknowledging a donation from the
Bishop of Oxford (Wilberforce) I was made to say :—“J went
down on my knees and thanked God, who had moved his
Lordship’s heart to such noble kindness to me.”

I had earlier often said, and honestly thought, that it was a
fine thing to combat with one’s self and stand victor; and
when dwelling in this new home, rising above many anxieties
and disappointments, I determined to be strong and joyful.
Life, under the most adverse circumstances, was full of riches,
which I would neither disregard nor squander. Thus treasur-
ing up all the simple elements of beauty around me, I still
remember the charm of a suburban spring morning. Up and
down the Avenue Road the lilacs and tacamahacs were coming
into leaf, the almond-trees were full of blossom, and the sun
shone amid masses of soft silvery cloud. Then, again, there
was rural Belsize Lane, delightful at all seasons, with its lofty
elms and luxuriant hedgerows of rose-bushes, elders, and haw-
thorn. How green, too, were the sloping fields leading from
the St. John’s Wood end of Belsize Lane to Hampstead!

My eldest daughter, who desired to devote herself to art,
had never forgotten the profit and delight which she had
derived from our German tour, and especially from our visit
to Munich and the studio of Kaulbach. We had, after passing

0
194 MARV HOWITT.

through the field of long waving grass, by which flowed the
rapid Isar, entered the large, half-neglected-looking building
used by the great artist as his atelier. There we had seen,
not only the cartoon of his famous “Destruction of Jerusalem,”
but the inimitable illustrations to ‘Reineke Fuchs.” On an

 

BELSIZE LANE, ST. JOHN’S WOOD.

inner door were painted a boy and girl, as if done in the very
exuberance of fancy, and of such loveliness, that they would
enrich the walls of any house whatever. Kaulbach, then
scarcely middle-aged, had received us with great courtesy in
the midst of his work. When we asked him if he conversed
in English, he replied, ‘‘I speak no language but German, and
“ HOUSEHOLD WORDS.” 195

that,” pointing to his painting! Indeed, what more eloquent
and universal tongue need. be spoken!

Anna Mary thus always felt that Munich and Kaulbach
would afford her the most consonant instruction, and in May,
1850, went thither, accompanied by a fellow-votary, Miss Jane
Benham. They were most generously received as pupils by
the famous painter, who assigned to their use one of the rooms
in his picturesque studio by the Isar.

A few days after their departure for Munich, Henry Chorley
—then leading a somewhat luxurious, literary, bachelor life at
the West End—came to tell me he had accepted from Messrs.
Bradbury & Evans the editorship of the Ladies’ Companion ;
and he wanted Annie, as we all now called my daughter, to go
to a great miracle-play of the Passion, performed that year by
the devout peasants of Ober-Ammergau, and who would, at its
termination, thank God on their knees that He had once more
permitted them to perform the sacred drama in His honour.
There would be a Stediwagen to the place from Munich; and he
begged her to write for him a description of the whole thing,
from the setting out in the morning to the end of the play.
She willingly complied, and thus made known this remarkably
striking, pathetic, but now trite subject to the English public.
Other descriptive letters from her pen appeared in Mousehold
Words and the Atheneum. They were much admired, and
Henry Chorley encouraged her to collect and publish these
scattered “bits,” which, under the title of “An Art Student
in Munich,’ formed a fresh and charming book, because so
genuine.

On February 20, 1850, I had received the following from
Charles Dickens, written from Devonshire Terrace :—

“T address this note to Mr. Howitt, no less than to you.
You will easily divine its purpose, I dare say ; or, at all events,
you would, if you knew what companions of mine you have
ever been.

“You may have seen the first dim announcements of the new
cheap, literary weekly journal I am about to start. Frankly,
I want to say to you, that if you would ever write for it you
would delight me, and I should consider myself very fortunate
indeed in enlisting your assistance.

02
196 MARY HOWITT.

“T propose to print no names of contributors, either in your
own case or any other, and to give established writers the
power of reclaiming their papers after a certain time. I hope
any connection with the enterprise would be satisfactory and
agreeable to you in all respects, as I should most earnestly en-
deavour to make it. If I wrote a book, I could say no more
than I mean to suggest to you in these few lines. All that I
leave unsaid, I leave to your generous understanding.”

Thus, from the commencement of the Household Words, we
became, most willingly, contributors to its pages.

To my Davcuter at Municu.

“ June 1, 1850.—I have sent off my first little note to you
hardly four hours since, and now I begin to write again.
Charlton has asked me what day in the week I like best, and I
tell him, henceforth the day on which I receive a letter from
you. I must not omit to mention that one of Charlton’s hens
has laid an egg. You can imagine his felicity. He has
cackled more than ten hens, and could not tranquillise himself
until the egg had been boiled for his father. The other event
of the morning is, that Alfred has been told that ‘The Miner’s
Daughter’ in Household Words, was either by Currer Bell or
Mrs. Gaskell. He was much amused, knowing it to be his
father’s.

“Walter Cooper and Gerald Massey, the two leading co-
operative tailors, come here on Sunday, and go a stroll on
Hampstead Heath with your father. Gerald Massey is a
young poet, a really eloquent writer, very good-looking, and, I
hear, quite a gentleman.”

“ Sunday, Aug. 18, 1850.—Do you remember that long lovely
field by the side of Caen Wood, which is reached from the
Lower Heath at Hampstead and through a brickfield? Ihave
an uncommon affection for it. There is a mound in it like an
ancient barrow, and on which grows a group of picturesque old
fir-trees. The view thence is most lovely. On the left lie the
wooded heights of Hampstead, with an opening to the distant
heath, over which the sun sets splendidly. In front is all the
mass of wood of Lord Mansfield’s park, and on the right the
A “SONG OF THE SHIRT.” 197

village of Highgate, with its church on the hill, its scattered
woods and villas; and between us and them the green slope of
the field and the reservoirs below. Yet, to show you how
ridiculously things fall out in this world, Miss Meteyard and
your father went with me last evening to my favourite mound.
There, hanging from one of the old branches of a scathed fir-
tree, was a man’s shirt. Some beggar must have stripped
himself of his under-garment, and, with a sense of the horrible
and comic combined, suspended it by the neck. It looked, at a
distance, like some shocking suicide. We sat down on the mound,
your father and Miss Meteyard very wittily parodying Shake-
speare and Hood’s ‘Song of the Shirt.’ A lady and gentleman,
with a blue-coat boy, came up. We agreed to listen to what
they said. The shirt aloft waved its ragged arms, it shook its
ragged tail at them. They neither said a word nor made a
sign. Was the shirt a mere spectral imagination of ours ?
No, there it surely was. Yet they would not, or could not, see it.
We left them seated on the hill, with the old shirt aloft
seeming to make fun of them.

“Your father has entirely finished his ‘Madam Dorrington
of the Dene.’ ”’

“Filey, Yorkshire, Sept. 2, 1850.—Here we are,” I write to
my sister, “at a small fishing-village, which is attempting to
convert itself into a bathing-place. The coast is beautiful;
very wild in places; and the sands, to a great extent, as smooth
as a marble floor. Miss Eliza Meteyard (‘Silverpen’) is with
us. She is now a sufficiently old friend of ours for us all to feel
perfectly at ease one with another. She has her work as well
as we. Poor dear soul! she is sitting by me at this moment
with her lips compressed, a look of abstraction in her clever but
singular face, and her hair pushed back from her forehead,
while she is busy over a story about a Bronze Inkstand, which
she hopes to make a very fine one. A good creature is she!
She has just published a most interesting juvenile book, called
‘The Doctor’s Little Daughter.’ It is her own early life. Out
of the money thus obtained, she has provided for and sent out
a younger brother to Australia; while for another she is striving
in another way. Indeed, she is both father and mother to her
family; yet she is only seven-and-twenty, and a fragile and
198 , MARY HOWITT.

delicate woman, who in ordinary circumstances would require
brothers and friends to help her. How many instances one
sees almost daily of the marvellous energy and high principle
and self-sacrifice of woman! I am always thankful to see it, for
it is in this way that women will emancipate themselves.”

The following extracts occur in letters to my daughter at
Munich :— ;

“ Scarborough, Sept. 17, 1850.—We have now Mrs. Smiles
and Miss Wilkinson with us. You may remember, my dear
Annie, your father speaking of the latter, when he came from
Leeds. She is very bright, agreeable, full of spirit. The chil-
dren perfectly adore her. Friday.—The Smileses have gone.
Dr. Smiles came on Wednesday. We have greatly enjoyed
their visit. He, full of mirth and playfulness, walked
about with the children, helped them to make mounds and
canals in the sands, and found as much fun as they did in
watching the sea come up, assault these constructions, and lay
them waste. He would ask little boys and girls, much to their
astonishment, whether they were married; to the amusement
of Charlton and Meggie, who enjoyed the blank looks, especially
of one little fellow of about ten, who said simply, ‘ No, he was
not married, but his father and mother were.’ He also greatly
diverted our children by answering a group of juveniles, who
asked him what o’clock it was, that ‘he did not carry a clock
about with him. He could only tell them what o’watch it was,
which would, perhaps, do till they got home.’

“We are reading a wonderful book, ‘ Alton Locke, Poet and
Tailor : an Autobiography’—an extraordinary production, very,
very fair, and exceedingly clever. It will make a great stir.
It is written by Mr. Kingsley, a clergyman of the Church of
England, brother-in-law to Mr. Froude.”

“ Nov. 1850.—We have been very busy this week in getting
ready articles for Christmas. Your father is writing a beauti-
ful story for the Christmas number of Houschold Words. I am
also writing a fresh ballad for the same journal. It is a sort
of fellow to ‘ Richard Burnell,’ which earlier appeared. I have
got desperately absorbed init. It is curious to me to see how
very much these ballads are a reflection of my own being and
“NO POPERY” MOVEMENT. 199

my especial interests. The great ballad-writing time with me
was when you were a girl, and those earlier productions are
very much about children, and beautiful spiritual-minded young
maidens. Then for many years I wrote no ballads atall. I
fancied that I never should write any more. But a new inspi-
ration has come over me. The joys and sorrows of one poor
friend have found utterance in my ‘Richard Burnell,’ and those
of another will come forth in my dear ‘Thomas Harlowe.’ I
am also asked to write a ballad for the Christmas number of
the Illustrated News, and to give Henry Chorley one for the
Ladies’ Companion.

“T work always in your painting-room, in which I have
made no alterations. I venerate the old things and the old
memories. But I am getting over my intense longing for you.
I can take up beautiful thoughts of you and lay them down
again at will, and not be ridden, as it were, by them, driven
by them, haunted by them, till they become like a night-
mare. Oh! that was dreadful. If I were a painter, I should
paint a Ceres mourning for the lost Proserpine. I understand
that mother’s heart so well, that I should not fail in making
a countenance befitting. I can see the wonderful head of the
maternal Ceres, with her heart, not her eyes, full of tears,
revealing inexpressible love, and yet desolation. Don’t imagine
that I am such an one now. I am very happy; nor would I
wish my Proserpine to be here.”

« Nov. 30, 1850.—I shall copy your account of the conse-
cration of the Basilica for the Atheneum, but I am afraid it is
too gloriously Papistical for the present time in England.
You can have no idea what a tide of popular feeling has set in
against everything Catholic. ‘No Popery’ is written over all
the walls of London. Public meetings are held everywhere,
and petitions and protests are got up by all parties against
Papacy. There never was so anti-Catholic a nation as this.
However, your account is very beautiful and picturesque, and
they may give it as news, though your father thinks they will
probably remove some of its glory.”

“ Dec. 9, 1850.—I asked your father what there was to tell
you. He said, ‘Tell her that the King of Prussia has ordered
200 MARY HOWITT.

Freiligrath out of his dominions ; that the Catholics at Hamp-
stead have put up within these few weeks a grand, new, and
rather beautiful Madonna and Child, as large as life, over their
chapel-door; and that the people have pelted it with mud and
stones; and that the other day, when he passed, two men stood
and censured the image, saying, ‘it was idolatry in a plain
form,’ whereupon your father thought that he had seen idolatry
in a much plainer form. Tell her that there is so little news,
that the Times has nothing to write about but Papal Aggres-
sion; but that, in spite of the Times and all the saints, Cardinal
‘Wiseman has been installed, and that we have now an English
Cardinal in London.”

“ Dec. 19, 1850.—You ask what people think about the state of
French politics ; they are amazed, confounded, indignant. The
Times writes gloriously about it, and for that reason is not per-
mitted to enter France. I expect Napoleon will be elected
to-morrow, and that despotism will raise its head and lord it
over the nations for a time. But the day of reckoning, when
it does come, will only be all the more terrible. The end of
the tragedy is not yet; we are only in the first act.

“ Poor dear Miss Meteyard is in some trouble just now because
people are beginning to discover Popery in her little book. Some
influential person warned her publishers, Hall & Virtue, against
her as a Jesuit in disguise; and she so rationalistic ! Her pub-
lishers are, therefore, hanging back about accepting her collected
tales, and they had been so earnest about them just before.”

“Christmas Day, 1850.—Last night Eliza Fox wrote proposing
for them and Mrs. Gaskell to come to us this evening. Meggie
suggests that we should not be grand and intellectual—but that
ghost-stories and capital tales should be told, and that we should
even play at blindman’s buff. We may be merry and tell tales,
but I doubt the playing at blindman’s buff.”

“ Thursday.—The first thing I do this morning is to tell you
that last evening went off very well. We had only the Foxes,
Mrs. Gaskell, the Garth Wilkinsons, Mr. Doherty, Miss Mete-
yard, and Mr. La Trobe Bateman.

“On Christmas Eve, Miss Meteyard, having written to
LORD WALLSCOURT. 201

Messrs. Hall & Virtue to know the name of ‘the influential
person’ who had charged her so falsely, received from them, in
reply, one from her saintly enemy. It was a most pious letter
from the Honourable Mr. Finch, brother to the Earl of Ayles-
ford. He expressed satisfaction in her assurance that she was
no Catholic, but he still maintained the dangerous character of
‘The Doctor’s Little Daughter.’ He had taken it, with the
offensive passages marked, to a noted Church of England pub-
lishing firm. After this letter Messrs. Hall & Virtue said they
must decline her tales. It is the loss of £250 to poor Miss
Meteyard, while I suppose that Mr. Finch, surrounded by
creature comforts, would go to rest on Christmas Eve feeling
that he had done God service.

“Mrs. Gaskell is much pleased with your writings. She
says you do not make the reader see the things with your eyes,
but you present the scene itself to him. She hopes, on your
return, you will collect and publish your letters in a volume—
a sort of ‘Art Life in Munich.’ Her praise was quite gratui-
tous. She is going to remain in London and in Essex till
February, the air of Manchester not agreeing with her.

“T must now tell you Mr. Doherty’s ghost-story, if so it
may be called. He was a very intimate friend of the late
Lord Wallscourt, an excellent and enlightened nobleman, who
had large estates in Ireland, and wished above all else to pro-
mote the best interests of his Irish dependents. Part of the
year he lived in that country, devoting himself to his people ;
the rest of his time he spent with Mr. Doherty and other social
reformers in Paris. He took it into his head that if Mr.
Doherty would go and live on his Irish estates, he could bring
about the most wonderful reformation amongst the population.
He urged his going very much, offered him every inducement,
entreated him by his grand philanthropic nature, by his
friendship to himself. In vain, Mr. Doherty said, in short,
that he was so importunate as to become to him a bore; that
Lord Wallscourt teased him, just as a wife often teases her
husband by her well-meant zeal, till he will not, perhaps, do
that which it would be well for him to do. On May 28, 1849,
Lord Wallscourt died suddenly of cholera in Paris. Then a
deep remorse and self-reproach fell upon Mr. Doherty’s mind.
For aught he knew to the contrary, his friend had died feeling
202 MARY HOWITT.

anger towards him, feeling wounded, disappointed. One day,
as he sat full of bitterness against himself, he saw, in broad
daylight, Lord Wallscourt walking with two gentlemen. They
seemed to be in deep discourse, when he appeared suddenly to
say, ‘There is my dear, good friend, Doherty. I must tell him
how much I love him.’ He gave him a look of the tenderest,
most joyful affection, and was gone. The nobleman had
appeared as if attired in full Court suit; and had he come in
the flesh, he could not have restored more peace and assurance
to Mr. Doherty’s mind than was given by that idea/ look.”

“ Feb. 10, 1851.—The catkins are out on the hazels, little
buds are forming on the hawthorn-hedges, and the gorse is in
blossom. We, Miss Meteyard and the children, have been
a most beautiful walk to Hampstead Heath. While your
father and Miss Meteyard talked politics and abused Harriet
Martineau for her new énfidel book, ‘Human Nature,’ or some
such title, by herself and Mr. Atkinson, the children and I
strolled on together and talked of the good and happy time
when you would be at home again. We agree that you will
not be back till the end of May.”

“ Feb. 24, 1851—Ah! yes, my own beloved, all you say
of the chapel-going is true enough. But somehow I felt as
if this non-observance was becoming perfect neglect; for the
want of form as naturally degenerates into neglect, as obser-
vance can into mere form. We say, ‘ We will walk out with
the children into God’s temple and worship there; and in
the evening we will read a beautiful chapter in the Gospels,
or some other noble, glorious book. Thus we will make the
Sunday holy and attractive.’ Butit is not so. Six times, at
least, out of ten some cause or other makes the walk common-
place and secular. When we come back, either somebody
drops in, or else ‘Pendennis’ or ‘ David Copperfield,’ or some
other attractive book, is read; Charlton falls asleep, and so
the day is done. Then, the influence one’s outward example
has on the servants. To them it appears as if worship, so-
called, which perhaps in them is sincere, has no value with
us. In this way our good works — that is to say, the true
worship within us—is not seen of them, and so they cannot
HARRIET MARTINEAU. 203

in us glorify our Father who is in heaven. Again, I some-
times think there are things which are approved of God, and
which bring His blessing, though we may be apt to undervalue
them. Of this kind I am half-inclined to consider these
regular religious observances. They have their subtle influ-
ences. They are among God’s commands to us; and although
we do not altogether see the reasonableness of them, we should try
to reach the blessing through obedience. It is in this spirit that
I have taken these sittings in Dr. Sadler’s chapel at Hampstead.

“You can have no idea what an excitement Harriet Martineau’s
book is making. It is always out when we send to the London
Library for it. I want to see it, for I cannot help fancying it
less terrible than people affirm. Dr. Carpenter says that ‘she
does not declare that there is no God, but she does not believe
there is one. If there is one, however, then she does not
believe Him to be any mechanical genius, that He has nothing
to do with the making of the world, and that she feels so very
happy to be independent, and to have nobody to domineer over
her!’ Douglas Jerrold’s last is on this subject ; he says, ‘There
is no God, and Harriet Martineau is his Prophet.’ ”

“ March, 1851.—We have read Miss Martineau’s book. It is,
to my mind, the most awful book that was ever written by a
woman. She and this wise Mr. Atkinson dethrone God, abuse
Christ, and prefer Mahometanism to Christianity. It made
me sick and ill to hear them talk of Jesus as a mere clever
mesmerist. Tome itis blasphemy. To show you how evil the
book is, I must tell you that Alfred wanted the Inquisition for
its authors, and I sympathised with him. It will make good
people devilish in their indignation and anger, and it will set
all the poor infidels crowing like cocks on a dunghill. And only
think, in their large appendix, in which they support them-
selves by such authorities as Hobbes, Lord Bacon, Sir James
Mackintosh, &c., I should see a long article with the innocent
name of Mary Howitt to it! It is the account of the Preaching
Epidemic in Sweden. Curious as it is, it proves nothing, and
seems merely introduced to make me out an infidel. I think
this has provoked your father more than anything else.

“Yes, dearest, Joanna Baillie is dead. Iam glad you had
that kiss from her, for she was a good woman.”
204 MARY HOWITT.

Throughout the year 1851 my husband and I were working
together at a history of Scandinavian literature. It was a
perfect delight to me to translate old Norse ballads. They were
to me most fascinating, rude and bloody as many of them are,
and possessing a forcible simplicity such as we had earlier met
with in the German ballads of Uhland. The Danish literature
we found richer than the Swedish, both in quantity and variety.
The pristine lore of Iceland and Norway was especially col-
lected and translated into Danish. We were enchanted with
the fable or saga literature, and found again almost all our
ancient nursery tales: the little old woman whose petticoats
were cut shorter, “Jack the Giant Killer,” the pig that would
not go over the brig, and the rest. We thus gained quite a
respect for those familiar tales, which the wild, stout old Danes
brought to Britain from the far North. Then the grand, quaint
wisdom of the Hddas, reminding us of Ecclesiastes, such as the
sayings—“ It is hard leaning against another man’s doorpost ;”
“T clothed the wooden figures in my garments, and they looked
like heroes; whilst I, the unclothed hero, was of no account ;”
or, “ Go often to the house of thy friend, for weeds soon choke
up the unused path.” Finally, how worthy of perusal the
modern dramatic masterpieces of Oehlenschlager, and the
charming historical novels of Ingemann, the Sir Walter Scott
of Denmark! But while we found the Danish richer in grace-
ful, poetic, original productions, the Swedish brought off the
palm in history, epic poetry, and modern fiction. "What, in-
deed, can be grander than Tegnér’s “Frithiof’s Saga,” or
Runeberg’s “ Hanna,” and his other pathetic poems of austere
Finland, and its brave and patient children ?

In our domestic circle we were greatly interested in the new
development of the English fine arts. The taste of the age,
into the fourth decade of this century, had been for what
appealed as pure, noble, and harmonious to the mind, rather
than to the eye or ear. The general public was wholly unedu-
cated in art. By 1849, however, the improvement due to the
exertions of the Prince Consort, the Society of Arts, and other
powers, began to be felt; a wonderful impulse to human in-
genuity and taste being given in the preparation of exhibits
for the World’s Fair, to be held in London in 1851. In this
important esthetic movement Mr. Owen Jones was a prominent
THE PRE-RAPHAELITES. 205

teacher. He was most ably seconded by his assistant, Edward
La Trobe Bateman, who was endowed with an exquisite feeling
and skill in decorative art, extremely rare at that time. He
maintained there was no excuse for ugliness, as beauty properly
understood was cheap.

Mr. Bateman took a house not far from us and fitted it up
with quaint, beautiful furniture of his own designing, and with
his splendid collection of rare old china. He made the most
exquisite copies of missals and other ancient illuminations; and
was, moreover, the intimate associate of the P.R.B.’s, for so the
Pre-Raphaelite Brothers termed themselves.

This famous band of art-innovators had now arisen, and
were startling the world bythe novelty and oddity of their
composition and colouring, combined with a marvellous fidelity
in detail. Connossieurs shook their heads, and refused to
believe they had power or originality, and that they would, in
the end, come out all right: declaring if they had real genius
they would walk in the steps of their great contemporaries,
not in those of painters belonging to an early, ignorant age.
Besides, if their avowed principle was correct, then authors
should write in the language of Chaucer.

When Millais, in 1851, exhibited at the Royal Academy his
“ Mariana in the Moated Grange,” “ The Dove returned to the
Ark,” and a quaint picture of two children from a poem by
Coventry Patmore; and Holman Hunt some works equally
strange and naive in treatment, the then recently-appointed
President of the Royal Academy, Sir Charles Eastlake,
privately said it was the last year he and the Hanging Com-
mittee would admit this outrageous new school of painting to
their walls.

It was the day of small things to those now world-famed,
highly-appreciated artists, and I remember one of the most
distinguished asking us, as he had no banker, to cash a cheque
of £14, given him by a Manchester gentleman for a small oil-
painting.

Earnest and severe in their principles of art, the young
reformers indulged in much jocundity when the day’s work
was done. They were wont to meet at ten, cut jokes, talk
slang, smoke, read poetry, and discuss art till three a.m. They
spoke of the Germ, their magazine, which unfortunately met.
206 MARY HOWITT.

with a speedy end, as if pronounced with a “g” hard, making
it sound like the “g”’ in girl, and found endless amusement
from outsiders saying to them, “ Why do you call germ thus?
But of course you are right,” and then adopting the wrong
pronunciation.

In July, 1850, an American poet and painter, named Buchanan
Read, then on his way to study art at Diisseldorf, Munich, and
Florence, spent an evening at our house in the company of
some of our friends. He had earlier sent us his first volume
of poems by the American publisher, Mr. Fields, and now
brought us the second. But in spite of this kind attention, he
seemed such a timid nonentity that I had continually to jog
my memory to prevent his suffering from neglect. A few
days later the very clever and intelligent young Irish poet,
William Allingham, who had been present, told Holman Hunt
and Dante Rossetti he had recently met a number of Americans
at our house. Upon this Rossetti replied, “ By the by, some
of those Americans write glorious things. JI have come across
some lyrics in the Philadelphia Courier, signed ‘A Miner,’ and
written from Hazeldell, on the Schuylkill, as fine as any I
know. I first met with one specimen, and was so delighted
with it that I sent to Philadelphia for all the papers containing
the poems from Hazeldell, cut them out and pasted them in a
book with other gems of poetry.”

Rossetti forthwith produced a big book of poetry, and began
reading some of the lyrics, and as he expressed the deepest
oblications to the unknown writer, Allingham volunteered to
call on a little American, who had asked him to do so, and try
to learn from him who was the splendid poet of Hazeldell.
Accordingly, Mr. Allingham went to Mr. Buchanan Read, and
told him what had passed. As he proceeded, the stranger’s
face became crimson and his entire frame agitated. “I am
the writer of these poems,” he replied, with tears in his eyes.

There was, of course, nothing to be done, after this marvel-
lous discovery, but instantly to carry off the prize to Rossetti.
They found him in his studio, quite absorbed, working from a
model. He just looked up as they entered, gave a sharp little
nod, and went on painting. Allingham, however, walked up
to him and said, “I have brought you the poet of Hazeldell
bodily.” Rossetti dropped his brush, and with a face glowing
AMONGST THE P.R.B’s. 207

with excitement, cried, “You don’t say so!” He quite over-
whelmed the bashful stranger with his joyous acclamations,
adding, “How delighted Woolner will be, for he prizes your
poems as I do!”

In the midst of the jubilation Holman Hunt entered. Now,
Read had a most intense desire to see Leigh Hunt, and this
being divulged to the two pre-Raphaelites, who were busy, they
deputed Allingham to carry their visitor to Leigh Hunt, and see
that he was treated with due honour. Leigh Hunt, however,
was out; so they returned to Rossetti and Holman Hunt, and
spent a grand evening together.

The next time Buchanan Read came to us, we had perused
his fresh, invigorating poems, and were delighted to see him
again. And now, the ice being broken, we found him to be a
very generous, grateful young man, possessing much original
power and fine discrimination of art. He had been painting
in Rossetti’s studio, and in constant intercourse with his host,
William Rossetti, Holman Hunt, and Woolner. As the day
for his departure to Diisseldorf approached, a great gathering
of all the P.R.B.’s took place, to commemorate his last evening
in their midst. They read aloud his poetry, made much of
him, and told him such capital stories, that some of them rolled
on the floor with laughter. But although they remained to-
gether until four or five in the morning, they could not part
with him. He prolonged his stay, and as he absented himself
in their company from his lodgings at Mr. Chapman’s, in
the Strand, it was reported that the pre-Raphaelites had carried
off Read in a chariot of fire.

At the close of 1870 we met him once more in Rome, where
he was then residing with his gentle and wealthy wife, and
dispensing hospitality with a most lavish hand. We were
present at a grand entertainment which he gave in honour of
General Sheridan, whose bard he might justly be called, from
his very spirited and popular lay, “Sheridan’s Ride,” having
heightened the hero’s fame in America. The task upon
his vital powers, in his character of poet, painter, and most
sociable host, led to the constant use of strong stimulants,
which ruined his health. It caused him, in 1872, to quit Rome
for his native land, where he breathed his last the day after
stepping ashore.
208 MARY HOWITT.

Some reader has, without doubt, still fresh in his recollection
the gay, animated appearance of London in the spring of 1851.
The evidence of the approaching first ‘Great Exhibition ” in
Hyde Park, a new feature, not only in London, but in the history
of the world, was apparent on every side: houses and shops
cleaned and repainted, hotels for ‘“‘ All Nations” and coffee-
houses of the “ Great Exhibition ”’ opened right and left; huge
waggons, piled with bales, slowly moving along to Hyde Park;
and, standing in bewilderment at the corners of streets and by
omnibuses, were foreigners, with big beards and moustachios,
in queer felt-hats and braided coats; whilst elegant French-
women, in long cloth cloaks with picturesque hoods, and plain
drab bonnets with rich interior trimmings (a new style of dress,
beautiful from its severity), might be seen in Regent Street
and Piccadilly, acting az a foil to Oriental magnates in gold
embroidery, flowing silk, and gorgeous cashmere.

How crowded, that spring, was the private view of the
Portland Gallery by lords, ladies, artists, priests, and dis-
tinguished foreigners! J. R. Herbert, R.A., grave and thin of
countenance and spare of form, walked bareheaded at the side
of the portly, benign Cardinal Wiseman, and with reverence
pointed out various pictures to him. Then came a low buzz
_ and movement of excitement in the throng, which contained

the Archbishop of York and the Bishop of London, when
Cardinal Wiseman, Dr. Doyle, Roman Catholic Bishop of
Carlow, Father Gavazzi, and Mazzini were seen grouped
together examining the same painting. ‘How very odd!”
was the general remark; and my husband added, “The fine
arts may truly be said to form neutral ground!”

On May 27, 1851, I write to William, then in Heidelberg :—

“Our Cambridge Day was wonderful. At half-past six
in the morning I was at the Leigh Smiths’. Professor Kinkel,
the Pulskys, and some other Hungarians, with outlandish
names, were at breakfast. I had already taken mine. At
seven we set out in the open carriage and omnibus, full inside
and out, to the Shoreditch Station. There we met the
remainder of our party, excepting Freiligrath, whom I had
been expected to bring and did not know it; Lord Dudley
VISIT TO CAMBRIDGE. 2¢9

Stuart, who is ill, and Monckton Milnes, who is either just
married or going to be. We were a party of twenty-one.
What introduction there was of one bearded and moustachioed
man to another, and of these to the ladies. What a jabber of
French, German, Hungarian, and English! At length Mr.
Smith, who seemed as happy asa boy, and Willie Smith had
paid the return fare of the whole party.

‘Before ten we were at Cambridge, and there were met by
a Trinity College omnibus and carriages, sent, as we were
informed, by Mr. Smith, of Jesus, to take us to the ‘Bull.’ At
the ‘Bull’ we found Ben, who, in the first place, led us through
some of the college courts, and gave us a hasty survey of
beautiful medizval buildings, lovely avenues of limes, pictur-
esque cloisters, gateways, halls and chapels, with smooth lawns,
fountains, glimpses of meadows golden with buttercups, and
lines of drooping leafy trees, till we were all wild with admira-
tion and delight. Then part of us went to Ben’s rooms in
Jesus College, and the remainder to the ‘ Bull,’ to have break-
fast. What a breakfast we had! Ben’s friends were still all at
church ; but presently, just at the right moment, when he was
gone to look after the folks at the ‘ Bull,’ and when we had
drained his big coffee-pot and wanted more, in came three young
fellows in caps and gowns—Chinnery, of Caius, Mullins, of
John’s, and Cowan, of Trinity. Then there was an increase of life
and activity. ‘Oh! you want coffee, do you?’ and away flew
Mullins and brought down somebody else’s big coffee-pot. Then
in rushed a new undergraduate with his coffee-pot and there was
plenty. Next water was wanted. It was not to be had, but
Barbara knew where her brother’s soda-water was. So down
she delved into a cupboard and up came bottle after bottle ; some
was soda-water, some was ginger-beer. The gentlemen drank
both out of a huge silver tankard with a glass bottom. If you
could have seen the fun, freedom and jollity of those bearded
and moustachioed men, who had been students up and down
Germany, it would have delighted you. Pulsky put on Ben’s
gown and cap, and enacted a respectable English student,
‘Smith, of Jesus.’ Everyone was full of fun, and what roars of
laughter there were. When ample justice had been done to
the pickled salmon, ducks, fowls, tongue, and pigeon-pie, we
joined the rest of the party in the court of King’s, and went the

P
210 MARY HOWITT.

round of every college; each being alike, yet different; all
beautiful, all rich; a union of architectural grandeur and
picturesque effect with the verdure of lawns, meadows and
lovely trees. At half-past three we went to afternoon service in
King’s, the finest chapel in Cambridge. I cannot tell you how
exquisite itis. Then all assembled at the ‘ Bull,’ and our twenty-
one, with six handsome young undergraduates added, sat down
to a table covered with excellent and delicious dishes. You can
imagine the speeches, the laughter and wit. Very soon the
carriages were announced, so, with many most cordial farewells
to the group of friendly undergraduates, we returned to London,
which we reached a quarter before eight. Again the Smiths’
omnibus and carriage and as many cabs as were needful were
in waiting; and all who did not incline to go to supper in
Blandford Square were sent home to their own doors. Whata
fine thing it is to be able to give pleasure on a magnificent
scale.

“ Kinkel could not imagine much hard study in rooms so
comfortable as we saw at Cambridge. No doubt he contrasted
them in his mind with the bare floor, wooden chairs, the high-
standing wooden desk, and the bed in the same room, of the
foreign university student.”

I had soon the bliss of having my art-student on a visit from
Munich. With her we doubly enjoyed the sight of the produc-
tions, wealth, workmanship, and of people of all regions of the
world assembled in the Crystal Palace. It was to us the veri-
table “ House of Fame” foreseen by Chaucer four hundred and
seventy years before.

In September 1849, Frederika Bremer first stayed with us,
on her way to the United States and Cuba, whither, seized by
the spirit of an old Viking, she was journeying at the age of
forty-seven. She was short and plump in figure, and simple in
her attire, which was made picturesque by a cap of a conventual
shape, trimmed with deep lace; and she won our affection by
her warmheartedness and freedom from ostentation.

From America she wrote to me that the “ sun of the Western
world had developed in her many germs that had been lying
snow-covered for dozens of years, but which, under its influ-
ence, began to grow and expand, making her feel that her
THE GOLD-FIELDS. 211

remaining span of life would barely suffice for the ripening of
what then filled her soul.”

In the autumn of 1851 she again passed through England.
Her religious and social views had, in America, been materially
influenced. An intense desire animated her to aid in the
liberation of every oppressed soul; above all, to rescue her
country-women from the dark and narrow sphere allotted them ;
and Sweden listened to her pleadings for woman.

In the self-same year of the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park,
gold was found in Australia. The marvellous gold-romance of
California had now begun in our own colonies. It seemed, in
a period of over-population and misery in Europe, that gold,
the great lure of the human heart, had been revealed in vast
continents to call out people thither with a voice against which
there was no appeal. Nothing was talked of but Australia and
the wonderful inducements offered to emigration.

My husband, who was a good sailor, and needed a real change
from his hard brain-work, suddenly resolved on a trip to the
new El-Dorado, where he should once more see his brother, Dr.
Godfrey Howitt, who was successfully established with his
family in Melbourne. He should also learn what opening there
might be on the Australian continent for our two sons, who
were to accompany him. Anna Mary permanently returned
from Munich to see our beloved ones off. They left us in June,
1852, R. H. Horne, the author of “ Orion,” sailing with them
in the Kent. We should have felt the separation appalling but
for the wholesome panacea of work,
CHAPTER XI.

1852—1857.

Our first occupation, after the departure of my husband and
sons for Victoria, was moving from the Avenue Road to High-
gate. I had once hoped that Andrew Marvell’s half-timbered,
very picturesque cottage there might have been our home. It
proved, however, at the time to be too dilapidated to be rented
with economy or prudence.

In the meanwhile Edward Bateman had taken, on lease, The
Hermitage, situated at Highgate, on the West Hill, a little
above Millfield Lane. The premises consisted of a small three-
storeyed house and a lesser tenement, The Hermitage proper,
containing a room on the ground-floor, and an upper chamber
reached by an outside rustic staircase and gallery, the whole
covered with a thick roof of thatch, and buried in an exuberant
growth of ancient ivy. It and the dwelling-house stood in the
midst of a long sloping garden, and were hidden from the road
by palings, fine umbrageous elms, and a lofty ash, which retained
the name of “ Nelson’s Tree,” from the famous admiral having
climbed it as a boy. When to let, the landlord, in order to
beautify the place, had painted the interior woodwork of the
house dark green, and introduced bad stained-glass and grotto-
work into the cottage. Notwithstanding these gimcrack at-
tempts at rusticity, Mr. Bateman, perceiving the capabilities,
had immediately secured it, and then, under his skilful hand
and eye, transformed it into a most unique, quaint and pleasant
abode, the fit home for a painter. He had temporarily located
Dante Gabriel Rossetti in The Hermitage, when, determining to
go to Victoria, where his cousin, Mr. La Trobe, was Governor,
he transferred the lease to us. Woolner and Bernhard Smith
THOMAS WOOLNER. 213

were his fellow-travellers, and it was agreed that on the follow-
ing 12th of April the P.R.B.’s in England were to meet
together to make sketches and write poems for the P.R.B.’s in
Australia, who were simultaneously to meet and forward a
Mercury of their proceedings home.

Whilst The Hermitage was being transformed, and the
voyage of the pre-Raphaelites still in embryo, I remember walk-
ing one March evening, at six o’clock, with Woolner along
Millfield Lane. After we passed the house once occupied by

 

ANDREW MARVELL’S COTTAGE AT HIGHGATE.

Charles Mathews, the comedian, but lately much enlarged, we
witnessed a splendid sunset effect. The western sky was filled
with a pale, golden light, fading into violet, then blue, and just
in the violet hung a thin crescent moon, with one large star
above her. Woolner could not sufficiently admire this exquisite
poem of Nature, and I perceived that he was not only a
sculptor, but a poet.

For upwards of two years my daughters and I dwelt alone
at The Hermitage, busily occupied in writing, painting, and
214 MARY HOWITT.

studying ; our anxious hearts filled with the deepest solicitude
for our dear absent ones, who were bravely encountering
deprivation and toil. We could only remember that God was
with them as much in the Bush as ina civilised land. It is
not hard work, but the gnawing pain of the mind that kills ;
and the memory of those days of suspense, aggravated by the
very defective postal communication with Australia, brings
with it a most grateful sense of the extreme kindness and
delicate -onsideration of our opposite neighbour, the Baroness,

 

CHARLES MATHEWS’ HOUSE IN MILLFIELD LANE.

then Miss Burdett-Coutts. She constantly invited us to Holly
Lodge, and thus afforded us change of thought and relaxation
in her highly cultivated circle.

Some of the chief incidents of this period are given in the
subjoined extracts from letters.

To my HvsBanp.

“ Sept. 3, 1852.—I drive on with my work like some thing
blind and deaf; listening and seeing nothing but the one
HAUNTED HOUSE IN HOLBORN. 215

object, work. Sometimes Annie and I sit together in the same
room, each at our table, for an hour or two, never speaking.
Then we say, ‘How quiet and pleasant it is, and what a holy
and. soothing influence there is in this blessed work.’ I have
not yet finished the first volume of Miss Bremer’s travels in
America.

“ We have had quite an incursion of people here of late, and
a whole American family are coming to drink tea with us to-
morrow. We were just going to bed one night at our usual
hour of ten, when a ring came at the gate. The dogs barked
ferociously, and behold! it was William Allingham. He had
heard we were ill from the Brownings, and so was come to
inquire after us. We sat talking with him till half-past
twelve. We enjoyed it very much, and asked him to come to
us the next day. Sohecame. It was just in the midst of the
terrible thunder and lightning that we have had here of late,
and this led him to tell us what was just then deeply interesting
a number of people in London—the Brownings among the rest.

“There is in Holborn a respectable tradesman, who is a firm
believer in spiritual influences, in astrology, mesmerism, &c.
This man has known for long that the house in which he lives
is haunted by evil spirits and doomed to an ill end. He dis-
covered that, many years ago, a murder had been committed
in it. He consulted clairvoyants about it, and all foresaw
that a fearful explosion would take place. He had six or
seven letters from clairvoyants in different parts of the
country, warning him of the impending danger, that the
house would fall and burst the gas-pipes, the gas would explode,
and terrible loss of life ensue. The man, who is apparently
most sensible and intelligent, is personally known to Robert
Browning, but his name is not to be revealed, because it would
injure him in his business. During one of the last storms,
this tradesman and a friend of his saw from a distance the
lightning apparently concentrate itself over the house, and a
red tongue as of fire rise up from the roof. They believed it
must be burning. However, no harm was done. William
Allingham asked me to note down that it was generally fore-
seen that the explosion was to occur between midnight and
four o’clock the following Sunday morning. That was a fort-
night ago to-day, and nothing has occurred. It was, however,
216 MARY HOWITT.

a curious circumstance, which, when told us, interested us
much.”

“ Dec. 3, 1852.—The Queen has read ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’
as well as all her subjects; she and the Duchess of Sutherland,
and others of the good and great about the Palace, have deter-
mined to make a demonstration in favour of the slave. Her
Majesty in her own person can do nothing; therefore this
movement comes from the Duchess of Sutherland. From her
I received an invitation to meet a number of distinguished
women at Stafford House, to take into consideration an address
from the women of England to the women of America on
the subject of slavery. I was quite appalled, and felt I had
not a bonnet fit to go in; however, I got a new bonnet, and
went.

“People were all most kind and polite. Lady Shaftesbury
told me that her children had my juvenile books; and the
Duchess of Sutherland and her daughter, the Duchess of
Argyll, were particularly friendly. To my surprise, I found
mny name put down on a committee of women, which consists
of Lady Shaftesbury, the Hon. Mrs. Kinnaird, myself (I
give the names as they stand), Mrs. Sutherland and Mrs.
Grainger.

“The Duchess read a very interesting letter from Mrs. Stowe
to the Earl of Carlisle. She seems delighted at this movement
in favour of the slave ; and certainly it is very fine, originating
with our Queen, as it does, no doubt.

“Speaking of ‘ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’ I must not forget to tell
you that the sheets of this work, I believe, before its publica-
tion in America, were offered for £5 to Charles Gilpin. He
would not buy them. Then they were offered to Mr. Bogue,
then to Mr. Bohn, and rejected by both. They were bought
in the end by Routledge. Now there are at least twenty
different publishers’ editions, Bohn’s and Bogue’s among the
rest ; and it is supposed that upwards of one million copies
have been sold in England alone.”

“ Dec. 8, 1852.—Charles Gilpin and George Alexander have
come over to me in solemn deputation from the Anti-Slavery
“UNCLE TOM’S CABIN.” 217

Society to remonstrate against the Duchess of Sutherland’s
Address to the American Women. But, though I regret one
or two expressions in the Stafford House Address, I yet adhere
to it and its party.”

“ Feb, 22, 1853.—I was yesterday at our Committee for the
Ladies’ Address to their American Sisters on Slavery. There
will be 400,000 signatures, it is expected.* I had a good deal
of talk with Lord Shaftesbury. He is one of the kindest,
strongest, most agreeable of men. ‘Uncle Tom’ is being
translated into Russian by order of the Czar; it is said pre-
paratory to an abolition of serfdom. I went to the Committee
with this news, but all thought it too good to be true. Then
came Lord Shaftesbury and confirmed it. Miss Bremer writes
beautifully on slavery. She seems to think that a spirit of
emancipation is growing up in the South itself. This seems
proved by three large slaveholders having—it is said in conse-
quence of ‘ Uncle Tom ’—emancipated all their slaves.

“How wonderful is the effect of that book! Lord Shaftes-
bury, who is just returned from France and Italy, said that
‘in Italy it is devoured ; but that the Jesuits, to make it suit
their purpose, have introduced the Church instead of Christ.
Thus poor Uncle Tom, the best Christian almost that ever
lived, is made to preach for the Jesuits!’ He also mentioned
that the great prize ox in Paris this Christmas was called
‘Uncle Tom.’ What people will do with Mrs. Stowe, when
she comes in May, I cannot tell. JI expect she will be wel-
comed as no crowned head ever was.”

“ March 1, 1853.—The P.R.B.’s are most anxious for news
of their Australian travellers. Rossetti was up here on
Sunday, and very desirous to learn whether we had received
tidings, as neither the friends of Woolner nor of Bernhard
Smith have received any. You may imagine with what
eagerness after Australian news and news of vessels the Times

is consulted each evening.
“We are now busily correcting the proofs of [Mnnemoser’s

* They amounted to 576,000.
218 MARY HOWITT.

‘History of Magic.’ What industrious people you and Alfred
were to translate all that mass of MS. on your voyage. What
a curious work it is. M. Reclus,a French acquaintance of
Miss Acton’s, was here the other evening. He knows much
about magic and occult things, and is acquainted with many
French and German books on the subject. Is it not singular
the widespread belief in such agencies? Rossetti told us the
other evening some most remarkable ghost-stories.”

“ March 14, 1853.—I had a dream three nights ago, which
has made me very unhappy; and yet, in a manner, I can
account for it. I was thinking on Friday night of dear Claude’s
death—the next day being my birthday, and his into the better
life. In the night, then, I dreamed that a letter came from
Alfred. It seemed to contain three bills of credit, but the only
words I saw in the letter were, ‘My father is very ill.” I woke
in an agony of heart such as no words can describe. The misery
of the dream has not ceased yet. I do all I can to reason with
myself, to say that it was caused by my thinking of poor
Claude’s last hours. And I hope it was. God help us and
preserve us to each other! I know that you all are exposed to
hardships and dangers of many kinds. They rise up before
my imagination and make me very unhappy. I can do no
more than keep a prayer in my heart, which is uttered many,
many times a day: ‘Oh, God! protect my beloved ones.’ ”

“« March 20.—What a dreadful time we have had! Yester-
day was the last grand meeting at Stafford House. On arriving
I had only spoken to the Duchess of Sutherland and Lord
Shaftesbury, when Mrs. Carpenter came up to me and asked,
‘What is this about Mr. Howitt in the Times?’ All the strength
went out of me. I said, ‘I do not know; what is it?’ She
then told me Dr. Carpenter had read something about an
accident to your cart. I sat and listened to the proceedings of
the meeting, hardly hearing a word. The Duchess talked to
me most kindly, singling me out, as it were. I had no pleasure
even in such kindness. The people were allowed to see the
rooms after the meeting; but I did not care for it, and sat
ILLNESS OF WILLIAM HOWITT. 219

down in a window, amid all the grandeur, sick with apprehen-
sion,

“Annie was as mach alarmed as I was when I came home
and told her. Long and dreadful were the couple of hours that
went on till the paper came. We read then the letter from an
Australian correspondent. He says that your cart broke down
on the way to the Ovens, and that he fears you are suffering
from the climate. Somehow that letter took the sting out of
our wounds. We had not, however, seen Willie Howitt, who
came up to-day with his Australian home-news. Now we know
that you are ill. Willie, however, assures us that all who go to
Australia suffer at first from the climate.”

“« March 29.—No lettersfrom you yet! We have regained a
little composure after the terrible blow. Never, in the whole of
my life, with all our anxieties, have I passed such a time of sus-
pense as this has been since that awful night of my dream. Oh!
may it please our Heavenly Father to protect and restore you
tous. I should really go out to you, were it not for Annie and
Meggie. These partings are awful things. Think only, your
last letter to us was written in October, and Alfred’s on
November 7. God help us! But I will hope and trust, as I
have hitherto done. Yet I somewhat dread the Gireat Britain
coming in. She is expected every hour.”

To Anaric Watts.

“ April 5, 1853.—You and dear Mrs. Watts will be pleased
to know that we have had very long and interesting letters
from William. They came by the Great Britain, and are
dated December 23, when they were all three hundred miles
up the country. They had encountered many adventures by
the way, and all had been ill, William seriously so. Their ill-
ness was caused by camping in a swampy situation, at a time
when, their cart having broken down, they were detained by
its being repaired.

“‘God, however, always sends His angel in some form in
one’s sorest affliction. So it was now. They found, when poor
220 MARY HOWITT.

dear William was at his worst, that at seven miles’ distance
there was a large sheep station. There they sent to ask for
something they needed, and when Mr. and Mrs. Forlonge, the
owners of the station, heard that it was William who lay sick,
they sent down everything in their power for his comfort;
then, when he was able to be removed, had him conveyed to
their house in a spring-cart, took the entire party and all their
belongings under their roof, and, though utter strangers,
treated them with brotherly kindness. They proved to be not
only true Samaritans, but intellectual, highly cultivated Scotch
people.

“This illness is an affecting passage to us in the narrative
of their two months’ journey ; still, it is cheering to know that
even in the wilderness kind hearts are to be met with. For
the rest, nothing can be more Robinson-Crusoe-like than the
whole expedition.

«A great load is lifted off our hearts; and more than ever
now we feel that we must and may confide our dear absent
ones to God.”

To Witiu1am Howirr.

“ April 10, 1853.—It has been most pleasant to meet the
Boothbys again before their departure for Australia. You will
have learned already that Mr. Boothby is going out to
Adelaide as second Supreme Judge. All his sons are eager
about Australia. Who would have imagined that when he
and you, years ago, were members of the Nottingham Town
Council, you would meet once more in the Antipodes ?

“ While writing, Dr. Sutherland has called. He is delighted
with your letter in the Times. Just as he was leaving, who
should come in but Dr. Smiles? He intends now to settle in
London. He, too, was full of your letter, the first description
that had ever made him see Australian scenery.

“Now I must try and think over what news there is. The
great topics seem to be:—In the political world, the proposed
new scheme of Property and Income Tax, which would make
everybody pay something ; the proposal of paying off a portion
of the National Debt with Australian gold. In the literary
SPIRIT-RAPPING. 221

world, the International Copyright, which some expect will be
in force within three months. In society in general, the
strange circumstantial rumour of the Queen’s death, which,
being set afloat on Easter Monday, when no business was
doing, was not the offspring of the money-market. Mr. and
Mrs. Charles Kean, who were here the other day, spoke of it,
saying truly that for the moment it seemed to paralyse the very
heart of England. The Keans, by the by, send their very
kindest messages to you.

“T forgot whether I told you of the invitation to Stafford
House of not only our Ladies’ Committee, but of the Committee
of the old Anti-Slavery party. The latter were invited to see
the result of the labours of the noble duchesses, ladies, and all
the rest of us, in twenty-six large volumes. The Committee of
the Anti-Slavery party consisted of twelve Quaker ladies.
When they received their invitation to Stafford House they wrote
back to ask if they might each be allowed to bring a sister or
a friend. The Duchess very graciously consented, and their
number grew to four-and-thirty. There they were when we
entered ; all sorts of Friends, plain and smart, old and young,
grave and gay, sitting, as if in meeting, round the room. We
were invited to meet Mrs. Stowe at Stafford House, but
whether all the thirty-four or only the original twelve
Quakeresses will go I know not. She has arrived at Liverpool,
and her ovation has begun.”

“ May 4, 1853.—The great talk now is Mrs. Stowe and spirit-
rapping, both of which have arrived in England. The univer-
sality of the phenomena renders it a curious study. A feeling
seems pervading all classes, all sects, that the world stands upon
the eve of some great spiritual revelation. It meets one in
books, in newspapers, on the lips of members of the Church of
England, Unitarians, even Freetbinkers.

“Poor old Robert Owen, the philanthropist, has been con-
verted, and made a confession of faith in the public papers.
One cannot but respect a man who, in his old age, has the bold-
ness to declare himself as having been blinded and mistaken
through life; and who, upon the verge of human life, sends
forth the concealed yearning of his soul after a spiritual world
222 MARY HOWITT.

and an immortality. Yes, indeed, is not the greatest proof,
after all, of an immortality the innate longing after it, and the
belief in it existing within each human being, whether encased
in external intellectual pride, worldly joy, or hardness of heart,
and that, too, throughout all ages and shining forth from all
mythologies ?

“Especially are the aristocracy interested in these rappings,
which become contagious; a medium of spiritual communication
may, in some cases, be developed by the laying on of hands.
There is a singular resemblance between it and mesmeric power.
The old hobgoblins and brownies seem to be let loose again, for
all the spirits appear to be of a singularly dow order, frequently
lying. Mr. Beecher, the brother of Mrs. Stowe, has delivered in
America a series of lectures to a vast assembly, demonstrating
that these phenomena are the work of the devil. Well, per-
haps, they may be.

“ Barbara, who is now investigating these strange glimpses
into an occult power of nature, told us last night a singular
circumstance connected with Lady Byron’s mother. Lady
Milbanke had discovered, as a young woman in Switzerland,
that she was endowed, like many of the natives, with the
power of discovering water by means of the divining rod.
When Dr. Wollaston had written a most learned treatise upon
the superstition of the divining-rod, he was surprised to
receive a letter desiring an interview with him on Wimbledon
Common by the writer, who possessed the power he so severely
denounced. Dr. Wollaston went to Wimbledon, and great
was his surprise to perceive a carriage approach the spot of
appointment. An elegant lady, accompanied by some equally
fashionable friends, alighted, and declared herself the writer
of the letter, and ready to test her power; and she still more
astonished Dr. Wollaston when, taking a hazel-rod, she pointed
out again and again concealed springs of water. This anecdote
of Lady Milbanke had been told Barbara, I believe, by Lady
Byron.”

“ May 8, 1853.—Mrs. Stowe has arrived in London. She is
come with husband, brothers, sister-in-law, and nephew. She
is a simple, kindly creature, with a face which becomes beauti-
MRS. STOWE, 223

ful from expression. We spent an evening with her at the
Binneys’ on Friday. It was a sort of open house, hundreds of
people coming and going. When we reached the front-door
we were struck by the crowds which had gathered round it; we
heard some one say he had come to get a peep at ‘the com-
poser of “‘ Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” ’ Wherever she goes, and it is
known that she is there, a crowd gathers. It is something like
the enthusiasm in America for Jenny Lind.

“T was yesterday at Stafford House, with some hundreds
besides, composed of the aristocracy and many distinguished
people. Mrs. Stowe and her relatives had taken luncheon with
the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland, and the dukes, duchesses,
lords and ladies of their family. In the grand gallery the
reception took place, the Duchess of Sutherland and Lord
Shaftesbury introducing interesting personages to Mrs, Stowe.
Then the principal persons took seats in the middle of the
room, and the company stood round. Lord Shaftesbury read a
very nice address of welcome to Mrs. Stowe, which was handed
her; and her brother made a tedious speech, and read a
rather stupid letter from an American who had emancipated
his slaves. This was the first part of the day’s proceedings.
People walked about and conversed together, and were intro-
duced to Mrs. Stowe, if they had patience to wait for an oppor-
tunity. Tea and coffee were handed round by footmen in drab
and scarlet or in Highland costume. Then the Duchess and
Mrs. Stowe retired to a smaller apartment, where the ladies
were invited to follow. Here, after a good deal of amusement
in separating the ladies from the gentlemen, Mrs. Stowe made
a capital little speech, or rather talked to us in a very simple
manner; her countenance beaming, and a merry smile at times
playing over it, till she looked to my eyes as beautiful as the
splendid and gracious lady, the friend of Queen Victoria, seated
beside her.”

« June 29, 1853.—Dined the other day with Sir David Brew-
ster at Lord Shaftesbury’s. Later in the evening a servant
being ordered to bring a hat from the hall, it was made to spin
round by some of the family and guests assembled in the draw-
ing-room. It was very odd. Dr. Braid, of Manchester, says
224 MARY HOWITT.

the phenomenon is produced by the power of mind over matter ;
and that if the mind is fixed on matter long enough, and with
sufficient intensity, it will inevitably operate upon it. The
effect which all this table-turning, hat-moving, and spiritual
intercourse is producing on all kinds of people is marvellous.
Robert Chambers, the Alaric Wattses, the T. K. Herveys, are
all believers and operators.”’

“ March 2, 1854.—You will see that war is now really be-
ginning in earnest with Russia. Nothing is talked of here
but war. One fleet is gone to the Black Sea, and another is
going to the Baltic. Troops are being embarked even in the
screw-steamers intended for Australia. Men-of-war, it is said,
are to be sent to guard the Australian coast, as Russian pri-
vateers are abroad, and it is expected that our rich Australian
vessels will be seized. It is said, also, that the overland route
will no longer be safe; so that, if this be true, it will put an
end to your overland return, for which I am sorry. The whole
of this excitement and preparation for war has made me very
sad. Greatly have we admired and accompanied in spirit
Joseph Sturge and two other Friends who have gone to St.
Petersburg to endeavour to persuade the Czar to peace. It was
really a very fine thing, and quite worthy of George Fox. If
you see the Zimes, you will read an account of this interview,
and their address to Nicholas, and his reply. Long live such
true men of peace! and I wish all the world thought with
them. The prices of everything have become twice what they
were when you left England.

“The ‘rapping spirits’ go on rapping, and people listen to
them. I myself think it a delusion; but really we hear extra-
ordinary things, and we sce sensible people believing so gravely,
and in many cases it has produced such beautiful and sincere
religious faith and trust, that we do not know what to say.
Bulwer is most eager on the subject. Decanters rise up from
his table without hands, solid substances suspend themselves in
the air.”

On May 15, 1854, I went to stay with Mr. Bladon at
Uttoxeter, and was joined the next day by my daughter Annie.
THE UTTOXETER CHIMES. 225

The little town looked to me but slightly altered, yet, somehow,
old and shabby ; the country pleasant, especially the hilly
crofts. The vegetation, however, neither so fine nor so early as
I had expected.

Anna Mary To HER Unciz, Ricnarp Howrrr.

“ The Hermitage, June 18, 1854.—We have been for the last
several weeks at Uttoxeter. You may believe it was very
pleasant to be there and re-visit the old scenes. Especially
was it pleasant for my mother meeting my aunt Anna there,
and for them to wander through their old haunts and talk
over old memories.

“A poetical little incident also occurred. When we had
been in Uttoxeter a few days, my mother suddenly remembered
that she had not heard the chimes play as usual since she had
arrived ; those sweet melodious chimes, which had so delighted
her and my aunt when they were children. What had become
of them P

«Every one then began also to ask what had become of the
chimes, People remembered then that for years they had been
silent—silent ever since the church had been repaired many
years back. Mr. Joseph Bladon, at whose house we were stay-
ing, and who is about the most influential man now in the little
town, together with the Vicar—who also had never heard the
chimes, being come to the place only within a short time—
soon had inquiries made. Then the first Sunday morning after
our arrival, in honour of my mother’s visit to her old home, the
chimes recommenced their sweet music. They had quite passed
out of people’s memories, but were still in perfect order, only
requiring a new rope.

“We shall send you in a day or two a copy of ‘The Artist’s
Diisseldorf Album,’ in which you will find a poem of yours
printed. My mother was asked to translate the German poems,
and also to procure a few original English poems; and as the
time was very short, we sent one of yours which we had, and
greatly liked. Please read in the Album a poem called ‘Sister
Helen.’ It is by Gabriel Rossetti, an artist friend of ours.”

On Thursday, December 7, 1854, at about two o’clock, my
dear husband and younger son arrived at The Hermitage safe
Q
226 MARY HOWILTT.

and sound, looking so well that it wasa great joy tous. At
the same period my brother-in-law, Daniel Harrison, settled
with his family in the neighbourhood of London; making me
thus enjoy a full measure of domestic happiness.

Mary HowitTt to HER DavuGHTeR MARGARET.

“ The Hermitage, Aug. 9, 1855.—Annie went with Barbara.
to Glottenham, and had just begun to feel better, when, lo! it
was discovered that a poor woman was ill of a fever in a neigh-
bouring cottage, and at five minutes’ warning off they set to
Hastings, and are now located at Clive Vale Farm, near Fair-
light; the same farm where Holman Hunt painted his sheep.”

Anna Mary Howirr to HER Moruer.

“ Clive Vale Farm, Aug. 10, 1855.—We have just had break-
fast. Our little parlour-window is wide open, with the sun-.
shine streaming in, and the vast expanse of distant sea and
undulating green hills coming close up to the strip of cottage
garden. We were very much amused by finding the traces of
Holman Hunt’s painting in great spots of green, blue, and red,
and traces of oil and turpentine upon a picturesque, little, stout
oak table, which we had chosen also for our work; and thus
quite unintentionally we have trodden in his steps.”

Mary Howitt to Her Davucurer, ANNA Mary.

“ The Hermitage, Aug. 21, 1855.—We had a very pleasant
evening at Miss Coutts’. She and Mrs. Brown set off to-
morrow, and will not return before the end of October. She
has had a great annoyance about the extension of Highgate
Cemetery. A few years ago, she told me, she offered to buy
this very land now purchased by the cemetery company, and
reaching down to Swain’s Lane; she was intending to make it
beautiful gardens, to be secured to the public for ever. At that
time the proprietor refused to sell; and she naturally feels ill-
used not to have had the first offer, when he was inclined to
do so, and before the cemetery company was allowed to pur-
 

 

 

WILLIAM AND MARY HOWIIT AT THE HERMITAGE.

Q2
PARLIAMENT HILL. 229

chase it, for a purpose injurious to the health of the increasing
population.

“ Of course, I said, as I felt, that hers had been a noble and
excellent idea, and asked her if I might speak of it. She
replied, ‘Certainly.’ I then added, ‘But do not give up the
idea. It is by such beneficial acts that your name will be pre-
served to the nation. Let me beg of you to purchase Parliament
Hill and convert that into a public park.’ She answered, ‘That
is Lord Mansfield’s property. However, I shall think of it.’
My heart blessed her for those words, but I merely said, ‘ Yes,
dear Miss Coutts, do, for such an idea is worthy of you.’ I
told her, too, how beautiful that hill would be with a grand
white marble statue standing upon it, with the background of
blue sky. ‘ Very beautiful,’ she said, in her quiet way.”

Tue SaMeE To THE SAME.

“ The Hermitage, Sept. 4, 1855.—When we walk in our
favourite Highgate fields towards Hampstead we often see Mr.
Tom Seddon and his pretty little wife. We did so yesterday,
and walked together. He wants to finish his Eastern sketches,
and asked us where he could find rocks and old thorn-trees,
which he might use for bits of his olive-trees; and where he
could find a level burnt-up country for a Syrian desert. We
advised him to go to the little inn at Rowsley for the old rocks
about Haddon Hall and Stanton. He said that ‘Lear had
advised the same.’ I suggested he could find strange, weird
old trees about Hurstmonceaux. He replied, ‘So, too, had Lear
told him,’ and that Lear was painting down there this very
summer. He cannot turn his thoughts at present to other
subjects than the East.”

“ Dec. 4, 1855.—Of course, your father and I entirely ap-
prove of Barbara’s scheme for petitioning Parliament for an
alteration in the law as regards the property of married
women ; and we are glad that she is getting her grand scheme
into form.”

« Jan. 8, 1856.—Yesterday I went to Stratton Street. Miss
Coutts was at home, and most kindly received me. We sat
230 MARF HOWITT.

and talked over Mr. Brown's death, and Mrs. Brown’s
grief and beautiful resignation; and then she came in. I
am always affected, somehow, by the sight of a widow's
cap; and to see that bright face so sad, and surrounded by
the plain, white, folded muslin, quite touched me. We
talked about death and eternity. Both believe in the im-
mediate life after death, and that the spirit of a departed
beloved cne may be ever present, though unseen, unfelt; only -
they do not believe in the influence of the spirit through
dreams or material manifestations. It was, some way, very
sweet, and I had great peace in this part of my visit. Miss
Coutts showed me a miniature which Sir William Ross has
done of Mr. Brown since death, from the bust and his
remembrance of the face; but it is not quite right.

“We then talked of this proposed movement to secure to
married women their own property and earnings. They both
agree that it is quite right. Miss Coutts, who understands the
subject thoroughly, said that she believed some changes would
be made in the laws regarding women and the management of
their property; but as to supporting the petition, she must
fully consider it, and can say nothing just at present.”

“ Jan. 9, 1856.—We went last evening to the Seddons’.
Mr. Tom Seddon is in very good heart. He has sold one of
his pictures to Lord Grosvenor. He showed me a sketch for
another of his commissions. It is a sort of halt in the desert
at the hour of prayer. He is going again to the Hast to paint
a picture at Damascus. His brother, the architect, has received
a commission to restore Llandaff Cathedral, so he is in Wales.
They all seem very happy, and send lots of kind messages
to you.”

Anna Mary Howirt ro Her Sister Marcaret.

“ March 13, 1856.—The petition about married women’s
property has already been announced in Parliament. It is
spoken of as the petition of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Anna
Jameson, Mary Howitt, Mrs. Gaskell, &c. The London signa-
tures are within a small number of three thousand. West-
minster are two thousand. Various little incidents of interes.
PROPERTY OF MARRIED WOMEN. 231

have occurred, such asa very old lady on her death-bed, who
asked to be allowed to put her name to the petition, and thus
wrote her signature for the last time. Yesterday evening, as
it was growing dusk, Octavia made her appearance, looking so
bright and happy. She had been taking her Ragged School
children a walk in the Highgate fields; and dismissing them,
came here. She helped mother to paste the signature sheets,
which have all been sent in to-day.”

Tue Same TO THE SAME,

“ March 17, 1856.—Sir Erskine Perry says that, contrary {o
his expectation, the petition was received very respectfully in
the House of Commons, without a sneer or a smile. Lord
Brougham made a capital little speech in the Lords on pre-
senting the petition, paying Mrs. Jameson and our mother
each a very nice compliment, to which there was a ‘ Hear,
hear.’ He especially called Lord Lyndhurst’s attention to the
importance of the question. It will be capital if, through this
women’s petition, the law gets amended.” *

On December 19, 1856, we learnt with regret the death, at
Cairo, of the gifted young artist, Thomas Seddon; and on the
Christmas Day, Holman Hunt called to consult with Anna
Mary about her little memoir of his deceased friend.

Our daughter had, both by her pen and pencil, taken her
place amongst the successful artists and writers of the day,
when, in the spring of 1856, a severe private censure of one of
her oil-paintings by a king among critics so crushed her
sensitive nature as to make her yield to her bias for the super-
natural, and withdraw from the ordinary arena of the fine
arts. After her marriage in 1859 to her contemporary and
friend from childhood, Alaric Alfred, the only son of our
valued associates, Mr. and Mrs. Watts, they both jointly pur-
sued psychological studies.

In the spring of 1856 we had become acquainted with several
most ardent and honest spirit mediums. It seemed right to

* The only change brought about by the petition was in the law of marriage
and divorce.
232 MARY HOWITT.

my husband and myself, under the circumstances, to see and
try to understand the true nature of those phenomena in which
our new acquaintance so firmly believed. In the month of
April I was therefore invited to a séance at Professor De
Morgan’s, and was much astonished and affected by communi-
cations purporting to come to me from my dear son Claude.
With constant prayer for enlightenment and guidance, we
experimented at home. The teachings that seemed given to us
from the spirit-world were often akin to those of the Gospel;
at other times were more obviously emanations of evil. The
system was clearly open to much abuse. I felt thankful for the
assurance thus gained of an invisible world, but resolved to
neglect none of my common duties for spiritualism.
CHAPTER XII.

1857—1866.

Tue Hermitage being doomed to destruction, we quitted it in
1857 for another house at Highgate, pleasantly situated higher
up on the same ascent, and called West Hill Lodge. It stood
back, facing its old-fashioned sloping garden, which was hidden
from the high-road by a ,thick screen of clipped lime-trees,
whilst it possessed from the flat accessible roof a magnificent
survey of London and its environs. It was to us a pleasant
and attractive abode, yet we willingly vacated it for months at
a time; and it afforded Florence Nightingale, worn and weary
in the service of her country, a peaceful resting-place during
the spring and early summer of 1859. My husband’s life of
free, pleasant, healthy adventure in Australia had stimulated
his innate love of nature; and, although a sexagenarian, made
him henceforth always ready to start off to the mountains, the
seaside, or the Continent, fulfilling, wherever it might be, his
literary occupations in the quiet and refreshment of fine
scenery. It appears to me a delightful, most privileged exist-
ence that we were thus perpetually permitted to enjoy God’s
glorious works on earth, as a foretaste, I humbly trust, of still
more sublime ones in Heaven.

From 1858 a series of sojourns in Carnarvonshire began—
thus realising an earlier wish of mine—and Wales, interluded
by visits to various parts of England, France, Switzerland, and
Germany, remained, until we reached Italy and Tyrol, our
chief source of rural profit and delight. The Chester and Car-
narvon Railway had already brought along the sea-coast of
North Wales an influx of tourists and wealthy settlers,
234 MARY HOWITT.

demanding and introducing the necessities of advanced civili-
sation. This tended to develop the resources of the beautiful
land, whose valleys and mountain-sides are inhabited by an
isolated people, proud of their traditions, history, literature,
and language, and jealously guarding themselves as much as
possible from the introduction of new customs.

We sympathised with our “Saxon” friends and acquaint-
ances in their desire practically to ameliorate the condition and

 

rae

WEST HILL LODGE.

remove the prejudices of their Cambrian neighbours; with
the latter, in their passionate love of their old language—the
last remnant left them of their cherished nationality—and in
their strong religious aspirations. We familiarised ourselves
with their distinct habits and customs, and their belief in
second-sight, good and bad omens, presentiments, and appa-
ritions.

In October, 1859, Anna Mary became the wife of Alaric
CHARLTON HOWITT. 235

Alfred Watts. By this marriage we gained a most excellent
son ; the ties of intimacy with our old friends, his parents,
were drawn closer; and we continued to enjoy constant per-
sonal intercourse with our daughter, for her husband settled
near us.

In the spring of 1860 my husband, Margaret, Sister Eliza-
beth—for the faithful caretaker of my children had become a
member of an Anglican sisterhood—and I stayed at Well
House, Niton, just within the fringe of beauty and picturesque-
ness which borders the south-east side of the Isle of Wight.

In our rambles under the clematis-festooned cliff, on the
rocky, broken meadow-ground, and by the sea-driven woods,
we were occasionally accompanied by Sydney Dobell, who,
suffering from rheumatism of the heart, had passed the winter
in the island. He idolised nature after a microscopic fashion ;
hunted among a million primroses for one flower that com-
bined in the hue and shape of petals and stem the perfection of
seven; rapturously studied the tints of the sparrows’ backs,
assuring us no two sparrows were alike; and descanted on the
varied shades of grey in the stone walls. Yet even this
fatiguing minuteness of observation trained the eye to perceive
the marvellous perfection, beauty, grace, and diversity of
colour and form in the tiny handiworks of the Almighty
Creator.

On Saturday, April 21, having heard from Charlton that
he was coming down that day to speak with us on business,
and should walk from Cowes, we met him three miles from
Niton, on the Newport road. The same evening, when
going with him to Black Gang, and returning by the shore,
we were much affected by learning his desire shortly to
emigrate to New Zealand, as an opening had just occurred for
his settling with some beloved and highly-valued friends of
ours in the province of Canterbury. The quiet content and
delight with which his mind rested on the plan showed it to
be the occupation he yearned after. We had prayerfully to
weigh the proposal over and over again through the long
hours of the night before we could accept the idea. By the
morning his father and I both felt it to be right, and that it
would be blessed.

Charlton, we resolved in our minds was a born naturalist,
236 MARY HOWITT.

and possessed every taste and quality needful for a settler in
the wilds. Asa quaint child, he had made the most extraordi-
nary disclosures about his pet bees, guinea-pigs, and bantams.
At fourteen he had especially enjoyed the voyage to Australia,
for the sake of the whales, the mollemoke he caught, and the
little fly-catcher, which out at sea had spent one day on deck.

Notwithstanding his deep human affections, he was never
alarmed by the solitude of the Bush. He was never fatigued,
never discouraged—the harder the life the better. On his
return from Australia, with his customary industrious, uncom-
plaining spirit, he had made himself useful, for upwards of
five years, in London commerce. But indefatigable in his
exertions, he was silently nourishing the hope of eventually
emigrating, and had kept himself in training. Besides daily
threading the grimy, thronged streets on business, he walked
to and from the City, laboured in the early morning or evening
hours of summer in his large kitchen-garden; in winter
chopped wood, learnt to make his ownclothes, and never, if he
could avoid it, slept in a bed, but on the floor, rolled in a
blanket or his opossum rug. Yet there was no exclusive regard
to his own advantage, for he was always helping, in a practical
way, his fellow-creatures. Thus, as we reviewed his innate
tastes, his industry, self-denial, and steadfastness of purpose,
we were forced, albeit with a pang, to share his conviction
that it was right for him to go.

In the summer he studied farming in Lincolnshire with
some kind relatives, who reported him ‘a desperate worker,
up at five to milk, never a moment idle, and talking to the
children in such an amusing manner, that they hung about
him like burrs.”

He sailed in November, 1860, and after arriving at Christ-
church, encountered, equally with our friends, unexpected diffi-
culties and disappointments. Still affecting all primitive
modes, and wishful to redeem a neglected property in a bay
near Lyttelton, he dwelt for some time in a slab-hut on the
slope of a clearing by a mountain torrent; surrounded by a
happy family of cats, ‘dogs, and bipeds, for he had acquired
the Maori faculty of calling about him the native birds. He
wrote to me in December, 1861, that, “though he did not
express much, he thought constantly of us, and liked to
NEW ZEALAND. 237

imagine what we each were about, as he cleared the bush-
land, set potatoes, and made butter. Altogether it was very
pleasant.”

He was, in fact, enchanted with the sublime mountain and
forest scenery, and the different varieties of animal and vege-
table life in New Zealand, the Switzerland of the Pacific. It
so happened that the solid, hard-working qualities he displayed,
and his freedom from all colonial vices, had been observed by
members of the Provincial Government, and in August, 1862,
he received, to his surprise, 2 summons to Government House
on important business. It was to engage him to command an
expedition to examine the rivers Hurunui and Taramakau, in
the northern part of the Canterbury province, for the purpose
of ascertaining whether they contained gold. He hesitated to
accept the congenial offer, for “What if he made a mess of it?”
until urged to do so by clear-sighted friends.

In September he began following up the Hurunui, one of
the innumerable rivers flowing directly east or west from the
lofty central chain of Alps which traverses the Middle Island
from north to south. These streams, owing to the great fall
into the sea, have a most rapid current, which will often sweep
away aman, where the water is not more than two feet deep.
Charlton, therefore, to assist wayfarers, erected flags as signals
at all passable fords, and huts for shelter along the horse-
track, which he cut from the head of the river through the
hitherto undisturbed bush over a saddle of the central range.

He next pursued the Taramakau through dense forest to the
western beach; coming upon intimations of gold just at the
expiration of the three months allotted to the expedition.
With the exception of a fortnight, rain or snow had fallen
daily, making camping out very cold, and the men, less inured
than their leader to exposure and drudgery, refused to exceed
the term. The exploration had, however, been conducted with
so much energy and perseverance under great difficulties, that
on his return to Christchurch he was selected as the most
fitting person to take charge of an expedition to open up
communication between the Canterbury plains and the newly
discovered gold and coal district on the west coast ; especially
as the road which he had made led more than half-way
thither.
238 MARY HOWITT.

This duty was faithfully performed under constant hard-
ships and discouragements. But a few miles remained to be cut,
when, at the end of June, 1863, after personally rescuing other
pioneers and wanderers from drowning and starvation in that
watery, inhospitable forest region, Charlton with two of his
men, went down in the deep waters of solitary Lake Brunner ;
a fatal accident which deprived the Government of a valued
servant, and saddened the hearts of all who knew him.

What a mingled skein of sorrow and joy is human life! A
month after the crushing intelligence reached us from New
Zealand of Charlton’s sudden removal, at the age of twenty-five,
we were cheered by the news of our son Alfred’s happy pros-
pects in Australia. For years we had followed his movements
with the deepest anxiety ; in 1859, as he successfully executed
an arduous journey to the district of Lake Torrens, where, in
an arid region of parched deserts, bare, broken, flat-topped
hills, dry watercourses, and soda-springs, whose waters effer-
vesced with tartaric acid, he, his men, and horses, were consumed
with thirst ; in 1860, as he opened up for the Victorian Govern-
ment the fine mountainous district of Gippsland, which included
the profitable gold-field of the Crooked River; and in 1861,
when heading the Government relief party intended to render
assistance to the missing discoverer, Robert O’Hara Burke.

Here I must pause to remind the reader that Mr. Burke, an
Irish gentleman, furnished with the best-supplied exploring
expedition which ever issued from a colonial capital, had been
appointed by Victoria to accomplish the great task of traversing
the entire Australian continent from south to north. After
long suspense, news had reached the Victorian Government
that, impeded by the very ample outfit, and by the dissensions
and disobedience of his officers and men, Burke had from stage
to stage dropped behind him, by fragments, detachments of his.
men, camels, horses, and supplies; and from Cooper’s Creek,
taking with him an under-officer, Wills, and two men, Gray
and King, had pushed on for the Gulf of Carpentaria, and had:
not since been heard of.

On September 18, 1861, Alfred and his large party came to
Burke’s depét at Cooper’s Creek, and found papers buried in
the cache, informing them that Burke and Wills, after reaching:
the Gulf of Carpentaria on February 11, returned on April 22,
ROBERT OHARA BURKE. 239

and were terribly disappointed to find themselves (although
atter date) abandoned by those whom they had left in charge of
the depst. A search which was immediately commenced for
the missing explorers, ended in the discovery of the sole sur-
vivor, King—a melancholy object, wasted to a shadow, who
had been living for upwards of two months with a friendly
tribe of aborigines. Weakness, or overjoy at his rescue, made
conversation with him difficult, but he was at length able to
explain the course of events.

Gray, who had been accused of shamming illness by his
companions, had died of exhaustion on the return journey. The
impetuous Burke, after reaching Cooper’s Creek, and when,
being without provisions, their strength gave way, taking the
narrator with him, had made a desperate attempt to push on
for aid to the cattle-station at Mount Hopeless. He left the
gentle, submissive Wills behind, with a supply of nardoo-seed,
which, pounded into flour and cooked as porridge, afforded a
slight nourishment. Burke, succumbing in the effort, told
King when he was dying to put his pistol in his right hand,
and leave him unburied as he lay. After obeying the injunc-
tion, the surviver returned to Wills, whom he found a corpse,
with the wooden bowl near him in which he had prepared his
last meal of nardoo, and of which, poor fellow, he had written
it was not “ unpleasant starvation.”

Wills breathed his last in a native hut erected on a sand-
bank, and King had carefully covered the remains with sand ;
but as Alfred discovered they had been disturbed, probably by
dogs, he carefully reinterred all the bones that could be found,
read 1 Corinthians xv. over them, and cut an inscription on an
adjacent gum-tree. He found Burke’s skeleton in a little
hollow, lying face upwards ina bed of tall, dead marsh-mallows,
and shaded by a clump of box-trees; under it a spoon, and at
its side the loaded and capped revolver. He consigned it to
the earth, wrapped in the British flag, and cut an inscription on
a box-tree to indicate the spot.

We next heard of our son being employed, in 1862, by com-
mand of the Victorian Government, to bring the bones of the
two ill-fated explorers to Melbourne for public interment, He
returned with his sacred charge through South Australia, and
although impeded for many weeks by rain and floods, in the
240 MARY HOWITT.

summer month of December safely reached Adelaide. There
he received an enthusiastic welcome from the citizens, and
enjoyed the hospitality of Judge Boothby. Under his roof
“Howitt the Explorer” felt singularly at home; and learnt
to appreciate, during a fortnight of public demonstrations,
whirl, and excitement, the grace and domestic virtues of his
future wife. Ministers of State, and crowding thousands,
attended the remains of Burke and Wills, to the strains of the
Dead March in “Saul,” first to the barracks, where they were
temporarily deposited, thence to the steamer Havillah, which
conveyed them to Melbourne. In that city they were buried,
with pomp and solemnity, on January 21, 1863.

It was the joyful intelligence of Alfred’s approaching union
with Maria Boothby, and his settled post under Government in
his favourite district, Gippsland, which had, the following
December, so much soothed us in our bereavement. A happy
and most useful future seemed in store for him; and this pro-
mise, under a merciful Providence, has hitherto been fulfilled.

A few passages taken from the family correspondence will

now sufficiently denote the manner of life led at West Hill
Lodge.

Mary Howitt To HER DavuGHrER MARGARET,

May 23, 1861.—On Sunday your father and I went to the
Batemans’, of Clapton, as a farewell visit to them at The Elms.
Then, when they were gone to chapel, we went to the Freili-
graths’, and had avery nice call. I am quite charmed with
Katchen, now in her sixteenth year, a sweet, artless, lively
young creature, a blending of the girl and the woman. I want
to make her acquainted with your cousins; they would be
delighted to know her.

“On Monday your father, Annie, Alfred, and I went to a
very grand evening ‘At Home’ at Mrs. Milner Gibson’s.
Such a crush, such a jam of carriages in the street, such a
crowd on the pavement to see the arrivals! Everybody, almost,
was there. Gentlemen in ribbons and stars; ladies blazing in
diamonds, in silks that would stand on end, and gossamer
dresses like spider-webs; ambassadors white and black. Yes,
black; for he of Hayti was there. We saw actually almost
IN SOCIETY. 241

everyboly we knew—the Dickenses, Thackeray, literary people
without end, and lots of Members of Parliament. The M s
were there; and when I saw Emily, with the same face that I
had known so well of old, I felt, notwithstanding her estrange-
ment from us, a great kindness spring up in my heart towards
her. I went to her and offered her my hand; but with con-
centrated scorn and contempt she turned away, saying, ‘ No,
she would not shake hands with me.’ I have sometimes
thought, when praying ‘ Forgive us our trespasses, as we for-
give those who trespass against us,’ that I never had such to
forgive, for all are kind and good to me. I walked quietly
away, and thought that here at least was one to be forgiven.*
In writing don’t speak of this, because it would be very painful
to your father to know what had occurred.”

 

Mrs. ALFRED WATTS TO HER SISTER.

“ June 10, 1861.—Yesterday Adelaide Procter was with us
for the afternoon and evening—the second time that she has
been to see us lately. I like her as much as I like her poetry.
I mean to bring her and Julia L—— acquainted, for they
are quite sisters. Miss Procter believes all that is most holy
and wonderful in spiritualism, for all fervent Catholics, more or
less, experience the same. This has brought us very near in
the spirit. Many of the most wonderful teachings which I
have received spiritually, I find, are received by the most
introverted Catholics. Is it not interesting? She and Julia
are made to know each other.”

Mary Howirr To HER YOUNGER DAUGHTER.

« June 20, 1861.—We went to a great pre-Raphaelite crush
on Friday evening. Their pictures covered the walls, and their
sketch-books the tables. The uncrinolined women, with their
wild hair which was very beautiful, their picturesque dresses
and rich colouring, looked like figures out of the pre-Raphaelite
pictures. It was very curious. I think of it now like some
hot, struggling dream, in which the gorgeous and fantastic
forms moved slowly about. They seemed all so young and

* The lady, who was then labouring under a misapprehension, later evinced a

spirit of conciliation.
R
242 MARY HOWITT.

kindred to each other, that I felt as if I were out of my place,
though I admired them all, and really enjoyed looking over
Dante Rossetti’s huge sketch-book.

“On Saturday afternoon the Hon. Mrs. C
inquire of me about spiritualism as we understand it, because
from the religious point of view she can alone accept it. She
stayed about three hours. She is seeking for an inner life,
for a closer communion with the Saviour, than she finds in the
outward forms of the Church of England. She begged that
the Marchioness of Londonderry might come also, and hear
what we had to say on the same important subject. It was
arranged, therefore, that she was to come on Tuesday, I thinking
that if it was our dear Lord’s will that these great ladies came
to such a poor little fountain as myself, He would supply the
water, and therefore I left all in His hands.

“On Tuesday I was so tired that I could do nothing but
read Mdlle. Bremer’s work preparatory to translation. In the
afternoon Lady Londonderry came. I had to tell her of our
higher experiences and teachings, all of which seemed to
interest her. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at
Annie’s drawings. She knew her ‘Art Student,’ and was
evidently a lover of art. She stayed about two hours. She
was leaving for the Continent the next day, but asked to be
allowed, on her return, to come again, and also that a friend
of hers, a priest, might come and have some talk with us.”

 

came to

“« July 10, 1861.—Annie and Adelaide Procter had a very
pleasant and most interesting visit, the day before yesterday,
to Julia, at Hampton Court. Julia was ill, and suffering, but
she and Adelaide made in the spirit a wonderful compact of
love and unity. I fancy great good will grow out of this visit.

« Adelaide Procter gave Annie many beautiful and touching
particulars of Mrs. Browning’s death. She did not appear to
suffer much, and became quite conscious before her departure.
She spoke to her husband very calmly of the beautiful land to
which she was going, and which she already saw. Everybody
is especially sorry for her little boy, who has never been away
from his mother’s side. J cannot myself doubt but that her
loving spirit will be permitted to watch over him now, with
even greater yearning and affection than before.”
LORD DUFFERIN. 243

To Cuartron Howirr, in New ZEALAND.

“Murch 12, 1862.—We spent recently a very pleasant even-
ing at Dr. Blatherwick’s, with our neighbours, Lord and Lady
Dufferin. You know who they are. He is one of the Queen’s
equerries, and a great favourite at Court ; and she—his mother
—is the sister of the Hon. Mrs. Norton and the Duchess of
Somerset, who was the Queen of Love and Beauty at the
Eglinton tournament. They are most agreeable, with all that
charming ease and grace of manner which belongs to their class.
She was very merry about their gipsying frolic on Bookham
Common, when they encountered your father, and got put into
a book.* She says that Lord Dufferin, who was then about
eleven, was dressed up as a little gipsy girl ; but your father
did not see him. She persists that he gave them eighteen-
pence. He says ‘no’; but she says ‘ yes. So how it was I
cannot tell. Lord Dufferin interested us very much by telling
us about his travels in Nubia and amongst the Druses, Still
more so about the discoveries of his friend Cyril Graham, who
has come upon the most wonderful cities in some remote deserts
on this side the Euphrates. They are so immensely old that
nothing is known of them, and they are shunned by the Arabs
as haunted. Some Arabs told him about a vast city called ‘The
White City,’ built by the daughter of the King of the Panthers.
After much persuasion he induced some Arabs to accompany
him to the place. Far, far away, many days’ journey in the
desert, they came upon what, in the distance, looked like a low
range of white hills. It was the walls of ‘The White City.’
All was apparently in perfect preservation. The gates in the
walls stood half-open—huge white stone gates on their pon-
derous stone hinges, as if the inhabitants had only just passed
out of them. It was the same with the substantial white stone
houses. But there have been no dwellers there for thousands
of years.

“One of the most beautiful features in Lord Dufferin’s
character is his attachment to his mother. He has unbounded
admiration for her, and she, a lovely, most gifted woman, has
the same for him. He told us that when he came of age his
mother wrote to him some very beautiful lines; and as he wished

* The incident is given in the ‘‘ Rural Life in England,”’ under the heading
‘* Gipsies of Fashion’’ (p. 191).
R 2
244 MARY HOWITT.

to show his love and respect for her, and in order to do honour
to these verses, he determined to build a tower on his Irish
estate to contain them. Accordingly he built at Clandeboye
what he calls ‘ Helen’s Tower.’ To make it still more worthy,
he asked Tennyson to give him an inscription for it. Tennyson
did so by return of post. He repeated these lines tous. I am
sorry I can remember but four of them, which, if not literally
these, are very like them :—

‘¢ Helen’s Tower, here I stand,
Dominant over sea and land.
Son’s love built me, and I hold
Mother’s love engraved in gold.”

‘Then it goes on to say that the tower, being only ‘stone and
lime,’ would perish by the hand of Time, but mother’s love was
immortal.”

To Cuariton Howitt.

“ Pen-y-Bryn, May 23, 1862.—Here we are again in Wales;
and I shall get Annie, who is coming to us, to make a sketch
of this nice old place for you.

“T am glad to tell you that Miss Meteyard, who always be-
haves so nobly to her relatives, is getting on in the world. It
is really most pleasant to think of her enjoying a little sun-
shine after all the shadows which she has had in her life. We
have been instrumental in her obtaining £1,000 for her bio-
graphy of Wedgwood. The MSS. from which she is writing
it have been lent her by a gentleman of Liverpool, who met with
them in a very curious way. They had been sold as refuse-
paper to a marine store-dealer, who had an attic full of them.
He could do nothing with a great portion of them, as they
were not suited to sell to butter-and-cheese-men. They proved
to be the private papers, ledgers, and journals of Wedgwood,
the great genius of the Staffordshire Potteries. They were
invaluable, yet to the marine store-dealer they were rubbish,
and he was glad to part with them for a small sum.”

Pen-y-Bryn, which we were occupying during the early
summer of 1862, was a very old, dilapidated, but picturesque,
AT ABER. 245

ivy-covered furm-house, standing on a pleasant knoll, facing
the Menai Straits and Angelsey, with wooded mountains at the
back.

Our landlord, Mr. Jones, was a tenant farmer, and a widower
with a grown-up son. Winifred, their middle-aged cook and
housekeeper, was good-tempered, loquacious, Welsh to the
backbone, with bright, brown eyes, a keen intellect, and very

 

Vy bot

“PEN-Y-BRYN.

communicative. Until Mrs. Jones’s death, she told us, she had
been housekeeper at the Castle Hotel, Conway, where she left
two hundred tongues in pickle. By the by, it was a mistake
to call Pen-y-Bryn the identical palace of the princes of North
Wales, that had stood on the round green mound by the
village ; or to say that from the topmost window, now partially
closed, in the old tower, Llewellyn had shown his faithless
wife the body of her Black William hanging on a tree in
246 MARY HOWITT.

the garden. No; the present house was built in the French
style by one of King Henry VIII.’s agents, who had dealings
with France.

Winifred was an industrious reader of her weekly Welsh
paper, and a long way ahead of us in politics. The revised
code of education had just come into operation, and she feared
its effect on the Welsh schools. “In a debate in Parliament,”
she remarked, “the member for Bangor—shame on him !—
had set light by the Welsh tongue, but her paper had given him
an excellent dressing. Then there was ‘ Essays and Reviews,’
one of the seven writers being the Rev. Dr. Rowland Williams,
a Welshman. She wondered would he be suspended. She,
too, found the Bible admitted of great differences of interpre-
tation ; she nevertheless stuck by the miracles, but did not
push the supernatural so far as to believe in apparitions. King
David had settled the point when he said he should go to his
dead child, butit would not return to him, Still less did she pin
her faith on the knockers who were said to be heard in these
parts wherever treasure was hidden. She was, however, no
sceptic, as every Welsh reader might see in her printed essay
on ‘Time, the Creature of God.’ ”

Returning on this occasion to Aber, after an absence of four
years, we perceived that if the Welsh are capable of long resent-
ment, they are equally so of long gratitude. As we were
desirous of hiring a horse, two young men named Roberts
begged us to “accept the use of their pony for some days, out
of respect.” Asking an explanation, the brothers said, “ They
would take no money for several excursions, because we had
earlier shown sympathy when their cow died, and had been in
the habit of talking to their old mother.” I could cite
other instances corroborating un assertion made to us by
Dr. Norton, an experienced English physician settled in
Wales, that “the Welsh are the most grateful people he
ever knew.”

An Englishman of high position, who did much to promote
the progress of agriculture on his Welsh estates, and to infuse
into the kindly but lymphatic race a spirit of improvement,
good management, and general alertness, had lately bought
considerable property at Aber, including Pen-y-Bryn. He
was not aware—so his new tenantry believed—of the head
SVPSTEM OF TRAPPING. 247

gamekeeper encouraging an enormous increase of rabbits,
which ate up the pasturage, until the cattle had to be driven
from field to field in search of grazing ground. The rabbits
were the keeper’s perquisite, and he meant to kill them off
for market before his master came for pheasant-shooting in
autumn. From the end of June the cruel system began of
catching the rabbits in toothed traps, which, after being set,
were never visited under twenty-four hours.

Mr. Jones and his son, as tenants, were afraid to meddle
with the proceedings of the keepers, although the latter set
five traps, to the great danger of the shepherd-dogs and lambs
in the paddock behind Pen-y-Bryn, where not a rabbit-hole
was found. Nor was it long before we were suddenly awakened
one midnight by the terrible howls of a dog, evidently caught in
one of these traps. It proving impossible to rouse the Joneses,
William threw on part of his dress, ran up the field, and
released the victim, a handsome shepherd-dog and general
favourite, which, though recognising its deliverer, snapped in
its agony and bit his arm.

This misadventure brought matters to a climax so far as our
stay at Aber was concerned, more especially as two of the
under-keepers called on my husband to desire him to keep up
his own little dog, Prin, a creature ignorant of game. He
could not stand this injustice, so we quitted picturesque Pen-y-
Bryn, which, if the truth must be told, was much infested with
rats, and when shut up at night, considerably musty, fusty,
and dry-rotty.

We went back, therefore, to another favourite haunt, Pen-
maenmawr, and took up our quarters in Plas Isa, a new house,
loftily situated, where we had the unmarried sister of Charles
Darwin for fellow-lodger, and where we enjoyed a glorious
view of open sea, the fine promontory of the Great Orme’s
Head, rocky Puffin Island, and the flat, wooded shore of
Anglesey.

Our stay at Pen-y-Bryn and the incident with the trap had
the beneficial result of drawing public attention to the cruel
system of trapping carried on in game-preserves. My husband,
who had its abolition much at heart, wrote eloquent letters on
the subject in the Morning Star, which was the principal cause,
as stated by the Secretary, that the Committee of the Royal
248 MARY HOWITT.

Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, offered a
reward of £50 for an improved vermin-trap, to supersede the
cruel ones generally used. One hundred models were sent in,
and the Committee invited him to give them, with other
competent judges, the advantage of his experience in the
examination of these traps.

In this inspection, on May 24, 1864, he saw a great number
of admirable inventions, but none likely to supersede the old
rat-trap in use by millions all over Great Britain and Wales.
Most of the inventions, such as the coffer-trap, the pit-fall, and
weight-fall, had been in existence in some form for centuries,
but none could compete in cheapness, lightness, and efficacy
with the old rat-trap, which, easily set, fixed its steel fangs in
the leg of any vermin, from a fox to a mouse, and though
causing excruciating agony, preserved it alive. The publicity
given by my husband’s knowledge of the rabbit cruelties
occasioned many humane and influential individuals, amongst
them notably Charles Darwin and his wife, to work vigorously
for the abolition of the system of torture, and on various estates
it was promptly prohibited.

In the spring of 1864 our dear friend Barbara Leigh Smith,
then Madame Bodichon, lent us her cottage, called Scalands
Gate, near Robertsbridge. She had built it upon the plan of
the old Sussex houses, in a style which must have prevailed at
the time of the Conquest; and whilst making it quaint had
also made it very comfortable. It stood on a hill in the midst
of plantations, in a hop-growing district, pleasantly diversified
with hill, dale, and wood. JI never saw spring come out so
beautifully as in those plantations in which that picturesque
house is embosomed, nor shall I ever forget my delight in the
beauty of the clustered pale yellow Banksia roses which grew
on one wall, and now, I daresay, cover the entire side of the
house. Writing to my daughter Margaret from Scalands Gate,
April 9, 1864, I remark— ‘

“On the platform at London Bridge Station I met dear
Bessie Parkes. She was going to be at ‘Brownes.’ She was
accompanied by the good old nurse who had attended her ni ght
and day through her illness. This illness was caused by her
sorrow at Adelaide Procter’s death. All that she had done for
ADELAIDE PROCTER. 249

months was with reference to this beloved friend. She went
here and there to gather up information to impart to Adelaide,
whose great solace in her long illness was being talked to. She
could listen for hours, and in this manner forget her pain. She
did not entirely keep her bed until a day or two before her
departure. She sat up, wearing a pale blue jacket, with ber
hair beautifully arranged under a little cap. She looked
scarcely changed by her sufferings; and a very short time
before her decease she received from the biographer of the
Curé d’Ars a little souvenir of the holy priest, with which she
was enchanted.”

And on May 8, 1864, I say of Scalands :—

“The whole landscape is now diversified with all that sweet
variety of vernal greens, which, to my taste, is more beautiful
than the richer tints of autumn, Then; the wonderful beauty
of the earth covered with blue-bells, the budding woods, und
above them the blue sky; only the earth is bluer than sky.
How lovely the woods are! always reminding me of Dante
Rossetti’s colouring. The nightingales, blackbirds, thrushes,
the shouting cuckoos, and little mole-crickets keep up an ever-
lasting singing and chorusing in the air. I hear at this
moment a loud-throated nightingale warbling forth from an
amber-tinted oak-tree that rises from a sea of young birches,
chestnuts, and horn-beams. Ob; it is delicious,”

* Aldborough, especially interesting as the home of the poet
Crabbe, was visited in the autumn of the same year. In 1865
we went into Gloucestershire to stay at Pitchcombe, near
our valued friends, Mr. and Mrs. Oldham, and then into
France, Switzerland and Heidelberg; in the following year,
after staying at Penmaenmawr, we quitted West Hill Lodge to
settle permanently, as we supposed, in our favourite old neigh-
bourhood of Esher, for we were still enamoured of its commons
and fir woods.
CHAPTER XIII.

1866—1870.

WE rented, in the autumn of 1866, the cottage of our friend
Sister Elizabeth, in the parish of Claygate, near Esher. We
altered and somewhat enlarged it, laid out an extensive flower
and fruit garden, called our new home The Orchard, and
imagined we should never rove again.

Fleeming Jenkin, the late lamented electrician, and his wife,
two remarkably bright, clever young people, were amongst our
fellow-parishioners; and universal regrets were mingled with
warm congratulations when his acceptance of a professorship at
Edinburgh deprived the neighbourhood of their society.

At first my husband and I luxuyiated in our large garden.
We trained our plants with the greatest love, and under the
healthy influence of mother-earth, had neither of us felt better
for years. Secker, the gardener, though a crotchety old man,
was an admirable coadjutor, mowing and sweeping the smooth
lawn with untiring diligence. He implied great satisfaction at
all the young birds being spared in the nests ; and mentioned
how, when one of his hens deserted some ducks’ eggs, he
hatched them himself in his bosom. Lord Bacon says: “ God
Almighty first planted a garden, and indeed it is the purest of
human pleasures”; and we believed him. But weeks and months
passed on and we grew less satisfied. Perhaps, after all, it was
a mistake to treat tenderly all those birds who swarmed in the
big chestnut-tree by our chamber window, chattered from day-
break, demolished the peas wholesale, and grew so audaciously
familiar that, to quote Secker, “ he saw two wrens brow-beating
SPIRITUAL GROWTH. 251

the kitten.” Perhaps the manual labour, the burden of the
garden, and other petty vexations troubled us because we were
growing old.

To my elder daughter I write on my birthday, March 12,
1868 :—“Oh! how I wish I might be re-born; might advance
into a higher, better state! One seems so much to stop in the
same state. But then one does not see the growth of the tree

 

THE ORCHARD.

or the flower, only from period to period that it has developed.
So I suppose it is with the soul; it progresses towards the light
with imperceptible advance. I hope it is so.”

To THE SAME.

“ March 17, 1869.—I have vastly enjoyed Mr. Morris’s
poems ; and thus it is a pleasure to me to think of him in his
blue blouse and with his earnest face at ‘The Firm,’ and to feel
that he is a great poet. Iam glad that we had the fairy-tale
tiles for the fireplaces from Morris & Co.; their connection
252 MARY HOWITT.

with this modern Chaucer gives them a new value and interest.
Morris is not before Tennyson, but he stands very near him in
the living reality of his old-world pictures, and in his exquisite
painting of scenery ; the flowers, the grasses, the ‘ brown birds,’
every individual object and feature in nature is so lovingly and
so faithfully portrayed. Tennyson’s poetry is the perfection of
art and truth in art. Morris’s is nature itself, rough at times,
but quaint, fresh, and dewy beyond anything I ever saw or felt
in language. I shall try to tell Mr. Morris what a joy and
refreshment it has been to me.”

To Wiuti1am Howitt.

“ Beckenham, Sunday afternoon, July 4, 1869.—Louie and I
went this morning to a very pleasant church at Shortlands, a
new locality sprung up in a lovely woodland district about two
or three miles off, really delightful, and where Mrs. Craik has
built her beautiful new house. I extremely enjoyed both the
drive and the service in the little church.

“Last evening I was greatly interested by a call on our rela-
tives from young Mr. James Macdonnell. He wonderfully
attracted me, because he is up in every question of the day, and
gave me a most hopeful idea of the better class of young men in
this younger generation. Every reform that you, dear William,
ever desired or worked for seems to be the object for which
they are striving. He told me of the marvellous spirit of
reform in every shape to which many of the Oxford under-
graduates are devoting themselves—the abolition of primo-
geniture, and the separation of Church and State among the
rest. He said that the influence of Friends’ doctrines and
opinions was at this time very great—that it was operating
amongst these Oxford men. He seemed to know a great deal
about Friends’ books, and of them as an ancient people. We
live in our quiet corner, and know nothing of what is going on
in the world.”

To Mrs. ALFRED Watts.

“« Beckenham, July 9, 1869.—Your Aunt Anna and I had a
very nice call on Mrs, Craik in her new house. It was her
SWINSCOE WAKES. 253

first open afternoon and of course a good number of people
were there. The house, which is, I suppose, of the time of
Henry VII., is perfect, within and without. You can see that
to the architect, who is a young man, it has been a genuine
work of love. He has followed one uniform plan, and therefore
everything is consistent, down to the rather thick dull glass in
the windows, which Mrs. Craik likes, because there is no glare of

light. I can imagine nothing pleasanter than building such a
house and furnishing it.”

To Witu1am Howirr.

“ Mayfield, near Ashbourne, Aug. 25, 1869.—Allis bright and
peaceful here, and I wish you could now have joined Margaret
and me, instead of later in Wales, and thus have seen how truly
Christian a life our dear young relatives are leading, heard all
their views, and all their experience in co-operation, of which
they are warm supporters, and discussed with them social and
political questions, in which you and they think alike.

“ The other evening the Rev. Alfred Ainger, the Reader of
the Temple, was here; well versed in all the literature and
topics of the day, most courteous and pleasant; and just off to
Heidelberg, to which place he said your writings first
introduced him.

“ Yesterday evening we were at ‘Swinscoe wakes;’ that is
to say, at an entertainment of tea, a penny-reading, and music
given on the occasion of the wakes in that primitive, high-lying
Staffordshire village, which, after a long ascent from this
idyllic spot, lies in quite another climate and region, with stone
walls and bare hill-tops.

“Mr. Okeover, he being the landowner of the district, was
present with his wife, her sister and brother, Lord Waterpark,
three of their little daughters, and the French governess; a
most interesting and excellent set of people. Of course, Mr.
and Mrs. George Mackarness, from Ilam, were also there, for we
were invited by them. I always feel a great charm in this
clerical-county life: the pious and refined dwellers of the
parsonage and the hall trying to benefit in all ways their
people, and to elevate them by cheerful means. Hence this
entertainment was made as pleasant as it could be; the rich
254 MARY HOWITT.

mingling with the poor, simple folks in the most beautiful
manner.

“Truly there is to me something most fascinating in the lives
and homes of some of these clergy. You know what Ilam is,
with its surrounding hills, woods, model village, its peaceful
church and affluent hall and vicarage. Equally beautiful and
perfect is the clerical home, school, andchurch of Denstone.
On one hand stands the church, always open, in the midst of a
lawn-like graveyard planted with evergreens, and kept shorn
with the mowing-machine; and on the other the parsonage
and its garden, a true paradise, and all around the most peace-
ful, pastoral Dove scenery. I never felt such a sense of divine
calm as I did at Denstone, since those Sundays (in 1859) when
we were at Thorpe, and we went over to service at Ilam. I do,
of a truth, believe that in such places we are granted a percep-
tion of Heaven.”

To Mrs. AuFRED Warts.

“ Penmaenmaur, Oct. 1, 1869.—I write at the Pater’s dicta-
tion the following:—‘There has been a great excitement
amongst us to-day. This morning Mr. George Mackarness
went with his brother, the rector of Honiton, to bathe. On their
way they called for their letters; and the rector of Honiton,
opening his in the bathing-machine, found one was from
Gladstone wishing to make him Bishop of Oxford. After
breakfast the brothers, John and George Mackarness, started off
to discuss the proposal on a walk round the Great Orme’s
Head. Mrs. George Mackarness came to us, and we celebrated
her brother-in-law’s promotion by an afternoon’s excursion
together to Aber.

“*On the Penmaenmawr platform, as we were just getting
into the train, all in the midst of a crowd of tourists, going and
coming, an elderly clergyman burst out of a carriage, followed
by two stylish young ladies. Mrs. Mackarness caught sight of
him, and there was a cordial greeting. He was on his way to
Ty-Mawr to call on the rector of Honiton and his brother.
There was hardly time for explanation, as our train went
off with us, leaving him in a state of bewildered consternation.

“*We found it to be the horse-fair at Aber, which you
PENMAENMAWR. 255

remember. The approach to the village was crowded with
stalls and all kinds of stall trumpery. In the midst of a lot of
Taffies and toffies the smiling visage of Mrs. Birley was visible.
She was accompanied by little Fanny and the two South
American children. She gave us an enthusiastic reception,
conducting us to the Mill Cottage, which looked really lovely,
with roses and creepers right up to the eaves.

“ «Qn our return, at the Aber station there happened to be
two little black ponies, which had been sold at the fair, and
were going over to Ireland. They had had nothing to eat and
nothing to drink. Mrs. Mackarness and your mother insisted,
therefore, upon their having both water and hay, for which they
paid a shilling. The poor little things were so frightened that
they would neither eat nor drink. The hay, however, was put
into the truck with the ponies by a gentleman; and the pur-
chasers hoped that they would consume it between Aber and
Holyhead. At Penmaenmawr there was the same clergyman and
the two pretty young ladies, who, after a bootless errand, were
now in a great hurry, of course, to find seats in the train. The
guard whistled impatiently, but for all that the clergyman rushed
forward to shake hands with “Mistress Mary Howitt,” ex-
claiming, “I, too, am of Ukseter!”’ Again the whistle, and we
fearing he would lose his train, he was hurried into the nearest
carriage, and whirled away, a mass of wonderment, friendship,
and cordiality.’ ”

Penmaenmawr, where we have stayed until the hills were
sublimely white, had never lost its stimulating effect on me.
How I loved the rugged sea-washed mountain—the natural
beacon and name-giver of the district—which, overshadowing
the long, stony village, is being blasted, undermined, and hewn
into blocks, to be shot down long tramways to the jetty, and
then borne slowly through the water in little vessels to Eng-
land! How I respected the grave, earnest quarrymen, clad in
buff moleskin waistcoats and trousers, similar in colour to the
outer coating of the rock, and in blue and white striped shirts of
the same tone as its freshly-hewn inside; often with splendid
faces of the rough, stony kind, and hair and beards like rock-
growths of the gold brown hue of late autumn ferns and
heather! Men of fortitude and piety these miners, who to the
256 MARY HOWITT.

utmost of their ability support the temperance movement, their
schools, chapels, and ministers; the latter belonging to their
own class, and often dating their spiritual vocation from early
work-days in the quarries! How deeply, too, was I thrilled and
affected by the grand, inspirational sound and the rhythmical
cadence in the minor-key of the Welsh praying and preaching
in the chapels! ;

Very gratifying were the courteous attentions of English and
native residents, the occupants of pleasant villas and cottages
studded over a fertile region in the lap of the hills. Very
enlivening, also, did we find the intercourse with the little
community of visitors, which often numbered bishops, deans,
and their families, and who, brought together in rambles and
picnics by the ready offices of bright, energetic Miss Lloyd
Jones, parted after a few weeks’ acquaintance with mutual
good wishes.

I cannot make this slight survey of our Welsh experiences
without calling to mind the beautiful home of an interesting
and amiable family. Mr. Sandbach, of Liverpool, whose second
wife is a Welsh lady, after purchasing Hafodunos, an exten-
sive, high-lying estate in Deubighshire, finding the tenants
halt-starved, owing to their rude, inefficient agriculture, speedily
bettered their circumstances by employing the men in drain-
ing, road-making, enclosing, planting, and building. He him-
self heartily enjoyed the superintendence of his many improve-
ments, which included the erection of a beautiful church,
excellent farm-houses and cottages, and his own mansion, con-
structed with plenty of gables and a lofty tower by Gilbert
Scott. The hall stands on a terrace overlooking a most charm-
ing glen, where tulip-trees, great magnolias, hemlocks, and
other pines from America mix with native oaks and beeches;
where ferns from all parts of Great Britain, Ireland, Switzer-
land and New Zealand grow with curious hardy plants from
the Continent, and a winding walk leads to the old kitchen-
gardens, with their clipped yew-hedges. The interior of the
house is in exquisite taste; no paint is allowed, the woodwork
and the furniture being of pitch-pine, red cedar, or dark bullace
from Demerara ; whilst the capitals of the columns leading to
and on the grand staircase are deftly carved with roses, lilies,
snowdrops, and other British flowers.
GIBSON. 237

The first Mrs. Sandbach was a poetess, and by birth a Miss
Roscoe, of Liverpool. Her portrait, finely and classically
chiselled full-length in bas-relief by Gibson, adorns the vesti-
bule to the room of statuary. This is specially devoted to the
works of the same great sculptor and Royal Academician, and
contains the fine group of ‘The Hunter and his Dog,” the
*‘ Aurora,” together with the busts and medallions of the Sand-
bach family. Gibson, the son of a landscape- gardener at Con-
way, had been befriended and directed in his art-studies by
Mr. Roscoe, the author of “ Leo the Tenth,” who frequently
invited him to Allerton Hall, and placed its literary and artistic
treasures at his service; and when the poor student had become
eminent in Rome, the connection was still maintained by the
relatives of the early patron.

I recall a visit to the kind owners of Hafodunos in the
autumn of 1866. Agreeable county neighbours drive over for
afternoon tea; and in the drawing-room, opening on to the
terrace, gay with masses of sweet-scented flowers, a noted
Welsh painter, quiet, elderly Penry Williams, very modestly
exhibits his portfolio of charming Italian landscapes and
figures. He speaks of getting back to Rome before the
winter comes on, for he expects the Italians will soon be down
on the Eternal City, and destroy the antique and picturesque
to make way for modern railway stations and Government
buildings.

We visited Hafodunos, and, indeed, North Wales, for the last
time in the autumn of 1869.

Wiiiiam Howitt To HIS ELDER DAUGHTER.

“ The Orchard, Jan. 14, 1870.—Many, many happy returns
of the day to-morrow! You have had a good many now, and
have given us many happy hours. Many changes have eccurred
since the days when I carried you, a little creature, on my
back over the fields from Nottingham to Heanor, and many of
our contemporaries have gone out of the world, so that it
seems a part of a former life; but pleasant to remember, for
one line of affection has run unbroken through the whole. I
trust we may for years continue to love each other in this
world, and then continue to look back on the happy past from

s
238 MARY HOWITT.

5

amore happy present. It has been a great boon of our lives
that we have had so grand a reassurance of all the old promises
of the world to come; the world of reunions and rediscoveries
of those who seemed lost ; a world of realities and realisations,
of re-overtakings and rejoicings! What a Friends’ meeting!
—not in silence, but amid the welcomes of all our beloved and
the sublimest sense of that Eternity achieved, which on earth
had been a poetic dream, a mystic speculation, a mingled vision
of clouds and glories and darkness.

“ With all the queernesses of spiritualism and spiritualists,
this dispensation has been to us the fact of our earth-pilgrim-
age. Where our forefathers have sailed through fogs and
tempests after the lost Atlantis, we have reached land; solid
ground, with the great highway visible before us, with the
pinnacles of the Heavenly Jerusalem glittering on the Moun-
tains of Life.”

Mary Howitt to tHE Samer.

“The Orchard, the Eve of my St. Anna’s Day.—You must
have a few loving words from me on the auspicious day of
your birth. That is a formal expression, but as it means
especially happy, it is right, for it was a fortunate and a happy
day which gave you to me as my dear daughter and friend.
What an age it seems since you were a little child, and used
to sit with me in the Nottingham drawing-room, and we read
the Gospels together, and I used to read you my poems, often
written from thoughts suggested by you! Some of those
Sunday evening readings remain most livingly in my mind as
little bits of Heaven, when illumination seemed almost to come
down from above to us. J remember how ‘ Thomas of Torres,’
in ‘The Seven Temptations,’ was the fruit of our reading
together the parable of the man who built the barns and laid
up the treasure, and then his soul was called away. 1 wonder
whether you remember those times, and how you illustrated
‘The Seven Temptations,’ with heads of all the characters.
Many other heads you designed, amongst them a Judas, which
I thought marvellous. How distant, yet how beautiful, tender,
and peculiar are the memories of those times! May God, in
His mercy, sanctify the present and all future time on earth to
DORA GREENWELL. 259

us by geatle, loving deeds, and by our ever coming nearer and
nearer (o Him!”

My husband and I wanted to see Italy before we died, so we
let The Orchard for twelve months to some desirable tenants
from Lady Day, 1870. With a prayer in our hearts that the
Divine Spirit might accompany us, we quitted our home in the
evening of March 24, and proceeded to London to pay farewell
visits preparatory to our exodus.

Mary Howirt To HER ELDER DavuGuTeRr, FROM BECKENHAM.

“ April 3, 1870.—I hope, whenever you can, you will come
and see our dear relatives. It will be a joy to them anda
refreshment to you. There is a holy spirit of domestic affection
in the house; all are so good and kind. Your aunt seems feeble,
but looks better in the face. Mr. James Macdonell and his
sister arrived by the same train as we did. The evening was
very pleasant, and your father was interested in Mr. Macdonell
as a fitting representative of the new age. Dora Greenwell
sent me by him her volume of poems and the most affectionate
message, ‘ wishing to see me above all women in England.’ I
am some way sorry she should feel thus, especially as she
lunches here next Tuesday. You will understand my shrink-
ing sense of gratitude. It is always affecting to me to see how
much love one gets. Oh! if one did but deserve it more.”

“ Tuesday, April 5, 1870.—Miss Dora Greenwell and Mr.
Macdonell came to lunch. We found her very agreeable. Later
in the afternoon she went up to town with William and myself.
I was very sorry to part with my beloved ones at Beckenham.
May the merciful Lord preserve them !”

We started on April 13 for Switzerland and Italy, antici-
pating, with the rapid flight of time, soon to find ourselves
back in old, much beloved England, and in the society of our
cherished relatives and friends. But this was not to be.

s 2
CHAPTER XIV.

1870 - 1871.

AccompanieD by the eldest daughter of our friend, Mr.
William Bodkin, of Highgate, and by Emily Burtt, a great-
niece of my husband’s, he, Margaret, and I crossed from
England to Belgium. There we visited the green, quiet field
of Waterloo, and were joined in gay, flourishing Brussels by
our warm-hearted friends, Walter Weldon, F.R.S., the inde-
fatigable projector of most valuable chemical discoveries, his
wife and their gifted little son, Raphael. They had purposely
paid a flying visit to the Belgian capital once more to
see us.

We were soon in Switzerland, where it was horrible to
remember the Seven Dials, Bethnal Green, and all the scores
of square miles of such places in London and other over-
crowded centres, for we saw the peasantry in their cottages
amid their fields and gardens, with their children playing
amongst green grass, pleasant trees, and flowers. In Switzer-
land, and in most parts of the Continent, if the lower orders
are poor their destitution is ameliorated by the enjoyment of
fresh air, the comely face of Nature, and the absence of those
violent contrasts of splendour and squalor, of superabundance
and destitution, that meet us on all hands in England.

Whilst staying at Brunnen, on the Lake of the Four Cantons,
we visited the Convent of Ingenbohl, one of the houses founded
by the indefatigable efforts of Father Theodosius Florentini, a
Capuchin monk, priest and professor of theology, who died in
1865. In a letter to Mrs. Alfred Watts, describing the in-
cident, William writes :—
SISTERS OF MERCY. 261

“T am now reading the history of all the places of pilgrim-
age in Switzerland, What an extraordinary thing is Roman
Catholicism! The system is one of the sublimest schemes of
priestcraft and spiritual domination that was ever conceived.
At the top all is rotten, but at the bottom God, who overrules
all things, has caused it to strike its roots into the soil of
the common humanity, and send up shoots and crops of
an active,a holy, and an indefatigable beneficence such as
present Protestantism knows nothing of. Everywhere Catholic
women are instructing, collecting orphans from the streets and
abodes of death, working for and employing the poor, tending
the sick and the contagiously diseased in the palace or the
poorest hut, and going about with the simple air and the
friendly smile, as if they were only doing the most ordinary
work, and felt themselves but unprofitable servants.

“When Florence Nightingale went forth to nurse the
wounded soldiers in the Crimea, she achieved only a most com-
monplace deed, for the Catholic women of all ranks had been
doing it everywhere for ages. That was not the merit of the
thing. The greatness and vital merit of it was that she
introduced the good Samaritan of Catholicism to the proud
Levite of Protestantism, and induced him to ‘go and do like-
wise.’ It was as splendid a triumph over prejudice and
pharisaic ignorance as ever was won by man or woman, and
has not yet borne all its destined fruits.”

One evening, during our stay at Brunnen, we went into
a remote valley with the great mountains round it, through
the most exquisite pasture-fields and under blossoming fruit-
trees, on and on into an ever deeper, stiller, lovelier region,
till at length we came to a solitary chapel. Its walls were
white as snow, with a dark red, picturesque little spire, and on
the front a fresco picture of St. Francis Xavier healing the sick.
A young peasant girl had just gone in to trim the lamp before
the altar, and now stood in the dim twilight of the church,
with a sort of silent reverence, as we entered. The interior
walls were hung round with pictures and tablets, testimonies of
Divine help; many of the incidents being represented by rude
oil paintings, under which was the little narrative of help or
262 MARY HOWITT.

cure. Grotesque they might be, but, to my mind, the faith
which prompted them was not absurd.

This little chapel, the scene in which it stood, the soft
twilight which filled it, the young peasant girl, who in leaving
the chapel pointed out to us the holy water, affected me very
deeply. I did not let anybody see me, but coming out of the
chapel I dipped my finger into the holy water and crossed
myself; praying that God would give me the right faith—a
faith as sincere as governed the poor peasant hearts that have
recorded His mercies to them.

At the beginning of July the Swiss felt no further anxiety
than that rain should come to feed the corn and perfect the
wonderful promise of the vintage. Then disquieting rumours
arose that the candidature, favoured by Prussia, of Prince
Leopold of Hohenzollern to the Spanish throne would cause a
rupture between France and Germany. My husband, who
believed his English papers, cherished the hope that peace
would be maintained. We proceeded, on July 16, in very
sultry weather, to Ziirich, and deplored in its vicinity the in-
creasingly parched aspect of the soil and the shrivelled crops, but
still dreaded no sudden social blight from war. We took up our
quarters in an old-fashioned pension in the suburb of Fluntern,
above Ziirich. At midnight came the much-desired rain, pelt-
ing down amid vivid lightning, with but little thunder, yet
attended by a tramping of feet and a curious movement in the
country road outside. Then followed a loud knocking at the
street door. It proved truly a rude awakening to us, for now
we learnt that war was actually proclaimed by France to
Prussia, and that the Swiss Confederation having ordered the
active force of the militia to the frontier, our landlord, with
other householders, was required to lodge for the night soldiers
arrived from a distance.

The next day, a Sunday, we saw on the Ziirich drill-ground
the preparations for departure. A private distributed wallets
to a line of his comrades. Young, sunburnt peasants, in regi-
mentals, sat resting on their knapsacks, or strapped the Swiss
arms—the silver cross on the red field—to each other’s coat-
sleeves in a brotherly, helpful way, which would have extended
from Prussia to France, and from France to Spain, if Europe
were truly Christendom. In the evening the perpetual rub-a-
LRANCO-GERMAN IWAR. 263

dub-dub of drums and the shrill sound of fifes ascended from
the gas-lit city to us on the heights of Fluntern.

At this crisis we naturally pondered what we should do. We
had no desire to retrace our steps to England. This proved
fortunate, as there speedily arrived English and American
tourists, madly fleeing, with or without their luggage, from the
Rhinelands. We could not move on to Italy, which was itself
preparing to rise. We determined, therefore, to await the
issue in Switzerland; and presenting some letters of introduc-
tion to Ziirich inhabitants, gained thereby a valued friend in
Madame Daeniker.

With all our new acquaintance the war was, of course, the
one absorbing topic. A nameless apprehension seemed to have
settled on men’s minds in Ziirich; and one locksmith, we
heard, worked night and day, making iron coffers to contain
the money and valuables his customers wished to bury. My
husband remarked to an artisan, who was seated under a
tree, gazing down on the populous city and the lake,
with its fringe of prosperous villages, ‘“‘ What a noble land-
scape! and how well, after the rain, the vines, corn, and
potatoes look !”’ ,

“Yes,” replied the man, gloomily ; ‘“‘ only there’s war!”

We visited the museum of the Antiquarian Society, contain-
ing remarkable lacustrine remains, collected by Dr. Keller,
chiefly at Meilen, on the Lake of Ziirich. The custodian, a
little, dried-up old woman, seemed herself lacustrine, such
knowledge had she of the pre-historic lake-inhabitants, and
of each shrivelled, cindery apple, grain of wheat, scrap of
fishing-net, or spear-head. Whilst we carefully inspected the
model of a pile-dwelling, military music sounded without, and
the street became suddenly alive with blue coats and bayonets.
Tears filled the eyes of the aged woman as she watched this
fresh battalion tramp by and cross the bridge, on its way to
the frontier. ‘Better no war! JBetter no soldiers!”’ she
cried, shaking her head. ‘Yet it’s the same old story from
the beginning. When Cain was wroth, he rose up and slew
his brother Abel. The Lacustrines lived on piles in the lake,
to be safe from their enemies; and in my time I have secn
the French once in Switzerland, twice in Germany, aud thea
driven back to Paris.”
264 MARVP HOWITT.

The Protestant population of Ziirich deplored the war; but
being persuaded that the Prussian rule was wise and good,
conducive to morality, general education, and human advance,
warmly espoused its cause. In fact, we found political
refugees, such as Professors Kinkel and Behn Eschenburg,
who had earlier been imprisoned by Prussia, now offering her
their most loyal support. A tall, slim, elderly Dane, who was
sanguine enough to anticipate that the outcome of the present
campaign would be the avenging of his native land by
Napoleon, was amongst the few individuals who remembered
Prussia’s former aggrandisement, and imputed the war to
Bismarck. My husband and I first met him and his compact
little wife in a wood. They were walking to and fro intently
conversing in Danish; but whenever they crossed our path
they made us low bows, which seemed very polite. We
learnt later that they were vainly seeking for the wife’s shawl,
which had slipped off his arm.

The next Sunday they and we had simultaneously fled
to the many vine-clad arbours of the pension-garden from
the noise of dancing and singing in the salle-d-manger.
They explained to us, in the course of conversation, that
they were our fellow-boarders, but lived alone, as the
husband, who was an author, named Miiller—not a clergy-
man, as we had supposed from his black suit and white necktie
—needed quiet for his literary labours. Telling them our
name as an interchange of civility, they asked inquiringly,
“What, William and Mary?” On the morrow we visited
them in their cool little parlour, to facilitate, if possible, their
homeward movements. The war frustrated their plan of re-
visiting Italy, where they had been on their wedding-tour
thirty years earlier ; and only anxious safely to reach Denmark,
they proposed journeying through France to England, and
crossing from Hull to Copenhagen. This led to the production
of a great parchment, signed and sealed by Christian IX.,
King of Denmark, King of the Goths and Vandals, in which
His Majesty claimed free passage for “Frederik Paludun
Miller, Danish author, Knight of the Danebrog, &c.”

We mentioned to our neighbours at the supper-table what a
distinguished man lived below.

“What! the old Professor ?—the old Theolog ?” exclaimed
DEFEAT OF THE FRENCH. 26%

a weakly-chested Prussian medical student, who, unable to fight
for his country, aided her cause by superintending the occu-
pation of lint and bandage-making, daily carried on by the
lady-boarders.

“What! Paludan Miiller, who wrote the beautiful poem,
‘At Vere,’ in which a child, puzzled with the strange mystery
of existence, asks its mother what it is To Be ?’’ demanded a
fair-haired Norwegian, studying at the University.

“No other,” we replied ; and the next morning the courtly,
gentle poet received a perfect ovation.

Frau Henriette Heine, the widow of Heinrich Heine’s first
cousin and fellow-student, was staying at the pension, and
sympathised with France. Two middle-aged Jews and their
wives, respectively from Carlsruhe and Baden-Baden, pro-
fessing no sentiments of patrie or Vaterland, smiled and were
quiescent about the war, which was driving most of the guests
at the table frantic. The majority consisted of other Jews and
refugees, presided over by a tall, stout, dark man in grey, also
belonging to “ the nation.” He spoke most modern languages,
had been much in England, had great concerns in Spain,
important transactions in Germany, and twenty-three relatives
in the Prussian army. Day and night he thought, spoke, and
dreamt of the war; and, flaming with indignation, eloquently
denounced Napoleon as the arch-troubler of the world.

In the general European excitement false rumours, of course,
abounded. Thus, on Sunday morning, August 7, we were
mysteriously followed out of doors by the Anecht. He was a
big red-faced fellow, with curly hair, who went about with the
sleeves of his pink shirt rolled up, revealing a pair of hairy
arms, like those of Esau. Putting his finger to his nose, he
dismally whispered, “ Awful news! the French have massacred
twenty thousand Germans, the Crown Prince among them!”
Awful, indeed, if true. But at the table dhéte, in the midst of
a joyous hubbub, we were jubilantly greeted by the man in
grey with—“ Glorious victory! Great defeat of the French :
The Crown Prince has led his troops with flyiug colours!
Hurrah !”

The words “ Prussians! Worth ! Victory ! Wounded
French! Fallen French!” echoed through the house while
daylight lasted. When the church-clocks of Ziirich had long
266 MARY HOWTITT.

struck ten, and the pension had retired for the night, a lamp in
the garden shed its light on the ruddy locks of the Anecht,
who, now happily well-informed, see-sawing his sinewy arms
up and down, held forth to a party of Ziirich tradesmen, still
lingering over their beer; and the everlasting chorus, in a
high-pitched key, “Prussians! Worth! Victory! Wounded
French! Fallen French!” entered the room through the
closed Venetian shutters.

On the morrow the rattle of vocal artillery, the rolling echo
of cachinnation and of fun at the expense of France never
ceased. We could picture the same simultaneous exultation in
every hotel, inn, and coffee-house in Germany and the Protes-
tant parts of Switzerland. We could still more vividly picture
all the beautiful country from Saverne to Strasburg and Basel,
which we had seen in April, peaceful, smiling, rich in growing
crops and fruit-blossoms, backed by blue romantic-looking
mountains, and full of happy, busy people, now devastated by
fighting armies, and strewn with the bodies of the wounded
and the dead.

When all was fair and affluent in nature around us, the
purple grapes ripening and the golden grain garnered, came
the news of the German victories at Metz. It was the sudden
collapse of the great French campaign; just as the army of
Xerxes had melted away like mist before that of Greece,
or Sennacherib’s disappeared before the avenging hosts of
Israel,

There was now no longer any fear for Switzerland; and on
August 22, the eve of our departure for Rugatz, we saw three
soldiers, who had returned from the watch on the frontier and
were billeted for the night on our landlord, smoking their pipes
in peace and contentment. The vague possibility of Napoleon
the Third avenging the wrongs of Denmark passed from the
minds of the Paludan Miillers, when they and we leirned at
Ragatz on Saturday, September 3, the astounding intelligence
that the Emperor had given himself up to King Wilhelm, and
MacMahon surrendered with his entire army. On September
20, Napoleon’s earlier advice to Cavour, “ Frappes vite et frappes
fort,” was fully acted upon. Victor Emmanuel’s troops entered
Rome, and at the same time the astute abettor, disappointed
in all his hopes, went into exile. The vicissitudes of war now
IN ITALF. 267

opened to the Paludan Miillers a safe passage home through
Germany, and to us every facility for reaching Rome.

On entering Italy I was struck by beauty being essentially
the law of nature. We spent the month of October at Bellagio,
on the Lake of Como. The one drawback was the shut-up-ness
everywhere. There were no fields, merely vineyards or the
beautiful grounds of villas, one and all enclosed by high white
walls. It is true that beauty was visible above these walls :
wild tangles uf vegetation amoug the olives and fig-trees ot
the vineyards: roses and crecpers, now gloriously scarlet
and golden, falling over the walls of palace gardens, cypresses
towering aloft like spires, tall magnolius, oleanders, and
myrtles—very forests of them. Of these you got glimpses,
but nothing more, from the dusty high road, or the hot paved
paths. Nevertheless, ull was to me a series of glorious pictures,
suggestive of Turner, of Leslie, of Leighton. Most lovely it
was, but most tantalising; after the freedom of Switzerland, a
great change, most depressing to my husband. He maintained
that Italy is essentially the land of the painter, not of the poet,
who, bird-like, requires the freedom of the fields and woods.
There is truth in this. Across the lake, at the exquisite Villa
Carlotta, I felt in a manner I had never done before the per-
fection of art founded upon and aided by the beautiful in
nature—nature, which makes the very pellitory on the white
wall a drapery of beauty, which turns every mildew and damp
stain into delicate colouring, and lends a nameless, inde-
scribable poetry to the very decay and neglect which meet you
everywhere in Italy.

November 22 found us in Rome, and speedily established in
our “own hired house,” as St. Paul, the great teacher of the
Gentiles, had been eighteen centuries earlier. We were located
on the summit of one of the seven hills, at a corner of four con-
verging streets, each visibly terminated by an historic monu-
ment: to the north by the Egyptian obelisk and piazza of
Trinita de’ Munte; to the south by the lofty campanile and
basilica of St. Maria Maggiore, stretching across its ample
and elevated piazza, marked by another noble obelisk. To the
east we had the Porta Pia, and the still open breach through
which the Italian troops, two months earlier, had entered
Rome. They had, by this deed, broken down the lofty garden-
268 MARY HOWITT.

wall of the Buonaparte villa, trampled over and damaged the
beautiful grounds, which we found gardeners putting in order.
To the west, but a few paces from our door, extended the long
side facade of the Quirinal Palace, abutting on Monte Cavallo,
with its Egyptian obelisk and famous group of Castor and
Pollux reining in their horses.

The keys of the Quirinal were still at the Vatican; the
doors had, however, been opened by a picklock, and troops of
workmen were busy inside pulling down and building up;
whilst under the colonnade of the inner court were temporary
heaps of old timber and wainscoting.

The preparations were made in the hope of the speedy advent
of a reluctant and perplexed King, doomed to share with his
vis-d-vis at the Vatican a capital that recalled merely papal or
republican memories. The Emperor Constantine, on becoming
Christian, had found it advisable to remove the seat of govern-
ment to Constantinople; and through the long succeeding
centuries, Rienzi, the French, and “ Young Italy” had each
proclaimed the patrimony of the Popes a republic, not a
monarchy. The thought oppressed Victor Emmanuel; he
dreaded to sleep in the violated home of a deprived Pontiff,
who was still charming the faithful by the meekness and
patience with which he bore his sorrows.

On December 22 Rome was officially declared the capital of
Italy. Yet the arrival of the King was constantly postponed.
Many of our acquaintance said, indeed, that he never would
come. Silence and gloom prevailed There were no great
Church functions, few strangers, and much discontent in the
minds of hotel and lodging-house keepers. On Sunday,
Christmas Day, it rained piteously; on Monday with increas-
ing violence. On Wednesday the Tiber, having risen to a
terrific height, most/destructively inundated the lower parts of
the city. On Friday the muddy, yellow waters had sufficiently
subsided for people to be released from their terrible captivity ;
but wherever the flood had been, cellars and lower storeys
were submerged. In the middle of the streets mud lay ankle-
deep—thick, slimy mud, that adhered like ointment to every-
thing it touched, and left a yellow stain behind. The scene of
ruin was indescribable. In the Corso, grand plate-glass
windows were obscured with mud, and panels of finely painted
VICTOR EMMANUEL. 269

doors bulged with water. Anxious looking shopkeepers and
weary servants were splashed with the mud they were sweeping
from within-doors on to the pavement. On Saturday, at four
o’clock in the morning, we heard, as we lay in bed, a distant
shout and a roar as of driving carriages. Up we jumped, and
looking from our windows, saw, in a sudden illumination of
Bengal light, the long-expected King, amid shouts of “ Evviva
il Re!” flash past in a state equipage, followed by other car-
riages and torches. It was the disaster of the flood that had
brought him so suddenly; but after visiting the distressed
fortions of the city and leaving money for the sufferers, he
departed the same night, New Year’s Eve.

In February occurred the maddest Carnival that had been
seen in Rome since 1848. Our niece and our young friend,
after enjoying it amazingly, left the last day but one of the
Carnival, under suitable escort, for England ; and the evening
before their departure, went with Margaret and some of our
acquaintance, to drink at the Fountain of Trevi, that they
might come back to Rome. Im their absence we sent down
our old woman-servant, Rosa, a peasant from Rimiui, to the
landlord, who dwelt below, with the request that the street-
door might be left ajar, and the oil-lamp on the stairs not
extinguished until the signorine returned.

What, then, was our surprise and horror, when Rosa rushed
into the drawing-room, shrieking that the “ birbone” (rascal)
“of a landlord had bastinaded her,” therewith pointing to the
marks of a cane across her face. She was pursued by the
perpetrator, a man of a melancholy countenance and black
hair andeyes. He, livid with rage, was followed by his hand-
some young wife, ina great flutter. Our servant denounced
them for claiming our charcoal ashes for their bucato—the
buck or lye for their clothes to suak in; they, her, for shutting
a door in their son’s face. This, in their eyes, was a tremendous
offence; nevertheless, we managed politely to get the couple
back to their own premises. Rosa was beyond us. Screaming
and weeping, she threw open a window, and shrieked her
wrongs into the street. This led to the speedy arrival of two
policemen, one of whom remained pacing up and down before
the house, much to the surprise of the party returning from
the Fountain of Trevi.
270 MARY HOWITT.

We were not wholly unprepared for this outburst of hot
Italian temper on the part of our padrone. He had more than
once, without the least provocation, suddenly appeared on the
verge of a towering rage; then, conquering his passion, would
send up flowers or newspapers, as if to remove any disagree-
able impression. The morning after the assault he wrote a
letter to my husband, “asking pardon for the scandal, but
requiring us to dismiss our wicked servant, who was an offence
to his excellent consort.” As Rosa, notwithstanding her
curious habit of drinking our lamp-oil like water, suited us
admirably, and as enquiries in the neighbourhood confirmed
our suspicions of our landlord’s excitability, William appealed
to the British Consul.

Mr. Severn, the artist, the devoted friend and nurse of
Keats, held this post; and my husband, calling at the Con-
sulate, found him occupied at his easel, in a studio approached
through a suite of lofty rooms hung with paintings, and in
person reminding him of Coleridge in the decline of life; the
somewhat corpulent tendency, the black velvet waistcoat, a
certain similarity of features, and the head slightly thrown
back in talking. On hearing of the fray, he said—

“ve known Italians die in these furies, in what they call
a Rabbiatura. It is best to cow such people, who are generally
poltroons. Fifty years ago the Roman eating-houses were
much worse than now. Dear Keats and I had such wretched
dinners sent in, that he told me one morning ‘he had hit on a
plan for us to be better served.’ I wondered what he meant
to do, for I knew no Italian in those days, and Keats, though
quick at learning, not enough to discuss the merits of a dinner.
The trattore brought the food, as usual, in a basket. Keats
lifted the lid, and perceiving at a glance the quality of the
fare, without a word took each dish to the window and emptied
it into the street. The cook never charged us for the dinner,
and gave us a good one ever after.

“I did not forget that lesson. After poor, gentle, vivacious
Keats was dead of his consumption, our padrone, fearing
infection, burnt the furniture, for which he sent me in a
tremendous bill. After it had been discharged, he summoned
me a month later to pay for the broken crockery. On going
to the house where we had dwelt, at the right-hand corner of
AN IRASCIBLE LANDLORD. 271

the Spanish steps ascending to the Trinita de’ Monte, he
showed me on a table a pile of broken plates, cups, and saucers,
which he must have ransacked the neighbourhood to collect.
Feigning a great rage, with one fell swoop I dashed all the
bits to the floor, and the affair was settled.”

Mr. Severn effectually silenced our padrone, notwithstanding
the ominous postscript to his final bill: “‘He meant to be
legally indemnified for all the damage we had done—chi rompe
paga.”’ This sentence, placarded at the time about Rome in
pink, blue, and yellow, had greatly puzzled us, One reading
of it was, whichever, King or Pope, broke the peace would
have to pay. It might have some such covert meaning, just
as, in 1873, the words in large letters, ““Abbasso Verdi,”’ were
no opprobrious term for the composer of J/ Trovatore and
other popular modern operas, but signified, “ Down with Vittorio
Emanuele, Re d'Italia,” the word Verdi being employed for an
acrostic.

The conduct of our later landlords seemed swayed by com-
bined feelings of liking for their tenants and self-interest. We
never-again met with such an instance of unbridled, fierce,
and turbulent irascibility. But then this padrone, who has
since been elevated to the rank of a cavaliere by the Italian
Government, was notorious for his violence. When we were
located in charming new quarters, the rector of a-college, now
a bishop in America, was charged with a message to us from an
Italian priest, to the effect that, having dwelt above us, he
should have personally expressed at the time his sympathy in
our annoyance, but for the molestation it might have entailed
on his landlord’s family, who were the second-floor tenants of
our padrone. My husband next read in his Roman newspaper
that the female servant of the same padrone, having on one
holiday exceeded her leave of absence, was accompanied back
by a policeman, who threatened to punish her master if he
attempted to maltreat her.

The good offices of Margaret Foley, the gifted, generous-
hearted New-England sculptress, and her tender-spirited young
friend, Lizzy H. , had procured us a much better home than
we had earlier enjoyed. It was with these and some other
valued friends that William and I celebrated our golden

 
272 MARY HOWITT.

wedding, on April 16, 1871, by a memorable excursion to
Castel Fusano.

Starting from our dwelling in the Via di Porto Pinciana—
so called from the closed gate where the blind Belisarius is said
to have satand begged—and passing through the Porta di San
Paolo, which he rebuilt, we drove over the solitary Campagna,
green with spring grass and leaves, for fifteen miles. Then,
leaving to our right the ancient walls and castle of Ostia—a
place so endeared to many devout souls from its pathetic associa-
tion with St. Augustine and his dying mother—we proceeded
a couple of miles to Prince Chigi’s park, Castel Fusano. There,
in one of the avenues of huge stone-pines, we deposited our
wraps and provisions, and greeted by a nightingale and
gathering masses of fragrant flowers, we wandered on for
another mile to the Mediterranean.

No words can describe the beauty of the scene. A causeway,
paved with blocks of lava, led from the back of the ancient
castellated mansion, on its lawny meadows, between woods of
arbutus, phillyrea, of flowering daphne, cistus, myrtle, and
heath twenty feet high, carpeted with crimson cyclamens, and
overshadowed by the silent ilex, cork and pine, to a somewhat
desolate beach of shifting sands, held together by tufts of sea-
‘wheat and the eringo, with its blue-green, thistle-like foliage.
It was wonderful to be where, in all probability, the Christian
philosopher, Minucius Felix, and his friend, Octavius, walked
from “that very pleasant city, Ostia... . tracking the coast
of the gently bending shore,” and although, after a lapse of
sixteen centuries, alk now was solitary and deserted, yet, just
as then, “the sea, always restless, even when the winds are
lulled, came up on the shore with waves crisp and curling.”

We had a merry collation in an avenue of stone-pines, near
Prince Chigi’s fine old casino ; then, after wading to our waists
through a sea of flowering asphodels, to gain a clear view of
the Pontine Marshes, drove back, in a summer-like evening, to
Rome.

It had been a fine April morning fifty years earlier when
William and I, with our nearest relatives, walked to meeting,
all the little town of Uttoxeter looking on. I wonder I did
not feel very nervous. We had some of the Friends to dinner
GOLDEN WEDDING. 273

—a better one than usual; if I remember rightly, a cook was
engaged for the occasion from the White Hart. Then William
and I, and all the young people, strolled in the garden and up
to the Bank Closes, a nice little home walk. After our return
rain fell. We had more Friends to tea—all those who had not
been invited to dinner. Afterwards the sun came out, and we
left in quite a splendid sunset. I remember so well how bright
the evening was after the rain, and have often thought it was
like our life—marked by April showers, with a lcvely calm
sunset. From the period of our arrival in Rome, I may truly
say that the promise in Scripture, “ At evening time it shall
be light,” was in our case fulfilled.
CHAPTER XV.

1871—1879.

Our tenants in.England were desirous of continuing their
lease of The Orchard, and we to stay on in Italy, where the
climate had something so soothing, so exactly fitting to old age.
I prized in Rome the kind, sympathetic friends given to us,
the ease of social existence, the poetry, classic grace, the pecu-
liar and deep pathos diffused around ; above all, the stirring
and affecting historic memories; for every stone and monument
spoke of famous classic or Christian deeds, of the blood of
martyrs and the virtues of saints. It was a locality which led
me to perceive how, in a manner, each person makes his own
heaven or hell. To some of our intimate friends Rome was
truly, in the words of Dante,

‘the holy place wherein
Sits the successor of the greatest Peter ; ’’

the centre of triumphant Christianity, sacred as Jerusalem
until the Crucifixion. To others it held the position of
pagan Rome to the early Christians—a centre of cruelty,
abomination, and duplicity, its sanitary shortcomings being
a type of its social condition. To me it was a city of
habitation after long wanderings in the wilderness; to
my husband—who did not unreservedly share my enthusiasm
—it became, as well as to myself, the finishing-school of our
earthly life.

In the June of 1871, accompanied by Miss Foley, we
went for the summer to Tyrol, where we were quite pro-
videntially led, in the neighbourhood of Bruneck, to an
old mansion called Mayr-am-Hof, which though evidencing
IN T¥ROL. 275

a slow decline, stood up, massive and grand, at the farther
end of the gradually ascending village of Dietenheim. It
was a long building, with lofty roof and dormer windows,
pl stered and painted, after the Palladian style, in effective
designs to represent Grecian pilasters, circles, and other orna-
mentations, and protected by much fine ironwork that grated
the windows or swelled out in jutting balconies. It had a
back-yard and farm-buildings of no mean order, seen

"a!

 

through a stately but somewhat ruinous entrance, conspicu-
ously surmounted by a fresco, painted dull red and white,
like the rest of the building. The subject, in harmony with
the religious faith in Tyrol, represented the Virgin and Child
attended by St. Joseph; a guardian angel and its human
charge; St. John Nepomucen, protector against floods; and
St. Florian, against fire.

We learnt from a tall young peasant, with a refined

T2
276 MARY HOWITT.

countenance and the most self-possessed manners, that the
place belonged to his father. The family merely occupied
a portion, and the rest was empty. We expressed a desire
to inspect the interior, and were courteously conducted up-
stairs through a great stone hall into a saloon of vast
dimensions, with a fine embossed ceiling of stucco, and

2 ‘
Ate G\a
Le a

 

ENTRANCE TO THE BACK-YARD.

lighted by eight windows. We were shown an adjoining
room, wainscoted, having the character of an oratory ; and
recrossing the hall, a spacious chamber, possessing a long
interior latticed casement, screened by an old-fashioned chintz
curtain with a kneeling bench under it, and opening like
OUR SUMMER HOME, 207

a squire’s pew into the old chapel. We were taken, on
the second floor, into three vacant rooms occupying the broad
southern gable-front, the centre one having a balcony which
commanded a splendid view up and down the Pusterthal.
Although the rooms were almost bare, they were furnished
with beautiful views, had noble proportions and well-scrubbed
floors; and the whole place, from its uniqueness, space, and
dignified decay, so appealed to our taste that we esteemed our-
selves fortunate to be accepted as tenants. Our landlord, who

  
 
 

  

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had never let rooms before, was Anton Mutschlechner, best
known as the “ Hof-baurr,” a spare man, in a brown home-spun
jacket faced with green, unless it were some great Church
festival, when he donned the long Noah’s Ark coat in which he
was married a quarter of a century before. He was a quiet
disciplinarian, given to hard toil and pious meditation. In
1809 he had been a funny little Tyroler boy, whom the French
officers then quartered in Mayr-am-Hof petted and caressed.
‘They were otherwise terrible and alarming lodgers, who burnt
cartloads of wood in the great stoves, damaging, cracking, aud
278 MARY HOWITT.

ever after rendering unserviceable the elaborate pile of white
faience in the saloon.

We vastly enjoyed our Robinson Crusoe life at Mayr-am-
Hof, where a godly routine of prayer and labour hallowed the
entire household. Margaret Foley, a born carpenter and

 

THE STOVE OF WHITE FAIENCE.

practical inventor, set to work, and so did my husband, and
made us all sorts of capital contrivances. Thus, with fino
weather out-of-doors and a roof over our heads, we lacked
nothing. Behind the house a common gently sloped upwards,
surmounted by an old crucifix and two lime-trees. There we
sat, evening after evening, to watch the wonderful sunset after-
ROCCA DI PAPA. 279

Slow on a group of strange, rugged dolomite mountains.
They filled up the eastern end of the valley, and became inde-
scribably beautiful and strangely spiritual as they flushed
crimson, melted into deep violet, faded to a ghastly grey, then
were shrouded from view by the pall of night.

Substantial Mayr-am-Hof, so attractive to us in its venerable
decay, grew from a retreat for a few weeks into our permanent
summer home. Leaving hot weather and ripe cherries in
Rome, we have hastened thither at the beginning of May to
find the sparkling snow lying thick and low on the mountains :
the trees leafless, but a green flush on the giant poplar, and
the cherry-blossoms ready to burst forth. The fleeting hours,
however, soon brought us sultry summer heat, interspersed with
heavy thunderstorms. Then came calm, cloudless autumn
days, when the fir-trees stood out black against the intense
blue, fathomless sky, with here and there a mountain ash or a
wild-cherry dyed gold or crimson; but all other foliage
suggestive of July. Next came November, with gloomy
heavens, withered scattered leaves, wild winds and rattling
casements, making us thankful to cross the bare, brown,
plain to the railway station, en route for benign and radiant
ltaly.

For several years we diversified the annual programme by
spending the early summer in the country house of the
deceased painter, Frederick Overbeck. It was situated on the
volcanic heights of Rocca di Papa, 2,600 feet above the Medi-
terranean, which stretched out on our left hand. Below,
sloped chestnut woods, and beyond them the vast Campagna,
with Rome in the distance.

Resuming now the chronological thread, I write to my eldest
daughter from Rome, November 5, 1871—

“Oh! if only Alfred and you were here I should be ready
to say, ‘ Let Henry Chorley’s words about us be true. Let us
all live out our lives in this kindly and beautiful Italy, to which
surely God has given all the charms of the earth.’ As it is,
however, I feel at times as if even gloomy England, with its
drab atmosphere, would be pleasanter if one could only sit
down by the fireside with you. But we will leave all to God,
280 MARY HOWITT.

for he will do that which is best for each of us; and we do
not know, any one of us, what he designs by us or what he has
in store for us. Please give my affectionate regards to Henry
Chorley when you see him next; and you can tell him, if you
like, that though I hold much of the old Catholic faith, and
though I am convinced that within the walls of many convents
many souls live in close communion with God, yet no one
believes more firmly than I do in the anti-Christianity of the
Papacy, and that we are watching with the intensest interest
the progress of events, which will, we trust, bring about its
downfall.

“T must now give you an idea, if I can, of our locality.
Looking up the street, the piazza of the Trinita de’ Monte
immediately opens out before us, with the distant heights of
Monte Mario, where the sun now sets, and the evening skies
are beautiful. Just opposite to us is the old palace of some
Queen of Poland, a rather dingy-looking place, with traces of
grandeur about it. It forms the division between the Via
Sistina and the Via Gregoriana, which unite in the piazza.
Grand old painters have lived about here—Poussin, Claude
Lorraine, Salvator Rosa. The old house of the Queen of
Poland was built by the artists Taddeo and Federigo Zuccaro ;
and when Bartholdy, the Prussian Consul, lived in it, he em-
ployed Overbeck, Schadow, Veit, and Cornelius to cover the
walls of an upper chamber with frescoes from the life of
Joseph. These art-brethren of St. Luke also dwelt at one
time near here, at the top of the Via St. Isidore, in the
monastery of that name. I¢ is an Irish Franciscan institution,
and its church is dedicated both to St. Patrick and St. Isidore.
Opposite to the monastery of St. Isidore is the little church of
Maria Riparatrice, where candles are ever burning, and at all
hours a nun kneels before the altar, her sky-blue and white
robes flowing around her ; an immovable figure, in unin-
terrupted prayer or adoration. It is a wonderful sight. Of
course, there must be a relay of nuns for tbis severe service,
bu: apparently it is ever the same—the same blue and white
flowing garments, the same attitude.”

“ January 25, 1872.—We have been to the Hotel d’Angle-
terre, to meet, at the invitation of Mr. and Mrs. Betts, Dr.
OVERBECK. 281

Manning and Dr. Davis, of the Religious Tract Society. They
received us most kindly, Dr. Manning explaining that his
mother was, in the very ancient Uttoxeter days, a schoolfellow
of mine, Mary Bakewell, and that she often spoke of me as
‘little Mary Botham, who used to sit upon a box and tell
stories ; in fact, romances without end.’ Of this romancing I
know nothing; though, from our dear father being anxious
that we should have ‘a guarded education,’ Anna and I did sit
on a big box near Mrs. Parker, and the other children generally
on seats in the room. Of course, I remember Mary Bakewell ;
she was a big girl and very nice, one whom I admired, and of
whom I retain a most distinct and pleasant remembrance. These
two gentlemen next proceeded to business, requesting me from
Dr. Macaulay to furnish a series of papers on Italy to the
Leisure Hour.

“Yesterday afternoon Meggie and I drank coffee with Frau
Hoffmann—such excellent coffee, that we smelt it before we
reached the door; such delicious little cakes and bread, cold
water, and fine linen. What a treat we had afterwards in
looking over the multitudinous sketches and studies of Over-
beck! Such exquisite bits of drapery, flowers, and foliage,
drawn in pencil, just like yours, with such conscientious care
and love—hundreds of them. It was a real feast of delight, and
she so old-fashioned, living only in the memory of that ‘ //eber
Vater,’ and wishing that Carluccio (ber son Carl) would but
work as hard as his grandfather. It poured with rain, but we
sat with the window open, looking into the grand old Barberini
gardens, with a great plaster-group of the Saviour blessing St.
John, almost filling up the room behind us; and atter the
coffee-tray was removed, the table was covered with these
studies and sketches of the blessed Overbeck.

“ March 3, 1872.—One of the most interesting features here,
to our mind, is the Scandinavian Society, comprising Swedes,
Danes, Norwegians, and Finns. None of them are rich, the
sculptor Jerichau and his noted wife, the painter, being the
most so; the whole style of these foreigners is the purest
simplicity, combined with culture and hospitality. Their love
of the sunny South is, as you know, intense. They are devoted
to art in its three branches, music, painting, and sculpture.
282 MARY HOWITT.

They associate amongst themselves, and Fredrika Bremer’s
cousin, Mdlle. Aline Bremer, from Finland, is a sort of aunt
to many of them. Young Tegnér, the grandson of the great
poet, and called Esaias, after him, belongs to this little com-
munity this winter.”

“ Jan. 22, 1873.—We are so interested in ‘Ginx’s Baby.’
How clever it is! What a satire it is on the religion, legis-
lation, and philanthropy of the age! God help us all, and
send us a revelation of the true light! Something stronger
than the Gospels and the Gospel-promises, and more tangible.
I thought at one time that spiritualism was going to give
us this; but it has so much shoddy and humbug about it
that even such as we, who believe in it, reject its outer seem-
ing. Yet perhaps its verv ugliness and seeming untruths are
but, as it were, the manger birth of the Saviour, a stumbling-
block and an offence. You see, ‘Ginx’s Baby’ has set me
thinking. I look all round, and I perceive that everything
is wrong, all out of joint, with an attempt, or it may be a
pretence, to get right, and no good comes of it? The evil is so
mighty, who is able to stand in the combat against it? The
ghost of our Journal is called up before me. We got wrong;
I see that as plainly as possible; but then there are so many
things that make the best-intentioned get wrong, and that
nothing sooner than a great success, God help the world!
It is made up of poor creatures. Even the rich and powerful
cannot stand firm against the temptations of riches and
power.”

“ March 3, 1873.—There are so many sides to Truth, if
people would only look at them. I am reading the ‘Life of
Pére Besson,’ that good, pure-lived Dominican artist. What a
beautiful revelation it is of the higher class of the Catholic
priesthood! No George Fox or John Wesley, no George
Herbert or Jeremy Taylor, no Bunyan or Baxter, was, any
of them, purer, truer, or more faithful followers of Christ.
There are thousands of noble Christian Catholics. If it were
not so, the Roman Catholic faith could not have survived
to this day. If the Protestantism which is now being intro-
duced into Rome by the sects were mild, tender, and loving
PROTESTANTS IN ROME. 283

as the Spirit of Christ, it might worthily replace the evil it
seeks to uproot; but the spirit of these little conventicles
is, in my humble opinion, not what God will give the success
of reformation and regeneration to. In the Protestant Epis-
copalian churches here, there is so evident an imitation of
the outward ceremony of the Church of Rome, the officiating
ministers calling themselves priests, that it seems to me offen-
sive. I suppose the educational bias is strong in me; and
though I love whatever is beautiful, and am sure that the
beautiful belongs to Heaven, yet the more devotional part
of my being is called forth by a simpler style of worship
Yesterday, however, I went to the English Chapel to hear
the Archbishop of Dublin (Trench) preach, and saw Emerson
there. He has been, with his daughter, up the Nile. This
evening we are to meet them at Miss Clarke’s.

«55, Via, Sistina, Jan. 4, 1874.—This is the first time that
I have written ’74, for though I sent you a scrap on New
Year’s Day, I did not date it; and since then I have written
no letters, though I have several yet on my conscience, and
also on my heart, as I have been trying these last two days
to put dear, good Mrs. Gould’s annual report of her school
for poor Italian children into a nice form, to wind up with
a graceful ‘begging clause,’ which I find very hard work,
and got so disgusted with it yesterday afternoon, that I laid
it aside till to-morrow, when it must be done.”

“ Jan. 6, 1874.—When I had finished, to my no small
relief, the report of her school for Mrs. Gould, I put on
my best bonnet and best gloves, and set off in the first instance
to call on those two excellent and agreeable women, Dr.
Elizabeth Blackwell and her sister. From them I went to
Miss Brewster’s afternoon reception; went in at the lower
door of the Palazzo Albani, past the old fountain with the
Gorgon’s head grinning above it, up a winding staircase
till I came to a door, out of which velvet-clad, perfumed
ladies were coming; and so in through a couple of nicely
furnished ante-rooms to the larger apartment, where she sat,
in black velvet and an Indian scarf over her shoulders, receiving
her visitors. I soon saw a nice white-headed gentleman of my
284 MARY HOWITT.

acquaintance, attached to the American Embassy, though
himself an Italian. So we began to talk—he to tell me
of the Roman college for ladies, which will be inaugurated
to-day, with an Italian poetess, a very remarkable woman,
Signora Fua Fusinato, at its head ; exactly similar in character
and advantages to the female colleges in England. It in-
terested me greatly, yet not so much as to prevent my seeing
what went on around.

“T observed a gentleman seated before a pretty, biack
Japanese screen near the fire. I was wondering who in the
world he could be; for his face, scored with lines and markings,
had a great play of expression, and he exhibited a considerable
expansion of white shirt-front, a crimson silk kerchief tied
round his neck, and the glitter of a heavy gold chain and of
jewellery, when unexpectedly he was introduced to me as
‘Mr. Miller.’

“<« Joaquin Miller,’ I instantly replied, understanding at
once the character of the man. Although I had risen to leave,
we sat down together. He said, ‘ The first people I wanted to
see in Rome were Howitts; yes, I wanted to see them. I
was taken, when in London, to look at the house they had once
inhabited at Highgate—a pleasant house standing apart from
the road.’ Then he went on to tell me of a solitary American
lady, married to a Frenchman in Rome, who had begged him to
make her acquainted with ‘Howitts.’ He had her address folded
up in his little purse, and seemed very anxious to do her this ser-
vice. We spoke of his dear friends, the Rossettis. ‘Dante,’ he
remarked, ‘ was a fine fellow—a true Saxon.’ He was much in-
terested by Rome, although he confessed ignorance of its history.
The snowy Apennines, as he saw them from various points,
charmed him beyond anything else.

‘“‘T asked where he was located. ‘He had gone first to an
hotel,’ he replied ; ‘but it was so dear that he, a poor man,
could not stand it, and he moved off.’ He would not reveal his
whereabouts, affirming he told no one. ‘He lived among the
plebeians, had a room with a brick floor, and a brazier to warm
hira. He cared nothing for fine furniture, but he loved the
people.’ ‘The Italians,’ I rejoined, ‘ were a good, kind-hearted
race.’ He expressed pleasure in hearing me say so, as some of
his friends prophesied he would be stabbed and robbed of his
THE BISHOP OF ARGYLL. 285

rings and gold chains. I suggested it might be hardly wise to
exhibit such tempting objects to the very poor. To this he re-
plied, ‘ He had lived amongst the poor and the so-called wicked
without ever being robbed of a cent.; the only den of thieves
he knew was hotels. He had never locked or bolted a door in
self-defence, and should not do it in Rome.’ Then he expa-
tiated on his life as a boy, his sorrows and wild adventures—
‘Poor father, who was so unfortunate, and mother, who was so
good ’—his being stolen by the Indians, but never being a chief
amongst them, as commonly reported ; his journeys in Nebraska
and down the Wabash, with much more, giving me glimpses
of a romantic existence, in keeping with his queer flexible
countenance and crimson neckerchief. Tis first name is really
Cincinnatus, not Joaquin.”

“ Jan, 23.—We have Mr. George Mackarness, the newly-
chosen Bishop of Argyll and the Isles, and our little friend
Fvelyn, now shot up intoa young man, here in tome. As the
Bishop possesses quite a reverential love for the old painter,
Overbeck, we have arranged that he goes over the Monastery
of St. Isidore, where Overbeck and his art-brethren led such
poetical, devoted, half-monkish lives. Fra Ippolito, a lay-
brother, and himself a humble artist, equally reveres the
hallowed memory of Overbeck. He will welcome our friend
and take him to the Superior. Meggie and I saw last summer,
before leaving Rome, as much of the monastery as women are
permitted to see. The Bishop will now describe to us the cells
once occupied by the band of artists, and the rest of the sacred
interior.”’

“ Sunday morning—I have been to the English Chapel to
hear the new Bishop preach. He took as his text, ‘Now we
see through a glass darkly, but then face to face.’ The sermon
transported me to Ilam, its exquisite church and its village
congregation.”

« Jan. 31, 1874.—The excursion planned for the Bishop of
Argyll and Evelyn to Rocca di Papa turned out quite a success.
The sun shone, the glorious landscape displayed all its mani-
fold charms. Everybody was in good spirits. First came the
walk up Monte Cavo, and the cordial reception given Carl
286 MARF HOWITT.

Hoffmann and his male companions by the friendly Passionist
monks. Then down through the woods to the chapel of the
Madonna della Tufa, where the hermit was so long saying
prayers for all the party that they thought they must leave
him to finish by himself. So down through the quaint, queer
volcanic village to Casa Overbeck, in sight of the most glorious
sunset. Next the brilliant after-glow, gorgeous over the
Mediterranean ; and so across the Campagna, in the clearest,
brightest moonlight, and back in Rome by seven o’clock. It
was a perfect day: they all say so.”

Witttam Howitt To HIS ELDER DAUGHTER.

“ Jan, 25, 1875.—Mrs. Gould is going to bring out a book
written by different people, to be printed at her new school-
press. Adolphus Trollope and his wife, and Mr. Marsh, the
American Minister to the Quirinal, have all promised contribu-
tions. Mrs. Marsh hopes to get something from Gladstone;
and I dare say there will be a good many things from Ameri-
can authors. Your mother is going to write an introduction,
narrating Mrs. Gould’s efforts in Rome to educate the children
of the poor. I have written my contribution, called ‘ Progres-
sive Steps of Popular Education, and a Pioneer Working-
School,’ which is that of Captain Brenton, the martyr of the
juvenile outcasts of London.

“Garibaldi arrived in Rome yesterday afternoon. He was
drawn by the people in triumph to his lodgings. They were
wild to have a speech from him, and clamoured with their ten
thousand voices. He came on the balcony and simply said,
‘Giovanotti! Buona notte!’ and so retired.”

Mary Howirr To HER ELDER DAvuGHTER.

“ Mayr-am-Hof, Sept. 15, 1875.—We had a delightful excur-
sion to Taufers with Josiah Gilbert, his sister, and Mrs. Angas.
Everything was looking its best. Mr. Gilbert knows all the
country, and had been there before, but he wanted his
companions to see the old castle, standing up grandly, with its
background of glacial mountains. At the castle, however, we
found every door locked. The people were all out at work in
MRS. GOULD’S SCHOOL. 287

the fields; so we prowled about, and finding one wainscoted
room open, with its old benches round the walls, there sat and
‘had high discourse,’ as Mr. Gilbert said; we talked a good
deal of nonsense, your father being as merry as the rest. We
then slowly walked back again to the inn, where our dinner had
been ordered. In going up to the castle Mr. Gilbert and I had
conversed together ; and my heart not only sympathised, but
had been filled with joyful thanksgiving that sorrow such
as he had experienced could so beautify and elevate a life.

“It was altogether a season of friendly intercourse; and we
arranged in driving back how we were to wind up with a right
pleasant evening. So we had arranged; but hardly had we
reached home, when, bebold! a carriage stopped at the gate,
and out stepped a grey-bearded man, with a most sad counten-
ance. It was no other than poor, broken-hearted Dr. Gould,
come hither from Perugia to find comfort from us if he could ;
his wife dead only about ten days, and he brought down to the
brink of the grave, as it were. Here he was, and when he
was not expected, and when the mood of the whole house was

rejoicing! However, there was nothing for it but to receive
him kindly.”

“55, Via Sistina, Jan. 12, 1876.—What the fate of Mrs.
Gould’s school will be in the end seems now a curious question.
I think your father has told you of the wicked theft and dis-
honesty of some of the people left in charge of her school by
Mrs. Gould; more particularly of a young woman whom she
had educated to have care of the Kindergarten, aud in whom
she and her husband had great confidence. This teacher has
most basely repaid their faith and trust. She is now gone off,
and the school and the Home, greatly diminished, are in the
hands of a Waldensian minister and his wife. They have
taken charge of the work for a month; but a serious diffi-
culty has occurred. One child, a boy of about fourteen, refused
to go to the Waldensian church, and left the Home. This
made a commotion. He was a favourite pupil of poor Mrs.
Gould’s, and her husband took up the matter warmly. A public
meeting had been appointed and invitations sent out to every-
body interested in the subject, to consider the propriety of the
Home and school being placed in the hands of the Waldenses.
288 MARY HOWITT.

Then occurred the bother of the papal boy taking himself off,
and a very strong party, in consequence, showed themselves in
opposition to the Waldenses. This was the Mazzinian party.
Madame Mario and an Englishman, a wealthy Jew, named
Nathan, declared themselves ready to rescue these poor chil-
dren from the persecuting hands of the narrow sectarian Wal-
denses and make this a great Mazzini school and printing-press.
Mr. Trollope appeared at the meeting as their advocate.”

« Albano, March 4, 1876.—We yesterday had a charming
little outing with Mr. Young of Kelly. We drove to Rocca
di Papa, and went up to the old Overbeck villa. I was so glad
to have another peep at the pleasant place, and to see again
my favourite picture by Overbeck, of himself, his wife, and
little Alphonse ; the portrait, too, of Pforr, his dear art-brother,
in a sort of Raphaelesque dress, and a cat rubbing against his
elbow ; also the little old painting of ‘Shulamite and Mary.’
I looked at these three small pictures—all of which belong to
such a lovely part of Overbeck’s life, and which are so inti-
mately connected with the time when Meggie and I were there
alone—and the hallowed past came back again. I wonder,
when we are in the other life, whether bits of our earthly
experience will come back to us with the same sweet, tender
reality and interest.

“ Everybody h: pes that Mrs. Gould’s school is now definitely
taken by the Waldenses; though there is no doubt that they
are rather narrow in their religious creed and life.”

“55, Via Sistina, March 27, 1876.—Last evening we spent,
with the Youngs, at Peggy’s. Mr. Young then told your
father that it was a cause of concern to him that Garibaldi’s
two little girls, about nine and ten, were being brought up in
a very rude and careless way; and that, as he knew those in
Scotland who would gladly find the money for them to be care-
fully educated, if their father would only consent to the plan,
he wished the proposal could be made to Garibaldi in some
way which would ensure his acceptance of it. Mr. Young
also wished your father to go with him to the General, and
with this good object in view, he felt he could not refuse. The
first thing this morning, therefore, he went to call on a friend
GARIBALDI. 289

of Garibaldi’s, to ask how and when it would be possible to see
him, and whether there was a likelihood of his accepting the
offer. But the individual was in bed; so your father left a
note, and I hope we shall have an answer before long.

“It seems that it is Mr. Young himself who wishes to pro-
vide for these children, and has arranged with a Scotch lady to
undertake the management of them.”

“ March 29, 1876.—Garibaldi’s friend said that Mr. Young
had made a magnificent offer, but that, in fact, only one was
Garibaldi’s child, and the other was the child of the mother
before Garibaldi took her. This threw a new light on the
matter. Then came the great religious difficulty. It was not
to be expected that Garibaldi, who hates priests of all sorts,
and who does not believe in Christianity, I fancy, would be
willing that his child should be brought up in the Scotch or
any other Church; and, of course, Mr. Young could not
engage to bring her up without any religion. The friend was
very anxious that no cold water should be thrown on the
scheme, wishing Garibaldi to have the offer. More revelations
of the domestic relations were, however, made; and Mr. Young
considered it quite necessary to let the scheme lie over for
reflection, saying that he must write to the Scotch lady and
acquaint her with the facts. I should think the proposition
will evaporate.”

To Mrs. TopuunTER.

“55, Via Sistina, Rome, Dec. 20, 1876.—On Monday William
entered his eighty-fifth year, and it was altogether a most
pleasant day to us all. The weather, however, was not very
fine; therefore we did not make the little excursion which
was intended to the Tre Fontane, the convent erected on
the spot on which it is believed that St. Paul suffered martyr-
dom. But it was not in honour of St. Paul that we pur-
posed to go there on the 18th, but to see the good Trappist
Brothers, some of whom are rather friendly acquaintances of
my husband’s, and always make him and those who accom-
pany him heartily welcome. They are great growers of the
eucalypti of all kinds, and he has furnished them with a good

U
290 MARY HOWITT.

deal of seed, which our Alfred has collected for him in his
mountain district and elsewhere in Australia. very now and
then, therefore, when we want a pleasant little holiday,
we drive over to the Tre Fontane, see the plantations of
eucalyptus-trees, have a talk with the friendly Trappists—
who are allowed to talk, certainly, when strangers visit them,
however silent they may be at other times—and receive
from them at parting a small draught of their eucalyptus
liqueur.

To Mrs. AtFrepD Watts.

“ Palm Sunday, March 25, 1877.—This is a Sunday which I
remember so well in your Munich life, when you took a long
country ramble; the scenery you described always comes back
to me on Palm Sunday. With Palm Sunday, too, you com-
mence your narrative of the great Christian tragedy of Am-
mergau ; all of which is sweetly engraven on my memory. In
Rome it isa great day at St. Peter’s, even in these times of
non-celebration ; and if all things were consonant therewith I
should have gone to that basilica to-day and seen the com-
memoration of the Lord’s entry into Jerusalem. It is to some
but a formal affair; to me it is a venerable relic, and I like
those things: the procession of the priests outside the closed
church-door ; then the sub-deacon knocking at the door with
the staff of the cross; its being opened, and the procession
entering, singing, ‘ Ingrediente Domino in sanctam civitatem.’ It
pleases my imagination, at all events. And the blessing of the
palms; and their distribution, the big ones to the officiating
clergy and other dignitaries, and lastly the little ones and the
broken branches of olive given to the people. The whole is a
memory of old, reverent things. It is typical of a higher,
grander ceremonial, which is, I dare say, taking place spiritu-
ally all round us; and not in Rome alone, but throughout the
world: Christ’s Spirit poured out and His gifts distributed to
hundreds of thousands, though none may know of it but them-
selves and the Divine Donor.

“Yesterday, in the afternoon, I went out to try to find
people who would take tickets for Madame Ristori’s reading
on Tuesday evening, for the benefit of the ‘Gould Memorial
HOLY WEER. 291

School.” Ihad not at all a successful crusade. None were
inclined to put their hands in their pockets, excepting dear
Margaret Gillies, on whom I called; and after that went no
farther. She was just finishing her picture, and was worried
at the last, and wanted to go to good Mr. Glennie to borrow a
sketch of distant scenery in the neighbourhood of Rome; the
bad weather not permitting her to go out sketching for herself.
When her things were all put aside and left for their Sunday
rest, we took a little carriage and drove to the Glennies’, down
into the very centre of Rome; and had such a cordial recep-
tion, such a nice call: tea made for us, and dear Margaret
given the pick of his rich portfolios for a bit of Latin or Volscian
mountain, blue and dreamy in its sunny distance. Then,
enriched with two most serviceable sketches, and charmed
with their genuine kindness, we went down their many stairs,
to find there had been a deluge of rain; and I bethought
myself anxiously of the father and Meggie, gone to gather
flowers in the beautiful Borghese.

“Here I found them, very cheerful, but somewhat wet.
This, however, was speedily rectified, and we sat down to
enjoy your welcome letter. We all wish you a most pleasant
and happy time with the Cowper-Temples at Broadlands.
I hope you will remain with them and Sister Elizabeth
over Easter Day. There are so many sacred, sorrowful anni-
versaries before that day comes. Whata right thing it is to
keep them with befitting reverence! I wish we had been
brought up in a faith that had these holy observances. What
a mistake Friends made in regarding nothing but First Day,
and that in such a dead manner! I am too old now to begin ;
yet I do seem to feel a very great want of higher religious life
in myself. I would, it seems to me, give anything for a sense
of the Divine life within me. I hope, therefore, amongst the
good people of Broadlands, that you and dear Alfred will know
a strong influx of love and wisdom.

“Remember me most kindly to the Cowper-Temples, for
whom I have a great love and regard. They are amongst the
angels of God now on earth, who celebrate the second coming
of their Lord. Oh, that we might all be of that glorious band !
How I long to feel myself recognised by Him! Ido not as
yet. But I love all His children, wherever I recognise them ;

v2
292 MARY HOWITT.

and the Cowper-Temples are of the number. Our love to dear
Eliza. She is one of the Lord’s servants and dear children.”

To Miss Leicu Smiru.

“ Dietenheim, Oct. 26, 1877.—We have lately had a very
sad and anxious time, and have so still. Our poor Peggy
returned from Innichen in the same ailing condition. She was
better one day, and severely suffering the next; until this day
fortnight, when she was taken with congestion of the brain; in
fact, a stroke of paralysis. The Bruneck physician regarded
her condition as very serious, and ordered us to write to any
near friends or relatives she might have, and that, if she had
outward affairs to settle, it might be done. But dear Peggy
had made her will, and we were amongst her nearest friends.
Happily the most sad effects of the attack abated in a few days.
Her sufferings, however, from the root of the malady being an
affection of the spinal cord, are inconceivable; and she has a
pain in the head, making her, at its worst, wish for death rather
than life. Indeed, her constant prayer to be taken, if consistent
with God’s will, wrings our hearts. Truly her patience and
endurance of this awful agony are wonderful and most touching,
In this condition she cannot be removed to Rome. We have,
therefore, decided to go from here to Meran for the winter.
That good Dr. von Messing, whom we mentioned to you when
here, and whose wife you saw, will be there to receive her pro-
fessionally. We have been fortunate to get some very comfort-
able rooms where William, Meggie, and I were three years ago,
when we went to Meran for a short time. One of the great
comforts to us in this season of sorrow and anxiety has been the
kindness of the Sisters of Charity here, who have, one of them,
come each alternate night to sit up with our poor patient;
Meggie and I, between us, taking the other.”

To Mrs. ALFRED Warvs.

“Meran, Nov. 16, 1877.—Our dear sufferer has many alter-
nations of better and worse. She begins to look very like
that touching sketch of Keats in his last illness, which you
know so well; the face thin and the eyes large, but with such
A ROMAN ERA, 293

a meek, patient, pathetic expression ; and she is so gentle and
"affectionate, so like an obedient, loving child. The final part-
ing with her will be a sad, sad sorrow.

“Tt is a most beautiful morning, the mountain-summits
shining out like alabaster, and lower down in this ever-varied
valley the autumnal colouring of the trees yet remains. It is
most exquisitely beautiful. I wonder whether Alfred and you
will ever visit Meran. I hope you may. If this is to be Peggy’s
last resting-place, it will ever be sacred to us; so I think in
some future time you will be here. The peculiar landscape is
much more striking and beautiful at this season than in spring,
when all is green.

“You will be glad to know that our little apartment in
Rome, which I feared might be despised, and so hang on our
hands, is now let. Bishop Tozer and his sister have taken it,
and entered upon it yesterday. It is very pleasant to us to
know that such extremely good people are occupying the place,
which, humble as it is, has been our happy Roman home for five
winters. Is not the dear Heavenly Father good to us? IJ
hardly knew how sufficiently to give thanks yesterday, when
the news came.”

“ Friday, Dec. 7, 1877.—All is over. Very peaceful. But
we are very sad.”

Mary Howrrr to THE SAME.

“ Meran, Feb. 23, 1878.—Day after day races on, and no sooner
has a week begun than it is ended. Yet how full of events is
the time! Just looking at ourselves, month by month, ever since
we came here, some occurrence has gone near to our hearts or
awakened our interest to the highest degree. On December 7
Peggy died; on January 9 Victor Emmanuel died; on Feb-
ruary 7 the Pope died; and through it all lay the terror of war ;
the uncertainty what the nations would do. Of course, with us
it is a mingling of important world interests and our individual
petty concerns ; yet all is interwoven into our daily lives, form-
ing a strange, startling, momentous epoch. The European
agitation seems now terminating very peacefully ; God over all,
294 MARY HOWITT.

and bringing mankind, I trust, into the harmony of peace and
good-will. We have taken a deep interest in the election of a
new Pope; knowing, too, how curiously and uncomfortably the
Cardinals have been immured in the cells temporarily contrived
for the purpose in the Vatican. On Thursday afternoon, as
your Father and Meggie were taking their walk, he, I believe,
was wondering how the Cardinals were getting on, and whether
they had nearly brought their work to a conclusion; when
Meggie, lifting up her eyes to the lofty church-tower just then
come into sight, exclaimed, ‘The Pope is elected! See there
the white and yellow flag with the cross-keys and the papal
mitre!’ So it was; where the black mourning flag for Pius
the Ninth had hung, now was reared aloft the flag of rejoicing
proclaiming the fact. Your father was almost as excited as
Meggie. Away they went to the Post, to hear who was elected ;
but before they reached it they sawa placard at the street-
corner announcing that Cardinal Pecei was the new Pope—was
Leo XIII. Now, you must know that Pecci was the very pre-
late whom your father would have chosen; a right good man,
whose life you will be sure to have read before this. Home
they came full of the good news; and Meggie, bidding me put
a shawl over my shoulders, hurried me off into a verandah at
the back of the house in sight of the church-tower, and bade
me look up and see. There it was, the white and yellow flag ;
and best of all, Cardinal Pecci elected Pope!”

Wiiuiam Howirt To 1s ELDER DAUGHTER.

“ Rome, April 28, 1878.—The weather here is quite summer.
This morning, as I was on the Pincio, the gardeners and cus-
todians saluted me very smilingly. Their greeting was the
result of my telling them the other day that the female swan,
which had begun laying, and had but a scrap of a nest on the
ground, near the hut by the little lake, wanted more straw;
that swans made huge nests, and unless she had more straw the
eggs might spoil, which would be a pity. The next time I
went, I saw she had got and appropriated her straw. They all
know me well by sight, but now they think that I am a cute
old fellow, who takes an interest in their affairs, and are
amazingly civil.”
THE PINCIAN HILL. 295

My husband, with his unworldly nature, led the same unso-
phisticated life in Rome as in the quiet surroundings of Dieten-
heim. In the mornings, when children of all nationalities,
under the surveillance of attendants, played in the broad sunlit:
paths of the Pincian hill; and in the afternoons, when a gay,
fashionable throng drove, strolled, and listened by hundreds to
the music, he walked alone, unless joined by some sociable
acquaintance. He admired the fan-palms standing out clear
in the sunshine, whilst snow was still visible on the Alban and

 

MAYR-AM-HOF FROM KITCHEN-GARDEN,

Sabine ranges; noted the beds of roses, bay, and laurustinus,
full of life and vigour; listened to the pleas:int, familiar
warbling of the little tit-mice ; observed the arrival of the chiff-
chaff a month earlier than in England. Te spied out in the
thick bushy boughs of the pines, cedars, and evergreens many
goldfinches, some warblers, and a grand old blackbird that sang
in good English; and canaries, some intensely yellow, others
of a greenish hue, from mixing, he supposed, with liunets. To
its death he was familiar with the stealthy Pincian cat.
296 MARY HOWITT.

At Mayr-am-Hof one of the main attractions to my husband
was his gardening. He carried it on in a field allotment, and
in the former baronial kitchen-garden, which, neglected for
half-a-century, was divided from the mansion and farm-build-
ings by the road and a rude old wall surmounted by a fence,
long unrepaired. It was a strip of terrace-garden, containing
a primitive shed for bees and some unpruned fruit-trees with
straggling naked branches. In the sloping orchard below better
specimens, however, lingered on, and tradition distinguished

 

THE CLOSED ENTRANCE-GATE.

one apple-t-ee as having, by its fine growth and prolificness,
called forth the admiration of the Empress Maria Theresa.

William indefatigably dug with his English spade—a unique
and expensive tool in Tyrol, which is the land of clumsy hus-
bandry—planted, tied up, watered, and cut off dead boughs or
leaves. I enjoyed sitting near him, reading, knitting, and in
the summer of 1876 working at a huge cabbage-net intended «is
a protection against the legions of butterflies.
MAFR-AM-HOF. 297

A little tawny owl sojourned for a series of summers in a
cavity of the venerable poplar, now defaced by decay, which
raises its massive trunk outside the closed entrance-gate. It
slept by day, but became briskly sociable on the approach of
night. It would then diligently converse with my husband in
the gloaming, persistently answering his hoot with a mouno-

1

:

 

 

 

THE UPPER HALL.

tonous cry, that had an alert gravity about it bordering on the
ridiculous.

A host of confiding swallows inhabited the eaves of the house,
warbling in the early morning on the ironwork of the balconies,
skimming in and out of the open windows, and, as the season
advanced, bringing their young into the upper corridor, to
298 MARY HOWITT.

essay from the top of the old cartoons of sacred subjects, or
from the cornice, and pediments, the art of flying.

This upper hall assumed by degrees the character of a plainly
furnished ante-room, where we could dine, or the servants sit
at their needlework. Indeed, that portion of the house which
we rented had gained gradually a more clothed appearance,

BURL
AMALIA IAAI UN

 

PEEP INTO SALOON.

from our bringing inexpensive carpets and draperies from
Rome, or buying them in Tyrol; and engaging a carpenter to
make chairs, tables, and cupboards after our design; our land-
lord, the Hofbauer, giving the wood. When curtains excluded
the glare of the sun from the three-windowed recess in the
‘saloon, I beguiled many hours there, in the attempt faithfully
MISTAREN KINDNESS. 299

to reproduce with my needle on crash the apple-blossom of the
orchard, the crocus of the meadow, the crimson carnation —
almost the national emblem in Tyrol—and other flowers of the
locality.

The Hofbauer, perceiving our love of the old place, and being
desirous to show his regard and retain us as his tenants, acted

 

ONE OF THE OLD DOORS.

contrary to his firmly-rooted antipathy to innovations and
needless expenditure, and began signalising our arrival by a
series of surprises, that on more than one occasion filled us with
blank dismay. He replaced old hexagonal panes by modern
square ones, stencilled the walls of the saloon to imitate a first-
class waiting-room in a Tyrolese railway station, and had the
300 MARY HOWITT.

dull green panels and gold mouldings of the doors coarsely
painted over to represent satin-wood and mahogany, and the
finely-wrought ironwork of the locks obliterated. It was a real
injury—something that grated on one’s nerves and set one’s
teeth on edge. It was all the more painful from being a worse
than useless effort on his part to please.

Fortunately, a few old doors in a side-corridor, with classic
subjects painted in distemper on the panels, and arabesques on
the frames, much faded by time, but having a stamp of ancient
grandeur that suited the physiognomy of the house, had been
overlooked. We pleaded their merits, and they remained.
Thus has experience taught us never to desire signs of care and
improvement about the weather-stained old place.

Our quiet industry at Dietenheim was at times most agree-
ably diversified by the visits of valued friends. Hither,
amongst others, came on a second visit, in the summer of 1878,
Miss Freeman Clarke, bringing with her the result of much
patient wanderings about Italy and even Tyrol, in her collec-
tion of exquisite pen-and-ink drawings of the various scenes of
Dante’s exile. She had long been a resident in Rome, and
closely associated with our life there, but was then bound for a
new home in Georgia. We wished her God-speed with sorrow-
ful hearts, for we knew, in all probability, we should not meet
on earth again. It never entered our minds that such would
be the case with another welcome guest who left us at the same
time. This was the large- hearted, nobly-endowed young writer,
James Macdonell, the husband of my niece, Annie Harrison.
His lucid, rapid thoughts, expressed in easy, polished language,
had charmed and enlivened our little domestic circle.
CHAPTER XVI.

1879—1882.

Durine the last seven years of my husband’s life we occu-
pied small but pleasant quarters in the Via Sistina, close to
his favourite Pincio. The back windows looked across a little
garden of luxuriant southern vegetation, filled with scattered
fragments of old Roman friezes and statues, to the frescoed
walls of the house in the Via Gregoriana, which had been occu-
pied for many years by our old friend, the American actress,
Miss Charlotte Cushman. Above its quaint tiled roof and
picturesque Joggia, we surveyed the slopes of the Janiculum
and rejoiced in those brilliant sunsets which Claude Lorraine
had loved to paint from his near-lying studio windows; until,
alas! Miss Cushman having long since returned to America,
and her Roman dwelling passing into other hands, it was
transmogrified by the addition of two storeys and a flat roof,
which blocked out our long stretch of the Janiculum ridge,
dotted with stone-pines, and prominently terminated to the
right by the mighty dome of St. Peter’s.

I have always desired to retain each precious thread of
friendship, never letting it wholly slip through my fingers,
although it may be years since I held it first. This made me
most highly estimate our residing in Rome, whither all roads
seemed truly to tend, bringing us in contact with an infinite
variety of old friends and acquaintances. Each season we felt
more at home in the great centre of learning, art, and religion,
notwithstanding the ruthless spoliation carried on under the
guise of needful advance ; and in the annually changing society
of winter visitors we always found ourselves meeting earlier

associates.
302 MARY HOWITT.

After the temporal downfall of the Pope, ur of ‘“ Mastai
Ferretti,” as a plain man-Friend of our acquaintance deemed
it right to call him, the Evangelical bodies were eager to show
their sympathy and interest with Rome, from the belief that
her political situation must impel her to seek the alliance and
support of Protestants; and it was to me like a strange resus-
citation to behold intelligent, highly-cultivated Quakers,
whose forefathers were connected with my earliest recollec-
tions and family traditions, walking amid the original scenes
of those engravings by Piranesi, which had so deeply stirred
my youthful imagination.

There were other Evangelical Christians, more or less in
unity with Friends, who included a visit to Pius the Ninth in
their Roman sojourn, and even went up the Scala Santa on
their knees. There were others who, for conscience sake,
went even farther. We had a very pleasant call in the spring
of 1876 from the widow of John Bright’s youngest brother,
Samuel, accompanied by Thomas Richardson, of Jarrow, author
of “The Future of the Society of Friends,’ and Edward
Robson, of Sunderland; and she told us that, of the four
Quaker brothers, the Lucases, three had gone over to Popery ;
that some of their sons were now priests; and that Samuel
Lucas, editor of the Morning Star, was the only one who
remained a Protestant.

My husband’s life-long advocacy of peace principles brought
us in contact, in November, 18738, with Mr. Dudley Field, Mr.
Richard, M.P. for Merthyr Tydvil, and other gentlemen
selected to promote international arbitration instead of war.
Mr. Richard had, I believe, earlier carried the resolution in
Parliament by an accident; for had there been an ordinary
house, it would have been negatived by a large majority. His
having so done, however, and thereupon receiving an address in
support of his views, signed by a million working-men in Great
Britain, made a profound impression on the Continent. In
Rome, Mancini, Professor of International Law, carried the
motion unanimously in the Chamber of Deputies. Mr. Richard
and his colleagues were cordially welcomed by the citizens; and
an enterprising milliner, turning the sentiment of the moment
to the advantage of her trade, introduced the Chapeau Richard,
or Arbitration Bonnet. It was of soft grey silk, fastened on
ENGLISH CLERGYMEN. 303

one side by a dove of oxidised silver with an olive-branch in
its beak.

Although William and I never cared for dinners or late
evening parties, and avoided so-called “society,” with its petty
jealousies and struggles for precedence, we thoroughly appre-
ciated that agreeable interchange of heart and mind with
friends and neighbours which yields present delight and fills
the memory with enduring satisfaction. Possessing no predi-
lection for the Church of England, we yet highly esteemed
many of its ministers, and were on excellent terms with the
clergy in charge of the English Chapel in Rome. Thus, on
our first arrival we had agreeable intercourse with the then
chaplain, Mr. Shadwell, and his family. I next remember
Mr. Grant holding the same post. He was from Yorkshire,
and full of goodbeartedness and true human sympathies.
There were, besides, two younger clergymen—one a desperate
Radical, who took to my husband as holding the same views ;
the other a smooth-faced Ritualist, full of self-control and
devotion, who remains in my mind as a young evangelist.
From my heart can never be effaced the impression made by
the Christ-like minister of the Gospel, the Rev. Somerset
Burtchaell, who, more than a missionary to the Jews in the
Ghetto, was a universal peace-maker. We mourned much his
premature death, which occurred in Jerusalem. The Rev.
Henry Wasse, the present chaplain, came from solitary, remote
Axe Edge, in Derbyshire. He knew the Mackarnesses and
other friends of ours.

Here I would record that the concourse of English visitors
to Rome brought, in the Easter of 1871, the incumbent of the
village church which I had attended when we dwelt at The
Orchard; a guileless character, whose one thought was how
faithfully to do his duty, both to God and man. It was quite a
joy to us that he came. The next spring we met again, at first
accidentally on the Spanish steps, the Unitarian minister, Dr.
Sadler, and his wife; he whose thoughtful, poetic sermons had
soothed and stirred my mind when we dwelt at Clapton and
St. John’s Wood. How pleased were we to see once more, and
that in Rome, our old acquaintance of Nottingham, Philip
Bailey, the author of “ Festus,” who had come with his wife
from their island home in Guernsey for a six weeks’ tour in
304 MARY HOWITT.

Italy. In March, 1873, the gentle and refined Mr. Edward
Clifford and his sister were in the Eternal City. They sang
together beautiful hymns and spoke much with us of Broad-
lands and Sister Elizabeth.* And at the same time arrived Sir
William FitzHerbert, from his stately and retired home in
Derbyshire. In 1876, at Christmas, Professor Boyd Dawkins
quite captivated us by his lively descriptions of his exploits
in old bone-caves. In the spring of 1879 came our literary
co-worker and much-esteemed friend, the deservedly popular
author, Dr. Samuel Smiles, and his wife, ever his true helpmate.
We also found among the established residents the Countess
Gigliucci, with whom, when Clara Novello, we had enjoyed
travelling many years earlier.

Among the numerous Americans whom we had the plea-
sure of meeting were, in the season of 1870—71, the two
clever daughters of the philosopher, Amos Bronson Alcott.
The one, Louisa, who already had attained celebrity by her
“ Old-fashioned Girl”? and “ Little Women,” found time, amid
much sight-seeing and company, to write in Rome her “ Little
Men”: the other, May, meanwhile devoting herself to land-
scape-painting. Moncure Conway, when preparing his
lectures on the “ Natural History of the Devil,” for delivery
at the Royal Institution, paid a flying visit to Rome in the
spring of 1872. He supposed that Rome must offer him rich
contributions for his demonology, but, if I remember rightly,
in this he was disappointed. 1873 brought the Bayard Taylors.
He was changed since last we met from a handsome young
bachelor, of slender person and equally slender means, into a
powerfully built middle-aged man, evidently enjoying the
good things of this life, and that best earthly reward, a
sensible, agreeable wife. In February, 1874, Mrs. Adeline
D. Whitney stayed, with her husband and daughter, at the
Hétel de la Paix. She was in person, manner, and conver-
sation just what the author of “The Gayworthys” and other
good, womanly books ought to be. The following winter came
the Pattons, both clever and guileless, she the same sweet singer
as the Abby Hutchinson of thirty years earlier; and Walton,
the son of our Quaker correspondent, Daniel Ricketson, of New

* Mr. Clifford has since personally rendered signal service to the late Father
Damien, apostle of the lepers, in Molokai.
FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCE. 305

Bedford—he had something amazingly fresh and attractive
about him! And although we have never been granted the
privilege of seeing face to face the home-abiding poet Whittier,
the bond of sympathy and mutual regard was drawn closer in
Rome by kindly messengers bringing us his verbal and written
greetings.

In our valued friend, the mother of Mr. Osborne Morgan,
we had an agreeable link with Scandinavia and North Wales,
as she had spent many years of her youth in Sweden, and took
a keen interest in all pertaining thereto. On one occasion,
when she was calling on me, charming Anna Hjerta-—now
Madame Retzius, of Stockholm—a beautiful specimen of a
Swedish woman, entered. It proved, in conversation, that her
mother and Mrs. Morgan had been friends in their youth.
This further led to Anna’s mentioning that her mother was
closely related to the unfortunate Karl Wilhelm Jerusalem,
whose suicide was the cause of Goethe publishing his romance,
“ The sorrows of Young Werther”; an act which had caused
the Jerusalems much just indignation.

Madame Jerichau, the clever painter of portraits and genre,
who was likewise present, remarked, turning to Mademoiselle
Hjerta, “It is curious. You are a direct link with Werther,
and I am an indirect link with the heroine, Lotte; for when I
was first in Rome, in my young days, Kestner, the then
chargé @affaires for Hanover, and who was her son, wanted to
marry me.”

Mrs. Morgan and her two daughters constantly wintered in
Rome; and the Sandbaches came one season. Mr. Penry
Williams, whose fifty years of residence in Rome was festively
celebrated, much to the hero’s surprise, by some appreciative
friends in December, 1876, dwelt at 42, Piazza Mignanelli,
surrounded by his admirable sketches and glowing oil-paintings
of Italy and her Contadini, which he showed in his accustomed
quiet, unobtrusive way. Miss Rhoda Broughton may also be
classed in the Welsh list, from her residence in the Principality
with her married sister, who accompanied her to Rome in the
early part of 1874.

In Rome our connection with the antipodes was brought
prominently before us. Not only Mr. G. W. Rusden, of
Melbourne, but other Australians just arrived from Naples or

x
306 MARY HOWITT.

Brindisi on their way to England, dropped in to see us. An
accidental visit, moreover, to the studio of a sculptor named
Summers made us acquainted with the artist of the monument
erected by the Victorian Government to Burke and Wills,
and which commemorates in statuary the offices performed by
our son.

In the spring of 1877 we had the joy of welcoming our
faithful friend, Miss Margaret Gillies, whose affectionate
and enthusiastic nature luxuriated in a sojourn at Rome. It
was a time of exquisite happiness mingled with pain, for our
beloved and gifted friend, Margaret Foley, was then already
treading the Valley of the Shadow of Death in sickness, weari-
ness, and agony, which were to end, the following December,
in death.

The friendship of Baron and Baroness von Hoffmann was a
great blessing to this poor sufferer and ourselves, and cast a
golden effulgence over my husband’s closing hours. He
delighted to wander with them, in familiar converse, about the
extensive grounds of their beautiful home, which possesses the
grandest view of Rome that I can recall. It embraces much of
the imperial city, the cupola of St. Peter’s, the vast Campagna,
with its engirdling mountains; a landscape scattered over far
and wide with ancient aqueducts, dull red and ivied walls,
ruins, temples, churches, monasteries, presenting an epitome,
as it were, of classic and Christian Rome. Old box-hedges, or
rather walls, neatly clipped, bound the gardens, alleys, and
approaches to the mansion, and send forth in the sun their
peculiar odour. Ancient statues of old Romans, broken
friezes, torsos, and sarcophagi, all genuinely pagan and charac-
teristic spoils of the soil, flank the sunny terraces and the dark
avenue of wide-spreading ilexes; whilst an old stone seat em-
bowered in luxuriant foliage, and facing Monte Cavo, marks
the spot where, according to the inscription, the apostle of
Rome, kind St. Philip Neri, “conversed with his disciples on
the things of God.”

Scenes are these of beauty and plenty ; nay more, of awe-
inspiring devotion. On this self-same Ccclian Hill, the very
pearl of Rome to English Christians, St. Gregory, from his
home and monastery, sent to our heathen forefathers, through
St. Augustine, faith, baptism, and Holy Writ. Here, in other
DEATH OF WILLIAM HOWITT. 307

hallowed precincts, hearts have bled and prayed, and hands
have worked for Britain. It is a locality once possessing the
house of the Christian lady, Cyriaca, in whose portico the
deacon Laurence distributed alms; and still possessing the
rude retreat of the great abolitionist of slavery, St. John de
Matha—a locality, in fact, where, from the time the sacred
grove of the Camenz skirted the hill, saints have left their
impress. As I think of this my soul echoes the melodious
verses of my friend, Madame Belloc, commemorative of the
Coelian Hill.

The last visit my husband ever paid was to his favourite
associates on this Ceelian Hill in January, 1879. He appeared.
quite well up to the middle of the month, when he caught a
cold that brought on bronchitis. He had, however, un-
consciously to himself and others, been suffering for some
months from a valvular disease of the heart, which the
bronchial attack revealed. On Monday afternoon, March 3,
1879, he expired.

Mrs. ALFRED Watts To MapamMeE BopicHon.

“55, Via Sistina, Rome, March 9, 1879.—I am deeply
grateful to our Heavenly Father for the marvellous manner in
which He has comforted and sustained our darling mother
through these long weeks of greatest anxiety ; and now, in the
first sharp surprise of her bereavement, her peace of mind, her
joy in the belief in my father’s peace and joy are marvellous
to behold. Indeed, we all feel a strength, nay, even,
strange as it may sound, an inward joy, which is not of
this earth.

‘My father bade us in departing to rejoice with him, not to
mourn, and we seem to lie in the reflex of his bright hope. He
met the approach of death with the same brave heart that
he had ever shown throughout his career. His intellect was
bright to the very end, and his whole spirit merged into intense
love—love to God, love to man, love to all created things. The
innermost tenderness of a most tender heart bloomed forth and
exhaled itself in a perfume as of Heaven itself.

“He sent his love and his blessing to all his friends; so I
give you your share. We all felt very much indeed your
writing that kind letter yourself. God bless you, dear Barbara,

x2
308 MARY HOWITT.

and may all lovely days of old be transfigured again into yet
better days. God’s hand is for ever outstretched, and there is
no end to His bountiful gifts and heavenly outpourings to all
the creatures who love Him. He may transform us, but the
transformations are only into lovelier, more subtle, and exqui-
site forms. And our days end not here.”

Tue Same to Miss Marcaret GILLizs.

“ Rome, March 10, 1879.—When Mr. Duncan was here my
beloved father was sick unto death; but we knew that you
would so take it to heart that we dared not then let you know.
Dear Octavia, too, came ; and how sweet and noble-hearted she
is! She knew, and said she would break the news to you. We
are aware what a severing of an old, old friendship this must
seem to you. Yet itis but aseeming! Love is an immortal
creature, Time and Death render her stronger and grander ;
and only when we enter behind the veil may we sce how
glorious she has become through trial and pain.

“When dear Alfred and I arrived here three weeks ago
yesterday, we found our beloved father looking but little
changed in his countenance ; only a shade thinner and paler in
the face. But so ethereal-looking! He was very quiet. He
was not permitted by the doctor to speak much. He was
sitting in the dining-room, in his easy-chair, propped up with
pillows. He wore his crimson-lined, dark-blue dressing-gown
and a little black silk cap.

«A fearful hemorrhage had come on when the bronchial
symptoms had lessened, and it was the fact of this hemorrhage,
and the news sent us by Meggie of the heart being affected,
that made Alfred and me set off at an hour’s notice. Whata
journey we had! And how all seemed a terrible yet beautiful
dream as we rushed across France and Italy! Italy always
has, some way, been to me the ideality of grief; and she
put on her robe of plaintive beauty to greet us on that
journey. I scarcely expected to see my father alive. But
how much consolation, how much store of golden memories,
were to be given us during the fortnight that we were all
blended into one heart and soul, as it were, in this crucible of
suffering Love!
AT REST. 309

“TI found my beloved mother wonderfully calm and sus-
tained, and my dear father love, meekness, and patience; the
servants, good, fat Louisa, and that faithful Gaetano—you
know them—most devoted. My father inspired the strongest
esteem in a wide circle of friends. All sought to minister to
him and my mother. Indeed, during this time we all feel that
ours has been a very banquet of love. Prayers went up daily both
here, in Tyrol, and in England; most tender fervent prayers
for him. I believe that very many Catholics prayed for him,
and even had Masses said for him in some of the churches here.
A very cloud of prayer, like incense, was always ascending ;
and the prayers had their fulfilment, in the tenderest state of
mind, in his gradually relaxing hold upon this outer sphere,
in his yearning for the higher life, in a perfectly internal
state of peace, and in the gentle termination of a sickness
which might have been terrible both from length and intensity.

“This day week—Monday, March 3—at half-past three
o’clock in the afternoon—we all round him, good Dr. Nevin
having been to see him, and having read with deep feeling the
‘Prayers for the Sick’—the end came! It came fully
expected by us all, longed for by him. He must in some
mysterious manner have had an intimation of the very hour of
his departure, because, asking some one to tell him the hour,
and learning that it was one o’clock—‘Only one!’ he ex-
claimed in a tone as if greatly disappointed. ‘Then I have yet
some hours to struggle!’ His breathing was much oppressed ;
and after blessing us all—‘all his friends, and all the world!’
—and bidding Dr. Nevin good-bye, he did not speak again,
except to say rapidly and with a joyful sort of impatience,
‘Lift up my hands! Lift up my hands.’ This my mother
and I did, standing, as we were, one on each side of his bed.
His hands were heavy and cold like marble. His eyes were
closed. Death had set his seal upon the beloved white face.

“Two days after this, with every honour that his friends in
Rome could show to his mortal remains, he was laid in one of
the sunniest of spots in that most beautiful of all burial-places,
the Protestant cemetery here—‘ that place,’ as Shelley said,
‘to make one in love with death.’ His dear chrysalis reposes,
beneath heaped-up garlands, near to the grave of Gibson.
You know the spot, and can picture it all. There was a
310 MARY HOWITT.

beautiful service, arranged by kind Dr. Nevin for the occa-
sion; and the choir from the American Church was present,
singing lovely hymns in the mortuary chapel, and then
over the grave. Every one sought to do his memory honour.
Again, I say, we can only bless and praise God; praise in the
beginning and praise in the ending.

“Ts it not singular that precisely at the same hour and upon
the self-same day, at the old home of his childhood in Eng-
land, my father’s younger and last-surviving brother, Francis,
long an invalid, passed away? They have become, so to
speak, twins in the new birth.”

My beloved husband was wont to say, “There was no cause
to lament such exits. The ripe fruit must drop, and now and
then a night’s frost severs the young fruit too from the tree.”
Most true! for on March 2, consequently the preceding day,
our much-prized young kinsman, James Macdonell, was
snatched away by death, at the commencement of a most
promising literary career.

Mr. Augustus Hare, now so indelibly associated in literature
with Rome, attended, with other sympathisers, my husband’s
mortal remains to their last resting-place in the cypress-shaded.
Campo Santo, the strangers’ burial-ground, which, just within
the circle of mighty Rome, is guarded by the ancient tower-
crested walls of Aurelian and the blackened white marble
pyramid of Caius Cestius.

The old Romans, amidst the funeral games of gladiators,
solemnly bore, with inverted torches, the ashes of their beloved
to sepulture on the Appian Way. It seems to me I have in
these pages led the reader, stage by stage, to the tombs of my
departed. It must be so in the reminiscences of a very old
woman, who has survived the majority of her kindred and
contemporaries. Yet is not the life of each one of us a Via
Appia from the cradle to the grave? Well for us when we
have not to ask, as Peter had of Him he met on that sacred
way, “ Domine quo vadis ?”

To Miss Marcaret GILiigs.

“ April 18, 1879,—Dear Octavia and Miss Yorke are very
CARDINAL NEWMAN. 311

comfortably settled near us, and yesterday Miranda arrived;
therefore Meggie and I went over in the evening to welcome
her. They all seemed so happy and bright that we were
drawn into their cheerful spirit, and told our bits of experience
of Roman life; and everything seemed to take a comic turn.
But oh! when we got out of the house into the street, coming
home, we felt as if we must cry, not laugh; and so I have
felt all day. I cannot bear having people here, we so sadly
miss dear William, and all his pleasant, interesting stories, and
the sympathy he had in everything that went on round us.
You do not know, and yet I am sure you do, how deeply I feel
my loss. But I will try not to dwell upon it.

“You have thought very often and affectionately of us
and our return to England. I shall never now, so far as I
can see, desire to return there as a home; for since William’s
mortal remains are laid in the beautiful cemetery here, there
is a space reserved for me by his side, and I wish to die in
Rome.

To Mrs. ALFRED Warts.

~ 86, Via Sistina, May 12, 1879.—I think we shall be very
comfortable in these spacious lodgings for the remaining
fortnight of our stay. This house, you know, is exactly
opposite our old home, and we have flitted across the street
to-day. There are great goings on at the Vatican in the
creation of the new Cardinals. It makes quite an excitement
in the clerical world. We only get very passing glimpses of the
important proceedings. For instance, about two hours ago,
after leaving No. 55 for the last time, just as we stepped
out of the street-door we had the edification of seeing a very
sombre-looking carriage-and-pair drive up. It brought back
Dr. Newman from the Vatican. That most interesting old
man, on alighting, tenderly embraced another son of St. Philip,
one of his attendants from England, and who, in the Oratorian
black cassock and white collar, had been standing for some
time on the pavement, evidently awaiting his return. Then
they passed lovingly together under the large arched entrance
just below No. 55; for Newman is located in our close neigh-
bourhood, in the house where Signor Vertunni, the landscape-
312 MARY HOWITT.

painter, lives. I have a great desire to hear him; only he will
not preach anywhere ; at least, so it is said.

“Now I shall leave my writing and take the pamphlet on
‘Buddhism in China,’ and read by the fire, for it is so cold,
with the rain falling, falling, and our little apartment opposite
standing quite dismantled.”

Tue SamME To THE SAME.

“ Rome, May 21, 1879.—I have lent Mrs. Terry the Budd-
hist pamphlet. She, too, takes an interest in the subject, as her
son, Marion Crawford, a young fellow brought up at Oxford,
has somewhat suddenly turned his attention to Sanscrit, for
which he found in himself a great capacity. He has now gone
to Bombay, and he writes to his mother about the wonderful
wisdom and the pure morality of the Zend-Avesta; and how,
when people understand what the teaching of that theology is,
boys and young men will not be corrupted by the immorality
of classical learning and literature, to which so many years are
devoted. Now, when Mrs. Terry brings it back, I shall have
the extract from your letter for her. But, dear Annie, I want
to ask whether you think the children of Israel being carried
into captivity to Babylon upwards of five hundred years before
the Christian era might not indoctrinate those Eastern sages
with the wisdom which God gave through the Israelitish
prophets, taking with them the grand prophecies of Christ,
the Son of a Virgin, the Prince of Peace, &c. The recluses
and hermits of the Buddhist faith are but an earlier version of
the hermits of the Thebaid. I suppose all this has been
worked out and made clear by some of the many minds which
are now turned to these subjects.”

Tuer Same To THE SAME.

“ Meran, June 12, 1879.—I thank you very much for the
touching little intimations of the spirit-world which you sent
me. I wonder very much whether good Catholics would
accept anything of the kind. Would Father , for instance,
sanction dear Julia having tokens of love and recognition from
her spirit-mother? We know they recognise such tokens

 
“ THE SEVEN TEMPTATIONS.” 313

when they come to their saints; yet they regard them as snares
of the Evil One when they come to those outside the pale of
their Church. We are just now reading Cardinal Newman’s
‘Callista,’ a lovely, pure, and noble story of the early Chris-
tian times.”

Tue SAME TO THE SAME.

“ Dietenheim, July 15, 1879.—Now let me thank you for your
kind appreciation of ‘The Seven Temptations.’ I am so glad
that in re-perusing it you found it good. The publication of
that book was such a painful blow to me, or rather to my
authorly pride and conceit, that I never really got over it.
Nobody, reader or critic, seemed at the time to think anything
of it, excepting Mr. W. J. Fox, who gave a most kind review
of it in the Monthly Repository. It was called in the Literary
Gazette ‘blasphemous,’ and everywhere, as I remember, rather
scoffed at. I have never had the heart to read the book since.
If it be a good book, then I am thankful, for it will be recog-
nised in Heaven; and the writing of it was a delightful en-
thusiasm of poetic fervour and of hope. But, dearest, it has
all been discipline. I do not complain; it has been good for
me. I was very ambitious in those days; and I am glad to
think that I had my disappointments and my crucifixions.”

To MavameE Bopicnon.

“ Dietenheim, Sept. 2, 1879.—You, dear Barbara, belong to
those peculiar old times which live in my memory and my
heart like the sweet poetry of life, which one must not expect
to continue on to old age. But how bright and lovely it is in
memory! And the sorrows and disappointments of later life
never dim it.

“We are come, you see, to our old summer home, where
eight summers in dear William’s companionship had been so
happily spent. Some of our friends wondered at it; but there
was no home to us like this, where he had been so happy, and
where remained only tender and lovely memories of him.

“We stayed, by the way, at Meran, where there is an excel-
lent physician. As I was out of health, we thought it best to
314 MARY HOWITT.

see him first; and we have decided now to spend the coming
winter there, instead of returning to Rome; thus, if I am
spared, avoiding the long journeys to and fro.”

To Mrs. Arrrep Watts.

“ Dietenheim, Sept. 26, 1879.—No heavenly intimations
come to me as yet; and I feel so painfully that I am un-
worthy. I formerly shut my heart against spiritualism. I
even said to your dear father, ‘Don’t come to me after death,
for I should disbelieve you. I should remember the false,
deceiving spirits that have come, and reject even you as false.’
How bitterly I repent it now! I have asked in prayer that
my sins might go beforehand to judgment; and I think all
have been brought to my remembrance, from the very days of
my childhood ; and I seek for repentance, and pray for a sign
of acceptance. If I were a Catholic I should ask counsel
from my confessor. But God, if he would condescend so far,
could do more for me than man, I will not trouble you with
these things. Only, the remembrance of the past, and of my
own perverseness and my own shortcomings, presses heavily
upon me at times. If one could only live up to one’s mercies :
Day by day see how unspeakably great they are; such a
gracious supply for all our wants; such a surrounding us with
good people; such a making of our daily path not only easy,
but pleasant. Surely, surely all this can be nothing else but
an evidence of the love of God! Yes, it is so, I know. But
then I want something more. I want the knowledge in myself
that I am accepted. I longed for this in the early days of
spiritualism. I heard of the new life that had come to Mrs.
Cc , and aimost envied her the blessing. I wish, now, that
we had gone on accepting what came, without criticising and
carping. Then perhaps a fuller measure had been given to me
at last. Your father, though he rejected much, yet held fast
by that which was the mainstay and foundation of all true
faith—confidence in Christ Jesus and the nearness of the
spiritual world. What a blessing it was! I seem to be com-
plaining. In truth, I am not. I am only telling you how I
am seeking, as it were, to recover lost ground, and praying in
my poor, feeble way for a sign of acceptance.”

 
MARIENRUHE. 315

“ Meran, Nov. 29, 1879.—To-day dear Julia’s present, the
‘Life of Ozanam,’ has come. I have been reading it this after-
noon. It is quite a comfort to me to find him a Catholic.
Faber has spoiled me for any religious reading of the Pro-
testant type, however good it may be. Two such works have
recently been sent to me. I have read them conscientiously ;
but they do not seem to me to have the true unction of spiritual
life in them. In this we shall find it.

“Tf you should happen to see Christina Rossetti, please to
give my kind regards to her. I saw a little poem of hers,
some two or three years ago, which uttered, as it were, a cry
out of my own heart—to be delivered from Se/f It was the
whole cry of an earnest soul embodied in a few words; a
wonderful little outburst of prayer. I think it was in an
American magazine, or perhaps Good Words ; I was so sorry I
did not copy it.”

To Miss Juxia Lear.

“ Meran, April 8, 1880.—I wonder whether Annie has told
you about a project, which seems to have grown up in a
wonderful way of itself, or as if invisible hands had been
arranging it, that we should have a little home of our own ‘im
heiligen Land Tirol.’ This really is a very great mercy, seeing
that Tyrol is so beautiful, the air so pure and fresh, the climate
so beneficial to health, and the people, taken as a whole, very
honest and devout. Our little nest of love, which we shall
call ‘Marienruhe,’ will be perched on a hill with beautiful views,
surrounded by a small garden.”

To Mrs. AtFRED Watts.

“ Schloss Pallaus, Brizen, June 13, 1880.—What a great
pleasure we had in your letter and its interesting details! For
my part, I am fully persuaded that not the smallest work of
love shall fail, in God’s time, of its accomplishment; and
that whilst we are mere bunglers in this school of life,
our training here, with the Divine blessing, will fit us to
produce in that great hereafter marvels of beauty to the

glory of God.
316 MARY HOWITT.

“You are right in supposing that we are spending a delight-
ful time with Baron and Baroness Ernst von Schénberg. They
and Meggie have now gone a walk; and I am resting in the
blue sitting-room, which adjoins my bedroom. IfI step out
on the balcony, I see the fresco on the wall above, depicted in
a bold style in red. It runs along the upper portion of the
western front. The subject is a tournament, the figures a
great deal larger than life, very bold and grand. The castle,
which is under the protection of the Archangel Michael, was
built in 1492 ; so it is old, but has no ghosts. At the present
time the large blue iris, with its broad blue-green leaves, which
is planted on every space of the indented parapets, is now in
full bloom, making the battlements a garland of natural
beauty, encircling the old stronghold. I never saw anything
like it before; and you would admire it as much as
I do.”

“ Meran, Dec. 27, 1880.—Your letters of the 23rd and the
24th came together this morning, both of them bringing news
of deaths very different from each other, yet each affecting us
deeply. Dearest Julia! what can we say of her removal that
you have not already said? It is a glorious change for her.
We cannot imagine one greater from that long, weary bed of
suffering, that long, living crucifixion, to the glory, the peace,
the fulness of existence into which she has entered, and that
not as a temporary thing, not asa simple variety and relaxa-
tion, but as a perfect state for ever and ever. No more suffer-
ing, no more grief, no more change, unless it be into a higher
state of blessedness. Happy Julia! We must rejoice for her;
and though she is removed from her dear earthly friends, yet
many among them feel that she does not lie under the green
sod, but is of a truth in the blue heavens of God’s life and
love, and sooner or later will be amongst the St. Philips
and the St. Cecilias, with whom she was so kindred on
earth. What a blessed faith is that of the good sincere
Catholic, to whom the glorious other world is only next
door !

‘‘We have felt an astonishment, a sort of awe almost, in
hearing of the death of George Eliot. What a wonderful
change, too, for her! What can the discovery of yet con-
A CATHOLIC CONVERT. 317

tinued life be to those who had not believed in it? Oh, how
strange it is!”

“Schloss Pallaus, July 5, 1881.—Here are we, so far on our
way to Dietenheim, lodged like two princesses, and in the
midst of kindness. Besides ourselves are two lady-visitors.
One is French, the other an American, whom we and your dear
father knew in Rome. She isa pervert, with whom he had

 

MARIENRUHE.

what seemed to me at the time a hot controversy on the
Catholic faith and people turning to it, and which, I had
feared, must have offended her. She says, ‘No, not
at all!’ and that she respected his fervour. She says,
moreover, that it was my translation of MHerder’s holy
legend—

‘ Among green, pleasant meadows,
All in a grove so wild,
Was set a marble image
Of the Virgin and the Child,’
318 MARY HOWITT.

in my ‘Seven Temptations,’ which first, when she was quite
young, inclined her heart to the Catholic faith; and that in
this way I may be considered the cause of her perversion. After
we leave comes, this week, Lady Herbert. Our dear friends,
Count and Countess Hompesch, are spending the summer, with
their two little boys, Pius and Paul, at an adjacent villa in this
hamlet of Sarns.”

On May 26, 1880, at Obermais, Meran, I had laid the first
stone of the house represented in the woodcut. It commands
on its four sides the most rich and varied landscapes.

To Mrs. Atrrep Watts.

“‘ Marienruhe, March 16, 1882.—It is perfect summer
weather, without a cloud from week’s end to week’s end. All
you say about my low fits is true; and if it were not that I
am so afraid of laying the flattering unction to my soul, as if
the Heavenly Father might be satisfied with me because I do
my best, I really could have great peace of mind, and even
joy, in the sense of the continued Divine goodness; only I
know that God’s sun shines on the unjust as well as the just.
Then I know of a certainty that I have not deserved the
blessings with which every passing day is stored, and
that, like Dives, I may be receiving my good things in this
life. I often try to comfort myself with these lines of
Cowper’s :— ,

‘ Sometimes a light surprises
The Christian while he sings ;
It is the Lord, who rises
With healing in His wings.’

“ Now, if I really were not afraid of the unsurpassed peace
and happiness of my outward life, I might bask, as it were,
in continued sunshine, rejoicing ever. But then I know my-
self ; I know the awful shortcomings, the actual sin of my long

life; and so I get very sad, wanting an assurance of salvation,
of forgiveness.”

“Marienruhe, Aprii 14, 1882.—You will have had my letter
by this time showing you that the sad news of your dearest
 

 

 

VIEW FROM MARIENEUHE (LOOKING WEST).
 
  
ANNA HARRISON. 321

aunt’s great illness had reached us. We must now look for
theend. Oh! it is very sorrowful. Yet how beautiful, how
full of love and good works her dear life has been! One’s
heart naturally clings so to beloved relatives on earth, who
have been ever ready to speak words of love and tenderness.
My dear, dear sister and true friend, may it only please our
Lord to make me as fully prepared for the great future when
my hour comes! Your dearest aunt found a place of rest for
her soul, an anchor for her faith, in the Church of England,
which was all-sufficient for her. This seems to me a great
privilege, even though that which satisfied her never could
satisfy me. I am so thankful for her.”

“* April 15, 1882.—The sad tidings has reached us. I can-
not as yet realise that your dear aunt Anna has gone. Then I
have such an entire confidence in her happiness, in her well-
being, that I cannot feel heart-broken. She was so cheerful,
taking such a tender interest in that which interested others,
watching with such keen delight the coming out of spring
buds and blossoms. She enjoyed reading modern books of a
sweet religious tendency, not overflowing with the teaching of
creeds. Thus, one of her last letters was so full of that charm-
ing book, ‘ Journals and Letters of Caroline Fox,’ also of ‘ John
Inglesant.’ Her mind had not become old, her heart had
never become chilled. I know that my life is poorer now that
she is gone; but I will not murmur. I will do my endeavour
to foliow in her track ; to take hold, as it were, of the Saviour’s
hand—then I shall be safe.”
CHAPTER XVII.

1882—1888.

TuRNiNG now to some private notes for the year 1882, we find
it ushered in on January Ist with her prayer :—

“ OF outward pleasure, wealth or ease, dear Lord,
I do not ask increase,
I only ask, with Thee a sweet accord,
And that the end be peace.’’,

After some months occur the following entries :—

“ May 12.—Received a note from the Countess Hompesch
that her cousin, Father Ceslas de Robiano, would come with
them to afternoon tea. He is a Dominican, who, by order of
his superiors, remains on in Berlin, where their monastery has
been suppressed. He has suffered no little in the Culturkampf.
The Hompesches and Father de Robiano duly came. I was
deeply impressed by him. I spoke of my great desire for
baptism. I hope I did not say too much.”

“ May 14, Sunday.—F ather Ceslas called in the evening, I
again spoke with him of baptism; wishing I could have a
direct message from God, that an angel could come and tell me
what He would have me to do.

“To this the Dominican replied, ‘God speaks by His
messengers, saying, “He that heareth you, heareth Me. He
that despises you, despises Me.” But you would be right in
demanding from a stranger his credentials. Mine are the
Cross of Christ on my forehead, and the words He uttered to
me at my ordination, “As the Father hath sent Me, I also

send you.” I come from God, and with all the weight and
authority of the Catholic Church.’
CONVERSION. 323

“T spoke of the great difficulty I had concerning the honour
paid to the Virgin Mary, though I should like to love her ;
and he answered, ‘The hatred of the Blessed Virgin in the
world is the fulfilment of the Divine Word: “I will put
enmities between thee and the woman, and thy seed and her
seed: she shall crush thy head, and thou shalt lie in wait for
her heel.” Why, in Berlin, where I am known, the street-
boys, poor little fellows ! run after me, crying out to annoy me,
“ Hail Mary!”?

“He took out his breviary, opened it, and asked, ‘May I
read you a little prayer which a dear friend of mine, Pére
Besson, gave me at a very critical moment of my life ?’

“T expressed pleasure and surprise that he should have
known Pére Besson.

“¢Ah!’ he replied, with emotion, ‘he was my dear friend
—my brother. He was with me when I took the habit.’

“The prayer of the Dominican artist was written in French,
Father de Robiano’s native tongue, for he is a Belgian. He
read it very slowly, translating it into English :—‘O Jesus,
my Saviour, the only physician of my soul, I fling myself with
all my weakness and misery into Thy ever-open arms. Humi-
liated as I am by the sight of myself, I know perfectly well
that I am both ignorant and much mistaken about myself.
Thou, who seest in very truth, look mercifully on me. Lay
Thy healing hand on my wounds. Pour the salutary life-giving
balm of Thy love into my heart. Do for me what I have not
the courage to do for myself. Save me in spite of myself.
May I be Thine; wholly Thine, fand at all cost Thine: in
humiliation, in poverty, in suffering, in self-abnegation Thine:
Thine in the way Thou knowest to be most fitting, in order
that thereby Thou mightest be now and ever mine. Thou art
my Master, my Lord, my Saviour, my God. I am Thy poor
little creature, dependent alone on Thy merciful charity,
O Jesus ,my only hope.’

“ After this the question of baptism was decided, and even
the day fixed—May 26.”

“‘ May 15.—Very pleasant letter from Australia. All are
well; and my dear eldest grandchild, Charlton, was to sail on
May 4 for Europe.”

y¥2
324 MARY HOWITT.

“ May 19.—Father Ceslas came this morning. I question if
I learned much, but the conversation was interesting. I told
him I should never know what to say in my self-defence when
a Catholic. He advised me ‘to leave it to God. He always
did so, especially before magistrates; and in Prussia he had
been taken up five times.’ In my case it will never be so bad.
No one will take me before magistrates.”

“ May 22.—We talked together on Everlasting Punishment.
I said it was dreadful to imagine millions of souls burning in
torments for ever. Then Father Ceslas exclaimed, ‘ Who said
there were millions of souls? Who knows how many souls
wilfully reject God at the last? I remember when my brother
and I were studying law, a dear friend of ours studied with us.
He had an intense perception of the holiness of God. He was
ever thinking that if God was so pure, so just, He could never
pass over the least sin. He kept pondering and pondering
whether there were many or few saved; with his estimation
of the Divine Holiness he kept reducing and reducing the
number, so that they grew fewer and fewer each time we met.
At length my brother, who was a generous soul, could bear
this restriction of God’s mercy no longer. Up he rose in
righteous indignation, crying, “I tell you, Heaven is full of
scoundrels, murderers, fools, and blasphemers!’’’

“T yield to the doctrine of Everlasting Punishment ; trust-
ing all to the wisdom of God, which is far beyond my poor
comprehension. I know He is merciful, and that all He does
is right.”

“ May 25.—The permission arrives from Trent for my bap-
tism in the private chapel, arranged for the convenience of
Father de Robiano’s brother-in-law and sister, Count and
Countess Franz Stolberg-Wernigerode, in Schloss Rametz,
where they are staying. I shall have to read the profession
of faith in the Tridentine form, commonly called the Creed of
Pope Pius IV. It is all right, though it seemed to me a little
sweeping.”

“« May 26, 1882.—A very important day to me. I became a
member of the Church of Rome: I hope and trust directly of
INUNDATIONS. 325

Christ. It was all very beautiful. Ernst von Schénberg was
with me; and the act was performed in the midst of a heavenly
human family. Went later with Ernst and returned thanks
in the little church of St. Valentine.”

I write to my elder daughter from

“ Marienruhe, June 16, 1882.—Dear Charlton is here. He
is a quiet, well-bred, self-possessed youth ; a water-drinker, and
never smokes. He is all we can desire. This must satisfy you
for to-day.”’

To Miss Leicn Smiru.

“ Marienruhe, Oct. 6, 1882.—We thank you for so kindly
sending us the Graphic, and afterwards the Illustrated News.
We are interested in every incident of your brother Ben’s
voyage to Franz Joseph Land, the loss of his ship, and the
return of the explorer and his crew from Nova Zembla.
We were glad to have a peep of them in their hut on Cape
Flora. But above all were we thankful to see that the brave
man himself was so little changed; that, notwithstanding the
sufferings and hardships, it was just the same calm, thoughtful
face that I remember thirty or more years ago. I have always
felt toward Barbara, Ben, and| you as to none other of our
friends, as if in some mysterious way you were kindred to us.

“Of course, dear Nannie, you have heard of the awful
visitation of water which has come down upon poor old Tyrol
and the north of Italy. The misery, ruin, destruction, and
general devastation of hundreds of districts up in the mountains
is what nobody can conceive but those who have been shut up
there and cannot get away. Then, think of all those towns,
Verona, Trent, Bozen, Brixen, and poor old Bruneck, which
has, perhaps, lost more houses than any other place.”

To Mrs, ToDHUNTER.

“ Oct. 18, 1882.—How kind you have been in feeling anxiety
about us at Meran! But it has been mercifully spared; for,
excepting the breaking up of the railway and overflowing of
the river in the broad valley which extends on to Bozen,
destroying vineyards and orchards, the town itself, and all its
326 MARY HOWITT.

surrounding hills, with their numerous villages, have been
quite uninjured. Beyond this broad valley, which no doubt in
primeval times was a lake, all is ruin, desolation, loss, and
misery inconceivable. Our poor Pusterthal, so peaceful and
flourishing, like the once-beautiful region surrounding Trent
and Verona, is now a scene of devastation.

“The whole year has been abnormal in some respects; so
much wet, and so unusually cold; at least, it was so in Pus-
terthal. There was snow on the mountains, even in July,
fresh fallen, so cold was the weather, with rain in the lower
country. The summer harvests were got in with difficulty ;
the later crops must be all lost. The destruction of bridges,
mills, dwellings, almost entire villages, is so appalling and
heart-rending that one knows not how relief is to come, nor
even hope; because rain still continues; for, though it may
clear up and there be two fine days, electric clouds gather
and two days of rain certainly follow.

To Mrs. Gaunt.

“ Nov. 8, 1882.—We are very thankful just now for dry
weather, as we have had about ten days without rain; and
some of them very brilliant, belonging to the true character
of Meran. The end of October was awful; three days and
nights of incessant rain, which again produced floods, and
every provisional means to amend the former devastation was
again destroyed, carried away before the raging waters, and
much more ruin and damage produced than earlier. People in
some places were in despair. The military, who had in the
first instance been so helpful, had been withdrawn from most
of these quarters, and so the population, doing what they could
single-handed, left the rest to chance.

“In Bruneck, the cemetery was overflowed and the dead
carried out of their graves; the burial-vaults of families,
which had been built as if to last for centuries, were washed
away, almost like houses of cards. Some families, at the first
alarm of danger, removed their dead. It has been truly an
awful time. Dr. James Young, of Kelly, the discoverer of
paraffine, has sent me £100 for the relief of the inundated.
May our dear Lord bless him for it! The Austrian Govern-
CONFIRMATION. 327

ment, which is not rich, has sent large relief. But this second
flood has destroyed the work which the Government grant
enabled the various local authorities to effect.”

To Mrs. ALFRED Warts.

“ Schloss Pallaus, Brixen, Feb. 13, 1883.—We have arrived
here quite safely after a most prosperous journey ; looking,
however, with extreme and sorrowful interest at the dreadful
havoc caused by the inundations, which has transformed the
once-smiling, although grand valley of the Eisack into a
gloomy, desolate defile. Baron Schonberg was waiting for
his guests at the Brixen railway station, with various con-
veyances, and we drove by quite a new route to Pallaus; the
’ bridge over the Eisack having been swept away. We came
here into Alpine scenery, for within the last few days snow has
fallen here abundantly ; yet, the wind being in the south, the
air is quite mild.”

“ Pallaus, Feb. 15, 1883.—We went yesterday on our Con-
firmation errand to the Prince-Bishop of Brixen. It was all
very beautiful and solemn, but not at all sad. I, the old, old
woman, Mrs. W. , and Alice—three generations, as it
were—received the rite. The ceremony was in the private
chapel of the palace, and when it was over the Bishop received
us all in one of his grand yet simply-furnished old rooms.
The party consisted of Ernst and Bessie von Schonberg, Mr.
and Mrs. W- , Alice, Meggie, and myself, Dr. Mitter-
rutzner, Director of the Brixen Gymnasium, Father Paul, and
Mr. Basil Wilberforce. It isa pleasure to us that Alfred saw
Mr. Wilberforce, whom we consider one of our especial friends.
Although the weather had been for several days misty and
cloudy, the sun was by this time shining. As I was driving
with Bessie out of the court of the Bishop’s palace, the letter-
bag was put into the carriage, and a most kind, affectionate
letter from my dear Australian children was handed me.
It seemed to come like a recognition of approval and satis-
faction from a Power higher than merely earthly contrivance.
What a warm, loving reply I shall send by the next mail!”

 

 
328 MARY HOWITT.

“ Feb. 25, 1883.—The whole of the little journey to Brixen
and back, with its varied details, was so completely one
beautiful succession of harmonious links of love, that nothing
could have been more perfect. Nothing, too, that I ever
experienced or hoped for is so sweet, tender, and real as what
I now feel in my soul. Give thanks for me that there are
times, but only now and then, just now and then, when I feel
the reality of the spiritual life, and even its nearness, with
such intense love and gratitude to the Lord that I could
almost weep for joy.”

“ Kaster-Sunday, March 25, 1883.—A Happy Alleluia to
you! This is the paschal greeting which friend gives friend
here in Catholic Tyrol.

“‘T have been with Meggie and Alice to the parish church *
this morning, to High Mass. It was very beautiful and
stately. The church was quite full, even the aisles, with
praying men, women, and children—those dear little observant
children, some not above five years old, all attention, and
kneeling with small clasped hands. Then the rapt silence and
devotion of such an assembly. At the more solemn portions of
the service, when all regard the Lord as present, and every
man, woman, and child is kneeling, there is not a sound, not a
head turned as with curiosity to look about. It was this
morning as silent as if nobody was there. This, ] think, is
the most wonderful feature of Catholic devotion. I, who am
so sensitive to outward influences, find this mute attention of
-all around me most comfortable. Well, having said this much,
and again offered dear Alfred and you my salutation of a
Happy Alleluia, I will proceed to the next joyful subject, to
Raphael Weldon’s wedding, which was in the best style of
taste; and both bride and bridegroom very remarkable young
people. She, with her Girton honours, has a rank in intel-
lectual culture equal to one-half, at least, of the men who leave
our universities.”

“April 6, 1883.—Let me go back to the day before yester-
day, when we had our London guests. Mr. Woodall remained
at home with me, answering all my questions about everything
HARRY FURNISS. 329

in the political and public world that we are interested in. Of
course, he answered and explained all from his point of view,
looking at everything with much more favourable inferences
and opinions than we probably should. He does not fear
Fenian malice and revenge. It is only an epidemic in Ireland,
he thinks, such as occurs again and again, and then passes
away. He likewise thinks well of the Salvation Army. The
results of its labours in the Potteries seem wonderful. He has
presided at its meetings, and upholds it warmly.

“Well, all the time Mr. Woodall was indoctrinating my
mind on these subjects, Meggie and Alice were in the town
with genial Mr. Harry Furniss, who was photographing ;
not ‘ versing or prosing it,’ but ‘ picturesquing it everywhere.’
They showed him the old Burg, the town-house of Margaret
Maultasch, with all its quaint old furniture, with which he was
delighted. They stopped old men, old women, children, every-
thing that was effective, posed them, got up groups instanter ;
all were photographed, and people were delighted. It was the
merriest, most amusing morning. He has joined this Royal
Commission of Inquiry into Technical Education, not at their
expense, but his own, and gives a most amusing account of the
very hard work it has been to him. They posted on, and he
wanted to stay; and they said, ‘Now look, Furniss, here is a
magnificent scene for you. Take it all into your mind, make
notes of it, and you'll have a splendid picture!’ But that is
not what he wants, but rather what he has been doing in
Meran this morning: getting true little bits of picturesque-
ness that abound here, and which could never be imagined.
We wanted him to stay a day or two with us, as he found
Meran such a peculiarly pictorial place, and then catch up his
companions farther on the tour; but he thought it wisest not
to part from them.

“The secretary of the Commission is Mr, Gilbert Redgrave,
whose father I had the pleasure of meeting at Liverpool many
years ago. He has kindly sent me word through Mr. Woodall
that my ‘Steadfast Gabriel’ influenced his early career.

“Yesterday came one of the most beautiful and affecting
letters I ever read. It was a farewell from the Bishop of
Argyll, now lying hopelessly ill at Brighton. Reflecting on
the very pleasant, friendly intercourse which subsisted for so
330 MARY HOWITT.

many years, we feel this grief still more acutely. I am sorry
to conclude with so sad a topic.”

“ Dietenheim, July 22, 1883.—We have been to church at the
Ursulines’; Anton driving us, as he always does on Sunday
mornings. While we are at Mass he fetches our letters, which
we then have the pleasure of reading. In yours of to-day you
speak of the death of our Hofdauer’s brother. Your prayer for
the dear old soul is quite Catholic; the usual words being,
‘ Eternal rest give to him, O Lord. Let perpetual light shine
upon him. May he rest in peace!’ This, I truly believe, will
be Onkel Johann’s state. How your father and we all
respected him! He was seventy-nine years of age, yet his eyes
to the last were those of a young man. I never sawsuch anold
face. He had been no reader ; he worked with his hands and knew
many prayers by heart. He would hold his rosary in his hard,
withered old hands, and live over with the Blessed Virgin the
entire life of her Son, as he watched the cows in the fields, and
seemed to be standing in vacant idleness there. Many peasants,
especially women and children, have wonderfully precious times
in the solitary pastures, when tending their cows and sheep.
Very much teaching can be acquired out of the rosary. I never
shall forget the countenance of a youth of perhaps eighteen who
knelt by me one Sunday in the Ursuline church last summer.
He was an Italian, a navvy, or something of that kind, sunburnt,
and with coarse and hard young hands. The rosary was round
them, and the beads passed slowly through the clasped fingers.
He never saw me; he never stirred. His countenance was
beautiful; his soul was with Mary and her Divine Son, God
Himself, You can understand how I could not help praying
that his prayers might be heard and his soul’s devotion be
accepted.”

In the summer of 1884 my beloved daughter Annie, un-
knowing it, came to Dietenheim to die. With no revelation of
the approaching parting, she and I were wont to sit, at her
favourite hour of sunset, on the upper balcony of Mayr-am-Hof,
where she read to me “ The Idylls of the King,” or “ The Holy
Grail” and “The Passing of Arthur,” and finished her water-
DEATH OF ELDER DAUGHTER. 331

colour sketch of the quiet village street. It was a fair and
familiar scene, through which, a few evenings later, the
mourning inhabitants carried her to her final resting-place in
God’s Acre. They bore her under the quaint old archway of
the village church to her grave next to that of poor Onkel
Johann, when, in the hush of nature, the evening glow
illumined the mountain-tops and twilight spread over the valley
and lower slopes.

On the common above both the churchyard and Mayr-am-

 

ABCHWAY OF THE VILLAGE CHURCH.

Hof, near the old crucifix, where we have all so often sat to
enjoy the sunset, a granite seat for the wayfarers had been
erected. It was often visited by her in the beautiful closing
hours of her pure and devoted life. It was a memento to her
beloved father from our generous friend, Walter Weldon, who
has also gone to his rest and his reward.

It now merely remains to conclude this narrative with some
chief and closing incidents, which are duly chronicled in the
following extracts from letters.
332 MARY HOWITT.

To Mrs. Gaunt.

“ Meran, May 27,1885.—We have had an unusually cold and
broken sort of winter and spring here. Just now, within the
last week, the first settled and true Meran weather has set in.
Nevertheless endless grandees and royalties have been here ;

 

THE CRUCIFIX ON THE COMMON.

and notably the Duke Charles Theodore of Bavaria, brother of
the Empress of Austria, and his lovely young Duchess, an
Infanta of Portugal. That which makes them especially
admirable and estimable is, that he, having naturally a talent
for surgery and an intense interest in diseases of the eyes, has
devoted his life for some years to the cure of the blind,
THE ROFAL OCULIST. 333

principally of cataract. He has a hospital for the purpose
situated near his palace at Tegernsee. Being himself out of
health, he came for change of air to Meran; but the fame of his
healing-power having preceded him, the blind soon presented
themselves: and he, unable to resist their appeal, saw them
and began to operate on them. Others came, and still more and
more, from all parts of Tyrol, old and young, mothers with
their children, tens, twenties, till at last two thousand in all
have come to him. On two hundred he has operated, and
nearly always successfully. Even old men who have been blind
for ten and fifteen years have left the Meran hospital
seeing ; two wards there having been set aside for his
use.

“ His assistant surgeon, and even the gracious young Duchess
herself, worked with him ; she often holding the hands of the
poor patients, speaking words of kind encouragement to them,
and giving the instruments to her husband as he needed them.
Anything more angelic or Christlike than this cannot be
imagined. Alice, who has been in the habit of giving her ser-
vices in the Meran hospital, has been the eye-witness of these
proceedings; and every evening we have had the privilege of
assisting her to prepare the bandages for the next day’s use.
This and other circumstances which are not worth mentioning
have made us all personally acquainted with these excellent
people; so that the sweet young Duchess, her three little
daughters, and her lady-in-waiting have all become our friends,
and given quite a grace and beauty to Marienruhe. Such an
instance of pure Christian love as that exercised by this royal
couple has never before been known in Meran. Yesterday
they left, with the blessings of all following them.

“Yesterday, also, we parted with some dear Australian rela-
tives, whom till the week before we had never seen, and who
charmed us by their intelligence, freshness of spirit, and
simplicity of taste and manner of life.”’

To Mrs. W——.

“* Meran, Dec. 6, 1885.—We have recently had some most
welcome visitors, who came for a week to Meran—Octavia
Hill’s sister, Gertrude, and her husband, Charles Lewes, the
334 MARY HOWITT.

son of the well-known writer and the biographer of Goethe.
You would have greatly enjoyed, as we did, Mr. and Mrs.
Lewes’s society. They are very bright, taking an active part
in all good and useful efforts for human improvement and well-
being. They and her sister Octavia have been working very
hard this last summer to obtain for the northern side of London
that fine addition to Hampstead Heath, Parliament Hill, with
its adjoining land. This was a scheme which we also, when
living at Highgate, coveted for the public, and for which my
dear husband laboured, but feared it would never be obtained.
Now, however, through unremitting efforts and unlooked-for
help, it seems likely to be accomplished. All this good news
our friends brought us, which caused us, as you will under-
stand, a great rejoicing.”

To Mrs. OLpHAmM.

“ Dietenheim, Sept. 4, 1886 :—We are having herea very fine
summer. The harvest seems to be well gotin, and the peasant-
people are all advancing into a state of great expectation and
excitement in prospect of five days of magnificent military
manceuyres which take place here in the middle of this month
in the presence of the Emperor of Austria and his entire staff.
He has never been to Bruneck for forty-two years, and then
only for one night, on a journey he was making, as a boy, with
his two little brothers, Carl Ludwig and Maximilian, under the
charge of their tutor, and when there seemed no chance of his
ever being Emperor. Military mancuvres of one kind or
another take place here every autumn; but those this year will
surpass in importance all preceding ones. Twice this old
Mayr-am-Hof, which is a conspicuous object on this side the
valley, has been made the special point of attack by one party,
and consequently of defence by the other; so if now, in this
imperial inspection of the troops, it is used for the same
purpose, it will give us an especial interest in at least one day’s
work.

“We have been reading with enjoyment Mr. Froude’s
‘Oceana.’ We much approve of his very strong desire that
our colonies should, like good, faithful, well-trained children,
be staunch in love and service to old Mother England. How
THE EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA. 335

deeply we feel on this subject I cannot tell you; and I hope
and trust that you join strongly in this truly English senti-
ment.

“T am quite a fixture to the house, as I cannot walk any
distance. Still, before I had this bad cold I spent a portion of
each day out of doors, sitting under the wide-spreading trees
by the old closed gateway, which you will find in this September
number of Good Words—as drawn by dear Annie—in the last
chapter of the ‘ Reminiscences.’ ”

The “bad cold’ developed into a most serious illness, but on
September 24, Margaret Howitt is happily able to write to
Miss Leigh Smith :—

“T cannot let another day pass without telling you how
much better my mother is. The doctor now speaks quite
hopefully ; and although, in her present weak condition, there
seems little likelihood of an immediate return to Meran, we can
now dare to hope that we may take her back before the cold
weather sets in.

““We have had the Emperor Franz Joseph and four Arch-
dukes in Bruneck from last Thursday night until Tuesday
afternoon. On Tuesday morning, he, his relatives, and the
military suite watched the sham-fighting for two hours from
the fields belonging to Mayr-am-Hof and from the crucifix just
above on the common. He allowed the villagers to stand with
him to see the manceuvres, and our cook and housemaid being
of the company, returned indoors quite enchanted ; Josefa pro-
nouncing it ‘the treat of a lifetime.’ They and Anton, more-
over, had the gratification of hearing the Emperor admire the
outside of Mayr-am-Hof, which was made festive with flags of
the Austrian and Tyrolean colours. He spoke of the house to
an aide-de-camp as ‘grossartig.” The Pusterthalers are doubly
loyal, from the sympathy and the substantial aid given them
by their sovereign at the time of the floods. Knowing, there-
fore, his liking for costume, they put on wonderful old attire
belonging to their forefathers, to appear before him last Sunday
on the shooting-ground. We can see the spot, with its belt of
fir-trees across the meadows; and the weather being as brilliant
as the uniforms and the peasant-costumes, the glimpses gained
336 MARY HOWITT.

at the distance resembled some wonderful ballet. Had my
mother only been well, it would have been a charming episode.
She will, however, enjoy hearing of it when she is better.”

Mary How1rr To THE SAME.

“ Marienruhe, Oct. 23, 1886.—Restored to health by the
loving mercy of God, I wish gratefully and affectionately to
acknowledge your many kind letters of inquiry and sympathy
throughout my late illness. I had no pain, and I have heard
that old people often pass away without any suffering. How-
ever, I know well that I was very ill; that a medical man came
regularly to see me; that a dear, kind Sister of Charity
attended me in the night, allowing Margaret or Alice to rest.
But oh! how can I tell you the sweet calm all this time? for
I felt assured that I was about to pass away into the other
life, which seemed to me perfectly natural.

“T wonder, dear Nannie, whether you and Isabella are
acquainted with that little work of Cardinal Newman’s, ‘The
Dream of Gerontius.’ It is a great favourite of mine, and I
know all its incidents perfectly. If you know it you will
remember where the dying man says—

‘I fain would sleep ;
The pain has wearied me. . . . Into Thy hands,
O Lord, into Thy hands.’...

At that passage one understands that the soul leaves the body.
I felt that I was at that stage after I had received what is
called ‘ Extreme Unction,’ a solemn, but beautiful occasion. It
seemed to me—only please to remember that I am not sure
whether I was in the full possession of my mind, for it is all
to me like a wonderful, sweet dream—that I closed my eyes
after it to sleep, but not, as Gerontius, to wake in the other
life, but rather gradually by soft degrees to full consciousness
and returning health, and an abiding peace of mind. I was
there—old Mary Howitt again—just myself. If that short
illness had not reduced me almost to skin and bone, with
scarcely ability to turn myself in bed, I should have thought it
a dream or som? sort of strange delusion. I am thankful to
THE QUEEN’S JUBILEE. 337

know it was real. I assuredly believe that the wonderful
power of Catholic prayer, not for my life, but for the ful-
filment of God’s will, whether I were to live or die, prevailed,
and that for some purpose or other I was raised up again. This
seems arrogant, does it not? I feel it so; and yet it is to me
so wonderful. And I like you to know how marvellously the
dear Lord has dealt with me; and what an angel, what a true
Sister of Mercy, night and day, was Alice by my bed.”

To Mrs. Gaunt.

“ March 21, 1887.—It was just like you not to forget my
birthday; and I think that altogether it was one of the
pleasantest possible foran old woman. It seemed as if nobody
forgot me, either near or remote; and with quantities of
flowers and plants, which will continue ornaments to our rooms
and lovely memorials quite into summer or later. Your dear
sweet violets from my husband’s grave will be amongst the
fragrant realities for years to come; longer, no doubt, than
I shall be here to treasure them.

We have an immense love of Rome, which will remain with
us as long as we live. In fact, it is very seriously in our mind
to spend the coming late autumn and winter in Rome, to go
off to the old city, whether for life or death, and where, dear
friend, I have a home.”

To Marearet Howitt, at Rome.

“ Marienruhe, June 21, 1887.-—-Another day is over now;
that the longest, and our Queen’s Jubilee. I wonder how they
have gone on in London and all over England. Our Union
Jack is up, and makes a great show. I rose in good time and
went to Mass in the parish church. On my way back, when
passing over the Roman bridge, there was Father Paul coming
up the opposite path under the trees, looking pale and suffering.
He has been ill and confined to his bed,. but being able to say
Mass this morning, he, a Tyroler Benedictine, remembered our
Queen’s Jubilee, and made it his intention. He was now
walking up to Marienruhe. I could tell him somewhat of the

o
“
338 MARY HOWITT.

great doingsin London; the Queen intending to go through
it all like a Queen.

“Qount and Countess Hompesch and our other friends and
neighbours, are most kind in looking in upon me. Dear
Ernst, too, has been over. He spent part of Friday with me,
and we had a charming time together.

“Ernst and I both hope that you and Alice have been able
tosee Father Douglas. May the blessed Angels be with you !
Have no anxiety about me; only give thanks for the old
mother and grandmother.”

To Mrs. Gaunt.

“ Marienruhe, July 15, 1887.—Yes, dear friend, what a pity
it is that you are not going this year to Rome, instead of last ;
at least for us! It will be, as you may naturally suppose, a
very interesting winter to be there, and many of our friends
will be there also, which will be particularly agreeable. Mar-
garet and Alice seem to me to have managed their business
very speedily and satisfactorily, for we shall again be in the
old familiar and beloved neighbourhood, just by the Pincio.
Fortunately, too, the spirit of new Rome has not penetrated
into that neighbourhood as ruthlessly as elsewhere, so that in
one way it is almost like going home again.

“TJ am, as I think you are aware, very fond of Yorkshire,
and have a particular regard and love for all the Yorkshire
people I have known and proudly call my friends. Therefore
it has been a real pleasure to us to become acquainted with Mr.
John Lupton and his family from Leeds. The publication of
my ‘Reminiscences’ in Good Words, and Miss Linskill’s con-
tributions to the same periodical, had led to her and my
corresponding, and our becoming much interested in each
other. She was travelling on the Continent with her friends
the Luptons; and as they came to Meran, we of course saw
them while here. We were delighted to have them; and what
a great deal of talk we had! How nobly Christian, original,
pure, manly and good were all his views of life! You will
know of them, if you do not know them personally. So much
for one of the visits we have had this summer in our little
Marienruhe.”
VIA GREGORIANA. 339

To Miss Constantia CLIFFORD.

“ Meran, Aug. 26, 1887.—We now can count only a few
weeks longer at Marienruhe. However, we shall be, with the
Divine blessing, at Rome, and that will be all right. But I
confess that to me, old as I am, and now so little accustomed to
take any journeys, it seems rather like a great undertaking.”

To ANOTHER INTIMATE FRIEND.

“ Sept. 14, 1887.—We had Mass in our Marienruhe chapel
yesterday morning, and shall again have it next Tuesday,
which will be our last. Rather sad it seems to me. Perhaps
altogether my last here, for though I am as well as usual, and
in some respects perhaps better, yet everything, as far as I am
concerned, is done with that feeling. Though I seem to write
rather dismally, we are all in good heart.”

To FatHer Paut Perxmanny, O.S.B.

“38, Via Gregoriana, Oct. 9, 1887.—I send you a few lines
to prove to you how kindly your prayers, and those of others,
have been answered for us, in the fullest sense. The journey
was good throughout. Our apartment is most comfortable.

“Tf you could only be spirited here this moment, and sit
with me, the sun shining in deliciously, and on the opposite
side of the old Via Gregoriana no new building, but a bit of an
old garden, with lemon-trees appearing over the wall and blue
sky above, you would not think it unpleasant. Thus we feel
we have much to be thankful for. I as yet have not been to
Mass, but it is a comfort to mein the early morning to hear
the bell of St. Andrea delle Fratte signalising the action of the
sacred office, so that I can spiritually be present.”

To Mrs. Gaunt.

“ Rome, Oct. 10, 1887.—We are in what was Miss Charlotte
Cushman’s Roman home, and our dear friends, Nannie Leigh
Smith and Isabella Blythe, are coming at the beginning of next
month to be inmates of the same old house.

bx
340 MARY HOWITT.

“ Now let me thank you with my whole heart for so kindly
sending us this very interesting life of Rossetti, whom we
saw frequently when we lived at the quaint and picturesque
little Hermitage. We also saw a good deal of Miss Siddall.
She was very delicate, and had certainly a marvellous influence
on Rossetti; though I never could believe, she possessed
the artistic genius which he ascribed to her, for what she
produced had no originality in it. Still, she was, in her way,

 

VIA SISTINA AND VIA GREGORIANA, ROME.

an interesting woman, and his love for her like a passionate
romantic Italian story. But it is altogether a strange, melan-
choly history. Of his later pictures I know nothing. The
last of his which I saw was a short time before we left England,
at his house in Chelsea, where I went with my eldest daughter
to call on him. He was painting beautiful women, it seemed
to me, and nothing else, in gardens of roses. His rooms were
piled up with heaps of blue and white china, heaps and heaps
of it on the tables, and even on the floor.”
PAPAL JUBILEE. 341

To THe Same.

“Nov. 14, 1887.—It does me good to hear that genial-
hearted man, Dr. Vardon, speak of you. This kind physician,
his wife, and little children occupy, as you know, the highest
apartment in this house; and below the Vardons come Miss
Leigh Smith and Miss Blythe, now our dear house-mates.”’

““ What a most sad case is this of the poor Crown Prince of
Germany! Anything more sorrowful I cannot conceive. At
the same time, I cannot help feeling that a blessing will come
out of it. So solemn a warning must have its purpose. I am
sure the entire Catholic world prays for him, and that God’s
will may be done by this affliction and in all ways. This
seems a very grave ending to my letter, but Margaret has just
read me the last report of the case; and I write what I have
felt upon it, and you probably have felt the same.”

To Faruer Pavut Perxmann, 0.8.B.

“ Rome, Dec. 9, 1887.—More rain has fallen for these last
few weeks than Romans are accustomed to, and as St. Bibiana,
the rain-bringer, now just passed, has come with it very much
in her train, they say it will last for more than a month to
come. This we are sorry for, as we are now beginning to think
about the great English pilgrimage which is to arrive in the
first week of the new year, and which even I, the old woman,
desire to join, though probably I may not do so. But we none
of usas yet have paid our respects to the Holy Father. You
will wonder at this, probably. I almost wonder at it myself.
But so much is going forward, and those very friends of
ours whose advise and co-operation we desire—the von Schon-
bergs and Cliffords—are not yet here. So we wait till they
come.”

To Mrs. Gaunt.

“ Dec. 21, 1887.—I can but wish you were here ; for, though
you are not a Catholic, you have a large heart and a poetical
mind, and can feel the wonderful period this is for the thou-
sands who are of this great Church. The national pilgrimages
342 MARY HOWITT.

taking place, and continuing in the New Year are each very
interesting to us, but more especially those announced from
England, Scotland, and Ireland. We have just had eighteen
hundred pilgrims from France, rich and poor, men and women,
chiefly of the artisan and peasant class, attended by priests, and
all impelled by an earnest Catholic spirit. Then again another
—eight hundred, I believe—from Hungary, also principally
poor people, men and women in the national costumes, with
grave, earnest, rather sad countenances, likewise attended by
priests, and headed by a few of their nobility. It was really
most affecting to see them; and so will it be as other races
from all parts of Europe come, speaking their here unspoken
languages, wearing their costumes, should such remain in their
lands; yet all holding the same faith with the same living
tenacity, and all looking up to St. Peter’s, as the Jews in olden
time to their Temple in Jerusalem.

“It is wonderful, dear friend, to think of this, and a great
privilege to be here, and to witness something of it. I, at my
age, can do no more, but I am thankful even for that. All
this is page after page in the great history of the present day.
Not less interesting and valuable to us is the fact that it brings
us into personal intercourse with really great and good men
whom otherwise we should have no chance of knowing. Then,
too, we see the commencement of events and the first progress of
great purposes which may before long develop into enduring
blessings to the whole human race. It is, therefore, very in-
teresting to be here now, when so much is going forward. You
may say, ‘But that is only in Catholic circles.’ Very true;
but these circles embrace the whole world.

“Rome has always been to us a sorrowful, as well as the
dearest, place of residence we ever had. Here it was that our
dear Peggy became one in our family; and here, day by day,
we watched the progress of her fatal malady. My dear hus-
band, who loved Rome, and felt it to be a happy home, here,
like a tree losing its leaves in autumn, prepared calmly, if
almost unconsciously, for the end. Here lie calmly his
remains, awaiting, if God so will, for mine to be laid beside
them. You, therefore, can understand why we do not have
merry gatherings in Rome, only the visits of a few choice
friends.’’
PRAYER FOR 1888. 343

Private Nores.
“ Jan. 1, 1888.—

Grant me, dear Lord, for my life’s term, I pray,
A threefold grace to sanctify each day.

Grace so to guide and to control my tongue,

, That none by it may be misled or stung ;
Grace to detach my mind from worldly snares,
From trivial talk, or worrying Martha-cares ;
Grace in adoring love to take my seat
Like Mary, meek and silent at Thy feet.

“The above is my daily prayer for this year, as for the last.
May the dear Lord be pleased to hear it, and mercifully grant
it. Amen. This has been, in every sense of the word, a glorious
and a blessed day. After the wet, dull weather we have been
suffering from, the sun shone brilliantly. Margaret went to
the Holy Father’s Jubilee Mass in St. Peter’s. The ceremony
was magnificent, harmonious, with the blessing of the Lord
over all. Alice also had a beautiful time at the Papal Mass.”

“ Jan. 9.—I am most anxious about myself for to-morrow.
May the Blessed Virgin Mary pray forme! We receive our Eng-
lish deputation tickets. Mr. Clifford has most kindly arranged
everything for us.”

To Faruer Pavt Perxmany, O.S.B.

“ Rome, Jan. 11, 1888.—I cannot allow myself to have all
the blessings and enjoyment which yesterday afforded me
without endeavouring to make you, at least in part, a sharer.
For no one, I believe, would bear me more sympathetically in
mind during that eventful morning than yourself.

“Tt was a brilliant day, after wretchedly wet and dreary
weather, just as if Heaven were in perfect harmony with the
desires of the English pilgrims, to the number of about five
hundred.

“Our friends, Mr. Alphonso and Miss Constantia Clifford,
are here, you know, and this English deputation was under the
conduct of their cousin, the Bishop of Clifton. Yesterday, Mr.
Clifford, as a private chamberlain, was in attendance on the
344 MARY HOWITT.

Pope, it being considered in order that he, an Englishman,
should be so on the occasion of the English deputation, at the
head of which was, of course, the good Duke of Norfolk.

“ But though on duty and very much occupied, he made time
to receive us at the private entrance, where we could imme-
diately ascend by a lift, without any fatigue, into a warm,
comfortable ante-room. Here we could rest till the time came
for the interview. Various distinguished personages, whose
names, high in the Church, were familiar to us, were moving
about; and every now and then Mr. Clifford introduced us to
them. In a while we were moved on, advancing perhaps
through five or six rooms, all of which interested me greatly,
nothing striking me more than the wonderful simplicity of the
apartments; all similar and wholly without ornament or costly
show. At length we were in the room immediately adjoining
and opening into the Throne-room, where, it now being ten
o’clock, the Holy Father had received the Bishops of the depu-
tation. Here we heard the low, calm voice of the Holy Father
addressing the various delegates, who one after the other knelt
before him. We were about fifty ladies and a few gentlemen,
just the first detachment which had been admitted, as it would
have been impossible to receive the full number at once; and
we were so favoured as to be in this first detachment. I now
discovered, with a little nervous trepidation, that J, your poor
old penitent, was to be honoured by first receiving the blessing
after the delegates. But, to my infinite surprise and thankful-
ness, though I did feel a little bit startled with a deep sense of
my own unworthiness, I felt at the same time very calm and
grateful, trusting that our dear Lord would indeed be with me.
At length the moment came. Mr. Clifford and Mr. Hartwell
Grissell were there, and I was within the doorway.

“T saw the Holy Father seated, not on a throne, but on a
chair, a little raised above the level of the floor; and the Eng-
lish Bishops, in their vivlet silk cloaks, seated in two rows on
either side of him. The gracious, most courteous Duke of
Norfolk came forward and acknowledged us. This might last,
perhaps, two minutes. Then Mr. Clifford led me forward to the
Holy Father; Margaret, as my daughter, following with Miss
Clifford. J never thought of myself. I was unconscious of
everything. A serene happiness, almost joy, filled my whole
THE HOLY FATHER. 345

being as I at once found myself on my knees before the Vicar
of Christ. My wish was to kiss his foot, but it was withdrawn
and his hand given me. You may think with what fervour I
kissed the ring. In the meantime he had been told my age
and my late conversion. His hands were laid on my shoulders,
and again and again his right hand in blessing on my head,
whilst he spoke to me of Paradise.

“All this time I did not know whether I was in the body or
not. I knew afterwards that I felt unspeakably happy, and
with a sense of unwillingness to leave. How long it lasted—
perhaps a minute or so—I know not; but I certainly was lifted
into a high spiritual state of bliss, such as I never had experi-
ence of before, and which now fills me with astonishment and
deep thankfulness to recall. I woke in the stillness of last
night with the sense of it uponme. Itis wonderful. I hope lI
may never lose it.

“On leaving the room I received from a monsignore in
attendance, with the words that the Holy Father gave it me,a
silver medal of himself in a small red case; a present which was
made to others of the deputation.

“The Duke of Norfolk, after this, very kindly led me out
by another way of exit; and thus we could return home imme-
diately, descending in the lift by which we had ascended.

“Now, dear father, you have a long letter. But to you and
to dear Father Ceslas I feel that I owe a debt which I can only
repay by little offerings such as this. And it is not often
that I have a chance of such a glorious, divine opportunity of
thanksgiving.”

Tue Last Entries IN Private Diary For 1888.

“ Jan. 13.—A very fine day. The Cliffords drove with us
to the Villa Celimontana, to call on the Archbishop of Prague,
a most noble-looking man, extremely friendly and agreeable.
Then we visited dear Lily; and all was charming. On our
return, the Princess Lowenstein, her sister, the Countess Finf-
kirchen, three of her daughters, and their cousin, a young
Princess Liechtenstein, came. While they were with us Mr.
Cox, of the Tablet, called.”
346 MARV HOWITT.

“ Jan. 14.—Have had my confession and a pleasant visit
from Father Carey. Lord Selborne and Lady Sophia Palmer
call; afterwards Lady Eyre and a friend of hers; and later
Mr. Wedgwood.”

“ Jan. 15.—A fine day, but so cold I could not go to Holy
Communion.”

“ Jan. 23.—Father Carey will administer Holy Communion
to me in my room to-morrow morning. I hope and pray that it
may be blessed to me, and that I may be made worthy to receive
it. Baron Hoffman came.”

My mother was at this time suffering from an attack of
bronchitis, which at first confined her to the house; then, as
she grew weaker, to her room; and finally to her bed. It
seemed likely that the desire of her heart, to attend the
Papal Jubilee and then to pass away in Rome, would be
granted.

The last tie with this earth had been snapped when the
Holy Father spoke to her of a near approach to Paradise. She
longed to go, and yet was sorry to leave us. From that time
her soul remained in a continuous state of prayer and thanks-
giving; her heart and mind overflowing, as usual, with love
and interest for all her surroundings. On Saturday night,
January 28, she spoke of the total eclipse of the moon, commend-
ing the energy of an elderly lady of her acquaintance who had
gone in the dark on the Pincio, if possible, to observe it. On
the afternoon of the next day she received the last sacraments
from the parish-priest of St. Andrea delle Fratte, with the
assistance of Father Carey ; and in so joyful and intelligent a
manner as to astonish the lively young Italian server. He
remarked to the parish-priest he could perceive no signs of
approaching dissolution in the “Signora,” and received for
reply, “It was on account of her great age and by the advice
of the physician.”

Later the same evening Father Lockhart, a dear and
intimate friend, came to see her. She spoke with him in
rapture of the blessings she had received a few hours earlier.
That night she conversed much with her beloved Isabella
THE END. 347

Blythe, thanked Dr. Vardon and her devoted Alice Panton for
their faithful, unflagging attentions, and repeated the customary
evening prayers with her daughter. Then she composed
herself to rest, and gently passed away in her sleep at ten
minutes past three on Monday morning, January 30.
She had nearly completed the eighty - ninth year of her
age.

It happened, by a kind providence, that Father Luke Carey,
who had spiritually aided and strengthened her since her
arrival in Rome, was the Superior of St. Isidore, a monastery
to which, for various reasons, she was greatly attached; and
that the sons of St. Francis, rich in piety and innocence, and
loving poverty for God’s sake, could perform for her the last
rites within its walls.

On the day of her death various of her friends visited
her chamber and prayed by her mortal remains; and
thither came, in the afternoon, Father Carey, with one of
his Franciscan Brothers, to say their office. In this piove
act they were joined by the Rev. Kenelm Vaughan, i
whose “Work of Expiation” the deceased was deeply
interested.

In the early morning of Tuesday, January 31, she was laid
in her coffin. Serenely happy and youthful she then looked ;
her hands were crossed on her breast, and she reposed
amongst flowers. Attended by the parochial clergy, Dr.
Vardon, Mr. Marke, and a young Benedictine, she was
borne from the Via Gregoriana past the convent of the
Reparatrici nuns, where she had been wont to receive Holy
Communion, to the collegiate church of St. Isidore, and con-
signed to the care of the Franciscans. Numerous Catholic
and Protestant friends and acquaintances were assembled
for the Requiem Mass, at which Father Carey was the
celebrant.

The morning was wet; but in the afternoon, when the
mourners returned to complete the burial, they found the
church-doors wide open, and the sun streaming in upon the
coffin and its wreaths of flowers; whilst some of the neigh-
bouring poor, chiefly children, had turned into the church,
and were kneeling on the pavement in prayer near the
bier. The young seminarists of St. Isidore, Irish, German,
348 MARY HOWITT.

w

and Portuguese, in their brown gowns and sandalled feet, each
holding a tall lighted taper, filed in long procession from the
sacristy, and standing round the bier, headed by their Superior,
chanted in a most heart-touching manner, first the Libera me
Domine, and then, also in Latin, “May the angels conduct
thee into Paradise; at thy coming may the martyrs receive
thee and lead thee to Jerusalem, the holy city. May the
angelic choir receive thee, and with Lazarus, once a beggar,
mayst thou have eternal rest.” At the end of the office, with
their lights burning, they attended the coffin to the hearse
waiting to convey it to the cemetery of Monte Testaccio.
There, by permission of the Cardinal-Vicar of Rome, the
mortal remains of Mary Howitt were reverently interred by
those of her husband.
INDEX.

Acton, Eliza, Miss, 218

Adams, Sarah, Mrs., née Flower, 114

Agnew, David, Rev., 6

Ainger, Canon, 253

Ainsworth, Harrison, 143

Albans, St., Duchess of, née Mellon, 29

Alcott, Louisa, Miss, 304

Alcott, May, Miss, 304

Alexander, Ann, 13, 44

Alexander, Czar, 52, 153

Alexander, George, 216

Allingham, William, 206, 207, 215

Andersen, H. C., 182-184

Argyll and the Isles, Bishop of (Mack-
arness), 253, 254, 285, 303, 329

Argyll, Duchess of, 216

Ars, Curé d’, 249

Ashby, Ann, 15

Astle, Daniel, Captain, 62, 63

Astle, Martha, Miss, 62

Atkinson, Henry George, 202, 203

Austin, Mrs., xée Taylor, 129

Bailey, Philip James, 303 :

Baillie, Joanna, 146, 148, 203

Bain, Admiral, 146, 147

Ball, William, 140

Barbauld, Mrs., 45, 187

Barker, Joseph, 187

Barnardiston, Mrs., 9, 10

Barton, Bernard, 104

Bateman, Edward La Trobe, 200, 205,
212

Bateman, Henry, 180, 240

Bavaria, Duke and Duchess Charles of,
332-333

Beecher, Henry Ward, Rev., 222

Bell, Currer, 196

 

Bell, Dorothy, Miss, 64

Bell, Mary, Miss, 64

Belloc, Bessie Rayner, Madame, née
Parkes, 24&, 307

Bennett, Rev. Dr., 84

Bennett, Elizabeth, Mrs., née Trusted,
16

Besant, Walter, 190

Besson, Pére, O. P., 282, 323

Betts, Mr. and Mrs., 280

Bevan, Dr., 169

Bevan, Sarah, 44, 47

Bewick, Misses, 135

Bewick, Thomas, 67, 129, 135

Binney, Thomas, Rev., 180, 223

Binns, Dr., 77

Blackwell, Elizabeth, M.D., 283

Bladon, Joseph, 128, 224, 225

Blanchard, Laman, 142

Blatherwick, Charles, Dr., 243

Blythe, Isabella, Miss, 336, 339, 341,
346

Boadle, William, 107

Bodichon, Barbara, Madame, née
Leigh Smith, 209, 222, 226, 229,
248, 307, 313, 325

Bodkin, William, J.P., 260

Bogue, Mr., 216 4

Bohn, Mr., 216

Boothby, Judge, 129, 220, 240

Bowring, John, Sir, 116, 121

Braid, Dr., 223

Bremer, Aline, Mdlle., 282

Bremer, Fredrika, Mdlle, 179, 210,
216, 217, 242, 282

Brenton, Captain, 286

Brewster, Anne, Miss, 283 .

Brewster, David, Sir, 223

Bright, John, 145, 165, 302
350

Bright, Samuel, Mrs., 302

Brodie, Benjamin, Sir, 169

Brougham, Henry, Lord, 193, 231

Broughton, Rhoda, Miss, 3065

Brown, Ephraim, 148

Brown, Mrs., 226, 230

Browning, Mrs., née Barrett, 215, 230,
242 2

Browning, Robert, 215, 242

Brownrigg, William, Dr., 8, 98

Burke, Robert O'Hara, 238-240, 306

Burns, Robert, 136, 167

Burtchaell, Somerset, Rev., 303

Burtt, Joseph, 128

Byron, George Gordon, Lord, 64, 78,
82, 84, 86, 101-103, 104, 109, 154

Byron, Noel, Lady, 148, 222

Campbell, Thomas, 135

Canning, George, 86,110.

Cardinal-Vicar of Rome (Parocchi),
348

Carey, Luke, Very Rev. 0.8.F., 346,
347-348

Carl Ludwig, Archduke, 334

Carlisle, Earl of, 216

Carlow, Bishop of (Doyle), 208

Carpenter, W. B., Dr., 203, 218

Carpenter, W. B., Mrs., 218

Cassell, John, 192, 193

Cavendish, Richard, Sir, 60

Cavour, Count, 266

Chambers, Robert, 136, 224

Chapman, John, Dr., 207

Charlotte, Princess, 66, 147

Charlton, Colonel, 71, 81

Chaworth, Mary, 82, 84

Chorley, Henry Fothergill, 117, 118,
195, 199, 279, 280

Chorley, John, 117

Chorley, Toft, 32

Chorley, William, 117, 118

Clarke, Sarah Freeman, Miss, 283,
800

Clifford, Alphonso, 341, 343, 344, 345

Clifford, Constantia, Miss, 339, 341,
343, 344, 345

Clifford, Edward, 304

Clifton, Bishop of (Clifford), 343

Clowes, Anne, Mrs., 36-37

/

 

INDEX.

Cobden, Richard, 165

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor,
157, 167, 270

Conder, Josiah, 109, 121

Consort, Prince, 158, 204

Conway, Moncure D., 304

Cook, Eliza, 187

Cooper, Walter, 196

Copestake, Thomas, 32

Copestake, Grace, Miss, 33-34

Cornelius, von, Peter, 164, 280

Coutts Burdett, Baroness, 198, 214,
296, 229-230

Cox, J. G., 345

Crabbe, George, Rev., 67, 249

Craig, E. T., 148

Craik, Mrs., née Muloch, 252, 253

Crawford, F. Marion, 312

Cumberland, Duke of, 64

Cunningham, Allan, 116, 117

Cushman, Charlotte, 187, 301, 339

67, 120,

Daeniker, Madame, 263

Dale, Ann, 140

Dannecker, Johann Heinrich, 159

D’ Arblay, Madame, née Burney, 9

Darton, John, 132, 142

Darwin, Charles Robert, 247, 248

Darwin, Erasmus, 18

Davenport, Bromley, Mr., 81

Davis, Dr., 281

Dawkins, W. Boyd, 304

De Morgan, Augustus, 232

Denman, Lord, 130

Dickens, Charles, 143, 195, 241

Dobell, Sydney, 235

Doherty, Hugh, 200, 201-202

Douglas, Edward, Rev., C.8.8.R., 338

Douglass, Frederick, 185

Drape, David, 66

Drogheda, Countess of, 9

Dryden, Lady, 10

Dufferin, Lady, Countess of Gifford,
248, 244

Dufferin and Ava, Marquis of, 243,
244

Duncan, George, Hon., 308

Eastlake, Charles, Sir, 205
Eliot, George, 316
INDEX. 35!

Elliott, Ebenezer, 190

Ellis, Edward Shipley, 65
Ellis, John, 65, 66
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 283
Epps, Dr., 171, 172
Eschenburg, Behn, 264
Eyre, Lady, 346

Faber, Frederick William, D.D., 315

Fairbank, William, 3

Fawcett, Henry, 146

Ferrers, Earls of, 30, 79

Ferrier, James Frederick, 135

Field, David Dudley, 302

Fields, James T., 206

Finch, Mr., Hon., 201

FitzHerbert, William, Sir, 304

Flaxman, John, 58

Fletcher, Mrs., née Jewsbury, 112, 147

Florentini, Theodosius, Pater, 260

Flower, Miss, 114

Foley, Margaret, Miss, 271, 274, 278,
292, 293, 306, 342

Ford, Joseph, 53

Forlonge, Mr. and Mrs., 220

Forster, W. E., 187

Forster, William, 187

Fox-Bridell, Mrs., née Fox, 200

Fox, Elizabeth, 140

Fox, W.J., 114, 200, 313

Fox, Samuel, 130

Francis Joseph, Emperor of Austria,
334, 335

Frederick, German Emperor, 265, 341

Freiligrath, Ferdinand, 167, 185, 186,
200, 208, 240

Freiligrath, Frau, née Melos, 167, 186

Froude, J. A., 198, 334

Fryer, Richard, 165

Fiinfkirchen, Countess, xée Princess
Liechtenstein, 345

Furniss, Harry, 329

Fusinato, Fua, Signora, 284

Garibaldi, Giuseppe, 286, 288, 289
Garrison, William Lloyd, 151, 185
Gaskell, Mra., 182, 196, 200, 201, 230
Gaunt, Mrs., née Wilkinson, 198, 326,
882, 337, 338, 339, 341

Gavazzi, Alessandro, 208

 

George III., 45-46, 60

Gibson, John, 257, 309

Gibson, Milner, Mrs, 240

Gigliucci, Clara, Countess, ée Novello,
153, 304

Gilbert, Ann, Mrs., née Taylor, 126,
127

Gilbert, Joseph, Rev., 126, 127

Gilbert, Josiah, 127, 286—287

Gillies, Margaret, Miss, 183, 184, 291,
806, 308, 310

Gillies, Mary, Miss, 183, 184

Gilpin, Charles, 53,216

Gisborne, Thomas, Rev., 18

Gladstone, W. E., 254, 286

Glasse, Samuel, D.D., 9

Glennie, Arthur, 291

Goethe, von, Ottilie, Frau, 165

Goethe, von, Johann Wolfgang, 154,
165, 167

Goethe, von, Wolfgang, Jr., 154, 165

Gould, James, M.D., 287

Gould, Mrs., née Bliss, 283, 286, 287,
290

Graham, Cyril, 243

Grahame, Rev. Dr., 94

Grainger, Mrs., 216

Grant, Joseph Brett, Rev., 303

Gray, Mr., 238, 239

Greenwell, Dora, Miss, 259

Grey, Charles, Earl, 122, 127

Grissell, Hartwell D., 344

Grubb, Sarah, 141

Guest, Charlotte, Lady, 54

Gurney, Joseph John, 104, 105

Hall, Robert, Rev., 66

Hall, 8. C., Mr. and Mrs,, 116, 117,
121

Hambro, Baron, 183

Hamel, Bruno, 79

Hare, Augustus, 310

Hart, Thomas, 18

Haslam, William, 108

Hay, Mrs., née Benham, 195

Hehl, Father, 3

Heine, Heinrich, 265

Hemans, Charles, 118

Hemans, Felicia, Mrs., 107, 108, 109,
115, 118, 120, 167

Herbert, J. R., 208
‘

352

Herbert of Lea, Lady, 318

Herder, von, Johann Gottfried, 317

Hervey, T.K., 116, 224

Hill, Miranda, Miss, 311

Hill, Octavia, Miss, 180, 231,308, 310,
333, 334

Hobhouse, John Cam (Lord Brough-
ton), 101

Hoffmann, von, Richard, Baron and
Baroness, née Ward, 306, 345,
346

Hoffmann-Overbeck, Frau, 281

Hofland, Barbara, Mrs., 116

Hohenzollern, Leopold, Prince of,
262

Holmes, Dr., 106

Hompesch-Bollheim, von, Ferdinand,
Count, 318, 322, 338

Hompesch-Bollheim, von,
318, 322, 338

Hood, Thomas, 197

Horne, Dr. (Bishop of Norwich), 9

Horne, Richard Hengist, 211

Howard, Luke, 125

Houghton, Richard Monckton Milnes,
Lord, 209

Hume, Joseph, 131, 138, 142

Hunt, Leigh, 103, 109, 207

Hunt, Holman, 205, 206, 207, 226,
231

Hunter, Hugh, 126

Huth, Messrs., 186

Countess,

Ingemann, Bernhard Severin, 204

Ingestre, Viscount, 38

Irving, Washington
Crayon’’), 84, 116

( ‘* Geoffrey

James, G. P. R., 154

Jameson, Anna, Mrs., 153, 154, 280,
231

Jenkin, Fleeming, 250

Jerdan, William, 104

Jerichau, Elisabeth, Madame, xée
Baumann, 281, 305

Jerrold, Douglas, 203

Jerusalem, K. W., 305

Johnson, Samuel, Dr., 9, 63

Johnstone, Mrs., 136

 

INDEX.

Jones-Lloyd, Miss, 256
Jones, Owen, 204

Kaulbach, von, Wilhelm, 193, 195

Kean, Charles, Mr. and Mrs., 221

Keats, John, 145, 270, 292

Keller, Dr., 263

Kendal, Duchess of, 6

Kestner, August, 305

Key, Aston, 169

Kilham, Hannah, Mrs., 51, 52

King, Misses, Hon., 149

King, John, 238, 239

Kingsley, Charles, Rev., 198

Kinkel, Johann Gottfried, 208, 210,
264

Kinnaird, Arthur, Mrs., Hon., 216

Knott, Thomas, 66, 102

Kroeker, Madame, née Freiligrath, 240

Landon, Letitia Elizabeth («‘L. E. L.’’,
Mrs. Maclean), 104, 116, 117, 147

Lansdowne, Marquis of, 193. —

La Trobe, Joseph, 212

Lear, Edward, 229

Leighton, Frederick, Sir, 267

Leiss, von, Mgr., Prince-Bishop of
Brixen, 327

Leo, XIII., Pope, 294, 341, 343, 344,
345, 346

Lewes, Charles, 333, 334

Lewes, Charles, Mrs., née Hill, 183,
333, 334

Liechtenstein,
345

Lind, Jenny, 223

Linskill, Mary, Miss, 338

Linwood, Mr., 192

Liston, Robert, 169

Lloyd, Charles, 177

Lockhart, William, Very Rev. O. C.,
346

London, Bishop of, (Blomfield), 208

Londonderry, Marchioness of, 242

Lovelace, Earl and Countess of, 148,
149

Liwenstein, Princess, née Princess
Liechtenstein, 345

Lucas, Samuel, 302

Francoise, Princess,
INDEX.

Lumley, Sarah, 15
Lupton, John, 338

Lury, Ann, 49
Lyndhurst, Lord, 153, 231
Lytton, Lord, 224

Macaulay, James, Dr., 281

Macaulay, Lord, 193

Macdonell, James, 252, 259, 300, 310

Mackarness, George, Mrs., 253, 254,
255

Mackintosh, James, Sir, 203

Maclehose, Mrs., (Burns’s Clarinda),
136

Mahon, Lord, 193

Mancini, Pasquale, 302

Manning, Dr., 281

Mansfield, Earl of, 196, 229

Mario, Jessie, Madame, xée White,
288

Marke, Arthur, 347

Marsh, George P., Hon., 286

Marsh, G. P., Mrs., 286

Martin, John, 116

Martineau, Harriet, 202, 203

Massey, Gerald, 196

Masters, William, 31, 59

Mathews, Charles, 213

Maximilian, Emperor of Mexico, 334

Mazzini, Giuseppe, 208, 288

Medwin, Thomas, Captain, 103, 154

Messing, von, Dr., 292

Meteyard, Eliza, (‘‘Silverpen”’), 197,
200, 201, 202, 244

Meyerbeer, Giacomo, 165

Milbanke, Lady, 222

Millais, John Everett, Sir, 205

Miller, Joaquin, 284, 285

Miller, William, 136

Mitterrutzner, Dr., Very Rev., 327

Moir, David Macbeth (‘ Delta”’),
109, 121

Moore, Thomas, 87, 120, 135

Montgomory, James, 51

Morgan, Osborne, 305

Morgan, Mrs., 305

Morris, William, 251, 252

Mott, Lucretia, 152

Mount - Temple, Lord and Lady,
(Right Hon. William and Mrs.,
Cowper-Temple), 291, 292

 

353

Miiller, F. Paludan, 264, 265, 266»
267

Mulock, Thomas, 86, 87

Mundy, Edward Miller, 71

Mundy, Francis Noel, 18

Murray, Lindley, 77

Mushet, David, 16

Napoleon, Buonaparte, 55, 58
Napoleon, IIT., 200, 264, 265, 266
Nelson, Lord, 212

Neville, Mrs., 145

Nevin, Dr., Rev., 309, 310
Newcastle, Duke of, 123
Newman, Cardinal, 311, 313, 336
Newton, Isaac, Sir, 7

Nicholas I., Czar, 217, 224
Nicoll, Robert, 136

Nightingale, Florence, 233, 261
Norfolk, Duke of, 344, 345
Norton, Dr., 246

Norton, Mrs., Hon., 243

O’Connell, Daniel, 131, 133, 139

Oehlenschlager, Adam Gottlob, 204

Okeover, H. C., and Hon. Mrs., of
Okeover, 253

Oldham, William, Mr. and Mrs., 249,
334

Overbeck, J. Friedrich, 279, 280, 281,
285

Owen, Robert, 96, 97, 221

Owen, J., Rev., 59

Oxford, Bishop of (Mackarness), 254

Oxford, Bishop of (Wilberforce), 193

Ozanam, A. F., 315

Palmer, Sophia, Lady, 346

Parker, Mrs., 42, 48, 44, 281

Patmore, Coventry, 205

Patton, Mr. and Mrs., née Hutchinson,
304

Pease, Joseph, 169

Peel, Robert, Sir, 193

Pemberton, Charles, 113, 114

Perkmann, Paul, Rev., O.8.B., 327,
337, 339, 341, 343

AA
354

Perry, Erskine, Sir, 231

Phillips, Thomas, 168

Pipe, Humphrey, 64

Piranesi, G. B., 64, 302

Pius IX., Pope, 268, 298, 294, 302
Price, Anna, 11, 13, 54

Price, Christiana, 54, 140

Price, Edwin, 54

Price, Joseph Tregelles, 54, 140
Price, Peter, 11

Pringle, Thomas, 116, 117
Procter, Bryan Waller (Barry Corn-

wall), 116

Procter, Adelaide Anne, 241, 242, 248,
249

Prussia, Frederick William IV. of,
164, 199

Pulsky, Francis A., and Madame, 208,
209

Quillinan, Dora, Mrs., née Words-
worth, 99, 121, 184

Rancliffe, Lord, 102

Read, Buchanan, 206, 207

Reclus, Monsieur, 218

Redgrave, Gilbert, 329

Rees, Elizabeth, 5, 11

Rees, Evan, 5, 11, 53

Retzius, Madame, née Hjerta, 305

Retzsch, Moritz, 162, 163, 164

Richard, Henry, 302

Richardsun, Thomas, 302

Richter, Jean Paul, 153

Ricketson, Daniel, 304

Ricketson, Walton, 304

Ristori, Adelaide, Marchesa del Grillo,
290

Robiano, de, (Alfred, Count), Father,
Ceslas, O. P., 322324, 345

Robinson, Crabb, Henry, 187

Robinson, Thomas and Sarah, 53

Robson, Edward, 302

Rogers, Samuel, 109

Rolleston, Miss, 64

Roscoe, Thomas, 116

Roscoe, William, 257

Roscow, Roland, 105

Ross, William, Sir, 230

Rossetti, Christina G., 315

 

INDEX.

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 206, 207,
212, 217, 218, 225, 242, 249, 284,
340

Rossetti, William, 207, 284

Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 80, 81

Routledge, Messrs., 216

Runeberg, Johan Ludvig, 204

Rusden, G. W., 305

Russell, Earl, 193

Russell, Juseph, 15

Sadler,
303

Sadler, Michael Thomas, 60, 61

Salisbury, Bishop of, 184

Sandbach, Henry, R., Mr. and Mrs.,
256, 257, 305

Sands, David, 19

Schiller, von, Friedrich, 165

Schlosser, Rath and Rathin, 153, 154

Schénberg, von, Ernst, Baron, 316,
326, 327, 338, 341

Schonberg, von, Ernst, Baroness, née
Ward, 316, 327, 341

Schénborn, Cardinal, Archbishop of
Prague, 345

Schoultz, von, Frau, 168, 178

Schwab, Gustav, 159

Scott, Gilbert, Sir, 256

Scott, Walter, Sir, 64, 67, 91, 94, 97,
120, 124, 167, 204

Seddon, John, 230

Seddon, Thomas, 229, 230, 231

Selborne, Earl of, 346

Severn, Joseph, 145, 270, 271

Shadwell, Arthur, T. W., Rev., 303

Shaftesbury, Seventh Earl of, 217, 218,
223

Shaftesbury, Countess of, 216

Shaw, Joshua, Rev., 84

Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 67, 154, 309

Sheridan, General, 207

Shrewsbury, Sixteenth Earl of, 68

Siddall, Elizabeth, 340

Smiles, Samuel, Dr., 190, 198, 220, 304

Smith, Benjamin, 185, 209

Smith, Bernhard, 212, 217

Smith, John, 84

Smith, Leigh, Anne, Miss, 190, 292,
325, 336, 336, 339, 341

Thomas, D.D., 187, 203,
INDEX.

Smith, Leigh, Benjamin, 209, 325

Smith, Pye, Dr., 84

Smith, Richard, 52

Smith, Southwood, Dr,, 165, 180, 183

Smyth, Carmichael, Major, 142

Somerset, Duchess of, 243

Southey, Caroline, Mrs., née Bowles,
115, 130, 131, 134, 143, 145, 146,
166

Southey, Robert, 120, 135, 144, 146,
166, 167

Steinkopff, C. F. A., Rev., 59

Stolberg-Wernigerode, von, Franz,
Count and Countess, née de Robi-
ano, 324

Stowe, Harriet, Mrs., née Beecher, 216,
217, 221, 222, 223

Strauss, D. F., 161

Stuart, Dudley, Lord, 209

Stubbs, Jonathan, Rev., 63

Sturge, Joseph, 224

Summers, Mr., 306

Sutherland, Duke of, 223

Sutherland, Duchess of, 216, 217, 218,
221, 223

Sutherland, John, Dr., 220

Sutherland, John, Mrs., 216

Swift, Dean, 6, 7

Tait, Mr., 136

Talbot, of Ingestre, Second Earl, 31,
38

Talbot, Thomas Mansel, 5

Talleyrand, de, Prince, 138

Tamworth, Viscount, 30

Taylor, Bayard, 304

Taylor, Jane, 126

Tegg, Thomas, 173, 178

Tegnér, Esaias, 168, 204, 282

Tennyson, Lord, 181, 189, 244, 252

Terry, Mrs., 312

Thackeray, William Makepeace, 142
143, 241

Thiers, Louis Adolphe, 161

Thompson, John, 52

Tieck, Ludwig, 164

Todhunter, Mrs., 180, 289, 325

Tozer, Right Rev., Bishop, 293

Tregelles, Katharine, I1°° ~
Trelawny, Edward, 103

 

355

Trench, Richard Chenevix, Archbishop
of Dublin, 283

Trimmer, Mrs., 45

Trollope, T. Adolphus, 286, 288

Trusted, Imm, 15

Tuckfield, Hippersley, Mrs., 149

Uhland, Johann Ludwig, 160, 204

Vardon, Evelyn, Dr., 341, 347

Vaughan, Kenelm, Rev., 347

Verdi, Giuseppe, 271

Vernon, Lord, 20, 59

Vertunni, Cavaliere, 311

Victor Emmanuel II. of Italy, 266,
268, 269, 271, 293

Victoria, Queen, 158, 216, 221, 223,
337, 338

Wallscourt, Lord, 201, 202

Walpole, Robert, Sir, 7, 8

Waring, Anna, Letitia, Miss, 54

Waring, Deborah, née Price, 54

Waring, Elijah, 54

Washington, George, 9, 35

Wasse, Canon, 303

Waterpark, Lady, 37

Waterpark, Lords, 60, 253

Watson, William, 8

Watts, Alaric, 116, 117, 121, 138, 219,
224, 231, 235

Watts, Zillah, Mrs., née Wiffen, 108,
116, 117, 188, 178, 224, 231, 235

Wedgwood, Josiah, 58, 244

Wedgwood, Rowland H., 346

Weldon, Raphael, 260, 328

Weldon, Walter, 260, 331

Westmacott, Richard, Sir, 103

Wheeler, Daniel, 52

Whitney, Adeline D., Mrs., 304

Whittier, John Greenleaf, 305

Witfen, Benjamin, 117

Wiffen, Jeremiah, 104, 117

Wilberforce, William Basil, 327

Wilkinson, Garth J. J., Dr., 200

| William IV., King, 122

Williams, Penry, 257, 305
356 INDEX.

Williams, Rowland, D.D., 246 Wordsworth, William, 67, 99, 108,
Wills, William John, 238, 239, 240, 109, 120, 121, 122, 135, 140, 184
306 Wordsworth, Mrs., 121, 122, 136, 184
Wilson, John (Christopher North), ; Wright, Henry Clarke, 183
135, 186 Wyatt, Mr., 18, 19

Wiseman, Cardinal, 200, 208
Wollaston, William Hyde, 222

Wood, Charles, 7-9, 128 York, Archbishop of, 208

Wood, William (Irish Patentee), 6-7 Yorke, Miss, 310

Woodall, William, 328-329 Young, James, Dr., of Kelly, 288, 289,
Woolley, Anna, 44, 47, 56 326

Woolner, Thomas, 207, 212, 213, 217 Youl, Edward, 192-193

 

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With Twenty Ilustrations by French, Barnes, &c.
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“* Capital reading for young folks . . . all brisk and wholesome.” —Scofsman.
Heroes and Martyrs of Science.
By Henry C. Ewart. With Thirty Illustrations.

‘An admirable book, full of the inspiration of great lives.”—School Board Chronicle.
“There could not be a better prize-book.”’— British Weekly.

Up the Nile.
A Book for Boys and Girls. By H. Major, B.Sc.
With Forty Illustrations.

“A very excellent book. Must be placed amongst the best of the books for boys and
girls which have been issued this season.”—Vottingham Guardian.

From the Equator to the Pole.

In the Heart of Africa. By JosepH THOMSON.
Climbing the Himalayas, By W. W. GRAHAM.
The Road to the Pole. By Captain MARKHAM.

With Forty-five Illustrations.

“Nothing could be better than this little volume, in which three well-known
travellers have contributed accounts of their experiences.”—JA/orning Post.
“A more delightful prize or present than this it would he hard to find.”—Record.

The Strength of Her Youth.
A Story for Girls. By SARAH DoUDNEY. With Twenty Illustrations.

“Sound and healthy in tone, yet not without movement and variety. Carefully
illustrated and tastefully bound.”’—Dazly News.

We Three.
A Bit of Our Lives. By the Author of ‘‘ Worth a Threepenny Bit,”’ &c.
With Twenty Illustrations.

“‘Tts all-round excellence should ensure it a ready sale.’’—Schoolmaster.

Other Volumes in preparation,
12 Messrs. Isbisters’ Catatogue.

 

Isbisters’ Home Library.

Splendidly Illustrated. Large Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt extra.

THREE-AND-SIXPENNV SERIES.
True and Noble Women.

Brief Biographies. Edited by Henry C. Ewart.
With Numerous Illustrations.

ConTENTs :— Queen Victoria—Princess Alice—Sister Dora—Mrs. Fry
Sarah Martin—Mary Carpenter—Mrs. Moffatt—Mrs. Carlyle—
Mrs. Sewell—Baroness Bunsen—Mrs. Chisholm.

“The lives of women whose noble deeds have won for them love, honour, and
renown. . . . Will make a capital present for our girls.”’—Methodist Times.

Leaders Upward and Onward.
Brief Biographies of Noble Workers. Edited by Henry C. Ewart.
With Eighty Illustrations.

ConTENTs :—Charles Kingsley—Dean Stanley—Frederick Denison
Maurice— Archbishop Tait— Bishop Fraser—Dr. Arno'd—
Norman Macleod—Thomas Guthrie—Dincipal ‘Tulloch, &c.

“ A gallery of distinguished moral leaders that it would be hard indeed to beat. It

jis a sterling good book for a reward, and for a thoughtful boy no better one could be
found.”—Schoolmaster.

The Romance of Animal Life.

Short Chapters in Natural History. By the Rev. J. G. Woop, M.A.
With Eighty Illustrations.

. ‘Distinctly a good book for the young, for it teaches what all books on natural
history should do—sympathy with the animal world. We hope it will sell by thou-
sands.”—Sunday Times.

The British Hive;
And Its Working Bees. By H.C. MIALL SMITH, B.A.
With One Hundred Illustrations.

ConTEN?TS :—The Harvest of the Sea—Floating Castles—Light and
Leading on the Sea—Labour on the Land—Toiling in the Fens
—Forestry—Lancashire Mills—Yorkshire Factories— Hides and
Leather—Iron and Steel—Pots and Porcelain—Glass Work—
Match Making—Money Making—Black Diamonds, &c.

* Altogether a most readable and instructive volume.”—Sfectafor.
General Literature. 13

 

Isbisters’ Home Library.

Splendidly Illustrated. Large Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt extra.

THREE-AND-SIXPENNY SERIES.

The Story of Chemistry.

By HaroLtp W. Picton, B.Sc. With an Introduction by Sir
HENRY Roscoe, M.P., F.R.S., &c.

With Numerous Illustrations.
“To the reader possessed of some chemical knowledge this volume will be mast

useful, and to the uninitiated its earlier chapters, at least, cannot fail to be interest-
ing."—Vature.

Strangers Yet.
A Story. By SarAH Doupney, Author of “ Thy Heart’s Desire,” &c.
With Numerous Illustrations.

* An excellent sketch of character.” —<A theneum.

Round the Globe.
Through Greater Britain. Edited by W. C. PRocTER,
With Eighty Mlustrations.

CONTENTS :—Westward to Niagara—By Rail to the Pacific—tIn the
Fiji Islands—New Zealand and Australia—India and Ceylon—
South Africa—Gibraltar, &c.

“‘ We heartily commend the book.” —Guardian.

Britta:
A Story of Life in the Shetland Isles.
By Gzorcr TEMPLE, Author of “ Lancelot Ward, M.P.,” &c.
With Illustrations by LocKHART BOGLE.

“ We can bestow high praise on it. The story is exciting and even thrilling; while
the local descriptions and colouring are invariably excellent.” —Saturday Review.
14 Messrs. Isbisters Catalogue.

 

Isbisters' Home Library.

Splendidly Illustrated. Large Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt extra.

THREE-AND-SIXPENNY SERIES.

Toilers in Art.

Biographical and Critical Sketches. Edited by Henry C. Ewart.
With One Hundred Illustraticns from the Works of the Artists.

ConTENTS: John Tenniel—Léon Lhermitte—Oskar Pletsch—Jean
Paul Laurens—Charles Henry Bennett—George Tohn Pinwell—
Josef Israels—Frederic Shields—Irederick Walker—Thomas
Faed—Fiederick Eltze—George Tinworth—Thomas Bewick—-
John Flaxman—Francois Louis Frangais—&c., &c,

Stepping Stones.
A Story of Our Inner Life. By Saran Doupney, Author of
«« Where the Dew Falls in London,” &c.

With Numerous Illustrations,

“ Well written and pleasant.”"—Graphic.
“The characters are real and lifelike.”’—Aanchester Examiner.

Glimpses of Europe.
A Round of Travel. Edited by W. C. Procrer.

With One Hundred Illustrations.

CONTENTS :— Dinant-sur-Meuse— A Trip to St. Cloud— Mount

Etna — Scylla — Breezy Urbino — Pompeii— The St. Gothard

Tunnel — Capri — Papal Rome—The Engadine—The Giant

Mountain:—Bergen Leper Hospital—The City of the Czar—
Finland—Verona, &c., &c.

“ Few more interesting and instructive gift-books have been published this season

than this. Paper, type, engravings, and binding all reflect credit on the publishers,

and we trust that, in the interests of the young, such books will multiply.”
Schoolmaster.

Thy Heart’s Desire.

A Story of Girls’ Lives. sBy SARAH Doupwey, Author of “ Godiva
Durleigh,” &c.

With Twenty-four Illustrations.

“A well written story. The truths are carefully worked out, and will find an echo
in every heart. The book should be in every Sunday-school Library.”—Schoolmas/er

Other Volumes in prepaiation,
General Literature. 15

 

Rev. B. G. Johns.
Among the Butterflies.

A Hand-book for young Collectors. By the Rev. B. G. Johns, M.A.
With 12 full-page Plates and numerous Illustrations. Crown
8vo, 2s. 6d.

“A charming example of juvenile literature. It deserves to be well known and
largely used.” —TZeacher’s Aid.

Rev. Thomas Jones.

The Divine Order,

And other Sermons and Addresses. By the late THomMAs Jonas,
of Swansea. With an Introduction by RoBERT BROWNING.

With Portrait. Third Thousand. Large Post 8vo, 7s. 6d.
“It is easy to see why such sermons attracted Mr. Browning.’’—Saturday Review.

‘* Of remarkable power and beauty.”—Scotsman.
“Tt is not difficult to imagine the fascination these discourses had.”—Specfazor.

Rev. John Kennedy, D.D.

The Self Revelation of Jesus Christ.

With an Examination of some Recent Naturalistic Hypotheses.
By JoHN Kennepy, M.A., D.D., Honorary Professor, New
College, London. Large Post 8vo, 7s. 6d.

““Dr. Kennedy is master of his arguments, and writes with the clearness aud
energy of full assurance. This work is worthy to be a standard book upon the Con-
troversy..’—Sword and Trowel.

“A singularly timely book, as interesting and convincing as it is seasonable, and
which deserves to have a wide circulation.’’—Congregational Review.

* The whole volume is a masterly piece of reasoning.” —JAZethodist Times.

David Mabelan.

Home Rule and Imperial Unity.

An Argument for the Gladstone-Morley Scheme. By Davip
MABELAN. Demy 8vo, 2s. 6d.
“A very calmly reasoned argument. We have a great number of pamphlets and
essays on the Irish Question ; Mr. Mabelan’s is the ablest of the whole series before
us.’—Westminster Review.

Rev. Donald Macleod, D.D.

The Sunday Home Service.

A Book of Short Readings and Prayers for each Sunday Evening in
the Year. By the Rev. DONALD MACLEOD, D.D., One of Her
Majesty’s Chaplains, Editor of ‘‘Good Words.”? Demy 8vo, 7s. 6d.

“ Beautiful, simple, tender, and effective.”—British Quarterly Review.
“We have no doubt that practical experience will confirm the warmest word that
has Leen spoken in its behalf.”—CAristian Leader. . ‘ .
‘‘An inestimable boon. We shall be surprised if it does not come into immediate
favour, ... The externals of the volume are everything that could be desired.”
Glasgow Herald.

 
16 Messrs. Isbisters’ Catalogue.

 

Archbishop Magee.

The Gospel and the Age.

Sermons on Special Occasions. By the late W. C. Macer, D.D.,
Lord Archbishop of York. Fifth Thousand. Large post
8vo, 7s. 6d.

“Will arrest the attention of the world.” —Sjectator.

Growth in Grace.

And other Sermons. By the late W. C. MAGEE, D.D., Lord Arch-
tishop of York. “Large post 8vo, 7s. 6d. :

Christ the Light of all Scripture.

And other Sermons. By the late W. C. Maces, D.D., Lord Arch-
bishop of York. Large post 8vo, 7s. 6d. [Zn the press.

H. Major, B.Sc-

Up the Nile.

By H. Major, B.Sc. See Isbisters’ Home Library, p. 21.

I. T. Meade.

A Band of Three,

By L. T. MeaDE. See Isbisters’ Home Library, p. 10.

A Dweller in Tents.

By L. T. MEADE. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.

“Tt surprises us with a study of human character of no ordinary merit and
intensity.”"—Pad? Mall Gazette.

Andrew Harvey’s Wife.

By L. T. MEADE, With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 2s, 6d.
“The characters are well drawn, and the story well developed.”—Zzterary World.

Nobody's Neighbours.

By L. T. Mrabz. See Isbisters’ Home Library, p. 10.
General Literature. 17

 

LL. T. Meade—continued,

Mother Herring’s Chicken.

An East-end Story. By L. T. MEApg. Illustrated by Barnes.
Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.

““One of the most pleasing little tales which was ever written for young people
ay, and even for old people.” —Vewcastle Chronicle.

Faithful Friends.

By L. T. MEADE and others. See Isbisters’ Home Library, p. 11.

Mou-setsé: A Negro Hero.

By L. T. MEADE. With Ilustrations. Small 8vo, Is,

James Middlemore.

Proverbs, Sayings, and Comparisons

in Various Languages. Collected and arranged by JAMES MIDDLE-
MORE. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d.

“‘Those who wish to know everything interesting on this subject had best turn to

Mr. Middlemore’s book, which has been made into a charming volume.”
Birmingham Daily Post.

William Mitchell.

Rescue the Children.

Twelve Years’ Dealings with Neglected Girls and Boys. By
Wn. MITCHELL, Vice-Chairman of the School Board for
Glasgow. With numerous Illustrations. Second Thousand.
Crown 8vo. Sewed, Is.; or Cloth, 2s. 6d.

“ Very suggestive and of practical service.” —Saturday Review.

Rev. Frederic Myers.

Catholic Thoughts on the Church

of Christ and the Church of England. By the late Rev. FREDERIC
Myers. With Marginal Notes, &c. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d.

Catholic Thoughts on the Bible

and Theology. By the late Rev. FREDERIC Myers. With Marginal
Notes, &c. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d.

Extract from u letter written by the late Dean Alford, and published tn his
Memoirs :—

“ Have you ever seen ‘ Catholic Thoughts,’ by the late Mr. Myers of Keswick, two
privately-printed volumes, one on the Church of Christ and the Church of England,
one on the Bible and Theology? Very remarkable, especially as written 1834—1848,
containing the largest views now urged by any of us, put out by a devout Christian
Churchman ”

Cc
18. Messrs. Isbisters’ Catalogue.

 

Palmerston, Life of.
See English Political Leaders, p. 8.

J. B. Paton, D.D.

The Twofold Alternative.

By J. B. Paton, D.D. Cloth, 2s.

Evening Schools under Healthy

Conditions. By J. B. Paton, D.D. Sewed, 2d.
The Inner Mission.

Containing Four Addresses :—-The Inner Mission of the Church—
The Inner Mission of Germany—The State of Europe in Relation to
the Spread of the Gospel—Woman’s Great Work in the Churches.
By J. B. Paron, D.D. Cloth, 1s.; sewed, 8d.

The Inner Mission of the Church.

By j. B. Paton, D.D. Sewed, 2d.

The Inner Mission of Germany,
and its Lessons tous. By J. B. Paton, D.D. Sewed, 3d.

The Re-Union of Christendom.

By J. B. Paton, D.D. Sewed, 1d.

Evidence Given Before the Educa-

tion Commission. By J.B. Paron, D.D. Sewed, 2d.

National Home Reading Union.

By J. B. Paton, D.D. Sewed, 1d.

The Home Reading of Our Senior

Scholars. By J. B. Paton, D.D. Sewed, 1d.

Recreative Instruction of Young
People. By J.B. Paton, D.D. Sewed, 1d.

Peel, Life of.

See English Political Leaders, p. 8.
General Literature. 19

 

Francis Peek.

Reason, Revelation, and Faith.

By Francis PEEK, Chairman of the Howard Association. Crown
8vo, 2s.

‘The essays are reverent, and evidently written by one competent to grapple with
the subject on which he writes.”—.ethodist Times.

Social Wreckage; a Review of the

Laws of England as they affect the Poor. By Francis PEEK,
Chairman of the Howard Association. Fourth and Revised Edition,
Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.

“« Of those who have of late years laboured to enlighten public opinion and stimulate
public sentiment with regard to the condition of the poor, few have done better service
than Mr. Peck. No one can read this book without benefit.’’—Scotsman,

The Workless, the Thriftless, and

the Worthless. The Problem of the Unemployed. By FRANcIS
PEEK, Chairman of the Howard Association. Crown 8vo, cloth, Is.

‘Harold W. Picton, B.Sc.

The Story of Chemistry.

See Isbisters’ Home Library, p. 13.

James Allanson Picton, M.A., M.P.

The Life and Letters of Sir James

A. Picton. (Originator of the Liverpool Free Public Library.) By
his Son, J. A. Prcrox, M.A.,M.P. With Portrait and Mlustra-
tions. Demy 8vo, 12s.

Pitt, Life of.

See English Political Leaders, p. 8.

Dean Pluncptre.

The Divina Commedia and Minor

Poems of Dante Alighieri. A New Translation. With Biographical
Introduction, Notes and Essays, &c. By the late E. H. PLUMPTRE,
D.D., Dean of Wells.

Volume I.—Life. Hell, Purgatory. Medium $8vo, 21s.

Volume II.—Paradise, Minor Poems. Studies. Medium 8vo, 21s.

- No book about Dante has been published in England that will stand comparison
with Dean Plumptre’s. He deserves the gratitude of all true lovers of good literature
for writing it. We have nothing further to say of it except that, take it for all in all,
the only fitting epithet we can find for it is ‘noble’; and that we do most heartily
wish it all the success which it richly deserves.”’—Spectator.

“Lovers of Dante will welcome Dean Plumptre’s long promised translation. We
may safely prophesy that this noble work will hold the field.” —Westmznster Review.
20 Messvs. Isbisters’ Cataiogue.

 

Dean Plumptre—continued.

TheLifeand Letters of Thomas Ken,

Bishop of Bath and Wells. Author of the “‘Morning and Evening

Hymns.” Based largely on Unpublished or Little-known materials.

By the la‘e E. H. PLumprre, D.D., Dean of Wells. With Illustra-

tions by WHYMPER. Two Volumes. New and Cheap Edition, Demy
8vo, 12s. Original Edition, Medium 8vo, 32s.

“ Everywhere lucid, accurate, and interesting.’’-—Guardzan.

‘The Dean has devoted great labour to this life of ‘ the good bishop,’ and has ex-
hausted almost all that is to be said of Ken and his writings. The scheme of the
work is broadly comprehensive, embracing more than a mere biography, and he has
thoroughly imbued himself with the spirit of his subject.” —Zzmes.

The Tragedies of Sophocles: A

New Translation, with a Biographical Essay, and an Appendix of
Rhymed Choral Odes and Lyrical Dialogues. By the late E. H.
PLuMrtrE, D.D., Dean of Wells. New and Cheap Edition. Crown
8vo, 4s. 6d.

“Let us say at once that Dean Plumptre has” not only surpassed the previous
translators of Sophocles, but has produced a work of singular merit, not less remark-
able for its felicity than its fidelity, a really readable and enjoyable version of the old
plays.”’—Pall Mall Gazette.

The Tragedies of A‘schylos: A

New Translation, with a Biographical Essay and an Appendix of
Rhymed Choral Odes. By the late E. H. PLumprre, D.D., Dean
of Wells. New and Cheap Edition, Crown 8vo, 4s. 6d.

“Dean Plumptre pits himself with more and abler rivals than when he essayed

Sophocles; and here, too, we are of opinion that he will be found to hold his own.”
Contemporary Review.

Spirits in Prison, and other Studies

of the Life after Death. By’ the late E. H. PLumprre, D.D., Dean
of Wells. Sixth Thousand, Revised and Enlarged. Large post 8vo,
7s. 6d.

“« Of very deep interest . . . . very clear, very candid, very!learned .... 4 model
manual on the subject.” —Spectator.

Wells Cathedral and its Deans.

Witha Ground Plan of the Cathedral. By thelate E. H. PLumprRE,
D.D., Dean of Wells. Demy, sewed, Is,
General Literature. 21

 

Poets’ Bible (The) ;

Or, The Poets’ Vision of the Characters and Scenes of Holy Scripture.
Selected and Edited by W. GARRETT HoORDER.

OLD TESTAMENT SECTION. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d.

“Tt would be difficult to find a more interesting and, we might say, valuable
volume than this. It should be in all libraries.” —Spectator.

W. C. Procter.

Round the Globe.

Edited by W. C. PRocrER. See Isbisters’ Home Library, p. 13. |

Glimpses of Europe.

Edited by W. C. PRocTER. See Isbisters’ Home Library, p. 14.

Harry Quilter, M.A.
Sententiz Artis.

First Principles of Art for Painters and Picture Lovers. By Harry
QuiLtTER, M.A. Small demy 8vo, gilt top, price Ios. 6d.

“The book, we should say at once, is, for all ‘picture lovers,’ a very interesting
and a very amusing one, fuil of good things..... Excellent reading, often very
powerful, and substantially sound and wise in its literary teaching.”’—Spectator.

Mrs, Ross,

Memoir of Alexander J. Ross, D.D.

Rector of Snelston, sometime Vicar of St. Philip’s, Stepney, Author
of ‘* Memoir of Alexander Ewing,” &c. By his Widow. With
Portrait. New and Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo, 5s.
“A satisfactory piece of biography of a man of liberal views, great generosity of
character, and wide reading. Mrs. Ross has shown excellent taste in compiling her
volume.” —A thengum.

Rev. A. J. Ross, D.D.

Memoir of Alexander Ewing,

D.C.L., Bishop of Argyll and the Isles. By the late Rev. A. J.
Ross, D.D. Third and Cheaper Edition. Demy 8vo, tos. 6d.
“ An admirable biography of a noble-hearted and highly-gifted man.” —Sfectafor.'

“ Nothing could be finer than some of the Bishop’s letters from the continent.”
Gritish Quarterly Review.
22 Messrs. Isbisters’ Catalogue.

Prebendary Row.

Future Retribution

Viewed in the Light of Reason and Revelation. By the Rev.
PREBENDARY C. A. Row, D.D. Author of the Bampton
Lectures on ‘Christian Evidences,” &c. Second Edition,
Revised, with a New Introduction. Demy 8vo, 12s.

“A very valuable book, which will bring out in a very strong light to all careful
readers the remarkable discrepancy between the reticence of Scripture and the con-
fidence with which ecclesiastical literature has treated the subject..... We feel
very thankful to Mr. Row for stating the question plainly, and making its direct
bearing on our faith in the justice of God, as clear as he does.’”’—Spectator.

“‘ Every reasonable Christian would be a gainer by reading this book.”
Daily Telegrap,

Rev. G. Sarson.

The Eucharist and Common Life.

By the Rev. G. Sarson. Limp cloth, Is.
“ This attractive little devotional commentary contains much that is true, beautiful,
and thoroughly,practical.”—/nguzrer.

Professor Schmidt.

The Social Results of Early Chris-

tianity. By Professor Scumrpt, of Strasburg. Translated by Mrs.
THORPE. With an Introduction by R. W. Dats, LL.D., of Bir-
mingham. Second Edition. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d.

“Done with great minuteness, wide reading, and literary skill. The argument is,
in its evidence and cogency, perhaps the most complete we have, and will be in-
valuable to_the Christian apologist.”—Brztish Quarterly Review.

Lewis Sergeant.

Life of William Pitt.

By Lewis SERGEANT. See English Political Leaders, p. 8.

G. Barnett Smith.

Life of Sir Robert Peel.

By G. BARNETT SMITH, See English Political Leaders, p. 8.
H. C. Mialt Smith.

The British Hive, and its Working

Bees." ‘By H.C. Mrart SmitH, B.A. See Isbisters’ Home Library,
p. 12.

 

Samuel Smith, M.P.

India Revisited.

_ Its Social and Political Problems. By SAMUEL SMITH, M.P.,
Author of “‘ Social Reform,” &c. Sewed, 6d.
_ “ Appears to us to take not only a very intelligent view of some complicated ques-
tions, but to be remarkably fair and even-handed as between native and European
ways of looking at the same set of facts.” — Westminster Review.
General Literature. 23

 

Dean Spence.

Dreamland in History.

The Story of the Normans. By H. D. M. Spence, D.D., Dean of
Gloucester. With numerous Illustrations by Herbert Railton.
Imperial 8vo, 21s.
‘A happy thought, happily executed.”—TZimes. : ;
‘‘Finding himself the guardian of a great Norman abbey, the Dean of Gloucester
has busied himself in inquiring what manner of men they were who built it, and in
tracing its history. The result is this beautiful volume. Aided by the skilful pencil
of Mr. Railton, the Dean brings before us, now the mighty dead who-have passed
away, now the mighty buildings that remain. The spirit in which he writes gives an
additional grace to a most charming book: Happy will the thoughtful boy or girl be
who gets it as a Christmas present, and not less happy will be the elders who make it
the companion of their next Norman tour.””—Guardian.
“« A volume which, alike from'the interest of its subject, the charm of the narrative,
and the beauty of the illustrations, is one of the most attractive works issued this
season.”—Record.

W. TT. Stead.

General Booth.

A Biographical Sketch. By W. T. Sreap, Editor of ‘The
Review of Reviews.” With numerous Portraits and Illustra-
tions. Crown 8vo, gilt edges, Is.

“« This little volume is well worth reading, and may be specially commended to the

dispassionate study of all who are willing to consider with open minds the facts of
General Booth’s singular career.” —Dazly Chronicle. , ‘ '

Rev. J. J. Stephenson.

Sermons.

By the late Rev. J. J. STEPHENSON. With an Introduction by the

BisHop of ROCHESTER. Crown 8vo, 3s.6d. With Portrait, 4s. 6d.

“*A man of fine gifts, and great beauty of character. These sermons show a fine

poetical sense, which enabled the preacher to make striking and very beautiful appli-
cations. Very good specimens of modern parochial addresses.” —Guardian,

“‘We do not wonder at the language of praise with which the Bishop introduced

these discourses to the public... .. They are instinct with an earnestness which

makes itself telt, even in the coldness of print.”—Sectator.

 

Hesba Stretton.

In Prison and Out.

By HEsBA STRETTON. With Twelve Illustrations by R. Bames,
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d.

“Told with all the pathos and captivating interest of the authdress of ‘Jessica’s
First Prayer.’ ”’—Guarazan, : : ;
“A powerful illustration of the way in which the laws and the police together make
* ‘ £5

criminals.’—Leterary World, , é Ree
24 Messrs. Isbisters’’ Catalogue.

\

 

Sunday Magazine.

Yearly Volumes. In handsome binding. Royal 8vo, gilt edges,
7s. 6d. each.

Bishop Thorold.

The Yoke of Christ.

By A. W. THOROLD, D.D., Lord Bishop of Winchester. Eleventh
Thousand. Crown 8vo, 5s.

ConTENTS :— Marriage—IlIness—Letter-writing—Friends—Money
—The Loss of Friends.

‘*Preachers would do well to follow his example, and let criticism and science alone

for awhile. The six essays which make up the volume are the ripe fruit of twenty
years’ meditation, and they have the ‘ nuttiness’ of age about them.”

The Gospel of Christ.

By A. W. THoROLD, D.D., Lord Bishop of Winchester. Sixth
Thousand. Crown 8vo, 4s. 6d.

“May well take its place amongst the classics of experimental religion.”— Record

The Claim of Christ on the Young,

By A. W. THoRoLpD, D.D., Lord Bishop of Winchester. Third
Thousand. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.

“They deserve to be ranked amongst the most remarkable pulpit utterances of

modern times. They deal with living questions and real dangers; are simple and

yet powerful; wise, and at the same time uncompromising in the defence of a

supernatural Gospel. We commend the work as both timely and of remarkable
value.”—Churchman.

The Presence of Christ.

By A. W. THOROLD, D.D., Lord Bishop of Winchester. Seventeenth
Thousand. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.

On the Loss of Friends.

By A. W. THOROLD, D.D., Lord Bishop of Winchester. Sewed, 3d.

On Being Ill.

By A. W. THOROLD, D.D., Lord Bishop of Winchester. Sewed, 34
General Literature. 25

 

Mrs. Thorpe.

King Frost.

The Wonders of Snow and Ice. By Mrs. THoRPE. See Isbisters’
Home Library, p. Ic.

Anthony Trollope.

Life of Lord Palmerston.

By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. See English Political Leaders, p. 8.

Sarah Tytler.

The Songstresses of Scotland.

By SARAH TYTLER. Post 8vo, 16s. °

“Our readers will find in this attractive and useful volume more subjects of
interest than in a whole circulating library of novels.”—A theneum.

Old Masters and Their Pictures.

A Handbook for Students. By SARAH TYTLER. Crown 8vo, 4s. 6d.

“ Really supplies what has long been a felt want.”—British Quarterly Revwex.

Modern Painters and their Paint-

ings. A Handbook for Students. By SaraH TYTLER. Crown

8vo, 4s. 6d.

“ An excellent introduction to the History of Art.”—Darly News.

Musical Composers and __ their

Works. A Handbook for Students. By SARAH TYTLER. Crown
8vo, 4s. 6d.

“The best simple handbook on the subject that has yet appeared in England.”,
Academy.
26 Messrs. Isbisters’ Catalogue.

 

fev. Benjamin Waugh.

Sunday Evenings with my Children.

» .& Book of Services for the Young. By the Rev. B. Waucu.
: With 100 Illustrations. Eleventh Thousand. Square 8vo, 6s. 6d.

“Mr. Waugh is now well known as one of our best religious writers for the young.”
onten:porary Review.

The Children’s Sunday Hour.

By the Rev. B. WaucGuH. With numerous Illustrations. Fouith
Thousand. Square 8vo, cloth 5s.

“Tt is more than a pleasure, it is almost a duty, to recommend this admirable
volume to the, consideration of parents, and all those who teach the young.”

Spectator,
« of much ‘external beauty, and well written. A book handsome in itself and in all

respects calculated to please the young people for whom it is intended.”—Scotsman,

The Gaol Cradle, Who Rocks It?

A Plea for the Abolition of Juvenile Imprisonment. By the Rev.
B. WauGH. 4th Edition. Crown 8vo, 2s.

We Three.

A Bit of Our Lives. By the AUTHOR of * Wortha Threepenny Bit.”
See Isbisters’ Home Library, p. 11.

Arnotd White.

Tries at Truth.

Essays on Social Subjects. By ARNOLD WduutTE, Author of
‘ *Problems of a Great City,” &c. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d.,
paper boards, 2s.

“ Admirable essays on social questions.”—Cassell’s Family Magazine.

Rev. JI. G. Wood:

My Back Yard Zoo.

By the late Rev. J. G. Woop. Sze Isvisters’ Home Library, p. 10.

The Romance of Animal Life.

By the late Rev. J. G. Woop. See Isbisters’ Home Library, p. 12.

> ? —

Rev. Thos. Whytehead.
Poetical Remains, &c.

By the late Rev. THoMAs WHYTEHEAD. With Memoir and a
»* Preface by the late Dean of Chester. Crown 8vo, 6s.
SCHOOL BOOKS.

PAGE

READING BOOKS . 3 : Se : . 28
COPY BOOKS F ‘ go e ; 5 me) Re
DRAWING , : é : ‘ : ‘ - 33
ARITHMETIC. : : : : : : e 38
GRAMMAR ; 3 ‘ ; ‘ ‘ - 36
GEOGRAPHY . ‘ ‘ ‘ . ‘ a 37
REGISTERS AND SCHOOL MANAGEMENT . 38
FRENCH AND GERMAN . ; . - . 39

MISCELLANEOUS SCHOOL BOOKS . ‘ . 41
READING BOOKS.

NATURAL HISTORY READERS.

Specially Written
By the late Rev. J. G. WOOD, M.A.

Author of ‘‘ Homes without Hands,” &c.

FIRST READER, 7d. FOURTH READER, 1s. 6d.
SECOND READER, 10d. | FIFTH READER, 1s. 6d.
THIRD READER, 1s. 2d. | SIXTH READER, 1s. 6d.

THE NEW
LONDON READERS.

FIRST READER, 6d. | THIRD READER, 1s.
SECOND READER, 9d. | FOURTH READER, 1s.

FIFTH READER, Is. 6d., containing 146 pages Selec-
tions from Standard Authors, and 46 pages Explanatory
Notes, Biographical Notes on Authors, and Vocabulary.

SIXTH READER, is. 6d., containing 160 pages Selec-
tions from Standard Authors, and 48 pages Explanatory
Notes, &c.
Messrs. Isbisters’ School Books. 29

 

GEOGRAPHICAL READERS.

With numerous Maps and Illustrations.

First Standard Geographical Reader.

Points of Compass—Maps, Plans, &c. 112 pp., feap. 8vo, 7d.

Second Standard Geographical Reader.
Geographical Terms—Hills and Rivers. 144 pp., fcap. 8vo, gd.

Third Standard Geographical Reader.

England and Wales. 192 pp., fcap. 8vo, Is.
Fourth Standard Geographical Reader.

Scotland, Ireland, and the Colonies of British North America
and Australasia. 216 pp., fcap. 8vo, Is. 4d.
fHome Lesson Exercise Book for Standard IV. 24 pages, 2d.

Fifth Standard Geographical Reader.

Europe, Latitude and Longitude. 320 pp., fcap. 8vo, Is. gd.
Home Lesson Exercise Book for Standard V. 24 pages, 2d.

Sixth Standard Geographical Reader.
The World. 390 pp., crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.
Home Lesson Exercise Book for Standard VI, 32 pages 2d.

*,* The former editions of the First Reader for Standard II. and
Second Reader for Standard ILI, can still be had, fcap. 8vo, 1s. each.

With Maps and SItlustrations.

HISTORICAL READERS.
By the Rev. D. MORRIS,

AUTHOR OF “‘CLASS-BOOK HISTORY OF ENGLAND,” &c.

I. Stories from English History.
Adapted to Standard III. 144 pp., feap. 8vo, 9d.
Home Lesson Exercise Book for above. 2d.

II. England to Queen Elizabeth.
Adapted to Standard IV. 296 pp., feap. 8vo, Is, 6d.
Home Lesson Exercise Book for above. 2d.

III. Elizabeth to George III.

Adapted to Standard V. 320 pp., feap. 8vo, Is. 9d-

IV. George III. to Present Time.

Adapted to Standards VI. and VII. 304 pp. fcap. 8vo, 1s. 9d.
30. Messrs. Isbisters’ Catalogue.

THE LONDON READERS.

“ Unsurpassed as model school books.” —Educarional News.
“Of this series we can speak with unqualified approval.”’—Schoolmaster.
“ Sure to be a great favourite with children and teachers.”—School Guardian.

 

PRIMER, 32 pp. < . 3d. | FOURTH READER, 240
INFANT READER, 48 pp. 4d. pp. Is. 4d.

FIRST READER, 96 pp. . 6d. | FIFTH READER, 288 pp. ts. 9d.
SECONDREADER, 144pp. 9d. | SIXTH READER, 344
THIRD READER, 192 pp. Is. pp. . 5 : 2s. 3d.

THE

ELEMENTARY SCHOOL SERIES

ILLUSTRATED READERS.
NEW EDITIONS.

s. d, s. d.
INFANT READER, First FIRST READER, Part II.,
and Second Grades, ~ 64 pages . : - O04
pages, in linen. ‘ oO 24 Two Parts in One 2 o7
INFANT READER, Third oe READER, 176 fe
1
Grade, 32 pages, in linen 0 24 | ahihRy READER, 224 pp. 10
INFANT READER, com- FOURTH READER, 320
plete in strong linen cover 0 4 pp. . ‘ : i . 16
FIRST READER, Part I., FIFTH READER, 288 pp. I 9
64 pages . 7 0 4 SIXTH READER, 352 pp. 2 3

*,* The original editions of the Second, Third, and Fourth Readers
are still on sale:

SECOND READER, 88 pages, price 6d. THIRD READER,
160 pages, price riod. FOURTH READER, 232 pages, price Is. 4d.

Edinburgh Primer, The.

32 pages, beautifully illustrated, 2d.
School Books. 31),

 

THE ah

PUBLIC SCHOOL SERIES
ENGLISH READERS.

“The series is one of the best and most carefully compiled extant; indeed, there
are few that approach it in excellence.” —Sco/sman.

“‘ Nothing could be better.”— Westminster Review.

PRIMER, Part I., 32 pp.,in linen, | SECOND READER, 128) pp.,
2id. cloth, 6d. . :
PRIMER, Part II., 32 pp., in| THIRD READER, 160pp,, cloth, ;

linen, 24d. ” gd.
DOUBLE PRIMER, consisting of | * eae 272 Pps

Parts I. and II., 64 pp., strongly ;
Bound fen, td. ? FIFTH ns 368 pp., cloth, .

Is. gd.
FIRST READER, 64 pp., cloth, | SIXTH READER, 400 pp., cloth,
4d. 2s. 6d.

READING SHEETS.
The Combined Method Reading

Sheets and Primer.

The Sheets (30 by 20 inches) are in two Sections.

Section I., 24 Sheets. Section II., 18 Sheets. Price qs. each;
mounted on Strong Boards, 15s. each; or on Rollers, glazed,
15s. each.

The Combined Method Reading Sheets are based on the experience of
many practical teachers both in Great Britain and America. They unite
the best points of the “‘ phonic’ with those of the ‘“ Zook and say”’ method,
and teachers who adhere to the alphabetic method will find no difficulty,in .
adapting them to their views. fk

The Primer. 48 pages, in linen, price 4d.

The chief purpose of this Primer, and that which justifies its title, is to
form a connecting link between the sheets, with their diacritical marks,
hollow letters, &c., and ordinary reading books. With this aim, the words
and sentences of the sheets are almost exactly repeated in ordinary type ;
but wherever possible others are added, presenting the same powers of the
letters, and the same association of sound and sign,

Picture Lessons on Letter Forms,

adapted to Infant Schools, Six Sheets, with explanatory Hand-
book, 2s. 6d.
32 Messrs. Isbisters’ Catalogue.

WRITING and DRAWING.

 

 

COPY BOOKS.

From the ‘“ BLUE BOOK.”

‘*Copy Books are to be found in plenty, but
they are too often merely a means of pastime,
and as such are worse than useless. Zhe best [
know are those published by Lsbister.”’

One or H.M. INspectTors.

ALL AT TWOPENCE EACH.

Isbisters’ New Copy Books.

In Eighteen Numbers.

The Abbotsford Copy Books.

In Twelve Numbers.

The London Copy Books.

In Thirteen Numbers.

The Public School Copy Books.

Schoolmaster.—“ These Copies can scarcely fail to become popular.
The models are excellent, and the paper is exceptionally good.”

National Schoolmaster.—“ The copies are simply perfect. We
cannot imagine how better could be produced.”

Scotsman.—‘“ Admirably arranged for teaching writing.”
City Press.—“ The ‘narrative’ feature is capital.”
School Books. 33

 

DRAWING.

Isbisters’ Standard Drawing Copies.

Specially prepared to meet the new requirements for Drawing

IN

on

Io.
II.
12.

13.

in Elementary Schools under the English and Scotch Codes.

THIRTEEN NUMBERS. PRICE TWOPENCE EACH.

CONTENTS.

Stanparps I. and II.

. Lines, Angles, Parallels, and Simple Right-lined Forms.
. Simplest Right-lined Forms.

STANDARD III.

. Freehand Drawing.
. Simple Geometrical Figures, with Rulers.

STANDARD IV.

. Freehand Drawing.
. Simple Scales and Drawing to Scale.

STANDARD V.

. Geometrical Figures, with Instruments.
. Freehand Drawing.
. Plans and Elevations. Simple Scales.

Stanparps VI. and VII.
Freehand Drawing.
Plans and Elevations of Rectangular Solids, and Sections.
Plans and Elevations of Circular Solids, and Sections.
Advanced Geometrical Drawing.

“They are excellently printed, give great variety of form and examples, and are
certainly one of the best sets we have seen.” —Schoolmaster.

“The copies are thoroughly well executed . . . being just what is wanted.”

The Teacher's Aid.
D
34 Messrs. Isbisters’ Catalogue.

 

THE

Public School Drawing Series.

FIRST GRADE FREEHAND DRAWING BOOKS.

In Twelve Numbers. Twopence each.

FIRST GRADE GEOMETRICAL DRAWING BOOKS.

In Six Numbers. Twopence each.

FIRST GRADE FREEHAND DRAWING CARDS.

Two Copies on each Card.
Four Sets. One Shilling per Set of Twelve Cards.

SECOND GRADE FREEHAND DRAWING CARDS.

Two Copies on each Card.
Two Sets. Two Shillings and Sixpence per Set of
Twelve Cards.

 

HOME LESSON EXERCISE
COPY BOOKS.

Questions with spaces for Written Answers, arranged so as to combine
on each page exercises adapted to the requirements of the Standards
in Arithmetic, Grammar, and Geography. The questions are printed
in ordinary type, and spaces or ruled lines are left for the written
answers. A large amount of time and trouble in setting exercises is
thus saved to teachers.

Nos, 1—24, for Standards II., III., IV., V.
Price One Penny each,

*,* A KEY to the Exercises, in two parts, 1s. 6d. each.
School Books. 35

 

ARITHMETIC.

Self-Testing Arithmetic Test Cards.

For Standards III.,IV., V., and VI. Thirty-six Cards and Two
Sets of Answers in each Standard. Cloth case, 1s. per packet.

Elementary School Arithmetics.

Examples for Home and School Use. Standard I. to IV.: paper,
2d. each; linen, 3d. each. Standard V.: paper, 3d.; linen, 4d.
Standards VI. and VII. (in one book).: paper 5d.; linen, 6d.
Answers separately—I. to III., price qd.; IV. to VII, price 6d.

Elementary Arithmetic,and How to
Teach It. A Manual for Teachers and Pupil Teachers. By GEORGE
Ricks, B.Sc., Inspector of Schools, School Board for London. Ninth
Edition. Crown 8vo, 4s. 6d.

Arithmetic for Pupil Teachers.

By GEoRGE RIcKSs, B.Sc., Inspector of Schools, School Board for
London, Thirteenth Edition. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.

Practical Hints on the Teaching of

Arithmetic. With a Short Exposition of its Principles. By Davip
Munn, F.R.S.E., Mathematical Master, High School, Edinburgh.
Small 8vo, 2s.

A Text-book of Arithmetic,

For Use in Higher Class Schools. By THomMas Murr, LL.D.,
Mathematical Master, High School, Glasgow. Ninth Edition
Crown 8vo, 4s. 6d.

Arithmetic for Schools & Colleges.

By the Rev. J. BARTER, Science and Art College, Plymouth.
Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.

Tate’s (W.) Elements of Commer-

cial Arithmetic. Small crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.
KEY to the above, 3s. 6d.
36 Messrs. Isbisters’ Catatogue.

 

GRAMMAR.

PUBLIC SCHOOL SERIES.
English Grammar
for Elementary Schools.

By T. MarcHANT WILLIAMS, B.A.
Eighth edition. 96 pages. Sewed, 6d.; Cloth, 9d.

This little book has been specially prepared for Elementary Schools, and
will be found to contain all that is requisite for grounding the pupils in the
elements of the subject, and preparing them for examination under the
Government Code. The varied kinds of type used to distinguish the
division and arrangement of the different parts, and the numerous exercises
and illustrative tables of words, are sure to prove very useful and attractive
features in so elementary a book.

LONDON SCHOOL SERIES.

First Lessons in Grammar.

Part I., for Standards II. and III., 32 pages, price 2d.
Part II., for Standards IV. to VI., 48 pages, price 3d.

“The easiest and most sensible introduction to the study that a child could have.”
School Guardian.

“Tf a text-book is to be used at all, we do not know of one better calculated easily
and thoroughly to prepare the children for passing in the Standards.”
Edinburgh Daily Review.

Grammar through Analysis.

A Natural Introduction to the Elementary Laws of English Grammar.
By G. F. H. Sykes, B.A. New Edition. Small 8vo, 1s. 6d.

“Mr, Sykes’s plan is the one that must be followed by every careful teacher, and a
happy inspiration has led him to choose most of his sentences for analysis from
* Robinson Crusoe,’ thereby insuring that they are English, and winning favour for his
grammar in the eyes of all young admirers of that hero.” —Saturday Review.

Giles’s English Parsing.

Improved Edition, 12mo, 2s.
School Books. 37

 

GEOGRAPHY.

For Geographical Readers see page 29.

First Steps in Geography.
By J. ALLANnson Picton, M.P.
A Manual of Oral Lessons on a New Plan. With Diagrams, &c.
Small 8vo, 2s.

“As the only perfect way to learn Geography, with the view of teaching it, is to
travel, so the best teaching will approach most nearly to a substitute for travel. It
will explain the unknown by the known. This has been more fully recognised in this
manual than in any other school-book that we know, and we therefore commend it to
parents and teachers. The child is taught first, not the usual puzzling rubbish about
the earth being an oblate spheroid, but how to draw the room in which it is taught,

the street, the town, the country in which it lives, and so on.”
Edinburgh Daily Review.

First Questions in Geography.

Being the Appendix to ‘‘ First Steps.” Sewed, 2d.

Public School Series Geographies.

‘With numerous Illustrations, Diagrams, and Maps.
New Editions, strongly bound.
BOOK I. Introductory, with 14 Illustrations and Diagrams.
For Standard II., 2d.
BOOK II. ca Wales, with 7 Maps. For Standard

BOOK III. Scotland, Ireland, and the British Possessions, with
9 Maps. For Standard IV., 5d.

BOOK IV. Europe, with 2 large Maps. For Standard V., 5d.

BOOK V. Asia, Africa, America, with 2 large Maps. For
Standard VL., 6d.
Complete in One Volume, cloth, 2s.

*,* These Text-Books ave unique, containing more solid and useful
matter with reference to commercial, technical, and industrial changes
than has ever been given in Works for Public Elementary Schools,
38 Messrs. Isbisters’ Catatogue.

 

SCHOOL MANAGEMENT, &c.

School Board Registers.
CDS Attendance Register. 1s. 4d.

Without Fees Columns, and giving enlarged space for entering the
C D S required in the case of Scholars attending Cookery, Draw-
ing and Singing Classes.

New Attendance Register. 1s. 4d.

Without Fees Columns, and with a column for Addresses

Attendance Register. 1s. 4d.

Original form with Fees Columns,
*,* All three forms of Attendance Register are ruled for Sixty Names.
Stiff boards, Cloth back.

Admission Register.

Large folio, half bound, price Ios.
With Copious Index, and Ruled for 2,300 Names.

Summary Register.

Large folio, half bound, ruled for five years, price 10s.

Summary Register for Mixed and Infant Schools.

Large folio, half bound, ruled for five years, price 10s.

The Elementary School Manager.

By H. R. Rick WicGIn and A. P. GRAVES. Fourth Edition,
crown 8vo, 5s.

Code of Instructions to Pupil

Teachers. Sewed, 6d.
ConTENTS :—General Conduct. General Rules as to Teaching. Writ-
ing. Reading. Arithmetic. Dictation. Oral Lessons. Needlework.
Interleaved with writing paper for the insertion of Additional Rules.

Advice to Pupil Teachers.

By a Friend of Education. Crown 8vo, sewed, 14d.
School Books. 39

 

FRENCH AND GERMAN.

Le Page’s French Course.

‘‘The sale of many thousands, and the almost universal adoption of
these clever little books by M. Le Page, sufficiently prove the public
approbation of his plan of teaching French, which is in accordance with
the natural operation of a child learning his native language.”

French School.

Part I. L’Echo de Paris. <A selection of Familiar Phrases
which a person would hear if living in France. 12m0, 3s. 6“.

French School.

Part II. The Gift of Fluency in French Conversation. 2s. 6d.

French School.

Part III. The Last Step to French. 12mo, 2s. 6d.

Petit Lecteur des Colléges ;

Or, the French Reader, for Beginners and Elder Classes. A
sequel to “‘L’Echo de Paris.” 12mo, 3s. 6d.

French Master for Beginners ;
Or, Easy Lessons in French. 12mo, 2s. 6d.

Ready Guide to French Composition.

French Grammar by Examples, giving Models as Leading-strings
throughout Accidence and Syntax. 12mo, 3s. 6d.

Studies in French Poetry.
Specimens of the Language from the Seventeenth Century to the

Present Time. With Chronological and Critical Explanatory Notes,
&c. 12m0, 3s. 6d.
40 Messrs. Isbisters’ Catalogue.

 

Public School Series—French.

By HENRI VAN Laun,
Translator of Taine’s ‘“ History of English Literature.”

THE BEGINNER’S FIRST FRENCH BOOK, 9d.
THE SECOND FRENCH BOOK, ts,
THE THIRD FRENCH BOOK, ts. 6d.

N.B.—Keys to the above :—First Book, 1s. 6d.;
Second Book, 2s. ; Third Book, 2s. 6d.

FIRST FRENCH READER, 1s.
SECOND FRENCH READER, Is. 34.
THIRD FRENCH READER, Is. 6d.

ENGLISH INTO FRENCH.

First Book, with an Introductory Essay on Translation, 1s, 3d.
Second Book, Is. 3d.
KEY to English into French Series, 2s. 6d.
“This admirable series will supply a real want. It is strange that, amid the multi-
plicity of French class-books, there should be room for another series like the present;

but, from a careful examination of them, we feel quite sure they will not only find a
place, but quickly reach a first place among their competitors.” —Schoolmaster.

Public School Series—German.

By H. E. GOLDSCHMIDT,

Professor of Modern Languages in Fettes College, Edinburgh.
FIRST GERMAN GRAMMAR, is.

SECOND GERMAN GRAMMAR, Is.
N.B.—Keys to the above :—First, 1s. 6d.; Second, 1s. 6d.

 

FIRST GERMAN READER, Is.
SECOND GERMAN READER, Is. 3d.
THIRD GERMAN READER, Is. 6d.

ENGLISH INTO GERMAN; with an Introductory Essay on
Translation, Is. 3d.

KEY to English into German, Is. 6d.
School Books. 4!

MISCELLANEOUS.

 

Ackworth Vocabulary ;

Or, English Spelling Book. With the Meaning attached to each
Word. 18mo, ts. 6d.

Andrews’ (Rev.S.J.) Bible Student’s

Life of Our Lord, in its Historical, Chronological, and Geographical
Relations. 8th Thousand. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.

Collier's (W. F.) History of Scot-

land for Schools. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, Is. gd.

Dodd's (G.) Dictionary of Manu-

factures, Mining, Machinery, and the Industrial Arts. Post 8vo, 5s.

Fairholt’s (F. W.) Dictionary of

Terms in Art. With 500 Engravings on Wood. Post 8vo, 6s.

Field’s (George) The Rudiments of

Colours and Colouring. Revised, and in part re-written, by Robert
Mallet, M.A., F.A.S., etc. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 4s. 6d.

Fothergill’s (J. M., M.D.) Animal

PHYSIOLOGY for use in Schools. Part I., 32 pp., price 2d.
Parts II. and III., 40 pp., price 3d. each. Or complete in one vol.,
cloth, price Is.

Domestic Economy for Schools.

In three parts, adapted to the requirements of the New Code.
Price 2d. each. Or complete in one vol., cloth, price gd.

Home Gymnastics.

Translated from the Swedish by ConcorDIA LG6FVING. With 32
explanatory Woodcuts. Crown 8vo, sewed, Is.

Johns’ (E. N.) History of England

for Schools. With Maps and numerous Genealogical Tables.
432 pp. crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. Or in two parts, Is. 6d. each.

Kindergarten Principle, The; its

Educational Value and Chief Applications, By M. J. LyscHINsKa.
With Diagrams and Illustrations. 7th Edition. Small 4to. 4s. 6d.
42 Messrs. Isbisters Catalogue.

 

Landon’s (F. G.) Algebra. With

numerous Examples, Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.

Natural History Diagrams.

Fifteen Sheets, glazed, and mounted on Linen, with Rollers. In
Three Sections of Five Sheets each. I. Animals. IJ. Birds.
III. Plants. Each Section 20s.

’ .
Nugent's (E.) Optics.
Light and Sight Theoretically and Practically Treated, with their

application to Fine Art and Industrial Pursuits. ‘With Illustrations.
Post 8vo, 5s.

Nuttall’s (P. Austin) Dictionary of

Scientific Terms. Post 8vo, 5s.

Picton’s (J. Allanson, M.P.) Cate-

chism on the Gospels. Adapted for Families, Schools, and Private
Students. Sewed, 2d.

Porter’s (Noah, D.D.) The Human

Intellect. With an Introduction upon Psychology and the Soul.
Demy 8vo, 16s,

The Elements of Intellectual

Science. A Manual for Schools and Colleges. Demy 8vo, Ios. 6d.

Reid’s (J. S.) Passages for Practice

in Translation at Sight.

PART I.—LATIN. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.
PART II.—GREEK. Crown 8vo, 2s, 6d.

INDICES TO THE PASSAGES. Sewed, 6d.

Ricks’ (G., B.Sc.) Object Lessons,

and How to Give Them.

InFANT SCHOOLS. 5th Thousand. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.
JUNIOR AND SENIOR CLASSES. 3rd Thousand. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.

Natural History Object Lessons.

A Manual for Teachers and Pupil Teachers. With numerous
Diagrams, Illustrations, and Specimen Outline Drawings for the
Blackboard. Second Thousand. Crown 8vo, 4s. 6d.
School Books. 43

 

Ricks’ (G., B.Sc.) First Lessons in

Algebra. In three parts, sewed, 4d. each ; complete in one volume
with Appendix and Answers, cloth, Is. 6d.

Ripper's(Wm.) PracticalChemistry.

With Notes and Questions on Theoretical Chemistry. Fourth
Thousand, Revised. With numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 2s.

Smith’s (Dr. Edward) Health:

A Handbook for Households and Schools. With Illustrations.
Second edition, crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.

Sykes’ (G. F.H.) First Readings in

Latin, with Vocabularies and a Short Accidence. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.

Wheeler's (J. Talboys, F.R.G.S.)

Historical Geography of the Old and New Testament. With six
coloured Maps. Folio, 7s. 6d.

Analysis and Summary of Old

Testament History and the Laws of Moses. Including the Laws of
Moses, the Historical, Poetical, and Prophetical Books, Critical
History and Geography, Connection between Old and New
Testament History, Apocryphal Books, &c. 15th Edition.
Post 8vo, 5s. 6d. ;

Analysis and Summary of New

Testament History. Including the Four Gospels in one continuous
Narrative ; the Acts of the Apostles and continuous History of
St. Paul; an Analysis of the Epistles and Revelation; Critical
History, Geography, &c. 10th Edition. Post 8vo, ss. 6d.

Popular Abridgment of Old and

New Testament History. Two vols. 18mo, Is. 4d. each.

Wilkin’s (A. S., M.A.) Latin Gram-

mar. PartI. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.

Wood-Working Tools; How to

Use them. With an introduction by George Ricks, B.Sc. With
Eighty Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.
 

> The Best Magazine for all the Week.

 

SIXPENCE MONTHLY. BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED.

GOOD WORDS.

EpitepD sy DONALD MACLEOD, D.D.,
One of Her Majesty’s Chaplains.

‘ Among the magazines, GoopD Worps for 1890 is an exceptionally
good volume.”—Zzmes.

‘Seldom has Good Words been more attractive to look at or better
worth reading ; for some considerable time past, indeed, the artistic and
literary contents of the magazine have been on an ascending scale of
excellence.” —Scotsman.

 

The Volume for 1891 Contains

The Marriage of Elinor.

The New Three-Volume Story by Mrs. OLIPHANT.

 

Questions of the Christian Life.

Short Sunday Readings.
By A. W. THOROLD, D.D., Lord Bishop of Winchester.

The Little Minister.

The New Three-Volume Story
By J. M. BARRIE, Author of “A Window in Thrums” &c.

 

Along with Important Contributions by

 

“SHIRLEY” (J.Skelton, D.C.L.) | THE BIsHOP OF RIPON.

ANDREW LANG. Professsor HENRY DRUMMOND
CARMEN SYLVA. ARCHDEACON FARRAR.
Professor W. F. BARRETT. Thelate ARCHBISHOPOF YORK
LINLEY SAMBOURNE. HARRY FURNISS.

Professor THORPE. ANNIE S. SWAN.

Sir HERBERT MAXWELL, M.P. | The EDITOR.
&e. &e.
a

Serr,
Sonne