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/as
MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE

UNIFORM WITH THIS BOOK.
T H E A L T O N S E R M O N S .
BY
A U G U S T U S W. H. A. R. E.
sº-mººsººm.
Crown 8vo, Cloth, price, tºº $3.50.
º º/92.9

M E M O RIA LS OF
A Q_U I E T L I F E.
~)
. Q. J
K. ...- SJ;
º &
By A U G U S T Us J. Cº H A R E,
AUTHOR of “walks IN Rome,” ETC.
AMERICAN EDITION REPRINTED ENTIRE FROM THE NINTH ENGLISH EDITION,
THE Two Volumes CoMPLETE IN ONE.
WZ 7 H A W IM 7 R O D U C 7 I O W AP P^
F. D. HUNTINGTON, S. T. D.,
AUTHOR OF “CHRISTIAN BELIEVING AND LIVING,” ETC.
N E W YORK:
G E O R G E R O U T L E D G E & S O N S,
AND
A NS ON D. F. R A N DO L PH & CO .
Edward O. J.ENKINs,
PRINTER AND STEREOTYP3R,
20 North William Street, N. Y.
s
& 2"
INTRODUCTION
T O T H E A M E R I C A N E D IT I O N .
IF it is a splendid service to men to make the way of
duty look to them as the way of joy, to clothe the Com-
mon drudgeries of obedience in garments of beauty, to
render household routine sacred, and self-sacrifice attract-
ive, then no ordinary honor belongs to these “Memorials
of a Quiet Life.” The saying of one of the noble per-
sons whose characters form the chief value of the vol-
unnes, and whose pithy and pointed sentences are almost
as wholesome examples in style as his manhood was in
Christian magnanimity—" What we can do for God is
little or nothing, but we must do our little nothings for
His glory,”—which deserves to be placed along with
George Herbert's encomium of holy sweeping, is one of
the keys, found here and there on the pages, to the sin-
gular power of the impression which pervades the whole.
There is a healing doctrine in it that would cure, if it
could have free course, much of the fret and fever of Our
unquiet modern Society. Very likely it would convert
Some of our infidelities, by Sweetening their bitter springs.
For there are two diseases that poison the people's peace,
generating a chronic religious unbelief— the ambition of
showy performances, and a forgetfulness of the divine
º - *...* …-s, ſº º ->
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ii INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION.
element and end in all strong and beautiful conduct.
That element is always tranquil ; and, accordingly, those
lives where the Heavenly Presence is felt are always
serene and steadfast. What needs to be demonstrated
of the Christian Faith now seems to be not so much the
credibility of its documentary evidence as the genuine-
ness of its original quality ; not so much its top-growth
as its root; not so much its capacity of noise and disten-
sion as the blessedness of its patient, silent and yet in-
tensely earnest waiting upon God. To be ardent without
affectation, enthusiastic without inconstancy, vigorous with-
out assumption, cheerful without irreverence, equal to all
occasions without Courting either applause or opposition,
is the perfect type of piety. Thus far it appears to have
been yielded nowhere in Christendom, in its purest and
finest form, so often as in the Christian homes of Eng-
land. ww.
America need not be ashamed to acknowledge it. She
will be wise if she learns from it. She will be foolish if
she forfeits the highest charm of national and personal
bearing by refusing, in a self-sufficient pride which is her
peculiar temptation, to mould her temper and manners
after that chaste model. English defects are obvious
enough ; but English household-religion is a very gra-
cious thing, and we should do well to claim it as a part
of our ancestral heritage. Sooner or later we must find
out that gentle breeding, a child of Christianity, is a posi-
tive good, and that neither energy nor independence can
INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. iii
be a substitute for it in the true measurement of human
greatness. We may go on multiplying enterprise and
knowledge, making money and pushing discovery, but
unless we crown these growths and gains with that su-
preme grace which is the fascination of the biography
before us, we shall come to a discovery that will mortify
us; namely, that eagerness and restlessness, hurry and
clamor, are symptoms of vulgarity or of disorder; that even
religion does not give the best peace unless its fountains
are in secret and still places; and that “in quietness and
confidence ’’ is the abiding “strength '' of the soul of man.
The special office of this work, therefore, is that it leads
us into one of the most refined and cultured and lovely
of those English homes; a home from which, as if by some
wonderful breath from Heaven, almost everything that is
not hallowed and generous seems to have been purged
away; a home as much of prayer as of thought, of love
as of learning, of spiritual humility as of intellectual
superiority, where charities to the lowest of God’s crea-
tures flow from an unfailing spring, in an unstinted stream,
and where all the amenities and dignities of a very fas-
tidious training are lifted into the freedom and light of
an atmosphere of tender devotion. Into this privileged
circle every reader is permitted to enter at Hurstmonceaux,
at Alton, at Hodnet. Unembarrassed by his own awk-
wardness, with no sense of intrusion—such is the benefit
of books
lofty and witty and genial conversation; he catches, before
he watches the moving figures; he hears the
iv. INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION.
he is aware, the spirit of the scene. Those of our own
friends who have actually been there assure us that the
biographer does not paint any unreal features into the por-
traits, or over-color the picture. And so all who read are
the better.
If we were to mention the one trait which more than
all others marks the work itself, because it first marks the
men and women whom it represents, we should call it
moral healthiness. He is a great missionary to the modern
world whose inner life has this complete health. In our
age, and in the current literature, a book of characters
where nothing is overdone or underdone, nothing is mor-
bid, nothing is for effect, nothing one-sided or extravagant,
in drawing or in tone, and yet all is fresh and bright, is
surely worth a welcome. No sceptic, no worldling, no
atheist pretending that there is no God because he has
seen nominal Christians only pretending that there is one,
can sneer at the argument for the Gospel and Faith and
Church of Christ which shines in the mind and life of the
principal personages that are here portrayed. -
Those who are tired of tedious controversies about the
sphere and work and education of woman will be drawn
here, without disgust, towards some sound conclusions—
not a syllable, however, being written on the subject, be-
cause they will see womanhood at its best estate, witness-
ing the utter womanliness of it where its power is greatest
and its ascendancy most undisputed. Preachers, no mat-
ter how well they preach, will be able to mend their
INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. V.
method by Augustus Hare's. And the lover of Letters
will detect the hidden human sources from which the
“Guesses at Truth,” the “Victory of Faith,” and the
“Mission of the Comforter,” came out, on their errands
of delight and cheer and inspiring help, not among schol-
ars only but among all classes of English-speaking men.
It will materially assist the reader to know, at the out-
set, that Augustus, Julius, Marcus and Francis Hare were
four brothers; that the writer of the “Memorials,” A. J.
C. Hare, is the son of Francis ; that Maria Leycester was
the wife of Augustus; Catherine Leycester the wife of the
Bishop of Norwich, and mother of Dean Stanley; Lucy
Stanley, the Dean's aunt, the wife of Marcus Hare, and
Esther Maurice the wife of Julius.
The Author, Mr. A. J. C. Hare, has written another
work, full of antiquarian and classical erudition, “Walks
About Rome.” But among all the trophies and tombs of
that old civilization of a thousand years he has opened
no treasures for the eyes of men like the simple living
monuments, here placed before us, of that inward “vic-
tory of faith,” overcoming the world, which is gained in
every believing heart by communion with Him who is the
same yesterday, to-day and forever.
F. D. HUNTING TON.
PREFACE.
ONG ago, in the first months of her widowhood, these
Memorials were begun by my dearest mother, as a
Memoir of her husband, and of their common life at Alton.
Many old friends of the family then gladly lent their assist-
ance, and came forward with letters and journals which they
offered for her use. But in her weak health she was unable
to bear the strain of a work so full of conflicting excite-
ments of pleasure and pain, and, after a long effort, she was
reluctantly compelled to lay it aside.
Many years after, when, upon the death of her sister-in-
law, Mrs. Julius Hare, the last link was broken with another
portion of her sacred past, and when the remembrance of
all that Hurstmonceaux Rectory had been, seemed likely to
perish with the loving circle of those who had shared its
joys and Sorrows, my mother again took up the pen she had
so long laid aside, and wished to continue her work as a
Memorial of the Two Brothers, Augustus and Julius Hare,
who were the authors of the “Guesses at Truth.” But age
vi PREFACE.
and infirmity were already pressing upon her, and she soon
became unable to do more than arrange the materials in
her hands, and add notes for my guidance as to the form
and manner in which she wished them to be applied.
In the last two years of her life she yielded to my earnest
wish, that—in carrying on her work if I survived her—I
might make her who had been the sunshine of my own life
the central figure in the picture. And she then consented
to employ the short interval through which she was still
spared to bless us, in writing down or dictating many frag-
ments concerning those with whom her earlier life was
passed, and who had long since joined the unseen “cloud
of witnesses.”
My mother had always tried to make the simple ex-
perience of her own quiet life as useful to others as it
might be, and many who came to visit her had found in
her gentle counsel that help and comfort which many books
and much learning had failed to inspire. Her own heart
was always so filled with thankfulness for the many mercies
and blessings of her long life, so grateful to the Power which
had upheld, guided, and comforted her, that she was ever
filled with an earnest yearning to lead others to establish
themselves on the same Rock ; and whenever she felt that
the story of God's dealings in her own life could lead others
to a simpler faith and more entire trust in Him, she never
allowed any self-seeking reticence to interfere with this
instrumentality. “If I might only be a bridge upon which
PREFACE. vii
any Christian might pass over the chasm of doubt and
become altogether believing,” was her constant feeling, and
“Oh, that my past life, which has been so wonderfully blest
by God, might be made useful for His service and lead
others to more entire trust in Him.” And in this feeling,
when she was passing away from me, she permitted me, if I
thought it could be made useful ſor others, to uplift the veil
of her home life, and allow others to look in upon her
private thoughts and meditations, , and so endeavour to
make them in some degree sharers in the blessing her dear
life has been to me.
My mother's existence was so bound up with that of the
immediate circle of her beloved ones, especially with that of
her husband, her sister, her brother-in-law Julius, and her
two sisters-in-law, Lucy and Esther Hare, that the story of
her life becomes of necessity that of their lives also, and
this I have tried to tell in no words of my own, but in such
Selections from their common letters and journals as may
give the truest picture of what they were,
It has been rightly observed that no real interest can be
derived from a memoir which tells less than “the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth;” and thus-—while
in Collecting the fragments which remain from the lives of
my loved and lost ones, I am chiefly urged by the desire
of making others feel the influence of the sunshine of love
which has lighted up my past life—I have striven to make
my story no mere eulogy of those of whom I have written,
viii PREFACE.
but to give such traits of their living, acting reality as shall
present a true portrait to the reader's mind.
“They are all gone into the world of light !
And I alone sit lingering here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
“I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days;
My days which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmerings and decays.
“O holy hope, and high humility,
High as the heavens above
These are your walks, and you have show'd them me
To kindle my cold love.”
HolMHURST, August, 1872.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
PAGE
I. CHILDHOOD g & - º tº º C & © I
II. STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET • e Q . . 18
III. THE HAREs of HURSTMONCEAUx . . . . . 66
IV. Augustus AND JULIUS HARE . © s tº º • I59
W. CHANGES . e gº º * > © • * * * 207
WI. WEST WOODHAY . * > dº e. e. e. go • 245
VII. HOME PORTRAITU RE gº * gº º e © • 284
VIII. TAIKING ROOT AT ALTON . & © © º e • 315
Ix. Journals—“THE GREEN BOOK” . tº tº g - • 344
X. WILTSHIRE, RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES & • • 352
XI, SUNSHINE . & & g tº © Q © C tº sº
XII. THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD . º © © • • 445
I.
CHILDHOOD.
“I begin
My story early—not misled, I trust,
By an infirmity of love for days
Disowned by memory—ere the breath of spring,
Planting my snowdrops among winter snows.”
WoRDsworth, The Prelude.
BOUT a mile from the small town of Knutsford in
Cheshire, an avenue of elm-trees leads to the pleasant
old-fashioned house of Toft. No family but one have ever
lived in that house. The family of De Toft claimed direct
descent from Gunnora, Duchess of Normandy, grandmother
of William the Conqueror, and the first De Toft who
settled in England came over to this country with his royal
cousin. In 13oo, the property passed into the hands of the
Leycesters, when its heiress, in the reign of Richard II.,
married Rafe Leycester, of Tabley, a younger brother of
the family who then, as now, occupied the adjoining estate.
Until late years the alliances of Cheshire gentry were
almost always sought within the limits of “the good old
county,” and thus, in the time of Charles II., the owner of
Toft again married into the family of his neighbour at
Tabley, in the person of Eleanor, daughter of Sir Peter
VOL. I. B
2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Leycester, the historian, from whom therefore the families
of Tabley and Toft are equally descended.
The “Hall” of Toft was built about 16oo, on the site of
an earlier manor-house, for the chapel of which the Pope
had granted an indulgence in 1412. It consists of a
central tower with a long, low wing on either side, once of
red brick, but long since covered with stucco ; and it looks,
on one side across the richly wooded Cheshire plain to the
rock which is crowned by Beeston Castle, and on the other
upon a low-lying park, studded with fine trees, and upon a
large pool into which the family threw their wine at the
time of the rising of the Stuarts,” and whence it was fished
up, not much improved, a hundred years after.
Rafe Leycester of Toft, whose widow was still living in
the old family house at the time this story opens, had been
the father of thirteen children of very different ages; several
of these had died in childhood, others were dispersed by
marriage or other causes; but the youngest, Oswald, at
that time Vicar of Knutsford, was established at Toft with
his mother and his eldest brother George, who was un-
married; and then, and long after, Toft was the Centre and
rallying-point of the whole family, and beloved and looked
upon as one of the dearest and pleasantest of homes to the
circle of relations and friends to whom it was ever open.
Its very name as well as look cheered the heart and spoke
of love and unity. An aged member of the family used to
say that she always thought of this family home in reading
that verse in Acts iv., “Neither Said any of them that
* The family plate and the maids’ hoops were at the same time
buried under the mangers.
CHILDHOOD. 3
aught of the things which he possessed was his own, but
they had all things common.” It was such a spirit as this
which was long manifested in the domestic circle at Toft—
what was for the good and enjoyment of one, was also for the
others; for all, meum and tuum was tuum and meum also.
Oswald Leycester had married Miss Mary Johnson, of
Timperley; and at Toft, in the family home of many
generations, his four children were born : Catherine,
April 15, 1791 ; Edward, Sept. 16, 1794; Charles, March
Io, 1796; and Maria, Nov. 22, 1798.
Among the notes which my mother has left concerning
her childhood are the following:—
“When I (Maria Leycester) was born, my grandmother
Leycester was still living, and the earliest record of my
existence was a quaint Cheshire saying of hers on first
seeing the new-born babe—‘Well, she is hearty fow (very
ugly), to be sure.” She died in the following February, at
the age of ninety.
“My uncle George, with whom we lived, loved to play
with me, and used to put me on the chimney-piece, and
then laughed at my terror. When my nurse Sally was
ordered to take me away, because I cried at the sight of
visitors, he would say, ‘Let them see her cry, for they have
seen her laugh often enough ;’ and his question of ‘why are
your eyes so dirty, Maria P’ was one which I fully believed to
be founded on fact, and not on the brown colour of my eyes.
“The earliest recollections of my childhood centre
around my mother and my nurse Sally. ‘The days of ray
years are now threescore and ten,' but I remember them
both perfectly. I have been told that in her earlier days
my mother was very pretty, with a very delicate colour in
4. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
her cheeks. My recollection of her is as very pale, with
light blue eyes, rather a long upper lip, and brown curls in
“a front'—as her own hair was shorn close, and she wore a
turban of white muslin, and a clear white muslin handker-
chief in folds under her gown. She taught me in all my
lessons except French, but her weak health and bad head-
aches often prevented her hearing me, and many a time I
had to stand outside her door waiting till I could be heard,
which fretted me a good deal. When the lessons went
ill, I was sentenced to sit on the staircase till I was good,
and the task perfect. I imagine that though my mother
was most gentle, she was firm in her management of me.
In after years, her successor, Mrs. Oswald Leycester, used
to say that when she had suggested my doing something
because it would be pleasant, my mother appealed to me,
“I think my little girl has a better motive for it ; what is it,
Mia P’ and, ‘Because it is right,’ was my reply.
“My nurse was as passionately fond of me as I was of
her. Many years after, when she had married, and had a
little boy of her own, she said, ‘Oh, Miss Maria, I think I
am beginning to love him almost as much as I did you.’
She had been very well trained, for she had lived as a girl
with my aunt J. at Wilmslow, who was so strict with her
servants that she kept a pincushion on which she stuck a pin
for every fault they committed, as a reminder. With this,
my loving nurse, how well I remember the delight of our
walks, on spring evenings, into the Toft fields, to see the
young lambs and to pick spring flowers. We had also our
gardens in the wood, and my brother Edward had a project
of digging through the earth to the other side of the world,
which gave us unfailing occupation. He and Charles went
to school at Warrington before they went to Eton and
Rugby. Their holidays were a joyful time to me, and
Edward used to amuse me by taking me on his knee and
CHILDHOOD. 5.
telling me stories of Sinbad and Ali Baba. The family
habit was to dine at three, and to have a hot supper at
nine ; and on a Sunday evening, when my brothers were at
home, we were allowed to sit up to this supper, having first
been made to repeat the Church Catechism. When Edward
repeated the explanation he had learnt at school, and ended
that of the Lord's Prayer by calling its close the ‘Dox-
ology,’ we looked upon him as a model of wisdom and
knowledge. On these Sunday evenings also, when my
sister Kitty was at home, she played a Sonata of Haydn or
Mozart for uncle George's amusement. This she did with
great spirit and execution, and she taught me, though I shed
many tears over her lessons. -
“My stock of childish literature was limited to a very
few books. “Juvenile Travellers,’ ‘The Robins' (by
Mrs. Trimmer), ‘Evenings at Home,” “Perambulations of
a Mouse,” “Dick the Little Pony,’ ‘Jemima Placid,” and
Mrs. Trimmer's Old and New Testament abridgments,
with her Roman and Grecian histories, were our whole
library, till, by the recommendation of some one, my
mother procured me ‘Goldsmith's Geography,' ‘Scripture
Biography,' ‘Sacred Dialogues,’ and the ‘ Parent's Assistant,’
which last I esteemed a perfect treasure, and read and re-read.
“My great delight was to go to Alderley Park and play
with the ‘Miss Stanleys'; and it was a joy when, standing
by the breakfast-table, I heard it settled that the carriage
was to be ordered to go to Alderley, and that I was to be
of the party. In these visits to Alderley, one great source
of pleasure was in the children's books which were lent me,
of which “Tales of the Genii,' and such like, were the most
attractive. When my little friends returned my visits, we
had tea under the trees opposite the book-room, and hide.
and-seek followed.
“Another happiness of my childhood was derived from
6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the visits of the Ralph Leycesters, who came to Toſt every
alternate year. Charlotte Leycester and I were inseparable,
and for the day before they went away our grief was un-
controllable. I remember vividly the misery of the dreary
winter's morning, when little Charlotte came in before day-
light to give me a last kiss and say good-bye, before another
two years' separation,--and the sad day that followed. We
slept in the same room, and many talks we had after we had
lain down, ending sometimes with the request, “When you
are asleep, tell me.’
“I had another young companion in the orphan child of
my mother's sister, Mrs. Bower, who, on the death of her
father, came to live with my mother; but she was less con-
genial to me, and I was not sorry when she was sent to live
under Mrs. Butler's care, by the seaside, where she died
before she was grown up.
“One of my father's sisters having married a brother of
Lord Stamford, a great intimacy was carried on between
the two families, so that we were very intimate with Lord
Stamford's daughters—the Ladies Charlotte, Maria, and
Jane Grey, of whom the two elder were about my age.
One of our amusements was to change our designations.
The Ladies Grey thought it as charming to be called
“Miss,’ as we did to be styled ‘Lady,’ and we thus always
transferred our titles in our plays.
“The dress of those days was very different to that
which children have now. My white frocks were of lawn
or Irish cloth, without any work or ornament ; and, when I
went out, I used to wear a little green-baize coat. My food
also was of the simplest kind, consisting principally of
buttermilk and potatoes.
“The church at Knutsford which we attended, and of
which my father was vicar, was very large and very ugly.
The most striking remembrance that I retain of that church
CHILDHOOD. . 7
s
is of the Sunday after the news of Nelson's death, when
every one appeared in the appointed mourning, with Scarlet
and black ribbons. -
“Great events in the annals of our Toft life were the
periodical visits of my father's cousin, Lady Penrhyn, who
was prepared for as if she had been the queen; and she
arrived with six horses, and always drove to church with
this state. Having no children herself, she had no love for
them, and in her visits we were always kept out of the
way; but I amused myself by imitating her pomposity, and
strutting about saying, ‘Now I am milady Penrhyn.’
“When my sister returned from school, in 1806, she
began to educate herself, and a little dressing-room out of
our bedroom was furnished with a bookcase and bureau,
where she read and wrote ; and, in imitation of her, I also
set up a little table with my books and writing things, where
I prepared my lessons, which she taught me from that time.
“In 1809 my sister accompanied Mrs. Stanley (afterwards
Lady Maria) to London, and I was then sent to a small
school kept by Mrs. Butler, a widow lady, who had been
governess to the Alderley children. She lived at Leighton
Cottage, a pretty picturesque house, near Parkgate, and
situated in a lane leading up from the sea-beach to some
fields and a barn, which was the scene of our plays. Along
the side of this lane flowed a clear brook, and there I
first learnt my love of wild flowers, cranesbill, speedwell,
and forget-me-nots. Two of the Stanleys were my companions
here, and many other girls. We were all devoted to Mrs.
Butler, who wished us all to be like her own children, and
we thought it the highest privilege when our turn came for
a walk with her, or to have a private talk in her room.
“In 1806 my father's old college friend, Sir Corbet Corbet,
had presented him to the living of Stoke-upon-Terne, but we
only passed the Summer months there for the first two years.
8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
when my uncle George always accompanied us. This dear
uncle of my childhood used to say that he did not see why
we should pray against ‘sudden death,’ he thought it so
desirable to avoid a long illness, and in 1809 he was found
dead in his bed at Cheltenham, whither he had gone for his
health. Upon this, my father resigned the living of Knuts-
ford, and we went to live altogether at Stoke, and my uncle
Ralph Leycester, with his children and grandchildren, came
to reside at Toft. -
“On the 8th of May, 181 o, my sister was married in
Stoke Church to Edward Stanley, Rector of Alderley.
TJpon her marriage I left Leighton Cottage, and until my
mother's death I remained at home. My father gave me
lessons in—it must be confessed—bad French and Italian,
but it was my sister who still directed my studies by letter,
constantly sending me questions on the books which I read,
and expecting me to write her the answers. In this way I
in a certain sense conducted my own education, and much
did I enjoy these studies. Sometimes they were carried on
in a little bathing-house on an island in the river Terne,
which had been given to me as a possession to plant as I
liked with primroses, violets, and Snowdrops, and which
was a great delight.
“Edward Stanley was to me the kindest of brothers, and
great was the amusement he gave by the playful verses he
wrote to please me, especially those on the death of one of
my black bantams. These bantams were given to me by
Lady Corbet, and were fed after breakfast from the dining-
room windows: it was the time when Bonaparte's name
was held up in terror to every one, so that when two of the
cocks fought the hens, they were named Bonaparte and the
King of Rome.
“A rival with Edward Stanley in my affections, as well
as in his fun and humour, was my dear uncle, Hugh
CHILDHOOD, 9
Leycester. He was, both with his brothers and nieces, the
great favourite of the family—his knowledge and kindness,
his generosity and affection, his wit and anecdotes, alike
conducing to render him beloved. The only fault which
people could find in him was his violent political zeal and
Tory partisanship, which made him intolerant of any oppo-
sition on these subjects. He had been an intimate personal
friend both of Pitt and Perceval, and the sudden death of the
latter was a great grief to him. In the later years of his
life he was quite deaf, and we could only Communicate
with him by writing on a slate; but he continued his lively
interest in us all, and after they were too infirm to meet, he
kept up a witty daily correspondence with his old friend,
Mr. Jekyll, who was his next neighbour in New Street,
Spring Gardens.
“Another constant visitor at Stoke was our dear cousin,
Eliza White, who often passed many months with us at a
time, and who always made herself most pleasant to us all.
Often did I sit on a little stool at her feet, pouring out all
my childish joys and Sorrows, and receiving her counsel.
“As I had no companion, I always accompanied my
parents in their visits. Those to Sir Corbet Corbet, at
Adderley, were always a great pleasure. Lady Corbet was
most amusing. Every morning after breakfast she put on
a gardening dress, and with a bunch of keys, knife, &c., at
her side, Sallied forth to make the round of her stable yard,
poultry yard, pigstyes, and gardens, and I thought it a great
treat to go with her. Then in the evening she would read
to us out of her Italian journals, and my first longings to
See Rome came from this source. The house was filled with
pictures by old masters, and over the drawing-room chimney.
piece was a very beautiful bas-relief of the Nine Muses. The
only drawback to the pleasure of Adderley lay in the early
dinners at three o'clock, and Sir Corbet's impatience of any
IO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
unpunctuality; when he was fidgety, Lady Corbet used to
call him “Sir Crab.’
“The autumn of 1811, which was one of several we spent
at Penrhyn Castle, was most delightful, as Edward and I
enjoyed it together, riding on Welsh ponies to the different
mountains and waterfalls. How enchanting were the morn-
ing walks to the bathing-house; how pleasant the picnic
expeditions to Ogwen Bank, with its waterfalls and garden
Seats shaped like mushrooms . Then also there were visits
to the slate quarries, and the sight of all the different kinds
of slate, called “Duchesses, Countesses,’ &c. In the after-
noons, after dinner, we used to walk to Pennysinnant, an
ornamented farmhouse, to see the poultry yard, on which
occasions I gave great offence to Lady Penrhyn, by admiring
the sight of the mountains more than her poultry, and she
used to complain of it to my mother. She was very formal
and stately, and we were greatly afraid of her, and many a
hard gallop home did Edward and I have upon our ponies,
to be in time for the early dinner, for fear of the scolding
which should await us. Lady Penrhyn had three pugs, very
ugly, and always dressed in little Scarlet bonnets and cloaks.
When she was in London, in her house in Grosvenor
Square, they used to be taken out thus attired to walk in the
square, with a footman to attend them. She left them each
an annuity when she died, and they lived an immense time.
Once, in Lord Penrhyn's time, when she and Lord P. were
driving in their coach and six, through the streets of North-
wich, the pugs were looking out of the windows, and the by-
standers, mistaking their species, exclaimed, ‘Eh! milord and
milady are mighty fine, but their children are hearty fow.’
“On our way to and from Penrhyn Castle, we used to
visit the Ladies of Llangollen. They were dressed in men's
hats and cloth habits, with powdered hair. Lady Eleanor
Butler was short and fat, but Miss Ponsonby was tall and
CHILDHOOD. II
thin, and used often to be supposed to be a man in disguise.
They had a romantic attachment for each other, and had
forsaken their own family to be more entirely together, but
though professing to lead a recluse life, few people could
see more of the world, and their correspondence was with
royalties and nobility of all nations. Their cottage was
filled with oggeſt of every kind, chiefly presents they had
received, and it had coloured glass windows and carved oak
furniture. It was they who first told Lady Penrhyn that my
handsome brother Edward was like her,and it is said they thus
gave her the first idea of making him her heir ; but I believe
that which really made her do so was her amusement when
her young cousin in riding home had not enough money left
to pay a turnpike gate, and was obliged to leave his hand-
kerchief in pawn with the toll-collector. -
“In July, 1812, my dear mother had a paralytic stroke.
Though the immediate danger was averted, she was unable
to do anything, or to speak clearly from that time. Every
night I used to read to her, and kneel by her bedside to
pray before going to bed. She had gradually been regain-
ing her lost powers, could read a few lines, and had begun
to knit some socks for her little grandchild, Owen Stanley,
when, on October 12, we were waked in the night by her
having another seizure, and on the following afternoon her
spirit passed away. It was my first affliction, and a very
great one. On the day of her burial, I saw the procession
from my bedroom window, and realised the lines which I
had long been familiar with in Cowper's Poem on his
mother's picture:–
‘I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,’ &c.
My brothers were my chief comforters, and we all tried to
soothe our father's grief.
I 2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“I do not remember ever hearing the slightest cross or
angry word pass my mother's lips. She preferred every-
body's opinion before her own, and thought no good office
too trivial for her performance. She seemed only able to
See the good in others, and was ever willing to make allow-
ance for their faults. ' To the poor she was most kind and
charitable, working for them herself with the greatest dili-
gence, and assisting them in every way. To those who
had displeased her she was always forgiving, and she never
would show any impatience against them, but would reprove
them mildly and gently, and during her illness she was
always satisfied and grateful for all that was done for her.
My brother Edward wrote some lines after her death,
which I will insert here :—
“If filial love could animate the clay,
Or bid the flitting soul resume its sway,
Say, could I wish reversed the mournful doom
Which laid my mother in the silent tomb P
No ; while with moistened cheek and downcast eye
I heave in selfish grief the bitter sigh, -
Still let me own that lenient was the blow
Which put the period to a mother’s woe,
Which bid disease and pain for ever cease,
And whispered, e'en in death, eternal peace.”
Her mother's death was perhaps the first event which led
Maria Leycester, young as she was, to seek the highest
source of comfort, and to endeavour to make her life useful
and helpful to others. An old yellow fragment of paper
still exists on which she poured forth her Soul in prayer in
the first burst of Sorrow.
“ Oct. 14, 1812.-Oh! most holy and merciful God, now
in this time of affliction I call unto thee. Oh forsake
CHILDHOOD. I3
me not—give me strength and fortitude to bear this great
trial with resignation to thy divine will. Oh comfort and
support my afflicted parent and his motherless children ;
make us sensible of the justice and wisdom of all thy
decrees; and in thinking of and admiring her virtues, may
we endeavour to imitate them, and become, as we hope
and trust she is, partakers of thy everlasting kingdom. Oh!
enable me to be a support and blessing to my dear father,
may I make it the business of my life to console and com-
fort him, and may I never give myself up to my own selfish
pleasures, but consider him in all my actions. I am de-
prived of the dear and excellent mother who has been the
guide and protector of my youth. Oh I may I always act
as she would wish me to do if she were present, and may I
look for that motherly protection (of which I am bereft here
on earth) to my heavenly Father. Direct and guide my
steps in the paths of wisdom and virtue, make me sensible
of the uncertainty of human life, and grant that I may be
prepared for death whenever it shall arrive. ‘The Lord
gave and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name
of the Lord’—‘Thy will be done on earth as it is in
heaven.” Amen.”
From the many letters which were written by Mrs.
Stanley for the instruction of her young sister, the insertion
of the following may not be deemed superfluous:–
C. S. to M. L.
“July 28, 1809.—The first and great object of your read.
ing should be to improve your own knowledge, and thereby
enlarge your mind and give you a guide in the most im-
portant duties of life, by furnishing you with the opinions
and examples of others, and by enabling you to form
opinions for yourself. When you sit down to your book,
I4. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
then, consider that you are not taking it up to amuse and
pass away the present hour, but to give you some informa-
tion you have not had before, to acquire some new ideas,
or perhaps to see Some of your own ideas put in a better
form than you would have been able to put them yourself.
“There are many who read with constancy and diligence,
and yet make no true advancement in knowledge. They
are deluded with the notions and things they read of as
they would be with stories that are told, but they make no
observations upon them, learn nothing from them, their
eyes glide over the pages or the words over their ears, like
the shadows of a cloud flying over a green field in a sum-
mer's day.' If, when you have shut your book, you have
also shut your mind; if you never call yourself to account
for what you have been reading and learning, if you skim
Over the pages and read only those parts which can amuse
or divert your mind at the time, without bestowing one
thought upon it afterwards, though you read every day and
all day, you will have made no improvement in any way,
and would have been doing almost as much in counting the
grains of sand upon the sea-shore could that have been any
amusement to you, though you would probably be shocked
at the idea of so wasting your time. Books of amusement
—mere amusement—are naturally pleasing and alluring at
your age, and indeed at any age, and, with a disposition
and desire to improve as well as amuse yourself, there is
no book of mere amusement, unless it be very silly indeed,
from which you may not gain something ; and, even in a
silly book, you may exercise your judgment by finding out
what is foolish, and how it would have been better other-
wise. What I mean to impress upon your mind is that you
are not to fancy yourself fond of improving yourself merely
because you are fond of reading, for reading, without obser-
vation while you are reading, and reflection afterwards upon.
CHILDHOOD. I5
what you have read, is, as I have said before, little better
than loss of time.
“I wish you to write down your observations and re-
marks upon every book you read, of whatever kind it is, in
your MS. book. Put down in it the pages which have
particularly pleased or interested you, or those which have
given you any new ideas, if you think the subject sufficiently
important to be remembered and fully understood, which
a little consideration will soon enable you to judge of ;-
give a short account of the contents of the book, or the
contents of any part of it which you have especially liked.
Any book that is worth your reading is worth these pains,
for your own experience will tell you that you have but a
faint recollection of the books you read a year, or even half
a year ago, at least, if you were called upon to give an
opinion about them, and point out any parts you liked or
disliked, though you might have a general idea of whether
the book on the whole pleased you, and of the general
nature of its contents, its details will completely have faded
Tom your remembrance, and you would be unable to give
any opinion concerning it, or to recall any observations
which occurred to you while reading it. What I have been
recommending to you will obviate this entirely ; you will
have your opinions of books in their first clearness and
freshness to refer to, besides having them more deeply im-
printed on your memory by the very act of writing them
down and thinking about them more than you would other-
wise have done.
“You are now in a progressive state of improvement;
every year makes a more sensible and perceptible difference
in your powers of mind now than perhaps it will do some
few years hence; if you would look back even into the
last year of your life, into all your feelings and thoughts for
One day, you would probably be surprised to find them so -
I6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
different from what they are now, and you would wonder
what pleasure you could take in things which then appeared
to you the height of happiness, and how you could be so
stupid as to find no pleasure in things you now delight in.
And in future years, when you look back upon your present
enjoyments, you will be able more accurately to estimate
your advance in knowledge, &c., by having a few of the
remarks and ideas of different periods of life to refer to, than
by any other means I can think of. Do not let your obser-
vations be confined to the things you particularly like; mark
also those passages you do not understand, either to have
them explained by some abler head than your own, or that
you may explain them yourself to yourself at Some more
advanced period of knowledge. A few books read in this
way, I need hardly tell you, will be of more service than a
whole library swallowed as children usually Swallow books
—whole, without either chewing or digesting them, so as to
render them serviceable to the general welfare of the mind.
You are not too young to begin this, because the moment
you can know and feel that you have a mind capable of
improvement, it becomes your duty to improve it to the
utmost extent of that capability.” . . . .
In the spring following her mother's death, Maria
Leycester paid her first visit, with her cousins, the Ralph
Leycesters, to London, where she had the benefit of masters.
After the summer holidays, she returned for a time to the
care of Mrs. Butler, but came to live at home again upon
her father's second marriage, in June, 1814, to Eliza White,
the beloved cousin of his first wife. The news of his en-
gagement was a source of unmixed joy to his daughter
Maria, to whom the friend of her childhood became thus a
constant companion ; and her warm reception of her step-
CHILDHOOD. 17
mother was never forgotten by Mrs. Oswald Leycester, who,
while fulfilling to the utmost a mother's duties towards all
her husband's children, reserved the principal warmth of her
affection for his youngest daughter.
|MISS WHITE to M. L.
“May 27, 1814.—You have gratified every feeling of my
heart, my dear Maria, by your reception of the news of our
future relationship, and I would not even have dispensed
with your fears on the occasion. They were a just and
feeling tribute of affection to the memory of her who so
well deserved our love, and whose example will, I trust,
through life, have an influence over both your character
and mine. With my best ability I will strive to be what she
was both to your father and her children—most particularly
to you and Charles, as the only two about whom she was
wont to express anxiety.
“On the 14th of next month the gig will be sent to
fetch you to Stoke, where I hope you will be in readiness
to receive me on the 27th. I have been so accustomed to
see there so many dear faces brighten up on my arrival, so
many kind hands extended to welcome me, that I confess
I sickened at the thought of taking possession only of empty
apartments. My dear Maria will in that moment seem all
the world to me, for she will appear to me as the dear
representative of her most dear mother. . . I wish you to
be to me only what you have been ever since you could
distinguish right from wrong. The terms ‘authority’ and
“obedience' must not be known or felt among us; we must
live together as persons united for life in the bonds of mutual
affection and social interest, each seeking to live for the
happiness of the other, and striving to banish every selfish
consideration . . . God bless you, my own little Maria.”
VOL. I. C
II.
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET.
“La jeunesse devait étre une caisse d’épargne.”
MADAME SWETCHINE.
“This life which seems so fair,
Is like a bubble blown up in the air,
By sporting children's breath,
Who chase it everywhere,
And strive who can most motion it bequeath.”
WILLIAM DRUMMOND, 1585–1649.
THE great interest and pleasure of my mother's early
home life came from Hodnet, two miles from her
father's rectory, where Reginald Heber held the living.
Her first acquaintance with the Hebers began through her
constantly walking across the heath from Stoke to the after-
noon Sunday Service, to hear him preach. From frequently
seeing her at church, the Reginald Hebers began to invite
her to pass Sunday with them ; and the intimacy thus engen-
dered increased till scarcely a day passed, part of which
was not spent at Hodnet—Maria Leycester joining the
Hebers in their afternoon rides through the delightful
glades of Hawkestone, and remaining to dinner; while, in
the evenings, Mr. Heber would read aloud, poetry, or
Walter Scott's newly published novels, “Waverley,” “Guy
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. I 9
Mannering,” and “Ivanhoe,” which, for several years, while
their authorship remained a mystery, were generally attri-
buted to Richard Heber, the rector's elder brother. In
1817, Miss Leycester spent her mornings also at Hodnet,
where, when she wished to learn German in preparation for
a foreign tour, Mr. Heber offered to become her instructor.
At the same time, he frequently wrote songs to suit her
music, as he greatly delighted in her playing and singing.
His little poem, “I see them on their Winding Way,” was
written thus in October, 1820.
Nor was it only by lessons in literature that Reginald
Heber instructed his pupil. No one could live constantly
within the influence of his cheerful active life, devoted,
either at home or amongst his parishioners, to the good of
others, yet with the most entire unostentation, without
praying that his mantle might fall upon them. “In no
scene of his life, perhaps,” wrote Mr. Blunt, “did his
character appear in greater beauty than while he was living
here, ‘seeing God's blessings spring out of his mother earth,
and eating his own bread in peace and privacy.’ His
talents might have made him proud, but he was humble-
minded as a child—eager to call forth the intellectual stores
of others, rather than to display his own, arguing without
dogmatism, and convincing without triumph, equally willing
to reason with the wise, or to take a share in the innocent
gaieties of a winter's fireside; for it was no part of his creed
that all innocent mirth Ought to be banished from the pur-
lieus of a good man's dwelling; or that he is called upon to
abstract himself from the refinements and civilities of life, as
if sitting to Teniers for a picture of the Temptations of St.
20 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Anthony. The attentions he received might have made
him Selfish, but his own inclination was ever the last he con-
Sulted ; indeed, of all the features in his character, this was,
perhaps, the most prominent—that in him self did not seem
to be denied, to be mortified, but to be forgotten. His love
of letters might have made him an inactive parish priest, but
he was daily amongst his parishioners, advising them in
difficulties, comforting them in distress, kneeling, often to
the hazard of his own life, by their sick-beds; exhorting,
encouraging, reproving as he saw need; when there was
strife, the peacemaker; when there was want, the cheerful
giver. Yet, in all this, there was no parade, no effort,
apparently not the Smallest consciousness that his conduct
differed from that of other men—his duty seemed to be his
delight, his piety an instinct. Many a good deed done by
him in secret only came to light when he had been removed
far away, and but for that removal would have been for
ever hid ; many an instance of benevolent interference
when it was least suspected, and of delicate attention to-
wards those whose humble rank in life is too often thought
to exempt their superiors from all need of mingling courtesy
with kindness. That he was sometimes deceived in his
favourable estimate of mankind, it would be vain to deny ;
such a guileless, confiding, unsuspicious singleness of heart
as his, cannot always be proof against cunning. But if he
had not this worldly knowledge, he wanted it perhaps in
common with most men of genius and virtue; the “wisdom
of the serpent’ was almost the only wisdom in which he did
not abound.”*
* Quarterly Review, 1827.
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 2 :
The following extracts from letters give some glimpses into
Maria Leycester's home-life during these years of her youth:-
M. L. to MISS HIBBERT.
“Oct. 18, 1816.-I want sadly to know all you have been
doing and seeing since the luckless day that bore me away
from happy, happy Alderley. I only permit myself as a
relaxation, as an amusement, to think of the six happy weeks
at Alderley, when I have been very industrious . . in short,
you do not know the pleasure I have in it.
“Part of last week we spent at Adderley, Sir Corbet
Corbet's—the most comfortable, enjoyable house imaginable,
and Lady Corbet the most agreeable woman, with a con-
stant fund of anecdote and entertainment, and never-failing
good spirits, which are surprising at her age, for I think sh
is above seventy.” -
“AVoz. 22, 1816.-Did you ever read Foster's ‘Essays.”
E. Stanley gave them to me three years ago, and Kitty re-
commended me to delay reading them for some time. I
scrupulously followed her advice, and looked at them with
an envious eye every day till the present moment arrived,
when I thought, that as a recompense for being eighteen, I
might allow myself to open the tantalizing book. Oh that
you were here, that I might show you passage after passage
as it delights me ; the thoughts are sometimes so exceedingly
ingenious, the Sentiments so exactly what one has thought
oneself a hundred times, without being able to clothe them
in the same language.”
“May 24, 1817,-I have just spent two delightful days
at Hodnet rectory. Oh, the charms of a rectory inhabited
by a Reginald Heber, or an Edward Stanley ! To be sure,
splendour and luxury sink into the ground before such real
happiness. . . . . I do not think I ever before enjoyed the
beauties of nature as much as I have done this spring, and
22 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
you cannot imagine how interesting my solitary rides are
made by the varieties of light and shade—the lightness and
elegance of the newly come-out trees, backed by magnifi-
cent black or purple clouds, and the various pretty bits that
strike my fancy. I attribute one cause of my increased
pleasure to the having learnt to colour. A hundred beautifully
tinted cottages, or trees, or mossy rocks which I never
remarked before, now give me much pleasure, just as I felt
before that the knowledge of drawing itself made me find
Out many picturesque things which my natural taste would
not have discovered.” -
“June 2, 1817.-We have had the Stanleys here for ten
delightful days, for two of which we all adjourned to Hodnet,
and were extremely happy there. The evenings were per-
fectly delightful. We drank tea out of doors, and after
tea, Edward Penrhyn” and I generally walked about till
eleven o'clock. You have sometimes, I believe, heard me
talk of his perfections, and yet, vain as you may have thought
me then, I believe now, that I never knew him perfectly
till this time.”
“June 7, 1817.-I have spent a very agreeable week;
but you will not be very much surprised when you learn
that two of the days we had the Reginald Hebers here, and
the rest I spent at Alderley. I never saw, or rather heard
Mr. Reginald Heber so agreeable, though, indeed, I always
say this of the last time of seeing him ; but really, his stories
are quite inexhaustible—the more he tells, the more he
seems to have to tell. His brother, Mr. Heber, was here
likewise one day, and was very agreeable too ; but not so
loveable as Reginald. How happy I am to be able to say
I love him | I may thank Mrs. R. H. for that. I dine with
* Edward Leycester took the name of Penrhyn with the fortune of
bis father's cousin, Lady Penrhyn, upon her death.
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 23
them on Saturday, that I may ride with them in the evening,
and in short, I see them continually.” -
“June 12.—Do you wish to have the overflowings of my
happiness P Well, then, you shall be satisfied. After
waiting in anxious expectation from five o'clock—hearing
six strike—then seven—just meaning to go to dress—just
trying to persuade my sanguine hopes that they would not
come—the rattling wheels of a hack-chaise were heard, and
the two dear faces of my two dear brothers presented them-
selves. . . . . You may imagine how I enjoy such com-
panions after my solitude.”
“June 14.—A most delightful evening with the Hebers—
Reginald reading and reciting verses, and telling various
entertaining stories. Among others, he mentioned that a
letter had lately been received at the post-office directed
“To my son,’ and great was the difficulty as to whom the
letter should be delivered, till a sailor solved it by asking if
there was a letter ‘from my mother,' when it was given up
to him at once. Late in the evening he recited a poem of
Coleridge's—“The Ancient Mariner.’”
A letter from Mrs. Stanley at this time presents an idea of
the happy relationship which existed between the sisters:—
“A/derley, ZXec. 4, 1817.—Your letter was just what I
meant to draw forth by a little sentence in my last, and I
know you so well that I was pretty sure such would be the
effect, and that is one great charm of perfect acquaintance
and confidence in character—the certainty that everything
will tell, and that there will be a certain rebound, and that
there are no hidden irregularities or unsoundnesses to make
that rebound a false One, or, to speak more plainly, that
there is the certainty that one mind will feel in reading
exactly what the other felt in writing; and perhaps it is
24 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
*-
necessary to have more experience than can or ought to be
had at nineteen of the inconceivable bizarreries of human
character, which so often interfere with this kind of confi-
dence, to make this certainty sufficiently valued. I have
often thought with you that we have not made use enough
of this mutual advantage. I believe it is on the principle
that very different people often make the best companions
and friends—that there is a certain difference of conforma-
tion necessary to give variety and piquancy to conversation,
and that the interchange of thought is more interesting
when things are seen under different aspects—and that we
should not do to live together literally because we are too
much alike, so that it would be like talking to oneself,
and our faults would meet with no counterbalance to check
them. -
“However, we have friends enough, and different enough,
to secure us from all dangers of this sort, and I think we
may find advantages enough in our similarity to do away all
apprehension of not being the greatest mutual pleasure and
comfort to each other all through life. I think I was two
years older than you at nineteen, that is to say, the thoughts
which are passing through your mind now probably went
through mine at seventeen—the different circumstances
which called me so much sooner from my state of childhood
to take my part in life being probably the cause of this
earlier development, which I apprehend that all minds
which are minds feel sooner or later. I do not think
there is any advantage in this ; rather the contrary; we are
sure to grow older, mind and body, sooner than we wish,
and so the longer we can keep to the earlier stages the
better. Then I used to read Miss Hamilton and Akenside
as you do, and I delighted in the latter; but now I look
back to my old marks, and find many blemishes to take
away some of the delight, and I find that the taste becomics
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 25
more nice and refined, and that many things which ap-
peared insipid then, as a very beautiful Claude Lorraine
picture would to an ignorant eye, strike me now from their
harmony, just proportion, delicate touches, &c., which are
overlooked when the mind is seeking for vivid impressions,
strong feelings, &c. You are not much given to romance
or imagination, therefore there is no necessity to guard
against any excesses of this kind, and I would rather talk
with you of what I was then than what I may be now, not
to forestall those observations and improvements and
changes which are good for nothing, unless they are worked
out in a regular course of operation by the mind itself. I
would always rather that you expressed the feeling and
opinion first, and left me to say that I had thought and felt
so before you, than that I should tell you what had been
my case, and then that you should find out yourself in it,
for there is always a danger of spoiling the originality of
thought and character in any degree of following after
another; and so I would have you rather encourage than
check any thought which may happen to rise different from
mine. Trust implicitly to your own heart to inform you
whether I shall ever be tired of reading all you can write
about yourself. I should be more interested in it than any
other subject, even if you were not my sister, but being as
it is l—”
In May, 1818, the Edward Stanleys decided on accom-
panying the family from Stoke in a long continental tour,
but their departure was considerably delayed by an accident
which befell old Mr. Hugh Leycester, who broke his arm
by falling down-stairs, on coming out of the opera-house.
While he was being nursed in London, his niece Maria
remained at Privy Gardens with her friends the Stanleys,
26 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and much enjoyed seeing many people of whom hitherto
she had only heard, but especially making the personal
acquaintance of Lady Maria Stanley's niece, Miss Clinton,
with whom she was ever afterwards united in the closest
bonds of affection.
The family tour lasted more than five months, in which
they visited a great part of France, the north of Italy,
Switzerland, and the Rhine, Mr. Penrhyn joining the
party in Switzerland.
M. L. to L. A. S. (LUCY ANNE STANLEY).
“A”aris, /une 14, 1818.--We left Calais with four horses,
which in England would be considered as far below the
rank of Cart-horses, harnessed together with ropes, which,
being extremely loose, gave them the opportunity of going
one to one side of the road, the other to the other, ad
/ibitum, whilst the sole office of the postillions seemed to be
to crack their whips over their own heads, making a noise I
never heard equalled by anything before. But this, amusing
as it was, was nothing Compared with the excessive drollery
of the postillions themselves—their powdered heads and
long pigtails, and their jack-boots. Of these last no
description can give an adequate idea ; one little fellow,
who with some difficulty had got into them, no sooner
attempted to walk than over he went, jack-boots and all,
and had a fine roll. . . . . Here all is new, all is amus-
ing: one hears and reads of all the things, but it is
astonishing how little impression it makes on One. I have
felt surprised with many things, and only remembered
afterwards that I have known them before. I expected to
have a fine view of Paris, or at least some intimation of it
before arriving ; but no, we went on through avenues and
corn-fields, close to Montmartre, up one hill and down
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 27
another, expecting each to give us a view of the town, but
no sign of a great capital appeared till we got close to the
first gate, and entered in a moment upon high houses and
long streets, in which the lamps suspended across, and the
large gutters down the middle, give the first different
appearance from London. We arrived at a place looking
like a prison, with one large door, heavy and massy, and
windows barred doubly and trebly with iron. The outside
of a hotel is not inviting, but inside is a grand court, and
our rooms are handsome. . . . . This morning, Sunday, we
have been to the Chapelle Royale; the Squeezing almost
intolerable, first lifted up, then pushed down, Sideways,
forwards, threatened with broken arms and legs; and after
all, by peeping over and under some dozens of heads, and
standing on tiptoes leaning against a pillar, contrived to see
the fat but not unpleasing Louis XVIII., the Duc and
Duchesse de Berri and the Comte d'Artois, with all their old
Courtiers, in their bag wigs and swords and lace ruffles. . . .
We have also been to Malmaison. Little remains of the
interesting Josephine but the saloon where she lived, a most
delightful room, filled with pictures still, though all the
statues are gone, and with her tiny chapel at one end,
deprived of all its ornaments, nothing remaining but her
little altar. But though the house has suffered from those
who have succeeded her in the possession of it, the grounds
are all most wild and beautiful: in the middle of them
is a little temple dedicated to Cupid, than the situation
of which you can imagine nothing more delicious, close to
a pretty rivulet, the banks of which are covered with the
most flourishing rhododendrons and azaleas, and quantities
of beautiful flowers, which seem to grow quite wild. . . . .
French people in general seem much more ready to talk of
the Emperor and Empress than of Louis XVI. and Marie
Antoinette. It is a curious specimen of French character
28 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
that during the bloody days of the Revolution, when
numbers were every day guillotined, a mock guillotine was
placed at the corner of most of the streets, and as fast as
real heads were chopped off in one part of the town, Punch
was guillotined in ridicule in another.
“June 8,-One cannot much wonder that the French
should regret Bonaparte. There is hardly a part of the
town, which is very handsome, of which we are not told
‘l’Empereur l'a fait,' and the only parts which want anything
are those which are despoiled of what he placed there. . . .
St. Cloud is enchanting, and one cannot imagine how
Louis XVIII. can prefer the gloomy Tuileries to this de-
ſightful spot, where his rooms open on fine lawns and
groves of trees down to the banks of the Seine; yet it is with
he greatest difficulty that he can be persuaded to leave
Faris Zehi/sf his chimneys are szélept. -
“Milan, /u/y 17.—Here we are really in Italy, hearing the
sweet Sounds of the Italian tongue, and having been intro-
duced to Italian roofs and to lovely Italian vineyards,
sung in festoons like the wreaths of a grand festival. . . .
The sun had set when we reached the Lake of Como, but
its rays still illumined all the mountains, which rise abruptly
from the water. There was a gentle swell; the splashing of
the oars and the rippling of the waves was the only sound
heard. Some of the mountains gradually assumed the dark
shades of twilight, whilst others were still tinged with the
last rays of the Sun. In this delightful scene imagine a
moon more clear, more beautiful than any you ever saw,
rising in a sky of the most lovely blue, and reflecting its
silver light far upon the lake. You would be quite en-
chanted with the moons of Italy; the sky and atmosphere
are so excessively clear, the deep blue makes the moon still
more beautiful, and in the lake one side is most brilliantly
illuminated, whilst the other remains in darkness.”
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 29
M. L. to MISS HIBBERT.
“Stoke, Oct. 20, 1818.-After an absence of nearly six
months, a return to one's home is not at all disagreeable.
For the first day I could hardly fancy where I was, and now
that I find out that I am really at Stoke, I begin to fancy
all that I have seen a delightful dream—too delightful to
have been true. When I left Stoke I left it full of hopes
and expectations which have been more than fulfilled and
surpassed ; not a cloud has obscured the bright Sunshine
of a tour the most delightful that could be taken, and to me
infinitely endeared by being enjoyed with the two people I
love best—my sister and Edward Penrhyn. In short, I
cannot imagine it possible for any one to enjoy more perfect
happiness than I have done for the last six months—‘les
plus beaux de ma vie.’ It is well that you are away from me,
or your ears would be perfectly stunned with the never-
ceasing Ranz des Vaches or Tyrolean airs echoed through
the house, and your eyes would be quite wearied in always
seeing Switzerland, Italy, or the Rhine on my table in the
form of sketches and journals.
“AVoz. 1 2.-I am still wild about the Ranz des Vaches.
Every day sees me at the top of the field making the air
resound with the calling of my cows, but they answer not to
my call; no little bell tinkles as they feed on their green
pastures, and it is a most extended stretch of my imagina-
tion to transform the flooded meadows into a beautiful lake,
the wooden barns into Alpine châlets, and the pointed
clouds into snowy Alps; but still the remembrance is there,
and how dear, how delightful it is to me !
“Zec. 14, 1818.-My brothers and I have had such a
pleasant visit at Hodnet ! There were only Mr. and Mrs.
R. Heber, Mr. Heber, and Mr. Augustus Hare there. The
latter is the oddest and most agreeable person I have seen
for a very long time—very clever and enthusiastic, but quite
3O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
unlike other people, which is a relief sometimes, for every.
day people are so common in this world. I was very happy
in reading some of my German with the dear Reginald, and
found myself infinitely advanced since the last time I read
with him.”
“March 25, 1819.-There is something in the feel and
appearance of a bright Sunny Spring day which makes one
feel pleased with everybody and everything in spite of one-
self. It gives an elastic spring to one's feelings, which is
very delightful, and the sun seems to light upon the bright
side of every prospect and recollection, and to leave in
oblivion every less pleasing part. I have been spending
two whole days with the Reginald Hebers; he was very,
very delightful, and our evenings were most snug and com-
fortable. Reginald Heber made songs for us as fast as we
could sing them.”
“Alderley Alectory, May Io, 1819. –We live here in
such perfect retirement and tranquillity that it is more like
Stoke than Alderley, and I enjoy excessively the exemption
from all interruption to the happiness of my life here. I
believe you will not have any difficulty in imagining how
great that happiness is, in the Society of two people that one
loves excessively, with children that are as interesting to one
as if they were one's own, and with all the luxury of deli-
cious spring weather in beech woods and green fields. I
would defy you to tantalize me with the greatest temptations
London could offer; as far as happiness, real true happi-
ness is concerned, nothing in London Could present to me
half as much as one perfectly retired uninterrupted day at
, Alderley.” *-
The autumn of 1819 was spent by Maria Leycester in
travelling through Scotland with her brother Edward in a
gig–considered a most adventurous enterprise for a young
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 3I
lady in those days—seeing Arran, Staffa, and a great part
of the Highlands, and paying visits at Blair Athol and Tay-
mouth, at both of which places they fell in with Prince
Leopold, for whose recent bereavement great interest was
then excited.
M. L. to C. S.
“Aemmore, Sept. 13, 1819.--It was by the most curious
piece of good fortune that we arrived at Blair the very day
that Prince Leopold came there. Thomas was sent on
before us with my father's letter and a card to the Duke of
Athol, and in great Curiosity to know the result, we arrived
at the inn, and found our answer awaiting us. They should
be very happy to see us at dinner at seven o'clock, and were
very sorry not to have it in their power to offer us beds. I
was obliged to Summon up all my courage at the idea of
being ushered into an immense party of utter strangers with
no other chaperon than Edward, and wished the day over
many times, especially as I had little power, with the
contents of our small gig-box, of making myself sufficiently
dressed for such a party. However, there was nothing now
to be done ; the chaise came to the door, and we were soon
rattled down to the castie. At the entrance, we were received
by the piper, dressed in a very handsome complete High-
land costume. He showed us into the hall, where we were
met by a very fine gentleman, who, in the most awful
silence, preceded us through many long passages, and up
a flight of stairs to the drawing-room. At the door, we
were met by the Duke, who, after inquiring a little about
the difference in our names, which had puzzled him much,
led us into the room. Fancy my unhappy situation, with a
most formidable circle of ladies before me at one end of the
room, and a crowd of gentlemen at the other. Fortunately
the Duchess was near the door, and I was quickly presented
32 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
to her, and, I believe, to the Prince, who was seated by her;
but I really have no recollection of what was before me at
that moment. The Duke then led me to a chair, by some
of the ladies, and I was very happy to find myself seated,
after being introduced to nine in succession. Dinner was
soon announced, and the Duke assigned me to the care of
Colonel Grant, whose grey hairs were rather comforting to
me. On my other hand, I found seated next me at dinner,
a pretty and very unaffected girl, who, in the course of
dinner, assisted me in discovering the names of all the
party. . . . First let me introduce you to his Royal
Highness Prince Leopold. He is very dark, very hand-
some, and when listening to conversation, he looks under
his eyes very much ; but there is something in his manner
particularly graceful and charming, and quite unaffected,
though with a great appearance of depression. His suite
consisted of Baron Hardenbroke, a complete German in
appearance, with a large nose, and of a circumference which
looked as if eating, drinking, and sleeping were his sole
occupation; Sir Robert Gardiner, a courtier-like man; and
Dr. Stockmar, the physician. Besides these, there was
Lord Huntley, a good-humoured, sprightly little man of
about fifty; Sir John Oswald, a remarkably gentlemanlike
and pleasant military man; Lady Oswald, an extremely
pretty and sensible young woman, about your age, married
at the same time, and with the same number of children.
She and her two sisters were nieces of the Duke, one of the
latter being my pleasant lively neighbour, and the elder,
Miss Murray, excessively pretty. Then there was Lady
Emily Murray, wife of Lord James, and daughter of the
Duke of Northumberland, fashionable, and with plenty of
small-talk; and several other nieces of the Duke and
Duchess. Besides these, there was Dr. M'Culloch, a very
learned and scientific man, employed in drawing, and
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 33
g-eming to understand it very thoroughly. I have not
yet mentioned the Duke—an oldish man, very like Lord
Penrhyn in face and size ; or the Duchess, a fine-looking
woman, very duchess-like, Speaking with a very pretty
Scotch accent, and excessively good-natured. These, I
think, were the principals of the party before me. Do not
you wonder how, out of my gig-seat, I could make myself
fit for such a party P I assure you the Duchess complimented
me greatly on my good management. You can have no
idea of the excessive kindness of her manner towards us,
and she succeeded very soon in making me feel quite com-
fortable and at my ease. The evening passed away pleasantly
enough, the Prince playing at Cards, the others talking in
different groups. On Friday morning Edward went off
early with all the gentlemen to the mountains to shoot
deer. They had little sport, but he says it was beautiful
scenery, and very interesting following them and trying to
catch them, and the train of Highlanders looked very fine
scattered about. The Prince is a great geologist, and
was much pleased with finding great Curiosity in the rocks,
&c., and Dr. M'Culloch said he seemed to know a great
deal about it. I had some beautiful walks meanwhile with
the Miss Murrays. So passed Friday, though I should not
Omit how much honoured I felt by being spoken to in the
evening by the Prince. On Saturday morning he went
away. Then they lent me a very nice pony, and sent two
servants on horseback to attend us, one to be the guide, the
other to hold Our horses—to see Soºne waterfalls and a lake
at Some distance from Blair; and in the evening we had
Highland reels. Edward and I intended to go away on
Sunday, but the Duchess pressed us so much to Stay, that
we willingly gave up our intention, and stayed till to-day.
I enjoyed myself excessively the last day or two. We had
an addition to the party in two Italians, very handsome,
VOL. I. D
34 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
pleasing young men. The Conte de Velo was a Venetian,
well acquainted with Parolini, so we talked a great deal to
him; the other, Marchese Capponi, was a Florentine.
There was very little formality, and everybody extremely
good-natured; and I got quite accustomed to all the
different titles, and did not feel alarmed lest I should say,
‘My Lord ' where I ought to say ‘Duke,’ &c.; and I learnt
to curtsey in the right place, and, in short, felt very much
at home. Lord Huntley made us a very pretty speech about
his sorrow that we were not going northwards, that he
might have the pleasure of receiving us. It is a very
different style of living from the English houses, everything
on a magnificent scale, but very little show or decoration,
the grounds not at all dressed or ornamented, as in English
parks, but very wild and beautiful. I forgot to say that
after dinner the first evening the Duchess told us that she
had not been able to offer us beds, because she had not
been sure how many persons the Prince would bring with
him ; but he had brought fewer than she expected, and she
was very glad to be able to find two beds for us in con-
sequence, so we stayed in the house all the time. It is an
immense house in length, and almost the ugliest I ever saw,
and without much furniture.
“As nothing but princes will do for us now, we came to-
day to Taymouth, sent up a note to Lady Breadalbane to
ask when we might wait upon them, and received for
answer that they hoped to see us at dinner, but had no
beds. No post-chaises are to be had here, and as it was im-
possible for me to go into such a party dressed for dinner in
a gig, I was obliged to give it up with great reluctance, and
send Edward alone, and he is now dining with the Prince,
Lord Lauderdale, and I don't know who else, and to-morrow,
perhaps, they may have beds for us.
“There has been a grand, dinner for the tenants, and I
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 35
have been well amused all evening watching them as they
assembled in the village before going home, some hundreds
of Highlanders, whose dress exceeds in gaiety and variety
everything you can imagine : it looked just like a scene in a
play, seeing one after another pass out of a gate in the park,
dressed in bonnet and kilt, sporran and hose and plaid.
There was a very fine scene at Lord Huntley's to surprise
the Prince the other day,+he was at the top of some high
hill, when all of a sudden up started five hundred Highlanders
just like Roderick Dhu’s troop. - -
“It is quite comical how much society we have had. At
Fort-William we met with Mr. E. Lomax again, and at
Inverness with Mr. Augustus Hare, so we have not had
much time to get tired of each other. We get generally
envied for our independent and comfortable way of
travelling, and nothing can have more enjoyment than we
have when it is tolerable weather. -
“Sept. 14.—Edward had a very pleasant dinner. We
have refused their invitation for to-day, and have been
making the tour of Loch Tay instead. To-morrow we go
to stay at Taymouth, and shall see the interesting Prince
again, as he stays there till Thursday.
“Sept. 24.—I left you last just as we were going to Tay-
mouth. That you may go on with us in idea through all
our proceedings, I must go back, I suppose, to that time. I
was exceedingly glad to be spared all the awful entrance
into the drawing-room full of strangers, which I had to
encounter at Blair, for by going in the morning I made ac-
quaintance with all the ladies, and felt much more at home
amongst them. The dinner presented nothing formidable
to me. Would you know our party? Prince Leopold and
Suite to begin with, and I must tell you that when he came
into the room before dinner he came across to me, and said
in his sweet manner, “How do you do, Miss Leycester? I
36 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
was not aware that you were here;’ and then he went to
Edward and inquired from him why I had not come with
him the first day to Taymouth, and whether he had been
back to Blair to fetch me. He has that happy faculty for a
prince of never forgetting anything. There was his great
friend Lord Lauderdale, an odd-looking little man, dressed
like a groom, yet quite the gentleman in his manner, and
with a very intelligent countenance and style of conversation,
—Sir Peter and Lady Mary Murray,+Sir Niel and Lady
Menzies, and Mr. Douglas Kinnaird. We had a very agree-
able dinner, not certainly from the ladies’ agreeableness, but
from Lord Lauderdale, Mr. Kinnaird, and the Prince. I
was fortunate enough to sit opposite his Royal Highness, and
he talked a great deal, and told many anecdotes of Bona-
parte, &c. In the evening we had music, dancing, and
cards, and the Prince joined in singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’
with Miss Murray: he has a very fine bass voice, and sang
with much taste and a thorough knowledge of music. I
was so sorry that there was none of Zom Giovanni there for
him to sing, for he seemed so well acquainted with that, and
hummed it so well, that he would have Sung more, I daresay,
but unfortunately Lady Elizabeth Campbell was from home,
and had taken all her music with her.
“Thursday morning was beautifully fine. We breakfasted
with the Prince at seven o'clock, and afterwards he embarked
with some of the party in a boat on Loch Tay. I went
with Lady Breadalbane in her carriage to meet them at the
other end of the Loch, fifteen miles off, at a very pretty Cot-
tage of Lord Breadalbane's. We arrived before the boat. A
cold dinner was prepared, and when the Prince landed, a
troop of Highlanders, preceded by bagpipes playing and
colours flying, escorted him up to the cottage. At two
o'clock he left Auchmoor, the cottage, and proceeded on his
journey to Callendar, and it seemed really quite a blank
STOKE, ALDERLEy, AND HODNET. 37
when he was gone, his manner is so very engaging and
pleasant. We had a capital specimen of a Highland
chieftain in the Laird of MacNab, who came to wait upon
the Prince in full chieftain dress, eagle plumes in his
bonnet, &c. He was a fine-looking man, and seemed to
consider himself by far the greatest person in the com-
pany. . . .
“On Friday we left Taymouth and proceeded to Dunkeld
and then to Loch Katrine. Every step of the way from
Callendar, as we traced the progress of Roderick's cross of
fire, was interesting, and I cannot tell you how every bush
and tree, every copse and mound, seemed animated, or
how exactly Scott has pictured the character and style of
scenery. I expected to be disappointed from having so
high an idea of Loch Katrine in my own mind, but never
were expectations of beauty more fully realised. I have
enjoyed no day so much on our tour as this one : we spent
many hours on the lake and in the TroSachs, Scrambling up
Ellen's Isle, visiting the pebbly beach, the aged oak, &c.,
and feeling every line in the ‘Lady of the Lake' echoed in
one's own sense of great delight. It is quite curious how
completely it is all considered as reality by the people of the
place, and you are shown with as much gravity where the
gallant grey was lost, and where Fitz James or Ellen stood,
as if they had been real persons and real events.
“We have since had another interesting day on Loch
Awe, the scenery in which ‘Rob Roy' is laid. We had an
introduction to Dr. Grahame, who went with us, and as
àe had been with Walter Scott there before ‘Rob Roy'
was written, he knew all the spots he particularly noticed
then, and has since most accurately described. He showed
is the rock from which Morris was thrown, the tree by
which Baillie Jarvie hung, and the beautiful spot where
Helen Macgregor gave her breakfast, which Scott has
38 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
described quite with minute accuracy. Here Dr. Grahame
said Walter Scott sat without speaking for twenty minutes,
looking at the waterfall and rocks. It is a wonderful power
of sketching in his own mind a scene as accurately as any
drawing could render it, and describing afterwards.”
M. L. to MISS HIBBERT.
“Stoke Rectory, Oct. 24.—I have not yet told you of the
pleasantest part of Our tour, our visit to Walter Scott. He
lives about three miles from Melrose, and our first day's
journey from Edinburgh was to his house. We had a letter
to him from Reginald Heber, and Mr. Scott persuaded us
to stay three days with him, during which time we had full
opportunity of becoming acquainted with him. We were
the only strangers, and therefore had his conversation all to
ourselves, and most highly were we gratified. He is un-
affected and simple in his manner to the greatest degree,
and at first his countenance only bespeaks good humour;
but mention any subject that interests him, and he lights up
in an instant into fire and animation. He is a kind of
person one could not feel afraid of for a moment. What-
ever subject you begin is the same to him ; he has something
entertaining to tell on every one, and the quickness with
which he catches up everything that is passing, even at the
other end of the room, is surprising. His family consists of
a very insignificant little wife, a French woman, quite in-
ferior to him, and his daughters, who are fine Sensible,
clever girls, quite brought up by him. The eldest sang
Jacobite songs and border ballads to us with such spirit
and enthusiasm, that it was delightful, and their love for
Scotland makes them quite worthy of it. Their chief
delight is in the Border stories and traditions, in which they
are very rich. His house is built by himself, and is very
odd and picturesque. There is a little armoury with painted
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 39
glass windows, and the walls and chimneypiece covered with
antiquities—Claverhouse's pistol, Rob Roy's gun and purse,
Highland arms, targets, and claymores, quaighs, thumb-
screws, trophies from Waterloo, ancient armour—in short,
it is the most interesting and curious little room.
“Then at every step about the house you come to some
curious thing. He has got the gate of the Old Tolbooth,
and the great keys which have locked up so many victims,
and the real tower, removed to his house. But I have no
room for more about Walter Scott now, except that we came
away quite enchanted with the poet, and still more with the
man.”
“Jan. 17, 1820.-All last week Charles and I passed at
Hodnet, and I need not say if we enjoyed it. Only Miss
Heber was there, and Mr. Stow, a friend of Reginald's who
is at present living at Hodnet as his curate. Of this latter
person I must say a little more, for I never met with any
one so like Edward Stanley as he is, no less in his jet black
eyes, eyebrows, and hair, than in the energy and enthusiasm
of his character, the extent of his information on every sub-
ject, and the excessive quickness and activity of his mind
and body. After this description I need not say whether
he was an addition to the party. We had every kind of
amusement in the evenings in dancing, singing, and acting.
Reginald Heber and Mr. Stow are both excellent actors,
and we acted a French proverbe one night, and the ‘Chil-
dren in the Wood' another, forming in ourselves both the
performers and the audience, and very amusing it was. It
was all extempore, and our dresses we got up in a few
minutes at the time, so there was no trouble attending it,
no spectators to alarm us, and perfect unanimity and good-
humour to make it enjoyable. In the mornings one of the
party read Scott's new novel, ‘ Ivanhoe, aloud to the
others . . .”
4o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Maria Leycester's religious impressions became much
strengthened about this time by the opening of a corre-
spondence on spiritual subjects with her friend Lucy Stanley
—an intercourse which was continued through their whole
lives. On January 6, 1820, she had first written —
M. L. to L. A. S.
“I cannot tell how much pleasure it gives me to
think that you have become interested in that subject,
which to those who think seriously about it must be the
most interesting that can be found—the comfort, the assist-
ance, the support it affords, are so far beyond that which
anything else can give, that, having once found it, I am not
afraid you should forsake it. For my own sake, too, I am
glad, for I always feel a great reluctance to express to another
person feelings which I am not sure that they will perfectly
understand ; and I feel, and I daresay you have felt this
far more with regard to religion than to anything else.
There is a sacredness about it which prevents one entering
upon it except where it will be entirely entered into—where
there can be no mistake about the nature of one's feelings. It
is not a feeling which can be explained ; it must be felt, as
that which leads one to aspire to an ambition higher far
than we can find here, as that which affords a noble and
exalted motive for every exertion . . .” -
In March, 1820, a great sorrow came to the family at
Stoke, in the sudden death of Charles Leycester, from—
what was not then known as—diphtheria. To his sister this
grief was aggravated by her not being permitted to see him
for fear of infection, but he was most devotedly nursed by
Mrs. Oswald Leycester.
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 4I
M. L. to Miss L. H. and L. A. S.
“Stoke, March 29, 1820.-It was so sudden, so unex-
pected, that I was almost stunned, and hardly knew what I
felt for a time. We had been so peculiarly happy together
that I could not believe in the danger to the very last.
Every recollection from my earliest years, every interest,
every prospect, every pleasure, was united with him. For
the last three months we have never been separated, and
there is not a room or a thing in the house which does not
recall him to my memory, and make me feel in its utmost
bitterness the dreadful vacancy. But I feel it is the hand
of God, a means for leading us more to Him who has given
us all; and his mind was so pure, his thoughts so serious,
and he was so convinced that he should not live long, that
I feel confident he was prepared. I saw him after his spirit
had fled, and his countenance was so heavenly and beauti-
ful, that it was the greatest comfort to me; and when I
think of it now I feel how selfish is all my sorrow. I have
yet one brother left, and many, many blessings—but Charles,
dear Charles |
“April 14.—I can feel quite composed now in writing or
thinking of him I have lost; but when they talk of other
things I feel a sinking—a weight that I cannot overcome ;
and if my thoughts can be diverted from the subject
which is almost ever present to it, it is a bitter return to
it. We have been so uninterruptedly blest that I feel it
is good for us to be afflicted, to lead our hearts to Him
who hath given us all. I was too confident, too pre-
Sumptuous in the expectation of a continuance of such
happiness, and now to Him who gave and hath taken away
I have turned for consolation and support—and oh if that
feeling of nothingness—of resignation into the hands of an
Almighty Will could last which we feel in the hour of afflic.
tion—how different we should be | No one who has felt the
42 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
purifying, elevating effect of such feelings could wish to put
them away or return to the same round of worldly occupa-
tions or pursuits, without one thought beyond the present
hour or day.
“There is no bitterness, no harshness, in our grief. It is
So Softened down by every recollection, so chastened, so
subdued, that I cannot bear to put it away or try to forget
it, and those who wish to divert and turn one's attention to
other things, know little of the feeling of real affliction,
which is of so elevating a nature that it cannot be wrong to
indulge in it. There is something so sacred and hallowed
in one's affection for one who is called to another world, it
seems to unite one's heart with eternity—to refine it from
any exclusive attachment to earth. I feel fears mingled
with my love for those who are left, and shudder at the
thought of their being taken too, but I can think of him
without fear or dread, and feel that the affection which was
begun and cherished here will be perfected hereafter.
“I cannot bear to think of the time when the impression
of Charles will be less strong than it is now. It is such a
pleasure to fancy I see him by me—to remember, till recol-
lection almost becomes reality, everything he said, the tone
of his voice, the expression of his eye, to imagine he is not
dead but parted for a time, even though the illusion is very
short.”
The summer of 1821 was spent by Miss Leycester with
the Stanleys in Anglesea.
M. L. to MRS. REGINALD HEBER.
“Aenzhos, Azgust 13, 1821.-The last has been a most
interesting week. It was just before dinner on Monday
that the report was spread through the house that the blue
flag was hoisted on the signal station on Holyhead moun-
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 43
tain. This we knew to signify that a number of ships were
in sight. In an instant the balcony was filled and every
telescope in requisition, and having ascertained the fact to
be so, we went to dinner. We had not half finished dinner
when a gun was heard, announcing the red flags being Sub-
stituted for the blue ones. The dinner-table and house
were speedily deserted, and we hurried to Holyhead, and
took our station at the top of the lighthouse which is at the
end of the pier. There we waited for some hours, watching
a tremendous thunderstorm, and seeing all the vessels in
harbour sail out to meet the King. It grew darker and
darker, and at last we were obliged to return home in
despair. About 2 A.M. Sir John was waked by a letter
from Lord Anglesea, saying that the King was anchored in
the bay, but had not yet decided on landing. At six we all
sallied forth to see the beautiful squadron, consisting of two
fine frigates, four large yachts, and sloops of war and in-
numerable cutters. The morning was spent in hearing
divers reports of what the King intended to do, sending him
presents of fruit and flowers, which were, I believe, very ac-
ceptable, and watching him while he was walking on deck,
and visiting the Active and Ziffy. Whilst on board the
Aliffy, intelligence came that the King designed to land. We
hurried back to the lighthouse, from the balcony of which
we had the most extensive and uninterrupted view imagin.
able. The Scene which followed was really magnificent. It
was a most beautiful day, a bright Sun shining upon all the
vessels, and the Sea a deep dark green colour. At four
o'clock the guns of Holyhead and Penrhos batteries fired
the royal Salute—a sign that the King had gotinto his barge;
in an instant every yard was manned, every vessel covered
with flags of every colour and form, and every gun was
fired from each vessel, giving one in some degree an idea of
What an engagement must be, as the clouds of smoke and
44 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
fire issued from each and echoed through the bay. The
Sun shining on the flags, and little regiments of men on
every yard, and beautiful cutters sailing about in all direc-
tions, really exceeded all one could imagine in beauty. By
degrees the royal barge approached, attended by the boats
belonging to each ship, the crew dressed in black, scarlet,
and gold, the oars tipped with gold, and the royal standard
at one end. It reached the shore, and as the King placed his
foot on the first step, the guns fired, the band (which at-
tended in one of the boats, struck up ‘God save the King,’
every hat and handkerchief was waved, and loud hurrahs
and cheers came from the crowds of people assembled on
the pier. It was a moment never to forget, for every recol-
lection of individual folly and unworthiness was banished
from one's mind in the overpowering feeling and enthusiasm
of the moment, and the deep silence which followed the
burst of applause when he landed on the pier was very
striking. There, in the midst of the two rows of people, Sir
John knelt to receive him. The King made a speech ex-
pressive of his gratitude for the attention shown to him, and
his pleasure at seeing the country of which he had so long
borne the name. Sir John then read the Address, again
knelt and kissed hands, and the King then proceeded to his
carriage, attended by Lord Anglesea, followed by several
carriages, and the crowd cheering all the way as he drove
slowly through a triumphal arch erected at the end of the
pler.
“On Wednesday the King returned from Plas Newydd,
and the greater part of the scene was again repeated. On
Thursday morning a King's messenger arrived with the news
of the Queen's death. We saw the despatch was carried
down to him in his cabin. Of what might be his feelings
we of course knew nothing; every outward mark of decency
has been shown, all the flags being, by his order, put half
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 45
mast high, and he not appearing on deck at all, and dining
alone in his cabin. One could not help a feeling of melan-
choly at the idea that while he was receiving the homage
of his people, surrounded by all that could be of grandeur
and magnificence, his poor Queen was lying on her death-
bed, deserted by all who had any natural ties to lament or
regret her loss.”
In December, 1822, the Bishopric of Calcutta was
offered to Reginald Heber, with but little hope that he
would be willing to sacrifice the comforts and interests of
his Shropshire living for a mitre on the banks of the Ganges.
He was, however, led to its acceptance by the consciousness
of how wide a sphere of usefulness he would reject in its
refusal, and almost immediately began to prepare for his
departure from Hodnet. Greatly as his approaching loss
was felt by many in the neighbourhood, the blow was in-
comparably most severe to Maria Leycester, who for many
years had been like a sister to him, and who had derived
her chief home-pleasures from his society, and that of Mrs.
Heber.
M. L.'s JOURNAL.
“Feb. 8, 1823.−The extreme suffering I felt on first
hearing of the intended departure of the Hebers for India,
has now passed. Those vividly painful feelings seldom con-
tinue long in the same form, when the necessity for exertion,
variety of Society, and change of place, call upon the mind
for fresh thoughts. But though the immediate shock is
over, and my mind is by time habituated to the idea, so that
I can now think and write of it calmly, it is no less a
source of the deepest Sorrow to me. Nor is it merely in
46 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET IIFE.
the pain of parting with such friends that I shall feel it. ..
will be in the daily loss I shall experience of kind and
affectionate neighbours, of an interest always kept up, of
the greatest part of my home enjoyments.
“I had so little foreseen, at any time, the possibility of
this event, that I was totally unprepared for it, and although
now it appears quite natural that Reginald, who is so pecu-
liarly fitted for the situation, should wish for it, I could
hardly at first believe it to be possible. . . . The remem-
brance of the last two years rises up before me so much the
more endeared from the thought that those happy days will
never again return. There is nothing out of my own family
which could have made so great a blank in my existence as
this will do. For so many years have they been to me as
brother and sister, giving to me so much pleasure, so much
improvement. It will be the breaking up of my thoughts
and habits and affections for years, and scarcely can I bear
to think that in a few months those whom I have loved so
dearly will be removed from me far into another world—
for such does India appear at this distance.”
“April 3.−So much has one feeling occupied every
thought for the last two months, that it seems but a day
since I wrote the last few lines—with this only difference,
that the reality is so much more bitter than the anticipation,
and that the certainty of my loss is now brought back to me
by the knowledge that I shall never see them again, here or
at Hodnet. The chord is Snapped asunder, and I feel in
its full force the effect it must have on my future happiness.
I look around in vain for a bright spot to which to turn.
All that I valued most, out of my own family, will be at
once taken from me, and it will leave a blank that cannot
be filled. To find a friend like Reginald, with a heart so
kind, so tender, and a character so heavenly, must be utterly
impossible, and the remembrance of all the interest he has
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 47
snown in me, and all his kindness, makes the feeling of his
loss very difficult to bear. . . .”
August 1, 1823. —This evening I have, for the first
time, ventured to go by Hodnet. It must be done, and
it was better alone than with others. So, having dined early,
I took a long ride—one of our old rides which I have so
often taken with him. There stood the poor deserted Rec-
tory, with its flowers and its fields—the green gate, which I
have so seldom passed before unopened, all looking exactly
the same as in days of happiness, and now how changed
from their former merriment to solitude and silence | Those
beautiful park-fields where I have so often walked, and
where I shall never walk again, lay shining in the evening
Sun, looking most tranquil and peaceful, as if in a world so
beautiful unhappiness could not be found. Scarcely could
I believe, as I looked around me, that all were gone with
whom I had enjoyed so many happy days there, and that
those same trees and fields were alone remaining to speak
to me of the past, every step recalling to me some word or
look. As I rode along, recollections crowded on me so fast
that I felt hardly conscious of the present and its gloom, in
Hving over again a period of such happiness. . . .”
But the feelings of grief with which Maria Leycester
watched the departure of the Hebers for India, did not
solely arise from the pain of losing their society. In losing
them she lost also the only means of communication with
another, who had become, in the last few years, even more
closely endeared to her, and with whom her acquaintance
had begun and ripened under their roof, and been fostered
by their sympathy and protection. It was in the autumn of
1819, upon her return from Scotland, that she first met with
Mr. Martin Stow, a person who was to have much in-
48 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
fluence over her future life. Though regarding him as “a
mere country curate,” she was at once interested in him by
the likeness which many perceived between him and her
beloved brother-in-law, Edward Stanley. Early in January,
1820, she spent a week at Hodnet Rectory, during which
they were constantly together, sharing in the many amuse-
ments of that happy home, in all of which Mr. Stow was a
most willing and able assistant, and in which his high spirits
seemed to communicate themselves to every member of the
party, and to spread a spirit of life and vivacity around
him. In the following summer, the acting of Mr. Heber's
little play of B/ue Beard again assembled the party at
Hodnet, where there was always the most enjoyable kind of
society, no form or dulness, but conversation of every kind,
sometimes playful and sometimes serious ; a bright Colouring
seemed to invest everything, and those who were admitted
into the little circle of intimates of which Reginald Heber
was the centre, found a charm in every occupation and
pursuit which they had never felt before. It was not to be
wondered at, that, meeting on such terms, two persons
whose pursuits and tastes were similar, should become in-
timate.
It was in the midst of this happiness (March, 1820) that
Charles Leycester's death occurred after a single week's
illness. His sister at the time was almost Crushed by
the blow, and the first person to whom she turned with
interest, when she began to recover from the stunning force
of sorrow, was Mr. Stow, who had been the intimate friend
of the brother she had lost; and in the following summer
in her rides with her brother Edward, he constantly joined
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 49
them, and the three rambled together over the woods at
Hawkestone, discovering new paths, and enjoying their
beauties.
In the following summer of 1821 Maria Leycester was
constantly urged by the Hebers to form one of their party,
and her visits to Hodnet Rectory were of almost daily
occurrence. Mr. Stow was generally there; the walks with
him and Reginald Heber had an indescribable charm, and
the affection which had gradually and unconsciously been
drawing their hearts together, could not but daily gain
strength.
In June, Maria Leycester was again staying at Hodnet,
at the time of the christening of the little Emily Heber, at
which she and Mr. Stow knelt side by side as proxy god-
father and godmother. During this visit he begged per-
mission to make known to her family the feeling with which
he regarded her, but his advances were coldly received by
them, and both his daughter and Mr. Stow became aware
how impossible it would be ever to obtain Mr. Leycester's
consent to their union. Without this she would not marry.
In that autumn Mr. Stow accepted the British chaplaincy at
Genoa, whence he maintained a constant correspondence
with the Hebers, through whom a certain degree of com-
munication was preserved.
In February, 1822, Mr. Stow was recalled to England by
his father's death, and came again to Hodnet, bringing his
sister with him, and he and Miss Leycester met with that
calmness of intercourse which arose from no change in the
degree of their attachment, but from the confirmed steadi-
ness with which it had now become part of themselves, and
WOL. I. E
50 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
which it had acquired in the experience of many months
separation, and when he returned to Genoa it was with a
mutual though unspoken assurance of unchangeable affec-
tion on either side.
The following Summer was passed by Maria Leycester in
a happy state of tranquillity, not unenlivened by hope.
The Summer was a very hot one, and she passed whole
days in the open air, living under the lime-trees, which
Crown the steep mossy bank at Stoke Rectory, with her
table and books, reading “Spenser's Fairy Queen’’ for the
first time, listening to the Hodnet bells, and existing in a
world of her own, where all was peace and happiness. The
Hebers were at this time in London, Reginald Heber
having been appointed preacher at Lincoln's Inn ; but every
evening, when it became cool enough, Maria Leycester
would mount her horse Psyche and ride over to Hodnet
Rectory to visit their little Emily, who rewarded her with
her many Smiles. -
It was in January, 1823, that Maria Leycester was first
told that Reginald Heber had accepted the bishopric of
Calcutta. A thunderclap could not have stunned her more.
To his preferment in England she had long and anxiously
looked forward as involving her own prospects also, but
for this she was wholly unprepared. It was cutting off
at once not only all present Connection with Mr. Stow, but
all hopes of future preferment; it was taking away the only
society in which she felt any interest, and the only friends
who had ever been her support and consolation in her
separation from him, both in their sympathy, and the means
of communication they afforded. Whichever way she looked,
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 5.I
her loss appeared heavier. On their return to Hodnet
every visit became more and more melancholy, as every-
thing around reminded her of their approaching departure.
The whole of Passion Week was spent by them at Stoke
Rectory, and they were then accompanied by Mrs. Heber's
favourite cousin, Augustus Hare, with whom Maria Leycester
had become intimately acquainted during his many visits at
Hodnet, and who was also the dearest friend cf Mr. Stow.
It was a party that in happier times would have been
delightful, but it was now filled with too bitter recollections
and anticipations. The spirits, however, in which Reginald
Heber spoke and thought of this new sphere opened to him
did much to turn their thoughts towards the interests and
occupations of his future life. Each day was employed in
walks to Hodnet Rectory, which looked more and more
deserted as it was gradually emptied of all its contents, and
little left but the bare walls of the rooms which had been
the scene of so much enjoyment. On Easter Sunday the
whole party went to Hodnet Church, where Reginald Heber
preached a beautiful and deeply affecting farewell sermon,
in which he expressed his anxiety to partake with his friends
for the last time of the Holy Sacrament, which he after-
wards administered to them, “as strengthening that feeling
in which alone they would in future be united, till the
East and West should alike be gathered as one fold under
one Shepherd.” On the following day the Hebers left
Stoke. Maria Leycester walked up with thern to Hodnet
for the last time, and through life remembered the kindness
of Reginald Heber during that walk—the affectionate man-
ner in which he tried to soothe her grief at parting with
52 MEMORIAAS OF A QUIET LIFE.
them, and to talk of future happy times—the assurances he
gave her that amidst the new interests of India he should
often turn to former friends and think of the days they had
passed together—and that they should still ever be united
in prayer. The whole warmth of his heart was shown in
those last moments, till they parted, when he and Mrs.
Heber turned in at the gates of Hodnet Hall.
As Maria Leycester returned to Stoke across Hodnet
Heath, Augustus Hare walked with her, and his brother-like
sympathy and affection gave her great comfort, and inspired
her with the utmost confidence, especially as he alone,
except the Hebers, was acquainted with all the circum-
stances of her relation to Mr. Stow. He spent the rest of
that day at Stoke, while waiting for the coach which was to
pass in the evening. -
Meantime, Bishop Heber had made the offer of his
Indian chaplaincy to Mr. Stow, who gladly accepted it, in
the hope that Miss Leycester might consent to accompany
him, and that her family, in the knowledge that she would
ăn this case remain with the Hebers and form part of their
family circle, might be induced to assent to their marriage.
But these hopes proved entirely fruitless; and when Maria
Leycester accompanied the Stanleys to London to see the
last of the Hebers, she had an interview with Mr. Stow at
Lincoln's Inn, which she quite believed to be a final One.
The following letters belonging to this period are not
without interest to the story:— -
REGINALD HEBER to AUGUSTUS W. HARE.
“Aſodnet, March 3, 1823.−I take abundant shame to
myself, my dear Augustus, for not having sooner answered
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 53
one of the most gratifying letters which I have received for
many months; but you will, I am sure, impute my silence
to any cause but indifference either to the intelligence which
you communicated or to the friendship of the kind com-
municator. It was, indeed, a very great and most unex-
pected honour which the University conferred on me; and,
perhaps, the distinction of all others which, if it had been
named to me, I should have most desired. Yet I will fairly
say that I derived more pleasure still from the kind and
cordial manner in which you congratulated me, and the
renewed conviction which I felt of your regard and favour-
able opinion. I heartily wish I may through life retain,
and continue to deserve them both. Your cousin and I are
here in the midst of packings and leave-takings, both un-
pleasant operations, and the latter a very painful one. I do
not, indeed, feel so much parental emotion as many people
profess under similar circumstances, and as I myself partly
expected I should, in bidding adieu to the stones and trees
which I have built and planted. But, besides my mother
and sister, and besides the other kind friends with whom I
have passed so many hours here, there are among my
parishioners many old persons whom I can never expect to
meet again, and many, both old and young, who evidently
lose me with regret, and testify their concern in a very
natural and touching manner. My comfort is that Emily,
who is as much regretted as I can be, and who has, if
possible, more ties than I have to bind her to England—
now that the first struggle is over—is not only resigned, but
cheerful and Courageous, and as resolute as I am to look
only on the bright side of the prospect.”
MARTIN STOW to AUGUSTUs W. HARE.
“Feb., 1823–The dream is at an end. In losing the
Hebers I have lost Maria Leycester. Not a hope, nor a
54 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
shadow of a hope, can remain. It is not only that Reginald
was the only quarter from which I had the least chance of
preferment or recommendation, but they were the only links
between the Leycesters and myself; they are taken away,
and their departure, as far as I am concerned, is utter and
absolute ruin. . . . Do not think that I suppose Reginald
wrong in going; far from it. I look upon it as a high and
noble self-devotion to the cause of God and the good of
mankind; nor do I know any man whom I would so wil-
lingly see at Calcutta. The difficulties to be encountered
in India are precisely those with which he is especially
Qualified to cope—obstinacy and prejudice on the one side,
and notorious evil living on the other. He is in his own
person the confusion of both.”
MARTIN STOW to REGINALD HEBER.
“Atome, April 10, 1823.—The last post brought me your
kind letter, and I lose no time in returning you my sincerest
thanks for the considerate kindness and attention to my
interest which has led you to make me so noble an offer of
preferment. . . . I do not know whether Maria Leycester
may have been aware of your intention, or whether she
would regard it as favourable or otherwise to our hopes; but
as I can hardly suppose that you did not mention it to her,
or that she was averse to the place, I have ventured to en-
close a letter to her father, stating the nature of the prefer-
ment in my power, and requesting his permission to declare
my affection to Maria. . . .”
MARTIN STOW to MRS. R. HEBER.
“A’ome, April 14, 1823.−Do you think there is any
chance of my being able to carry my dearest Maria to India?
I think this would give you pleasure ; we should then have
so much to remind us, even on the banks of the Ganges, of
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 55
former days of happiness. Her great love for you both
would, I think, outweigh any personal objection of her own,
but I fear that I have scarcely a hope of Her father's Consent.
. . . The little mote you have transmitted from Maria is so
mournful, yet so resigned, so evidently without hope, that
it almost breaks my heart. . . . Addio, and may God bless
you for all you have done, and intend to do, for me.”
AUGUSTUS W. HARE fo MRS. R. HEBER.
“AZay, 1823.−So Stow has accepted He has written
to me to implore me to set before Maria Leycester, not his
misery, but the certainty of their love being destroyed, if he
goes to India without her ; and to prove to her how happy
she would be, making one of that circle in India, which has
been so very dear to her in England. He wishes me to see
her before his arrival, and as he wishes it, I wish it too.
Surely, you can contrive this for me. Excellent as she is, I
am sure he deserves her, and I am sure he loves her enough
to make ten ordinary husbands. Would it not be a great
point to familiarise her mind to the possibility of going to
India P. So many excellent things are never dome, because
the parties concerned vote them impossible—“Cela ne se
fait pas' is the only argument to which I can never find an
answer. It is out of my power to say how anxious I feel
that this matter should be brought to a good issue. Object-
less for myself, and loving no one (in the technical sense of
the word, for in its more enlarged meaning God knows I
love many people, among others, you and Reginald much),
all my wishes tend to furthering the love of a friend from
whom, during the last twelve years, I have received so
many marks of confidence and affection, and some real
services that no other, perhaps, Could or would have
rendered me—scoldings, by the way, not a few, among the
number.” - -
56 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
The meeting at Lincoln's Inn was not the last. When
Mr. Stow was about to leave England, he could not resist
the desire of seeing Miss Leycester once more, and followed
her to Cheshire. Their last meeting was in the beech-wood
at Alderley. Augustus Hare then accompanied his friend
into Cheshire, and remained with him till the 1st of
October, when he sailed for India in the Ganges, with his
sister.
In the following winter, during visits in the neighbourhood
of London, Augustus Hare was the only person Miss
Leycester had any pleasure in seeing, and she gratefully
received his kindness and sympathy. Though he was
more reserved and cautious in speaking of the future
than he had hitherto been, he talked much of past
days, and but to hear and talk of them was sufficient
happiness for her. From him she learnt of the safe
arrival of the Ganges in India, and of the welfare and
well-being of his friend.
Meantime (in 1823, 1824), Maria Leycester's home life
was diversified, and her attention to a certain degree diverted
from sorrowful thoughts, by many visits to Knowsley, and by
the happy marriage of her brother Edward (Dec. 16, 1823)
to Charlotte, eldest daughter of Lord Stanley, and grand-
daughter of the twelfth Earl of Derby.
On the 1st of February, 1825, Maria Leycester went to
Shavington to visit her friend, Lady Frances Needham,
from whom she had long been separated, and to her, whose
sympathy she had always received, she spoke much of her
prospects and hopes, regardless of the sad tone in which she
was answered, and the turn which Lady Frances judiciously
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 57
gave to the conversation. The visit was to have lasted
some days, but, on the second day, there came a note from
Stoke, begging that Miss Leycester would return home
immediately. It excited her surprise, but nothing more,
till the sudden recollection that Lady Frances had disap-
peared from the room on receipt of a similar note, awakened
alarm. But in vain did Maria Leycester seek to discover
its contents from her friend, and in all the wretchedness of
suspense she rode home, feeling an inward conviction that
the blow, in some form or other, must come from Alderley,
as there was no other quarter from which, in her absence,
she imagined her family would have heard. She turned to
every possible and impossible shape she thought it could
assume, but of the right one never did a moment's suspicion
cross her mind. She reached Stoke, and in a few minutes
the truth was before her—Martin Stow had died of fever at
Dacca, on the 17th of July, 1824 -
REGINALD HEBER to AUGUSTUS W. H.A.R.E.
“A)claserry River, near ZXacca, /u/y 22, 1824.—My dear
Augustus, Little did I anticipate when we parted, with
how heavy a heart I should commence what (I am almost
ashamed to say) is my first letter to you. We have lost
poor Stow . He set out with me five weeks since on my
visitation, leaving his sister with Emily and her children,
who were dissuaded by our medical advisers from accom-
panying me on the formidable journey ; but whom we
hoped to meet in February next at Bombay, whither they
were to proceed by Sea, while we found our way across the
continent, through Rajpoohana and Malwa. Stow had
been seriously ill in Calcutta, of something like a dysentery ,
but it was anticipated by everybody that a sail of three
58 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
months on the Ganges, and a subsequent journey to a
cooler climate would be of the utmost service to him, and
he was not only permitted, but strongly advised by Dr.
Abel to accompany me. These favourable expectations
seemed verified by the experience of our first fortnight; the
cool breeze of the river seemed to revive him most essen-
tially, and his spirits and appetite increased perceptibly,
while he took an increasing interest in the wild and seques-
tered, but beautiful and luxuriant scenes through which we
passed, while threading the great Delta of the Ganges in our
way to Dacca. Unhappily, as his strength returned, he
became less cautious; he one evening particularly exposed
himself to the sun while yet high, and to the worst miasma
which this land of death affords, by running into a marsh
after some wild ducks. From that time his disorder re-
turned, and he reached Dacca on the 5th of this month
so weak and exhausted, as to be carried from the boat to
the bedroom prepared for him. The means of cure usually
employed were tried without success. He struggled, how-
ever, against the complaint with a strength which surprised
both his medical attendants and myself, and which long
flattered us, alas, with a delusive hope of his recovery.
During the three last days of his life, he was fully sensible
of his approaching end, and I trust I shall never forget
the earnestness of his prayers, the severity and deep con-
trition with which he scrutinized all the course of his
(surely) innocent and useful life; the humility and self-abase-
ment with which he cast himself on God's mercy through
Christ, or the blessed and still brightening hope which—
after his first mental struggle was over—it pleased his
gracious Master to send him. He sent his love to you
with a request that all his papers might be sent to you ‘to
do what you thought best with them.’ He observed that
the anniversary was just passed of the day in which he
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 59
parted with M. L. in the woods of Alderley. “Dear, dear
Maria " he said, ‘I hope God is not offended with me for
thinking of her in this hour.” He often named his ‘poor
sister,’ recommending her to Emily's care and mine. But
all the rest of his time was occupied in praying, with me,
or mentally, and in listening to different texts of Scripture,
which he took great delight in my reading to him. ‘God,'
he said on Friday evening—‘God and his dear Son are
mercifully making this passage more and more easy to me.’
He slept very little, being interrupted by constant spasms.
At length, in the course of Saturday, a slight wandering
2ame on, though he never ceased to know me, or to express
uneasiness if, by any alteration of position, or any other
cause, he, for a moment, lost sight of me. His end was
visibly fast approaching, and his face had assumed that
unequivocal character which belongs to the dying, when he
called me closer to him and said in a half whisper, “Do
you think I shall see my poor, poor sister to-night?' I
could not help answering, “It was by no means impossible.’
I know not in what sense he meant the question; but,
indeed, I cannot think it even unlikely that the spirit of a
just man may be permitted for a time to hover over those
objects it has loved most tenderly. Some violent but short
spasms succeeded, after which he sank into a calm slumber,
and a few minutes after twelve, literally breathed his last,
without a struggle or groan. I myself closed his eyes, and,
with the help of a surgeon (whom, in the forlorn hope of
Some favourable turn taking place, I had got to remain in
the house the last three nights), composed his limbs. It
was necessary that we should do this, since the superstition
of the wretched people round us had put them to flight.
“He was buried in the evening of the next day (Sunday,
the 18th), in the cemetery of the station, which, that day
week, I had consecrated. A wild and dismal place it is, as
6o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
ever Christian laid his bones in, at about a mile's distance
from the inhabited part of Dacca, but surrounded by ruins
and jungle, and containing several tall, ruinous tombs of
former residents in the days when the commerce of this
province was the most important in India. Some of these
have been very handsome, but all are now dilapidated, and
overgrown with ivy and the wild fig-tree. There is, however,
a high wall, with an old Moorish gateway, which protects the
graves effectually from the jackals, and I have given direc-
tions for a plain monument to be erected over my poor
friend. His illness, his youth, his amiable manners with
the few in Dacca who saw him, and his general character,
excited a great sensation in the place. Inquiries came
every day, with presents of fruit, or often of books, which
might elucidate his distemper or amuse him, and similar
marks of attention and interest, not only from the English
residents, but from the Nawab, from the principal Zemindar
of the neighbourhood, and from the Armenian Bishops of
Ecmiazin and Jerusalem, whom I met here, engaged in a
still larger visitation than my own, of the different churches
of their communion in Persia and India. All the English
residents, and the officers from the military lines, with a
detachment of artillerymen, came, unsolicited, to his
funeral. We were the guests of Mr. Masters, the principal
judge, whose nephew you may have known at Baliol ;
and from him more particularly, and from Mr. Mitford,
the junior judge, brother to my friend Mitford of Oriel,
we received daily and unwearied kindness. Mrs. Mitford,
on finding that poor Miss Stow thought of setting off
for Dacca to nurse. her brother, not only wrote to ask
her to their house, but offered to accelerate a journey which
Mr. M. and she were meditating to Calcutta, in order to
take care of her in the dismal homeward voyage. I trust,
however, that my letters would arrive in time to stop her,
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 61
and lest they should not have done so, I am now diverging
from the great stream which is my direct course towards
Patna, in order to ascertain whether she has really set out,
and, if so, to meet and take her at least the greater part of
the way back again.
“Emily had entreated, on hearing the first alarm, that, in
the event of poor Stow's death or inability to proceed, I
would not refuse her permission to join me at the Rajamehal
Hills, and to go with me, at whatever risk, through the rest
of the journey; and I know her so well that, though there
will certainly be some circumstances trying to her strength,
I am disposed to believe she would suffer more by not being
allowed to follow me ; so that, in about a month's time, I
may hope to see her and my children. Whether Miss Stow
will accompany them, or immediately return to England,
I know not ; her brother seemed to think she would
prefer the former, and I have written to invite her to do
so. Yet, alas ! what motive has she now for lingering in
India?
“This is the second old and valued friend (poor Sir C.
Puller was the first, though my intimacy with Stow was far
greater) which this Cruel climate has within a few months
robbed me of. In the meantime, I have great reason for
thankfulness that, in all essential points, my own health has
remained firm ; that my dear wife, though she has been an
invalid, has been so from causes unconnected with the
climate ; and that my children are pictures of health and
cheerfulness. How long this is to continue, God knows, and
I thank Him that my confidence in his mercy and protec-
tion has not yet been shaken. Meantime, I am far from
repenting my coming out to India, where I am sure I am
not idle, and hope I am not useless—though I have, alas !
fallen far short of my own good intentions, and have failed,
to a greater extent than I expected, in conciliating the
62 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
respective bigots of the High and Low Church parties.
But I cannot help feeling most painfully the loss of my most
sincerely attached and intelligent friend, to whom, under
any difficulty, I could open myself without reserve—whose
cheerful conversation was delightful to me in health, and to
whose affectionate solicitude and prayers I looked forward
as a sure resource in Sorrow or in sickness.
“I write this letter from my boat. I am writing also to
Mrs. Stanley, to beg her to break the sad tidings to Maria.
But I have been so long in my letter to you, that mine to
her must be a short one. If you think these details likely
to interest them, you may send this letter. God bless you,
dear Augustus.
“Ever yours affectionately,
“R. CALCUTTA.”
MRS. STANLEY to AUGUSTUS W. HARE.
“A/derley, Feb. 5, 1825.— . . . . I feel for you truly. I
know what you have lost, and how you valued him you have
proved too well. I fear there is no hope now, the news
coming from two other distinct quarters is only too strong
confirmation. I shall be thankful if Maria can be kept in
ignorance till not a shadow of doubt remains, for in her
present state I should dread anxiety more even than grief
for her. . . . . It will be a relief to you to know that Mrs.
Leycester had the presence of mind to let her mount her
horse and ride to Shavington, while she was actually
engaged in the act of reading your first letter, taking the
precaution of writing to Lady Fanny Needham to say
that unpleasant reports were afloat from India, and
begging her to take care that Maria did not see a paper
unguardedly.
“However melancholy the source of our acquaintance will
now be to us both, let me trust it will still be continued, and
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 63
that no opportunity of improving it will be neglected. I,
shall ever feel the warmest interest in you, and a high value
for your friendship. I shall write to you again without
scruple, if there is anything to say about my sister that you
will like to know, and I do know you will be anxious about
her.
Areb. 6.—I have heard again from Mrs. Leycester, who
dreaded Maria's hearing at Shavington, and made an
excuse to send for her home ; and, after that preparation,
broke the news. -
“Feb. 28.—I have been to Stoke, and after being with
Maria for a few days, she improved more than I dared to
hope at first. Constant talking on the subject with the
greatest freedom relieved her, and when I left her about ten
days ago she could do this with calmness. I left my two
little children with her, and she was able to play with and
talk to them when she could do nothing else.”
AUGUSTUs W. HARE to (HIS AUNT) LADY JONES.
“Feb. 3.−Truly Stow was, after yourself and my
brothers, the person I most had loved in the world. . . . .
He was the only person with whom Reginald would lay
aside the bishop, an indescribable happiness to a man of
his simple turn of mind. With him, and with him alone,
Reginald could be and could feel as he formerly did by his
rectory fireside. Now that is over. I need not say how
much he would have gained himself by what he would have
seen and done, for he is now gaining and learning infinitely
more. As he was to be taken from me, thank God it was
in God's service. It was in doing what the Apostles, had
they been alive now, would have been doing too, and be-
cause he was doing it, that he died. This fact is like a rock
of comfort to me. There is no moving or shaking the con-
64 - MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
. . viction that those who die for God shall also live with Him.
He is quite safe.”
M. L. to AUGUSTUS W. HARE.
“I must write a few lines, although I feel it almost need-
less to do so, for Augustus Hare knows all my feelings too
well to doubt what they must be now. I have received every
comfort that the tenderest, the most affectionate kindness
could give ; but it is to you I turn as the sharer, the fellow-
sufferer, in my grief. You only know what the loss is. I
cannot help at times feeling that if I had been there this
might not have happened, but I believe it is presumption to
think so. The God who has willed to take him away had
the power to have preserved him had He seen fit to do so,
and ought we not to rejoice that his spirit is removed from a
world of sighing and sorrow to one where it will be perfected
in happiness and joy P I have not felt the resignation I
ought to have dome, but sorrow is very, very Selfish. I am
sensible that I have much to be grateful for, that few women
have had the happiness of being loved with affection so
strong and so disinterested—few can have had the means
of loving such excellence and noble-mindedness; but to
feel that this is gone for ever, and that we can live only in
the past, is very hard to bear ; and yet when I think of that
sister to whom he was friend, protector, everything—I feel
it almost wrong to grieve for myself. I know that if you
can you will come here. When we have once met it will
be a comfort to mourn together. I look to one only source
of comfort, and you too, my dear friend, must, in a Hope
which can never fail, seek for that consolation which nothing
earthly can afford.”
STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 65
Here our narration must pause. Augustus Hare and his
family have henceforward so large a share in it, that it
seems necessary to go back into their lives, and connect
their story with this.
TTI.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX.
“The true Past departs not, nothing that was worthy in the
Past departs; no Truth or Goodness realised by man ever
dies, or can die; but all is still here, and, recognised or not,
lives and works through endless changes.” — CARLYLE's
Fssays.
ESS than four miles from the Sussex coast, at the
point where the huge remains of the Roman Anderida
break the otherwise monotonous sea-line, but divided from
the sea by the flat marsh meadow-lands known as Pevensey
Level, stand the ruins of Hurstmonceaux Castle. Once,
before the Level was reclaimed, the sea itself must have
rolled in almost as far as the ancient manor-house which
preceded the castle upon the same site ; and the plain is
still wholly uninhabited, except by one or two farmers,
who watch over the immense herds of cattle which pasture
there, and who live in small houses amid solitary tufts of
trees, on slight rising-grounds, which were once islands,
and whose names still show their origin, in the ancient
termination of ey, or island, as in Pevensey, Horsey,
Langney. From the churchyard above the castle, the view
is very strange, looking down upon the green, pathless
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 67
flat, into the confines of which no one ever wanders except
the cowherds, or those who cross to Pevensey by the
distant highroad. The church and castle are literally the
last buildings on the edge of a desert.
The castle is still most grand and stately in its premature
decay; nothing can be more picturesque than its huge
front of red brick, grown grey here and there with lichens
and weather-stains, than its arched gateway and boldly
projecting machicolations, or the flowing folds of ivy with
which it is overhung. Though only built in the reign of
Henry VI., it is said to have been the earliest large brick
building in England, after the time of Richard II., when De
la Pole's house was built of brick at Kingston-on-Hull; and
it is considered a most valuable specimen of the transition
of domestic building from a fortress to a manor-house. The
front is pierced with loop-holes for crossbows, and Ceillets
for the discharge of matchlock guns, which are relics of the
former intention, while the large windows of the dwelling-
rooms, and more especially the noble oriel known as “the
Ladies' Bower,” are witnesses to the latter. Bishop Littleton,”
writing in 1757, states his opinion that Hurstmonceaux was
at that time the largest inhabited house in England be-
longing to any subject, its rival, Audley End, having been
then partially destroyed. -
Unfortunately the castle is built in a damp hollow, and,
as Horace Walpole observes,f “for convenience of water to
the moat, it sees nothing at all.” All the present sur-
roundings of the building are in melancholy harmony with
* Archaeologia, vol., ii. p. 147.
† Walpole's Letters, edit. 1837, vol. i. p. 176.
68 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
its condition. Dim mists, which float upwards from the
great dykes of the marsh, shroud the whole hollow towards
evening, and seem prophetic of rheumatism and ague. The
moat, which even in Elizabeth's time was converted into a
garden for the sake of salubrity, is now an undrained
wilderness of dank grass and rushes; beside it, a line of tall
Spanish chestnuts fling up their antler-like boughs against
the sky, and are nearly the only relic of the many stately
avenues which once crossed the park in every direction.
Almost all the other trees near it are cut down, or blown
down by the salt-winds, which blow savagely over the un-
guarded hill-side, and only a few mutilated beeches, a few
plantations of the last century, and some thickets of furze,
which afford shelter for innumerable rabbits, remain to
show where rich vegetation has once existed, and to con-
trast with the brown turf, which scantily covers the poor
unproductive soil. Ivy alone flourishes, clinging and
clustering about the walls with a destroying vigour, which
makes one regret the day when old Marchant, the gar-
dener, who died only a few years ago, used to tell us that
he “turned the first plant out of a penny flower-pot.” But
that which contributes most to the Sadness of the place,
is the shortness of the time since it fell into decay, for
less than a hundred years ago the Castle was perfect and
inhabited, the antler-hung hall was filled with guests,
Horace Walpole was coming down from London to hunt up
the antiquities, and Addison was writing a play about the
castle ghost-story.* Now, not a single room remains
perfect, but the empty mullions of the windows frame broad
* See “ The Haunted House,” Addison’s Works, vol. ii.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX, 69
strips of blue Sussex sky, and in the interior the turf is
everywhere strewn with masses of red and yellow brickwork,
which lovers of Romne have compared to the huge fragments
which litter the Baths of Caracalla.
The name Hurstmonceaux is a combination of the Saxon
word “hurst,” meaning a wood, and “Monceaux,” the title
of one of its lords, who came over with the Conqueror.”
The family of Monceaux built the early manor-house, which
existed long before the castle, and was coeval with the
foundation of the church on the adjoining hill. In the
time of Waleran de Monceaux (1264), Henry III.t visited
and slept in this building, and one of his nobles, Roger de
Tournay, was accidentally killed by an arrow as he was
hunting in the park. In the reign of Edward II., Maude
de Monceaux brought the castle by marriage to Sir John
Fienes. The head of this family bore the title of Lord
Dacre of the South. In 1405, died William Fienes, whose
magnificent brass remains in front of the altar of the church.
In I440, the old manor-house where William Fienes died
was pulled down by Sir Roger Fienes, Treasurer of the
Household to Henry V., by whom the present castle was
built, at a cost of £3,800. -
In 1534, died Thomas, second Lord Dacre, whose grand
altar-tomb in Hurstmonceaux Church bears his effigy, with
that of his son Thomas, who died before him. It was the
grandson of this Lord Dacre, and not himself, as Horace
Walpole affirms, who was beheaded in his twenty-fourth
* Sussex Archaeol., vol iv. p. 128. t Id., p. 134.
{ Pat. Roll., 19 Hen. VI., “licentia kernellandi.”
7o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
year on Tower Hill “for accidentally killing a gamekeeper
in Laughton Park,t “chiefly,” says Camden, “because of
his great estate, which needy Courtiers gasped after, and
which caused them to hasten his destruction.” In 1593,
his daughter Margaret, Baroness Dacre, brought the pro-
perty by marriage (for the strictness of the entail saved the
estates from forfeiture) to Sampson Lennard, described by
Camden as “of great worth and politeness,” with whom she
lived in the castle. This couple built the great staircase,
and adorned the chimney-pieces with carving in stone, and
they are buried at Chevening under a splendid monument.
Their grandson Richard, Lord Dacre (the builder of
Chevening), died at Hurstmonceaux, and was buried there,
August 18, 1650. The last Lord Dacre (Thomas) who
possessed Hurstmonceaux married Lady Anne Fitzroy, a
natural daughter of Charles II. by the Duchess of Cleveland,
and they adorned the castle with fine carvings by Gibbons.
In 17 o8, Thomas, Lord Dacre, sold Hurstmonceaux to
George Naylor, of Lincoln's Inn, who was a very handsome
man, of stately presence and large fortune. His wife, who
was a picturesque little woman with curls, sparkling eyes,
and a snub-nose, Š was Lady Grace Holles, sister of Thomas
Pelham, Duke of Newcastle.
George Naylor and Lady Grace were married in 1705,
and kept a most bountiful house at Hurstmonceaux, where
* This is the subject of a tragedy by Mrs. Gore.
i Hollinshed says the catastrophe occurred at “Pikehaie » in
Hellingly, a parish joining Hurstmonceaux on the west.
†. Camden’s Britannia.
§ See their portraits by Sir P. Lely.
THE HARES OF HURST MONCEAUX. 71
all guests were hospitably received, according to their
degree, while butts of beer were left standing at the park
gates for the refreshment of chance passers-by. If the
exterior of the castle was damp and gloomy, it was amply
atoned for within the walls. The visitor, upon crossing the
bridge, was received in a vaulted portico, on One side of
which the porter had his lodge. Hence he entered the
great courtyard, generally known as “the Green Court,”
surrounded by slender pillars of brick, and shaded in part
by the great holly which stood in the centre of the quad-
rangle, and of which a fragment still remains in the ruins.
Above the cloisters, a line of windows on every side lighted
the galleries into which the principal apartments opened
upon the upper floor. That on the left was called the
Bethlehem Gallery, and was hung from end to end with gilt
stamped leather, a fragment of which, Dame Burchett, an
old woman in a red cloak, who showed the castle till a few
years ago, used to wear in her bosom as a kind of talisman,
till the day of her death. This, and the other courtyards,
were always kept bright and free from weeds by twenty old
crones, who were constantly employed about the place
under the title of “the castle weeding women.” Immediately
beyond the Green Court was the great hall, paved with
square glazed tiles, and covered by an open timber roof,
whose massive beams were Supported on Corbels adorned
with the alant or wolf-dog—the badge of the Dacres, and
which ended in a music-gallery. Beyond the hall was the
Pantry Court, whose picturesque gable lighted the great
staircase built by Margaret, Baroness Dacre, which led to
the upper galleries, of which the Green Gallery, hung with
72 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
green cloth, was filled with pictures, and the Bethlehem'
Gallery derived its name from the guest-rooms which
opened into it, and which were always reserved for the
entertainment of strangers. Beyond the Pantry Court a
paved passage led to a gateway and bridge, opening upon
the garden. On the right of the main artery of the castle,
occupying the east front, were the principal dwelling
apartments, including the great drawing-room, adorned by
the Earl of Sussex, where a vine, the masterpiece of Grinling
Gibbons, was represented as springing out of the ground
near the fireplace, and spreading its branches and tendrils
over the ceiling, whose pendants were formed by the
hanging bunches of grapes; the chapel, whose tall windows
contained “the seven long lean saints ill done,” described
by Horace Walpole; and on the upper floor, “the Ladies’
Bower,” whose peculiar oriel window is so conspicuous a
feature. On the west side of the castle were the kitchen
and bakehouse (in the great oven of which, guide books
declare that a coach and six could turn with facility), and a
small court, known as the Pump Court. The chambers on
the upper floor are described by Grose as “sufficient to
lodge a garrison.” “One was bewildered,” he says, “by
the galleries that led to them, while on every window was
painted on the glass the alant, or wolf-dog, the ancient
supporters of the family of Fiennes.
In the time of Lady Grace Naylor, these vast Suites of
guest-chambers were constantly filled with visitors, who fre-
quently included the lady's own two brothers, both impor-
tant persons of their time. That Thomas Pelham, Duke
of Newcastle, did not forget the poor friends he made while
THE HARES OF HURST MONCEAUX. 73
staying with his sister, is testified by a weather-beaten
tombstone still standing beneath the vestry window of
Hurstmonceaux Church, and inscribed to the memory of
“Richard Morris, who died the 21st day of July, 1749,
aged sixty-three, who himself desired that it might be
remembered that he owed his bread to his grace the Duke
of Newcastle, his great benefactor.””
An aunt of George Naylor had married Richard Hare,
the descendant of a family which had been settled at Leigh,
in Essex, for many generations, and had died, leaving an
only son, Francis, who was a Fellow of King's College,
Cambridge, where he had formed an intimate friendship with
Sir Robert Walpole, and where he had the care of John,
Marquis. of Blandford, only son of the great Duke of
Marlborough, who died in his college of Small-pox, in 1702,
and is buried there in the chapel, under a monument, which
bears a long Latin epitaph, composed by his tutor.f
In 1704, Francis Hare was appointed Chaplain-General
to the army in Flanders, under John, Duke of Marlborough,
and was present at the battles of Blenheim and Ramilies.
He described the campaign in a valuable series of letters
to his cousin at Hurstmonceaux, and in a journal, pre-
* This Duke of Newcastle married Henrietta, grand-daughter of
the Duke of Marlborough, in I717. The younger brother of Lady
Grace was the famous Henry Pelham, Chancellor of the Exchequer.
Her sisters were Frances, Viscountess Castlecombe; Garthwright,
Mrs. Polhill ; Margaret, Lady Shelley; and Lucy, who married
Henry, seventh Earl of I.incoln, Gentleman of the Bedchamber to
Prince George of Denmark, Paymaster-General in George I.'s time,
and Knight of the Garter.
t In the novel of “Esmond,” “Dr. Hare” is portrayed as being
called in to whip the Duke of Marlborough’s children.
74 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
served among Archdeacon Coxe's papers in the British
Museum.
In the autumn of I709, he returned to England, and was
married to his first cousin, Bethaia, sister of George Naylor,
who thereupon removed with her mother to “Amen Corn er,”
where Francis Hare appears to have possessed some descrip
tion of home, and where members of his family were previously
residing. But, in the following April (1710), he was again
obliged to join the camp near Douay, when he left his wife
with her family at Hurstmonceaux, which ever after continued
her principal home; for Lady Grace died in 1711, after an
illness of two years, her husband only survived her loss
a few months, and the Duke of Newcastle dying at the
same time, little Grace, the heiress of Hurstmonceaux, was
left to the guardianship of Francis and Bethaia Hare.
The story of Grace Naylor is a very sad one. Left an
orphan at five years old, she grew up in her home, the
idol of her father's tenants, equally endeared to them by her
beauty of person and natural Sweetness of character. In
her twenty-first year (1727), she died mysteriously in
Hurstmonceaux Castle. Her aunt was already dead,” and it
is said that the desolate girl was starved to death by the
malice of a jealous governess, in whose care she was left ;
the fact probably being, that, in order to give her one of the
slim waists, which were a lady's greatest ambition in those
days, she was so reduced by her governess, that her consti-
tution, always delicate, was unable to rally. She has no
monument at Hurstmonceaux, and the beloved name of
* Bishop Hare married his second wife, Miss Alston, in the year
succeeding Grace Naylor’s death.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 75
Grace Naylor is only commemorated upon that of her
nurse, Margaret Beckett, who died December 27, 1750,
aged seventy-eight, and who is mentioned as having “all
her lifetime daily and hourly lamented ” the decease of her
young mistress. There is a beautiful portrait of her extant.
Very little is really known of her life, but tradition and
truth have woven themselves together in many stories, which
are still told in her old home, where the bower-window, in
which “the last of the Naylors was starved to death,” is the
object of chief attraction to those who visit the ruins of
Hurstmonceaux Castle.
Of the life of Francis Hare, whose son Francis (born May
14, 1713) succeeded to the Hurstmonceaux estates on the
death of his cousin, we are less ignorant. His Sermons and
pamphlets had long been keeping the ecclesiastical world
alive, and were Constantly arousing the abusive energies of
the press; but at the same time, bringing his great talents
before the public, which, aided by the protection of the
Duke of Marlborough, and the friendship of Sir Robert
Walpole, led him rapidly up the ladder of preferment.
In 1709, he enjoyed, in addition to the chaplaincy of the
Duke of Marlborough, and the Office of Chaplain-General of
the Forces, a royal chaplaincy, given by Queen Anne, a
Fellowship at Eton, a Canonry at St. Paul's, and the Rectory
of Barnes, in Surrey. Thus, when he married Bethaia, he
was already well provided for. In 1715, he received, in
addition, the Deanery of Worcester. In 1722, he was
appointed Usher of the Exchequer, which brought him
another thousand a year, by Henry Pelham, the younger
brother of Lady Grace. In October, 1726, upon the
76 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE,
resignation of Dr. Godolphin, he exchanged Worcester for
the richer deanery of St. Paul's; and, in the same year, was
advanced to the episcopal mitre (without resigning St.
Paul's, which he held till his death), being on the 17th
December, 1727, consecrated Bishop of St. Asaph, where
he sate for barely four years. This double elevation was the
more remarkable, because, during the latter part of the
reign of George I., he had fallen into disgrace on the
strength of party prejudice; and, in 1718, had been dis-
missed from his royal chaplaincy, together with Dr. Sherlock
and Dr. Moss. But on the accession of George II., he was
restored to the court favour, and Queen Caroline had already
intended to have nominated him to the see of Bath and
Wells, but yielded to the remonstrances of the ministry, who
alleged that it would disoblige the whole bench of bishops
to have the newly consecrated ones let into the best prefer-
ments at once.*
That Bishop Hare was considered one of the famous
preachers of his time, we learn from the verses of Pope —
“Still break the benches, Henley, with thy strain,
While Kennet, Hare, and Gibson preach in vain.”f
When the estates of Hurstmonceaux came to his son, who
forthwith took the name of Naylor, Bishop Hare Consented
to pass as much time at the castle as his various offices
allowed him ; but he brought up the young Francis there in
the most severe manner, “obliging him to speak Greek as
his ordinary language in the family.”: The property was
already much impoverished. Not only were the repairs of
* Nichols's Literary Anecdotes. + Dunciad, bk. iii. S. I99.
f Cole MS.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 77
the great fabric itself a continual drain upon the income,
but custom had imposed a burden of hospitalities, and a dis-
play of liveries and retainers, which the Bishop found great
difficulty in abolishing. His letters complain bitterly of
the expenses of the unremunerative deer-park, from which
“half the county expected to be supplied with venison,” of
the weeding women, the public beer-butts, and the number
of useless hangers-on who by custom were attached to the
estate, and whose number may be estimated by the fact,
that there were four persons whose only duty was that of
clock-winders.
After his son came of age, Bishop Hare never returned to
Hurstmonceaux. While visiting his paternal estate of Skul-
thorpe, near Fakenham,” he had become acquainted with the
family of Mr. Joseph Alston, of Edwardstone, whose wife
was Laurentia Trumbull, niece of Sir William Trumbull,
the Secretary of State. Joseph Alston's eldest daughter,
Margaret, was married to Bishop Hare in April, 1728, and
brought him a large fortune in the estate of Newhouse, in
Suffolk, and the Vatche, near Chalfont St. Giles, in Bucking-
hamshire, where they always resided in the later years of his
life. This property had descended to Margaret Alston
through the Claytons; who, in their turn, derived it from
the Fleetwoods, through whom the Bishop's second wife
was related to Oliver Cromwell, of whom she possessed
a valuable portrait. The Vatche took its name from the
* Sold by his son Robert in 1780.
f Minister Plenipotentiary in Turkey in the reign of William III.,
and the great friend and patron of Pope, who wrote his epitaph in
Easthampstead Church, Berks.
78 MEMORLALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Vache, a dairy-farm of King John. The estate was a rich
one, and the house, in the Bishop's time, was a fine old resi-
dence, standing on high ground, surrounded by noble trees.
It was approached by a long lime avenue from the pic-
turesque village of Chalfont, well-known to lovers of great
men, as having once been the residence of Milton, who took
refuge there from the plague in 1665, and wrote his “Paradise
Lost” in a gable-ended cottage, built by one of the Fleet-
woods, which still exists.
The comparative economy of the Vatche, and its near-
ness to London, made it a far more popular residence with
the Bishop than Hurstmonceaux. He fitted up a desecrated
chapel in the grounds for divine service, which was per-
formed by one of his chaplains, and hung a gallery, a hun-
dred and fifty feet in length, with the portraits of his
ancestors.” At the Vatche, the seven children of his
second marriage were born.f
Meanwhile, his eldest son, Francis, gave the Bishop con-
siderable uneasiness, by avenging himself for his strictly
guarded youth, in extravagance and dissipation of every
description, and by eventually joining the Medmenham
brotherhood, or “Hell Fire Club,” a society of wits and
humorists, who called themselves Franciscans, from their
founder, Sir Francis Dashwood, afterwards Lord Le De-
spencer. They met in the deserted abbey of Medmenham,
on the banks of the Thames, where they spent six weeks every
* Sheahan's Hist. of Bucks, pp. 822, 823.
t Four of these lived to grow up, Robert the eldest son ; Laurentia
; who died 1760, aged thirty-one ; Anne who died 1816, aged eighty-
one ; and Francis, who died in the East Indies, I77 I.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX 79
summer in the wildest orgies, during which, a cordon was
drawn round the abbey, to prevent the approach of the un-
initiated. “Fay ce que voudras” (the inscription in
Rabelais' abbey Thelme) * was their motto, which they
engraved over their porch at Medmenham, where, time-
stained and ivy-mantled, it may still be seen ; and whatever
they chose that they did, though they sometimes chose to
do things which the present century would never allow, and
the last century was greatly scandalized at.f When he con-
sented to leave the brotherhood, the first step which Francis
Naylor made towards reform, was one most displeasing to
his father, by engaging himself to his stepmother's younger
sister, Carlotta Alston, who was penniless, though beautiful.
The Bishop prevented their marriage in his lifetime, but it
took place after his death, when they went to live per-
manently at Little Thurlow, in Suffolk, with the third Miss
Alston, who was married to a Mr. Stephen Soane, leaving
Hurstmonceaux to the rats and mice. Had Francis Naylor
married during his father's lifetime, “the Bishop and his
son had been brother-in-law,” says Cole, “and by that
means would have added yet another scandal.”f That the
Bishop's own second marriage had created some scandal at
the time, we learn from Whiston, who writes, “And I will
venture to say that Bishop Hoadley and Bishop Hare seem
to have been among the first, pretending to be Christian
Bishops, that having children already, and being in years,
* See Cole MS. under the head of Soane.
f For details concerning the Medmenham brotherhood, see
“Chrysal, or the Adventures of a Guinea,” vol. iii. c. 17.
† Cole MIS xvi. Ioy.
8o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
have married twice, and ventured to officiate as Christian
Bishops afterwards.” But Bishop Hare did not regret
the Course he had taken, and his second married life
was a very happy one, saddened only by the deaths of
little Mary, Charlotte, and Frances, taken away in their
childhood.
His leisure time at the Watche was constantly devoted to
literary pursuits. In 1724 he had published in London a
new quarto edition of Terence, according to that of Faërnius,
with notes and a dissertation upon comic metre. This publi-
cation led to a dispute between Bishop Hare and Dr. Ben-
tley, heretofore his intimate friend, which lasted many years.f
In this dispute Bishop Hare is generally considered to have
had the worst of it, but Dr. Parr, who thought him one of
the best Latin scholars of his or of any age, gave it as his
opinion that “he proved himself quite a match for his anta-
gonist in his knowledge of the genius and spirit of the lan-
guage.” Bishop Warburton had also the highest opinion of
his critical skill, saying, “Good sense is the foundation of
criticism; this it is which has made Dr. Bentley and Dr. Hare
the two greatest critics that ever were in the world.”:
Bishop Hare had a considerable knowledge of Hebrew ;
and in 1736 he published an edition of the Psalms in that
language. Concerning this, as about all the works of the
Bishop, opinions differed widely. Dr. Richard Grey, in the
preface to his Hebrew Grammar, highly extols it, as recover-
* Whiston’s “Memoirs of Himself,” vol. i. p. 540.
+ See a letter from Dr. Salter of the Charterhouse to Dr. Nichols,
Gent. Mag. for 1779, pp. 547, 548,
t Nichols's Lit. Anec., ii. 96
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 81
ing what for ages had been lost, the knowledge of Hebrew
poetry, and in several places restoring the text to its original
beauty and accuracy, as also teaching the method of learning
the Hebrew language without points; but Bishop Hare's
arrangement of the Psalms was ably confuted by Lowth
in 1766.
Meanwhile the Bishop's sermons continued to excite in-
creasing attention, and to be the signal for a warfare of
attacking and defending pamphlets. For the defence of a
single sermon on King Charles's martyrdom (preached 1731)
no less than six pamphlets were issued by different persons.”
In 1731 Bishop Hare was translated from the see of
St. Asaph to that of Chichester. In 1736 he narrowly
escaped elevation to the primacy. The case is thus de-
scribed in Lord Hervey’s Memoirs: “During Archbishop
Wake's illness, in 1736, there was a question who should
succeed him. Lord Hervey proposed Potter, but Sir Robert
seemed much more inclined to take Hare, provided he could
get the Queen to accept of him. Hare having been his tutor
at the university, gave Sir Robert some prejudices for him ;
and the good correspondence in which he had lived with
him ever since made his vanity, I believe, more inclined to
Hare than Potter, as the promotion in that case would have
been more marked out to have been made solely by his
influence. Lord Hervey told him, ‘You will certainly
repent of it, if you take Hare. He is a haughty, hard-
natured, imperious, hot-headed, injudicious fellow, who, I
firmly believe, would give you more trouble at Lambeth
than even Sherlock himself; and besides that, is so tho-
* Cole MS. vol. xvi.
VOL. L. G
82 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
roughly disliked in private and feared in public life, that I
do not think you could lodge power in more unpopular
hands.’ This did not weaken Sir Robert's bias towards him,
but Lord Hervey's constantly talking to the Queen in this
strain strengthened the natural bias she had against him;
and his lordship never lost any opportunity of doing Potter
as many good offices as he did ill ones to Hare, and as all
he said on these two subjects had the ground-work of her
own inclination, it made an impression which, without that
aid, would have sunk less deep, and been much easier
effaced.”*. -
That Bishop Hare's character was not such as to con-
ciliate court favour or form new friendships may be seen
from much contemporary evidence. Cole says, “That the
Bishop was of a sharp and piercing wit, of great judgment
and understanding in worldly matters, and of no less Saga-
city and penetration in matters of learning, and especially
of criticism, is sufficiently clear from the works he has left
behind him, but that he was of a sour and crabbed disposi-
tion and behaviour is equally manifest.”f The few friends
who remained faithful to the Bishop in his later life, were
chiefly those he had made in his early youth, the Pelhams
and Walpoles, and other friends of the old Naylor con-
nection. Another firm ally was Dr. Warburton, who was
first introduced to the notice of the court by his influence. }
Bishop Hare died at the Vatche on the 26th of April,
* Lord Hervey’s Memoirs, ii. I Io. -
+ See also on this subject the author of the Critical Review for
Feb., 1763, p. 82.
† See the Life of Bishop Warburton affixed to his Works, vol. i.
p. I 7.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. - 83
1740, and was buried in a mausoleum which he had built
for his family adjoining the church of Chalfont St. Giles.
Great was the lamentation for him both in private and
public. Bishop Warburton wrote, “In the death of Dr.
Francis Hare the world has lost one of the best patrons and
supporters of letters and religion. How steadily and suc-
cessfully he employed his talents of reason and literature, in
opposing the violence of each religious party in their turn,
when court favour was betraying them into hurtful extremes,
the unjust reproaches of libertines and bigots will never
suffer us to forget. How generously he encouraged and
rewarded letters, let them tell who have largely shared in
his beneficence, for his character may be trusted with his
enemies or even with his most obliged friends. In him the
author of the ‘Divine Legation of Moses’ has lost the most
candid of his readers and ablest of his critics; what he can
never lose is, the honour of his esteem and friendship.”
Many other persons have awarded a favourable verdict to
Bishop Hare, and since Bentley was dead, he left no avowed
enemies behind him ; but the belief in his orthodoxy as a
Churchman was by no means universal. Spencer's Anec-
dotes mention him as “engaging to prove very clearly that
the Book of Job was written a little before Ezekiel's time.”
Dr. Conybeare quotes him as saying, “The Book of Job is,
perhaps, the finest dramatic piece that ever was written. It
is evidently a tragedy, and the design of it is to show, ‘cur
malis bone, et bonis male.' Taken with that single pre-
caution, it is very easily understood all through, and the per-
formance is very well for a young man.”
Upon the death of Francis Naylor, in 1775, the Hurst.
84 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
monceaux property devolved upon his half-brother Robert,
son of the Bishop by Margaret Alston. He received his
name from his godfather Sir Robert Walpole, who gave him
as a christening present the sinecure office of sweepership of
Gravesend, worth 24,400 a year, but divided for some time
between him and a Mr. Gee. This he held till his death.
Its only duty was to go down to Gravesend once a year,
and to give ten guineas to the watermen there. Bishop
Hare had decided from their cradles that his sons must
follow his example in marrying heiresses. “The estate is
charged to raise £3,000 apiece for the younger children,
and one would hope that Master Hare's wife's fortune would
clear that encumbrance,” wrote the Bishop's widow, imme-
diately after his death. The wife and her fortune were very
easy to fix upon. Only two miles from the Vatche was the
beautiful estate of Chalfont St. Peters, belonging to a Mr.
Lister Selman, who had no son, but two lovely daughters.
Of these, one, Helena, married John Lefevre, of Heckfield,
and was the grandmother of the present Lord Eversley; the
other, Sarah, married Robert Hare in 1752, and died in 1763
of a chill brought on by eating too many ices when over-
heated by dancing at Sir John Shaw's, at Eltham, leaving to
the Hares a diamond necklace, valued at 2630,ooo, and
three children, Francis, Robert, and Anna Maria.
In 1768, Robert Hare married another heiress, Miss
Henrietta Henckell, a woman as extravagant as she was
ambitious. She preferred Hurstmonceaux to the Vatche as
the grander residence of the two, and after the death of the
Bishop's widow in December, 1784, she persuaded her
husband to sell the latter, together with his property at the
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 85
White House and Burfield in Hampshire, and at New
House in Suffolk, and to settle the proceeds upon her
children, who were seven in number, though only two
daughters—Caroline and Marianne–lived long enough to
bear any conspicuous part in the family history. But far
more distressing to her stepsons was the idea of Mrs. Hen-
rietta Hare, that if she could pull down the castle, which
was necessarily entailed upon the eldest son of her pre-
decessor, she could build with its materials a handsome
house on a higher site in the park, which could be settled
upon herself. With this view she called Wyatt to her
assistance, who declared that the castle was in a hopeless
state of dilapidation, though another authority had just
affirmed that in all material points its condition was as good
as on the day on which it was built.
In 1777 the castle was unroofed. Those who began to
pull it to pieces found how strongly built it was, and the
materials were so injured in the taking down that they were
quite unfit to use again. A great sale was held in the park,
whither the London brokers came in troops, and lived in an
encampment of tents during the six weeks through which
the sale lasted. Almost everything of value or interest was
then dispersed. The great vine of Gibbons's carving is said
to have been bought for Petworth. Even the portrait of
Grace Naylor herself was sold to a farmer at Hellingly.
Mrs. Henrietta Hare and her husband afterwards resided at
Hurstmonceaux Place, the new house which Wyatt was
commissioned to build, and lived there with such extrava-
gance that they always spent a thousand a year more than
their income, large as it was, and annually sold a farm from
86 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the property to make up the deficiency. It was a proverb
in the neighbourhood at that time that “people might hunt
either Hares or Foxes.”
Robert Hare was a clergyman. In the later years of his
life he had a canonry at Winchester, and there he died.
It was upon One of the rare visits of his eldest son, Francis
Hare Naylor, to Winchester (for he was upon the most
unhappy terms with his stepmother) that he made an
acquaintance which was of the utmost consequence to his
future life.
About two miles from Winchester is the picturesque
village of Twyford, having an old church with a magnificent
yew-tree in its grave-yard, and close beside it a handsome,
substantial red-brick house of the last century, standing
rather too near the high-road. Beyond the road is, how-
ever, a fine avenue of chestnuts called “The Grove.” The
house itself is apparently only two stories high, for the third
is concealed by a parapet, with round holes opposite the
windows, after the fashion of the time. Below the house
and the churchyard a green bank studded with elm-trees
slopes down to the river Itchen, which is here crossed by a
wooden bridge. Altogether Twyford is a far pleasanter
residence than any other place in that generally bleak but
healthy neighbourhood. -
In the earlier part of the last century Twyford House
was inhabited by a family called Davies, whose heiress
married Jonathan Shipley, a London merchant. Their only
son, Jonathan, rose high in ecclesiastical honours. In
1749, being then a doctor in divinity, he was made Canon
of Christ Church, and in 1760 Dean of Winchester. He
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 87
was next advanced to the bishopric of Llandaff, whence he
was translated to St. Asaph in 1769. The sermons of
Bishop Shipley obtained great praise, though no collection
of them was published till after his death in 1792. He
was celebrated by the poets of his day. -
“Who views St. Asaph, e'en with envious eye,
That dares his learning, wisdom, worth, deny P”
The following letter to the newly-appointed prime minis-
ter, Lord Shelburne, seems worth insertion as showing the
boldness with which Bishop Shipley asserted his principles,
regardless of self-interest.
“Chimboſton, Wovember 21, 1782.-My dear Lord,
Termit an old friend, who has told you many an honest
truth, and has never in any instance imposed upon you, to
return a very serious answer to an official letter. I need
not remind your lordship that it was my Constant endeavour
and warmest wish to bring about a cordial reconciliation
between yourself and Lord Rockingham. I always Con-
sidered you as the respectable heads of the same party, and
I considered your difference as arising from mutual jealousies
and little personal offences, and far unworthy to be the
ground of a serious division among the friends of their
country. Your lordship need not be reminded of the warm,
the frequent, and perhaps impertinent remonstrances I have
made on this subject, and I have a right to be credited
when I assure you that I never omitted any opportunity of
expressing the same wishes to Lord Rockingham, as far as
a very inferior degree of intimacy would allow of. Almost
the last words I ever spoke to him were these : ‘My lord,
you see the arts and intrigues that are used to disunite you
88 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and Lord Shelburne : that very circumstance ought to con-
vince you both that it is your interest most cordially to
agree.’ I flattered myself, indeed, that my wishes were
accomplished when you so nobly concurred with Lord
Rockingham in forming the late Cabinet. Two or three
more such acts would have made you what I always hoped
to see you, -a great, independent, popular statesman, head-
ing a most respectable band of honest men, the friend of
your Country, and the most powerful man in it. Your
memory will justify what I say, if you recollect the tendency
of all the political conversations with which your lordship
has formerly honoured me ; and though my endeavours
have perhaps been too officious, and certainly fruitless, and
even though they have made me lose your lordship's friend-
ship and confidence, yet I shall have the spirit to consider
the part I took as the most virtuous act of my life. I con-
gratulated your lordship with the warmest approbation and
love on your short-lived reconciliation with Lord Rocking-
ham, and I own I could not Congratulate you on a promo-
tion that occasioned the desertion of so many worthy men.
That great and solid combination ought at all events to have
been kept entire. Before the death of that valuable man I
left town, and have been resident either at my diocese or on
my living in an utter ignorance of all State transactions since
that period. I pay no regard to papers or Common reports,
and my correspondents have been either silent or mysterious.
God forbid that I should suspect your lordship has aban-
doned your good principles and your generous views for
the public service; pursue them with firmness, and you will
have my weak support, and much better than mine ; but if
you find yourself entangled and embarrassed, like Lord
Chatham, in Court artifices, break through the mercenary
chains at once, and assert your liberty and honour.
“If from different views of things I should at any time
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 89
find myself obliged to differ from you, it will give me some
comfort to show that my long attachment to your lordship
was not of an interested kind. I am, my Lord, your most
obedient, faithful, humble servant,
“J. St. AsAPH.”
Bishop Shipley married Anna Maria, daughter of the
Honourable George Mordaunt, and niece of the famous Earl
of Peterborough, who, in her youth, was celebrated as “the
beautiful Miss Mordaunt,” and was Maid of Honour to
Queen Caroline. They had one son and five daughters.
The son, William Davies, took orders; and, while still a
young man, was appointed to the Deanery of his father's
Cathedral of St. Asaph, where, by residing on the spot, he
was enabled to perform many duties which would otherwise
have devolved upon his father, and to allow of his passing a
great part of the year on his own estates at Twyford, and at
Chimbolton, near Andover. Dean Shipley married a Miss
Yonge, coheiress with her sister (who never married, and
lived with the Dean), of Bodryddan, a fine old house, em-
bosomed in woods, and backed by rocky purple hills, about
three miles from St. Asaph. There he lived, full of enjoy-
ment in hunting and shooting, rollicking, popular, and
good-natured,—though not very ecclesiastical.
The daughters of the Bishop, unlike their decanal brother,
were entirely devoted to literature. The eldest, Anna
Maria, was of a stern character, which caused her to be re-
garded with considerable awe by her sisters, and lived
principally with her cousin, Lady Spencer, at Althorpe,
where she attracted the attentions of the handsome young
tutor, afterwards the celebrated Sir William Jones. In spite
90 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
of the disparity of position, Bishop Shipley entertained so
great an admiration for the genius of young Jones, that he
would probably not have refused his consent to their union,
especially as he had himself been permitted to make his own
happy marriage with Miss Mordaunt, while he was a tutor
in the family of her uncle, Lord Peterborough. But William
Jones determined not to seek the hand of Miss Shipley till
his own efforts placed him in a position which he considered
worthy of her, and he was thus stimulated to greater exer-
tions. “It was a fixed principle with him, never to be
deterred by any difficulties that were surmountable, from
prosecuting to a successful termination, what he had once
deliberately undertaken.” In the course of his short life,
he acquired : -
Eight languages studied Critically:—
English, Latin, French, Italian, Greek, Arabic, Persian,
Sanscrit.
Eight studied less perfectly, but all intelligible with a
dictionary:-
Spanish, Portuguese, German, Runick, Hebrew, Bengali,
Hindi, Turkish.
Twelve studied least perfectly, but all attainable —
Tibetian, Pāli, Phalari, Deri, Russian, Syriac, Ethiopic,
Coptic, Welsh, Swedish, Dutch, Chinese (twenty-eight
languages).
It was not, however, till April, 1783, when his services to
Oriental literature had won the honours of knighthood, and
the appointment of Judge at Fortwilliam, in Bengal, that he
claimed the hand of Miss Shipley, who almost immediately
after accompanied him to India. The marriage gave great
THE HARES OF HIURSTMONCEAUX. 9 I
pleasure to all the friends of the family; most of all to the
venerable Benjamin Franklin (there is a beautiful letter of
his written upon the occasion), who was Bishop Shipley's
most intimate friend, and with whom he used to walk for
7%
hours up and down “the Grove” in eager conversation,
during the summers he spent at Twyford. The loss of Lady
Jones was bitterly felt by her family; her sisters never passed
a day without writing to her in a long journal letter every
most trifling event of their lives; and her father confided to
her his every care, and watched for her return with the most
unwearied affection. Thus, after hearing that a serious ill-
ness was likely to send her home, he wrote:–
BISHOP SHIPLEY to LADY JONES.
“May 31, 1787.-I admire Sir William's sense and good-
ness in a hundred instances, but in none more than that,
though he knows your value so well, he will for that very
reason consent to part with you. The great difficulty Iforesee,
will be to gain your consent to leave him in India alone. I
conceive how deeply so long a separation must affect your
sensible and worthy minds, but your own reasonable
thoughts will suggest that you only part to preserve your
life, and increase your happiness. I fear I may appear
selfish in saying that you will meet with love, and friend-
ship, and kindness at home, that may atone for everything
but the loss of Sir William ; but all the rest will be slight
and superficial in comparison of the joy you will bring to
your own family, and chief to the bosom of your anxious
parents. Shall I once more see and embrace my dearest
Anna P Shall I hear from her own mouth her dangers, her
adventures, her observations? That thought revives me;
it lessens the infirmities of age, and shows me there is still
92 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
something worth living for. I cannot help anticipating the
pleasure in thought of receiving my dearest daughter once
more into my aged arms: it makes me wish to live a few
years longer. Give my blessing and ever affectionate re-
spects to Sir William, and think often of your wishing and
doating father,
“J. St. ASAPH.”
A great contrast to Lady Jones, both in appearance and
character, was her sister Georgiana, the fourth and most in-
teresting of Bishop Shipley's daughters. As she passed
from a happy childhood, spent in the sisterly circle, into
her brilliant girlhood, she displayed a degree of beauty
which caused her to rival her cousin, a more celebrated
Georgiana, “the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire,” to whom
she bore a striking resemblance. From her earliest years,
she delighted her father by displaying the most ardent love
for learning of every kind. Not only was she thoroughly
versed in all the modern European languages, but she was
also deeply read in Greek and Latin authors, which she
studied with him. Her extraordinary artistic talents were
cultivated under the eye of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, when
they were in London, was almost a daily visitor at her
father's house ; and, in the remarkable literary circle which
frequented her home, the enthusiasm with which she entered
into all the political questions of the time, and the originality
of her conversational powers, made her a general favourite.
To Georgiana, the marriage of Lady Jones made an
especial blank in the home circle ; for Mrs. Shipley had
always brought up her daughters “to go in pairs,” and,
sympathizing most in all their pursuits, Anna Maria and
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 93
Georgiana had always “gone together.” The separation,
too, took place at a time when she most especially needed
the support and advice of her elder sister. During her
father's residence at Twyford, while wearied with the dull
society of the country squires of the neighbourhood, she had
found a congenial spirit in Francis Hare Naylor, the son of
the Canon of Winchester. His good looks, and his hopeful
disposition amid much poverty and constant unkindness
from his father, not only interested her in his behalf, but the
Duchess of Devonshire also, who looked upon him as the
hero of a living romance, and who, when Georgiana Shipley
came to London, never omitted an opportunity of throwing
them together. Bishop Shipley, who had more ambitious
views for his beautiful daughter, tried in vain to break off
their intimacy, for meetings were contrived almost daily at
Devonshire House ; and, as Georgiana Shipley wrote to
Lady Jones, “each day was a blank” on which they did not
take place. At length, seeing the hopeless state of his
daughter's affections, the Bishop was induced to invite
Francis Hare Naylor to Twyford. The following day he was
arrested for debt, while driving in the episcopal coach with
Georgiana and her parents. He was then forbidden the
house; but, on his release, he contrived to communicate
with his beloved by dressing up as a beggar, and appearing
at her carriage window, as it ploughed its way through the
muddy lanes between Winchester and Twyford. She recog-
nised him, and kissed her hand in the presence of her
family. The scene of indignation and reproach which fol-
lowed brought matters to a crisis. Robert Hare refused to
do anything for his son, but the Duchess of Devonshire gave
94 - MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
them an annuity of £200, with the promise of a place in
Ireland, and on this they married. The place in Ireland
never came ; and, soon after the marriage, they retired to
Carlsruhe, and afterwards to the north of Italy, where their
pittance was comparative riches. Here their eldest son was
born, at Vicenza, on January 6, 1786, and was baptized by
the names of Francis George in the following June, when
the Duchess of Devonshire, passing through Italy at the
time, officiated as his godmother. In 1792, the Hare-
Naylors proceeded to Rome, where Mrs. H. Naylor gave
birth (November 17) to her second son, called Augustus
William, after his royal godfather, Prince Augustus Frederick,
and Sir William Jones. -
The first years she spent in Italy were devoted by Mrs.
Hare-Naylor to painting, and she has left many fine copies of
the pictures in different celebrated galleries. Her perfect
mastery of languages and immense knowledge enabled her to
enter fully into all the intellectual interests around her.
Rome afforded her the most entire enjoyment. The fol-
lowing verses, written during her stay there, remain among
her papers:— -
“What art thou, Rome 2 An empire's cemet'ry P
The skeleton of greatness still thou hast:
Thy shattered Coliseum stern and vast,
Thy long, long aqueducts—from water freel
Thy mould'ring fanes—without a deity
Grey columns too, whose very names are pass'd,
Yet, still erect, their length'ning shadows cast,
As though they mark'd the hours of destiny.
“What art thou, Rome 2 I look again around,
There meets mine eye the grave procession’s gloom,
And in mine ear the swelling anthems sound,
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 95
And nearer still the clouds of incense loom,
And lofty cupolas my mind astound :
What art thou, Rome 2 a temple, or a tomb P”
In 1795, wearied of wandering, the Hare-Naylors formed
a fixed residence at Bologna, where they could live more
economically than in the south. Bologna, which still main-
tains an intellectual supremacy over all the other cities of
Italy, was at that time the resort of many especially emi-
nent and learned persons who were attracted thither by the
university, and who formed a society at once literary and
agreeable. Chief among its eminent citizens was the
famous Mezzofanti, with whom the Hare-Naylors became
very intimate ; and it used to be one of the delights of
their little Francis, in his childhood, to swing the censer
upon the steps of the altar, when the future cardinal was
celebrating mass.” “At this time, also, the chief instruc-
tors in the Scuole Pie of Bologna were members of the
recently suppressed Society of Jesuits. In Spain the order
had been exiled long before it was suppressed, and its mem-
bers, taking refuge in Italy, were warmly welcomed in the
Papal States, and were led to establish themselves at Bologna
by finding in its schools a field of labour almost identical
with that of their own institution. One of the most
remarkable of these refugees was Father Emmanuele
Aponte, a native of Spain, who had been for many years
a member of the mission to the Philippine Islands. An
enthusiast in the study of Greek, Aponte possessed a solid
and critical knowledge of the language, of which he wrote
an excellent and practical grammar for the schools of the
* Francis Hare’s Reminiscences.
96 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
university, frequently republished since his time; and it
was probably to this habit of close and critical examination,
which he acquired under Aponte's instruction, that his
pupil Mezzofanti owed the exact knowledge of the niceties
of the language, and the power of discriminating between
all the varieties of the Greek style, for which he became so
eminently distinguished.” ” Living with Aponte, as his
adopted daughter, was a lady whose acquirements were
even more remarkable than his own. This was Clotilda
Tambroni, whose bust and picture now decorate the walls of
the university, where, in spite of her sex (though not the
first lady so distinguished), she was appointed to the chair
of the professor of Greek, and where her lectures were
eagerly attended. In appearance and dress, if we may
judge by her portrait, she resembled the Sibyl of Domeni-
chino.t
With the utmost devotion Mrs. Hare-Naylor now gave
herself up to the education of her eldest son, whose wel-
fare, spiritual or temporal, was never absent from her
thoughts. To teach him, she again applied herself to the
classical studies, which had been the delight of her un-
married life, and with the assistance of Clotilda Tambroni,
for whom she formed a passionate friendship, acquired a
knowledge of Greek and Roman literature almost un-
equalled in a woman. From the best Italian, Spanish,
French, and English authors she collected all passages
which she thought might prove useful for her son's edu-
* See Russell’s Life of Mezzofanti.
t She lived till 1840, and is buried in the cemetery of Bologna,
where her tomb has a marble medallion and a long inscription.
THE HARES OF HUSTAMONCEAUX. 97
cation or guidance. She compiled a book of “Maxims ”
for his constant reference, writing on the first page—“As
for the diligent, their minds are at ease ; their time is
employed as they know it ought ; what they gain they enjoy
with a good conscience, and it wears well, nor do only the
fruits of their labours delight them, but even labour itself
becomes pleasant; ” + and “Nam caetera neque temporum
sunt, neque aetatum omnium neque locorum ; haec studia
adolescentiam alunt, Senectutem oblectant, Secundas res
ornant, adversis perfugium ac solatium praebent; delectant
domi, non impediunt foris, pernoctant nobiscum, peri-
grinantur, rusticantur.” + Above all, Mrs. Hare-Naylor
sought to interest her son in religion, but on that subject
alone not to bewilder himself with useless inquiries. With
this view she also introduced in the beginning of her
maxim-book the following words of Secker: “It is our duty
to believe with humility and simplicity what the Holy
Scripture hath taught us; and to be contentedly ignorant of
what it doth not teach us, without indulging speculations or
conjectures, which will only perplex the subject.” She
taught her little Francis early to compose prayers and medi-
tations of his own, and commit them to paper. Of these,
the following remains to us in his large round child's hand of
1795. “I beseech thee, O my God, to be indulgent to
what I have been to assist me to amend what I am ; and,
of thy goodness, to direct what I shall be ; so that the love
of virtue and the love of thee may always be first in my
heart, Amen.”
Before he was four years old Francis Hare had begun
* From Secker, t Cicero pro Archia poeta.
VOL. I. H
98 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
to display the talents which afterwards distinguished him,
speaking (said his mother in writing to Lady Jones) Eng-
lish, French, and Italian with equal facility. Before he
was ten, he could read easily with his mother in all the
easier Greek and Latin classics, and he was familiar with
many of the best authors in French and Italian. The only
recreation he cared for was the work of a carpenter. He
had no young companions except during his fifth year,
which he passed in England with his parents, when a
childish friendship was begun with “Harry Temple” (after-
wards Lord Palmerston), which was never laid aside. At
Bologna his mother was his constant companion, and with
her, and her dog Smut, and her favourite bird in its cage,
he used to pass long days in the woods and olive gardens
near the town. The family group was painted thus by
Flaxman, whose friendship was one of Mrs. Hare-Naylor's
greatest pleasures, and whose advice and assistance added
much to the perfection of her paintings. It was for her
that he made his drawings of the Iliad and Odyssey.
To the little Francis, on his birthday of Jan. 6, 1795 his
mother addressed the lines:—
“Beneath yon mountain's venerable brow,
The youthful oak adorns its native wood,
And guarded by that Power who bade it grow,
Defies the whirlwind and the raging flood.
Its trunk enlarges and its roots extend
As health and strength each vital part pervade :
In foliage rich the tufted boughs ascend,
And the gay sunbeams gild its verdant shade.
Thus, O my darling, comes the tenth glad year,
Which from thy birth receives its joyous date,
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 99
While the loved object of thy parent’s care,
Thy life has passed in childhood's happy state.
Thy ductile heart is fashion'd to revere
That Power benign on whom we all depend,
And thy young bosom glows with love sincere
Tow’rds God, thy Maker, Father, Judge, and Friend.
Blithe health is thine, and gaiety of heart,
With spirits light, as breath of fragrant morn,
And all the genius Nature can impart,
And all the charms, which playful youth adorn.
No tale of woe has pain'd thy tender ear,
No thought impure has stain’d thy spotless mind;
TJnlearn'd in flattery and untaught to fear,
Yet mild to all, as loving all mankind.
Instructed virtue, more than fame to prize
To help the helpless, to relieve the opprest,
The use of wisdom, to make others wise,
The use of riches, to make others blest.
Yet, much I fear the ardour of thy soul,
Which prudence vain would check, and reason still,
Once left to lawless passion’s fierce control,
May change the fervent love of good, to ill;
Convert thy parent’s imaged dream of joy
To deep regret and unavailing tears;
Shade ev'ry virtue, ev'ry grace destroy,
And blast the promised harvest of thy years.
The vivid light'ning bursting o'er the plain
Resistless as wild passion’s boundless tide,
Consumes the oak, of strength, of beauty vain,
And levels with the ground the forest's pride.”
In the summer of 1795, Mrs. Hare-Naylor retired from
the heat of the plains to the valley of Valdagno near Vicenza,
and there she gave birth (September 13) to her third son,
Julius Charles.
IOO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
MRs. HARE-NAYLOR to LADY JONES.
“Valdagno, Oct. Io, 1795.-My third boy is at present
the beauty of the whole family—fine dark eyes and a lovely
skin. On Monday we are to have the christening, and a
great dinner afterwards. The Duchess of Brissac holds the
child, and is to be the only sponsor, for they will not admit
of Protestants standing even by proxy, and she is the only
Catholic I ever saw whom I could wish to answer for a
child of mine. She gives him the name of Julius—a name
dear to her, as being her father's, and that of her only son,
whom she lost young. When we return to England I
shall have many drawings to show you, and any you like
will be yours, as much as myself and all which belongs to
me, for my gratitude is only exceeded by your kindness. . .
We live so happy in each other, so happy in our children,
so unmolested by any extraneous tracasseries, that I often
doubt whether any change in Our situation be desirable,
could I but be gratified in my earnest wish of once more
seeing you, my best friend and dearest sister. This place
much resembles the most beautiful and romantic parts of
North Wales. Hare and I ramble all day long, Cross
torrents, and climb rocks, and converse with the peasants,
who are here a simple, intelligent, natural set of beings,
with better understandings and more goodness of heart
than any Venetian noble; you cannot imagine the pleasure
it is to be able to comprehend their patois, which I now
speak to perfection.”
On the 9th of November in the following year, a fourth
son, Marcus Theodore, was born at Bologna, and received
his name of Marcus from his godfather, the Marchese
Marescotti, a cittadino of Bologna, who had married Lady
Sophia Butler, a friend of his mother's.
THE HARES OF HURSTMON CEAUX. IOI
In 1797, Robert Hare died, and it was then discovered
that his intention of leaving everything he had to his
second wife was frustrated by the fact that she had un-
wittingly built Hurstmonceaux Place upon entailed land.
Upon the receipt of this news, the Hare-Naylors deter.
mined at once to set off for England, though it was a time
of war, and travelling difficult. They settled only to take
their little Augustus with them, for whose education Lady
Jones had undertaken to provide.
MRs. HARE-NAYLOR to LADY JONES.
Bologna, August, 1797.-A very, very happy week have I
spent with my beloved friend, Madame de Brissac, who
came from Valdagno on purpose to visit us before her
return into France. We talked over many plans and built
many Castles, and I was gratified, after a long absence, in
again enjoying all that social pleasure can bestow, in a
union of sentiment and principles. Hours passed in her
conversation seem to give one a foretaste of the happiness
to be enjoyed hereafter. . . . . I have not mentioned your
kind offer with regard to my boy to any one in England,
and perhaps you had better not mention it either, because
if he is not so fortunate as to gain your affections when you
know him, I have still two remaining for you to choose from,
for the contributing to your happiness is as much my object
as the real good of my child. The account you give, my
beloved sister, of your own health and spirits renders me
doubly anxious to come to you, and I shall be most
thankful to God if my presence shall give you either com.
fort or pleasure, and I think it will both, because you will
see in me your Own G., the child of your earliest affec.
tions, unchanged from what I was when we parted, and
IO2 - MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
preserving a grateful memory of the long series of kind-
nesses and favours you have unremittingly shown me.”
Julius and Marcus were left with Betta, a trustworthy
Bolognese servant, under the eye of the Marescottis, and
Francis was placed in the house of Dom Emmanuele
Aponte, as a joint pupil to him and Clotilda Tambroni.
Nothing will give a better idea of the atmosphere in which
Mrs. Hare-Naylor brought up her children than a few
extracts from the letters of the little (half-Italian) Francis
to his parents.
FRANCIS HARE (aged eleven) to HIS MOTHER.
“Aologna, Sept. 16, 1797.-Dear mama, I wish that you
and Pappa and Agustus are all arrived perfectly well in
England, and have finished the journey without any acci-
dent or quarrel. On Monday I went with Don Tineo and
the Rector to Ranizzi, which is really a very pretty place,
and after dinner we had a dancing bear. On Tuesday
morning we began our studies. Thucydides and Herodotus
I read with Dom Emmanuel together with the Spanish and
its grammar, Callimachus and Xenophon with the Clotilde,
and Hesiod by myself, and in Latin Horace. In the
evening we went up to see Betta and the children, and at
night after tea we read Sallust. . . . . I hope that you will
soon settle your affairs and see Housemonseux, and write
me word how my friend the Castle stands, and what classics
you have—I mean those that the unnatural (for this is the
only epithet she merits) Mrs. Hare left you.”
“Sept. 23, 1797.-We go on very well in our studies,
which last every day at least seven and a half hours I
read every day for one hour in the morning one of those
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. Io.3
prayers that you left me, and thirteen chapters in the Bible,
and two psalms, and some of the ‘Grandeur de Dieu,
Then from nine to two we continually study, in which time
we read Thucydides and Callimachus, which is a very finc
poet (but tell Pappa he will not understand it, and that I
hope, when he comes back, I will give him the choice of
any Greek authors, even one that I have not, and I will
certainly beat him ; but by that time Dom Emmanuel hopes
I may be a perfect Grecian); then we read Xenophon's
* Cyropaidia, which is sometimes obscure, and in Latin
Horace, which I agree with you is a very fine poet.
After dinner I read a little Hesiod by myself, and after
tea, if the Rector comes, we read Sallust; if not,
Herodotus, which is the prettiest and most interesting
history I ever read, and written very beautifully.”
“Oct. 21.—Monday morning we went to see the casino
of the college with the Rector, Don Tineo, and Colonieo
(from whom I have learned to play at chess and at dama),
Marescalchi and Carlino, Padre Scandellari and Don Puero,
and the chaplain of the church of Castenazzo, where we
had a very good rural dinner. My brothers, both Jule and
Marcus, have come into the town, and I have seen the
house, which I did not much like, but the room where
Betta sleeps is not a bad one.
“Oct. 24.—Pray tell me how Agustus goes on in learn-
ing and in goodness. Pray give me some news of the poor
old castle and of the gardens, and if you can find a room
for me to work in. Pray send me word how you like Eng-
land, and if it is disposed to change, for if it is I hope to
go over and serve my country.
“Jule loves especially Dom Emmanuel, and Marcus the
Clotilde. Jule is very fond of me. Pray give one kiss to
Agustus from us three. Jule shows great wish to learning,
for yesterday, when we went to the library of the college,
IO4 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
he did nothing else but want to carry away some of the
books.”
The next letter is signed “F. G. Hare. I attest and
subscribe myself a true English citizen and a perpetual
defender of its liberties, and never to be persuaded by the
tempting power of monarchy. Justice—fratermité / An
English citizen who swears himself an enemy to all that
dare to touch the rights of the people. A preserver of the
English liberty and an eternal opposer to the encroaching
tyranny of the king and ministry, and of the detestable
parliament which now exists, which, except a few, are the
greatest raskels and slaves that ever existed, who for a little
money given them by ministry, will sell the sacred rights of
the people to tyrannism ; and if Pitt have any virtues, one
may say of him, as Cato says of Caesar, in Addison's famous
play,
* Curs'd are his virtues, for they have undone his country.’”
(This, and all the other letters of young Francis, bear the
dates and months of the French Republic.)
“AVoz. 17, 1797.—I hope you are all very well, so are
Julius and Marcus. Jule knows very well all the letters.
“Every evening we go to see the Rector, who is not
well, upon which account Don Tineo shows all his goodness
in assisting the Rector. Don Tineo is certainly a man in
whom, without knowing him intimately, one does not find
out all the virtues—a man of great talent, and indefatigable
towards study, and of great goodness. Together with a
good deal of learning, he is very humble. At first knowing
him he seems rather serious, but that is his temper; but
knowing him, he is the mildest person you can imagine, and
his virtues are most shining in comparison with Don Puero,
who does not understand anything but about operas, and I
TH E HARES OF HURSTMC NCEAUX. Io 5
may rightly think him one of the best friends I have. Pray
always remember me as I remember you.”
“A)ec. 16.—Smut and the bird do very well, but the cat is
lost that Betta took to Bologna, to which you passed three
pauls a month. The other is up in the Casino getting very
beautiful and tame. I like my mathematick master much ;
he is one of the most famous in Italy, and the most famous
in Bologna for Il Calcolo Differentiale and Integrale and
Algebra. We now study algebra problems, and he says
before the month of May he will make me, if I study, a
profound Algebrist, and then study geometry and consecu-
tively all the other parts of mathematicks. He wants punc-
tually done all he sets, and if not he redoubles the portion,
and makes me do it another time.”
“Jan. 27, 1798.—For Monday I have made a new divi-
sion of time. From seven to nine I do my penso; from nine
to two, Greek and mathematicks; from three to seven,
French and Greek, or Latin and mathematicks, and read the
Bible; then from seven to nine read, and at twelve go to
bed—that I may be worthy when you come back of the
things I have asked you to bring me.”
DOM EMMANUELE APONTE fo MRs. HARE-NAYLOR
(from the Italian.)
“Sept. 16, 1797.-Francis is well and happy, and most
diligent in his studies. Yesterday after dinner we all three
went to visit the two children, and found them most flourish-
ing. Julius constantly repeated, “Mama is away, papa is
away, but Nono is at home,” Clotilde is at home, Betta is
at home.’ As soon as he catches sight of me he runs to-
wards me quite breathless with joy. Marcus laughs, and
holds out his hands to snatch my cap from my head, and then
gives it back to me with gracefulness itself, to begin the
* Grandpapa–Dom Emmanuele,
Ioé MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
same play over again. I cannot describe to you how well
Francis goes on, and his daily diligence is such that he will
have gone through all the best Greek authors with us in a
very short time. He is good, and obtains the love equally
of all the inmates of my house and of all who visit it.”
CLOTILDA TAMBRONI to MRs. HARE-NAYLOR.
“ Oct. 28, 1797.-At this moment my two dear children
have left the house—Julius and Marcus, whom Betta brings
daily to see me. I love them more than ever, indeed I can-
not say how much I love them. They daily become more
beautiful, more graceful and full of life, and as they increase
in health so they grow in understanding. The Nono is
entirely devoted to Julius, who caresses him even more than
he does me ; but, on the other hand, Marcus never sees me
without being in a frenzy to jump into my arms, and to show
me his intense affection. He has acquired an incredible
strength and health, and I cannot restrain myself from
giving him all the kisses which his mother would give him
now, and indeed I do the same to my beautiful little Julius.
Betta takes great care of them, and they could not be in
better hands. Oh what a satisfaction it would be to you
if you could see them now, but since this is impossible, rest
peaceful and satisfied that they are as happy as if they were
before your own eyes. If I were their real mother I could
not love them more, and the very sight of those two little
angels fills my heart with such an intensity of joy that I for-
get every trouble I have ever had. Francis is perfectly well
and entirely happy. All who know him think that he has
grown much since you left; he studies hard, eats with
appetite, and takes walks with us or with Pipetto. He is
not without amusements which are suited to his disposition
and his tastes; indeed, he is the beloved, the Benjamin of
every one in my house, and of all my visitors. Don Tineo,
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. Io'ſ
the Rector, and Colomeo love him sincerely and tenderly,
and the two first show him a thousand kindnesses, which he
gladly receives. He is becoming a good chess-player, and
amuses himself in this way every evening after his Greek
and Latin studies. In short, he is thoroughly good, and we
are perfectly satisfied with him. Your dog is well, your bird
is chirping. I have written all these trifles, knowing that
they would not be disagreeable to you, and knowing also
that Francis would not have the patience. . . . . Love me,
and believe in the fulness of love which I feel for you and
your children, of whom I rejoice to be called the mother, as
I really am in affection.” -
EMMANUELE APONTE to MRS. HARE-NAYLOR.
“Francis is the object of my care, of my thoughts, and of
my prayers, and I believe that he will reward all my labours
and the hope of his parents. He is good, industrious, and
employs every hour of the day in the manner for which I
have assigned it. From four to half-past five after dinner he
takes exercise, and goes out walking when the weather allows;
in the evening he reads either Greek or Latin for two hours,
and his progress is an astonishment to the Rector, to Don
Tineo, and to Colomeo. All these love him much, and he
deserves their favour by the judicious manner in which he
behaves to them. . . . . I am filled with love for the other
two little angels, and Julius interests me most of all, because
of his especial devotion to me, for he never sees me without
shouting out, ‘Nono, Nono, and he looks at his father's
picture, and kisses his tiny hand, calling out, ‘Papa, papa.”
Then he asks for his letters, and picking out the M, says
mamma; the P, papa; the N, Nono ; the B, Betta; the C,
Tilda. Oh what a beautiful lovable little being he is
“Jan. 6, 1798.-This is the happy day on which our
Francis fulfils his twelfth year. May it please the Most
Io3 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
High to hear the fervent prayers which I offered this morn-
ing at his altar, that He would ever prolong in happiness
the days of this youth, that He would never leave him with-
out the guidance of his omnipotent hand, and that He would
so protect him with his favour, watch over and enlighten
him, that never losing a holy fear of his Maker, he may to-
day, and always, and every day, grow more and more con-
formed to the divine will, obedient to the sacred precepts,
and in the exercise of every virtue which belongs to that
citizen who would render himself pleasing to his parents,
beloved by his equals, and truly useful to his country.
Such, I am persuaded, and even more fervent than these,
are your prayers for him. -
“You may truly rejoice in having one like the Clotilde
near your dear children. Francis is certainly deeply attached
to her, and I can say with sincerity, that I believe the Cas-
sandra º and Don Tineo are the two persons he most
thoroughly esteems and appreciates. Francis reads with
the Clotilde the hymns of Callimachus, the Cyropedia of
Xenophon, and some Odes of Horace, taking real delight in
it himself, and thus without interval he employs all the
morning. He never goes to bed before ten, and sometimes
it is almost eleven ; but I have no need to call him in the
morning, on the contrary, he is up before me, at six A.M. at
the latest. Then, whilst I am at church, he says his prayers,
reads the Bible, washes, and on my return has his breakfast
of a bowl of milk, to which a little chocolate is added, with
bread and butter; and then without loss of time we all three
read Thucydides till half-past ten o'clock, when my young
Spanish pupil comes. Then he goes into the next room with
Cassandra for the lessons already spoken of, until the young
man is gone, when we immediately return to our united
* Mrs. Hare-Naylor’s playful name for Clotilda Tambroni.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. Io9
studies till two o'clock strikes, when we dine on Soup, a boiled
and a roast dish, and fruit. After this he amuses himself a
little with chess, or if the weather allows, we all three go out
to walk together ; when we return home we have tea, and
our lessons recommence. . . . . I cannot express the
love which fills me for all these your children. Julius is
most passionately devoted to him, whom he always honours
by the sweet name of Nonoro. Marcus now also knows me
quite well, and when asked ‘Where is the Nono P' turns
round and points his finger at me with a most Sweet Smile.
. . . I cannot conclude without repeating a thousand
times, that I am more than satisfied with the care which
Betta bestows upon my dear little ‘nipotini.' She is indeed
a treasure.”
From CLOTILDA TAMBRONI.
“Van 13, 1798.-The dear Marcus is becoming SO fat and
strong that he seems much older than he is. He tries to
speak, and is always laughing, and the friend of everybody,
and in their little struggles, he can conquer Julius, being the
stronger of the two. This last preserves his angelic beauty,
expressing his feelings in words, of which he gains more
daily, and it is impossible to imagine a more heavenly little
creature.”
It is singular that in the numerous letters of little Francis
to his mother, in which he is most lavish in his praises of all
his other friends at Bologna, there is no word of Mezzofanti,
whom he continued to see constantly, and from whom he
occasionally had lessons. Russell tells how Francis Hare
spoke of the great linguist in after life. He said that “with
the keys of the knowledge of every nation in his hand, he
never unlocked any real treasures"—that in all the count-
I IO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
łess languages he spoke, “he never said anything, that he
left no work or none of any value behind him; that he was
utterly ignorant of philology; that his theology was mere
scholasticism; that he had no idea of Biblical criticism; and
that even as a critical Greek scholar, he was very deficient.”
The only published composition of Mezzofanti was a pane-
gyric on Dom Emmanuele Aponte.
Owing to the war and to the revolutionary sentiments with
which little Francis insisted upon heading his correspondence,
many of the letters from England wereintercepted at this time.
It was now two years since Bonaparte had taken possession
of Bologna. At first the Bolognese were flattered by a re-
vival of their old municipal institutions; but before the end
of 1796, the name of Bologna was merged in the “Republica
Cisalpina,” of which in 1797 it became the “Dipartimento
del Reno.” The new rulers exacted from all employés an
oath of fidelity to the Republic; this was especially enforced
with ecclesiastics, and deprivation was the consequence of a
refusal. Mezzofanti was so far exempted that any seeming
act of adhesion to the new state of things would in his case
have been accepted instead of an oath, in order to retain
his services in the University, but he declined it and was
deprived of his offices about this time.” His friends Clotilda
Tambroni and Emmanuele Aponte displayed equal firmness,
and were both deprived of their professorial chairs. Their
chief means of subsistence was thus swept away, and the
* On leaving Bologna, Mezzofanti went to Paris, where he became
librarian to the family of Count Marescalchi, one of whose sons—
Carlino—had been his pupil. He was made cardinal 1838, died March
15, 1848, and is buried in St. Onofrio at Rome.
THE HARES OF HURST MONCEAUX. III
little household fell into continual trouble, almost into abso-
lute privation, from want of money, the Supplies sent out
from England failing to arrive. The faithful Clotilda Tam-
broni, however, continued to do her best to support the
family, and worked for the children of her friend,-and
Father Aponte, though almost wanting necessaries for him-
self, and living in continued dread of the order to return to
Spain, which came a few months after, never relaxed his
care of young Francis, though sometimes Sorely tried by the
insubordination which he now began to show.
EMMANUELE APONTE fo MRS. HARE-NAYLOR.
“March 17, 1798.-If Francis had been willing to obey
me, and not always write with republican phrases, our letters
would perhaps have arrived safely. To-day we receive your
favour of the 16th of February, and with it the note for 4.25.
Truly, the Cassandra was in great need of it, not knowing
how we could live through the ensuing month, if this help
had not arrived; but if I am not mistaken, this will suffice us
ſor some time, though it will not allow of our paying the
debts we have contracted. I am partly glad that our letters
are delayed, and I hope that this may be the first to come
to hand, because in them I spoke of faults in Francis, which
I now see corrected, especially in the point of religion, for
he never passes a day without saying his prayers in a morn-
ing, or, what is better, as soon as he rises, he goes into the
church and remains there half-an-hour and then returns home
very quietly and willingly. I now never hear any irreligious
sentiment from his lips, nor is it necessary for me to order
or suggest anything, but he does it of his own accord. This
change began after he went with me, with Don Giovanni
Tineo and Colomeo, to the convent of St. Catherine,
where the sisters promised me to pray to God for him,
II 2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and I believe that they do so most fervently, and I know
that there are many devout spirits among them. Nothing
can be more agreeable to me than to hear how soon your
Excellencies think of returning to seek your dear children.”
“March 24.—Francis is good, good, good; and I am
now entirely satisfied with his conduct in everything. He
is respectful, obedient, quiet, has no follies in his head, and
gives me no anxiety, so that I almost repent of having
written of the faults which I now See amended. But not the
less would I thank his excellent parents for their last letters,
which produced the greatest effect upon him, so that I saw
him weeping bitterly, and was obliged to console him.
The few lines written by his mother pierced him to the
heart. . . . -
“All the emigrants are driven out of this Republic, and
are also exiled from the Romagna. My Chair is at an end,
for they will not employ foreign professors, by which my
income is greatly diminished, and I fear that I may perhaps
be obliged to return to my Country, or to go somewhere
else. For these reasons I would urge your return to this
place as soon as possible. The Rector does a thousand
kindnesses to Francis, inviting him to dinner every Sunday,
and sometimes taking him to the theatre. Don Tineo is
setting out for Spain very soon : we shall lose in him a true
friend, and Francis one of those who love him most.
Marcus continues to be the delight of every one, and this
morning has been running about alone all over the house,
and galloping backwards and forwards between my room.
and that of the Cassandra, Calling out ‘Tilda, Tilda.’ I am
astonished at the way in which he understands everything
and explains himself after his own fashion. The goldfinch
sings and is well, but Smuth (Smut) ran away last week and
followed some strangers to Modena, whence he was brought
back to me this morning. . . .”
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. II.3
“May 12, 1798.-I have found a very respectable place
where I can leave Francis, under eyes which will carefully
watch over his conduct, besides the surveillance which he
will receive from Count Fava and from Scandellari. I have
put off my departure to the utmost possible limit, but I can-
not defer it beyond the last day of May or the beginning of
June. Your Excellencies may well conceive what is my
greatest source of anguish at present, if they reflect a little
upon the changed circumstances of this Country, and the in-
sufficiency of the sum of money which they have sent me.
We are absolutely penniless | The Rector's fate is also
hanging by a thread, and there are circumstances which
prevent my venturing to trouble him. I have written two
letters to ask help from Marescotti, and he has now sent me
a well-weighed and deliberate negative. Fava also is not in
condition to lend me even the smallest sum. Thus no hope
remains for me if it is not in one single resource, and that
is in imploring De Lucca (the banker) to have the kindness
to advance me a sum sufficient for the decent maintenance
of the children for two months, by which time I trust that
we may receive from you a less Scanty remittance than the
last, or a determination to recall your children. If this
hope to which I cling fail us, we are absolutely lost, and I
know not where to turn to. I shall endeavour to obtain the
advance of I5o Scudi if I can, that I may if possible have
Some margin, and provide against any unusual expenses
which may occur. My health is still very feeble, and my
powers are so weakened by illness, that I am unable to give
Francis his lessons, and let the Cassandra take my place
and make him read at least two hundred verses of Homer
daily. Senni” is in despair from want of money. He at-
tempted to make a journey into Tuscany in the hope of re-
* The Hare-Naylor's Bolognese man-servant, who had married Mrs.
H. N.'s English inaid.
VOI,. I. T
II4 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
covering part of that of which he was robbed at Radicofani,
but he has returned with empty hands, and with the expense
of his journey in addition. Soon they will publish a law
here which we have already seen in the Milanese news-
papers, which will impose a fresh duty upon letters,
especially on those which come and go beyond the limits
of the Cisalpina, and which will pay the triple of what they
cost at first ; whence I must entreat you for the future only
to write on a quarter of a sheet to save expense. Francis is
good and obedient, but is becoming idle in his studies, and,
from what the Cassandra tells me, has gone back much in
the few weeks in which I have been ill in bed. In health
he is perfectly well, and so are the little Julius and Marcus,
who become daily more beautiful, more lovable, and more
winning. The Clotilda can scarcely bear to be separated
from her dear Marcus, she is so entirely devoted to him :
he asks for “bread,’ ‘bonbon,’ and things of the sort. . . .
I repeat once more that you must make up your minds what
to do, and must do something at once that these little angels
may not suffer, and that we who are so much interested in
their well-being, may be set free from our anxieties.”
On receiving this last letter of Aponte the Hare-Naylors
hastened their return to Bologna, where the admirable Dom
Emmanuele gave up his charge of Francis to his parents in
person, before leaving with Clotilda Tambroni for Parma,
whence they proceeded in the following year to Valencia.
EMMANUELE APONTE to FRANCIS HARE.
“Aarma, July 5, 1798. —I received your most welcome
letter from Bologna of the 2nd, written in Spanish, but
which, ēphorera to 3Am0éc, seems to me to have been
dictated by the polyglott citizen. Nevertheless it has given
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. II5
me the greatest pleasure, because it shows a grateful re-
collection of me which I think I have deserved. Perhaps
in this, as in so many other things, that old proverb is true,
—‘One knows one's good things when one loses them.’
But if you would do what would be most pleasing to me of
all, it would be, not so much to remember me, as to re-
collect those maxims of Sound virtue which you have heard
from me so many times. Entire, sincere, and hearty sub-
mission to your parents; kindness and courtesy towards all ;
familiarity with and confidence in no one whom you do not
know to be honourable and virtuous; continual restraint
over your little passions, and most of all over your tongue,
which you should never allow to run away with you into
evil speaking or discontented expressions, which should
abhor deceit and lying, always mindful of the precept,
Tô orópa levóópevov puget kai äToktéºvel Tºv lºvkºv, but,
above all, fear of the Most High God and perfect faith
in his words, especially in those which come to us inscribed
in the Gospel: this is what I would desire for you ; this it
is which will make you a useful member of society, this it is
which will make you grow in favour with God and man.
Add to this the love of study: let no day pass without read-
ing with attention at least fifty lines of Homer, and some
passages in Isocrates or Demosthenes, and then I, though
absent from you in body, shall be near you in spirit, and
you may picture me and see me always by your side just as
you saw me, when we were together in the middle room of
the Casa Campeggi.
“I would beg your dear mother to receive my most
respectful Salutations, and speak the name of Nono with
a hundred kisses to Julius, as well as to my sweetest
Marcus. I would not impress upon you, because I am sure
that it is needless, that you should never quarrel with your
brothers. Dear children how it goes to my heart not to
I 16 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
See them Would that Heaven may hear my prayers, and
render them as prosperous and virtuous, as from my heart I
desire. They were tenderly loved by me, and their pictures
will ever be stamped in my memory. To the poor and
good Betta I would send a salutation, assuring her that
I can never forget her constant care of my dear
‘nipotini.' Farewell, my dear Francis, be well and
happy, and think that in every time and place I am your
true friend
5 “ E. M. APONTE.”
From Padua, Aponte returned to Spain, whence his next
letter.
“Valencia, March 5, 1799. — My dear, my dearest
Francis, It is impossible to tell the comfort your last
letter has been to me. I can only say that your image,
with that of your excellent parents, is always engraven on
my heart; that Francis, the little Julius, and Marcus are
continually before the eyes of my spirit, and that I cannot
often restrain my tears at the recollection of my four little
angels. I never thought to have loved anything So much,
at least with the tenderness which I feel. Everything that
concerns you is most interesting to me. I rejoice in hearing
of your advancement in learning—mathematics especially I
am anxious that you should study thoroughly, but that you
should not the less continue your reading in Greek for my
sake; read, indeed, Isocrates, because he appears to be the
favourite orator in Padua,” but I should be more anxious
that you should suck the sugar from Demosthenes, whose
Setvötnc will be most delightful to you ; with the help of
the Greek professor endeavour to penetrate to the founda-
tions of his style, of his legal phrases, of his intellect; and
* Francis was removed to Padua when Aponte left Bologna.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 117
then without difficulty if you wish it (and you ought to wish
it) you may read Thucydides by yourself, without neglecting
the occasional reading of the poets, which will serve not
only as a relief and recreation amid your other studies, but
for practical use in life and its labours, if you learn like the
bee to collect from their flowers the juice which forms that
sweet, strengthening, and life-giving honey, Sweeter than
sugar. But that which I have more at heart than anything
else, is none other, you well know, than your progress in
virtue. You are already beginning to enter upon young
manhood: your passions will daily become stronger: if you
do not make a courageous stand now, there will be danger
lest they should get the upperhand, and lest, when you wish
to restrain them, it may be too late. Read with attention
the ‘Ercole al bivio,” which you will find amongst the
works of Xenophon. Or if you do not wish to read it,
listen to the advice of your mother, submit to the will of
your father, consider how much you are indebted to your
parents, and how both nature and the law of God call upon
you to honour and please them, persuaded that you cannot
show your love to them better than by proving your under-
standing, appreciation, and love of what is right. . . . . Our
affairs are still not in the state we hoped for, and will
take time to set in order; but the Clotilde hopes to
return to her country, and I do not lose the hope, so
I flatter myself (who knows) gºv ()eš of being able once
more to give you a tender embrace before closing my
eyes—nevertheless it should be the care of the younger
of us to give this consolation to the old man. Fare-
well, my dear one, ÉÉooro, Kai pepºwmoro tou juxoovtós ore
Tequpaiov.”
The same sheet contains the following from Clotilda
Tambroni to Mrs. H. Naylor:— -
II.8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“My dearest lady cannot imagine with what overflowing
feelings of pleasure and tenderness I read her affectionate
lines, or how precious they are to me. If you desire to see
me again, I do indeed desire it perhaps with even greater
eagerness, and yet I Cannot conceal from myself that I feel
it almost impossible, as well because of the difficulties of
the journey to England, as because filial love urges me to
return as soon as possible to my poor mother, and to assist
her, if not otherwise, at least with my personal care in her
old age. Certainly next to my mother, there is no one
nearer my heart than yourself, and every individual of your
dear family. I do indeed love you and your children,
whom I constantly remember, and never without a deep
sigh in the grief which I feel in not seeing them, and the
almost certain probability that I shall never embrace them
again. My love for your dear children must, I think, be
something like the love of a real mother, and even while I
write of them, my eyes are blinded with tears. But one
must resign oneself, and say, ‘Sic erat in fatis.’ You will
nevertheless bear me in your heart, and will rest assured
that I bear you in mine. I beg you to give a thousand
kisses for me to each of your, and my, children. Oh, my
most precious Marcus, who will already have forgotten us,
tell him that he is engraven upon my inmost heart, and
that I shall always be, even though far off, his second
mother; to my dear little Julius say that I love him with
my whole soul, and to my sweetest Francis that I shall feel
the tenderest affection for him to the last moment of my
life; in one word, that I look upon them always as my own
property, and that their happiness is mine. What is my
dearest little Augustus doing? . . . . May you be the
happiest of all mothers in seeing these dear children
healthy, happy, and crowned with spiritual blessings, and
together with your husband, may you enjoy a long life of
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. II9
maternal love, for their happiness, and for my comfort.
Never, I entreat you, let me be far from your remembrance,
and believe me your true friend and sister,
“‘THE CASSANDRA.’”
A year later Aponte and Clotilda Tambroni had fulfilled
their wish of returning to Bologna.
EMMANUELE APONTE to FRANCIS G. HARE.
“Aologna, May 15, 1800.- ... I am more than persuaded
that you could never even suspect me of forgetting you. . . .
You know me well enough, and the sincerity of my affec-
tion. I answered your former letter as Soon as I received
it, with that tenderness and pleasure which true friends feel
who believe that they deserve, as I think I do from you,
the name of a second father. I Congratulated you on your
love of study, and I urged a choice of the best teachers
upon you with the same zeal and anxiety for your advan-
tage which I felt while I had still the care of you. In
reading I would urge you, as a help to your memory, to set
aside a little extract book or two, for making copies of the
passages which strike or please you most, especially in re-
gard to morals, politics, and laws; because thus you will
form for yourself a little treasury, which will always be use-
ful, and you will show your diligence and application
without danger of losing the riches you have acquired, be-
sides the most important point of all—that of setting apart
the best maxims for the guidance of all your actions, and
thus guarding yourself against the attacks of passion or of
vice. In short, it is only folly to struggle after light, if that
very light leaves us in our mire, and does not serve to guide
us through its dangers. Let us be wise ; but let us be wise
above all in that which may render us useful to the society
in which we live, and especially, which may make us useful
I 2 O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
to ourselves. God be thanked, I am tolerably well in
health, but rather troubled with deafness, and sometimes
with gout; I work Constantly at my grammar, but do not
know when I can finish it, as the publishers are now so un-
willing to undertake works of that description. Mezzofanti
is perpetually learning fresh languages: he has learnt Polish,
Hungarian, German, Russian, Armenian, and Egyptian, &c.,
in addition to those he knew before. He teaches the son
of Count Ranizzi, and he and his pupil Pirino salute you,
with Don Angelo, the Rector, the Professors, and all the
students of Greek. . . . Never, when you can, omit to give
the news of yourself and your studies, and your advance
*utſpoo 6ew tow @eów kai Tôv čvépôTov, “Vale igitur, mi Fran-
cisce, et mei facsis memor.’ Teq vpatos.”
Thus much is introduced here from the letters of Aponte
and Clotilda Tambroni because it was to their early training
that the brothers felt they owed so many of the principles
which guided their after life, and which Francis transmitted
to the others, who were too young to remember more than
the almost parental affection of the “Nono' and the
“Clotilde.”
It was in 1794, while she was still residing at Bologna,
that Mrs. Hare-Naylor received the news of the death of
her brother-in-law, Sir William Jones. He had written to
Elizabeth Shipley, his wife's sister, that he talked “ of 1790 as
the happy limit of his residence in the unpropitious climate
of India; ”* but this period was afterwards indefinitely
prolonged. In December, 1793, the health of Lady
Jones was so affected by the climate that a return to
England was pronounced to be the only means of preserving
* Letter to Mrs. E. Shipley, Sept. 7, 1786.
THE HARES OF HURSTMON CEAUX. I2 I
her life. She embarked, therefore, for England, Sir William
being exceedingly anxious for her departure, though he had
previously declared that if they were compelled to separate,
he should “feel like a man with a dead palsy on one of his
sides.” He hoped to follow his wife in the course of the
next summer, but in the spring was attacked with inflamma-
tion of the liver, and died April 27, 1794. “He was found
lying on his bed in a posture of meditation; and the only
symptom of remaining life was a small degree of motion in
the heart, which, after a few moments, ceased, and he ex-
pired without a pang or groan. His bodily suffering, from
the complacency of his features and the ease of his attitude,
could not have been severe ; and his mind must have de-
rived consolation from those sources where he had been in
the habit of Seeking it, and where alone, in our last mo-
ments, it can ever be found.”f Sir W. Jones was only
forty-seven at the time of his death. He was buried at Cal-
cutta. A monument was erected to him in St. Paul's by
the Directors of the East India Company, and by his widow
in the ante-Chapel of University College, at Oxford, where
there are two portraits of him, both of which have been
engraved. The following verses were written to his memory
by Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, with whom he had
long kept up a Correspondence:—
“ Unbounded learning, thoughts by genius framed,
To guide the bounteous labours of his pen,
Distinguish’d him, whom kindred sages named:
‘The most enlightened of the sons of men.”
* Letter to Mrs. E. Shipley, Sept. 7, 1786.
+ Lord Teignmouth’s “Life of Sir W. Jones.” f Dr. Johnson.
I 2.2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“ Upright through life, as in his death resign'd,
His actions spoke a pure and ardent breast;
Faithful to God and friendly to mankind,
His friends rever'd him, and his country bless'd.
“Admired and valued in a distant land,
His gentle manners all affection won ;
The prostrate Hindu own'd his fostering hand,
And science mark’d him for her fav’rite son.
“Regret and praise the general voice bestows,
And public Sorrows with domestic blend;
But deeper yet must be the grief of those
Who, while the sage they honour’d, loved the friend.”
The desolation which Lady Jones now experienced, and
the desire of benefiting her favourite sister by undertaking
the expenses of his education, induced her to make the
offer of adopting the little Augustus Hare, and to desire
that he should accompany his parents when they left Bologna
for England. From their detailed letters to the little Francis,
the following passages are taken —
“The A’ed Zozver, AZłorf, Sept. 22, 1797.-We arrived at
Altorf before dark. I believe it would be, of all others, the
most economical spot to inhabit, since you find no food
either for vanity, taste, or learning, not an article of luxury
to be purchased, and not one bookseller's shop, even for
almanacks or magazines. Yesterday morning we embarked
on the lake, with an idea of going to Lucerne; but the wind
being contrary, and threatening to blow hard, we were pru-
dent enough to change our plans, and disembark at Brunnen,
after three hours’ navigation. We there found a cart to
convey our luggage, and walked to the town of Schweitz.
We stopped a moment at the chapel built in memory of
William Tell, and Augustus kissed the ground on which he
stood, whem, escaping from tyranny and injustice, he br’
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 123
the boldness to throw himself, with his child, into the stormy
lake, and brave the waves, less Cruel than mankind.”
“Zurich.-We have been this morning to visit the cele-
brated M. Lavater, and I scarcely ever saw a man possessed
of more fire of genius, joined to a greater simplicity of
manners. He is the author of a celebrated work upon
physiognomy, and pretends to discover, in a very great
degree, the human character from the features of the face.
As we had no introduction, the regard with which he re-
ceived us was very flattering. You may believe I was
anxious to show him the heads of my four angels.” He
wrote two very pretty lines in German upon them, but said
that he had not sufficient time to examine them separately.
He only said that your head was a physiognomy to under-
stand Greek well, and that Marcus would give me the most
trouble of all four. Pray tell my dear Cassandra this pro-
phecy of her son. At parting he gave me a present of
Several of his Smaller works on religious subjects, and we
have settled a correspondence for the future.”
“Carlsruhe, Oct. 2.—Often, in the course of this journey,
have I thanked God for having inspired me with the reso-
lution to separate from my boys, and to prefer their good to .
the fond indulgence of having them with me. You, my
dear Francis, would have lost some of the most precious
hours of your life, that part which is to fit you for what you
are to be hereafter—and the fatigue for my two babies
would have been beyond their years to bear. My poor little
Augustus has suffered much from Basle hither. . . . One
night we were sent on from the station we had intended to
stop at, every room being taken ; and about eleven at night
We arrived, in a hard rain, at a village called Appenweyer;
* A picture by the Bolognese artist Friuli, in which the Four
Brothers are thus represented, and which is still in possession of the
family.
I24 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
every soul was gone to rest, and, after repeated callings, we
were answered that not a bed could be had. We then de-
manded horses to proceed; they said that was impossible,
as we could not pass the next village, and our only hope of
comfort was in my travelling-bed, for me and Augustus,
when, on Opening it, we found the rain had penetrated in
every part. It was quite a moment of despair, when, for-
tunately, the noise I made disturbed the slumbers of a
French officer. He entered very good-naturedly into our
distress, abandoning to us his own room, with three beds,
and sleeping himself on the floor on his coat. A French
soldier was equally obliging in procuring us a light, and
unloading the Carriage, yet we had to suffer much from
cold and hunger. To this night I owe a severe cold
and toothache, which confines me to my room, while
your papa is gone to dine with the Margrave of Baden.
You will often have heard us speak of Carlsruhe as the
place where we pâssed the Summer before you were born.
It is built in a circular form, the palace forming the centre,
from which the streets proceed in rays. The plan is cer.
tainly beautiful, but the buildings are in general inelegant,
and the plan is too aristocratical to please me." However,
the Margrave is an excellent man, who lives economically,
and studies to promote the good of his subjects. He has a
son just your age, and I had promised myself much plea-
sure in seeing him, and comparing him with my Francis.
When we arrive in England, I shall hope to find a long and
interesting journal of all you do, and all you think; it will
improve you in the facility of writing English, and it will
continue you in the habit of treating your parents with that
confidence which their indulgence and affection have a right
to claim. I expect to hear all your faults candidly told,
that my advice may assist you in mending and correcting
them; if you tell me you are always good, I shall not be-
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. (25
lieve it, for it is neither for your age, nor for human frailty,
but I hope to hear that you are attentive to everything
which is said by your excellent friends, and that when your
spirits lead you to transgress or slight that advice, you are
repentant and concerned. This I have a right to hope from
your good sense and good heart, and if I hear otherwise
you will disappoint me.” -
“Oct. 5.—Still at Carlsruhe, my dear Francis, and still
suffering much, yet to-morrow we have fixed to recommence
our journey, for as quiet and rest do not cure me, it is but
suffering a little more, and we get on, though God knows
which road we are now to take. I never saw your papa lose
his courage so totally, and I shall not be surprised any
morning to set out for Hamburgh, that he may go a road he
knows to be open, no matter how far round; indeed, he will
have one proverb on his side, “The farthest way about is
the nearest way home;’ and as to me, I suffer so much, that
having now pain added to fatigue, I feel the indifference of
desperation, and care not where we go—all I pray is that
at last we may arrive safe in England. There is every ap-
pearance of hostilities recurring, and, on the part of Austria,
with faint prospect of Success, and no one doubts seeing
the tree of liberty planted at Vienna before Christmas. It
may be planted anywhere with my good wishes, except at
Carlsruhe, and here I should be sorry to see it; indeed,
would every sovereign imitate the Margrave of Baden, and
seek like him to reign in the hearts of his subjects, he need
but little fear either French troops or French principles.
His son, who I told you was nearly your age, has the disad-
vantage of being an only son, and his parents' too fond in-
dulgence promises to ruin their best hopes—caprice they
call genius, passion passes for Spirit, and so on. How much,
my dear Francis, is such a boy to be pitied, and what grati.
tude do you owe to the good Dom Emmanuele, who loves
I26 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
you for your own good Tell me all and everything. Salute
affectionately il Nono and la madre dei miei figli, and be
assured your papa and I love you most tenderly.”
“Saardière, Oct. Io.—I never saw your papa better pleased
than when we quitted the Austrian lines, and entered the
French, and now everything goes well, and he is as happy
as possible, conversing with every soldier and every officer
he meets, and confessing with me, how much the liberty
of thinking improves the human mind, and how much
Superior is the republican to the automedons we have
parted from.” -
“Mor/aſner, Oct. II.-It is a pleasant sight to travel
through France, and to behold the comfort and opulence of
the farmers and peasants; the ground is everywhere well
cultivated, and herds of cattle descend into the villages at
evening, and at every poor man's house stop his cows, his
sheep, his hogs, and his geese. - Indeed, my dear Francis,
I am much surprised at the general appearance of comfort
which prevails among the peasantry, who were formerly poor
and oppressed, but now seem rich and comfortable. They are
perhaps the only class of Society who have really profited by
the revolution, but their situation is surprisingly ameliorated.
At Metz a band of military music played at our
door, ‘pour l'honneur L’Angleterre.' . . . With honour,
courage, and generosity, those virtues of ancient chivalry,
may my four sons possess those solid virtues, which render
life happiest in a private station.”
“Avesnes, Oct. 14.—We continue advancing fast on our
journey without any difficulty or impediment; every place
as quiet as in perfect peace, the churches everywhere open,
and the fast observed on Fridays and Saturdays so strict,
even at the inns, as to make us fare very ill. Sunday too is
kept as a fête, but all shops are open, and a man works, or
goes to church, or amuses himself as he likes, in short, I
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 127
perceive scarce any alteration, except that people talk
politics and are discontented as in England. As for me, I
am heartily sick of travelling, and look forward to no com-
fort, until I can again give my blessing to my Francis and
his two dear brothers.”
“Zisle.—My next letter will, if God pleases, be dated
from London. Augustus talks very often of you, and tells
every one he loves you best of all. He is very well again,
and much amused with the windmills. Adieu, my dearest
boy. I recommend you always in my prayers to the care of
God Almighty.”
As soon as the Hare-Naylors arrived in England, they pro-
ceeded to Hurstmonceaux. It seems that they had never
before understood how completely the castle was a ruin, and
great was their anger at beholding it, and bitter their resent-
ment at the injustice of their stepmother, upon whom the
little Francis was encouraged to write Greek epigrams at
Bologna. Among other injuries, Mrs. Henrietta Hare, in a fit
of jealousy, had destroyed the oil portrait of her predecessor,
the beautiful Miss Selman, only preserving the figure of her
child (Francis H. Naylor) riding upon a stick. With the
“Place” itself they were much pleased.
MRS. HARE-NAYLOR to LADY JONES.
“Hurstmonceaux A*/ace, Oct. 29, 1797.-I am most impatient
to see you, and yet Twyford will recall ten thousand melan-
choly ideas. Had you been in town, I would have persuaded
you to give your preference to Hurstmonceaux, where new
objects and new schemes offer themselves, and we want
your advice about a thousand things. The place is delight-
ful, and charms me from not being so magnificent as I ex-
I 28 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
pected, or leading to any uncommon expenses. The house
is vastly comfortable, but if we live in England it is not
larger than we should desire, and every piece of the ground
may be turned to profit. It possesses all the beauties of a
fine place, with the comforts and pleasures of a small one;
the parish too is just what one could wish, not so large, or
So poor, but what we might be the means of giving much
happiness. I think Prudence will recommend us to live
here or live in Italy; the first I hope, not again to be
Separated from SO beloved a sister. We were received with
Such natural demonstrations of joy, and my Hare seems so
much to possess the hearts of his tenants, that I have spent
Some delicious hours. As to our name, we prefer the name
of Hare to Naylor as plus noble, but we shall continue to sign
all letters, papers, deeds, &c., by the name of Hare-Naylor,
as we have hitherto done, and the generality I imagine will
give us both names, which makes least confusion, and is
what we would like best for many reasons.”
“Aoſton Street, AVoz. I, 1797.-I know not how to ex-
press my sense of all your kindnesses. We are here in
your house receiving every attention and enjoying every
comfort, as if we were served by our own servants and had
long been settled. My boy is in love with your maid Hick-
man, and calls her ‘The Lady of the Bird.' . . . As to
change of person, you will find it in me, and I have no
doubt I shall find it in you. Hickman thinks me like you,
but thinner. Sorrow brings with it change of health and
change of spirits, and whose sorrow was ever like yours? yet
every action and every thought shows me my own kind and
beloved Anna—she, whose affection for me was ever true
affection—interested in my conduct, and anxious that I
should be esteemed as she esteemed me. I fear I shall
not do half the right or proper things which you suggest—
want of time and want of carriage are two good excuses.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I29
The Dowager Lady Spencer” has written to me that she
hopes to see me in town; the young one f I will write to.
We think of arriving at Twyford the day your maid does,
and if we come to dinner it may hurry your spirits less than
in the evening; with this idea we think of sleeping one night
either at Hampton or Heckfield. My feelings are full of
gratitude to God for allowing me to live to so blessed an
hour, mixed with regret for your loss, for our loss, for the
world's loss. I could not, without tears, visit your apart-
ment, to reflect that it wanted its chief ornament and
treasure. What is wealth without it? But tried as you have
been, it is my prayer that to me and my children it may be
given to make you know all the comfort you yet can feel.
I have a very kind letter from my brother. I always loved
him, nor do I know, except from others, that he ever felt
displeased with me.”
“Boſton Street, Mov. 4.—All the quiet happy castles I had
built with you at Twyford seem tottering from their founda-
tion. It is true, I most anxiously wished for an interview
with my dearest brother, but the idea of spending a month
or six weeks at Bath does not suit my wish for quiet and
repose, and the pleasure of social Converse over old times
with my beloved sister with which I had flattered myself.
Mrs. Ann Hare : found us in bed this morning, and is now
talking so fast I scarce know what I write. The Lefevres
arrive to-day, and express much pleasure at the idea of see-
ing us; indeed, I find more friends than I expected, but I
find not my dearest sister, for whom alone I consented to
leave my three angels. . . . . I have written to young Lady
Spencer, who has not as yet honoured me with an answer.
* Margaret Georgiana Poyntz, whose mother was first cousin of Mrs.
Shipley, the wife of John, first Earl Spencer.
t Lavinia, wife of George John, second Earl Spencer.
† Only surviving daughter of Bishop Hare.
WOL. 1. K
I3o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
So much the better. I have no ambition, and independence
and Comfort are in our power. If we regain Buckholt,
24, 17,ooo we shall have, perhaps too much for that media
zita I wish for myself and my boys.
“P.S.—I have this moment a most gracious visit from Lady
Spencer, only very angry I have a son named Marcus.”*
The plan of joining Mrs. Shipley at Bath was carried out,
and thence Mrs. Hare-Naylor wrote to little Francis at
Bologna. -
“Pec. 11, 1797.-Yesterday I finished a long letter to
my dear Cassandra, and to-day I once more take up my
journal to my dear Francis, which has been so interrupted.
. . . . Novels are the present fashionable study in England,
and everything is read, good or bad, which bears that title;
even your papa is obliged to follow the current, as the con-
versation, in whatever society, falls upon this topic; we have
had two which are the most talked of—“The Monk,’ which
is an assemblage of crimes, horrors, and improbabilities, but
calculated to excite the passions, and therefore read; and
* Caleb Williams,' whose author is among the illuminated of
the present age, but as his hero, who is drawn a model of
honour and moral rectitude, is led by circumstances to Com-
mit murder and other atrocious crimes, I think a reflecting
mind may fairly extract this conclusion, that religion alone
has sufficient power to preserve man from evil.
“A)ec. 14.—I should not, my dear Francis, have dwelt so
1ong on the present state of literature in England if I did
not consider that it is the truest test of the character of its
inhabitants. They are sunk into an indolence of mind
* Her not having seen any of her relations since their anger at her
marriage caused Mrs. Hare-Naylor's anxiety as to their reception of her.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I31
v
which requires to be fed by such productions as these, and
hence it is that, unless an author can excite their passions,
warm their imaginations, or awaken their curiosity, he has
little chance of being praised, and still less of being read.
“Paoli dined with us to-day, and we talked over the
adventures of his interesting life, and I wished that the
Republic possessed two or three such patriots. He has been
ill-treated by all governments and all parties, being himself
a stranger to that egoism which pervades every scene of this
corrupted age. It is a vice so odious that I wish it may be
banished from the world before you enter upon your part,
and I think it will, for surely there must be a great change
in morals and Conduct ere long.
“Since I came to Bath I have only bought a Pliny. All
my money goes away in caps and bawbles, while I regret
the sad necessity of conforming to fashion, and consider my
four boys, like Cornelia, above all jewels. Tell the Rettore
I see every day Lady Bolingbroke, and that we often talk of
him and his obliging attentions to the pretty women of our
nation. We are invited to return to the Palmerstons after
Christmas, and then I shall more particularly think of my
Francis, though the certainty of the permanent good you
will derive from the lessons of our respected Dom Emmanuel
stifles every regret as it rises, and I believe you happier
there than you would be with us, since an occupied life is
always happy, and we, on the contrary, exist in a kind of
noise and confusion, which annihilates every faculty. This
evening I may indeed call comfortable, since I am left alone
to write to my darling, or to pursue my next favourite employ-
ment of reading and reflection. Assure Il Nono and La
Sorella mia amata that I am eternally attached to them, and
accept my warmest prayers and blessing.”
“A)ec. 27.—On Monday I went to hear a celebrated
preacher, to receive the Sacrament, and with a grateful heart
I32 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
to pray for blessings on my four boys. The preacher dis-
appointed me, not in his maſtner, but as to matter. He was
for dividing faith and reason, while I am for uniting them;
true reason must ever support true faith, since they both
come from God, and the mental powers He has given us
were no doubt intended to fortify our faith, however man
may have perverted his own nature. Dr. Randolph, on the
contrary, would have us believe and not inquire. A Moham-
medan, or a Pagan, can be advised to do no other, but the
Christian Surely has a nobler doctrine to teach.
“Your letter of Nov. II is written with a warmth of
patriotism which does honour to your feelings, but would
not suit the present times : when a government possesses so
great an influence over the minds and passions of the nation,
a wise man must only sigh in private. Pitt has gotten the
Żride of Englishmen on his side, and pride has more particu-
larly ever been the strongest feature in the national charac-
ter of England. Before you are of an age to act your part
on this world's stage, this government will have undergone
a reform, in which case the true patriot in serving his country
will advance himself; or otherwise, it will have settled into
so complete a despotism founded on corruption, that the
efforts of a single man will avail no more than in Athens
a Demosthenes opposing the gold of Philip. Yet even in
this worst state of things, the principles you now hold will
operate so far as to make you remember in every action of
your life that the poor and the rich are the same in the
eyes of God, and while prudence may teach you to mode-
rate your zeal in the cause of political freedom, you will
perceive that large is the power of doing good and being
useful to mankind, under whatever government you live.”
The prudence which Mrs. Hare-Naylor inculcated in her
children with regard to their political Conduct was in no-
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I 33
wise evinced by her husband, whose violent and democratic
principles made him many enemies. Even the friends who
at first sympathized with him were generally alienated
by the violence of his political conduct, so that “the Hare
with many friends” became a by-word. At one time he
received the offer of a baronetcy, which he rejected, and
professed to despise as one of the aristocratic distinctions
against which he was always inveighing. His public im-
prudence was a great disadvantage to his children. Lady
Jones alludes to this in a letter she wrote to them many
years afterwards:– -
“Your father will never get over the unfavourable impres-
sion of the violent democratic expressions he made use of
on his first return to England; they not only stick by him.
but have been of great disadvantage to his children ; you
will find it necessary through life to remember that the
prejudice of the world in that respect is against you.”
It was in the spring of 1798 that the Hare-Naylors re-
turned to Bologna to seek their children. They reached
Italy in June in time to see “the Cassandra’ and Aponte
before their departure from Bologna, and then removed
for a time to Padua, where the education of Francis was
continued under the Abbate Sinigaglia and other professors
of the University. During this, their last visit to Italy, they
formed the fine collection of pictures, which they afterwards
had at Hurstmonceaux. Of this time is the following:--
MRS. HARE-NAYLOR to LADY JONES.
“Aologna, June 23, 1798. — Here is an anecdote of
Francis which I think will please you, as it evinces a degree
I34 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
of presence of mind uncommon at his age. He was at
dinner at a gentleman's house in the country, when one of
the servants came in to say there was a man in the court,
with a dromedary and a bear. Francis immediately jumped
up from table, ran out alone to see the beasts, and as their
conductor assured him there was no danger, he began play-
ing with the bear ; the animal immediately seized him in his
paws, and the owner, instead of coming to his assistance,
Cried out to him in a fright, ‘Defend yourself, or you are
dead.” Upon this, Francis, who had observed that the bear
was blind in one eye, struck the beast with all his force in
the good eye; the bear instantly let go his hold, Francis
seized the moment, and getting loose from his grasp, fled as
fast as he could towards the house. The bear ran after him,
and tore his cheek with his paw, which was all the injury he
received. All this passed without anybody knowing the least
of the matter; the boy returned to table, said the bear had
scratched his face, continued to play as usual during the
rest of the evening, nor was the story known till the follow-
ing day, when it was in everybody's mouth at Bologna.”
The intense happiness which the Hare-Naylors looked for
in an English home may be seen from—
MRS. HARE-NAYLOR to LADY JONEs.
“Padua, March 16, 1799. – My weak state confirms me
in an idea. I have long taken up, that we shall never arrive
at settling with our family at Hurstmonceaux, from a per-
suasion that our life would be then too happy for our mortal
state. It was the same thing with you, my beloved sister,
when happiness was almost within the grasp, that visionary
deity vanished from your sight . . . . . In all my fatigues
I have thought of my sweet Augustus enjoying every comfort
and attention, happy and beloved by my dearest sister, for
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I35
I feel assured the better you are acquainted with him, the
more dear he will become to you. He is endowed with one
of those happy soils, which need little culture and little care,
as weeds cannot take root in his sweet mind . . . . . I
wish very much that Jules and Marcus may preserve their
present beauty, till you see them : Jules is a true Mordaunt
face, and Marcus is the very image of his father. Francis
too is remarkably well-looking, and so amiable and attractive
in his manners, so much knowledge, and so much vivacity,
I am sure you will be partial to him : indeed, I long for you
to see them all, though none will excel my dear Augustus in
sweetness of temper, and sensibility of disposition—in-
deed they may well call them les quatre fils d’Aymon.”
In the spring of 1799 the Hare-Naylors returned to
England with all the children, and before settling at their
own home, took them to visit Mrs. Shipley at Bath.
The following letter from Lady Jones to the Dowager Lady
Spencer was written then :—
“July 17, 1799.-I can, thank God, continue to make a
most comfortable report of my mother. She has been
bustling about in her dear little old ways, arranging things
for her Italian children, and the finding herself equal to
such little exertion has certainly mended her spirits. The
Hares arrived to tea yesterday, all vastly well. Jule and
Marcus are very lovely engaging babes, and Francis, whom
we were quite prepared to see an awkward, shy, plain boy,
is quite the reverse—I really think a most remarkably
pleasing face, and his manners are totally unaffected and
unpresuming, lively and boyish, which I feared, with his
knowledge (which for his years is extraordinary), would not
have been the case. My poor little Augustus certainly
I36 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
appears to disadvantage by his brothers, but I believe his
mind is as amiable, and that he is likely to prove as great a
blessing to his parents as any of them. I hope we shall
manage not to let them be too much of a worry to my
mother, and then they will amuse and do her good. I
keep the rock-horse in my dining parlour, which is constant
lure for them to be there the greatest part of the day, and a
tintamarre-de-diable they have been making there these last
three hours, God bless their little throats.”
During this summer's residence at Bath, Mrs. Hare-
Naylor formed the greatest friendship of her later life with
Miss Bowdler, whose literary and classical tastes formed a
bond between them. She accompanied the family to
Hurstmonceaux, where on October 9, 1799, Mrs. Hare-
Naylor gave birth to her youngest child, Anna-Maria
Clementina.
A long series of letters to her beloved sister Anna
describe the family liſe, which began most peacefully and
happily at Hurstmonceaux, where the Hare-Naylors settled
with the conviction that they should be able to live quietly
within their income, and filled with Schemes for the assist-
ance and improvement of their poorer neighbours. Too
soon, however, they found that the expenses of an im-
poverished estate and a house greatly out of repair were
far beyond their receipts, and life became a constant
struggle, filled with anxieties as to the sale of some of the
pictures they had brought from Italy, or the production of
Mr. Naylor's plays of Zhe Mirror, and Zhe Age of Chivalry
at Drury Lane, to which they looked almost for the
absolute means of subsistence. Indeed, they could not
THE HARES OF HURSTMON CEAUX. 137
have lived at all, but for the constant and unwearied assist-
ance of “the best of sisters.”
MRS. HARE-NAYLOR to LADY JONES.
“Aſurs/monceaux Alace, ZXc. 31, 1799.-I am made very
anxious by your account of Augustus, and though that dear
boy has been longer absent from us than any of our other
children, yet a mother is always a mother, and in my heart
my affection for him is mixed with my affection for the rest:
five children, yourself, and Hare, fill it, as in one mass of
blessings. I am saddened by the thought of my dear
mother, and can guess what she must suffer from any
diminution of her powers of sight, because I have often
said, that the privation of light is the only misfortune
perhaps to which our nature is liable, which I believe I
should never bear with fortitude or patience ; here reason, I
fear, would lose her influence.
“Wilberforce writes to inquire when we shall be in town,
that he and his wife may renew our acquaintance and friend-
ship. He says he and my husband think so much alike on
politics, he will venture to say to him, he fears there can be
no safety while France is a republic with all the energy and
irritability which the reform possesses. You who condemn
my politics, I am persuaded, do not know what they are ; it
is to Mr. Wilberforce and Hannah More I will appeal, when
I want a good character. We have nearly concluded her
book, but although I go very far with her in her system of
education, I think she repeats so often the word Christian
she will Surfeit numbers, just as honey, if the dose is too
strong, will pall the stomachs of children. We are by
nature Such lovers of variety, that even goodness and
religion should be recommended under various forms in
order not to clog. As for me, my religion is as simple as
my politics, and as I think the best government that where
138 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
f
people are most virtuous and most happy, so in religion, I
think the simple study of the Scriptures with the moral
duties they teach and the rewards they promise, far more
calculated to inspire true piety and cheerful dependence on
God’s providence, than an inquiry into all those obscure
Systems of faith, grace, and original sin, on which Saints
and theologians have written sine fine.” -
“Feb. 1, 1800.-The rejection of Zhe Mirror was a dis-
appointment to me, because I see pieces in every way
inferior are continually produced ; but I suspect Sheridan
has an old private pique to gratify. Our pictures too, I
fear, are in no likely method of producing money, and I
feel that the dear Poussin must be sacrificed for half its
value if we can no otherwise raise sufficient money to pay
the bills we owe. . . . . To be sure, coming into possession
of a place so out of repair and unfurnished as we found
this, while possessed ourselves of no ready money, gave us
from the first great difficulties to struggle with.”
“Pray read the 9th chapter of Revelation. It has struck
me vastly, particularly the following verse: “And they had
a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit,
whose name in the Hebrew is Abaddon, but in the Greek
tongue he hath his name Apollyon.” Now the Christian
name of Bonaparte is Wapo//ione, which is evidently a
Corsican corruption of the Greek—the only change being
in the W, otherwise the word is merely Italianised. The
concluding denunciation of ruin is so terrific, that I think
our pious ministers might read and tremble.”
“I cannot but write my list of family misfortunes. Our
best pigs are very ill and likely to die, after all the great
expense we have been in at fatting them. In short nothing
thrives without doors; and within doors the library chimney
has taken to smoke so much, that I am obliged even of an
evening to sit with the window open. . . .”
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I39
“Feb. 27, 1800.—I think of all our disappointments the
greatest has come from our History of Switzerland. As for
the other pictures, they must be put up at a public sale. I
think we are rather in want of a present sum of money for
furniture and stock, than any increase of income, as I am
convinced, if we were once set a-going, we should find our
income equal to our wants. I wish I could flatter myself
into a belief that a view of those pictures you have chosen
would be a source of pleasure to you. I Confess they were
so to me, and that the Poussin especially gave to my senti-
ments that tranquil character with which in it our Saviour
as an infant regards the future cross. I never felt it, except
in that and one other, a Guido which represents the cruci-
fixion, before which I have knelt and prayed with a more
entire giving up of the whole mind than happened to me
anywhere else.”
“May 11, 1800.-May is come, and yet you are waiting
in London, and lose all the charms of this season in this
beautiful place. Why do you go and look at villas near
London, and not come to your own villa at Hurstmonceaux P
At least come and pass this month with us, and do not
think of going to live by yourself en misanthroffe, while we
are here, whose domestic joys will be so enlarged by your
partaking them. No words can paint the charms of this
place, and Hare and I never walk arm in arm contem-
plating the scene and speaking of our mutual happi-
ness, without giving a sigh to the absence of our only
friend. . . . . The Montpellier Terrace, as I call the
footpath to church, is always dry, and warm, and sheltered :
when Our Sun is too hot, the shrubbery is pleasant; and
when you choose both sun and air there is the road to the
gate nearly completed. God bless you, my more than
sister, and reward you for your constant kind attachment
to your G.”
I40 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
One of the first interests at Hurstmonceaux had been
found in the preparation of the sunniest and pleasantest
room in the house for the reception of Lady Jones during
her long annual visit—a room which is called “Lady Jones's
Chamber” to this day. Thither she came for three or four
months every summer, bringing the little Augustus to his
brothers, when they used to play in the gardens of the
“Place,” or ramble about in the castle ruins or that old
deer-park. Even as a child Augustus was of a much gentler
disposition than his brothers, and more unselfish. If any-
thing was given to him, his only pleasure in possession
seemed to be that he had it to give to some one else, and
“his conversation was not like a child's—he would admire
the works of God in every tree and weed.”—“On one occa-
sion, when very little, he told his aunt a lie. It happened
on a day when Lord Spencer and Lord Teignmouth were
coming to dine with her; she had intended that Augustus
should dine with them, and he was greatly delighted at the
prospect of it, but in consequence of what he had done, she
ordered him to stay in his room and have nothing but bread
and water. His nurse, who was greatly devoted to him,
was not able to go to him till night, when she took him
some strawberries, the first of the year, with which at first
he was much pleased, but then asked if his aunt had sent
them, and on being told ‘no,' could not be prevailed on to
touch them, saying that she had thought him too wicked to
have anything that was good.”—“Once when he was playing
with a little boy, the son of the Duchess of Devonshire, and
they could not keep a little sledge, with tin Soldiers in it,
steady, he went and fetched a silver crucifix and beads given
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I41
to him by his Italian nurse, and put it into the sledge, Say-
ing, ‘Here is something that will manage this and every-
thing else in the world.’”—“After a long illness, he expressed
his gratitude and thanks in such a manner to those who
had been kind to him, that he was more loved than
ever.”*
Around Hurstmonceaux Place the country, which is so
bare near the castle, becomes luxuriantly rich and wooded.
The house is large, forming a massy square with projecting
semi-circular bows at the corners, the appearance of which
(due to Wyatt) certainly produces a very ugly effect outside,
but is exceedingly comfortable within. Mr. Wilberforce,
who rented it in 1810, thus describes it :—
“I am in a corner of Sussex, in an excellent house,
and a place almost as pretty as the neighbourhood of the
sea ever is. There is a fine old castle here, built in
Henry VI.'s time, but in complete preservation till some
twenty years ago, and, though this is a very good private
gentleman's habitation, yet when one sets it against a
Complete Castle, one side of which was two hundred feet
long, and which was in the complete costume of the age in
which it was reared, it dwindles into as much insignificance
as one of the armed knights of the middle ages, fully ac-
coutred, who should be suddenly transported into the
curtailed dimensions of one of the box-lobby loungers of
the opera, or even one of the cropped and docked troopers
of one of our modern regiments.
“The Castle is in the park; but, horrendum dictu / it was
pulled down, and the bare walls and ivy-mantled towers
* These anecdotes were told forty years after by Lady Jones's maid
Hickman, then Mrs. Parker.
I42 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
alone left standing; the materials being applied to the con-
struction of a new house, which, on the whole, cost twice as
much, I understand, as it would have taken to make the
castle habitable, for it had fallen a little into arrears. I
don't know, however, that we who inhabit the new mansion
may not have made a good exchange, by gaining in comfort
what is lost in magnificence; for the old building was of
such a prodigious extent, that it would have required the
Contents of almost a whole colliery to keep it warm ; and I
think few things more wretched (of the kind, I mean) than
living in a house which it is beyond the powers of the
fortune to keep in order; like a great body with a languid
circulation, all is cold and comfortless.”
Mrs. Hare-Naylor's life at Hurstmonceaux must have
astonished her rustic neighbours, and still more her neigh-
bours in her own rank of life, of whom there were few with
whom she cared to associate, except the ladies at Ashburn-
ham Place, where the fine library was a great delight to her.
Not only, when within the house, was she always occupied
in the deep study of Greek authors, but during her walks
in the park and shrubberies she was always seen dressed in
white, and she was always accompanied by a beautiful tame
white doe, which used to walk by her side, even when she
went to church. Her foreign life led her to regard Sunday
merely as a fête day, and she used frequently to scandalize
the church-going population by sitting at a window looking
out upon the road, working at her tambour-frame, when
they were going to church. Her impetuosity in liking and
* Letter to Lord Muncaster. See Wilberforce’s “Life and Cor-
respondence,” vol. iii. pp. 464, 466. Lond., 1838.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I43
disliking often led her to make friends with persons beneath
her, or to take them into her service when they were of a
character which rendered her notice exceedingly undesirable.
The two women she took most notice of in the parish were
the last persons who ever did public penance at Hurstmon-
ceaux, having both to stand in a white sheet in the church-
yard for their “various offspring,” so that people said, “There
are Mrs. Hare-Naylor's friends doing penance.” And it was
long remembered with amusement that when one of her
maids was afterwards found to have misbehaved herself, she
said, “Poor thing, she cannot help it; I really believe it
must be something in Že air /”
Yet in her heart she was of a most holy life; ardent in all
her feelings and acts, her whole soul was constantly poured
out in prayer. As a Mr. Mitchell, one of whom she saw
much at this time, said afterwards to her son Julius,
“She did truly embrace Christ with her whole heart.” Her
words were cherished through life by her children as those
of an angel, and to their latest days the recollection of the
Four Brothers lingered lovingly over every incident of the
early years spent with their “precious mother” in the family
home. “O that old age were truly second childhood It
is seldom more like it than the berry is to the rosebud,”
wrote one of the four many years after; and another (Julius)
who, living hard by, was wont to cherish every recollection
of his beloved mother in the scenes where she had lived,
wrote in recollection of these happy days, “What a type
of a happy family is the family of the sun With what
order, with what harmony, with what blessed peace do his
children the planets move around him, shining with the
I 44 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
light which they drink in from their parent's face at once on
him and on one another.”*
For the two first years of their residence at Hurstmon-
ceaux the family circle was enlarged by one who made up
in some degree for the literary and intellectual society they
had left at Bologna, and in her letters to her valued Aponte,
Mrs. Hare-Naylor constantly dwelt upon the fortunate
choice she had been enabled to make in appointing Dr.
Lehmann as tutor to her son Francis, and under whom he
was making Such progress as to be an astonishment to all
who knew him and an intense delight to his mother. When
Lehmann returned to Germany in 1802, with the intention
of taking a professorship in the University of Göttingen, it
was intended that Francis should accompany him thither,
that he might continue to have the benefit of his teaching,
for he had been a most indefatigable tutor, in spite of a
devotion to his own studies of natural history, so that, as .
Mrs. Hare-Naylor quaintly observes in one of her letters, he
would impart information to Francis even while he was
“dissecting the brains of a butterfly, or ascertaining the legs
of a louse.” The German plan, however, was abandoned,
in order to send Francis to the tutorship of Dr. Brown, an
eminent professor in the Marischal College at Aberdeen, and
thither he proceeded in August, 1802, after a visit to Lord
Palmerston at Edinburgh. He remained at Aberdeen two
years without returning. Of the diligence with which his
days there were employed the following letter to his mother
will give an idea —
* “Guesses at Truth,” 1856, p. 554.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I45
“ April 14, 1804.—To give an account of my day. Before
breakfast I read Cicero's and Demosthenes' orations alter-
nately by myself. From ten to eleven I read Tacitus, of
which I explain five chapters each lesson to Mr. Siev-
wright at night, and at the same time I write a translation
of a chapter of Livy. From eleven to twelve I read books
on politics and moral philosophy, from one to two Dr.
Brown as usual three times a week; from two to four I study
the Law of Nature and Nations, as a preparation for my study
of the common law; seven to eight, Mr. Sievwright; eight
to nine, I read Homer and Virgil alternately by myself;
nine to ten, Smythe ; ten to eleven I prepare Smythe's
lesson, and if there is any time to spare I employ it in read-
ing English poetry, as even that has great use. So much
till eleven o'clock, when I undress. I have given up going
to supper, when the college ended, for want of time. For
the time for which nothing else is allotted, and on Sundays,
there is miscellaneous and superficial English and French
reading. The time I have allotted for walking is from
twelve to one, but I seldom employ it for that purpose.
“I long to be present at the unpacking of the fine library
which has come from Bologna, and I envy you the pleasure
of seeing again our old friends the Scanderbeg and the
Judith. I shall be very glad to hear how you managed
to hang both the great Guido and the great Guercino in
the dining-room. Then what is to become of the Paul
Veronese, for certainly it deserves a place inter priores #"
MRS. HARE-NAYLOR to FRANCIS HARE.
“Sept. 5, 1802.—‘Nil mortalibus arduum est.’ This, it
is reported, Bonaparte said, when he ascended the Alps to
Conquer Italy. You have chosen it, my beloved Francis,
for your motto, and in the difficulties you have at present
to encounter, to will is to do. In speaking slow you have
VOL. I. L
I46 MEMORIAIS OF A QUIET LIFE.
only to conquer an ill habit of not pronouncing the finals
distinct. You have not, like Demosthenes, any natural
impediment to surmount, nor, like Bonaparte, to conquer
countries without arms or ammunition; but still the prin-
ciple of industry and attention to amend in time a fault
which would become a real prejudice to your advancement
hereafter, is a great and material step towards still more
important objects.
“Dr. Brown must have heard, with the deepest regret, of
Mr. Brand's throwing away his money on a county election.
Perhaps this ill-judged measure at his first entry into life
may destroy many of those fair prospects which his early
virtues gave the promise of. To get rid of a good fortune
with little credit and no honour, there is no surer method
than a contested election, nor in this case was there ever a
prospect of success. You know with what prudence your
father behaved last year with regard to this county, nor has
his merit been less this year in withstanding the general
voice that called upon him to oppose our present member.
“Perhaps, as we have so very often experienced the
favour of Providence, and the wisest of us are so inadequate
to decide on our own real advantage, it may be among His
kindnesses our not having let our house this autumn ; for in
the general opinion war is but too likely to recommence,
and in that disastrous case, happy are those who are living
in their own land, and able to protect their own property.
You, my Francis, are probably born to live in a portentous
age. You inherit the principles of true and genuine liberty
from your ancestors. You have yourself seen the lament-
able effects of anarchy and licentiousness assuming the name
of the true goddess, and treading down her altars. And
now, under the care of the pious, wise, and learned Dr.
Brown, you are imbibing at their source the untainted senti-
ments of real patriotism and real freedom ; but, above all,
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 147
my Francis, I exhort you to study the works of my favourite
Cicero. Demosthenes excels more in argument and decla-
mation, but none of the ancients have written with more
purity of mind and principle of the great question of public
good and the duties of the citizen. Your father did not
intend publishing the continuation of his history until our
arrival in France, when he intended to revise the first two
volumes and publish them anew, together with the two
succeeding ones, when he had the means of consulting
some new authorities; but should we remain in Fngland, I
imagine this plan must change. Adieu, my best-beloved—
my darling son.”
The History alluded to in this letter is that of the Hel-
vetic Republic, which Mr. Hare-Naylor had begun at
Bologna, and which he afterwards published, dedicated,
“To the immortal memory of Charles James Fox, the
enlightened champion of civil and religious liberty.”
In March, 1803, good old Mrs. Shipley died—a great
loss to her numerous children and grandchildren. “She
lived to a good old age, being in her eighty-seventh year,”
wrote Lady Jones to Mrs. Parker, “and enjoyed all her
faculties to the last, and resigned her breath without any
suffering—not a sigh or groan, but went off in a quiet
angelic sleep.”
In 1803, Mrs. Hare-Naylor, who had never quite given
up the pursuit of painting, to which she had been so
devoted in Italy, and who never ceased lamenting the
destruction of Hurstmonceaux Castle, and the loss it occa-
Sioned her children, formed the design of leaving them a
perfect series of large finished water-colour drawings, repre-
senting all the different parts of the castle, interior as well
148 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
as exterior, before its destruction. This series of drawings
she completed, never relaxing her labour and care till the
whole were finished ; but the minute application for so long
a period seriously affected her health, and after she had
complained for some time of pain in her eyes, and an
eminent oculist had been consulted, it was found that
disease of the optic nerve had begun, which obliged her to
lay aside at once all her usual employments, and which
ended, two years later, when she was only in her forty-
eighth year, in total blindness, the calamity which five
years before she had spoken of to Lady Jones as the only
misfortune utterly unendurable. It was remembered at
Hurstmonceaux how exceedingly tall and thin she was at
this time, and that she used to knock her elbows together
behind her back till they clicked
In January, 1804, Julius and Marcus were sent together
vº Tunbridge School, which was then under the care of Dr.
Vicesimus Knox; but Julius soon fell ill there, and as his
gymptoms were of a consumptive tendency, he was removed,
to the great grief of his little brother, who exclaimed, “If
Jule go away, Marcus pisen hisself.” It was decided that
Julius should accompany his parents to the Continent, for it
was now absolutely necessary that they should go abroad,
as Mrs. Hare-Naylor's health was failing So rapidly, that
foreign air was looked upon as a last resort. They left
England early in August, 1804, and travelled first to
Vienna, returning by slow stages to Weimar, where they
spent the following winter. Francis in the meantime was
sent to another private tutor's, Mr. Michells, at Buckland,
near Cambridge, where he pursued his studies with the
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I49
utmost ardour. Augustus remained under the care of Lady
Jones, who sent him at ten years old to Mr. Stretch's school
at Twyford, where he used to play with his little companions
at “the siege of Copenhagen,” amongst the great tomb
stones in the churchyard. Hence he was removed to
Winchester in 1804. His father at this time writes to him,
“Your letters have given the greatest pleasure both to your
mother and me, and the affectionate manner in which you
speak of her illness has quite delighted her.”
It is to this winter of 1804–5, spent at Weimar, that
Julius owed his first acquaintance with and interest in
German literature. There, the great names of Goethe,
Wieland, Herder, and Schiller became to him familiar
household words. The extraordinary gifts of his accom-
plished mother gathered around her, even in these days of
sickness, all that was most intellectual in that most intel-
lectual of German cities. And the good duchess who
honoured the great men of her city, as she was honoured
by them, was the kind friend whose presence daily cheered
the darkened chamber of the blind lady, and whose sweet
ministrations were constantly afforded in the long hours of
suffering from which she was now scarcely ever free. It
was as he left Weimar, in May, 1805, that Julius Hare first
saw the Wartburg, the scene of Luther's nominal imprison.
ment; and there, as he used playfully to say in after years,
he “first learnt to throw inkstands at the devil.”
During the year spent at Weimar, Mr. Hare-Naylor wrote
the novel—the very dull novel—of “Theodore, or the
Enthusiast,” which was dedicated, “To Her Serene High-
ness the reigning Duchess of Saxe-Weimar, in token of
&
I5o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
gratitude, admiration, and esteem.” Flaxman, who, with
his sister (who was governess to little Anna), accompanied
the Hare-Naylors to Weimar, made a series of beautiful
little illustrations for this novel, which have never been
engraved.
MRS. HARE-NAYLOR to LADY JONES.
“Weimar, Wov. 12, 1804.—The calamity I have so long
foreseen and dreaded, my dearest sister, is at length fallen
upon me: it is now two whole days since I have distinguished
any visible object. The tranquillity of despair, dreadful as it
is, is nothing compared with what I have suffered during the
last twenty months, in a fluctuation between hope and fear.
You, my beloved sister, who know my ideas and sensations
on every subject, will picture to yourself-all I might say,
and I shall have not less of your compassion than your
love. It is towards you that I look for all I can hope of
comfort either for myself or my poor dear children. Indeed,
it is amongst my heaviest afflictions, the feeling myself
incapable of the duties of wife and mother: this admits of
but one consolation, that though David was not permitted
to build the temple of the Lord, yet it was accepted, for he
had it in his heart.
“Hare is very much at court, but always most kind and
attentive to me. It was only on the 9th that the hereditary
prince brought home his bride, a Grand Duchess of Russia,
since which there have been nothing but dinners and
festivals, though Hare prefers the quiet Society he met at
Prince Clary's, at Teplitz, to all the splendour and mag-
nificence displayed on this occasion. The grand duchess's
wardrobe arrived in eighty waggons, and her profusion of
jewels is such that she could change the set every day for a
...welvemonth. Julius has learned a great deal of German,
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. - I51
but is too shy to speak. . . . . May God in his mercy
preserve you to support and assist your poor blind
* “ G. H. N.”
In the summer of 1805 Mrs. Hare-Naylor's longing
desire for the presence of her son Francis, caused him to be
summoned to her side, as her health was daily becoming
worse. She rallied, however, sufficiently to carry out her
strong wish of revisiting Switzerland—the land of liberty
whence she had drawn such ardent aspirations in the days
of health and happiness, and when the Hurstmonceaux life,
now closed for ever, was just opening before her. They
moved first to Bruckenau, and afterwards to Lausanne.
Hence she sent to her cousin, the Dowager Lady Spencer,
her verses
ON BLINDNESS.
“He chastens whom He loves | *—'Tis thus we read
In that blest book from whence all truths proceed.
While then his mercies humbly we implore,
'Tis ours to bow, submit, and still adore,
Content, in awe, to venerate his plan,
When laid too deep for mortal eyes to scan.
Our keenest sufferings to some purpose tend,
To calm our passions, or our hearts to mend;
To lift our thoughts from earth to heaven above,
And teach frail man to trust his Maker's love.
In all our trials subject to his will,
God blends some good to counterpoise the ill;
And when his wrath divine inflicts a woe,
His love paternal mitigates the blow :
E’en in the heaviest loss, the loss of sight,
That love can fill the mind with inward light,
Bestow on other organs ampler powers,
And bless our night, like nature's, with its flowers,
I52
MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
No more that orb whose vivifying ray
Gives life and vigour to returning day,
Gladdens my eyes with its resplendent flame,
Yet still its warmth revives my drooping frame.
No more, to me, the moon reflects her light,
Nor glittering planets meet the unconscious sight,
Yet o'er my senses steals the calm serene,
And all within is tranquil as the scene.
In vain would nature too her charms conceal,
Her treasures, though unseen, I see, I feel.
The torrent, dashing from the mountain near,
Breaks in rude cadence on the astonished ear;
While the clear rivulet that gently flows
With lulling murmurs soothes me to repose.
Ofttimes I seek the grove or shady bower
When contemplation claims the sober hour;
Oft the pure fragrance of the plants inhale,
And tread the flowery mead, or spicy vale,
The quickened scent delighting to explore
A thousand Sweets, unmark'd, unknown before.
E’en though the landscape flies the clouded eye,
Imagination can her tints supply,
O'er the rude scenery cast a brighter hue,
And bring a new creation to my view.
The pine frowns darkly o’er the ivied cell,
The ruin proudly nods, the torrents swell;
Above the wooded vale steep Alps arise,
And threat with snow-clad peaks their kindred skies.
Thus as rich fancy paints with varying grace
Bold nature’s grand majestic forms we trace,
Ideal beauties decorate the scene,
No clouds obscure it, and no specks are seen.
Oft too shall Harmony’s celestial strain
Soothe to a soft forgetfulness of pain,
Lull in seraphic dreams our mental powers,
And steal from adverse fate Some blissful hours.
But chief the social pleasures are designed
To charm the ear, and fascinate the mind.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I53
Satire's keen edge, whose point e'en vice can awe,
Seductive wit restrain’d by moral law,
The patriot thought in manly language drest,
The tale well told, the laugh-creating jest,
The classic page (deep mine of treasured ore
By turns to criticize, by turns explore)—
These, the pure sources of convivial mirth,
Expand our talents, and give genius birth,
The soul's appropriate energies reveal,
Nor need the eye, to make the bosom feel.
Still we enjoy those dear delightful ties,
On which the firmest prop of life relies.
When the fond husband or the child draws near
The well-known step sounds grateful to the ear:
A son’s Sweet voice can vibrate to the heart,
And love's soft touch the thrill of joy impart:
And memory now restores to mental sight
Their long-loved features lost in shades of night,
Now joys with thoughtful gratitude to blend
In one dear form the sister and the friend.
Friendship too opens wide her treasured store,
And as we grow the poorer, gives the more.
Her tender sympathy is ever nigh,
Nor lets a wish escape its watchful eye;
While, as the sun revives with genial heat,
The drooping flowers on which the tempests beat,
How sweet compassion cheers our clouded days,
And loves in us the feelings that we raise.
Wisdom presides o'er God's omniscient plan—
But Faith and Hope are given for guides to man.
While Hope consoles us in this vale of tears,
Faith here prepares us for the heavenly spheres,
And when our mortal part is wrapt in night,
Uplifts our spirits to the throne of light.
During the illness at Lausanne, Francis was of the
greatest possible assistance to his parents. He entirely
undertook for the time the education of his brother Julius,
I54 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
a task which he afterwards in some degree continued by
writing a series of essays on different literary subjects for
the benefit of his brother. “Francis Hare, who gave
Julius his first initiation into Greek, was also an excellent
German Scholar, and no doubt used his knowledge of that,
as of other modern literature, to make his lessons more
lively.”
As Mrs. Hare-Naylor felt her last moments approaching,
she solemnly and urgently in writing commended her five
children to her sister's care, but especially her little daughter
Anna. She lingered till the late spring. On Good Friday,
she said to Coleman, her faithful maid, “The day after to-
morrow will be that of our Saviour's resurrection, and will
possibly be the last of my life; ” adding, “If I meet your
mother in another world, I will tell her how kind and atten-
tive you have been to me.” And so it was. Having taken
her husband's hand and kissed it, on the morning of Easter
Sunday, the 6th of April, 1806, she fell into a sweet sleep,
from which she never awakened, “giving up her soul to
Him, who, as on that day, overcame death.”*
Just one week before her cousin, died in England, on
March 30, 1806, Georgiana, the beautiful Duchess of
Devonshire.
At the time of his wife's death, Mr. Hare-Naylor, being
then in his fifty-second year, was still very handsome, but
exceedingly reserved and cold in manner. He could not
bear to return to Hurstmonceaux, where, as he wrote to
* Epitaph at Hurstmonceaux.
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I55
Lady Jones, every flower and every plant recalled the recol-
lection of happy moments “past with his lost Georgiana.”
His debts were numerous and his children many, and in the
following year he sold the estate of his ancestors, a step
which all his descendants have never ceased to deplore.
Without failing in the respect due to their father, it was
to Lady Jones and to their Shipley relations that his chil-
dren henceforward always turned for advice, for comfort,
and affection, and in the house of this beloved aunt they
found the only home they knew from this time. “My
dearest Georgiana,” wrote Lady Jones, on hearing of her
loss, “if she knows in the realms of bliss she assuredly
inhabits what passes in the world, shall ever see that I
will exert my feeble endeavours to supply her loss, as long
as life and health permit me to do so. My dear little Anna
especially I shall receive with open arms.” And henceforth
little Anna always lived with her, recognised before the
world as her adopted daughter; Augustus was educated at
her expense, and passed his holidays with her, and her care
and anxiety for his welfare proved that she considered him
little less her child than Anna ; Francis and Julius con-
sulted her and looked up to her on all points, finding in her
“a second mother, a monitress wise and loving, both in
encouragement and reproof.” “To the reverence which
Julius entertained for Lady Jones,” wrote one who knew
him well in later days, “may be ascribed much of the
nobleness and purity of character, the chivalrous respect for
womanhood which distinguished his whole life.”
The country home of Lady Jones was at Worting, a place
which she had bought, near Basingstoke, a comfortable old-
I56 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
fashioned red brick house, with some fine trees near it, but
the surrounding country flat, open, and barren to the last
degree. For this very reason had Lady Jones chosen it—
she had been so relaxed by her long residence in India, she
said, that she wished for the most bracing and exposed
situation it was possible to discover.
In March, 1813, Lady Jones fetched little Anna home
very unwell from her school at Chiswick, and though she
was nursed by her aunt with almost more than maternal
devotion, she sunk at the end of a week. Lady Jones
never could bear her to be mentioned afterwards. After
her own death a small parcel with a black edge was found
in her writing-case, marked “Memorandums, Helas !” con-
taining the medical account of her illness, the newspaper
notice of her death, and a little packet inscribed, “Triste
et Chere,” enclosing the earliest primrose of that year's
spring, on which Lady Jones had written, “The sweet angel
brought me this little nosegay, Wednesday, 17th March.
On Wednesday, 24th, she herself had faded, drooped, and
ceased to breathe.” In the same parcel is preserved this
fragment of a letter from old Lady Spencer :—
“‘We now call it death to leave this world, but were we
once out of it, and enstated into the happiness of the next,
we should think it were dying indeed to come into it again.'
So says Sherlock, whom I was reading when you sent to me
Sunday evening. Had dear little Anna's life been prolonged,
it would have been a course of Suffering to herself and
anxiety to you. Mow you can feel no anxiety on her
account, for I think it was quite remarkable the little traits
of amiable feelings that appeared during her illness.”
THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I57
Augustus Hare wrote to Lady Jones:—
“Amid abundant cause for sorrow, it must be some Con-
solation to you to reflect that my sister is gone to that
mother who committed her to your care, and that she will
have nothing to recount but instances of your countless.
goodness. You have exchanged for a form that prayed
for you on earth, a spirit that is praying for you in
heaven. All the improper habits that you have ever
checked in her, all the good principles you have ever in-
stilled into her, all the religious precepts you ever taught
her, are, and will be, day and night rehearsed in the ears of
our merciful Judge, and if they are blessed who give food
here, what shall be done to them who minister spiritual
sustenance, who have conducted the steps of others to the
well of everlasting life, who have exerted themselves to
redeem a soul from the bondage of sin and Satan? Indeed,
when I think of these things, I feel I would not disbelieve
a future state for the universe. Then, indeed, would our
fate be wretched, and what comfort could we possibly derive
from the never-ending sleep of my dear sister, since we
never should see her again? Even in this world the care
you have lavished upon her will not be in vain. The
recollection of it is lodged in the bosom of her surviving
brothers, and will, I trust, produce a harvest of affectionate
and grateful exertion.” -
In 1807 Mr. Hare-Naylor had contracted a second
marriage with a connection of his first wife, the widow of
Colonel Mealey, by whom he had become the father of
three children, Georgiana, born Nov. II, 1809; Gustavus,
born Sept. 15, 1811 ; and Reginald, born Dec. 29, 1812.
In 1814 he went abroad with his second family, and died
158 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
at Tours on the 16th of April, 1815, after a lingering illness,
in which his son Augustus shared the fatigues and anxieties
of his stepmother. His remains were removed to Hurst-
monceaux, where he is buried beneath the altar of the
parish church. -
IV.
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE.
“The great secret of spiritual perfection is expressed in the
words of St. Ignatius Loyola, ‘Hoc vult Deus.” God wishes
me to stand in this post, to fulfil this duty, to suffer this disease,
to be afflicted with this calamity, this contempt, this vexation.
God wishes this, whatever the world and self-love may dictate,
hoc vult Deus. His will is my law.”—Broadstone of Honour.
“T) IOGRAPHIES are wholesome and nourishing reading
in proportion as they approach the character of auto-
biography, when they are written by those who loved or were
familiar with their subjects—who had an eye for the tokens of
individual character, and could pick up the words as they
dropped from loving lips.” Thus, in middle life, wrote
Julius Hare, the younger of the two authors of the “Guesses
at Truth,” and thus, in following the footprints of his life
and that of his brother Augustus, the truest picture is that
which can be drawn from their own letters or thoughts,
from the recollection of their surviving relations and friends,
or from the reminiscences of the poor who loved them in
solitary Little Alton amid the Wiltshire Downs, or among
the leafy lanes of Hurstmonceaux.
The chief influence in the youth of both brothers was
that of their aunt, Lady Jones, whose house was their home,
16o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and who generously made herself responsible for their
education. Unlike their own mother, of whose gentle
loving-kindness her four sons retained an equal recollection,
Lady Jones chiefly showed her affection for her nephews by
the severity with which she corrected their faults, while for
herself she exacted respect rather than love, and had no
sympathy with any demonstration of affection. Her nephews,
though devoted to her from motives of gratitude, never
ventured to be familiar with her, and Augustus especially
suffered in after life from the want of mutual confidence
which was thus engendered. In society Lady Jones could
be exceedingly pleasant and agreeable. Miss Berry, who
knew her well, always spoke of her as “that most perfect
gentlewoman.” She was very quick in her movements, old-
fashioned and peculiar in dress, short in person, and she
had sharp, piercing eyes.
Lady Jones sent Augustus Hare to Winchester as a
Commoner at the beginning of the short half-year, after the
summer holidays of 1804: he was placed at once in the
middle division of the Fifth Form. Archdeacon Randall,
who followed him to Winchester in October of the same
year, thus describes his personal appearance at that time:
—“Hare was then, as afterwards, tall, thin, and delicate-
looking, and his dress peculiar, varying from that of other
boys—much such as might have been supposed to have had
its cut and colour selected by a lady who, though not an
old maid, was a widow, and not much conversant with the
habiliments and habits of boys in general. He was, how-
ever, even then an object of general interest in the School.
There was a near race between Hare and Boscawen
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. I61
(younger son of the then Lord Falmouth), for one of
the highest places in the Part, and as the half-year drew
to its close, the marks that they daily obtained in the
Classicus Paper were eagerly watched by their respective
friends. Of course, the public wishes were divided, but
I think if the precedence had been settled by votes,
Hare would have had it, perhaps for the very reason that
he was in person such as I have described him, young, and
looking too slight for a struggle of hard work. This carried
him through a great deal, for though he had peculiarities of
voice and manner that were often laughed at, I do not think
he ever underwent any unkind treatment, but was always
regarded as a tender plant that ought to be gently handled.
He was successful in this contest, which was a happy thing
for him, as it insured his being put up into the senior part
of the Fifth before the great struggle of the half-year, and
‘the standing-up week’ at the end of it, the preparation for
which would probably have tried his strength rather too
severely.”
Augustus went into college at Election, 1806, which was
a fortunate time; for he had got up so high in the school as
a Commoner, that he came into college as a Praefect, and,
consequently, had no fagging to undergo, and the life of a
college Praefect was as comfortable as it is possible for a
school-boy life to be. Randall became a Praefect at Elec-
tion, 1807, and from that time began an intimacy with
Augustus. “We were both of us thoughtful and imagina-
tive,” writes Archdeacon Randall, “great politicians, and
full of speculative plans for the improvement of the republic
in which we lived, and the constitution of which in the main
WOL. I. M
I62 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
we much approved and admired, though we were sensible
of blemishes which we longed to remove. We both thought,
as I believe almost every public school-man that has seriously
considered the subject does think, that the authority of the
Praefects and their responsibility for the order and character
of the School, and as a correlative and compensation for
this, their power over their inferiors, and right to command
their services, ought to be maintained ; but we also per-
ceived the many occasional abuses of this power. The
problem was, how to repress these without obliging the
oppressed junior to bring his complaint before the masters,
which was always an invidious proceeding, and one in
which the masters could rarely get to the bottom of a case,
so as to do real justice between the parties. The public
opinion of the school, and especially the public opinion of
the general body of the Praefects, was always against a
tyrannical Praefect; but an ill-conditioned Praefect, much
like an ill-conditioned great-landlord, or manufacturer, or
ship captain, or other man possessed of power, did not care
about public opinion; and the question was, how to bring it
to bear upon him in some way so that he should feel the
weight of it. For this purpose we devised a parliament,
and I am sure no constitution-mongers in the world ever
set about their work with more earnestness and affection
than we did. We knew it could never be brought into
practical operation, at any rate in our day, but it was such a
pleasure to contemplate it as a thing possible. What
delightful talks we had about it! How we returned to the
subject again and again How we discussed details
How we canvassed and obviated objections ! How we
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 163
settled the place of meeting and all the form and order of
proceedings It must be confessed that our undertaking
was not an easy one. The republic with which we had to
deal contained in it eighteen separate authorities, each of
them absolute over all the subjects, who were in number only
fifty-two, and each of the fifty-two subject to each of the
eighteen, and bound to serve that one of the eighteen that
first required his service. This was the constitution, upon
which we did not presume to think of infringing. I daresay
you will think it odd that at the distance of more than half
a century I should go back to this subject as the point of
interest that I specially remember of my intercourse with
Hare. But though it looks like playing with straws, it
shows the bias of the mind. To be in Parliament was, all
through his young days, the thing for which he longed.”
Weak health and a naturally indolent disposition pre-
vented the school career of Augustus Hare from being as
brilliant as that of his brother Julius, and his frequently
missing the prizes he tried for, brought down angry letters
from his relations, whom he more seriously offended in the
autumn of 1808 by taking part in a rebellion raised by the
Winchester Praefects against Dr. Goddard for his making a
Saint's Day into a School Day, without their consent. His
account of this scrape to Lady Jones is so candid and open
as to seem deserving of insertion.
“Mov. 21, 1808.-I suspect, my dear aunt, from your
long silence, that you are very angry with me; indeed you
have, I am grieved to say, more reason for this than you
perhaps imagine. However, before I begin my narrative,
permit me to assure you that with a new year I intend, if
164 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
possible, to turn over a new leaf. I say if possible, because
after the many assurances I have given you that I intended
to throw off idleness, from the time I was eight years old, I
am almost afraid to make another resolution. I have not,
during this half-year, been content with doing no good, but
I have done harm; I consented, fool that I was, to join in
an act of resistance to the authority of the masters, and when
the names of the insurgents were given up, mine was at the
top. The circumstances of the case were these. It has
always been customary to ask the Praefects whether they had
any objection to have a Saint's Day a School Day. Hence
arose a supposition that we had by the statutes a right to a
holiday on a Saint's Day. Goddard infringed that supposed
right; we remonstrated, he persisted, and it was proposed
that the Praefects should exert their authority over the in-
feriors, and keep them out of school. I was angry with
Goddard, and ashamed, stupidly ashamed, of differing from
my schoolfellows. I asked if the other Praefects consented
to this step, I was answered ‘Yes.’ ‘Then so do I,’ was my
answer. I afterwards found that all the Praefects were so
far from agreeing in the step, that there were but eight
besides myself who consented out of seventeen, and they
were chiefly junior Praefects. I immediately hurried down
into our playground where the insurgents were, and deter-
mined, as all the Praefects were not unanimous, to have
nothing to do with the business. Just at that moment
Gabell came into school, my retreat was cut off, and I con-
tinued one amongst the other fools. We, however, in ten
minutes all came to our senses, and returned into school,
and upon making Our Submission, have all been pardoned,
and an act of amnesty has been passed. But the masters
cannot look upon us in future with any confidence; they
cannot entrust us with any offices. This, however, is a
punishment light in Comparison of what I ought to expect.
Augustus AND JULIUS HARE. 165,
This account must give you a great deal of uneasiness.
Endeavour, however, I beg of you, to pardon it. Goddard
has already done so.”
After receiving Lady Jones's answer to this, which was
milder than he expected, Augustus Hare wrote:—
“AVov. 29, 1808.-In your letter you neither said nor
threatened anything, which I did not deserve. It was all
true, as was a great deal more which you might have added
if you had determined to punish me with the greatest
severity. You might have added that for the last ten years
and a half I have been a plague to you ; that you have ex-
pended hundreds of pounds upon me; that I have been far
from improving, as I Ought to have done, the advantages I
have had ; that in return for all your kindness I have never
conquered my natural indolence. There is only one thing
you could not have added, that I have not loved you as
much as my other brothers would. I wait with submission
and anxiety for your final decision concerning my punish-
Whent.”
In the beginning of 1810 Dr. Goddard thus wrote to an-
nounce to Lady Jones a vacancy at New College, to which
Augustus was elected in the following summer:-
“Your nephew is a young man for whom I have always
entertained a high regard, and I am therefore happy in any-
thing that bids fair to promote his welfare. There was a
time, when he appeared not to be going on so well as I
could wish ; I was then unwilling either to disturb your
mind or to disguise the truth, and therefore thought it most
prudent to hold my tongue, unless a communication should
appear absolutely necessary, which I flattered myself it
166 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
would not be, for as he possesses a good heart and a good
understanding, I gave him credit for recovering his senses,
which were warped a little by an early elevation to a high
situation. Experience has proved that I was right; for
more than a year past he has gradually been recovering my
esteem, which I assure you he now possesses as fully as
ever.”
In 1806 Julius had been sent to the Charter-house (then
under the guidance of Dr. Raine), where he soon made
rapid progress. Among his companions there, were Thirl-
wall and Grote, the future historians of Greece; Wad-
dington, afterwards Dean of Durham ; Sir William Norris,
and Sir Henry Havelock. The two last especially were
united with Julius Hare in a school friendship which lasted
through life. Havelock was always called Phloss by the
others, a name intended as short for philosopher. During
his time at the Charter-house, Julius received constant
extra assistance in his studies from Francis, his “kindest
brother,” as he always called him, to whom he sent his
verses for inspection before they were shown up. Francis
always loved Julius the best of his brothers, though
the whole four were united almost to a proverb—“The
most brotherly of brothers,” Landor used to call them.
At this time Francis Hare was at Christ Church, but he
did not distinguish himself there. The fact was that the
pupil of Mezzofanti, Lehmann, and Dr. Brown went up to
college knowing too much. He found himself so far beyond
all his compeers, and he had such a profound contempt for
the examinations of the Oxford schools, as compared with
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 167
those which he had been accustomed to see in the Italian
and German universities, that he neglected study altogether,
and devoted his whole time to hunting and other amuse-
ments. In spite of this, he was so naturally talented, that
he could not help increasing his vast amount of knowledge,
even during his idle years at Oxford, so that Dean Jackson
used to say of him, that “he was the only rolling Stone he
knew that ever gathered any moss.”
When he left Oxford, Francis Hare lived principally at
his rooms in the Albany, and the remembrance of many of
his old friends still lingers on his pleasant chambers (in the
end house in the court), and the delightful parties which
used to meet in them, and which included all that was most
agreeable and clever in London young-manhood. In his
conversational powers he was almost unrivalled, and it was
thus, not in writing, that he made known his immense mass
of information on all possible subjects. “Francis leads a
rambling life of pleasure and idleness,” wrote his cousin,
Mrs. Dashwood, “he must have read—but who can tell at
what time? for wherever there is dissipation, there is
Francis in its wake and its most ardent pursuer; yet in
spite of this, let any subject be named in society, and
Francis will know more of it than nineteen out of its
twenty.”
When Augustus Hare went to reside at New College in
the Michaelmas term of 1810, he found himself surrounded
by a large circle of his Winchester friends. Randall had
gone up to Trinity, Oxford, the year before, but Black-
stone and Stow were with him at New College, and many
163 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE,
others with whom he was less intimate. Hull of Brasenose
and Arnold of Corpus also belonged to the closest circle of
his friends. “Friendship,” he wrote in one of his note-
books of this time, “is love without the veil and the
flowers.”
A miniature Parliament was still the Elysium in which
the imagination of Hare and his friends delighted. Ran-
dall and he at once wished to establish a debating club at
Oxford, on the principles of that which already existed at
Cambridge, under the name of “The Cambridge University
Political Society.” They talked to all their friends about it,
and tried to enlist them ; but the overture was coldly
received for the most part. They met with only two hearty
coadjutors, Kent of Trinity, and Comyn of St. John's.
Even these two, and Randall himself, took rather a de-
sponding view of the matter. They thought the attempt
would be an utter failure, and that they should only be
laughed at ; but they could not bear to disappoint Hare,
whose heart was entirely set upon it. Thus “The Attic
Society” (so called after much deliberation, with something
of a punning reference to the abodes of most of its first
members) held its first meeting in Randall's rooms and under
his presidency. The members at first were only seven in
number. They were :—
1. Kent, Trinity. He was the star of his college and of
the society. He took a distinguished first-class in mathe-
matics, and was the delight of every company that he
entered, the dearest friend of all his friends, who were
many, and moreover, the best oar upon the river. He died
in his twenty-eighth year, having given promise of a brilliant
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 169
career in his profession, though as yet only a pleader under
the Bar.
2. Cornyn, St. John's. He was Chief Justice at Madras,
retired on a pension, and died in London.
3. Hare, New College.
4. Roe, Trinity, a lively Irishman from Tipperary;
clever, good-humoured, and much liked; but with a con-
siderable spice of the Irish capacity for blundering. He
sat in Parliament (1834) for Cashel, as a joint of O’Connell's
tail.
5. Randall, Trinity, Archdeacon of Berkshire.
6. Streatfield, Trinity, afterwards Vicar of East Ham.
7. Everth, Trinity.
From this scanty beginning the society increased more
rapidly than its founders had ever ventured to expect.
Among the members shortly enrolled were:—
Singleton, Trinity, another good specimen of Irishry.
Ackerley, Trinity.
Smith, Trinity, afterwards Vicar of Grays near Henley.
Villiers, Baliol, afterwards Vicar of Bromsgrove.
Basevi, Baliol.
Lowe, Brasenose.
Milman, Brasenose, afterwards Dean of St. Paul's.
Hull, Brasenose.
Arnold, Corpus, Head Master of Rugby.
Bartholomew, Corpus, Archdeacon of Barnstaple.
Belin, New College.
Beckley, New College.
Blackstone, New College, Rector of Heckfield.
Stow, New College, Heber's chaplain in India.
Ching, St. John's.
Hayter, Trinity, Sir W. G., Secretary to the Treasury.
I7o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Evans, Trinity.
Andrews, Trinity.
Lowndes, Brasenose.
The Attic Society was such a darling object of Augustus
Hare's affections, that its history is in a great measure that
of his college life. Communication was opened between
the young Oxford society and that previously established at
Cambridge. Copies of their statutes were mutually trans-
mitted, and the members of each society were made
honorary members of the other. It is not recollected that
any member of the Cambridge society ever availed himself
of the privilege of attending the Oxford meetings; but
Augustus Hare, on a visit to Cambridge, took his seat and
spoke in theirs. He was complimented upon his speech,
when, with characteristic patriotism, he assured the Cam-
bridge men that in his own society he was quite an ordinary
speaker, and had many greatly his superiors.
When the society was fairly established, its founders
delighted themselves in building airy castles of its future
glories. They speculated upon the time, when in process
of years the present or some future undergraduate mem-
bers would have grown up into Dons and Heads of
Houses, and when even a Vice-Chancellor would on some
grand occasion leave his bedel and staff at the door, and
take his seat as a member, Subject, while so sitting, to
the authority of the president. These grand anticipations
were not destined to be realised. The Attic Society was
too far in advance of its age. The Dons always looked
unfavourably upon it; and in the troubled years that suc-
ceeded the peace of 1815, when all Debating Societies were
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 171
in bad odour, it came to an end, either in consequence of
some intimation from the authorities, or from the mere
prudence of its members. After its dissolution in Oxford,
the Attic Society was reformed into an annual meeting in
London, which lasted two or three years, and then dropped,
owing to the early deaths of several of its choicest members.”
Augustus was exceedingly fortunate in at Once obtaining
“the garden rooms” at New College, and from these rooms,
with their charming view across the green lawns and
between the old chestnuts to the beautiful Magdalen Tower,
he never afterwards moved. His opposite neighbour upon
the same staircase was afterwards “Chancellor Martin,” and
with him he had the common use of rooms and books which
intimate friends so located at Oxford generally enjoy.
Martin was already distinguished, even from his school-
days, for the Sound judgment, steady practice, and manners
at once firm and conciliating, which made him afterwards
so valuable to his bishop as a judicial officer, and so in-
fluential a member of Convocation.
The interest which Augustus Hare felt in politics in-
creased during his Oxford life, and, in October, 1813, he
gave evidence of the Sagacity and clear-sightedness with
which he had followed Napoleon in his German campaigns,
by a practical joke which he played upon the University,
and which rendered him remarkable for years afterwards, in
Societies where his better and worthier talents would have
passed unnoticed. On returning one evening from a
meeting of the Attic Society he wrote an account of a
* All the information regarding the Attic Society is due to notes
contributed by Archdeacon Randall.
172 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
great battle, and a victory gained over the Crown Prince
near the imaginary village of Altendorn, in imitation of a
bulletin from Napoleon. This arrived at Oxford the next
day by post, enclosed in a cover, to Martin Stow, Fellow
of New College, and professing to come from his father's
office in London, of which Mr. Eve (in whose name the
letter was written) was a clerk. Mr. Eve's letter began by
some statements about money matters, and proceeded, “I
am sorry to say that an account of a great victory over the
Crown Prince by Bonaparte has just reached the office,
which, as it has arrived too late for insertion in the evening
papers, I take the liberty of copying for you. There are
two dispatches to the Empress; the first, dated the 12th,
merely gives an account of what we heard before, that
Bonaparte having left Dresden, detached a large army
towards Berlin and then retreated on Duben. It concludes
thus:—‘If the allies follow us, a great battle may be hourly
expected.’ The second is as follows, dated the 21st, head-
quarters at Duben" . . . . . Then came a long account of
the supposititious battle which concluded—“Thus has the
justice of Providence, and the brilliant dispositions of the
Emperor, in a moment dissipated those numerous battalions
that threatened to carry us across the Rhine and violate the
integrity of the Empire. An impartial posterity will rank
the Battle of Altendorn among the days of Austerlitz, Jena,
and Friedland. The head-quarters will to-morrow be
removed to Delitsche. The Emperor, notwithstanding his
fatigues, continues to enjoy the best health.”
So similar was the style to that of the usual bulletins, so
accurate the geographical details, and so probable the move-
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 173
ments described, that all the members of the University who
read the fictitious dispatch were completely taken in for
more than a day and a half, till the coaches of Monday
bringing down the morning papers dispelled the illusion.
Even then, and long afterwards, those who had eagerly
studied the fictitious dispatch, and the geography of the
imaginary movements, found it difficult to separate the story
of the victory at Altendorn, from that of the real history of
the campaign.”
Another practical joke which Augustus Hare assisted in
playing upon the University, was at the time when Madame
de Staël was at the height of her celebrity. It was announced
that she was in England, and was about to visit Oxford,
where she had an undergraduate friend. For a few weeks
the undergraduate who was to be so highly honoured,
became an object of universal interest. At length it was
noised abroad that the great lady had arrived, and under
the extraordinary circumstances and to meet so illustrious
a guest, the undergraduate ventured to invite several of the
heads of houses, and even the Vice-Chancellor himself,
to meet her at breakfast. The party assembled, Madame
de Staël was there, and so charmed everybody by her
grace, wit, and brilliancy, that they all went away feeling
that they had found her even more than they anticipated.
It was not till many weeks after that it was discovered
that she had never been in Oxford at all, and that she
had been represented by a clever undergraduate, who had
resided for many years in France ſt
* Contributed by the Rev. F. Blackstone.
* Rev. F. Blackstone’s “T-eminiscences.”
I 74 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
On first going to New College, Augustus was rendered
very indignant by the negligence of the college tutors, who
“took no notice of the undergraduates, beyond hearing them
construe a certain portion of the classics for two hours every
day.” On this subject, however, Lady Jones wrote to
.93
him —
“I am neither dismayed nor disappointed at the very little
assistance you will receive from the college tutors. By what
I have always known and heard of university studies I am
convinced that they entirely depend upon the student's own
inclination and application. I might mention only the
former, for, where that prevails in a sufficient degree, the
latter will follow. I know in your boyish days you have
always wanted some one to spur you on, but I am convinced
this is no longer the case, but that your own good sense is
a sufficient spur to overcome your natural indolence, and, in
spite of indolent tutors, you will steadily and assiduously
proceed with your studies. You have talents and a fair
field open before you. The Church was never so devoid of
learned men, and the laity are very clamorous about it—so
that a Barrow, a Lowth, or even a Horsley, with your gentle
manners and correct principles, would be certain of dis-
tinction, and, what I am sure to you would weigh far more,
would be a means of happiness to thousands, and a greater
blessing to the nation than political Cabals would ever
make any one, be their talents what they may. . . . .
I like you too well just as you are to wish any great
change either in mind or body, but especially in the
former, which I delight in thinking is such as will secure
your own happiness here and hereafter, and make the
solace and pride of my old age. That God may bless
my dear Augustus is the fervent prayer of his affectionate
aunt.”
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. I75
It was during the summer of 1813 that the repugnance
which Augustus had always felt for taking Orders became
so strong, that he ventured to risk the anger of Lady Jones
by its avowal. Knowing how strongly her wishes were fixed
upon this subject, both from a real desire for his future use-
fulness in the Church, and from the natural wish that he
should succeed to the rich family living of Hurstmonceaux, ,
he greatly dreaded the effect which his decision would have
upon her. During a visit which he paid in the summer to
his cousins the Hebers,” he consulted them as to how he
could best break the disappointment to his aunt, and the
result was that Reginald Heber himself undertook to write
to Lady Jones upon the Subject.
“Dear Lady Jones, I am anxious to write to you on a
subject in which you take a most kind interest, and on
which you flattered me so far as to consult me when last we
met. I mean the future plans of our friend Augustus. It
was then and is still my opinion that his disposition, attain-
ments, and habits are all such as will be most likely to make
a valuable and happy clergyman, and I doubt whether his
health is sufficiently firm to allow of his being equally happy
as a barrister. In the early part of his visit to Moreton I
perceived that he was wavering between the choice of these
professions, and took some pains, by such means as were
least likely to make him suspect my intention, to show off,
as I may say, the utility and interest of my own clerical
pursuits, to which, as I am myself fond of them, I had con-
siderable hopes of attaching him, or of at least removing
any prejudices which he might have conceived against them,
* Reginald Heber had married (April, 1809) Amelia Shipley,
youngest daughter of the Dean of St. Asaph.
176 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and, since it has been no longer necessary that I should
appear ignorant of your wishes and those of his other
friends, I have, in plain terms, had many discussions with
him, and he in my presence consulted Mr. Warren. I can
say with great truth that I can see no reason whatever to
suspect that either idleness or any childish aversion to a
black coat have influenced his opinion on this subject. He
has dwelt much and sensibly on the great remoteness of his
own prospects of any extensive field for utility in the Church,
or of any comfortable maintenance to be drawn from it, and
though his objections have not related to any part of the
duties of a clergyman, he has expressed a doubt whether,
without a real relish for them, he should ever perform them
well. There are, he says, other disadvantages in his
prospects, some of which are peculiar to his college,_
which holds out very few prospects of preferment and no
encouragement to become a tutor, so that for many years a
curacy must be the boundary of his hopes. I am not my-
self convinced by these arguments, but they are I Confess
such as joined to the encouraging view which Mr. Warren
gave of his profession, may fully justify him in refusing at
present to pledge himself to enter into Orders, which,
indeed, he as yet cannot do, Land, I must add that it is my
opinion, that if left to his own reflections, the very indolence
which we have remarked in him will, as the time draws
nearer, be likely to decide him in favour of present ease
and tranquillity over a distant chance of legal honours and
fortune. He has promised me to ask the opinions of his
own legal friends, of the young as well as those who have
mastered the difficulties of their profession, of the unsuc-
cessful as well as the fortunate, and their answers will (to
judge from my own experience) be not unlikely to make him
decide as you now wish him, and believe me when I say
that it is not without very evident pain that he has on this
occasion differed from one to whom he owes so much.
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 177
Under these circumstances, a year's time on the part of all
advisers will not, I think, be too much to ask for him. He
may be right or wrong in declining the Church, but as the
black stain, once circumfused, can never, thanks to our wise
lawyers, be washed off, we cannot blame him for hesitating.”
During the last year of his undergraduate life Augustus
Hare was occupied by an attempt to extinguish (on the
ground of lapse of time, and consequent wearing out of all
real relationship) the privileges of Founders' kin at Win-
chester and New College. He also printed an attack, in
the form of a letter to his friend George Martin, on the
privilege or custom of New College men not going into
the school for the public examinations, but claiming a B.A.
degree after an examination by their own authorities in
college, which not unnaturally brought down a hurricane of
wrath from the Warden, and most of the Fellows of the
College, who attempted to make it a reason for refusing him
the grace necessary for taking his degree. On this point
they were baffled, as the only statutable ground for refusing
a degree is insufficiency of scholarship, but their anger is not
surprising when it is considered that this, the first attempt
at “University Reform,” was made by an undergraduate
against the fundamental principles of the society to which he
belonged, and whose privileges he had so long benefited by.
In 1817 Lady Jones gave Augustus 24, 150 to spend in
travelling on the Continent, and he left England with his
brother Francis on the 29th of July. The following ex-
tracts are from his foreign letters:–
AUGUSTUS to JULIUS HARE.
“August, 1817. –Coleridge ought to have written a poem
on the falls of Schaffhausen, as a companion for his hymn
VOL. I. N
178 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
on Mont Blanc. To me that fall was certainly the most
majestic sight I had yet seen ; and so awakening were the
images and emotions it called up, that I could not refrain from
attempting to embody them in words, at the very moment
when I was possessed with the fullest consciousness that
no words could represent them to myself, much less convey
to others, the rushing and whirls, the flashes and roar, the
mountains of foam and columns of spray, which had just
been surrounding and amazing me. We are too lavish of
strong expressions, in Speaking of little things, to have a
sufficient store of them in reserve for great. What is louder
than thunder, what more momentary in brightness, more
awful in rapidity, than lightning 2 And yet these two super-
latives of nature are called in day after day, to give conse-
quence to cracks and Sparkles, until we reach this mighty
waterfall without an image or illusion left to impart a notion
of what the eye and ear are feeling.
“The Rhine at Schaffhausen is already a considerable
stream, some hundred feet in breadth. Between the town
and the fall, which is about half a league from it, the river,
after making two right angles in its course, turns abruptly
and makes yet another, to plunge headlong down a preci-
pice of seventy feet. We crossed it at Schaffhausen, and
followed the left bank through vineyards until the walls of
Laufen Castle, which overhangs the fall, prevented Our pro-
ceeding farther. We then mounted the rock on which the
castle stands, and while waiting for the key of the door that
was to admit us to a sight of the cataract, I looked out of a
window in the court, and saw the Rhine already emerged
from the fall, but still one stream of foam, flowing on and
gradually changing colour, until it disappeared betwixt the
quiet banks of green, itself also by that time as green and
quiet as if it had never been disturbed. The door was now
unlocked, and we descended a steep winding path, until we
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. I79
found ourselves in a little jutting gallery, opposite the cas-
cade, and within its spray. Then opened on my eyes and
ears (which hitherto I had deafened purposely to avoid
getting accustomed to the noise of the fall before I saw it)
a scene wherein sensation for awhile absorbed me. When
at last I became collected enough to distinguish the sights
and sounds which had astounded me, I perceived that on
my left hand, very near as it then seemed to the right bank,
two rocks broke the stream. Of these one stood perhaps
thirty yards before the other, and the torrent rushed furiously
through the opening between them. On the left hand, just
above the fall, the waters had scooped out a large basin, the
issue from which into a narrow channel produced on that
side of me the same violent cross-current as the passage be-
twixt the two rocks produced on the other. Between these
two cross-currents the main body of the water fell, or rather
—to speak as it looked—turned on its axis. For as the
bottom of the descending stream was lost in its own vapour,
this part of the river, from incessantly rolling down an
unbroken mass of foam, seemed an ever-revolving avalancke
crested with snowy spray. But how to give an idea of the
depth of the sound, when the two cross streams, which had
been prancing along sideways, arching their necks like war-
horses that hear the trumpet, broke from the main stream and
forced their way into it ! From the valley of thunder where
they encountered rose a towering misty column, behind
which the river unites unseen, as though unwilling that any
should witness the awfully tender reconcilement of its
waters. In returning up the path, contrasting in my mind
the Confusion I had just left with the comparative tran-
quillity of the stream above, and its subsequent quiet still-
ness as it winds between its green banks, I found it remind
me of the One day of terror which is to separate time from
eternity. The idea was strengthened when looking back
18o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
on the Scene of turbulence from a summer-house immedi-
ately over it, I saw the glorious sun, that visible eye of God,
not only Smiling on the river in both its states of quietness,
but beautifying the very fall itself with the colours of a per-
fect rainbow, thus brightening the depth of the extremest
uproar with a gleam of light and peace, and a sign of
hope.
“After fully examining this side of the waterfall, we got
into a boat to cross over. In our passage I discovered that
what I had taken for nearly the whole stream was little more
than a third of it, and that between the right bank and the
two rocks before spoken of was a third, which divided the
remainder of the river into two unequal parts, so as to make
three cascades in all. One has been already described.
The middle fall is perhaps the broadest, and though not so
interesting as either of its brethren, brings its waters down
with great dignity in one straight unbroken flood. The fall
adjoining the right bank is the smallest. To this we ap-
proached very near by means of a mill which is built close
to it. Here I perceived to my great delight that what pre-
viously and at a distance seemed a Savage contest between
the currents, is only a fiercer joyousness and the fury of
mimic war. The waters, after rushing to the onset, leap
back from it with a laughing exultation and boyish alacrity
incompatible with hostility or hatred. The third fall is very
beautiful indeed, the whole stream on that side running
aslant over a bed of rocks till it tumbles forward in vast
masses like enormous blocks of crystal, with edges So white
and brilliant, so sudden in appearance, and following one
another with a speed so glancing, that they gave the idea of
frost lightnings.”*
* This passage has already appeared in the Second Series of the
“Guesses at Truth.”
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 181
From Schaffhausen the travellers proceeded to Zurich, and
then made a tour of the Grisons in company of two young
Englishmen, Mr. Neave (afterwards Sir Digby) and Mr.
Penrhyn. The latter was already known to Francis Hare,
but to Augustus this was the first introduction to the family
with which he was afterwards most closely connected.
A. W. HARE to LADy JONES.
“Sept. 12.—There was perhaps no place which we were
to visit that I was more desirous of seeing than the lake of
Lucerne, since one finds on its shores not only the field of
Rutli (or Grutli, as the people here call it), famous for being
the spot on which the liberty of Switzerland was first con-
certed, but likewise William Tell's chapel, where at a dis-
tance of twenty years I well remember my mother made me
kiss the pavement as a mark of homage to the virtues of the
peasant hero. The chapel, I am afraid, disappointed me ;
but climbing up to the field of Rutli was very delightful, and
my draught of water from the three springs which they
cherish there, in honour of the three first planners of Hel-
vetic independence, was one of the best things that I have
done since I left England. It was impossible to reflect on
the action, of which we were celebrating the memory, with-
out a religious emotion. For that three-and-thirty peasants
without any wealth but their cross-bows, and without any
earthly resource but their own courage, should have formed
the desperate resolution of waging war against the House of
Austria, and that in consequence of this daring attempt their
descendants should have enjoyed five centuries of uninter-
rupted liberty, is one of the most extraordinary among the
crowd of miracles, misnamed “unaccountably fortunate occur-
rences,’ which cross the reader at every step of the page of
history.”
182 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“Bologna, Oct. 25.-At last we have got an Italian sun,
and a beautiful sight it is. There is nothing that I can
persuade myself into fancying I remember here but the
great Square, and even that has grown so much smaller to
my eyes since I left Italy, that but for its name and situation
I should not have had the least chance of recollecting it.
Still it is a great pleasure to visit a place that I have heard
and thought So much about. Though the town has lost the
six pictures which my mother copied in the Zampieri
Palace, and which were bought some years back for the
Gallery at Milan, it can still boast of a beautiful collection :
as one sees in it some of the finest works of every great
artist belonging to the Bolognese School except Annibale
Caracci, and besides these the famous St. Cecilia of Raphael.
“Oct. 27.-I am quite delighted with the people of
Bologna. They all seemed so glad to see my brother again.
Mezzofanti especially, who was formerly one of his thousand
and one instructors, and who is now celebrated as the
greatest linguist in the world, being perfect master of thirty
languages, besides being more or less acquainted with twenty
others, could hardly satisfy himself with looking at his old
pupil, who, he had heard from Fazakerley, had turned out
a great Grecian. Then he alluded, with looks of gratitude,
to my brother's great kindness to him in a dangerous illness,
then talked to me a little, then began rejoicing over
Francis and his Greek again. We saw besides him Count
Fava, who was my father and mother's great friend there.
Old Senni and his wife are still living at Bologna, and we
of course paid them a visit. She, it seems, was the person
who first received me from the nurse's arms, and who always
dressed some wound in my head that I was born with, and
she shrieked out when she saw us, that next to her own dear
son from heaven, we were the two persons she most wished
to see. You may have heard my mother speak of her, by
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 183
the name of Woolley. From her we went to the mother of
the Clotilde, whose brother, by-the-bye, is the best painter
in Bologna, and has done himself great credit by restoring
some old pictures. When she heard our names, the dear
old woman put on her spectacles, and examined us for
some time, then shook her head and said she did not recol-
lect us, but told us to sit down. I happened to take a chair
near the window, so that the light fell full on my face, and a
few moments afterwards she cried out in Italian, “Oh yes, I
recollect him now, the little Augustus;’ and she held out
her hands to me, so that I might come and kiss her as I
used to do. We finished our calls at the house of the
Rector of the Spanish College, an old friend of Dom
Emmanuele.”
From Bologna the brothers proceeded to Florence, and
thence, after much hesitation as to how far it would dis-
please Lady Jones, having received no letter from her,
Augustus proceeded with his brother to Rome. Thence he
wrote to Lady Jones:—
“APec. 5, 1817.-We left Perugia at five A.M., that we
might have plenty of time for the cascade of Terni. This,
like almost every other which I have seen, except the Rhine,
is only beautiful, and the idea of force is so inseparably
connected in my mind with torrents and waterfalls, that
mere beauty on these occasions does not satisfy me; but
the scenery in which it is set is equal, perhaps more than
equal, in loveliness to anything that I saw in Switzerland.
The thing most like it is the Linthal in Canton Glarus, ex-
cept that the latter is topped by glaciers. . . . . . On
Wednesday we left the Apennines, and got into the Cam-
pagna about twenty miles from Rome. It almost seems
184 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
that Italy is still in mourning there for the fallen grandeur
of Rome. Not an animal, not a man, not a house, not
even a ruin is to be seen there to cheer one into the recol-
lection that it was once inhabited. I had, however, been
prepared gradually for this desolation by the general barren-
ness of the Papal States. The Apennines, were they left
alone, would probably produce grass enough to feed sheep
in abundance; but the inhabitants torment them too much,
in hopes of getting corn, to allow them to be good pasture,
and Consequently they bear nothing, except in some privi-
leged spots, which are covered with cork-trees and la-
burnums, and a thousand other shrubs, whose names I
never heard.”
At Rome the brothers lived with their friends the Martins,
by whom they had been joined at Florence, and who after-
wards accompanied Francis to Naples, while Augustus re-
turned to England after a very short stay in Rome, from
fear of his aunt’s displeasure, not receiving in time a letter
from her, saying —
“I wish to set your heart at rest as to my approbation of
your motions, whatever they may have been. I feel fully
assured your wish has been to act according to my wishes,
but as the uncertainty of your brother's movements has pre-
vented your getting my letters, you must have been left to
act for yourself, and if you have gone on to Rome, be assured
I shall not be at all displeased ; and shall only hope that
you will stay long enough to see what is most worthy of
being seen in your birth-place, and then that you will get a
safe conveyance home as soon as you can, for I certainly
do not wish you to go on to Naples, Dalmatia, or whatever
wild-goose chase Francis's vagaries may lead him.”
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 185
Augustus was even more impressed than he anticipated
with the wonders of Rome, especially of St. Peter's. He
WrOte :-
“People say that St. Peter's looks larger every time they
see it. It does more. It seems to grow larger while the
eye is fixed on it, even from the very doors; and then ex-
pands, as you go forward, almost like our idea of God. . . .
On entering St. Peter's my first impulse was to throw myself
on my knees; and but for the fear of being observed by my
companions, I must have bowed my face to the ground and
kissed the pavement. I moved slowly up the nave, op-
pressed by my own littleness; and when at last I reached
the brazen canopy, and my spirit Sank within me beneath
the sublimity of the dome, I felt that, as the ancient Romans
could not condemn Manlius within sight of the Capitol, so
it would be impossible for an Italian of the present day to
renounce Popery under the dome of St. Peter's. tº tº
But how disproportionate are the projects and means of
men To raise a single church to a single apostle the
monuments of antiquity were ransacked, and forgiveness of
sins doled out at a price. Yet its principal gate has been
left unfinished, and its holy of holies is encrusted with
stucco.”
January, 1818, found Augustus Hare again in England,
and he soon returned as a tutor to New College, which
continued to be his principal residence for seven years
longer. His life there was now considerably changed.
His old friends had dispersed in different directions. Stow,
the dearest of them, had taken orders, and was curate of
Houghton-le-Skerne ; Randall also had left Oxford almost
broken hearted by the death of his friend Kent in the first
I86 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
year of his married life. Augustus wrote to him on hearing
of it:—
“Vanuary 24, 1818.-I have seldom been more hurt than
at hearing from Blackstone of the sad loss we have both
sustained last autumn. On you, to whom Kent was every-
thing from similarity of tastes, principles, and profession,
the affliction must have lighted with a force heavy indeed.
Even to myself, little as I had seen of him for some time
past, it has been a hard and sudden blow. Fortunate as I
have been in most of my acquaintances, and worthy in
every sense of the word, but especially in the best and
highest sense of it, as my friends have all happily proved,
I could ill afford to spare out of their number the one who
was most distinguished for clear discernment and steady
prudence, while he was fully equal to any amongst them in
honest strength of principle and friendly warmth of attach-
ment. But you who knew him much better than I could
boast to do, will be conscious how weak and inefficient
these or any other words are to give an idea of his real
merits. And thus at once to be deprived of them, thus to
lose the comfort they afforded, thus to find the light which
his example shed behind it to guide his friends who were
following in the same path, unexpectedly and in a moment
quenched, is, alas, bitter How can it be other than more
bitter to you above all his other friends, my dear Randall,
to whom he was exactly as a brother in sincerity and fervour
of affection P. In losing him you have lost a brother indeed ;
but turn your eyes to the surviving friends who have been
made yours by time and trials, and days spent together in
joy, and hours mutually devoted to sorrow—turn to them,
and you will find that you have yet a few brothers remain-
ing to you. It is you, indeed, who in your present solitude
are the object of my chief solicitude, for I feel sure that to
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 187
him who has last left us, the change cannot be otherwise than
a happy one. Departing, as he has done, in the innocence
of youth, with all his honourable and, I believe, all his
religious sentiments fresh upon him, their lustre yet un-
sullied by the contaminations of the world, his lot is, I
believe and trust, one that we should envy, could we see it.
It has indeed been determined that we should not see it,
and with all our usual proneness to be deceived by appear-
ances, we mistake the clouds, which conceal from us the
state of the departed, for their state itself; and thus come
to lend to it the coldness, and darkness, and dreariness,
borrowed from our own deep ignorance and sad imaginations.
But even Paganism in its happier hours guessed better
things. “Largior hic campos aether, et lumine vestit pur-
pureo, solemgue Suum, sua sidera norunt,’ was the heart-
boding suggested to it by nature, during the absence of
more certain information ; and is it likely, nay, is it possible,
that the dreams of man should be more cheering than the
glorious magnificence prepared for his children by God?”
Lady Jones continued to press upon Augustus Hare her
desire of his taking orders. On May 4, 1818, he wrote to
her from New College — -
“I Ought to be one of the happiest persons in existence:
so many delights are crowding round me in all shapes and
sizes. The weather, with all its spring accompaniments of
air, Sunshine, verdure, and singing birds, has been here so
perfect as to make Blackstone cry out a hundred times
a day that for such days he believes there is no place like
England. Then we have had Reginald Heber here full of
Spirits at the idea of becoming a father. He came to
preach, and did give us two such sermons—one on, “To
die is gain,' showing that to make this possible required
I88 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
an Atonement, the other upon the choice of principled
friends,--that, I believe, if he were to settle here and
become a regular preacher, he would bring church-going,
and perhaps religion itself, into practice. . . . . And now
after all these pleasant subjects to a less agreeable one. I
am afraid you are quite right in suspecting that Trinity
Sunday and its approach have made much less impression
on me than they ought. My Southern expedition was
certainly of use to me in opening my eyes and ears to
sights and sounds in nature. But alas ! this good is just at
present counterbalanced by the indisposition it has pro-
duced in me to give up my time and thoughts to the
abstruse study of my profession. That it is my profession
I know well, and that it is under my circumstances of
situation the best employment to which I can betake myself.
But an employment in which one engages merely from con-
siderations of prudence and duty, without feeling an interest
in the occupations which it involves, is somewhat irksome,
and one does not without an effort succeed in bringing the
mind to dwell on it. I fear all this would not be pleasing to
you, and I feel that I have nothing to urge that can make
it so ; the cause, however, I hope, will ere long be over,
and then I trust all things will go on smoothly as ever.”
Yet the high estimation in which Augustus Hare already
held the clerical office, may be seen from the following,
written to his friend Frederick Blackstone, upon his
ordination:—
“ ZXec. 18, 1818.—I am not sorry for a necessity for
writing, as it ensures the expression of my deep sympathy
in the sacred character which you are on the point of
assuming. You are about to become a teacher in our new
Israel; and the titles of ‘watchman’ and ‘father of Souls,'
high as they are, will from henceforth be yours. Happy
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 189
thrice happy the person by whom their full dignity is felt.
What a freedom from the thralls of the world and the flesh
—what a piercing insight into the true nature of things ;
how large a share of the wisdom that is from above must
be possessed by such a man To me it is a source of much
real joy, that you, my much-tried friend, who are entering
into Christ's ministry, are blest, I will not say with such a
perfect sense of its glories as I have been figuring to myself,
but certainly with the fittest dispositions for in time arriving
at it. With perhaps not fewer surface faults than many of
my acquaintance, I can yet with truth say, that in sincere
straightforward singleness of heart, I believe it would be
difficult to go beyond you. . . . . Certainly the Church is
the sphere for you. In the service of a Creator and Re-
deemer, your zeal will enjoy the amplest and fairest scope;
while in the spirituality of your future objects, whatever of
earth still clings around you, must in time find a corrective.
Only in striving to be perfect do not be betrayed into
timidity. Our scrupulousness, taken in its extreme, consists
neither with Christianity nor with faith, for it degrades the
Deity into a taskmaster. Plans of life and the relations of
duty must be once examined, and afterwards acted on.
‘Quod putavi, putavi,’ was Latimer's rule at the stake, and
must to a certain degree be the principle of all who are not
willing to spend life in questioning.
“And now Adieu in the literal sense of the word. And
may He, the Being, to whom you are thus committed, the
Father and Friend of all, instruct you in the truth, fill you
with the Spirit, confirm you in love, strengthen you in good-
ness, and make you the minister of life, even of life eternal,
to all those over whom you may be set, in the name and
through the authority of the Lord Jesus. Amen.”
I90 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Julius Hare had been sent to Cambridge in November
1812, upon which occasion his father wrote to Augustus —
“I have been to settle Julius at Cambridge, which I have
done in a very comfortable lodging. When we were intro-
duced to Mr. Monk, the Greek professor, he told Julius that
he had lately had so high a character of him from Mr.
Russell, that he was happy to make his acquaintance.
Julius at the same time heard of his having obtained a prize
for a Latin prose composition upon the kings of Rome. It
was written in imitation of Cicero's Dialogues, and Russell
told a friend of Julius's that it is the best exercise he ever
read; and in a letter to Julius, he says that he thinks of
sending it to the Classical Magazine. Mr. Hudson, his
tutor, assures me that he may live very well upon A. 16o a
year. His business is to study, not to give wine-parties,
and he is perfectly aware, that if he runs in debt, he will be
immediately taken from Cambridge. If he gets any scholar-
ships, their emoluments will add to his income, and it will
be entirely his own fault if he does not get them.”
When Julius Hare went up to Trinity he had already
earned a reputation both as a Scholar and mathematician.
Old Charter-house companions brought with them startling
stories of his school prowess, and his shelves were conspicu-
ously laden with his school prizes. Thus he was eagerly
welcomed by all the best set of men in his college—all
those whose pursuit and aim was the same as his own.
Sedgewick, already a college tutor, made a friend of the
freshman; Starr, Whewell, Worsley, and Kenelm Digby
were his intimate companions — the recipients of his
“Guesses at Truth”—the witnesses of his enthusiastic
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 191
championship or furious denunciations, according as he
was biassed by the feelings of the moment; for then, as
afterwards, Julius never loved or hated by halves. It was
perhaps this very openness and demonstrativeness of
character which rendered him so peculiarly interesting to
his acquaintances, and which made it impossible for him to
pass unnoticed. He was often loved, frequently detested,
but never ignored. The knowledge of English literature
which he brought with him to Cambridge was extraordinary,
but his knowledge of German literature was hitherto un-
known in an English undergraduate. This had been
partly the result of his residence as a child with his dying
mother at Weimar. The interest which was then aroused
by the conversation of Goethe and Schiller, of the good
Duchess of Weimar, and of other illustrious persons who
were wont to meet in the honoured sick-chamber, had never
passed away. Schiller died while he was at Weimar, and
his childish ambition and enthusiasm were aroused by see-
ing this great loss received as a national calamity by his
mourning fellow-countrymen. The great poets and philo-
sophers of Germany were thus no mere names to him, but
at ten years old they were grand living realities, and their
tales were the story-books, their poems the inspiration, of
his childhood. When he returned to England, his father's
and his brothers' libraries kept open for him a vast field of
discovery in the wealth of German authors, which few boys
would have access to, and indeed few would appreciate.
Lady Jones in vain remonstrated against what she con.
sidered as the dangers which might result from such license
in reading for one so young, but Mr. Hare-Naylor was
I92 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
accustomed to the freedom of opinion which the mother of
his four sons had always encouraged, and desired that all
possible sources of information might be left open to his
children.
When Julius went up to Cambridge, he gave himself up
with passionate delight to his classical studies. Of mathe-
matics he would now learn no more than was necessary,
though, according to the system which then prevailed in the
University, he thus, considerably to his father's annoyance,
shut himself out from competing for the chancellor's medal.
In his classical studies he was privately assisted by his
brother Francis, who had boundless faith in the talents of
Julius, and was never weary of writing essays for his assist-
ance and reference. His success in college examinations
led to his election to a Trinity Fellowship in October,
1818.
The following winter was spent by Julius Hare in Italy
with his brother Francis, who had remained in the south
since Augustus left him in the preceding spring. From
this time dates his great love and veneration for Raphael.
“Where to find a parallel for Raphael in the modern
world, I know not. Sophocles, among poets, most re-
sembles him. In knowledge of the diversities of human
character, he comes nearer than any other painter to him,
who is unapproached and unapproachable, Shakespeare ;
and yet two worlds, that of Honour and that of Passion,
separate them. In exquisiteness of art, Goethe might be
compared to him. But neither he nor Shakespeare has
Raphael's deep Christian feeling. But then there is such a
peculiar glow and flush of beauty in his works: whitherso-
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. I93
ever he comes, he sheds beauty from his wings. Why did
he die so early P Because morning cannot last till noon,
nor spring through summer.””
“In intellectual as in active life, the still small voice
wherein speaks the true genius, ‘ that peculiar sway of
nature, which (as Milton saith) also is God’s working,’ will
usually be preceded by the strong wind and the earthquake
and the fire, which may rend the mountain and break the
rocks in pieces, but in which there is nothing that abideth.
The poet will at first try force and endeavour to take Beauty
by storm ; but if he would succeed, he must assure himself
that she consents not to be won until she has been wooed
by duteous and loyal service. This appears a simple and
easy lesson ; yet few among the sons of men have duly
apprehended it, except tardily on Compulsion. There may
indeed have been others, even in modern times, who have
felt and known these truths instinctively from their child-
hood upwards, but I cannot name any besides Raphael.
Of him it may truly be said that Beauty was his nurse, that he
had sucked at her breast, and been dandled in her arms,
and been covered with her kisses, until all her features were
indelibly written on his mind, and her image became
amalgamated, and as it were, one with its essence. From
his earliest sketch unto his last great work, whatever came
from his pencil, appears, so to say, to have been steeped in
beauty: in his imagination, as in the bright atmosphere of a
summer day, every object was arrayed in a loveliness at
once its own and his : for all he gives is so genuine and
appropriate, it is impossible to distinguish what is native
from what is adventitious. But Raphael had the good
fortune to be born earlier in the world's great year, when
the Sun might safely rise without a cloud : in these autumnal
* “Guesses at Truth,” First Series.
VOL. I. O
I94 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
times one can hardly hope for a fine day, unless it be
ushered in by a misty morning.”.”
But, together with the growth of his love for Raphael,
Julius also became converted to a belief in the general
superiority of Sculpture over painting. Soon afterwards
Augustus, writing to Frederick Blackstone, says:—
“Julius, who was nearly as sceptical as yourself about
sculpture, ſelf while he was standing among the Townley
marbles that there was no comparison. The effect of the
sculpture was so much stronger than that which had been
produced by the Raphaels, Leonardos, and Guidos, which
had been exhibited. He was so far hurried away by his
enthusiasm as to kiss an arm of one of the female figures,
to the great astonishment of the unimaginative beholders,
who, perhaps, would not one of them have given a half-
penny to kiss the finest arm in the world. ‘Mais cela tient
au morale, ou plutót à la Philosophie.’”
During these years of youth also grew in the heart of
Julius that great love with which he always afterwards
regarded “the honoured name of William Wordsworth,” he
being one of the first of a circle of young men who upheld
the reputation of the new poet at a time when he was
greatly ridiculed, and when the influence of Scott and Byron
was supreme.
On his return from Italy Julius was persuaded by his
brother Francis to devote himself to the study of law, and
for that purpose took chambers in Hare Court, Temple.
But he never was able to give his heart to legal studies, and
* “Guesses at Truth.” Second Series,
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. I 95
continued his wide reading in literature and philosophy, of
which a visible result was the publication, in 1820, of a
translation of “Sintram,” which he intended to follow by
the other works of Fouqué. Lady Jones characteristically
wrote to him at this time her wish that all his “German
books were burnt.” He replied:—
“Jan., 1820.-As for my German books, I hope from
my heart that the day will never arrive when I shall be
induced to burn them, for I am convinced that I never
shall do so, unless I have first become a base slave of
Mammon, and a mere vile lump of selfishness. I shall never
be able to repay a hundredth part of the obligation I am
under to them, even though I were to shed every drop of
my blood in defence of their liberties. For to them I owe
the best of all my knowledge, and if they have not purified
my heart, the fault is my own. Above all, to them I owe
my ability to believe in Christianity with a much more
implicit and intelligent faith than I otherwise should have
been able to have done; for without them I should only
have saved myself from dreary suspicions, by a refusal to
allow my heart to follow my head, and by a self-willed
determination to believe whether my reason approved of
my belief or not. The question has so often been a subject
of discussion, that I have determined, once for all, to state
my reasons for remaining firm in my opinion.”
To his extensive acquaintance with German thought and
German thinkers is due the German tone which pervades
many of the “Guesses at Truth,” furnished by Julius to the
volumes which appeared in 1827. “Its authors, it has
been said, suppose truth to be mere guess-work. An
196 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE,
observation more curiously inapplicable to the spirit and
character of both brothers was certainly never hazarded.
Because they were so confident that truth is fixed and
eternal—that it is not the creature of man's notions and
speculations—that a man must seek for it as hid treasure,
not refer it to his own narrow rules of judgment—therefore
they thought it an exercise useful in itself, certain of reward,
to trace the vestiges of it in every direction, to grasp even
the skirts of its garment, and if they missed it, still to testify
that it was ready to declare itself to more faithful inquiries.
They believed that there was a ladder set up on earth
and reaching to heaven; that the voice of God may be
heard in the calm midnight, nay, even in the open day, by
those who are on the lowest step of this ladder, who have
only a bed of earth, with a stone for their pillow, if they will
reverently apply their ears to listen, and ask to have it
distinguished from the noises of which the air is full, and
which try to drown or mock it. These Guesses have
cherished this conviction in the hearts of many who needed
it, and who would have suffered infinite loss if they had
been without it. And they have led not a few to look
further still ; to ask whether there is not a Centre of all
God’s revelations, one in whom He created the World, one
in whom He has enlightened men, one in whom He has
made himself perfectly known. The words, “I am the
Way, and the Truth, and the Life,' have come to them as
at once the encouragement and the result of their guesses.
If this result is not what our doctors of the law, our masters
in Israel desire, it may, nevertheless, be one which He does
not disapprove, who in every part of nature, and in every
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 197
human relation, found parables of his kingdom, and opening
through which his disciples might have glimpses of it.” "
Julius's career as a lawyer was of short duration, and
most gladly did he welcome the change when, in 1822, his
friend Whewell, already a tutor of Trinity, conveyed to him
the offer of a classical tutorship in his own college. He at
once returned to Cambridge and took possession of delight-
ful rooms in the tower at the back of Trinity, looking down
its beautiful lime avenue—rooms where he collected the
nucleus of that library which afterwards rendered his country
home so remarkable amongst English rectories, and where
he resided throughout the next ten years, to which he owed,
as he himself described it, “the building up of his mind.”
At Cambridge Julius Hare re-united in a great measure
the large circle of friends amid whom his undergraduate life
had been passed—Sedgewick, Whewell, Thirlwall, Worsley
(whom he was wont to call “the brother of his heart”),
and, for a time, Digby, the author of the “Broad Stone of
Honour,” “that noble manual for gentlemen, that volume”
(wrote Julius) “which, had I a son, I would place in his
hands, charging him, though such prompting words would
be needless, to love it next to his Bible.” Among his
pupils also were three young men who were among the
intimate friends of his later life, John Sterling, Frederick
Maurice, and Richard Cavendish.
The pupils who attended Julius Hare's lectures have a
vivid recollection of their interest. “While in form he was
adapting himself exactly to the practice of English colleges,”
wrote one of them, “in spirit he was following the course
* Preface to Hare's Charges. 1843–46.
198 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
which a cultivated man, thoroughly in earnest to give his
pupils the advantage of his cultivation, and not ambitious
of displaying himself, would fall into.” “When we were
reading the Gorgias of Piato, his anxiety seemed to be that
Plato should explain himself to us, and should help to
explain us to ourselves. Whatever he could do to further
this end by bringing his reading and scholarship to bear
upon the illustration of the text, by throwing out hints as to
the course the dialogue was taking, by exhibiting his own
fervent interest in Plato, and his belief of the high purpose
he was aiming at, he did. But to give us second-hand
reports, though they were ever so excellent—to save us the
trouble of thinking—to supply us with a moral, instead of
showing us how we might find it, not only in the book, but
in our own hearts—this was clearly not his intention.” ”
Amid his collegiate duties, Julius Hare found time to
unite with his friend Thirlwall in the vast labour of trans-
lating Niebuhr's ‘History of Rome,’ and editing it with
fresh notes from his own reading. This work brought down
upon its author, and by implication upon its translators, a
charge of scepticism as to secular history which would
tend to encourage a similar feeling in regard to sacred
history. This led Julius to publish (1829) his ‘Vindication
of Niebuhr,’ the first of a long series of vindications which
in later life he used playfully to say he should one day
collect and publish in one volume, under the title of
‘Vindicia Harianae, or the ‘Hare with many Friends.’
“Any attack on Luther, Niebuhr, Bunsen, Coleridge, would
have called forth his sword from its scabbard under much
* Preface to Hare’s Charges. 1856.
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. I99
less provocation than was actually given in the respective
cases. Indeed, in some of these instances we almost
wonder at the amount of energy and learning spent against
charges which hardly seemed sufficient, either in quality or
quantity, to need any refutation at all. But even when the
object of attack was his dearest friend, it was an outraged
sense not so much of private partiality as of public justice
that fired the train ; and in one remarkable instance in his
later life (that of the Hampden controversy) he came for-
ward in behalf of an entire stranger.”
“The scholarship of Julius Hare was of a kind which
penetrated the whole frame of his mind. Like all English
scholarships, it was built upon a classical basis, and the
effect of this, enlarged as it was by the widest view of the
ancient writers, never left him. Greece and Rome were
always present to his mind; and when he afterwards
endeavoured to arouse the clergy of Sussex by the strains of
Alcaeus, it was only one instance out of many in which his
deep delight in classical antiquity found its vent in the
common occasions of life. To the older school of English
elegant Scholarship he hardly belonged, but in a profound
and philosophical knowledge of the learned languages he
was probably Second to none, even in that brilliant age of
his Cambridge contemporaries; and he was one of the first
examples that England has seen, not merely of a scholar,
but of a ‘philologer,’ of one who studied language not by
isolated rules but by general laws.
“This precision of scholarship showed itself in a form
which is perhaps, to many, one of the chief associations
connected with his name. Almost any one who has ever
2OO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
heard of Julius Hare's writings has heard of his strange
spelling. Every one knows that his sermons were not
“preached ' like those of ordinary mortals, but ‘preacht;"
that his books were not “published, but ‘publisht.’ It is
but due to his memory to remind our readers that it was
not, as most people suppose, an arbitrary fancy, but a
deliberate conviction, founded on undoubted facts in the
English language, which dictated his deviation from ordi-
nary practice. His own statement of his principle is Con-
tained in a valuable and interesting essay on the subject in
the Philological Museum ; and it was maintained in the
first instance not only by himself, but by his two illustrious
colleagues at Cambridge. But Bishop Thirlwall openly
abandoned it in his history of Greece, and has never since
recurred to it ; and Dr. Whewell confined it to his occa-
sional efforts in verse. It was characteristic of the man
that Hare alone persevered to the end; whether it were a
hymn-book for his parish church or a monumental tablet, a
German novel or a grave discourse on the highest matters
of Church and State, he would never abandon what he
considered the true standard of correct scholarship, or
countenance the anomalies of popular practice. We may
justly smile at the excess to which this pertinacity was
carried; but it was an index of that unwearied diligence, of
that conscientious stickling for truth which honourably
distinguished him amongst his contemporaries; it was an
index also, as we may fairly allow, of that curious disregard
for congruity which, more than any other cause, marred his
usefulness in life.”
“The scholarship of Julius Hare was remarkable for its
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 2O I
combination with his general learning. Learning as an
acquisition is not perhaps uncommon; but as an available pos-
session it is a very rare gift. It is easy to accumulate know-
ledge; but it is not easy to digest, to master, to reproduce
it. This, however, was certainly accomplished in his case.””
As our story will for many years be more connected with
the life of Augustus than with that of Julius Hare, it may
be well to look forward here for a few years. - -
On Easter Sunday, 1826, Julius was ordained deacon in
Wells Cathedral by Bishop Law, and on the following
Trinity Sunday was ordained priest, at St. George's,
Hanover Square, by Sparke, Bishop of Ely. His first
university sermon, afterwards published under the title of
the “Children of Light,” was preached on Advent Sunday,
1828. This sermon assumed that his hearers were born in
light, and that if they walked in darkness, that darkness
was caused by the sin which had broken up the even
tenour of the true life which was intended, and that their
true conversion would be simply the restoration of the
light, which was the guide of childhood. His next well-
known sermon, the “Law of Self-Sacrifice,” was preached
in Trinity Chapel at the Commemoration of 1829, an
earnest protest against the selfish theory of religion. It at
once announces the opposite law as the one which binds
together all things in earth and heaven, as that which
affords the only explanation of all the great facts of his.
tory, of all that has produced any real effect upon mankind
in poetry, art, Science. Selfishness he traces, indeed,
everywhere : but as the disturbing, destructive force; the
* Quarterly Reziiew, cyciii.
2O2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
enemy of the order of the world, not its principle ; that
which the Son of God by His Sacrifice came to subvert,
because He came to renew and restore all things. Theology
is here, as elsewhere, the necessary climax as well as the
necessary foundation of all his other thoughts; he does not
want to reconcile them with it; it is the reconciliation of
them. The sermon on “The Sin against the Holy Ghost”
is in strict harmony with these, inasmuch as it connects the
Common daily life of the English student in the nineteenth
century with the principles set forth in Scripture, even with
the most awful sentences in it. These are not used to
produce a fearful impression upon the nerves, but to keep
the conscience alive to its continued peril, as well as to its
mighty treasures and responsibilities—to the truth, that all
true and righteous deeds, by whomsoever they are enacted,
are the work of the Holy Spirit now as in other days.”
Until these Cambridge sermons were preached, Tutors and
Fellows alike felt sure that no undergraduate could be
induced to sit through discourses of such prodigious length,
yet they were not only listened to with patience, but not
more than two days after the preaching of the first sermon,
a petition for its publication was sent to Julius Hare, more
numerously signed than any that had been known for
years. After publication, however, these sermons scarcely
met with the success which was anticipated. Many would
perhaps have been more impressed by them if they had not
taken advantage of their peculiarities—of the quaint ex-
pressions they contained, to turn aside; these seemed to
afford a handle to such as were glad of one, to take hold of
* See Preface to Hare’s Charges, 1843—46.
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 2O3
2-
as a diversion from the serious impression they could not
otherwise avoid.
The chief external pleasures of Julius Hare's Cambridge
life were derived from his intimacy with the family of Sir
John Malcolm, who was at that time residing at Hyde
Hall, in its immediate neighbourhood. In 1826, he stayed
for a long time in their house to recruit, after a severe
attack of illness, Of this home he wrote:–
“The house, in which, above all others I have ever been
an inmate in, the life and spirit and joy of conversation
were the most intense, is a house in which I hardly ever
heard an evil word uttered against any one. The genial
heart of cordial sympathy with which its illustrious master
sought out the good side in every person and thing, and
which has found an inadequate expression in his delightful
‘Sketches of Persia,” seemed to communicate itself to all
the members of his family, and operated as a charm even
upon his visitors. For this reason was the pleasure so pure
and healthy and unmixed; whereas spiteful thoughts,
although they may stimulate and gratify our sicklier and
more vicious tastes, always leave a bitter relish behind.”
Of Sir John Malcolm himself he afterwards spoke as—
“The illustrious friend, who was always so kind, always so
generous, always so indulgent to the weaknesses of others,
while he was endeavouring to make them better than they
were—he who was unwearied in acts of benevolence, ever
aiming at the greatest, but never thinking the least beneath
his notice; who could descend, without feeling that he sank,
from the Command of armies and the government of an
empire, to become a peacemaker in village quarrels—he,
2O4. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
in whom dignity was so gentle, and wisdom so playful, and
whose laurelled head was girt with a chaplet of all the
domestic affections,—the soldier, statesman, patriot.”
In the family of Sir John Malcolm, lived at this time, as
governess, a Miss Mary Manning, with whom Julius formed
a friendship of mingled love and reverence, which was as
great a feature of his later years as that of Cowper with
Mrs. Unwin. Of very humble origin, she owed her ad-
mirable education to the generous kindness of Elizabeth,
Duchess of Buccleugh, in whose family her father was a
factor. Lady Malcolm was greatly attached to her, and as
she was always treated rather as an honoured guest than
an inferior, she had opportunities of becoming acquainted
with the many remarkable persons who visited the house.
Having great observation and a retentive memory, she
amassed by this means an extraordinary amount of general
information, which she had the gift of imparting to others in
the most lively and agreeable manner. Few persons came
within her influence without being attracted by her; by
most of the friends of the family she was almost adored;
clever Cambridge professors were wont to seek her society,
and even to ask her advice on an astonishing variety of
subjects, and her unfailing fund of anecdote and quiet wit
made her equally charming to her younger hearers. In his
later life many people believed that Julius Hare had been
engaged in his youth to Ma-man, as she was playfully
called; but this was never the case.
The Cambridge vacations of Julius Hare were frequently
passed at Bodryddan, in the society of his cousins, the
daughters of the Dean of St. Asaph. Lady Jones had
AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 2O5
always dreaded that Augustus would fall in love with the
second daughter, Anna Maria, who, while still quite young,
had returned to her father's house as the widow of Colonel
Dashwood, and whose interest in poetry, art, and Italian
and German literature made her conversation exceedingly,
attractive to both the brothers. Julius, however, was
always her favourite cousin, and she was quite devoted to
him. In 1828, he became engaged to her, but without any
prospect of marriage, until he should obtain a living. But
the engagement was in itself a great source of delight to
him, and for some years he spent as much time as possible
at Bodryddan, where Mrs. Dashwood continued to live
with her aunt, Mrs. Yonge, after Dean Shipley's death in
1825. This charming family-home is described in a poem
by Leigh Hunt :-
“Their very house was fairy. None
Might find it, without favour won
For some great zeal, like errant knight,
Or want or sorrow’s holy right;
And then they reach’d it by long rounds
Of lanes between thick pastoral grounds
Nest-like, and alleys of old trees,
TJntil at last, in lawny ease,
Down by a garden and its fountains,
In the ken of mild blue mountains,
Rose, as if exempt from death,
Its many-centuried household breath.
The Stone-cut arms above the door
Were such as earliest chieftains bore,
Of simple gear, long laid aside;
And low it was, and warm, and wide,-
A home to love, from sire to son,
By white-grown servants waited on.
Here, a door opening, breathed of bowers,
Of ladies who lead lives of flowers;
2O6
MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
There, walls were books, and the sweet-witch,
Painting, had there the rooms made rich
With knights, and dames, and loving eyes
Of heaven-gone kindred, sweet and wise;
Of bishops, gentle as their Jawn,
And sires, whose talk was one May-dawn.
Last, on the roof, a clock’s old grace,
Look’d forth, like some enchanted face
That never slept, but in the night
I)inted the air with thoughtful might
Of sudden tongue, which seem’d to say,
“The stars are firm, and hold their sway.”
V.
CHANGES.
& God writes straight on crooked lines.” -
Spanish Proverb.
* Circumstance, that unspiritual God, was then a most
fruitful source of spirituality.”—DIGBY.
T was in returning from Scotland in 1818, that Augustus
Hare, while visiting the Hebers at Hodnet, made his
first acquaintance with Miss Leycester. He was at Hodnet
on her birthday (November 22). On the preceding day
the conversation had turned upon Italy—a subject which
always called forth the full powers of his enthusiasm—and
she had playfully asked him to write an ode upon it. In
the night hours he wrote, and on the following morning
presented her with, his Ode to Italy.
“Strike the loud harp, let the prelude be,
Italy—Italy |
That chord again, again that note of glee—
Italy—Italy |
Italia, Italia the name my bosom warmeth,
Italia Italia the very sound it charmeth—.
High thoughts of self-devotions,
Compassionate emotions,
Soul-stirring recollections,
With hopes, their bright reflections,
208
MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Rush to my troubled heart at thought of thee,
My own illustrious, injur’d Italy.
Dear land of woody mountains,
And consecrated fountains,
Within whose rocky heav'n-aspiring pale
Beauty has fix’d a dwelling,
All others so excelling, -
To paint it right, thy own sweet tongue would fail,
FHail to thee! Haiſ !
How rich art thou in groves and streamlets clear !
And those broad pines within the sunniest glade
So reigning through the year,
Within the hallow’d circle of their shade
No Sunbeam may appear.
Thy double sea too, with its glittering blue,
How beauteous !—but I may not dwell
On charms, which decking thee too well,
Allur'd the spoiler—let me fix my ken
Rather upon thy godlike men,
The good, the wise, the valiant, and the free,
On memory's pillar tow’ring gloriously,
A trophy rais’d on high upon thy strand,
That every race in every clime
May mark and understand,
What memorable courses may be run,
What and how precious treasures may be won,
From time,
In spite of chance,
And worser ignorance, -
If men be ruled by virtue’s fix’d decree,
And wisdom hold unquestion'd mastery.
What art thou now 2–Alas! alas !
Woe, woe
That strength and virtue thus should pass
From man below—
That so divine, so beautiful a maid
Should in the with’ring grave be laid
As one that—Hush nor dare with ominous breath,
To syllable the name of Death;
CHANGES. 209
The fool alone and unbeliever weepeth—
We know she only sleepeth—
And from the dust,
At the end of her correction,
Truth hath decreed her glorious resurrection :
She shall arise, she must :
Nor can it be that wickedness hath power
To undermine and topple down the tower
Of virtue’s edifice:
And yet that vice
Should be allowed on sacred ground to plant
A rock of adamant. -
But who may bide the dazzling radiancy,
When first the royal dame awaking
Darteth around her keen indignant eye—
When first her firm spear shaking,
Fixing her foot on earth, her looks on sky,
She standeth like the archangel, prompt to vanquish,
Yet still imploring succour from on high
O days of wearying hope and grievous anguish,
When will ye end ?
TJntil that end be come, until I hear
The Alps their mighty voices blend
To swell and echo back the sound most dear
To patriot hearts, the cry of Liberty—
I must live on : but when the mighty queen,
As erst is canopied with Freedom’s sheen,
When I have prest with salutation meet,
And reverent love to kiss her honour’d feet,
I then may die—
Die, how well satisfied 1–
Conscious that I have watch'd the second birth
Of the most beauteous being upon earth—
Conscious beside
That no more glorious sight can here be giv'n;
Serener visions are reserv’d for Heav'n.”*
* The poem given here, printed from the original MS. of Augustus
Hare, differs in many respects from that already published, as altered
by his brother Julius.
WOI. T. P
2 IO MEMORIALS of A QUIET LIFE.
The interest in Maria Leycester which was aroused in
Augustus Hare during this visit was afterwards kept awake
by the letters of his friend Stow, and the share which he
had in their joys and sorrows.
The Summer of 1819 was passed by Augustus Hare at
the English lakes. Thence he wrote to his friend Frederick
Blackstone:— -
“Of the Lakes I will only say that I found Southey more
egotistical, less identified with his family, and more reflective
than I expected. By the way, I am surprised you should
represent him as inimical to discussion, for into one I was
betrayed by him unawares, and into another he attempted
to lead me, challenging and almost pulling me to the field.
At first I thought his manner cold, but it gradually thawed,
and before we parted he seemed to begin to take consider-
able interest about me. Wordsworth I found much greater
in the common concerns of life than I had anticipated. He
is as perfect an instance in his way of the connection between
genius and kind-heartedness as Mr. Scott is, of whom you
know my admiration ; and it is interesting to observe two
men of great powers, who are so remarkably different in
many respects, agreeing and reflecting each other's character
in this.”
On November 19 he wrote to Lady Jones:–
“I left Edinburgh by way of Selkirk and Melrose,
stopping by the way to see Walter Scott. He lives in a
cottage transmogrified by additions into a sort of castle, on
the road between these two places. His family consists of
a silly little Frenchwoman—his wife, two stout lassies of
daughters under twenty, the eldest of whom is said to be a
CHANGES. 2 II
very extraordinary person, and a great favourite with her
father, and an enormous staghound, with three or four other
dogs of various kinds as his satellites. Walter Scott him-
self looks like a very stout, good-humoured shepherd ; and
if it be a merit in a poet not to be ‘all-poet,” he possesses
it in a very high degree. He kept me all day with him,
and in the evening had a large party of borderers to dinner,
which I regretted, as I would rather have seen him merely
with his family. But in the morning he was very delightful;
we walked together round his little property, and the interest
he took in his plantations, fences, and crops—reaped, sow-
ing, and to be sown—reminded me completely of Worting.
At the same time he has not the affectation of dropping the
author altogether, for in pointing out the various objects
around to me he did not omit to mention the lands of
Deloraine, “which,' he added with a smile, “you may per-
haps have heard of.” In the same way, many of his beasts
are named after persons in his works—his old mare is
Sybil Grey. He talked of the tales and novels exactly as an
indifferent person would have done, except that he praised
them less and alluded to them more. He seemed extremely
attached to Reginald Heber, and indeed to everything else
except Bonaparte and a few Scotch Whigs, for never did
I meet a man so overflowing with the milk of human
kindness.”
In the summer of 1820 Augustus was selected as
one of the School Examiners at Oxford, and during this
time “Augustus Hare examined Cicero Rabbit,” which
caused great amusement to the University. “My work
began on Monday,” he wrote to F. Blackstone; “I was
extremely frightened the first day, and though my spirits
gradually increased, it was long before I ventured on a viya-
a-
2I 2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
voce appearance in Logic. I also find great difficulty from
Weing out of practice in minutiae of the two grammars.
Things which I have been accustomed to take for granted
till I have forgotten the reason why they should be so, are
denied, and the unexpectedness of the answer has more
than once silenced me, and made me doubt the accuracy of
my own memory. So much easier is it to say what is right
than to confute what is wrong.”
In 1822 Augustus Hare was after a manner brought into
public notice by his “Letter to Sandford,” to repel an attack
upon Oxford in the Edinburgh Review. In the summer of
that year he again visited Southey and Wordsworth at the
English lakes. In the autumn of the same year he succeeded
to the Logical Tutorship at New College, with a stipend of
24, 1oo a year, upon which he resigned, on his thirtieth birth-
day 24, Ioo of the 24, 120 he had annually received from
Lady Jones, “wishing to begin a new decade with an act of
justice to her for the thousand acts of generosity he had
received from her.” In December of the same year he was
recommended by Reginald Heber as the successor of Gif-
ford in the editorship of the Quarterly Review ; but, though
strongly supported, withdrew in favour of Coleridge.
In 1824 he published a defence of the Gospel narrative
of the Resurrection, under the title of “A Layman's Letters
to the Author of the ‘Trial of the Witnesses.’” “To this
publication his brother Julius contributed the fourth letter,
in which, with his wider knowledge of German theological
literature, he fought the battle on the ground which the
Rationalists had chosen. The rest of the book was a terse,
CHANGES. 213
vigorous answer to the more vulgar form of denial which
was then represented by Taylor, and Hone, and Carlile,
and this was entirely the work of Augustus. Those who
know the clear, bold English of the Alton sermons, and
the epigrammatic point of most of the Guesses which came
from his pen, can form some estimate of the effective skill
with which those weapons were employed by him. Dif.
ferent as the details of the strategy of the enemy may be
now, those who wish to answer M. Renan’s version of the
Resurrection, so as to gain the ear of acute but half-taught
men, will not find it lost labour to turn to the ‘Layman's
Letters.’”
Augustus Hare was now much happier in his life at
New College, where his romantic chivalrous disposition, and
the interest which he threw into all his instructions,
endeared him to his pupils, while his peculiarities of manner
never failed to amuse and attract attention. “He was very
eccentric,” is the remark of almost all who knew him at this
time. If excited in conversation he would spring up in
the midst of his talk, twirl himself rapidly round three
times, and sit down again without pausing in what he was
saying, as if some external action was necessary to let off
the force of his excitement. After dinner, at the houses
of his intimate friends he would “rush up and down the
drawing room in the vehemence of his spirits, and then cast
himself upon a sofa, and throw up his legs in the air.”f Of
this time are the following letters:—
* Memoir of Archdeacon Hare, prefixed to the “Guesses at Truth,”
ed. 1864.
t Letter from Archdeacon Randall.
2I4. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
AUGUSTUS HARE to LADY JONES.
“AVovember 17, 1823–Writing on my birthday, I can
only say, what a change since last November in all my
prospects and how entirely, under God, am I indebted to
you for it ! May He who has given you the means and the
heart to be liberal reward you for it. He alone can, by
enabling you to see in this world the happiness which your
hand has planted for me, blossoming and bearing fruit, and
hereafter by giving you such good things as we can neither
conceive or ask for.”
LADY JONES to AUGUSTUS HARE.
March 18, 1824.—You will readily believe, my dear
Augustus, how severe a blow my heart has received by the
Sudden death of my beloved Dowager Spencer. I had a
note from her written at eight yesterday evening, so delighted
with Lord Althorp's approaching marriage with Miss Ack-
lom. She had complained of a cold, but said she should go
to Lady Clermont's this evening, so could not come to meet
Sloper at my house. It seems she slept well as usual, and
was getting up at eight o'clock, had walked from her bed to
the fire, said “Oh I' and sat down in her chair, and instantly
expired. A most blessed end for such a life. The loss is
to the survivors, and not even the firm persuasion that you
and I have of a blessed hereafter can prevent heartache on
such trials, so selfish and inconsistent-are our feelings I
lose one of the very few strong ties that still held me to this
world, and 'tis a most merciful dispensation that these trials
gradually wean us from a world which in the course of
nature I must soon leave—God only knows how soon.
May all the afflicting warnings I have received not have
been given in vain God bless you, my dear Augustus,
and continue you what I now think you, and then I have a
blessing and prop to look forward to, should my life still be
prolonged a few years.”
CHANGES. 2I5
In the spring of 1825, Augustus Hare had told Miss
Leycester that, upon receiving the news of Martin Stow's
death, he thought within himself, “If I were to die now
without ever having been of use !”—and that evening he
decided upon taking Orders.
On Advent Sunday, 1825, he was ordained in Winchester
College Chapel by the Bishop of Hereford. That in taking
this step he was not influenced by worldly motives alone
may be seen from the zeal with which he fulfilled at Alton
even the high idea of ministerial duty which he had formed
for himself and suggested to his friends. Doubtless each
year spent among his village people brought with it a
growth in grace and a ripening for immortality; but the
work was not begun at Alton. As he himself wrote about
this time, perhaps with reference to the mental struggle
which had been so long oppressing him : “In darkness there
is no choice. It is light that enables us to see the differ-
ences between things, and it is Christ that gives us the
light.” On December 24th, 1825, he had written to Lady
Jones a letter (on the outside of which she has inscribed
“Mirabilia 1") as follows:–
“I have at last made up my mind to take Orders at the
Bishop of Hereford's next ordination. I know this will
give you pleasure; and may God, who by the workings of
his providence thus seems to call me to a particular state of
life, enable me to do my duty in it. My wish would be to
continue tutor at New College during my year of deacon-
ship, to be ordained priest soon after that year is com-
pleted, and after that to take the first good country curacy
that offers.
216 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“So far I feel certain that you will like my letter. Would
I were as sure you would be equally pleased with the re-
mainder. But the truth may as well be told at once; and
as I have lost no time in communicating to you my decision
when once formed, so will I be equally candid in confessing
what has induced me now to form it. In two words, it is
Maria Leycester. You know how long and how sincerely
I have been anxious to see her united to my lost friend.
The last words I had from him were as follows: “How
blessed it would be if, after all, I were to owe my happiness
to you !’ God, who has forbidden this, well knows that
could any persuasions, any exertion of mine have brought
it to pass, it would have happened long ago. But it was
ordained otherwise. In the meantime, as poor Stow's
friend, I have seen and heard very much of her, and all
that I heard and saw convinced me of her great worth.
Never was woman exposed to a nearer scrutiny. No love
was in the way to blind my judgment, while I had oppor-
tunities of observing her character and habits, such as I
can never in any case expect to enjoy again. The result
on my mind was thorough esteem founded on a conviction
of her thorough excellence. And there the feeling would
have rested but for my late loss; since which I have begun
to feel desirous of securing, if possible, for myself, what up
to that time I had loved to dwell on as a treasure reserved
for my best friend. To have been loved by him and edu-
cated by Reginald doubles her value in my eyes, and I am
sure will not diminish it in yours.”
In April Augustus Hare met Miss Leycester at Alderley,
still as the friend of Mr. Stow, and a fellow-mourner with her
for his loss. But on the day before he left, in speaking of
his distress in going away, he disclosed involuntarily what
CHANGES. 217
his own feelings had been, while he was doing all he
could to promote the happiness of his friend.
The early summer of 1825 was passed by Maria Ley-
cester at Alderley.
M. L. to MISS CLINTON.
“Stoke, July 27, 1825–That I have not written to you
before you will easily understand to have arisen from my
unwillingness to lose a single hour of my last days at Alder-
ley. They were indeed very precious to me, and after
staying there for four months uninterruptedly, you may
well imagine how painful it was to me to leave all those
who were more than usually endeared to me by the comfort
they had afforded me during a time when nothing else could
have pleased or interested. Certainly too, altogether, with
its inhabitants, its abundance of books, of drawings, liberty
unrestrained, beautiful walks and rides and seats, luxuriance
of flowers, and in delicious weather, there cannot on earth
be so perfect a paradise. During the hot weather we
generally went on the mere or rode in the evenings. Every
morning before breakfast Lucy and I met in the wood at
the old Moss House, where we spent an hour together, and
Owen came to ferry me home. With so much around
to interest and please me, I put away self as much as pos-
sible, and endeavoured as much as I could to enjoy the
present. You know how dearly I love all those children,
and it was such a pleasure to see them all so happy to-
gether. To be sure it would be singular if they were not
different from other children, with the advantages they
have, where education is made so interesting and amusing
as it is to them. . . . . While others of their age are
plodding through the dull histories, of which they remember
nothing, of unconnected countries and ages, K.'s system is
to take one particular era perhaps, and upon the basis of the
218 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
General History, pick out for them from different books
all that bears upon that one subject, whether in memoirs or
literature, making it at once an interesting study to herself
and them.”
M. L. to A FRIEND IN LONDON.
“March 29, 1827.-All your doubts and difficulties I
enter into and understand, and I think there is scarcely so
trying a situation, one so full of fears, as that of a person
who struggles to act up to the highest sense of right, and
yet wishes not to seem uncharitable, or to condemn those
around who act differently or think less to be necessary.
To those who have once separated themselves from the
world, openly shown and declared the difference of their
opinions, and are consequently countenanced by many
others who think and act as they do, the difficulty is far less
-—the struggle is at an end. They have made their choice,
and though they may often judge imperfectly and be judged
harshly, they are, I do not doubt, happier than those who
try to reconcile their better feelings with the habits of the
world by taking a middle course. To persevere with firm-
ness and courage in what we know to be right, caring not
for the ridicule of others, and at the same time to disarm
their censure by the mildness, humility, and charity with
which we differ from them, is one of the most difficult points
to gain; but I agree perfectly with you that no one can
judge of another's mind, or what may have an effect upon
it. It is the object we are to attain which should be alike
to all, the means of arriving at it may differ in every
different person, and we must remember we are account-
able only for ourselves. As far as we can make Sunday a
day of rest, not so much from outward acts as from earthly.
feelings, it must surely be right, and in London, above all
places, this is so difficult to do, that every help we can give
CHANGES. - 2 I 9
to our wavering fancies must be needed ; indeed, I have
always looked back with shame upon the waste of So Sacred
a day, which the habits of London life entail even upon such
humble sharers in it as myself. As for theatres, I cannot
understand where their individual harm lies. How far
example and sanction is right is another question ; but I
cannot but think that there is much to be said of the good
produced by the presence of respectable and good people.
Such amusements in the case of these all deserting them,
would become much more pernicious in their character, and
the staying away of ever so many would not deter others
from going, while their presence may be a restraint and pre-
servation from evil. . . . .”
Augustus Hare frequently met Miss Leycester during the
winter of 1825-26, which she passed with her brother at
East Sheen, and the following Summer he visited Stoke.
M. L. to L. A. S.
“Stoke, /une 23, 1826.-After dining early, Augustus
and I proposed an expedition to Hodnet, and my father
joined us. It was the most bright, beautiful evening, and
I cannot describe to you how lovely the rectory looked, it
is so improved since the trees are grown up, and there was
such an abundance of flowers, which seemed to mock the
desolation of the house within. As I stood there, looking
at that beautiful view, my mind went back to years gone by,
and I could almost have fancied myself again the Maria
Leycester when it was a place to me of such exquisite en-
joyment. I thought of all the happiness I had received there
from those I loved so dearly, and turned to find them all
gone, Augustus standing by me as the only remaining link
of all that had been. We went together over the garden
22 O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
in silence, both feeling much that could find no utter.
ance ; but it was a comfort to know that all was under-
stood.”
Of this time is the following letter from Bishop Heber:-
“Aombay, June 3, 1825.- . . . . It has not been alto-
gether business which has prevented my writing; for, busy
as I have been, and must always be, I could still long since
have found or made time to say how gratified I am by your
keeping me in recollection, and with how much eagerness I
open letters which bring me near to such valued friends at
So great a distance, and which call me back, as yours do,
for a time, from the broad, arid plain of Rohilkund to the
quiet lanes and hedgerow walks of Stoke or Hodnet. There
are, however, alas ! So many painful associations connected
with my handwriting since the period of my letters to
Augustus and Mrs. Stanley, that I have felt, to say the
truth, a strange reluctance to address a letter to you, out of
a fear to disturb afresh the grief of an affectionate and
innocent heart, which had been so severe a sufferer by the
events which took place at the commencement of my pre-
sent journey. That journey, interesting as it has been,
and full of scenes and circumstances peculiarly adapted to
excite and gratify, has had its pleasures, indeed, throughout,
alloyed with very sad recollections, and much as I enjoyed
the beautiful country and singular people through which my
course was laid, I could not help often, very often, calling
to mind that I was seeing all these things alone, and divided
by distance, or a yet more awful separation, from my wife,
children, and the attached and affectionate friend with whom
I had hoped to share my pleasures and toils, and whose ac-
quirements, good sense, and invincible good temper and
cheerfulness so remarkably fitted him to enjoy and profit by
CHANGES. 221
such a pilgrimage. My wife and one of my children—our
dear little Emily—I have since been permitted to rejoin, and
the accounts we receive of little Harriet, whom they were
obliged to leave behind in Calcutta, continuevery comfortable.
. . . . For myself, I really do not recollect a time when I
have enjoyed more perfect health than now, and though my
hair grows grey all the faster for the fiery sunbeams which
have beaten on it; yet ‘ that,’ as I remember a poor old
woman saying of her rheumatism, ‘is, at my time of life,
excusable.” As to the general outline of our lives in India,
you have had, I know, a diligent and faithful, as well as a
most attached, correspondent in Emily, who will have told
you both the wide expanse of river, mountain, forest, and
plain which I have since been travelling, her own still more
romantic and perilous situation during the mutiny at Bar-
rackpore, and (as I believe she has written since her arrival
here) the long voyage of six weeks which she made to rejoin
me round the whole southern half of India. We have
since had a little experience of camp-life together; and it
gave me pleasure to find that, though the weather, even on
the hills, is too hot at present for a long continuance under
Canvas, she is likely to enjoy a marching life as much as I
do. For myself—
“My tent on shore, my pinnace on the sea,
Are more than cities or Serais to me.’—-
So far as enjoyment only is concerned, I know nothing more
agreeable than the continual change of scene and air, the
exercise, the good hours, the good appetite, the temperance,
and the freedom from the forms and visiting of a city life
to which we are enabled or compelled by a long march,
encamping daily with our little caravan through even a
moderately interesting country, nor, except during the in-
tense heat and the annual deluge of rain (which, by the way,
222 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
it must be owned, occupies one half of our tropical calendar),
I should desire no other than a canvas roof during the rest
of my abode in India. Many indeed as the discomforts
and dangers of India are (and surely there are few lands on
earth where death so daily and hourly knocks at our doors,
or where men have so constant warning to hold them-
selves in readiness to meet their Maker), and much as, I
cannot help feeling, I sacrificed in coming hither, I have
never yet repented my determination, or have ceased to be
thankful to God for the varied interest, the amalgamated
knowledge, and, I hope and think, the augmented means of
usefulness which this new world has supplied to me. I
have, indeed, abundant reasons for thankfulness in the pre-
servations which my wife and children have met with amid
all the dangers of unhealthy climates, wide wanderings by
land and sea, and the incidental dangers and difficulties of
political disturbance (in my wife's case even at her own door),
and in mine, during my progress through Countries which
are never, according to European ideas, settled Or tranguil.
Still more ought I to be thankful for the support and encou-
ragement which I am receiving from almost all classes of
men in my attempts to discharge my duty. And, after all,
India in itself, taking one province with another, is really a
noble field either of duty or speculation, abounding in
everything which can interest either an artist, an antiqua-
rian, a lover of the picturesque and romantic beauty, or a
•curious observer of human life, both in their most refined
and their simplest dresses. I have often thought how
Edward Stanley would be at home here, and how rich a
portfolio he would have acquired in such a journey as I have
been making, from the wild and naked Bheel, with his bow
and arrows of bamboo and his kennel (for his house deserves
no better name) in the dark recesses of the jungle, to the
splendidly-equipped Patan, with his bright chain-mail, his
CHANGES, 223
silver-studded lance, his shield of rhinoceros hide as trans-
parent as amber, and the trappings of silk, silver, and bro-
cade which almost sweep the ground as he passes on his
beautiful charger. Either of these would make, as you may
well believe, a spirited picture ; nor might less striking
sketches be made from the courts and processions of the
native princes, with all, which noise, bustle, banners, ele-
phants, and horsemen can give of magnificence, or from the
totally different ostentation of the more austere Brahmins
and religious mendicants. You may conceive the former of
these, with their heads close shaven, their naked bodies
covered with chalk and cowdung, a white cloth round their
waists, and their countenances composed into a studied
calmness, the meekness and abstraction of which is some-
times singularly contrasted with the steady, watchful, crafty,
glittering eye which seems to look into those its owner
speaks with ; the latter mad, filthy, hideous, his hair and
his beard full of ashes, his garment a tiger's skin, his limbs
distorted and his body scarred with the effects of his volun-
tary austerities, his eyes inflamed with spiritual pride and
intoxicating drugs, and his whole mind and body wilfully
lowered to the level of the wild animals among whom he
chiefly affects to have his habitation. Add to all this a
very rich and luxuriant scenery, a sky which gives to every
object a glow beyond anything seen in the old Italian
paintings, and (in some of the older and more renowned
cities) buildings which in beauty of material (white marble)
far surpass, and in grace and majesty bear no unfavourable
comparison with, our finest Gothic architecture. Such is
India; and such a country is doubtless well worth visiting,
even if one had no stronger motives than curiosity in com-
ing hither. Yet I own there are times when, though I do
not repent, I cannot help being melancholy; and it is,
perhaps, one of the advantages for which I ought to be
224 MEMORIALS of A QUIET LIFE.
thankful, that I have too much and too constant employ-
ment on my hands to have much leisure for indulging
gloomy thoughts. You are probably aware that I had an
opportunity of visiting the mountains which form the first
stay and Outwork of the Himalaya. The season, however,
was too far advanced and my time too limited to allow of
my penetrating more than five days’ journey from the plains
of Hindoostan, or to climb to a greater height than about
nine thousand feet, where Merdideer lay before me at about
forty miles direct distance, and above sixteen thousand feet
higher still. It was tantalizing to turn back at such a time;
but even thus far the scenery which I passed through not
only surpassed all which I had seen, but all which I had
fancied previously. Adieu, dear Maria. That you may be
blessed with all temporal and eternal happiness is the ear-
nest wish of your sincere and affectionate friend.
“R. CALCUTTA.”
This was the last letter of an affectionate correspondence
of many years. On returning to Stoke from Toft, on the
1st of September, 1826, Maria Leycester received the fol-
lowing:—
AUGUSTUS W. HARE to M. T.
“August 30, 1826.-I must write a few lines to my dear
Miss Leycester, because I am sure she will be a fellow-
mourner with myself. It was only this morning I received
the mourning-ring my poor uncle left me; * and already the
news had reached me that Reginald went before him to
heaven. So closely do misfortunes, in this world that we
love so much, press and follow on each other. I did not
• Dean Shipley died at Bodryddan, in June, 1825. He is buried in
the parish church of Rhyddlan; there is a fine statue of him in one of
the transepts of the cathedral of St. Asaph,
CHANGES. 225
think he could have been taken from us so soon. For our
sakes, and for the sake of India, I trusted he would have
been spared, though he was fully ripe for being gathered
into the garner of God. But our Saviour was making up
his jewels, and missed so bright a one, and sent for it. And
we repine ! and must repine ; for when was there a better
man, a kinder, a more delightful, or one more fitted to make
Christianity appearin its true light as a mild and amiable dis-
pensation ? May a double portion of his spirit fall upon his
successor, that India may not have cause to feel his loss, as
we must, to be irreparable. For we shall never see any one
like him again, and therefore do I grieve.”
C. S. to M. L.
“Alderley, Søf. 1, 1826.—Of course, my first impulse is
to take up my pen and write to you. I could hardly believe
what I saw when my eyes fell upon the words ‘Bishop of
Calcutta '—nor can I now. I had always a presentiment,
alas, how false ! that he was—would be safe—that his energy
of mind would carry him through ; and that as he had begun,
so he would go on. Alas ! how you will feel it !—how every-
body must 1–how incalculable the loss to the world ! And
poor Mrs. Reginald: the shock must have been apparently
as unexpected as to us in taking up the paper. Now, she is
probably on her way home, and the first news on landing
will be her father's death. My first thought was of you, and
how this must revive in their original form all your feelings.
All one can say is, that he yet lives to you almost as if he
was alive, and that one's affection and remembrance of such
a character does indeed live beyond the grave.”
M. L. to AUGUSTUS W. HARE.
“Stoke Rectory, Sept. 3, 1826.-I did not think you would
a second time have had to communicate intelligence so
WOL. I. Q
226 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
grievous. . . . Dear, dear Reginald. I had hoped so con-
fidently he would have been spared ; that so faithful a
Servant, so noble a pattern of what a Christian should be,
would have been preserved to continue the great work for
which he seemed so peculiarly marked out; but God's ways
are not as Our ways, and the same confidence which led us to
trust in his preservation, must now convince us that it is for
Some great and high purpose he is removed from us. This
is one of those mysterious dispensations in which nothing
but an unlimited faith can avail us anything. Here is no
selfish grief: the public loss seems almost even more than
the private one ; yet, who that has ever felt the support and
comfort of his friendship, who that ever knew the tender-
ness, kindness, and gentleness of nature, added to those
uncommon talents and powers Cf mind, can ever cease to
regret that they shall see him no more? And Emily, poor
Emily, where can she seek for comfort upon earth 3 She
too, on her return to England, which, I suppose, will not be
long delayed, will find a second affliction awaiting her, and
the home and protector to whom probably she would look
for support and comfort, gone likewise. Her children too,
who can ever supply the place of such a father to them P
For him, if such a word as envy can be used, how much
cause is there for such a feeling in thinking of the termina-
tion of such a life, in which he exchanges this world of trial
and sorrow for one of never-fading glory ! I am most grateful
to have had such a friend—to have been permitted an inti-
mate acquaintance with a character like his, but after re-
ceiving from him the affection and kindness of the tenderest
brother, after living so constantly with him as I have done,
you may well believe that it is now a hard struggle to feel
that we have in this life parted for ever. It was only yester-
day morning, before leaving Toft, that I copied out of Mrs.
Hutchinson’s “Memoirs” a passage, which I little thought
CHANGES. 227
would, in a few hours, be brought home to my mind with
such renewed force. I must quote a few lines of it for you.
‘Let not excesse of love and delight in the streame make us
forget the fountaine : he and all his excellencies came from
God, and flowed back into their owne Spring —there let us
seek them, thither let us hasten after him, there having found
him, let us cease to bewaile among the dead that which is
risen, or rather was immortall,—his soule Conversed with
God so much when he was here, that it rejoices to be now
eternally freed from interruption in that blessed exercise,
his virtues were recorded in heaven's annals, and can never
perish ; by them he yet teaches us, and all those to whose
knowledge they shall arrive. . . . .”
“We are going soon to stay with the Stanleys at Penrhos.
I am glad this bitter news reached us while we were at
home; here, at least, we are surrounded by those who know
how much cause there is to grieve. It has been a comfort
to me writing to you, for on this subject we can have but
one feeling, and you will not be tired with my dwelling upon
it so long. Dear Augustus, we have lost two whom we
dearly loved; but their spirits continue to live with us,
their memories to rest in our hearts, that we may place our
hopes on that world to which they are gone before us, and
so live here that we may one day be united to them in
heaven.”
C. S. to M. L.
“Sºft. 5, 1826.-You will well imagine that for the last
two days I have thought of little but you, and what you
must be suffering: the gap in one's own mind is so great, in
everybody's it must be. To be sure he has died at his post
as much as any soldier on the field of battle. There is
something very fine and affecting, and soothing and ele-
a t
228 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
vating, in reading of the occupation of his time up to the
very moment of his death, the suddenly giving his benedic-
tion in the Tamul language to the people at Tanjore, his
very last act having been the visit to the native colony; in
short, preparation was necessary for those who are left
behind—not for him. One is so sure that if he had had to
choose his death, except the suddenness of it for our sakes,
he would have chosen thus to die in the midst of his
labours, thus perhaps giving an efficacy to his last words,
and leaving an impression on the minds of all who had just
heard and seen him, which no labours of a long life spent
amongst them could have done. In this respect it is a
death worthy of him, of his character, and better than if his
health had been impaired and gradually undermined. . .
I long to have you out of sight of Hodnet Tower.”
After a visit to Penrhos, Maria Leycester returned with
the Stanleys to Alderley, in order to attend the marriage of
her friend, Isabella Stanley, with Captain Parry. In June,
she went for three weeks to the Isle of Wight, and thence to
Paris with her father and Mrs. Oswald Leycester, returning
to Sheen for the christening of her brother's eldest son.
One of her great interests this year was in the publication of
the “Guesses at Truth,” by the two brothers, Augustus and
Julius Hare. As their “minds had grown up together, been
nourished in great measure by the same food, sympathized
in each other's affections and aversions, and been shaped
reciprocally by the assimilating influences of brotherly com-
munion, a family likeness is perceivable throughout the
volumes, although perhaps with such differences as it is not
displeasing to behold in the children of the same parents.”
* Preſace to the “Guesses.”
CHANGES. 229
Augustus Hare, who was to pass the next winter in Italy,
spent two days at Sheen while the Leycesters were there;
and, as they returned to Stoke, they passed through Oxford,
and visited him at New College.
M. L.'s JOURNAL.
“Sheen, July 22.-Two days spent together here have
done away with the reserve hitherto kept up between
Augustus and me, and I have far more than I Once thought
possible, been able to give a degree of affection I was
scarcely myself aware of, till it was called forth. Time has
done its work in softening down every painful remembrance,
in making the past appear as a dream, and giving to the
future more of reality. Unconsciously and imperceptibly
the feelings of esteem and friendship have assumed a new
character, and something of the tenderness and beauty at-
tending a warmer interest taken their place. . . . Devotion
of heart such as his must either be met and answered, or re-
pelled ; there can be no medium of indifference ; and where
there is an interest so strong as I have always felt in him,
admiration of the whole character, gratitude for the kindness
and attachment felt by him, it must be a colder nature than
mine which could remain unmoved. It is well that such
openness of heart should have been reserved till now, earlier
I could not have entered into it so much ; now the seed that
is sown needs but watering, and I feel all the happier that
we understand each other perfectly, and that both are satis-
fied that nothing but time is wanting to give us all the
happiness that may be enjoyed by persons between whom
there will be such perfect confidence and affection. How
extraordinary and singular good fortune has attended me,
that I should twice have met with that kind of deep feeling
which alone could, I think, have power to interest me, that
when the only species of happiness which I imagined to be
23o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
perfect was taken from me, it should spring up again as it
were from the ashes of the other, and assume a form nearly
as beautiful, and I trust, more enduring.” -
“Stoke, August 16.-I feel now a glow of inward happi-
ness which I have long been without, and whether I con-
template the beauty of the world around me, or turn inward
and dwell on the beauty of feeling, and the many sources of
gratification it has given me, my heart swells with gratitude
for such enjoyment. Secure of the affection of Augustus, I
feel no longer a blank in life, and everything takes a new
and brighter colouring. -
“It was a pleasure, though a mixed one, to see Augustus
again (at Oxford). The moments of anticipation are in so
short a meeting the most real in enjoyment : you do not
then dwell upon the parting so soon to follow, and think but
of the meeting, and what feeling is so exhilarating as that
of hope? But when you see the person whom a few minutes
is about to separate you from for a length of time, the
present is not able to exclude the recollection of the future
that is so soon to come. . . . I do indeed daily feel the
blessing of having such a friend to love, and with whom I
can hardly be mistaken in looking forward to a happy
future.”
M. L. to L. A. S.
“Fast Sheen, July Io, 1827.-What a pleasure it is to
think that the most exquisite moments on earth are but
faint images of that which will be In beautiful days and
nights such as these, how far easier is it to raise one's
thoughts, and liſt oneself up to higher spheres, and what a
miserable and aching void must those hearts feel which
cannot ascend beyond the present When we look around
at a world so beautiful, our hearts must glow with gratitude
for having so much of enjoyment given; and if there are
CHANGES. 23r
some things which are kept from us, if we have some trials,
some annoyances, if all is not as we could wish it, we must
see the mercy of it in leading us to seek that comfort which
if every earthly blessing were granted to us, we might per.
haps neglect and forget. Oh, at times how clear, how
straight seems the path we should follow, making one
object our chief and great concern, and all things subser-
vient to that—forgetting ourselves, except in the exercise of
examining self—and striving to show worthily our Christian
profession by a more unwearied endeavour after good and
love to all around us. But then Comes human weakness,
and our highest resolves often fall, and become of no avail:
this, too, has its use, for without such humbling experience,
we should not fly to Him who alone can make us strong.
We shall never be tried beyond what we are able to bear,
and assuredly those whose struggle here has been the
strongest, will hereafter reap the more abundantly.
“I close every evening now by learning a hymn of my
dear Reginald's, which sends me to sleep in peace and love.
You are hardly aware in reading them, how calculated they
are for private devotion.”
“Aaº Sheen, /u/y 29, 1827.—Augustus is just gone. . .
It is indeed a blessed thing in a world which it needs not
eight-and-twenty years to show in its true colours, to feel the
repose of resting upon the certain hope of devoted affection,
and a peaceful and happy future; and, although for his sake
I could wish for more lightness and gaiety of heart than ever
comes to me now, I am quite satisfied for my own that the
past has not been in vain, and that it is far better to have
earthly hopes and feelings subdued and mingled with
higher ones—that I can never forget how uncertain and
perishable everything here is, and how dependent one must
feel on God for every possession granted to us. Of the
dearest earthly treasures, any single moment may deprive
232 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
us; and, in the midst of the purest blessings to be enjoyed
here, so much of care, of anxiety, and of vexation is mingled,
that nothing but constant and habitual recourse to spiritual
comfort can stay the mind in perfect peace, and calm the
variableness of human feelings. Surely I should be grateful
for the chastening which has brought this more forcibly
home, and for the links of sweet remembrance which have
attended even my hours of Suffering and Sorrow.”
M. L.'s Journal.
“Stoke, August 9, 1827.—I have been walking with
perfect composure with Mrs. Reginald Heber over those
fields where we have so often walked in happier days; but
how did my heart swell within me as I looked upon that
beautiful view once more, and, instead of Reginald, had by
me only his widow and children | Time strangely accustoms
us to all, even the bitterest deprivations, and above all it
teaches us to hide deep within us what is felt. Some years
ago I could hardly have thought of the circumstances
under which we have now met as bearable. How all is
changed—the gay, the spirited of Our party then, now gone
to their eternal home, no trace left of those who were so
very dear ! I am much affected by the letters from Dacca,
which Mrs. Reginald has given me to read. How powerful
a lesson does such a death-bed give The same hour must
come to all, and cold, lukewarm, and indifferent as the
heart now is, in the near approach of a separation of the
soul and body, the true state of things will flash upon us
with the same strong conviction. To put myself in
imagination in this situation I ever find the best means of
making my heart feel its own insufficiency. I feel that in the
moment of expecting to appear before God, every fancied
good must at once sink into nothing, and the blessed pri-
vilege of seeking the mercy of the Saviour be clung to as
CHANGES. 233
the only refuge. But without going beyond the present, I
find a strange difficulty in bringing myself to more than a
cold belief in all the Gospel teaches. I am but as a
beginner in those things which I have so long thought of,
and I am aware that my heart is filled with pride, vanity,
and selfishness, even when I seek to do my utmost. That
I am sincere in my endeavours to discover the truth, to
seek after the right way, God surely knows, and in his own
good time I know that He will assist and strengthen me in
every good work, and give me that blessed hope which
brightened the last days at Dacca.”
“Oct. 28.-The more we advance in Christian knowledge
the narrower seems the way: so many difficulties seem to
start up, so many trials to arise, of which we have lived
unconscious before, and the self-humbling nature of all real
inquiry into ourselves leaves an almost discouraging sense
of how much there is yet to be done. We are too apt to
compare ourselves with others as imperfect and perhaps
more erring, instead of seeing how far below the Gospel we
fall, or how inferior we are to many who have so much
more to struggle with than we have ; in short, if there be a
way in which it is possible to deceive our own hearts into
the belief that we are better than others, or that we have
excuses for not being so, we instantly adopt it. Surely, of
all the Christian graces, that charity, which vaunteth not
itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly,
beareth and endureth all things, is the most hard to attain.
I daily feel it so. It is so difficult to bear with patience
and allowance the faults of others. It is very mistaken to
think that the great occasions of life only demand religious
feeling and principle : it is in the everyday petty annoyances,
the Constant call upon our charity, forbearance, and meek-
ness, that we feel the constant want of some stronger and
more powerful stimulant than the feeling of the moment,
234 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
to Smooth down the rubs of life and make our existence
one of peace and happiness.”
“April 1, 1828.—As I search deeper into things unseen
I seem to gain clearer views of evangelical truth, and in
looking back I see how little my former ideas upon the
Subject were consistent with the word of God itself. For
this increase of knowledge I feel that I am chiefly indebted
to those books and those writers usually stigmatized as
Evangelical and Calvinistic. I cannot enter into the (as it
appears to me) narrow and prejudiced feeling which would
at Once discard every book in which there were expressed
any opinions differing from one's own, and even in which
there might be mingled expressions at variance with good
taste and judgment. Fallible as all human efforts are, we
must distinguish in everything the wheat from the tares,
and though I may not agree and feel on many points with
another, I can benefit by and admire others which he
perhaps may represent in a more striking light than many a
less earnest and zealous author, who may be free from
objection and yet may be far less useful. The truth is,
nothing but a very strong feeling of religion can inspire
such language as shall excite interest and awaken attention
in the heart. This strong feeling is usually connected with
a strong view on doctrinal points, but it is not inseparable
from some of them.”
In the autumn of 1827, Augustus Hare went to Italy.
He was detained for six weeks at Perugia, by the results of
an accident, where he was most kindly nursed by Mr.
(after Sir Augustus) and Mrs. Calcott, who, when he was
able to move, took him on to Rome in their carriage.
Here he passed several months, chiefly in the society of the
Blessingtons, who were then living at the Villa Negroni.
CHANGES. 235
“Their house is not perhaps the house for a clergyman,” he
wrote to Mrs. Stanley, “though not a word is ever said
there either on religion, or morals, or politics, which could
offend the most scrupulous ear, but I cannot quarrel with
people who for my brother's sake have received me both
cordially and kindly. Lady Blessington reminds me of
Julius' Guess—‘Flattery is the nicest thing in the world ;
pray don't sugar it too sweet; ' Lady Blessington Sugars
it too sweet. New College, Francis, the Vicar of Rum-
ford, Landor, all are almost equaily Superlative : but
she is attentive, she is clever, she is affable, she is
amusing, she is Irish, she has black hair, and if she
does not tire of me, which is not impossible, I foresee
that she will continue to force me to dine with her five
times a week.”
In the following summer, Maria Leycester also went
abroad, accompanying her sister, brother-in-law, two of
their children, and her friend Lucy Stanley, to Bordeaux
and the Pyrenees, an excursion which gave her the greatest
delight. It was on her return to England after this tour
that her engagement to Augustus Hare received her father's
Sanction.
M. L. to L. A. S.
“Stoke, Oct. 13, 1828.-After all the long uncertainty
which has attended every future prospect I have ever had,
the change now to thinking one may in reality look forward
to the happy rectory I have so often fancied to myself, with
one dear companion sharing every thought and feeling, is so
great I can hardly at times feel it to be really so. Although
to most people the prospect of a curacy on 4,700 a year
236 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
would not be a very promising prospect, you may imagine
how very little it will affect me, and how happy I may be
with the smallest possible outward advantages, provided
the essentials are there, and of this, the more I see of
Augustus, the more I feel how impossible it is not to love
him dearly and entirely—indeed there is far more fear of
my loving too well than too little, and of the present
happiness engrossing every thought and feeling too much.
But united as we are in interest about higher things than
Our mere present happiness, I do trust we may go on
together through life improving and advancing towards a
better state than this can ever be under its best aspect. . . .
I cannot tell you how my heart overflows with love and .
gratitude to all in this time of joy, or how deeply sensible I
am of the goodness which has led me through so many
years of chastening and useful anxiety to bring me to such
a haven of peace and happiness as I cannot but hope our
little home will be.
“Oct. 24.—Anybody would perhaps be astonished to
find me sometimes reading upon resignation and afflictions
in a time of rejoicing, but the truth is I cannot rejoice
without trembling, and never felt more strongly the need of
support and stay upon something not human than now,
when I feel my whole soul is so engrossed with what is and
must be so uncertain and precarious. I tremble for myself
and for him. We are building upon a happiness to come
which appears so perfect that I cannot but feel the possi-
bility of its not being realised. In thinking of the future
it is with the earnest prayer that I may enjoy what is given
me of happiness here, in subjection and complete submis-
sion to the divine will, whenever it is thought fit to deprive
me of it. Whichever way I turn I see Such causes for
thankfulness that I know not how to give utterance to
half that passes through my mind; at the same time I
CHANGES. 23?
cannot but feel the trial that such a tie to earth is. On
this point, however, I feel sure that I cannot remain
stationary with a companion such as Augustus, and that
the duties opening upon me will rouse my every faculty
and exertion, and be a constant call to watchfulness and
attention.”
“ Dec. 27.-I find it increasingly difficult to know how
far consistently with a firm sense of truth we can and
may suppress what we know and believe to be right, and
how far we should yield to the fear of putting a stumbling-
block in another's way by differing in anything not essentially
material. There are some people, doubtless, who dislike
any stronger feeling of religion than they possess themselves,
but I think the generality are annoyed by those little things
which are usually marks of a party Spirit, and which have
little necessary dependence upon true faith. I am sure the
more we grow in knowledge and advance in love, the more
we should strive to preserve that simplicity which is so
peculiarly the characteristic of the Gospel, and the more we
should guard against the uncharitableness of Supposing that
any other view except our own must be useless or erroneous.
I cannot fancy it possible that one can ever go ‘foo far,’
because the more one feels on the subject, the more humble
one becomes, and one clings to the simple words of the
Bible alone, and makes Him one's pattern who never turned
any away because they were not entirely perfect, but with
gentleness showed them how they might go on to perfection.
. . . . If we analyze ourselves, we may find ample employ-
ment without judging our Companions; and in our own
imperception and ignorance, may see abundant cause for
making allowance and excuse for others, gladly hailing all
there is of good, and trying only to lead them on in that
path we have found lead to happiness by gentleness and
our own fruits of the Spirit.”
238 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
M. L.'s Journal.
“Oct. 18.-The lie is cast, and our fate is decided.
After the long years of uncertainty and suspense attending
every future prospect, the first certainty was overpowering—
the first certain conviction that I should indeed become the
wife of one to whom every warmest affection is now given.
It scarcely yet assumes the form of reality, nor do my
thoughts accustom themselves without surprise to the pre-
sent view of things. The break through old habits, and the
change to new, must be felt strongly whenever it comes,
and I feel entering so completely upon a new line of duties,
feelings, and occupations, that I rejoice to think I have a
little time of quiet previously to prepare for it. How my
heart does overflow with gratitude whenever I think of him,
—of his deep affection, his tender feelings, his generous and
disinterested nature | And the high and overrated estimate
he forms of me, I begin to feel, so far from exciting pride
or vanity, tends to lower and depress both by making me
feel how little I really come up to it, and how earnestly I
must strive hereafter not to disappoint the expectations he
has formed of my character. His standard is that of Chris-
tian feeling and action, and to come up to it in every daily
occurrence of life, will require that watchfulness which must
not slumber. How it raises and exalts earthly affection
when it is joined as it is to such entire confidence and unity
of feeling on every subject, and when the motive is so much
the same ! Oh, may I be enabled to fulfil this new part of
life in such a manner as may become a real follower of
Christ—in humbleness and sincerity—endeavouring as much
as possible to put away self from every consideration,
labouring for the good of others, Submitting without a mur-
mur to their will, and seeking so to temper and moderate
the strongest feelings of my nature, that they may never
CHANGES. 239
draw me too much from higher thoughts, making me love
the creature more than the Creator. To Him may I show
my deep and fervent gratitude for his infinite mercies to me
by making his word the guide and rule of every action, and
striving to advance each day in holiness, and in love and
charity to all around me. How wonderfully have all things
worked together for my good; and even those things which
seemed the most bitter to endure, proved the means of my
ultimate happiness Most clearly does it show how weak-
sighted and fallacious are our judgments—how entirely we
ought to trust to that power which overrules everything in
his mercy for our real good.”
“Dec. 13.—How bright a colouring does the sunshine of
the mind invest everything with !—the everyday enjoyments
of life become clothed with new attractions, as the mind is
invigorated and enlivened by happiness, and seem to wear a
different aspect from what they once did. And yet I pause,
whilst I feel how bright is the prospect before me, and ask,
will it indeed last P The question may be asked, and the
fear come across as a shadow over the gleam Óf the sun, but
we shrink from an answer to such a doubt, and the real pre-
carious and uncertain thread on which our whole happiness
depends, is seldom dwelt upon with anything like a feeling
of the truth. There appears to me, however, nothing which
can quiet and ease the undefined anxieties respecting the
future, but that firm trust in the constant and immediate
superintendence of God, which is by so many frittered away
in the consideration of second causes. With the sure know-
ledge that our smallest concerns are regulated by Him, we
may repose in confidence that if it is good for us such hap-
piness will be granted; and if it be hereafter chequered, as
we see is often the case, the Support and the comfort will
come with the trial"
24O MEMORIALS OF . A QUIET LIFE.
M. L. to A. W. H.
“Stoke, Zec., 1828.-It seems unnatural to have Christmas
unaccompanied with frost and snow; and I think I am
almost fond enough of old customs and associations to wish
it to be attended with such natural accompaniments, even
at the expense of my own comfort. And there is something
so cheerful in a bright winter's day, with the sun shining on
all the old women's red cloaks as they come to church.
By-the-bye, I was struck the other day with the benefit of
Our regular Liturgy, by hearing from an old woman of
eighty-seven that I went to see, how much comfort she de-
rived on her sick-bed from the remembrance and repetition
of many of the collects and prayers, which by constant at-
tendance at church she had treasured up in her mind,
never having been able to read, or had any other oppor-
tunity of instruction; and the simple way in which she
described her filling up in one Sunday what she had not
been able to catch or remember in the previous one, might
have shamed many a wiser and idler person; and now in
the peaceful and tranquil state of mind which seems to
attend her last days, she is reaping the fruits of her humble
efforts. It is really a pleasure to contribute to such a per-
son's comfort. I feel often now, in the prospect of leaving
Stoke, how little good I have done in comparison of what I
might have done in all the time I have spent here; the
future must be better employed ; and how delightful it is to
think that every exertion will then be shared by my best and
dearest friend, and that we shall together strive to show our
gratitude for the happiness granted to us by endeavouring
to benefit others I always feel that ‘ the situation to which
God has called me,’ is so exactly that suited to me, and
which I should naturally have chosen ; and I own that I
cannot look forward to our future life without feeling my
eyes fill with tears. I see others contented and happy with
CHANGES. 24I
what is around them, satisfied to have no more intimate
communion than that of mere friends or relations; but I am
afraid that I never should have been perfectly happy without
some one person to confide in and to love.”
“AWeze, Year's Day, 1829.-I must employ some portion
of this day in talking to him to whom in all probability
part of this year will be devoted, if it be only to put on
paper what must pass through both our minds in entering
on this new portion of life—new in every sense to us, to
whom this year will open, indeed, a new stage in our pil-
grimage, new in its duties, its pleasures, its hopes, and
enjoyments. Other years seemed to lie like a blank before
me; I could trace nothing upon them but the probable
round of the same course of days and weeks which had
marked the preceding one. But this comes attended with a
bright train of anticipations; and if no clouds arise to dim
our present sunshine, I am convinced that it must, indeed,
be my own fault if the close of 1829 does not find me a
happier woman than I have ever yet been. And is no
thanks due to the past year, which brought to both of us
the first security of our future happiness P If one had the
power to show, by conformity to God's will, one-half the
gratitude with which at times one's heart is ready to overflow
in thinking of all He has done for us, how much better we
should be ; but I am afraid we are too often engrossed so
entirely by the gifts as to forget the Giver, or at least to
forget that idle acknowledgment is not the only return such
love deserves. You will begin to suspect I am inflicting on
you a part of that sermon which I amused myself on this day
last year with writing, to while away the hours at the Raven
at Shrewsbury. But days like these are as resting-stones
on our journey, from which we look back upon the winding
path through which we have arrived at such a point, and
onward to all that is yet in store on the way open before us
VOL. I. IX.
242 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
—that way, dear Augustus, which we shall in future travel
together. Thorns and briars, it may be, will here and there
intercept us and mingle with the flowers on each side, but
guided by one feeling and one interest, they can scarcely
have power to check our progress; and so long as we are
permitted to be fellow travellers, can we cease to be
happy P }} -
M. L. to A. W. H. (after he had been with her at Alderley).
“April, 20, 1829.- . . . . It seemed last night so like
old times wishing you good-bye when you were to go by the
Coach early in the morning ; indeed, more than once, I
have been quite taken back to our former meetings in
seeing you here, and only recalled to the present by the
different—no, not different, but stronger—feelings now
excited. I have before my mind's eye so perfectly those
times when you came here during the long winter I spent
here three years ago—everything you said and did, and a
confused recollection of the mingled feelings of pleasure
and pain with which I then saw you. I sit in the same
place, the door opens, and the same Augustus walks in,
but how changed is the feeling ! The past, sacred as it is
and always must be, is now no longer the prominent feel-
ing; others less sad have taken its place ; and, happier
than I ever was before, I now look forward with the brightest
hopes, fearing nothing but that I shall place my happiness
far too much on that which must be perishable.”
M. L.'s JOURNAL.
“Stoke, May 27.-In one more week the object of so
many thoughts and anxious expectations will be accom-
plished, and I shall have entered upon that new state from
which I promise myself so much happiness. I can hardly
feel now as if such a change were drawing so near, and cer-
CHANGES. 243
tainly in the contemplation of it am infinitely more com-
posed than I expected to be. That firm confidence which
I have in him to whom I am about to commit my whole
future happiness takes away every shadow of distrust; and
though I feel at times that I am about to leave so many
whom I love for an indefinite time, the stronger feeling
overpowers the lesser one, and I feel chiefly gratitude that
what so long appeared doubtful and distant is now so nearly
certain of being realised. We have been separated so
much, and there have been so many circumstances which
have kept up doubt to the last, that the feeling we shall
now not again be parted is in itself delightful to me; and I
have so long looked forward with so much pleasure to
having him as my constant Companion, and Our enjoying
life together, that I can hardly believe the time is now so
nearly come. I seek to convince my sanguine mind that
such sunshine cannot always last, that my anticipations
will not all be realised, and that there will be a thousand
little rubs and cares and troubles, of which I have made no
calculation, and which will interrupt that enjoyment I have
pictured. Be it so. I am not blind to the changes and
chances of this life, to the certainty that these are tenfold
increased by marrying, and that the anxieties and troubles,
when they do come, are of a much deeper cast than those
can be of a single state. Were there no such vicissitudes,
we should grow too fond of this world, too careless of
another. God grant only that such blessings as He gives
may never be misused or disregarded, that they may excite
fervent gratitude while they keep up dependence, and that
when He thinks fit to remove them or for a while hide them
from our view, we may resign ourselves entirely to his
disposal, and bless Him alike for his chastisement as for
his mercies. From the power, influence, and effect of a
strong earthly affection I have learnt much of the manner
244 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIF .
in which a heavenly one should influence us, and how irre-
sistibly such a course of life as would please God would be
the result of such a love to Him as was really deep and
sincere. Let me, then, act upon this knowledge, and never
be content with that bare acknowledgment of his goodness
which leads to no practical end. The highest gratification
I can feel is when I have done anything to oblige or please
Augustus, and the most painful sensation I can experience
is having done anything he disapproves. Ought I not
much more to feel this with my Saviour and God? May
He vouchsafe me such aid that I may never forget Him,
but daily grow in love towards Him, and by constant
dependence on Him be able to perform all those new
duties which I would now enter upon with the spirit of a
true follower of Christ.”
VI.
WEST WOODHAY.
“Dans l'opinion du monde, le mariage, comme dans la
comédie, finit tout. C'est précisément le contraire qui est
vrai : il commence tout.”—MADAME SWETCHINE.
“Love is surely a questioning of God, and the enjoyment
in it is an answer from the loving God himself.”—BETTINA
to GOETHE.
ON the evening of the 2nd of June, 1829, one of the
family at Stoke wrote to Lady Jones:—
“I am most happy to perform the part allotted to me, of
filling up the details of the events of to-day, so as to make
you as much as possible one of the party at Stoke; and we
only wanted you and Mrs. Penrhyn to complete the circle
of those most interested in our dear Augustus and Maria.
. . . . The walk through the churchyard was lined with
the school-children, with wreaths of flowers in their hands;
one went before us strewing flowers in our path ; and all the
silver spoons, tankards, watches, and ornaments of the
neighbouring farmers were fastened on white cloths drawn
over hoops, so as to make a sort of trophy on each side the
church gate, which is, I understand, a Shropshire custom.
The church was Carpeted and garlanded with flowers, one
arch just opposite the altar making a beautiful framework to
246 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the bride and bridegroom. Maria was quite composed all
through the service, and Augustus looked as if he was
indeed imploring a blessing upon the union then forming.
“At two o'clock they drove away, and the last we heard
of them was that as they went through Wistanswick, on
their way to Newport, the road was again lined with people,
and children, and flowers, and that Mrs. Augustus Hare
leaned forward and nodded to them all, and looked as
Smiling and happy as ever.”
Lady Jones meanwhile was becoming increasingly ill
daily at her house in South Audley Street, but on the wed-
ding day she had written —
“2nd /une, 1829.-I will not let this (I trust) happy day
pass without sending my most affectionate kind wishes and
blessing to, by this hour (two o'clock), my two dear children.
I thought of them often in the night, and never without my
blessing and prayers to the All Good and Wise Disposer of
all events for every happiness in this life which will best
conduce to their eternal happiness in the next.”
Just before his marriage, the small New College liv-
ing of Alton-Barnes in Wiltshire had fallen to Augustus
Hare as Fellow of his college, and he had accepted it.
But the place to which he first took his bride was
West Woodhay, near Newbury in Berkshire, which had
been lent to him for the purpose by his connection, John
Sloper.” It is a picturesque, old-fashioned, red-brick manor-
house, with high roofs and chimneys, embosomed among
* Emilia Shipley, second daughter of the bishop, married W. C.
Sloper, afterwards of Sundridge. Mr. Sloper of West Woodhay was
her husband's great-nephew.
TWEST WOODHAY. 247
trees; in front a lawn, backed by the swelling downs; and
at one side, almost close to the house, the little church, of
which Mr. Sloper was the rector. A more desolate place,
or one more entirely secluded from Society, could scarcely
be imagined ; and Mary Lea, one of the two maids who had
accompanied Mrs. A. Hare from Stoke, and who had
already entered upon those loving and devoted ministrations
which were to last for her whole lifetime, had many stories
to tell afterwards of its unearthly occupants, and the mys-
terious noises which were heard there at night. But M.
H.—as I will call, during this period of her life, her who
has been the sunshine and blessing of my own existence, as
she was of that of an earlier Augustus Hare—was very
happy there, and ever after remembered the place with a
tender affection. The family history at this time is best
told by extracts from the letters which remain :-
M. H. to C. S.
“West Woodhay House, June 5, 1829.-We came through
the park at Blenheim, which was delicious on such a day,
stopped a short time in Oxford, then to Newbury by
half-past five, and then came on here seven miles through
the most charming woody lanes. You may guess the delight
with which we approached our home, and found ourselves
here. It is the perfection of an old manor-house — the
house very large, which in this hot weather is very agree-
able, and does not look waste or dreary as it might do in
winter. The drawing-room where I now write is a
capital room, very well furnished, with three windows
down to the ground opening on a long lawn running
up to the hills, with trees on each side,-roses cluster-
ing in at the windows, and all looking so retired, I
248 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
should almost say lonely. Then there is a very nice
dining-room, and sitting-room for Augustus, besides a great
hall, and small library; and up-stairs my room is magnifi-
cent, and there is a large tapestried chamber with family
pictures. I don't know how we are to come down to rectory
accommodation afterwards. It seems all so extraordinary
being here alone, so completely separated from everything
and everybody; and you would have laughed to see me this
morning with my two servants, making out to the best of
our mutual knowledge or ignorance all the things to be sent
for, there being nothing except what has been borrowed
from the farm-house for last night and this morning. Mr.
Sloper comes to the farm to-morrow, which is very well, to
set us in the way of going on.
“I think you may now give full vent to your fancy in my
cause without much fear of being wrong. All you imagined
of the tenderness, consideration, and perfect way in
which I should be treated falls short of the reality.
When I am with Augustus it is but a continuance of
that confidence and openness which has so long existed
between us, only freed from any doubts or reserve kept
up as long as we were in an ambiguous situation. But
it seems very odd to find myself so completely removed
from all my own family, in so new a place, and obliged
to assume the office of mistress of a household to which I
am so little, used. I could scarcely think of any of you
without tears till to-day, and I do not know now that my
heart is not very full in turning to those I have left. It is
so different from any other parting. He understands it all
so well, but says if all women suffer as much in marrying
under so much less favouring circumstances as generally
are, he wonders they ever survive it. . . . . This weather
is perfectly delicious. Every now and then a dream comes
over me of Tuesday, and I feel as if I was now in another
WEST WOODHAY. 249
state of existence. I scarcely know yet how to write col-
lectedly and say what I feel, for all is bewildering to me
at present, especially to know myself in that situation so
long uncertain, doubtful, and distant, now really come to
pass in the most beautiful form I have ever pictured it.”
M. H. to LADY JONES.
“ West Woodhay, /une 6.—Your most kind and affec-
tionate welcome greeted us here, dearest aunt, last night, and
greatly did we both feel your good wishes for us upon that
eventful day which has opened so new a life to us both. I
trust neither you nor we can be deceived in feeling it
to be the beginning of such happiness as is granted to few
as far as regards our own mutual confidence and affection,
and though, in common with our fellow-travellers through
life, we must expect to meet with our due proportion of
sorrows and trials, I trust we may then rest upon the same
source for trust and support that we do now in gratitude.
The account of Tuesday you will receive from Stoke, I
believe, and probably a more correct report than we could
give—at least it seems to me in recurring to that day
very much like a dream, and I scarcely know what
passed. It is a trying thing and I felt even more than
I expected the wrench, if I may so express it, from all
former ties to form one so much stronger and which was to
last through life. I cannot tell you the tenderness and con-
sideration Augustus has shown me, and how he has endeared
himself to me more than ever by the kindness of his affection
during the last few days. He will now be rewarded by
seeing me as happy as he could desire, and in this delight-
ful place it seems as if we could scarcely enjoy ourselves
enough. . . . The man waits to take the letters, so I must
conclude with the dearest love of your two grateful and
happy children.”
25o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
L. A. S. (LUCY STANLEY) to M. H.
“/une II, 1829.-You will well know how I have rejoiced
in your letters. Our visions and pictures of all you were
to enjoy are indeed realised, and God grant, my own
dearest and best friend, they may long be lent to you. I
See your house at Woodhay, and know it as if I had seen
it—its green hay-fields, and the south-like woods and lanes,
So unlike our northern ones. I almost feel sorry that this
home, where you will pass the first weeks of married life,
is not to be your permanent one ; but perhaps you will
discover as many charms at Alton-Barnes, and every bank
you look upon will now be Zhymy, and every view sunny
and smiling.”
“June 22.—You do indeed draw a picture of the sunny
Thymy bank so beautiful, that one cannot help wishing life
should just now stand still for awhile with you. . . . . I
hardly ever heard any description of happiness after marriage
which sounded so perfect as yours. Everybody says and
writes that they are happier than any one ever was, but I am
sure that you are so.”
M. H. to C. S.
“June 12, 1829.-We dine at five o'clock, and walk after-
wards. You cannot imagine anything more delightful than
these fields are—so very extensive, more like a park, stretch-
ing before the house in a long uninterrupted surface of green
terminated by a range of green hills; and then the hawthorn
is such a mass of Snowy white, that it quite puts to shame
all lanes and hedges with you. What a different style of
country it is to be sure—so much more really retired and
country it looks than the north. I shall try the pony in a
day or two with him walking by my side ; he thinks it will
not run away. Sometimes he reads to me a little, and any-
body would have been amused to see him one evening read-
WEST WOODHAY. 25I
ing me a sermon of Skelton's, “How to be happy, though
married.’ To-day he has got down a volume of Rousseau
out of the little old library in the drawing-room, and has
read me some of the letters to Julie, which he calls eloquent
I). OIOSCI)SC.
“June 13.—I am most perfectly happy and comfortable.
Last night we had a delicious walk to a farm-house about a
mile off—so pretty, it was covered with roses and plants all
over the outside of the house, and I made friends with the
mistress, who sent me a loaf and oven-cake as a present.
Breakfast over, I go to the kitchen, inquire into matters
there, scold about the bad bread, contrive a dinner out of
nothing, find out how many things are not to be had for
asking. ‘No, ma'am, you can't have that because there is
not such a thing,' is my general answer. Then my bonnet
is put on, and we sally out into our park, find out new
paths, come home, ‘Letters and butcher,’ and so there is
business for the morning.
“June 20–The last week has been very enjoyable. I
have ridden every day, and Molly goes quite well, only
fidgeting at setting out. However yesterday she gave us a
fright. We went up the hill, higher than we had yet been,
to a point where was a gallows erected. It was exceedingly
windy, and in getting up the highest mound, such as the
beacon at Alderley Edge, the pony was excited, either by
the noise of the wind against my hat, or by its being so
high ; and if Augustus, who was at a little distance, had not
seen—for I think he could scarcely have heard my cry of
distress—and hastened to my aid, in another minute I
should have been galloping away over those high downs
as hard as the pony could go. My terror was momentary.
Augustus led the animal down, the wind being too high for
either of us to speak; but when we got under lee of the
wind, and the pony was quiet again, the fervent way in
252 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
• *
which he seized my hand—‘God bless her —God be
praised l’—showed how he had been frightened. I don't
suppose there would have been any danger for a bold rider,
who would have given herself up to the speed ; but I think
I should have been too much frightened to stick on long.
It was a splendid map view, and our way home through
delicious lanes.
“He is going with me through the Greek Testament,
reading two chapters each morning after breakfast and
lecturing upon them, he reading the Greek, I the English;
and he goes into it thoroughly. Sometimes he surprises me
by, ‘Now this is very difficult—I don't understand this one
bit ; ’ and so then we compare different passages, see what
is the connection, what is alluded to, &c.—in short, it is a
very interesting lecture.” <
M. H. to L. A. S.
“June 27.—This place is quite what I have so often
thought the first home ought to be, and what it so seldom
is in reality. . . . . . I delight in our Sundays; the relief
it is to cast one's self upon Him who will be with us in joy as
in sorrow, and upon whom we may repose with sure con-
fidence those trembling feelings of joy, whose uncertainty is
often felt, showing us the need of support even in rejoicing.
I longed for you to have been here last Sunday to have
heard my husband in the church. His preaching is so
earnest, and brings the subject so home, that I cannot but
feel all the time it must be doing good, and if his peculiar
manner has the effect of rousing attention, it is certainly
useful. Then he cordially unites with me in every plan of
considering the good of our little household, and I look
forward with still greater pleasure to all that we shall join in
when we have our own parish. I can hardly tell which
part of our day is the most enjoyable; but perhaps our
WEST WOODHAY. 253
evening walk or ride is the most so. Do not you know the
pleasure of hunting about in a library full of odd volumes
and old editions of books, all mixed in strange confusion ?
We found yesterday an old ‘Pilgrim's Progress,' with queer
cuts and engravings, which was amusing to look over. He
is reading Milton to me, and sometimes Wordsworth, and
anything else called forth by the occasion. Then he enjoys
a little song, and there is a very tolerable large pianoforte for
me to play to him upon.”
M. H. to C. S. (the same evening).
“Augustus and I were in the midst of our reading an
hour ago, when a chaise drove up to the door, and in
walked Mr. Sloper. His first words were, that Lady
Jones was scarcely expected to live through the day,
and Augustus would just have time by the return chaise to
catch the coach. There was a note from Julius, begging
him to come immediately. You may guess the hurry and
agitation of the moment, the putting up his things, &c., and
now, almost without my knowing it has been so, he is gone.
Yesterday she was very ill indeed. There was a consul-
tation of Brodie, Warren, &c. The latter thought very ill of
her, and feared for to-day. Mrs. Warren” was with her till
past eleven last night, thought once or twice she was gone.
She rallied however a little, but Mr. Sloper seems to think
she cannot get over this attack. I do hope Augustus may
arrive in time to see her, and I feel quite rejoiced to have
him off. How one regrets that she has not lived to benefit
by the happiness she has given. I feel easier on this point
now that I have seen her in London, and that he will feel
* Penelope Shipley, eldest daughter of the Dean of St. Asaph,
married (1814) Dr. Pelham Warren, the eminent physician. Of a
most unselfish and charming disposition, she was greatly beloved by
all the family. She died in 1865.
254 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
she did know me. How thankful I am to be his wife—able
to comfort him, and with the right to know and hear every-
thing. We had no time for any words when he was leaving,
except his reminding me of a dream he had about his aunt
a week ago : that she puzzled him by saying she was going
into the Barn, when he asked about her coming to Wort-
ing, and which he made out, still in his dream, by the text
of the wheat being gathered into the garner ; and he said to
me at the time, “Remember my telling you this.' I got
a note from her, written some days ago, full of affection,
and thanking me for knitting her some muffitees. . . .
Dearest Augustus ! how I shall feel now he is gone the
increase of love in the last three weeks. We were saying
yesterday how it seemed to grow every day, and how it was
quite a grief to him to think of it; for it could not last, we
had no right to be so much happier than other people. . .
How naturally I fall to writing to you in any emergency
that you may share with me every feeling.”
JULIUS HARE to M. H.
“South Aud/ey Streeſ, June 27.—Augustus will probably
have left you before this, and you will rejoice to hear he
will have the comfort of finding my aunt considerably better.
This morning she said she was a great deal better than
yesterday. When I was reading some of the prayers for the
sick, she asked, ‘Is there not one for rendering thanks for
an amendment of health P’ Still, though the danger is
averted for the present, I am afraid we must not indulge the
hope, even if we ought to cherish the wish, of keeping her
long amongst us. Her general weakness is so great, and
seems rather increasing than diminishing, that her constitu-
tion, however naturally strong, will hardly be able to hold
out much longer; and when her life is so much more
thickly beset with suffering than with enjoyment, even those
WEST WOODHAY. 255
who will grieve most at losing such an object to love and
revere, ought hardly to desire that she should be detained
from her heavenly reward.
“God bless you, and make you and Augustus the endless
source of happiness to each other. He will probably soon
need you to replace his best counsellor and friend, and he is
fortunate in having already Secured so good a substitute. I
hope some time or other to be a witness of, and therefore a
partaker in, your happiness.
“John Sloper has been as kind and attentive, and almost
as one of her own nephews, to my aunt.”
A. W. H. to M. H.
“South Audley Street, June 28.—Though Julius wrote to
relieve your anxiety yesterday, I presume the loving wife
will send over to Newbury for the letter I promised by the
night Coach, and her messenger must not return empty-
handed. Alas ! though there is an improvement in my aunt,
it can only be a question of weeks or days.
“At Newbury I heard the last coach had been gone half
an hour. ‘Horses immediately.’ At twenty minutes after
four I was driving up to the inn at Reading, having gone
Seventeen miles in an hour and a half. ‘Is the last coach
gone?’ ‘No,' said the landlord, “it is changing horses at
this minute.’ ‘Gallop on, driver !' He did, and we caught
it before it started. There was an inside place, so in I got,
and by nine P.M. was at home. You may conceive my
joy when the servant who opened the door said, ‘Her
ladyship is much better.”
“June 29.-What a delightful note, dearest, did you send
to greet my waking this morning, and make me feel less
solitary and widowed, shall I say, or more. It is just so I
would have wished my wife to write and think, years before
I had one, and when the name was little more than an idea
256 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
to me. To find that idea realised in my own Mia, is a
blessing a thousand times too great for me, did God mea-
Sure out his bounty according to our deserts, and not rather
pour it out of his exceeding bountifulness and loving-
kindness.
“My aunt is slightly better. Her nurses have hitherto
been my aunt Louisa and Penelope alternately. Dear,
good, affectionate Penelope would never dream of feeling
tired, or own that she was so, till she dropt; but drop she
will if this attendance lasts much longer, and it may go on
for weeks. Julius has formed a plot for you to come up
and relieve her a little by sharing her duties. Alas ! if my
aunt had done two years ago what she has so nobly done
for us this year, she would have had you now to comfort
her. As it is, you are still so much of a stranger to her,
that there is some fear of her not feeling sufficiently at ease
with you in her infirmities. My belief is that three days
would get over the difficulty, and make your presence a
continual joy to her. I Only mention this, that you may
not be surprised if you receive a summons. You would
come, of course, to a lodging ; you would come to attend
on a sick person; you would have to exercise much judg-
ment and steadiness; but you would feel that you were
of use to her who has united us, you would be sensible
it is the only return in all probability you will be
allowed to make her, and you would rejoice that at the
sacrifice of some personal convenience you are permitted
to minister a degree of Satisfaction and ease to her last
moments.”
M. H. to A. W. H.
“West Woodhay, June 3o.—What a joy to me have
your letters been this morning. It is in such times as
these that one feels the full delight of the perfect Con-
WEST WOODHAY. - 257
fidence there is between us. I felt so sure of your under-
standing what my feeling would be about your aunt, that it
was quite unnecessary to express it. I think if I came I
might be of some little use, though less I fear than many,
with equal goodwill, from Iny awkwardness and inexperience.
But in this, as in everything else, do and Order as seemeth
you best; here I am, your devoted wife, whose highest
happiness is to do what you think it right she should do.
“Do not be very vain when I tell you that there was a
very large congregation on Sunday evening, great part of
which was much disappointed at not hearing you preach—
for which laudable purpose they had gone to church So
you see your sermon of the Sunday before gained other ap-
probation besides that of your partial Mia.
“I need not tell you how much I miss you, nor tantalise
you with thinking what a delicious walk we should have had
yesterday evening after the rain ceased ; but somehow or
other Woodhay does not look so gay and cheerful as it did
Some few days ago, and I hear no laughing voices sound-
ing in its passages.”
M. H. to C. S.
“June 30.—I am satisfied to have had our first month of
enjoyment unsullied. That enjoyment has been so great
as to make me only the more anxious to show my gra-
titude to her who has given it, and to gratify him by the
full extent of whose tenderness and consideration I have
benefited by so much. The separation of this week will
Teconcile me to being in any place with him, though
the exchange of Woodhay delights for a lodging, with
Summer-days to be passed in a sick-room in London, is
not exactly what one should choose. But there is no help,
and I doubt not if it is to be, we shall find ample cause to
rejoice in having done it.
VOL. I. S
258 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“I thought this morning what a pleasure there is in the
power of sending one's one servant off to the post just at the
time he ought to be bringing in breakfast—submitting to the
indignity of having the coffee brought by a maid rather than
wait for the letters. No quantity of servants or money
could make me feel more independent than the perfect
Command which marriage gives one over the few one has,
and the complete choice left to one's selfzwhich inconveniences
to choose. I have just regained strength and spirits enough
to enter upon the new duties awaiting me, if so it is to be.
How destined my life seems to be not to stagnate. I look
forward to Alton as quite a haven of rest and peace. As
much as anything I dread the jealousies there will be about
my being with Lady Jones; however, I have nothing to do
with that.”
M. H. to A. W. H.
“July 1.—How I did want you yesterday to admire the
most glorious sunset. Mr. Barker, or Burford, or whatever
is the name, might have taken some good hints for his Pan-
demonium in that glowing sea of fire, with the streams
issuing out of it, and the splendid battlements of clouds
piled one above another closing it in. Even Mr. Sloper
was obliged to stand still and admire it, in spite of the
ominous appearance for the hay ; and truly it has not de-
ceived us, for to-day the heavens seem inclined to pour out
their utmost fury upon us, and it will be well if you find
anything remaining of Woodhay floating on the top of the
waters when you return.
“Let me take advantage of Mr. Sloper's absence among
his workpeople, to draw near to my Augustus and tell him
how he lives in my thoughts. I can no longer cheat myself
with the fancy that he is ensconced, book in hand, pre-
tending to write letters of business in the library; nor flatter
WEST WOODHAY. 259
myself with the idea that he is pacing the tapestry-room
for exercise this rainy day. It seems to assume a very real
air of separation now. . . . . .
“July 2.—The account to-day is most disheartening.
That our dear aunt may be spared further pain is now all
that we can hope or pray for her in this world. Would that
I had gone with you and could have shared the anxiety and
attendance of those who have so devoted themselves to her
last days, and to whom it will be a lasting satisfaction to feel
that they have done so. But this could not be, and I only
feel thankful that you have yourself been able to be with
her to the last. I have had a very distressing thing to do
this morning, in breaking to Ravenscroft (the cook) the
sudden death of a sister to whom she was much attached.
She was in sad affliction, and it went to my heart to cause
so much grief; but there could not be a time when such a
communication would be made with more sympathy that
after receiving your sad letter, and feeling that ere this you
probably are mourning the departure of one who has so long
been an object of interest and anxiety. Dearest, how I wish
to be with you it is needless to say. You are with those who
feel as you do, you will have much to do, and you know
that when the time comes, and everything is done that can be
done, and you have paid the last tribute of respect and affec-
tion to her who has been so kind to you from childhood, you
will find me to feel for you and with you, and who through
life will seek to be your comforter and friend. I cannot tell you
how glad I am that this has not happened before. As your
wife I may share every feeling, and, as far as earthly comfort
can go, contribute all I can to replace what you will lose.”
A. W. H. to M. H.
“July 2.-She is much weaker. All muscular power has
ceased. When lying quite back in her chair she seems
26o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE,
easiest. The fire is going out for want of fuel. The pulse
proves the vitality which still remains, but the machine is
worn out. Penelope still insists on sitting up every night.
There is an occasional cheerfulness in my aunt's manner,
and a constant thought and care about others, which are
the best practical Christianity, and worth all the sermons in
the world.
“July 3– Much the same, but feebler, and, if possible,
thinner,’ is Dr. Warren's report to-day. Her senses are
growing dimmer. Last night, for the first time, she did not
make me out. This morning she did not know Julius, and
Penelope doubted if she knows anybody. The greatest
Comfort is that she is calm and quiet, and apparently suffers
little. She often smiles; and her talk, as far as I have
heard it, though wandering, is on agreeable subjects.
“July 6.-My black seal and paper will have announced
to you that all is over. She was called from us at ten
minutes after nine this morning. Nothing could be easier
than her departure. She literally expired, or breathed away
her soul, without a struggle or a groan. Shall we envy or
grudge her the reward of her years on years of active
munificence?”
M. H. to A. W. H.
“West Woodhay, July 8.-My own dearest Augustus, you
know how I feel with you—how every thought and feeling
goes along with you—in recurring to the many years of
kindness and affection which must come before you, in
feeling that she to whom you have so long looked for
assistance and guidance, who has been an object of Such
long anxiety and interest, is indeed gone. How grateful I
am that I have seen her, and to have the impression which
none but personal evidence can give of what she was, and
still more grateful am I to have the power now of sharing
WEST WOODHAY. 261
your grief and seeking to fill up the chasm her loss must
have made to you. . . . . 73
Very little doubt had been entertained before the death
of Lady Jones as to the contents of her will. To Mr.
Sloper, to Dr. Warren, and to other friends, she had
frequently spoken of it; and all her relations believed that
she had left her property at Worting to Mrs. Warren
(Penelope Shipley), her house in South Audley Street to
Francis Hare, a legacy to Julius, and the residue of her
property, with her library, pictures, and furniture, to Augus-
tus, whom she had always regarded as her adopted son.
After her death, however, the rightful will was never found,
and it was supposed that she had destroyed it when her
mind was enfeebled by her last illness, mistaking it for the
old will, which was found, and which was inscribed—“To
be burnt.” To all the three brothers this was a great
distress as well as a serious loss.
A. W. H. to M. H.
“July 7 1829, South Audley Street.—T)earest, dearest
Mia. How providential our marriage took place when it
did Had it been delayed another month, it might not
have taken place for years. My aunt, the most methodical
of women, and possessing an amount of clear understanding
which would have done credit to the best men of business,
she, with all her minuteness of detail, has left two wills in
the same envelope, and in such a state that it seems clear
the second is good for nothing, and the chief question is,
whether it invalidates the first. If it does, she has died
intestate; if it does not, her money goes almost entirely
(for the greater part of it will certainly go) to the last pos-
262 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
sible persons in the world she would have wished. And as
for Worting, it is not even named ; though she had promised
it to Dr. Warren, and, it is quite clear, meant to give it him.
“The last will, which has the signature obliterated, and
‘this to be burnt' written at the bottom, is dated as far back
as 1821. The other is a will of 1809, when my sister was
alive, and is chiefly in her favour. . . . . However, thank
God her life was spared long enough to carry into partial
effect her kind and generous intentions in my behalf.
“July 8.-Old Lewis, the Worting bailiff, has written,
“No doubt our loss is her ladyship's gain, and her dear soul
is at rest.’ His letter is perfect in its way, from its serio-
comic mixture of genuine feeling with scraps of book and
sermon phrases. He talks of ‘How much she will be
missed by the poor of Worting, and regretted by all.”
She will be missed, indeed, unless the search to-morrow at
Worting after a will is successful, and produces some
inheritor of her kind-heartedness as well as of her land. I
have myself not a doubt that it will produce it. The more
Julius and I have compared our thoughts on the matter, the
more certain we are that my aunt has not by negligence, in
the most important arrangement of her life, contradicted
sixty years, or more, of methodical and provident activity.
“July 9.—Doubtless there is another, and of course a
perfect will. So many circumstances on inquiry have come
out, all pointing the same way, that the fact appears to me
as certain as anything can be, which rests only on pro-
babilities and presumptions. It was made about last
Michaelmas, and it cannot have been destroyed since.
Mislaid it may have been ; but sooner or later it will be
found. Perhaps it is so now, or at least it will be, ere I
finish my letter, for Francis, Julius, Mr. Seton (our good
lawyer), and Charles Shipley, set out in a britska this morn-
ing, at seven, for Worting; and, allowing them six hours
WEST WOODHAY. 263
for their journey, they are at this moment searching for it.
They return to-night, but it will be late before they can get
back. It is for the sake of justice, and of seeing my dear
aunt's intentions (whatever they may be) carried into full
effect—it is that those who have equitable claims on her,
and that the poor, may not be deprived of what she
destined for them, and not from any personal interests of
my own, that I am anxious to have her will produced.
“/u/y Io.—You will grieve to hear that our expectations
have been sadly disappointed. Worting has produced
nothing. That a will was made at the time she obliterated
the signature from the will of 1821, and that she believed it,
or some subsequent one, to be in existence, is quite certain,
from fifty speeches during the last two months. Whether it
has been destroyed by accident, or laid by too securely to
be found, I know not. It is not forthcoming, and perhaps
never may be ; but to Julius and me, and indeed to all who
love Aer, and not her property, it is a great consolation that
this inconvenience, grievous and manifold as it is, is not
aggravated by a conviction—no, nor even by a suspicion—
that she was procrastinating or neglectful about her last and
most important worldly act. In the meantime a suit—an
amicable suit, for so I find they call those suits which
provoke more ill-blood than any other—must be instituted in
Doctors' Commons; and if the second will is not quashed
there, the interpretations of the last clause carries us, still
amicably—it is wonderful how amicable people are when
their dirty interests are engaged—into the very pleasant Court
of Chancery. God show us the way out of all such evils."
M. H. to C. S.
“July 12.-I wish you could know that at this moment
I have got him back. Mr. Sloper being too ill to return
yesterday for his duty to-day, Augustus was obliged to put
264 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
aside his scruples about leaving the house in South Audley
Street, and come in his place, and you may imagine what a
meeting we had about eight o'clock last night. If he had been
dead and risen to life again, I could scarcely have felt more
in having him again. He looks most wretchedly, so thin
and Care-worn, and has been made quite ill. He consulted
Dr. Warren, who said, ‘You have come from the extreme of
happiness to the extreme of misery, and the revulsion has
been too great. Go home to your wife, and she and quiet
will be better than all the medicines in the world.” It seems
quite clear that there must have been a subsequent will,
even if she destroyed it by mistake. Francis seems to have
behaved very well. In giving directions the first day after
her death, he burst into an agony of tears, and could not go
on. When the will leaving a thousand pounds to him was
read, he proposed at once its being divided between Julius
and Marcus. In case neither of the wills are good for
anything, the property would be equally divided amongst
the brother and sisters' children—giving thus one share
to the Dean's children, one to Mrs. Hare's children,
one to Mrs. C. L. Shipley, and one to Mrs. Sloper's only
child, Mrs. Charles Warren, so of course the Hares' proportion
for each would be small. Lady Jones leaves 24, 3,000 in One
of the wills to charities. It is very puzzling, very annoying,
and likely to be a long source of discussion. Everything
else found is order and method itself—letters all ticketed in
packets, ‘For Augustus and Julius to read, and afterwards to
be burnt,’ and the same to others. All accounts are paid
up to Easter. Augustus heard her mutter to herself, “All
my worldly affairs are settled, servants and all.” A few days
before her death she dictated as clearly as possible a
beautiful letter to Lord Spencer. A year ago he had asked
for Sir J. Reynolds's portrait of Sir W. Jones, evidently wish-
ing to complete his collection. She was affronted, and re.
WEST WOODHAY. 265
fused. This letter was to tell him she had reconsidered his
request, thought Sir W. J. would have wished him to have
it, and begged his acceptance of it; that she had now but
a few days, perhaps hours, to live, and could not be
satisfied without employing her nephew Julius, as she was
too ill, to write; spoke of the mortification she had felt in
his doing nothing to promote Marcus, which she had so
much at heart; but as worldly things had become of less
import, the pain she had felt on this account had diminished,
and she heartily forgave it to him, and hoped he would
equally forgive any hasty word she might have used in
speaking on the subject; that she had now great pleasure in
complying with his request, and had always retained the
sincerest affection for him. She begged it might be sealed
with black, and sent when she was gone, and she then
seemed satisfied that everything was done. The brothers
give Mrs. Pelham Warren a diamond ring with Lady Jones's
hair in gratitude for her attentions. Augustus says Julius
cried himself into a fever on the day of the death.”
A. W. H. to M. H.
“July 17.-John Sloper will tell my dearest Mia all the
particulars about the funeral—how Julius read the service
over her, slowly, distinctly, and with a voice that scarcely
faltered; how, after it was over, the brothers walked down
with Charles Shipley to the church to fix on a place for
her monument; how liberally and with what disinterested-
ness Charles has behaved in the scheme he has drawn up
for a compromise; and all other how’s which you would
have a painful interest in hearing.”
TM. H. to C. S.
“ West Woodhay, July 19–I think I wrote on Thursday
night after Penrhyn went. Friday was a thorough wet day
i.
ſ266 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
again. I had my fire, and wrote out a long extract from
Blackstone about New College and Winchester, Founder's
kin, &c., as I was ordered, and was thinking how comfort.
able one could always be when left quite alone, when in
walked Mr. Sloper. However, he brought me a letter from
Augustus, and the latest news about the funeral, &c. Julius
read the service. Nobody attended but the servants, the
three brothers, Charles Shipley, Mr. Seton, and himself.
The only news about the will is that they have found some
money in the French funds, making her property amount to
above 24,60, ooo. They say Mrs. C. Warren is sure to do
what is right and handsome, and Mr. Sloper is very
anxious she should, as she is his cousin. Then Shipley
Conwy, who is heir-at-law to Worting,” has written in the
handsomest manner to Dr. Warren, saying that his aunt did
not intend him to have it, and as she had declared her wish
that he should have it, he shall certainly make it over to
Dr. Warren—a fine thing to do, as 247,ooo might have been
too great a temptation to give up at twenty-two. She in-
tended to have founded two scholarships out of Worting,
which I believe Dr. Warren will do, and he has some land
in Wales, which he will probably give to Shipley Conwy—
near St. Asaph—so it will be a system of giving up and
giving. I find the envelope to all the papers was evidently
new, and not written above a year ago. This seems to me
decisive that the new will was put into the same cover,
and that it has been wrongly destroyed. To be sure it is
provoking !
“You may guess how impatient I am to hear about
Alton-Barnes. When once settled, I think I shall be so
happy I shall not know what to do. There is something so
enlivening in having real things to do, and I shall be
so busy in making my garden and everything nice. I
* His father, William Shipley, was eldest son of the J)ean of St.
Asaph.
WEST WOODHAY. 267
begin to feel a little more naturalised, and less as in a
dream.
“July 26, 1829.-I am glad you feel the comfort of my
details, and that you find in this I am not as yet changed ;
indeed, I know not how it could be otherwise, and with one
who has so long shared every thought and interest. I feel
as if I could hardly—separated as we are likely to be—tell
enough of all I feel to make up for the want of personal
observations and intercourse. I regret so often that it will
be so long before you see us as we are. . . . . He has been
very busy composing his letter to the Bishop of Winchester
about the evils of Founder's kin, which plague him much,
and he walks up and down the great Saloon up-stairs half
the day. I do not know what he is to do at Alton with
rooms too small for any quarter-deck—here he has been SO
spoilt by having such great space for his pacings. Then on
Friday came a notice to Mr. Sloper of a confirmation whilst
he is away, so Augustus will have to prepare the people for
it. He is certainly very queer about his writing; whilst he
takes such time often to write a letter, at other times he is
equally rapid. Yesterday before service he was about ten
minutes writing a sheet-full upon confirmation, which after
his sermon he brought out, with the bishop's letter, and I
dare say surprised the people not a little, telling them how,
a stranger amongst them, he was unable to do all he would
otherwise wish to do in inquiring into the state of their
families, &c., but exhorted them to attend to this notice,
and that he was ready on his part to do everything to help
them to a right understanding of this part of their duty;
that he should fix a time when he knew who were willing to
come—such a time as might suit not his convenience but
theirs, to whom time was more valuable; and then he
brought forward every objection they could make to being
confirmed, and asked what Christ would say on being told
it was too much trouble !
(268 MEMORIALs of A QUIET LIFE.
* “Yesterday I had my mind enlightened upon the origin
of Augustus's interest in and fancy for military tactics and
politics—of all the youthful dreams he had, all kept to him-
self, and nourished up—the long vision of delivering his
Country, as he then considered Italy, from the Austrian yoke.
His account of his early habits of thought quite accounts for.
any originality of ideas—always making a point of not read-
ing the opinions of others, finding out the facts, and working i
them out in his own mind. |
“I am amused to think how little most women would
have suited him, and how exactly I do. His love for
ruminating by himself, to anybody without resources of their
own, would be so dull, and he would not like that eternal
interruption which many wives would give; then their being
fussy about trifles, talking about their neighbours' concerns,
vagueness, and the very least regard to appearances or
show, would annoy him so much ; and yet, without liking a
wife to be troublesome in fondness, he would ill have borne
with the slightest coldness; so that, without vanity, I cer-
tainly am more adapted to his wants than most could
have been. Perhaps I might equally say of myself
that, indulged as I have always been, I should have borne
ill any person of more irritable nature, and less tender and
considerate. Putting aside all other considerations, I never
saw anybody so easy to live with, by whom the daily petty
things of life were passed over so lightly; and then there is
a charm in the refinement of feeling, which is not to be told
in its influence upon trifles.
“July 27.-A new parcel of books has just arrived, and
Augustus having seized upon one, I have no chance of a
word for some time, and so you shall hear all what you are
wishing to know about his expedition. At Salisbury he
went through all the forms of institution with the bishop.
Saturday, with difficulty, he found his way by cross-roads to
WEST WOODHAY. 269
Alton-Barnes, put his hand upon the church key, rang the
bell three times, and on Sunday went through the morning
service with all the Articles and other necessary declara-
tions—the evening service, prayers, and Sermon ; which
latter, not being prepared, he was obliged to borrow a ser-
mon, and says it was the worst he ever read. This all done,
he was duly inducted rector of Alton-Barnes. And now for
the house. It has steps up to the door, a wide passage, good
staircase, dining-room on one side, study on the other; up-
stairs drawing-room, three bedrooms and dressing-closet,
five good attics, fit for single gentlemen. The rooms low,
small, confined. The first thing to be done to cut away a
clunup of trees just before the windows, excluding all air
from the lower rooms. Church a couple of hundred yards
off; and a second church close by, belonging to Alton-
Priors, a parish of which we shall have the principal charge
probably, as the clergyman lives four miles off, and there is
only service once in three weeks. Augustus looks for com-
fort to the high downs on each side of us. I think my
eagerness to get to our own house and the readiness to
leave Woodhay has much abated since I have anticipated
the exchange from this large room, large windows opening
on so fine a lawn, to the little confined imits of a low room,
small windows, a chalk road, and a barrier of trees, and I
look at our fine expanse here with infinitely more admiration
in thinking how short will be our enjoyment of such luxury.
Then Woodhay now, with the return of fine weather, of
Augustus, &c., has returned to its first charm, and we shall
have a second honeymoon in comfort.”
“August 2.-Augustus is so shocked at the ignorance of
the people here who have come to him about confirmation,
that he is set down to write a sermon for them this evening.
I therefore will sit down to instruct you, not about confirm-
ation, but about Alton-Barnes.
27,o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“To be sure, Woodhay does seem a paradise on return-
ing, and the fine space and breathing-room is so enjoyable 1.
But comparisons are odious, and we will forget Woodhay,
whilst I tell you of our home that is to be. A delightful
day we had on Friday. The drive through Marlborough
Chase—Lord Ailesbury's—was exquisite. We stopped at
Marlborough about three-quarters of an hour looking at
household furniture to be sold, and we found little enough
to wish for. About two o'clock, after a beautiful drive
through the vale of Pewsey, we arrived at Alton. Could we
have stopped three miles on this side, we should have
been in the prettiest, most delightful country I ever saw ;
but we are just a little too far, getting too much tupon the
barren chalk downs. Alton itself is quite an oasis in the
desert—a hamlet, with much wood and green meadows, all
shut in to a small compass, backed on every side by the
green hills, which are more broken and better formed than
those here, and in a drawing I dare say would give the
effect of being in a fine mountainous country ! It was much
prettier than I expected, and the approach to the Rectory
agreeably surprised me. It is red brick, it is true, and the
door is in the middle, with little windows on each side, but
then it has the tint of old age; the front is nearly covered
with clematis and jessamine, and the little green sloping
terrace and shrubs and trees round it, though rather Con-
fined, give a look of quiet and retirement. The inside was
much what I expected, very comfortable as to the number
of rooms, but the size being fourteen and fifteen feet Square,
and low, seemed very confined after our spacious quarters
here; and then, as we dined eleven, we saw them to the
greatest disadvantage. The study, which has shelves all
round and cupboards below, looked the best; the others
scantily furnished and wretched; yet I could not help
thinking how much we should have to do to make them
WEST WOODHAY. 271
even as full as they are now. . . . . Miss Crowe took me all
over the house and offices. She was, I suppose, a little
shy, and I felt exceedingly the awkwardness of the situation,
coming to turn out these people who had lived there
eighteen years, and were much attached to the place ; so
that, further than seeing went, I made little progress, and I
felt quite in despair how to set about anything further.
After dinner we went out to the church, which is the
smallest place you ever saw, with about half a dozen pews.
A farmhouse close to it, with the prettiest possible flower-
garden, excited my envy. I was introduced to the lady of
it and her daughters, who are of quite a higher order than
our farmers in the north. Alton-Priors is quite close, and
the church, which I wish was ours, has a fine old tower and
magnificent yew-tree. I settled my first sketch at once.
Altogether it is certainly very pretty. The worst part is the
roads, being chalky, and in winter they say it is like walk-
ing through so much mortar, no stirring without pattens—old
Stoke lanes must have been excellent in comparison. Next
morning we got on much better. Miss Crowe began to
find out my ignorance, and to offer her advice ; and with
much kindness set to work helping me to take dimensions
for curtains, Carpets, &c. She was, I am sure, much
amused by my ignorance, and Augustus's perfect helpless-
ness, and I believe she pitied me greatly in having no assist-
ance from him, but “settle it just as you please.’
“I feel no doubt we shall get very fond of the place, and
that Augustus will be heartily sorry to exchange it for
Hurstmonceaux. The barrenness of the downs gives our
little hamlet quite the appearance of an oasis in a desert, and
there is something especially appropriate to the character of
a pastor and his flock in the having them all so immediately
under his own eye. I am very happy in seeing, by the ex-
perience here, how much Augustus makes himself beloved
272 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
by the poor people, and how much they like his plain and
homely style of teaching them,
“August 6.—Augustus says, “Now you will write to
K.,’ all the people being gone, and as it is a pity not
to fulfil his expectation, I will so enjoy myself. Of course
Mrs. Hare-Naylor's dreaded visit has not been so
alarming as my expectation. She came just before dinner
on Monday, with our two half-brothers, Gustavus and
Reginald, and our half-sister Georgiana. . . . . . David
could not have waited upon us all, so Mary came in to
assist him, which she did with the same good sense and
good humour with which she does everything. Everything
seemed to go on with so little trouble, I wondered how
people with tolerable servants can contrive so much fuss.
One day, to be sure, Augustus said there was not dinner
enough, and another day too much ; but I told Mrs. H. N.
she must in her mind unite the whole, and it would amount
to a right proportion of feeding during the three days; and
she laughed heartily, and I dare say forgave the inequality.
“Did I tell you of the good sermon Augustus got up to
preach on Sunday evening, written in three hours. In such
sort of ta/King sermons he will never have any difficulty.
He had a hard day's work—the men and women in the
morning to be questioned, and in the evening, after dinner,
the farmers' sons. One man of fifty wished to be confirmed.
“Do you know who Jesus Christ is?’ ‘Why, please your
Honour, I canna' rightly say.' But of the Seventy people
in the parish, twenty-seven are to be confirmed. Yesterday
was a charming day. Uncle Hugh Leycester came just as
we were going to breakfast. He was very much affected on
seeing me, and some time before he could recover himself,
and I thought he looked ill. He was much interested in
seeing the place, and he looked so pleased to see me
so happy, and cried a good deal when he went away.
|
WEST WOODHAY. 273
“As Mr. Sloper's hay was spoiling for want of hands,
Augustus set us all to work yesterday to turn it, setting the
example himself.
“August 26.-Having shut out these stormy winds, beat-
ing with the fury of December against the windows, made
up my fire, and got candles, I will employ my solitary even-
ing in writing to you. Augustus is gone with Mr. Sloper to
dine at Lord Carnarvon's at Highclere ; for yesterday, as
Augustus and I had been riding in the park there, just as
we were going out of it, we met Lord Porchester, who
expressed much surprise at seeing him, and much regret at
not having known before of his being in the neighbourhood,
as well as of his being about to leave Highclere himself.
So this morning there came a servant over with a note,
begging Augustus would excuse the short notice and dine
there to-day. As nothing was said about me, I did not Sup-
pose myself invited, but advised him to accept so kind an
invitation. Highclere is a most beautiful place. The woods
there, though on a larger scale and wilder, reminded me of
the Alderley beech-wood, and were not less admired on that
account. The day before we rode to Lord Craven's,
Hampstead, which is on a smaller scale, but extremely wild
and pretty. You may think how I enjoy these rides, and
seeing something of this country. My steed is the pleasant-
est I ever mounted, having all the free-going and spirit of a
hunter, and the steadiness which gives perfect confidence
As for Augustus, he trots along upon Molly, and keeps me
in a fright, when she is in one of her fidgets, with the addi-
tional anxiety, that when he gets annoyed with her, he does
not choose to be conquered, and so sets off, leaving me to
my fate, while he finishes the battle in a ploughed field. I
think at our neighbour Mr. Butler's they must be much
amused by him—finding a volume of Clarendon or of Par-
liamentary Statutes the minute he gets into the room, and
WOL. I. T
274 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
without another word sitting down in a corner, and not
speaking till dinner. I am sure I am invaluable to him in
saying all the proper things and laughing at his ways. We
dined there on Saturday, and he got up at five on Sunday
to write his sermon. He has now got through four of the
confirmation series, and will end next Sunday. The last
was on the Atonement, and taken partly from Erskine's
Internal Evidences. He talks to the people about the star
that shines so brightly over Woodhay Hill, about what the
house at Highclere is built of, about the crown in the
Tower of London, with various other illustrations, amusing
enough I dare say to them. He finds greater facility both
in writing his sermons and in catechising than at first, and
will certainly take a great interest in it.
“The Cedars, East Sheen, September 2.—Here I am once
again, and very strange and odd I feel being here in a new
capacity. We arrived yesterday about four P.M., and found
them all standing at the door to receive us. We have
parted from West Woodhay quite as our home, and have
now done with it as our house, and shall never be there
again in the same way. It is the close, too, of a happy era
—the first three months—which we both regret; and, Com-
ing away to other people, it seems becoming like them, and
getting accustomed to separation.
“September 12.—We have been several days in New
Street for our shopping, and I certainly did feel in its full
extent the comfort of such an associate as Augustus in such
a business—the perfect temper, readiness to assist, and the
perfect liberty which it gave one. I believe we were far
more independent having no horses to consider, walking
where we pleased, and then stepping into a cab or chaise;
and so we set out about ten, and never returned to New
Street till five or six, stopping to eat when we felt disposed.
In a shop in Wardour Street Augustus bought a study
WEST WOODHAY. 275
chair, of old carved oak, with a crimson cushion, and he
flatters himself that his reverence seated in that will be
much respected ; and I ordered a book table according to
my own fancy, having two shelves above, a bureau part, and
shelves below, with a cupboard at each end. These have
been our only extravagances.
“ West Woodhay, September 21.-We took Worting on
our way back here, getting there by two o'clock. It is an
ugly country of enclosed downs, but of course was full of
interest. We stopped at the inn at Worting to order some
dinner, drove up to the house, about two hundred yards up
a lane—a pretty wooded village, with three or four good
houses in it. It was a less formal and much prettier place
than I expected, even as it looked on such a wet day.
Mrs. Butcher, Lady Jones's faithful maid, was there to
receive us, having been ordered there to attend to the valu-
ation of everything, and very sad she looked. Augustus
took me all over the old places, and—‘Here she used to sit
—this was her arm-chair—this her Sofa–and so I used to
move it for her,’ &c.—with many little details. Down-stairs
is a dining-room, little study, and breakfast-room ; up-stairs
a drawing-room, with three windows and books all round,
very like the room at Penrhos, and just fitted up in that
sort of style, very comfortable without being fine. A fine
gleam came luckily to enable us to go out, and I went all
over the gravel walks with Augustus, and very pretty they
are—nice beech avenues making a round of about three-
quarters of a mile. We saw old Lewis the bailiff, and Susan
our future dairy-maid. Augustus picked out all books be-
longing to himself, a few pamphlets out of one drawer and
a few out of another, put aside out of the china what
belonged to them as children, &c., for Mrs. Butcher to keep
apart. She, poor thing, seemed sadly distressed at what to
do, nobody to say what should be done or not—so troubled
276 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
that Augustus would not dine there. There was the sketch
hung up of Augustus and his wet-nurse. I should Hike to
have that. I longed to have stayed longer looking over all
the old places. It looked as if Lady Jones had just left it, and I
am very glad to have seen it in the old original state. The
books would make a very nice addition to our library, a
great many modern and some good standard books. After
dining at the inn, we set out in pouring rain, going three
miles out of our way to Overton to see old Sally Penton.
The poor old woman wept bitterly on seeing us; said she
could not get over her loss as she ought ; so delighted to
see me ; and sate all the time with both my hands in hers,
kissing me, and saying, whenever Augustus went to talk to
the granddaughter, what a dear good man Augustus was,
and how everybody loved him, and wished he could have
had Worting, and of all he used to say and do, and talked
about how lucky we were married first, just as you would do.
She is just such a little withered acute old woman as Lady
Jones was herself, eighty-four, but would hobble down to
the door to see us go away, and never did visit I believe
give more pleasure. We took her two bottles of wine and
a chicken, and Augustus gave the granddaughter 24, Io
towards the payment of the pension, which unluckily Lady
Jones had forgotten to pay before leaving Worting. All
this was delightful. We had then about eighteen miles
on here. Before we reached Highclere, the daylight was
gone ; one of our lamps was broken, so we could only light
one. The post-boy could not find his way in these most
intricate cross-roads; and, after driving into a farmyard or
two, having to ask our way, &c., we at last took a guide,
who, perched on the boot, directed the turns, and some-
times helped to turn the wheels when the horses refused to
draw up some of the steep hills, as they did two or three
times, being completely knocked up. Anything so bad or so
WEST WOODHAY. 277
dark, or so doubtful if we should ever get home, I never
felt. We began to debate about sending for Mr. Sloper's
cart-horses to drag us on. However, at last, by Stopping
every hundred yards to rest, we got here at ten o'clock,
having been five hours coming from Worting.
“Woodhay looked its old self in yesterday's sunshine, and
I enjoyed it exceedingly, and love it so for our first days of
happiness. It seems strange not being master and mistress,
and we think it was regulated better in our reign. To-
morrow forty people or more come to a bow-meeting, and
Mr. Sloper having given no positive orders about the
dinner or anything, makes a confusion which nothing but
good temper can regulate. Of these forty I know two, and
shall have to do the honours to all !”
“Sept. 16.—Mr. Sloper went out hunting on Monday,
and gave no definite orders to the last. Augustus and
I laid our heads together to arrange the dinner, measure
the table, and set in some sort of order the profusion of
game which filled the larder, and some of the party actually
arrived on Tuesday whilst I was writing out the bili of fare.
It was awkward enough for me, having to receive people I
never saw in my life; however, Mr. Sloper returned, and about
one o'clock thirty-six people were assembled. The day was
fair and fine. The lawn, mown as smooth as that at Sheen,
with the meadows and hill beyond, was just made for such a
purpose, and certainly wanted nothing but a little sunshine
to make it a beautiful scene. Luncheon was laid at two
o'clock, and the shooters came in by turns. Six ladies and
about fourteen gentlemen shot. Of the former, a sulky-
looking girl, who had the good wishes of none of the party,
carried everything before her, and succeeded in winning
the prize, a very pretty butterfly brooch. I had little to do
but look on, and every now and then Augustus and I
escaped to rest ourselves and moralise on the wearisomeness
278 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
of pleasure. I got dressed early, and then, by showing the
people to their different rooms, getting their respective
things carried up, and assisting at the toilettes of two or
three, made amends for any inattention in the morning, for
my conscience rather reproached me for skulking away. It
was half-past seven before we got to dinner in the hall;
really, considering all things, it was wonderfully well
arranged, and very little confusion. I begged off sitting at
the top of the table, and sat by Mr. Sloper. After dinner
were speeches and toasts and the presenting of the prize;
then I bowed to the lady nearest me and we came out.
Whilst they had their tea and coffee I stole out to super-
intend the lighting of the ball-room. The saloon up-stairs
was capital for this purpose, and altogether the number and
size of the rooms just suited such a party. About ten we
began dancing, and I really found myself dancing away with
all the gaiety, I was going to say, of fifteen ; but no—at
fifteen I never danced with half the spirit. You cannot
think what request I was in as a partner. Mr. Tom Smith,
the keeper of the foxhounds in this county, begged Augustus
would present him to me, it must be such a treat to dance
with anybody who enjoyed it so much. Accordingly, I
found him as much up to it, and we flourished away just as
you and R. L. used to do. He was quite a better sort of
foxhunter, said he liked everything he did only too well,
and evidently could find resource in everything he under-
takes. You may guess how thoroughly Augustus was
bored. If was nearly three o'clock before we went to
supper, and four before the house was cleared and we went
to bed, and I never was more dead tired. However, every-
body seemed pleased. The supper was very pretty, and
there was much marvel how Mr. Sloper could have managed
it so well. I have no doubt I got infinitely more credit
than I had any right to, for I really don't know how it was
WEST WOODHAY. 279
all done. It was rather amusing likening the different
people to those one knows ; they are exactly the sort of class
described in “Emma.’
“Francis Hare is just arrived. What an odd man he is.
He walked in just as if he had been in the house two
months, talked in the same tone, and has a sort of non-
chalance which is very curious. Yet when he rouses
himself up, he comes out with something odd and humor-
ous, and has sense enough about common things.
“Sept. 30.—Yesterday Augustus had a cold, and, besides,
thought that a thirty-mile ride would be further than either
he or his pony would approve of, so Mr. Sloper drove me to
Alton in his gig, and I was charged with full powers of
decision about everything to be settled. We set off about
eight, taking David on the pony as Our pioneer through
the bad roads. It was a lovely day, and I certainly seemed
doomed to see the most favourable side of Alton. We got
there soon after eleven, and found a pretty state of Con-
fusion—a waggon at the door carrying off chairs and tables,
and the entrance blocked up by our goods Coming in.
There, at the door, lay the great case from Clementi, the
least necessary part of the furniture being the first to arrive.
Mr. and Miss Crowe Soon made their appearance from their
packing operations, and Certainly dressed to suit their work.
I was amused by Miss C. instantly setting to business,
and with scarcely the preamble of ‘How do you do ’ show-
ing me the various tin-pans, &c., she had bought. The
house was entirely cleared of furniture, men were white-
washing, and women Scouring, so that you may fancy the
state it was in, showing off all deficiencies in the walls and
papers to the utmost. The rooms looked of course larger,
and they were beautifully clean. The red American creeper
and clematis covering the front of the house, and the old
stone over the doorway and windows, made it look suffi-
28o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
ciently picturesque, and anything of hills for the varieties of
light to fall upon is always an advantage to a place. I
engaged a man to work in the garden for eight shillings
a-week, milk our cows, clean the pony, and feed the pigs
Mr. Sloper sends his waggon with our goods the end of
next week, with cow and pig, and on Tuesday the 13th I
Suppose we shall transport ourselves and our household.
All the new things looked nice, and there certainly is a
pleasure in beginning from the very beginning, knowing
exactly every individual thing in the house.
“Francis was in better spirits on Sunday. He went off
upon statues, and antiquities, and Italian traditions, and
was very entertaining all the evening, and had some good
stories about the Speaker and the etiquettes of Parliament,
&c. He met Sydney Smith in the coach, who said if he
was to appoint he would make Augustus warden of Win-
chester. I am glad he has not the power.”
C. S. to M. H.
“Z)ec. 19.-Certainly your present condition is full of
zy/iolesome interest and Occupation, and, except loving
Augustus too much, I don't see any wrong paths before
you, and I cannot but admire how entirely you have laid
aside all thought and trouble about the will and its decision.
“Nothing can be more wholesome, more comfortable,
more satisfying, than the account you give of your studies
and life. I perfectly agree with you in wishing to have no
interruption from the trash of book-clubs. It would be
well if we had all of us a literary Jephson to put us
on a restricted diet of solid food. How I should like
to assist—no, not assist, but listen invisible to your
colloquies; but I expect, by the time we meet again,
you will be so drawn out, that I shall be the comparatively
silent one. -
WEST WOODHAY. 281
“On Wednesday, when we were at Lathom, came an
express from Knowsley, saying there was to be a railroad
exhibition that day near Prescot, and the Liverpool tunnel
lighted up for Lords Harrowby and Sandon next day. So
we got off as soon as we could, and drove straight to the
railroad at Prescot, and there found Charlotte and Penrhyn,
and the wonderful locomotive engine flying past. To us,
who have no turn for these things, and therefore cannot or
do not realise any description, the seeing them comes with
such novelty and force, and brings such a train of new
thoughts—this thing, which is to convey carriages, people,
goods, everything, from Liverpool to Manchester, thirty
miles in an hour, ruining half the warehouses at Liverpool
by making Manchester into a seafort town, the goods landed
at the docks at Liverpool being henceforth transported at
once into the warehouses at Manchester in as short a time
as they now take in being carried from the lower to the
upper part of the town. The effect of the velocity is that
when you stand on the railroad and watch the machine
coming, it seems not to approach, but to expand into size
and distinctness like the image in a phantasmagoria. They
would not take any car for passengers that day as it was a
newly constructed engine, and they were only trying ; but
it gave one a sensation seeing it whiz past. The next day,
at ten o'clock, Penrhyn, Edward, Mr. Stanley, and I, set off
in the Derby coach and four for the tunnel, which is at the
end of the aforesaid railroad—an excavated vault of a mile
and a quarter under the town of Liverpool, coming out at
the docks. Lord Harrowby and Lord Sandon were just
arrived, with Adam Hodgson, one of the directors of
the said tunnel, Scoresby of the Arctic Regions, James
Hornby—altogether about twenty of us. We went first
to see the carriages in preparation for the railroad. I had
no idea it was all in such a state of forwardness. They
282 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
are like the omnibus, a coach with a chariot at each end,
Some fit for twenty, Some for thirty passengers; also cradles
for pigs, cattle, and goods; and platforms with railroad
wheels, upon which you may drive your carriage and horses
as into a steamboat, stand still, and be transplanted as upon
the fairy carpet for thirty miles while your horses are
baiting, ready to drive off and take you on, and making a
ferry of it ! They are now thinking of continuing the
tunnel under the Mersey, so as to supersede the real ferry
altogether to Seacumbe. This seen, we got into a kind of
German post-waggon—all twenty—a horse cantered with us
up the little tunnel as they call it, and then was taken off,
and we were launched into the great tunnel, a vaulted
passage lighted with lamps suspended from the centre ; a
slight push sent us off, and away we started at the rate of
thirty miles an hour, our speed increasing as we went on,
perceptible only from the strong current of air, and the
passing the lamps so rapidly. I never felt so strange, so
much in a state of magic, of enchantment, as if surrounded
by new powers and capabilities. In less than three minutes
from having entered the tunnel in the Country, we came out
on the other side of Liverpool at the docks. The first
effect of daylight was beautiful, and of finding ourselves we
did not know where, after the rapid motion, bewildering.
We got into our coach again grumbling at Macadam roads,
and the Derby pace of ten miles an hour—Edward lament-
ing his hard fate at being fifty years old at the beginning of
such things, Mr. Stanley amusing in his speculations as to
the effect of these things in various directions. I tell you
all this because you in the South must be in a state of Com-
parative behindness and darkness, and you will hardly
believe, as I did not, what is doing till I had seen it. I
dare say Augustus will like to know it all. Alas! at this
moment you have not him to turn to—not that I pity
WEST WOODHAY. 283
you one bit. I do enjoy complete solitude and freedom
so much myself, that, though you have a great privation
to set against it, I am sure you have a sister feeling
about it.” -
M. H. to C. S.
“ Oct. 1829.-You must have one more letter from Wood-
hay. At this moment the waggon is loaded with our twenty-
seven boxes, and is to start early to-morrow, and Mary goes
off by coach to get to Alton a day before us. She has
taken all the trouble, thought of everything, and is quite
what E. S. would call a brave femme—her spirits rise with
the occasion.
“I shall feel as if we were married again, or rather that
we really belong to each other, when we are in our own
house. Good-bye, dearest K., I wish you could see how
very happy I am. That 2nd of June was a blessed day !”
VII.
FIOME PORTRAITURE.
“Nature has perfections, in order to show that she is the
image of God; and defects, in order to show that she is only
His image.”—PASCAL.
THE New College living of Alton - Barnes which
Augustus Hare had accepted was perhaps the most
primitive village in Wiltshire. Completely isolated in the
great treeless plain of corn which occupies the Vale of
Pewsey, its few whitewashed mud cottages, their roofs
thatched with straw and sheltered by large elm-trees, are
grouped around an oasis of two or three green meadows, in
one of which stands the tiny towerless church of Alton-
Barnes, or more properly Alton-Berners, from St. Bernard;
and in the field adjoining the more imposing but still very
small church of Alton-Priors, which derives its name from a
small monastic institution, of which no relics exist, except
the brass of a nun in its pavement, and the name of “The
Priory” by which a rather better class of cottage close by is
dignified.
An antiquarian might find much to interest him in the
peculiarities of the surrounding country. The extreme
openness of the Wiltshire down district causes the ancient
HOME PORTRAITURE. 285
Saxon landmarks to be more visible than in any othel
county in England. For instance, in the parish of Stanton,
which adjoins Alton, al/ the boundaries mentioned in
Domesday Book are still visible ; such as, an immense
thorn-tree of absolutely immemorial age, on the exact spot
where “Anna's Thorn" is mentioned ; Anna's Crumble, a
crumble being a small round pool for beasts to drink
out of; and Anna's Well — all these names referring
to the saint under whose protection the village was placed.
It is interesting, in reference to these ancient boundaries,
to read the charter which mentions them to any old shep-
herd, and tell him to stop you if he hears any name he
knows ; and this is the best means of verifying them.
The name Alton is Saxon—Ea-wal-ton, “the place of
beautiful springs,” corrupted to Awltoun, hence to Alton.
The place is spelt Awltoun in Domesday Book. There are
still five springs in Alton-Priors; one of them is still called
Bradwell, by which name it is mentioned in Domesday
Book. The exceeding antiquity of the little church of Alton.
Barnes is attested by its flat buttresses, refuting the village
tradition that the church was removed to its present site
from Shaw, a farm high up on the side of the downs. That
which was removed from Shaw, where a chapel certainly
existed, was probably the windows of the church, which are
of much later date than the rest of the building.
The absolute isolation of the place, without any gentle.
man's house except the rectory, without any public house,
with scarcely even anything which can be dignified by the
name of a village-shop, has preserved in the character of the
villagers a simplicity which is most unusual; and though
286 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
rough and very ignorant, their straightforward, free-spoken,
grateful dispositions made them peculiarly susceptible to the
kindness they received from their new rector and his wife,
and to the interest which they knew that he felt in them.
My dear mother has herself left notes referring to her
husband's ministerial life, which I will now give in her own
words. -
“An artist in painting a portrait finds he has done little
towards effecting his purpose when the features are drawn,
and the outline completed. These may be true to the life,
and yet the whole character of the face—the man himself
—may be wanting. It is a rare thing for a painter to give
a likeness that is satisfying to those who have long been
familiar with a face, and have been accustomed to see the
changes and variations that pass over it as circumstances
draw out the inward feeling, to those who have almost lost
sight of the outward form in the light that shines forth
through it. Now is it less difficult to portray in words the
peculiarities and beauties of a living character P Here and
there may be a line of resemblance, here and there a trait
recalling him who is departed; but the whole, the living
whole, the source and spring of all the separate acts and
words, how can this be manifested P. How can those who
knew the original furnish those who did not know him
with anything like an adequate conception, or meet the
wishes and feelings of those who having known, and loved,
and valued the living, desire to have the never-fading
recollection in their own minds conveyed to others?
“The beginning of Augustus's ministerial services was at
West Woodhay. The three months subsequent to his mar-
HOME PORTRAITURE. 287
riage were spent there, and, in the absence of its usual
minister, he performed the service of the church. Hitherto
an occasional sermon in a friend's church had been the
extent of his experience in preaching, and of the people he
addressed he had been wholly ignorant. But while at
Woodhay, the examination of some candidates for confirma-
tion brought to his knowledge a degree of ignorance on the
part both of young and old that both astonished and
shocked him. It was clear that, when the ground was so
little prepared, the seed of the Word read and preached in
church, and the services of the Liturgy, could profit little. He
threw aside at once the more regular form of sermon to
which he had been accustomed, and wrote down as if he
had been speaking, and in the plainest words, such simple
instruction as seemed adapted to the wants of people un-
taught in the first rudiments of Christian faith. This is
mentioned here because it was the beginning of that
attempt to teach the poor in a way they could understand
which he had so earnestly at heart during his stay at
Alton, and which, both in his intercourse with his clerical
brethren and in his own family, he often loved to dwell
upon, ever noting down from the experience of others what-
ever seemed likely to effect this great object. Having lived
but little in the country, and his attention having been en-
grossed by other subjects, he was, from education and habits
of life, unacquainted with the character and wants of the
poor. The poverty of their minds, their inability to follow
a train of reasoning, their prejudices and superstitions,
were quite unknown to him. All the usual hindrances to
dealing with them, that are commonly ascribed to a
288 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
college life, were his in full force. But there were some
points arising Out of his peculiar character and tastes that
lessened the difficulty. One of these was his love of
plain and simple Saxon English, his dislike of everything like
what is called ‘fine writing,’ and his study of a rhetorical
and forcible manner of expression. To those who look
upon learning and scholarship as identical with long words
and abstruse thoughts, it seemed a marvel how one whose
knowledge lay so much more in books than in men, whose
mind was both by nature and culture raised above the Com-
mon standard, could “condescend to men of low estate,”
and clothe his thoughts in language suited to their capacity.
But this mystery found its key in the simplicity which
belongs to the substance not the shadow of learning, and
in the delight he had ever taken in pure mother-English
freed from all the foreign innovations that modern affectation
has introduced. The chief means, however, by which the
want of experience and knowledge touching the minds and
habits of the poor was overcome, was the love he felt to-
wards all his fellow-creatures, and his sympathy in all their
concerns. In earlier days this Christ-like mind had mani-
fested itself towards his friends, towards servants, towards
all with whom he was brought into contact. It now taught
him to talk to his poor parishioners and enter into their
interests with the feeling of a father and a friend. This is
the feature in his character on which the people of
Alton now love most to dwell in recollecting their former
minister. -
“From the circumstances of the place, it necessarily hap:
pened that Augustus could not leave his own house to go
HOME PORTRAITURE. 289
abroad without passing by the cottages of the greater part
of his people; while they, too, were constantly reminded of
him and made familiar with his ordinary habits of life by
their close neighbourhood. Many, doubtless, have watched
his pacings to and fro on the little garden terrace near the
house, and felt a grateful love spring up in their hearts as
they thought how often the meditations there indulged were
directed to their profit.
“Nor did those simple-minded people fail to look on him
with reverence when, seated in his study in the midst of his
books, they beheld the sources whence he drew so much of
knowledge and wisdom as passed their understanding. He
had the power of throwing himself out of himself into the
feelings and interests of others; nor did he less draw out
their sympathies into his own, and make them sharers in
his pleasures and his concerns. It was not only the con-
descension of a Superior to those over whom he was placed,
it was far more the mutual interchange of feeling of one who
loved to forget the difference of station to which each was
called, and to bring forward the brotherly union as members
of one family in Christ, children of the same Heavenly
Father, in which blessed equality all distinctions are done
away. Often would he ask their counsel in matters of which
he was ignorant, and call upon their sympathy in his thank-
ful rejoicing. His garden, his hay-field, his house, were as
it were thrown open to them, as he made them partakers of
his enjoyment, or sought for their assistance in his need.
And when any cause of alarm to his property occurred, they
showed how fully they had unconsciously imbibed the feel.
ing that it was theirs too. In him they found a friend ready
vol. i. tj
290 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
to listen to all their little grievances, and prompt to remedy
them when it was possible to do so. .
“His exceeding love of justice and hatred of oppression
made him energetic in restoring the rights of all who had
been in any way injured; while his respect for ‘the powers
that be '—his child-like submission to authority—prevented
his sanctioning for a moment any insubordination of feeling,
or undue exaltation of the lower above the higher classes.
The attempt to soften the hearts of the farmers to their ser-
vants, which he continually laboured to effect, was specially
needed in the winter of 1830, when so much of hostility was
manifested between the two orders in the riots that took
place. He then showed himself foremost in defending the
property of his chief farmer in the formidable attack made
upon it, and at the risk of his personal safety addressed the
rioters to try to avert the destruction they were bent on.
Two of the most furious amongst them held their weapons
over his head, enraged at his interference with their purpose,
and they were withheld from offering him violence only by
the timely interposition of a neighbouring farmer, who came
up at the moment. In consequence of his thus taking part
with the farmers, the rectory was threatened with an attack.
Before, however, the threat could be executed, the heads of
the mob were taken and the rest dispersed. But though he
spared no pains to defend his neighbour and to detect after
wards the unhappy men who had wantonly ravaged his
house and maimed his person, when the prisoners were tried
at Salisbury and evidence was wanting to convict the chief
offender of the full crime he was supposed to be guilty of,
he returned home rejoicing in the beauty of his country's
• *
HOME PORTRAITURE. - 291
laws, which administered justice so strictly and impartially,
and inclined to the side of mercy rather than of punishment.
“One instance of the interest he took in the welfare of
the lowest of his parishioners occurred in a dispute between
a young lad and his master, ending in a slight misdemeanour
on the part of the boy, for which he was committed to gaol.
Having in vain tried to save him from this punishment,
which he thought too severe a one, he sought by every
means in his power to turn it to his good, and, both by
writing him letters while in prison and visiting him there, to
soften his heart, and bring him to a right sense of his duty
to God and man. A great change has since taken place in
the character of this young man, and he is now as steady
and seriously disposed as his anxious friend desired him to
become.
“It was a favourite saying of his, ‘We must get at the
souls of the poor through their bodies;’ and, in accordance
with this principle, his delight in ministering to their tem-
poral Comfort was extreme. The arrival of a stock of
clothing for the poor was an event of such rejoicing that all
who were in the house could not help sharing in his joy.
The half-starved peasant, in receiving his warm jacket, was
less glad at heart in his new possession than he who was
thus enabled by God to share his abundance with those
who needed it. Often would his heart seem full to over.
flowing when, at a feast prepared for the old men and
women among his flock, he waited on them himself, and, by
by his gentle and loving words, gave a savour to their food
which it would otherwise have wanted. It was clearly he
who felt the debt of gratitude to be the greatest in being
292 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
permitted to give to the least of his brethren in his Master's
name. But the lively interest he took in all their worldly
concerns was shown most fully when visiting the allotments
which he had portioned out to each cottager from off the
glebe. His delight, as he collected these his tenants round
him by his kitchen fire, and consulted their respective in-
clinations and powers of cultivating their little plots of
ground, according to the size of their families, was very
great. Nor did he fail to encourage the industrious and
reprove the negligent husbandman, in such a manner as
testified how truly their gain and their loss was his also.
On many a summer's evening, when the labourer after his
day’s work repaired to his allotted garden, would his kind
friend come and stand by and watch his progress in pre-
paring the ground, or weeding it, or Sowing his seed, and
talk over the various crops of potatoes and beans or barley
that he hoped to see Spring up in it, and this in so
friendly and playful a tone as could not fail to win all
hearts.”
“It may be mentioned, as a proof rather of the prevailing
lack of Christian feeling which may truly “set one mourn-
ing,' than of any remarkable instance of consideration on
his part, that a labourer who had been allowed to leave his
work and was sent home to attend his mother's dying-bed,
without deducting the wages due to him had he continued
# Another method by which Augustus Hare materially assisted his
people was keeping a shop, in which he sold at two-thirds of the cost
price all kinds of clothing and materials of clothing. The shop was
held in the rectory-barn once every week, when Mrs. Hare attended
and measured out the flannels, fustian, &c. No amelioration of their
condition was ever more valued by the people of Alton than this.
HOME PORTRAITURE. 293
at work, was so touched by this little attention to his feelings
that he still speaks of it with tears in his eyes.
“But though the temporal good and comfort of his people
was near Augustus's heart, far nearer was their spiritual wel-
fare. On his first coming to Alton the greater part of his
hearers were so unaccustomed to listen to instruction or to
follow any arguments, that his earnestness in the cause of God
was the chief lesson which taught them. It seemed to be the
prominent impression on all, whether they understood his
teaching or no, whether they were disposed to profit by it or
no, ‘Mr. Hare does long to save our souls.” The great im-
portance he attached to their serving God, and the high
standard of Christian life he set before them, were the points
that chiefly impressed their minds in the beginning of his .
ministry among them, and it seemed to awaken in many a
sense of their own shortcomings in godliness. As he became
more intimate with the capacities and wants of his people,
and still more in proportion as his own spiritual feelings
became fresher and purer from increased experience of the
truths he had to declare, his teaching became more adapted
to the congregation before him. Human reasonings gave
way to simpler and more spiritual appeals to the hearts of
his hearers, and the people were themselves alive to the
change, and observed, “how our minister does grow,” and
that “he went more and more on in the Scriptures.’
“It was in the winter of 1830, that, finding how ignorant
they were of the meaning of what they heard in church, he
began assembling the men of both parishes once a week in -
a barn adjoining the rectory. One of the Gospels, or the
Acts, was then gone through, and explained in a familiar
294 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
way, illustrated so as to bring it home to their comprehen-
sion, beginning and ending with a short prayer. Many
expressed the benefit they derived from this mode of
teaching, and the additional interest it gave in all they
heard in church, and the attendance there was much in-
creased from that time. He took great delight in thus
drawing them around him, and in the opportunity it afforded
of speaking to them more familiarly and directly than the
usual services admitted of Any little events that had
occurred in the parish, any misbehaviour or misunder-
standing, might then be commented on or set right. It was
one of his constant practices to seize on any passing cir-
cumstance, and turn it to profitable account. A few words
thus spoken in season, how good are they ! More especially
while standing over the grave of one newly committed to
the dust, would he address the mourners around with suitable
words of warning and consolation, and, while he bid them
not sorrow as those without hope, exhort them to lose no
time in seeking Him who is the Resurrection and the Life,
that when they too must lie down in the grave they might
lose their life only to find it. On hearing of the death of a
man whose sick-bed he had seldom quitted for some days,
he hastened to the cottage without loss of time—‘Perhaps
in the first moments of their affliction I may be able to say
something to the mother and her children that may touch
their hearts;’ and so, collecting them around him, he
sought to impress on them the warning which the father's
sudden illness and death had spoken to all. -
“The misconduct of any one that he thought well of was
a real grief to him, an 1 he would spare no pains to bring the
HOME PORTRAITURE. 295
offender back to the right path; and his joy in the slightest
sign of amendment was proportionally great. A poor
woman once mourning over the ungodly disposition and
behaviour of her only son, he cheered her by the story of
Monica's prayers for Augustine, and encouraged her to
pray and not faint, in the hope that God would hear her
prayers and be pleased to turn his heart. Any Surly or
ungracious behaviour towards himself was at all times a
stimulus to show a more than usual degree of loving-kind-
ness, and to endeavour by continuance in Courteous words
and deeds to subdue the unkindly and harsh feeling. In a
road along which he frequently passed there was a work-
man employed in its repair, who met his gentle questions
and observations with gruff answers and sour looks. But
as day after day the persevering mildness of his words and
manner still continued, the rugged features of the man gave
way, and his tone assumed a far softer character.
“The one pattern ever before his eyes was his Lord and
Master Jesus Christ; the first question he asked himself,
‘What would Jesus Christ have me to do 2 What would
He have done in my place P’ Receiving once an almost
insulting letter from a person to whom he had shown great
kindness, he sat down innmediately to answer it; and when
the extreme mildness of the reply was objected to, as
addressed to one undeserving of such forbearance and
meriting rather a rebuke, his answer was, ‘ I am not aware
that I deserve better treatment than my master Jesus
Christ, and He was dealt with more roughly than I am,' or
words to this effect.
“On all Saints-Days, and on Wednesdays and Fridays in
296 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE
Lent, service was performed in church at such an hour as
might best suit the habits of the labouring poor; and by
shortening the number of prayers, it was brought within the
limits of time they could devote to such a purpose—
between their return home for dinner, at eleven o'clock,
and the going back to their work. Thºse who could not
attend, he exhorted at the sound of the church-bell to
follow George Herbert's rule, and, while in the field, to
worship their God in heart and mind. On these occasions
he was wont to explain the epistle or gospel, and in a few
words to give such instruction as the time admitted of;
and his people often said they learnt much at such seasons.
In the last year of his stay at Alton, he also adopted the
plan on a Sunday of commenting on the Old Testament
lesson in the morning service, as there was then commonly
no sermon except in the afternoon; and this exposition he
used to call ‘Postilling.’
“From his first coming to Alton-Barnes, it was an
earnest wish of his heart to do something for the neglected
people of Alton-Priors, who were as sheep having no
shepherd. Once in three weeks only did a clergyman from
a distance come to perform service in the church, and in
the intermediate time no notice whatever was taken of any of
the parishioners. His desire was to have had the church of
Alton-Priors, which was very much out of repair, and the
larger of the two, fitted up SO as to hold the joint Congrega-
tions of the two villages, and to have had the two parishes
united in one. But this could not be effected without the
concurrence of the proprietor, and the passing of an Act of
Parliament for the purpose. He therefore performed the
HOME PORTRAITURE. 297
duty alternately, morning and evening, in the two churches,
the same congregation attending in both ; and finding the
church in Alton-Barnes too small to contain the additional
number who attended from Alton-Priors, he had the arch
communicating with the chancel considerably widened, so
as to give space for additional pews, and admit those who
sate in the chancel to hear and see, from which they were
before shut out. For the equality shown to the inhabitants
of both parishes, in this and other respects, they ever
expressed the most grateful feeling.
“In the vale of Pewsey the parishes are nearly all Small
and closely adjoining each other, and as every church has
its own minister, the number of clergy is proportionally
great. It seemed desirable that these clerical brethren
should form some closer bond of union than the Common
mode of visiting presented, and meet together more ex-
pressly for purposes connected with their calling. He
therefore united with his brother clergy in forming a clerical
society, one object which he felt to be specially needed
being the removal of prejudices and lessening of party
feeling in the minds of all towards each other, and the
enabling those who were young in their profession to
benefit by the experience of their elders. Many difficulties
arose from the difference of opinion that prevailed among
the members as to the propriety of beginning their meetings
with prayer, and as to the nature of that preparatory prayer.
The High Churchmen were strongly prejudiced against any
use of prayer on Such occasions, from a notion of its like-
ness to dissenting Societies; the zealous Evangelicals urged
the advantages of extempore prayer as fitted for the peculiar
298 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
circumstances of the time or place, and they resolutely
refused to agree in the formation of any society for clerical
purposes that did not adopt some form of worship at its
beginning. The middle course that Augustus took was to
propose the selection of suitable prayers out of the Liturgy,
alleging that they might in this way approach as nearly as
the Spirit of the times would admit of to the habits of the
olden times, when divine service used daily to be performed
in the church. After much discussion, and the lapse of a
year, in which all parties drew nearer together, the society
was formed, chiefly through his instrumentality, upon the
plan he had suggested, and it has since continued in
brotherly harmony. On this and other occasions Augustus
would often say his was ‘Halfway House.’ There were
few things which made him more angry than to hear people
use the expression of ‘going too far’ when applied to reli-
gion. “ Zoo far ! when shall we go too far in serving and
loving God, in being made like Christ?’ Disliking all
illiberality of feeling, he was more particularly annoyed by
it when expressed towards those who, acting from religious
motives or scruples, differed in opinion or manner of life
from others. In such cases above all others he thought the
motive hallowed the act so far as to entitle it to be regarded
with respect and permitted in charity, even if not altogether
oonsistent with the strictest judgment and most enlightened
wisdom.
“In earlier years he had been ever forward to assert the
cause of truth, and fight manfully under its banner when-
ever he thought it was opposed; nor was he slow to wield
his sword for liberty or justice. In truth, he seemed to be
HOME PORTRAITURE. 299 -
the champion of righteousness under every form, and in
society was consequently often engaged in discussion and
argument. From the active spring of his own mind he was
usually foremost in stirring up conversation in others, and
drawing out their thoughts by the vigour of his own. But
latterly he became much more reserved and silent in society.
This arose partly from an increasing dislike to anything like
controversy, and from the consciousness of how much his
own opinions differed from others. On subjects both of
religion and politics, there was in the prevailing mind of the
age, so much in the one of party feeling and Sectarian Spirit,
and in the other so little of enlarged and sound wisdom
looking beyond the expediency of the present moment and
temporal good, that he found it difficult to sympathise in the
views of many whom he respected.
“While, however, he censured the error of others, he was
sure to spare and excuse the holder of it. In points of
personal conduct, too, he had the rare faculty of hating the
sin and loving the sinner. His charity and liberality of
mind was not the kind-hearted easiness of a naturally sweet
disposition, reluctant to find fault and tolerant of evil. In
him a severe love of truth and uprightness, a hatred of all
iniquity, was blended closely with his feeling of kindness
and fear of giving pain. An instance of cruelty, of oppres-
sion, or of falsehood, would make a change pass over his
countenance; his whole Soul seemed to revolt at the mention
of any unkindness or ungodliness; and if in any case an op-
portunity occurred where he could hope to convince any one
of the evil of his way, no false delicacy to the person con-
Cerned, nor indulgence to his own feelings, hindered him
3oo MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
from speaking the whole truth. He was ready to administer
the stern rebuke no less than the gentle encouragement at
his Master's call. But, in speaking about others, the smallest
spark of good was observed and dwelt upon, while every
contrary principle that was manifested would be passed over
in silence. Even in speaking of those with whom he was
most nearly connected, not a word of blame would ever
pass his lips. Any extenuation of misconduct that could
be urged, any allowances that could be made, were brought
forward, and it was often only by the joy he expressed at
the slightest sign of improvement, that it could be known
how much he had felt its need, and how earnestly he had
desired it.
“Not more than others I deserve,
Yet God hath given me more,”
were words that expressed not only his feelings on one
particular occasion, but the prevailing disposition of his
mind. Continual expressions of thankfulness would burst
from his lips, not as mere words denoting, as they often do,
only a feeling of satisfaction in the blessings he was enjoy-
ing, but they were the outpourings of a heart full of thankful
love to Him who bestowed the blessings, to the Giver not
only of the great gifts, but of every little daily comfort of
life; and this, his gratitude, sprang up from the deepest
sense of his own unworthiness of such mercies.
“Perfect contentedness with what was appointed for him,
and deep thankfulness for all the good things given him,
marked his whole being. In deciding what should be done,
or where he should go, or how he should act, the question
of how far it might suit his own convenience, or be agree-
HOME PORTRAITURE. 3OI
able to his own feelings, was kept entirely in the background
till all other claims were satisfied. It was not apparently at
the dictate of duty and reason that these thoughts were Sup-
pressed and made secondary; it seemed to be the first, the
natural feeling in him, to seek first the things of others and
to do the will of God, and to look at his own interest in
the matter as having comparatively nothing to do with it.
And so great a dread had he of being led to any selfish or
interested views, that he would find consolation in having
no family to include in the consideration—“Had I had
children I might have fancied it an excuse for worldly-
mindedness and covetousness.’ His children truly were his
fellow-men, those who were partakers of the same flesh and
blood, redeemed by the same Saviour, heirs of the same
heavenly inheritance. For them he was willing to spend
and be spent, for them he was covetous of all the good that
might be obtained. A friend, on looking over his account-
book, and seeing how comparatively large an amount of his
expenditure had been directed to the benefit of others,
suggested that one head of his yearly summary should be
entitled ‘Public Spirit.' He was never weary in well-doing,
never thought he had done enough, never feared doing too
much. Those Small things, which by so many are esteemed
as unnecessary, as not worth z0/hi/e, these were the very things
he took care not to leave undone. It was not rendering a
Service when it came in his way, when it occurred in the
natural course of things that he should do it; it was going
out of the way to help others, taking every degree of trouble
and incurring personal inconvenience for the sake of doing
good, of giving pleasure even in slight things, that dis-,
3O2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
tinguished his benevolent activity from the common forms
of it. The love that dwelt in him was ready to be poured
forth on whomsoever needed it, and, being a free-will
offering, it looked for no return, and felt no obligation
conferred.
“In Society he did not choose out the persons most con-
genial to his own tastes to converse with. If there was
any one more dull and uninviting than others, he would
direct his attention to that one, and while he raised the
tone of conversation by leading such persons to subjects of
interest, it was done in so gentle, so unobtrusive a manner,
that it seemed as if the good came from them, and instead
of being repelled and disheartened by his superior know-
ledge, they would feel encouraged at finding they were less
ignorant than they had supposed themselves to be. How
often has the stiffness, the restraint of a small party been
dispelled by the loving manner and words with which he
would seem to draw all together, and endeavour to elicit
the good in all; and though by nature excitable, and there-
fore dependent on outward circumstances more than many,
there was ever an inward spring of active thought which
made his conversation quite as lively and energetic, when
alone with his family, as when called into play by the
exertion of entertaining guests. Yet, although he enjoyed
society, he liked to be often alone—he liked to walk alone,
to be in his study alone. There seemed to be greater
freedom for his mind when thus without companions, and
he would utter aloud what was passing in his mind, or the
words he was composing for his sermons.”
The portrait which the loving wife began to paint breaks
3OME PORTRAITURE 3O3
off here, is left unfinished, and as it was left by her hands,
so must it remain; no one could venture to retouch it.
Only a mile from Alton, separated from it by the vast
undulation of treeless corn-fields, another little village called
Stanton clusters around its church and a few elm-fringed
meadows. Hither, soon after the Hares were settled at
Alton, George Majendie came as rector, and the two clergy-
men were soon united in the closest and most affectionate
intimacy. Scarcely a day passed without their meeting.
“When I came to reside in Wiltshire,” wrote Mr.
Majendie several years after, “I found that Mr. Hare was
my nearest clerical neighbour. I was not at that time
personally acquainted with him, but I had known his cha-
racter at Oxford as a man of talent and of considerable
literary acquirements. I soon became intimate with him,
and then found that he was not only an accomplished
scholar, but that his heart was in his work as a minister of
Christ, and that he had truly devoted his life to the care of
‘ those few sheep in the wilderness’ to whom he had been
sent as a shepherd. Like George Herbert, he ‘knew the
ways of learning, but declined them for the service of his
master Jesus.’ He was not only ready to do good to the
poor around him on Christian principle, but he seemed to
identify himself with them, to study their characters, to
enter into their feelings—literally, “to weep with those that
wept, and rejoice with those that rejoiced.' I have often
heard him express his admiration of the strength and fulness
of their homely phrases, some of which he loved to intro-
duce into his sermons.
“I shall never forget his appearance at the lectures he
304 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
used to give to poor men on Wednesday evenings. The
place was a small barn on his own premises, and the many
holes in the boarding, but ill covered with sackcloth, ad-
mitted the cold air freely. There was a long table reaching
from one end of the room to the other, and on each side of
the table sat the smock-frocked audience, most of them old
men, each of those that could read with his Bible before
him. Mr. Hare himself stood at the head of the table, to -
distribute to them the bread of life. His great coat was
closely buttoned up to the chin, and a large woollen wrapper
covered him up to the lower lip. His tall figure was erect,
his expressive countenance full of animation—his face and
figure were not unlike those of Mr. Pitt. A drawing-room
lamp, strangely in contrast with the scene, shed a strong
light upon the wrinkled and weather-beaten faces of the
villagers.
“When Augustus Hare heard of any kind or noble action
performed by another person, I have seen him suddenly
start up from his chair, with a strong exclamation of delight
uttered in his shrill tone, and hurriedly pace the room,
rubbing his hands with glee. He really felt ‘a luxury in
doing good.' I remember being present at a supper which
he gave to some old men in the barn already mentioned,
where he assisted in waiting on the poor people, evidently
enjoying the repast more than those who partook of it;
and when the entertainment was over, and he returned to
his own fireside, his first act was to run up to Mrs. Hare
and kiss her, with an ecstasy of benevolence too big to be
repressed.
“He seemed always to think all others better than him-
HOME PORTRAITURE. 305
self. One day I heard him speaking of one of the poor
men of his parish, and I asked whether he was a good man.
“Oh yes, he is a good man, a much better man than I am.’
On another occasion I remember his saying, ‘What we can
do for God is little or nothing; but we must do our little
nothings for his glory.’
“His whole religion was full of affection. He was not a
mere orthodox divine, defining with the closest precision
the doctrines which he taught, but every doctrine was
mixed up in his soul with Zoze—with love to God and man.
It may be said of his Creed—
“Of hope, and virtue, and affection full.”
I well remember one day his laying his hand upon his
Bible, and saying, with an indescribable look of reverence
and delight, ‘Oh, this dear book I’ On another occasion
he spoke of it as, “God’s great Medicine Book, full of
recipes for every spiritual malady.”
After Augustus Hare was taken from among his people, one
of the residents in Alton-Priors wrote: “I can truly say that
the glimpse of his figure approaching our home made my heart
leap with joy, and never did he leave it without impressing
some valuable truth on my mind. Living too, as I did, in
a parish not his own, but one to which he voluntarily and
gratuitously gave a pastor's Care and superintendence, I felt
doubly grateful both in my own behalf and that of my
fellow-parishioners; and well do I remember on one occa-
sion, when sitting alone with him in his study, the striking
answer he made to my expression of thanks for his kind-
ness in coming daily into our parish to spend an hour by
VOL. I X º
306 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the sick-bed of Charles Gale, a poor man, who I believe,
through his instrumentality, to have died in peace with God
through Christ: “God has given me an abundance,’ he said,
‘of which I deserve nothing, and doubtless for wise reasons
has withheld from me the blessing of children; and if I never
Crossed that little brook which separates what you call your
parish from my parish, I think it very likely that Jesus Christ
would say to me in the Last Day, you do not belong to my parish.’
“Amongst others, I believe that he was the first instru-
ment under God in awakening serious thoughts for her soul
in Jane Jennings. She told me that that which first made
her feel a sorrow for sin was a sermon which he preached
in Alton-Priors Church. She said, ‘I was standing by the
door, and as he was earnestly asking us what we came to
church for—whether we prayed with our hearts, whether we
prayed at home and with our families—I felt as I had never
done before, and when I went home, where I never prayed
at all, I told our folks I was sure we were living in a very
different way to what we ought to live and that it cut me
to the heart to see our minister labouring so much to teach
us, and that we paid no attention to his words.’ And then
she added, ‘You cannot think how anxiously I looked
through the sermon-books afterwards, to see if that sermon
was amongst them, and when I found it I was so very glad.'
She also told me that soon after this Mr. Hare made a rule
that before the baptism of any child its parents should go
to him for advice and instruction, and it so happened that
Jane and her husband were the first summoned for this
purpose. She said she had never before dreaded anything
, so much in her life, having been told by her neighbours she
HoME PORTRAITURE. 307
would be puzzled with hard questions. Her minister saw
by her trembling how frightened she was, and, as he kindly
put a chair for her in the study, said, ‘Don’t be frightened,
or think I keep a large dog to bark and jump out at you.’
But his words afterwards made too deep an impression ever
to be forgotten, for, turning to the parents, he said with
much solemnity, “Do you wish your child to become an
angel in heaven, or a devil in hel/?’ ‘If I were going to
give your child a large present in money, say twenty pounds
perhaps, you would be ready and willing to thank me ; how
much more then should you thank God for allowing you to
bring your child to the font at baptism, where He promises
to give him his Holy Spirit, and make him happy for ever,
if you will only heartily and earnestly pray for his blessing P’
After these words (which first awakened in the mother's
heart that feeling of responsibility she now so largely pos-
sesses for her children) he knelt down with them, earnestly
praying both for them and their child, and Jane said to me,
“God knows, and at the Last Day I shall know too, but I
always think that prayer was answered, for none of my
other six children ever asked me the questions which this
little boy does—for always, when I have him alone with
me, he begins talking of Jesus, and asking what he must do.
to please Him, and when he can go to see Him.” -
“When Prudence Tasker, who had been one of the first
received into his newly-formed Sunday-school, was seized
with violent illness, how tenderly did Mr. Hare daily visit
her dying-bed, obtaining for her the advice of an eminent
physician in addition to that of the village doctor, often him
self administering her medicines, applying her leeches him-
308 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
self, and trying to overcome the repugnance she felt to
bleeding by telling her it was her ‘pastor’ who desired it;
and how often since have her parents dwelt upon the
prayers which he offered up in that little chamber of death !
“I remember David King telling me once that nothing
ever ‘cut’ him so much as the words which Mr. Hare
preached after his recovery from illness, and that once
while working in his garden, his minister, whilst talking to
him, in order to illustrate the wonderful love of Christ in
taking man's fallen nature upon him, asked David how he
should like to become a toad, convincing him thereby that
however loathsome such a change would be to him, yet it
was nothing compared to that which the Son of God under-
went when He laid aside his glory.”
Augustus Hare was perhaps the first village preacher (there
have been many since) who did not scruple in his sermons
to speak to his people in the familiar language of ordinary
life, and who made use of apt illustrations drawn from the
simple surroundings in which his people lived. It is
probably from this connection with outward and
tangible things that so many of his words still live in the
memories of his congregation as vividly as when they
were spoken. The following are instances of this practical
teaching:—
“The road of life is not a turnpike road. It is a path
which every one must find out for himself, by the help of
such directions as God has given us; and there are so many
other paths crossing the true one in all quarters, and the
wrong paths are so well beaten, and the true path in places
is so faintly marked, so many persons too are always going
HOME PORTRAITURE. 3og
the wrong way, and so few are walking straight along the
right, that between the number of paths to puzzle him, and
the number of wrong examples to lead him astray, a man, if
he does not take continual heed, is in great danger of turn-
ing into a wrong path, almost without perceiving it. You
know how hard it is ſor a stranger to find his way over the
downs, especially if the evening is dark and foggy. Yet
there the man is at liberty to make out the path as well as
he can. No one tries to mislead him. But in the paths of
life there are always plenty of companions at work to mis-
lead the Christian, to say nothing of his own evil passions
and appetites, which all pull him out of the way. One
neighbour says to him, ‘Take this road; it is almost as
straight as the other, and much pleasanter.” Another says,
‘Take this road; it is a short cut, and will save you a world
of trouble.’ A third says, “Walk part of the way with us
for company's sake; you cannot be far wrong if you keep
with us; at worst, it is only crossing back into your narrow
lonely path if you don't like our way after trying it.” A
fourth cries to him, ‘What makes you so particular P Do
you fancy you know the road to heaven better than any-
body else? We are all going there, we hope, as well as
you, though we no not make such a fuss about it.’ Is it a
wonder that, with so many bad advisers and bad examples
to turn him astray, with so many wrong paths to puzzle him,
with so many evil passions as man has naturally pulling him
out of the straight and narrow path—is it a wonder, I say,
that, with all these things to lead them wrong, men should
so often go wrong? It is no wonder; nay, were it not that
God's Word is a lantern to our feet and a light to our path
—were it not for the Spirit of God crying to us, ‘This is
the right way,’ when we turn aside to the right hand or to
the left—we should all of us go wrong always.”
3Io MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“If a man had to receive a legacy by going to Bristol,
what good would it do him to set out on his way thither ,
unless he went all the way? Would he get anything by
going as far as Melksham, or even as far as Bath, unless he
went still further? The legacy is to be paid at Bristol and
nowhere else; and if the man is lazy or fickle enough to
stop before he gets to Bristol, not a sixpence of it will he
receive. Therefore we must persevere unto the journey's
end if we would have a share in Christ's great legacy.”
“Has the increase of godliness amongst us kept pace
with the increase of our Bibles? Are we as much better as
we ought to be with our more abundant means? Has the
fresh seed scattered over the land produced a proportionate
increase in the harvest? These are very important ques-
tions. For if the Lord of the farm, if the great Sower does
not see the promise of a crop in some measure answering
to the good seed. He has bestowed on the land, He will be
sure to ask, ‘Why is this? Did I not sow good seed in the
fields of England? Then how come they to be so full of
tares, so full of thistles, so full of poppies? How is it that
in some parts of the farm I even see the foxglove and the
deadly nightshade 2 Useless weeds, gaudy weeds, weeds that
overrun the ground, even poisonous weeds, I see in it. But
I see not the plenty of good wheat which I ought to find,
and which alone can be stored in my barn. Why has the
crop failed so shamefully P’”
“How often do we see the sinner, perched on the dung-
hill of his vices, clapping his wings in self-applause, and
fancying himself a much grander creature than the poor
Christian, who all the while is Soaring on high like a lark,
and mounting on his way to heaven?”
HOME PORTRAITURE. 3II
“The great plenty of Bibles and Testaments which God
has given us in this land makes us, I fear, more neglectful
than we ought to be of our Prayer-books, especially of that
part of the Prayer-book which contains the Epistles and
Gospels. Now this is just the same kind of mistake as if a
man, because he had turnips and potatoes in his fields, were
to neglect sowing any in his garden. The turnips and
potatoes raised in gardens are generally of a choicer kind.
So it is with the little portions of the Epistles and Gospels
which are selected to be read in the Communion Service.
They are like so many choice plants culled out of the New
Testament for some useful lesson of doctrine or practice.”
“Do not think it enough if you learn to spell, and to
read, and to say the words of Scripture, but seek to learn
the truths of Scripture. Do as the bees do. A bee, when
it sees a flower, does not fly round and round it, and sip it,
and then off again, like the foolish, idle butterflies; it settles
on the flower and sucks the honey out of it. So should
you when you come to one of the beautiful parables which
Jesus spake, or to one of the miracles which Jesus did ;
you should do as the bees do—you should settle your
thoughts on what you read, and try to suck the honey out
of it. But why do I speak of the parables and miracles P
Almost every verse of the New Testament has its honey.
Almost every verse Contains a spiritual truth fit to nourish
some soul or other.”
“You can no more see a Christian grow than you can
See the corn grow. But you can all see whether it has
grown by comparing it with what it was two months back.
So may you discover whether you have advanced in grace.”
312 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
! “ Everything which God has set apart in any way for his
own and put his mark on, everything which in any way be-
longs more particularly to Him–His word, His ordinances,
His house, His people—are things which God has cleansed.
therefore we must not call them common. He has set them
apart for his own service; He has fenced them off, as it were,
from the waste of the world, and has enclosed them for His
Own use. Hence there is the same sort of difference be-
tween them and all merely worldly and common things as
there is between a garden and Salisbury Plain. No one
who knows how to behave himself would bring a horse into
a garden, or walk over the strawberry beds, or trample down
the flowers. But in riding from here to Salisbury everybody
would feel himself at liberty, while Crossing the downs, to
gallop over the turf at pleasure. Well, the same difference
which there is between common down and a Cultivated
garden, the same is there also between worldly days, worldly
books, worldly names, worldly people, and God's day, God's
book, God's name, and God’s people. The former are
common, and may be treated as such ; the latter are not
common, because God has taken them to Himself, and
brought them within the limits of his sanctuary, and thrown
the safeguard of His holiness around them.”
“Many of you can lift a sack of wheat, and can carry it
some little way. But think of being condemned to walk
from here to Devizes, or rather from here to Bath, with a
sack of wheat on your shoulders every day for a month
together. How soon would the stoutest man among you
break down under such a load He might contrive to
stagger on a little way, but his strength before long would
fail him, and if he did not drop his load it would crush him,
Now sin—when a man is in his right senses, when he knows
Home PORTRAITURE. 313
whither he ought to be going—is a weight on the soul, and
presses it down, just as a weight on the back presses down
the body.”
“The religion of Jesus Christ is altogether a practical
thing. Just consider how we are taught anything else that
is practical. It is not by hearing or reading about making
shoes that a man becomes a shoemaker, but by trying to
make them.”
“The means, the exercises appointed by our Saviour
whereby we are to become holy and godly, are His sacra-
ments, prayers—public and private—and the reading and
teaching of His holy word. Still the means are not the end;
the road which leads to London is not London.”
Nothing seems a more suitable close to this chapter of
general reminiscences of Augustus Hare's life at his beloved
Alton than the following note, written Feb. 19, 1832, by
one who was afterwards his sister-in-law, L. A. H. :-
“I am just Come up to bed, dearest Mia, and it comes
into my mind to copy for you first a passage I met with in
a sermon of Jeremy Taylor's. Every Sunday evening I
settle myself in a corner, with a book, trying to shut my
eyes to all without. Often comes a short digression, during
which I am fancying all you and the Aug. are doing. I
hear you sing the evening hymn, kneel with you to prayers,
end with praying God to bless you both, and then return
my attention to the book. This evening I met with the
following passage, and send it you privately, thinking that
you may perhaps find as good a likeness for it in somebody
&ving as in the worthy knight, Sir G. Dalstone:--
3I4 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“‘For God was pleased to invest him with a marvellous
sweet nature, which is certainly to be reckoned as one half
of the grace of God, because a good nature, being the relics
and remains of that shipwreck which Adam made, is the
proper and immediate disposition to holiness, as the corrup-
tion of Adam was to disobedience and peevish counsels. A
good nature will not upbraid the more imperfect person,
will not deride the ignorant, will not reproach the erring
man, will not smite sinners on the face, will not despise the
penitent. A good nature is apt to forgive injuries, to pity
the miserable, to rescue the oppressed, to make every one's
condition as tolerable as he caſe, and so would he ; for as when
good-nature is heightened by the grace of God, that which
was natural becomes now spiritual, so these actions which
were pleasing and useful to men, when they derive from a
new principle of grace, they become pleasant in the eyes of
God—then obedience to the laws is Duty to God, Justice is
Righteousness, Bounty becomes Graciousness, and Alms is
Charity.’”
VIII.
TAKING ROOT AT ALTON.
“The happiest periods of history are not those of which we
hear the most : in the same manner as in the little world of
man's soul, the most saintly spirits are often existing in those
who have never distinguished themselves as authors, or left
any memorial of themselves to be the theme of the world's
talk, but who have led an interior angelic life, having borne
their sweet blossoms unseen, like the young lily in a seques-
tered vale, on the banks of a limpid stream.”—Broad-stone of
Aonour. -
M. H. Zo C. S.
“AZZON.BARNES, Oct. 15, 1829.-Are you not im-
patient to hear of our first beginning P. We dined at
Woodhay at one o'clock, and left it immediately afterwards,
not without some regret after the many happy days we have
spent there. At half-past five we landed at our own door,
where Mary's smiling face was ready to greet us. You have
already, I dare say, anticipated what I am about to say—that
we found ourselves less uncomfortable than we expected. The
carpets were laid down, the beds put up, though, to be sure,
there were neither bolsters nor pillows, and there was a
strong smell of paint; but we took refuge in the drawing-
room, where it does not penetrate, and with the one table
and couple of chairs Miss Crowe left us, we managed very
well. These, with the piano, were our sole stock of fur-
niture till to-day, when the arrival of fourteen packages has
316 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
given us a day's hard work in the barn, the result of which
is, that I am sitting in as comfortable a drawing-room as I
could wish to see or sit in.
“To-day has been beautiful, and before we began our
morning's work we took an exploring walk, and after wading
through a bed of mortar we did get to a dry walk up the
downs. Our great object is always where to find a place
tolerably dry for our walks, and our first errand to Devizes
has been to beg the shoemaker to come and measure us for
waterproof shoes. In spite, however, of its wet, Alton looks
very pretty—the tints of the trees so rich, with the back-
ground of the hills—and the creepers in front of the house
cluster in at the windows quite after my heart's desire.
There are many little reforms wanted in the way of making
bells ring and windows shut ; but we shall not do anything
beyond these needful things at present. Our gardener's
name is Gideon, and his dress a brown fur cap, a short drab
jacket, and blue plush breeches reaching half-way down his
legs. He and all the people here talk such a dialect I can
hardly understand them. I do so much enjoy the un-
interrupted quiet, and it seems as if, in fact, we were now for
the first time really married. How little difference much or
little money makes except in the scale of things in a small
house; we are so much more amply supplied with Common
comforts than many people are in large Ones.”
“Oct. 20.-A week has done wonders. The bellhangers
have put in order all the bells and locks, chimney-sweepers
have done their work, and a carpenter has filled up the
holes and crevices in floors and wainscoting which let in So
much air. You are quite right in not wasting any Com-
passion upon me; in short, could you see me in the evening
reading Coleridge’s ‘Friend' with Augustus, or playing to
amuse him, or watch us reading over Some of his old letters,
you would not think we were much harassed by business.
•
TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 317
We have made some acquaintance in the parish; but the
cottages are so low that I fully expect every time that
Augustus will break his head against the beams. A school
is a matter of great difficulty. Not a person can we find
either here or in Great Alton, as they call Alton-Priors,
who seems fit to teach a school, and the way in which the
great girls last Sunday attempted merely a spelling-book
ſesson was lamentable. However, they are all eager to
belong to ‘Mrs. Hare's school,' and, I dare say, we shall
contrive something for them. On Sunday, as there is only
one church-service, it leaves a long time for them ; but the
boys even on that day are out “shepherding.’
“We never think or speak of the will, or anything Con-
cerning it. We have such delightful days; we go up ‘Old
Adam' daily, the view is so beautiful, the air so bracing.
We shall have ten times more pleasure in seeing things grow
before our eyes into comfort, than if we had found them so.
We are going to visit the Miss Hares at Millard's Hill,
and I already hear my own laments over leaving Alton.”
“Millard's Hill, Moz). 5.—My school on Sunday mounted
up from three to twenty-three, and some very nice girls, and
all seeming very happy to be taught; so I had them in the
afternoon in the usual church hours, and made the bigger girls
teach the little ones their letters. One of them is called
Charity Begood. I do not remember any other events
before I left our dear little home. I left Mary to super-
intend Carpet-making and cleaning, &c., and also not to
shock the aunts with a notion of my being a fine lady. It
is a very pretty drive all the way here, about thirty miles, a
delightful house, capitally furnished and thoroughly com-
fortable. They were delighted to see us, and withal are so
kind-hearted and easy to talk to, that I do not dislike it as
I expected. Then they are charmed with me, because I
always like what gives least trouble. On Tuesday Aunt
318 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Marianne took me on horseback to Longleat, a magnificent
house and beautiful park. Yesterday we went in their
carriage to Frome, where, being a manufactory of cloth, I
wished to buy a winter coat; they directly insisted on
giving me one of the best cloth. In the evening they had a
party, and in order to induce two of the guests who sang well
to join, I sate down to the instrument, and was so nervous
I made shocking work; however, they were quite satisfied
with my readiness.
“4//on, Mov. 12.-You may guess how glad we were to
find ourselves back in our own little home, which looked
very comfortable. Every day something new arises wanting
repair or reform, and if we can weather the storm of all the
bills to be paid, we shall do wonders. I suppose we shall
manage it ; but it is a near calculation of comings-in and
goings-out. How rich we shall seem to be when we have
nothing but regular housekeeping going on. . . . . The
days seem to fly so quick. The retirement of Stoke was
nothing to this, and the roads are worse than ever. I
suppose we shall not be fit Company for anybody when we
emerge into the world ; having no new book, no paper but a
country one, no link with the outer world but the Aſhenaeum,
which, they say, will soon be given up, we shall become
quite rusticated. -
“AVovember 2 I-It is always easier to talk to a person
when fresh from reading their letter, and so I will begin my
letter just when I have enjoyed yours. Many little things
which I meant to say escape me when there is an accumu-
lation of things to tell, and you will have full as much inter-
est in what I have to say in the sameness of our present life,
as when there were events to record. I suppose many
would find it dull; to me it certainly seems less so than any
part of my life ever has been, the difference being that
instead of looking on and enduring the present in expectas.
* *
TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 3I9
tion of what is to come, I regret every day as it goes by ;
but then of course all depends upon the nature of one's
companion. Now the activity of mind which Augustus has
prevents the stagnation which in us for instance constant
living together produces, so that there seems rather an
increasing stock for conversation than a lesser one, and he
is just as much excited and alive when there is nothing
exterior to furnish food for remark as in society. I believe
there is a book-club at Devizes, but we do not at all want
to have recourse to it, and I certainly prefer the having no
such temptation to idle reading at present. The reading a
little only of what is good, and that with great attention, is
particularly wholesome for me, whose habit has hitherto
been so much the contrary, and who from indolence have
got into so slovenly a way of understanding things. Our
evening's reading, you will be amused to hear, is sometimes
Cicero's Orations, in which I look over as he translates, and
shall get some idea of Latin. Coleridge’s ‘Friend' is our
general book, however, which is hard to understand occa-
sionally, but I like it very much indeed. Then, if we are
not in a mood for such serious reading, Landor's Dialogues
come in, of which I have not heard half yet. Then I make
my objections, and he explains. There is some affectation
in Landor's style—he leaves a good deal to the imagination
to Supply—and it requires some attention to find out the
extreme nicety with which, in all the little circumstances, he
keeps to the character of the age and speaker. But his
words and Sentences are beautiful sometimes. When he
tells a thing, he keeps so much to what he says of Demos-
thenes, that he never dwells upon that which must occur to
the reader in consequence of what has already been said ;
and this gives great strength to his language, which, with
the delicacy of his touches of feeling, I can admire greatly.
In the morning one chapter in the New Testament with the
32O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Greek translated literally, and compared, one Gospel with
another, with references to commentaries, takes up some
time, which, with a walk, reading and talking over letters,
lasts us generally till luncheon, and then there are always
Orders to be given and workmen to be looked after. I
have many schemes of improvement in the flower-garden;
and into the kitchen-garden I go with my head full of Mawe
—‘Ought not the sea-kale to be covered up?'—and I feel
much ashamed to be obliged to ask the names of spinach,
and endive, and celery, and to be told this is not the time
when such things can be had. We persevere in going up
the hill, a work really not of slight difficulty in these frosty
days when the ground is so very slippery, and every step
covers one's shoes with a galosh of mortar. Many new air-
holes for cold wind have been found out in the last few
days, and I think, like all Small and old houses, we shall
find our rectory very cold.
“We have had several new visitors, and the consequential
manners of some of them prepared us doubly to appreciaſ a
Colonel Montagu Wroughton and his brother Captain Mon-
tagu, who I only hope were as much pleased with us as we
were with them. -
“A)ecember 5.—At this moment Augustus is writing
about God’s works having a middle—a point of perfection ;
about Jesus Christ being the middle of the world, the tree of
life in the midst of the garden. He always puts off his
sermon till Saturday, that it may not take up more than its
day; whereas, if he began on Monday, it would go on all
the week. He began his visiting of the sick a few evenings
ago, when he went out after dinner to read prayers by a
sick woman. He durst not tell me till he came back,
knowing I should scold, as he had only just recovered from
his cold; but he pleaded that this would have been no
reason against going out on the devil's work, and that he
TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 32I
could not eat his dinner from hearing of her illness, and
thinking that he had not been to her.”
In December Augustus Hare left his wife and parish for a
short time to visit his brother Julius at Cambridge, the great
object of his journey being that he might fulfil his aunt's
dying wish in persuading his brother to break off his
engagement to his cousin, Anna Maria Dashwood, which
she had strong reasons for disapproving. These reasons
Augustus affectionately and firmly urged to Julius, and
though he received his arguments with great indignation at
first, he was eventually convinced of their justice, and the
engagement was ultimately broken off, though Julius always
continued to be the most faithful and trusted friend of his
cousin. How bitter a sacrifice his renunciation of this
marriage was to him, is told by his letters written at this
time. On that very day he was preaching upon “The Law
of Self-Sacrifice,” before the University. Here is the grand
concluding passage of the sermon — -
“We have seen that through every order of beings, in
things inanimate and things animate, in the natural and in
the spiritual world, in earth and in heaven, the law of self.
sacrifice prevails. Everywhere the birth of the spiritual
requires the death of the carnal. Everywhere the husk
must drop away, in order that the germ may spring out of
it. Everywhere, according to our Lord's declaration, that
which would save its life loses it, and that which loses its
life preserves it. And the highest glory of the highest life
is to be offered up a living sacrifice to God for the sake of
our brethren. This is the principle of life, which circulates
through the universe, and whereby all things minister to
VOL. I. Y
322 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
each other, the lowest to the highest, the highest to the
lowest. This is the golden chain of love, whereby the
whole creation is bound to the throne of the Creator.”
M. H. to C. S.
“Aſton, Dec. 14.—Having just seen my Augustus into
a farmer's gig which is to take him to meet the coach
(a distance of four and a half miles, which they say will take
an hour and a half, so you may judge of the kind of roads),
I must find consolation in writing to you. He is to be
away ten days, going on from London to Cambridge to see
Julius, and to hear him preach his Commemoration Sermon.
My heart is full at parting with him, but I shall find plenty
to do, and be very comfortable whilst he is away, and am
very glad he should go. It is such a beautiful morning for
his drive, and will enable me to chase away every uncom-
fortable feeling at letting my tender bird out of its cage by
the clear air on Old Adam. -
“I have had a good deal of talk with Augustus about his
ideas on Inspiration. His notion is that in all the mere
detail of facts, narrative of events, &c., there is not a verbal
inspiration; for instance, that it required no help of the
Spirit to give the names of David's thirty captains, nor does
it in the least signify whether one was left out or miscalled;
that in everything that was of the slightest importance to
the conveying the knowledge of God—his scheme respect-
ing men, precepts, doctrines—there the Spirit dictated, and
as such we must receive it ; but the mere historical detail
he thinks cannot, with all its variations and inconsistencies,
be dwelt upon as every word inspired by God without
incurring the difficulties which this over-demand on people's
belief so oſten creates. In the Gospels, St. Matthew mentions
two blind men, St. Mark one ; this proves they were not
copied one from the other; but if verbal accuracy is required,
TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 323
as it must be if inspired verbal/y, here would be a difficulty.
In the Christian revelation more especially, which is in this
peculiarity distinguished from the Jewish, he thinks the
spirit and not the letter should be attended to throughout.
By prayer, by singleness of heart, he thinks that he who
does the Will will never fail to know of the Doctrine, and to
distinguish between what may be rested on with faith and
what may be deemed unimportant, but which being made
too prominent may become a stumbling-block. I have not
time to enter further into this argument, or into another we
had yesterday about the heathen philosophers—how far the
truth was revealed to them indirectly through communica-
tion with the Jews, and how far the expression ‘God has
not left Himself without a witness’ may in a spiritual sense
refer to them—how their theories, without a better founda-
tion, fell to atheism amongst the Romans, till religion rose
again with a reviving power in Christianity.
“In his sermon yesterday Augustus told a story about
fourteen children who were poisoned from eating herbs at
Luneville, in consequence of a great famine, and whose
funerals he himself saw in passing through—and so on to
the Bread of Life. He brought in too my old woman at
Stoke, who learnt the prayers from hearing them at church.
The interest excited is great, and probably all the more
from the novelty.”
M. H. to A. W. H.
“Alton, Zec. I4, 1829.-One might suppose that nine or
ten hours at Alton would not afford much food for a letter,
yet I begin to feel already as if I had a great deal to talk
about. First, there were the letters. . . . . Then, I set
forth on my walk. I had such a delightful ramble over the
Downs; the Sun shone so bright, and the air was clear and
reviving, and I pushed on till I turned a point of the hill,
324 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and there sprawling beneath me lay the great White Horse'
in all its chalky glory. I would not go back ignominiously
when so far, so I went on, and soon planted my stick in
the White Horse's tail Far beneath in the hollow the
sheep were collected together, and the shepherd boy was
seated on his knoll of grass. What a time for meditation 1
no wonder the great poet of Israel was a shepherd, or rather,
to give the cause before the effect, vice versa. I dare say,
however, no very sublime thoughts are conceived on the
Wiltshire Downs, and I should fear the mind was as
inactive as the body in the boy I saw stationed on the hill
with that wide view all below him. For myself, I do enjoy
greatly the rambling about on those green hills, and, for-
getting that the Sun was not always so bright, I began to
wonder that we had taken so little advantage of such good
turf and free air. About three o'clock Mary came in to
announce the arrival of the live stock from Woodhay. . . . .
When I tell you that I have had a talk with Becky King
about the Sacrament, I believe I shall have completed the
history of this, my first day's solitude, in which I have not
had one moment to spare, and been as happy as I can be
without my own dearest husband. I feel so much difference
from the time when I was left at Woodhay. Here the
change from having you to having only my own thoughts
and books is far less striking, and I am never du/Z,
though, dearest, the arm-chair looks very empty, and the
silence is not so pleasant as the sound of the voice one
loves.”
“A)ec. 16. — Is it two whole days, dearest, since I
have talked with you, and nearly three since you went
away? It has not seemed very long, and your Mia has
been very happy in her Solitude, and does not feel half as
desolate here as she used to do in that great house at
Woodhay; but then a good honest Christmas fire is a much
TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 325
better companion than a make-believe summer one, with
winds and rain driving against the windows. . . . . .
“I have just had my second talk with Becky King, who
told me she used to think the latter part of the Catechism
was ‘the biggest of monsense,’ but that now she knew better
what it meant. It seems your reading the latter part of the
Communion Address encouraged her to come and ask
questions, and it seems to have been thought by some, as
Mr. Crowe never read that part, that it was your putting in.
Poor woman she is beset with fears and doubts, and
had she fallen into the hands of Methodists would soon
have been in a state of despondency. She said nothing
had ever given her the comfort that reading her Bible had ;
and yet people ask, What good can teaching to read do P
“By this time, I suppose, the object of your mission
is come to a point. Would I could see you for one
minute through a telescope as you are talking with Julius,
and guess at the result. The best I can hope for is, that if
you fail, as I fear you must do, he may succeed in con-
vincing you that his judgment is not so far wrong as you
have been disposed to think it is. At all events, I trust to
the sincere affection which prompts the one to censure and
the other to grieve over that censure, keeping your hearts
open to the kindly feeling which between such brothers
should prevail in the midst of disagreement. It is singular
how it has hitherto struggled through all the harshness of
opposition, and always succeeded in keeping uppermost.
Let it still do so, and all will be well. God be with you,
and bless you, my own dearest. Good night !”
A. W. H. to M. H.
“Camõridge, ZX c. 16.—Julius has delivered his Com-
memoration Sermon manfully. It was on Self-sacrifice, show-
ing that throughout the universe, animate and inanimate,
326 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
from God to the lowest living created thing, every good
thing that is done is done by self-sacrifice of some kind or
other. So instead of commemorating the departed, he
showed how alone things worthy of commemoration could
be accomplished; and Bacon by his maxims, and Newton
by his life (both members of Trinity), furnished him with
examples most appropriate to the subject and to the day.
The great feature of the beginning was an attack upon the
Paley doctrines, which debase virtue into a refined selfish-
ness. But as the sermon lasted an hour and a quarter, you
may conceive how impossible it is to give the darling Mia
even the slightest sketch of it. After service, we came back
to Julius's rooms, to be present at his distribution of the
College prizes for the year; and almost more than in the
sermon did I delight in the readiness with which he said
something kind and gratifying and appropriate to almost
every man as he came to him in succession.”
M. H. to C. S.
“Zec. 20. — I think I told you about Becky King,
who begged to talk to me about the Sacrament. She said
she had often wished but never dared to come. She cer-
tainly affords an instance of God's Spirit working in her.
She seems to have met with no one likely to put such
thoughts into her head—has no cant or display, but does
seem rea/y to feel that she is sinful, and that she is un-
worthy to come before God. Sometimes she says she feels
as if she must be cast away, and then the words of the Bible
comfort her—“And if I do but say God help me, it seems
to do me good, ma'am.” She told so simply how much she
was taken up with cares about this world, and how to
struggle on with their poverty and pay their debts, and that
she could not help fretting about it, though she knew it was
so wrong, that I really felt quite ashamed that she should
TAKING ROOT AT ALTON.
see me sitting at my ease, with every luxury around me. I
hope to be some comfort to her, but it does strike one as
something like mockery to talk to such poor Creatures
about being thankful for what is given them, and cer-
tainly they do need the hopes of something hereafter to
look on to.
“I am very busy writing a sermon to be ready for
Augustus's return. I don't know whether it will be of any
use to him, but it is partly done in his style, which is rather
that of plain talking than preaching. We have got a large
cargo of flannel and blankets from Frome to cut up, and we
shall give them the day after Christmas, which will be a
good way of knowing all the people.
“APec. 22.--Your account of seeing the railway takes
away my breath, and puts my head into a perfect whirl.
What will this all come to ? Some great change must take
place. I want, as you Say, my companion to talk it all
over to. However, you are quite right that even great as
my privation is of not having him, there are independent
charms of being alone which we enjoy more than most. It
is such a pleasure having things done that I know will
please him or make him more comfortable. For instance,
I have moved the chairs and tables, till I have made more
space for my poor man to walk about. He is so patient,
that he never says a word about it, but I know he must
long to expel half the furniture that is in the way of his long
legs and walks. It is very good for him, however, to be a
little curtailed. He will lose the habit of jumping up and
twirling round, from the impossibility here of doing it with-
out knocking something over. I have always forgotten to
copy for your amusement some lines addressed to him, I
forget who by, but describing a Debating Society at Oxford,
of which he was a member. Here are those relating to
him —



MEMORLALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“And first thyself that planned the vast design,
And bade such powers of eloquence combine—
Yes! Sure 'tis he 'tis Hare whose gamut voice
Bids treason flourish, Jacobins rejoice;
Who tells in alt what ills our State disgrace,
And mumbles out corruption’s fall in base.
'Tis he, whose restless hand, now out, now in,
Threats all around, or strokes his beardless chin ;
Each adverse speech he vows on conquest bent—
“To declamation without argument; '
Next well composed antitheses ensue—
“Naught true is novel, and naught novel true;’
Till, as vast metaphors distend his breast,
He winds his period up, and chokes the rest.”
I have been reading a little of Schleiermacher. Thirlwall's
preface, with the history of all the different theories, is quite
bewildering, and enough, I think, to turn any one disbe-
liever in the inspiration. Schleiermacher, I think, clearly
has a right feeling himself, and only wishes to account for
the discrepancies in the best way he can, believing in the
main points as divinely taught. But I suspect the effect on
most would be rather of creating doubt than of satisfying it.
Still there are many singular theories about how this story
must have originated in the telling of the Virgin Mary, and
that in the telling of the shepherds, &c., which do not at all
take away from the high origin; and the supposition that it
was originally written down in detached portions, Occasioned
by the questions of the early converts, and afterwards col-
lected together, does not seem to me at all to take away
from its truth or spiritual inspiration, and accounts for the
want of connection.
“Yesterday evening I was actually obliged to go to bed
from the cold, having tried alternately whether the draught
from the door or window was the most bearable. One is
obliged to move One's position sometimes, so that an undue


TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 329
partiality of warmth may not be shown to one side. You
cannot think how beautiful Alton looks in the Snow. Yes-
terday the sunset on the snow-hills was quite Alpine. But,
my poor Augustus—I wonder how he will ever get home to-
day through the deep drifts, and shall be most glad to have
him safe here.
“Z)ec. 30. You will not be very glad of Augustus's
return, as it stops my pen so much. I do not know how it
happens, but when he is at home there seems no time for
anything. He brought his aunt's dog Brute home with him.
Can you fancy me with a little beast? However, I shall
learn to talk to one soon I think.
“We had a great day on Saturday for giving away to all
the people, and so got all their names and histories, and
Augustus scolded the mothers whose daughters had ‘misſor-
tunes,’ and told them how, in the parish he came from, such
a thing was unheard of. On Christmas Day we had only
favo communicants, besides my woman and Ourselves. On
Sunday the Great Alton clergyman did not come on account
of the snow, and Augustus had to do the whole morning
service there, as well as the evening here.
“Jan. 6, 1830.-Julius came on Monday, bringing our
young half-brother Gustavus with him, that he might read
with Augustus. A new person coming upon one's Solitude
seems to let in so much new light. Then Julius is much
more communicative than Augustus, and more generally
conversable. But with all that mildness of demeanour and
character, I am surprised to hear him so vehement on
politics, &c. I think he will be obliged to end by living in
Germany, he is so much annoyed by the present system of
things in this country—by the overpowering commercial
spirit which fills everything. He must have surprised a
fellow-traveller in the coach, who was rejoicing in the
present books for children, by saying that there was not one
33o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
fit for them to read; and had he gone on to express his
regret that the poor had no longer popular romances to
read, his companion would have wondered still more. He
does not conceal his dislike of people when he feels it, and is
not near as cautious as Augustus is. I hope he will preach
on Sunday. By-the-bye, Augustus preached my sermon last
Sunday, with a few alterations of his own, which did very
well. He says he never saw the people so attentive. It was
something like my copies of your drawings—having a good
foundation, but imperfectly worked up, and wanting the
Spirit and force of an original.
“Jam. 29.-Pray tell Charlie that when his uncle was
five or six years old his great play at school was taking
Bergen-op-Zoom, the scene of action being Twyford church-
yard, and his fortifications composed of string from one
tombstone to another. Without any knowledge of geo-
graphy, he picked out the names he could hear of, so that
Malta and Copenhagen were side by side sometimes, and
all his leisure hours were spent in arranging plans for
assaults, and thinking over, as he grew older, what he read
in Thucydides, &c. . . . . His trouble in teaching Gustavus is
really repaid by the delight Demosthenes gives him. His
language and style is as plain and homely as that of
Cobbett, and his eloquence produced entirely by the force
of argument. Of course my studies have lain in this line
lately, one thing brings up another so; and then I feel so
ignorant of all the general principles, as if there was so
much to be known and thought about that a poor weak
mind cannot embrace anything, and I wonder at the bigotry
f those who think their own opinions infallible.
“I begin almost to dread seeing you again, the happiness
will be so great. Julius has left us, having been much
shocked the day before by hearing of Niebuhr's death.
He laments him no less for the excellence of his private
TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 331
character than for his literary attainments—says the world
has a great loss in the latter, for his researches were so very
deep. Having a very nervous mind, it had preyed on
the troubles of the times, and worn him out quite in his
prime.”
M. H. to A. W. H. (absent at Oxford).
“Feb. 9.—The warm sun and mild air yesterday seemed
to be purposely made for your release from prison, and left
me no excuse for grumbling over your going away. . . . .
As I went my way along the lane to-day, thinking how
I could do any good in the parish, I met one of Gideon's
children. “Where have you been to, Mary P’ ‘To school
at Mrs. Patrick's, ma'am.’ So in I stepped to Mrs. Patrick,
and found she had begun to take in a scholar or two. This
was just what I had before thought of, as you may remem-
ber, so I sat down and we had a good talk, the burden of
which on her part was that she wanted to get a few shillings,
and that she was able to teach reading, sewing, and writing;
and on mine that I should be very glad to have somebody
in the parish who would teach the children, and that I
would talk to you about it when you came home; in the
meantime she must try to get what Scholars she could.
She certainly seems fully able to undertake the office; the
house is large enough for as many as she is likely to get
at present, and till something else turns up we cannot do
better than Support her. I think when I have announced
the birth of your one hundred and first parishioner in the
cottages, you will know all the parish news I have heard in
the last twenty-four hours.”
M. H. to C. S.
“Feb. 11.—There are two things in your last letter I
thought of commenting on. One was what you say about
332 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
our imperfect powers of mind. Certainly they do prove
the corruption and weakness of our intellectual nature, but
this I conceive to be a distinct thing from the moral cor-
ruption of which St. Paul speaks, except so far as they act
and react upon each other. With regard to religious truth
(I mean not unessential points, but a Christian faith), I
believe Augustus would say that it is the corruption of
the will that perverts the intellect—some hidden undis-
Covered cause perhaps ; but he holds that there is no person
perfectly sincere and honest in his search after truth, who
will not sooner or later be allowed to find it, and be helped
in his inquiry. But then to be unprejudiced and open to
conviction is just the point on which we all fail. Our
limited Capacities, I think, would alone convince us of there
being a Something far higher to which we shall one day
attain, and where all will be made clear which now seems
often so obscure. The striving of our nature after some-
thing better, and its reluctance to stand still, might be a
proof that the image of God in our souls has not wholly
been done away; if it was, there could be no chord to be
struck, nothing to answer the call, to lay hold of the means
held out—in darkness we must remain. I suspect that in
many the extreme to which the contrary doctrine is pushed
proceeds from a degree of jealousy lest sufficient
stress should not be laid upon Christ's doing al/ and
not part of our salvation ; and so (as I think Whately
somewhere observes) are doctrines, not flecessarily de-
pendent on each other to their extreme point, made to
hang together for fear lest in loosening one both should
give way. -
“People ought to marry, that by communion with another
mind they may look at themselves with other eyes. Now
the thing which I see more clearly than I used to do is,
how much the system of indulgence gives a false view of
I'AKING ROOT AT ALTON. 333
life, and tends to raise an expectation and wish of self-
gratification in everything, as well as making those occa-
sions when that is not possible appear in the light of great
trials and sacrifices. I am much struck with the effect
which a different system has had upon Augustus, and how
much more wholesome to his character the Severity of early
diseipline was, and the constant giving up of self. Some
bad consequences result from the fear produced—reserve,
and in a less upright mind perhaps deceit ; but I begin to
think that in the days when subjection to elders was enforced,
and when less was done to promote the amusement and
gratification of children, more was done to form their
minds to a right view of themselves and others. It is well
that something of humiliation at finding my own notions
of duty lower than they should be arises out of mar-
riage, or what would become of me with such excessive
spoiling?
“To-day I have been on the Downs as far as the Beacon,
and am quite stiff with the hard work it was getting up the
hill through the deep mortar.”
M. H. to MISS CLINTON.
“Feb. 27, 1830.—Nothing can be more convenient than
a parish, no house of which is beyond a ten minutes' walk.
Then the power of knowing every individual in it, and of
ministering even with Our Small means to the comfort of
all, is a very great advantage. But there is scarcely a
grown-up person who can read, and I was not aware before
how much the want of this simple knowledge leads to a
general dulness of intellect, and how greatly it adds to
the difficulty of giving anything of religious instruction.
How is the mother of a family, who can never or rarely get
to church, and has no means of learning anything at home,
to know or care anything about any world but this? I hope
334 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
we may ºn time be able to do something towards enlighten-
ing their minds a little, but it is a work of great difficulty, and
I long for a missionary spirit to be able to speak the truth and
the whole truth to them with plainness and openness. The
first thing has been of course to begin with the children.
Those who are not advanced beyond A B and B A of
course get on very slowly, but we have now begun a little
village school. The people seem a good deal struck by
Augustus's sermons, which, being extremely plain, and at
the same time out of the Common way, with illustrations
from their own sphere of life, have a greater effect than
many finer discourses. But how very hard it is to give
them the least notion of religion, except as one of forms and
outward acts. I am now visiting a sick woman, one of the
most respectable in the parish, who has attended church
better than her neighbours and brought up her family well
She is pleased to have me read to her, but beyond the Jewish
creed of a God that will reward and punish, and to whom
we must pray for help and protection, she seems to have as
little sense of her needing a mediator, or of all that she owes
to Him, as any heathen might have ; and to convince her that
the faults, for which she takes God’s pardon as a matter of
course, are such as the Bible teaches us proceed from the
heart and must be repented of, I feel some trouble in making
her understand. Till I came here I was scarcely aware,
having only seen parishes which had long been civilised
and attended to, how much devolves upon the exertion and
attention of the A’ectory in teaching the poor people; and
the state of simplicity which one might expect, as you Say,
from the distance from a high-road, having no town near, and
no public-house in the village, is far less than might be
hoped. The system of all the women and girls acting as
field-labourers-—//ot/g/ling and shepherding, &c.—in itself
produces a rough and Savage state of Society.”
TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 335
M. H. to C. S. (after a happy visit from the Stanleys
at Alton and an absence in London).
“Aſton, June 1, 1830.-Here we are again at our own
quiet home, which, in the depth of shade and exceeding
freshness of foliage, looks more retired and more rural even
than when you saw it. You may fancy the pleasure it has
been to me to receive from Mrs. Reginald Heber a parcel
of the ‘Life.” She seems to me to have done it so judici-
ously in making him his own biographer by his letters and
journals, and they bring him most vividly before one.
Wherever his mind comes forth, the sterling sense united
with the candour and liberality is very remarkable. I feel
one's loss of him renewed by having him thus brought home
to one's recollection. To be sure, how unlike he was to any
one else. I cannot read the book without tears.
“Augustus has been working hard at his own hay, going
out every half-hour to see what they were about, watching
the clouds with an anxiety worthy of any farmer, and
scolding because the cocks were not judiciously made,
to say nothing of moving half the grass when mown into
the next field to dry sooner, which answered completely.
Mary has worked in the hay all day, dressed me, brought
in dinner, milked the cow, and at seven o'clock there
she was in the hay again. When I saw her in the croft,
I laughed and said, ‘You have had enough variety to-day.'
‘Oh, yes,” she said, ‘I feel as if I was at home.” Certainly,
whether a country gentleman's daughter is the thing for a
wife or not, a respectable farmer's daughter is the thing for a
servant.”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“June 2, 1830.-I dare say you have followed us to-day
in our walks and rides, and guessed how many recollec-
tions have come across us of the beginning of our life
336 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
together, of which this is the first anniversary. How
blessed this year has been to us both ! Who knows what
another may be. But we are, thank God, in better hands
than our own, and our care for the future as for the
present must all be cast on Him. We were so glad to
be able to spend this day alone together, and at our
own dear little quiet home, which is so very green and
fresh ; the roses cluster in at the windows, and it looks
so very retired and comfortable, that I long for you to
see it in its summer dress.
“Augustus has established a second service on a Sun-
day, which was never before known ; and it has been re-
Ceived thankfully, as also his attempts to teach these poor
ignorant people something about the Sacrament, which
has been entirely neglected. He had quite a little congre-
gation last week on those evenings in which, after a prayer
he made for the occasion, he talked and explained to
them for above an hour, and they seemed greatly pleased.
If we can do something how thankful we shall be,
but it must take a long time before any great change
can be made ; and when the novelty of having a pastor
who cares about their souls is a little gone by, we must
expect to have many discouragements . . . . -
“Howit unites the interests of rich and poor when the one
is enabled to contribute so essentially to the welfare of the
other, and when they can join together in one great feeling.
I am sure they are wonderfully sensible of, and grateful for,
one's taking an interest about their spiritual concerns as
much as for their temporal, and it quite saddens one to
think that such a weight of responsibility as attaches to the
clergy should be so often misused and slighted. Pray
for us that we may be enabled to persevere, that God
may bless our weak attempts to lead others into that service
of perfect freedom, and that He may strengthen our own
TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 337
faith, that whilst teaching others we also may be advancing
in his love and knowledge of the truth, and that we may
give all the praise to Him. This last especially I would
say must never be out of our minds, for our poor weak
nature is so ready to take all the glory to itself.
“. . . . I am often tempted to wish there was not another
religious book in the world except the Bible, and then
there would I believe be far less difference of opinion and
more simplicity of feeling. Were Christ himself the model
of life and his precepts the standard of opinion, many who
are by the errors and ill judgment of even his faithful fol-
lowers led astray, would be filled more with that spirit of
love and peace which marks his character.”
M. H. to C. S.
“Alfon, /u/y 8.-The aunts are just gone—and oh on
Monday next down go the partition walls of the drawing-
room, and lo! our beautiful new room twenty-three feet in
length ! No Sooner was the suggestion made of such an im-
provement being practicable, and the probable execution
talked of for a future time, than each sister looked at the
other—“I see what you are thinking of, Marianne, and the
same thing struck me.’ And then came that it was a great
pity to delay such an increase of comfort, and that they
should have real pleasure in giving it to us. Nothing
could be done more kindly and handsomely. It was a
beautiful day for their arrival, and all looked to advantage.
They expressed satisfaction in everything, found no faults,
and I did not ask opinions on things I did not intend to
follow, and did upon points where I could. The village
was well astonished by the great ladies and their four
horses.
“We are going to Stoke in a fortnight. . . . I am sure it is
necessary and wholesome to mix in the world sometimes to
VOL. I. Z.
338 MEMORIALS OF A. QUIET LIFE.
prevent one's notions becoming narrow and bigoted, as they
will do if one never associates except with those who think
with one's self. But certainly the truest enjoyment must
always be in one's own dear home, striving to help those
around us, regretting only how weak and inefficient are the
Žuman means of benefiting them. . . . . I do not know
if I have ever told you what my study is now—Greek.
I read a few verses each day in my Testament, and
get on pretty well, my master tells me, and it is such a
delight to me.
“Stoke Aectory, /u/y 24, 1830.-I can hardly believe that
I am not Maria Leycester again ; in other respects Stoke
is Stoke—its own green, beautiful, summer dress on. The
flowers are even better than usual, the Hawkestone and
Kenstone range looks strangely wooded and rich, and the
bookroom is certainly grown half as big again at least.
You would have laughed to see Augustus immediately
measuring length and breadth, looking directly at the
cornices, and yesterday our first walk after breakfast was to
dairy, larder, pig-styes, &c.; in short, I find myself observing
on various things I passed over so entirely when I lived here,
—considering whether the pasture was good in the field, see-
ing all the weeds in the garden, &c.
“We had a delightful journey, and no adventures. Seeing
the little schoolgirls in the lane first upset me. But I behaved
very well on getting here—only felt my heart jump into my
mouth. My father was at the door. Augustus was as
happy and proud in bringing me back as I was to get
here. Of course we had a great peal of bells on Our
arrival, and next day, which is quite a new and grand
sound to us. -
“Stoke, Sept. 26.-The terrible news of the railway acci-
dent and Mr. Huskisson's death quite occupies us. '
Augustus and I have been making out from the newspapers
‘....AKING ROOT AT ALTON. 339
how many variations there are in the accounts of the story,
as told professedly by those who were on the spot; and
had he to preach in the neighbourhood at this time, he says
he should certainly make use of them as an instance how
absurd it would be some years hence to doubt the truth of
the way in which Mr. Huskisson was killed because one
eye-witness calls it the right, and another the left leg that
was injured—because one says he fell on his face, knocked
down by the door, and another that his foot slipped, &c.;
and how similar are the doubts raised of the truth of the
Gospels by the variations of the evangelist story.”
A. W. H. to a CLERICAL FRIEND.
“Sept., 1830.- . . . . You may remember you said to
me, as I was getting into the carriage to leave your
house, that you hoped I did not think the worse of you for
the discussions we had had together. Now I will not pay
your penetration so bad a compliment as to suppose it
possible you should not have perceived how greatly I
admire many things about you--your care of the parish,
your love of natural Science, your activity, your unremitting
endeavours to improve the condition of the poor around
you. Heartily do I wish that I resembled and equalled you
in these respects. All I deplore is, that with so much
energy of character, and such a love of truth, you should be
content to remain, on many points, halting between two
opinions; and that you should suffer your peace to be dis-
turbed and your days embittered by questions which, if you
would only grapple with them steadily, would many of
them, I am convinced, turn out to be little more than
phantoms. I do not deny that there may be many diffi-
culties in the narratives we have so often discussed together;
but, in the eyes of a Christian, they kick the beam when
weighed against the positive evidence afforded us in the life
34o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and character of Jesus. . . . I am disposed to say to any
Christian who vexes himself about such questions as that of
Jonah and his fish, for instance, ‘What matters it, whether
the story be literal or allegorical, so long as we believe in
Jesus and his tomb, and know that He rose from it triumph-
antly P’ The darkest passages in the Old Testament are
illuminated by that event with a reflected light, which shows
them to be either true or unimportant.
“Apropos of light, a fancy occurred to me the other day,
which, if you would mature and execute it, would show, I
think, more clearly than any words can do, how small a
part the difficulties are compared with the whole scheme;
and, at any rate, how small is the shade they cast on the
great surrounding objects. That they are nuisances in
themselves I can readily conceive, but then it is simply as
being negations; they are but minus quantities, and can no
more affect or obscure the glorious truth, with which they
are found in juxtaposition, than a thousand thistles in a
park can conceal or out-top the oak in it. Over those
thistles, be they as high and prickly as they may, the oak
will still be seen conspicuously; and it will still afford its
giant shelter to all who can force their way through the
briars and nettles up to it. And, after all, the Bible abounds
in oaks, and has not half so many thistles in it as I have
cut down at Hurstmonceaux. My fancy, however, is this, to
draw a sort of map of the whole. The Old and New Testa-
ments might be the two worlds, the different books would
be so many provinces, the chief events would be like great
cities, the difficulties would be deserts, marshes, &c. In
short, not to allegorise too much, it would be easy, I think,
to colour this plan or map with various colours, from white
to black, marking the different shades and gradations of
belief as you feel them to exist in your own mind, from the
highest intensity of persuasion and conviction to the
TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 341
shadows, clouds, and darkness—if it ever amount to dark-
ness--of any degree of doubt you may be conscious of
Might not such a synopsis as this have the advantage of
making you feel more strongly than you at present seem to
do how small a proportion your serious difficulties bear to
the many great points on which your mind is quite at rest.
It is painful to see an anxiety about Small matters hanging
like a clog about your mind, ever flapping against it and
distracting its exertions, and retarding its progress towards
perfection. He who is ever laying the foundation afresh
will never finish the building. He who has not the founda-
tion laid sufficiently by the beginning of autumn has little
time to lose, if he means to have his house comfortable by
Christmas. Your house is not comfortable. Would you
could bring yourself to devote your energies to the making
it comfortable, with a determination of persevering till the
work is done. A few months, nay, a year or two, would
be well employed in an occupation the certain issue and
reward of which are peace.
“I need hardly say that this applies with equal force to
your misgivings about some of the Calvinistic tenets. In
my opinion, the Arminian who relies on Divine grace, the
moderate Calvinist who insists on holiness and refrains
from preaching retribution, and the man who dismisses
the controversy from his thoughts as too high for his learn-
ing and abilities, when brought within these wholesome
limits, as being partially unimportant—all these men, I
conceive, may meet together in one Church, as in a common
field, in which each has an equal right to till. . . . .”
M. H. to C. S.
“Alton, Oct. 26, 1830.-You may guess the joy with
which we found ourselves at home again, and we have had
such greetings from all the people. . . . . Yesterday I
342 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
mounted Jack again for the first time, Augustus walked by
my side, and we enjoyed much going along that beautiful
terrace you remember on the Downs, and coming back
through the pretty lanes where the bluebells were. Nothing
can be more perfect than our present life. The third
Sunday we were away, Mr. Bleeck had service at Great
Alton church in the morning. In the evening Mr. Peck,
as usual, had service in our church. When he came out,
the clerk stepped up to him—‘That was a very good ser-
mon, sir, you gave us ; to be sure, we heard every word of
it this morning from Mr. Bleeck; but we shall remember it
all the better.' Was it not singular P
“Oct. 27.-We have had nothing but doctoring in the
parish. The fever reached the house at the end of our lane,
and on Sunday night a little girl, one of my best scholars,
died of it. Her father lay dangerously ill and another child
also. Having just heard of how malignant a nature it was
from the doctor, you may guess whether it did not require a
little faith to see Augustus go into the infected house to
read prayers to the sick man without much anxiety. How-
ever, here was a case of duty, and after making him take
every precaution, I was quite calm in his doing it, and all
the things he ordered were very necessary to prevent worse
consequences. The man is now, I hope, getting better;
but they have it in another house next to Gideon's, and
yesterday, as Augustus was passing in the afternoon, he
happened to speak to the woman, saw she was crying, and,
on inquiry, found that the girl who was so much better in
the morning, was, they thought, dying. He came home for
some brandy, and ran back with it in spite of the rain, and
waited till the child had taken some, and by means of that
and rubbing mustard on the throat begun to revive; and
to-day she is alive and certainly better. But it seems like a
sort of miniature plague, attacking people so suddenly
TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. - 343
with swelling in the limbs, &c. Two more in the same
house now have it. There is such a making of broth and
gruel. The barn does very well with the laundry stove in
it, and makes an excellent room for school, and Augustus
means to lecture there one evening in the week.”
DX.
JOURNALS-" THE GREFN BOOK.”
“Love, lift me upon thy golden wings
Erom this base world unto thy heaven's hight,
Where I may see those admirable things,
Which there thou workest by thy soveraine might,
Farre above feeble reach of earthly sight,
That I thereof a heavenly hymne may sing
Unto the God of love, high heaven’s King.”
- E. SPENSER, 1553–98.
M. H.’s JOURNAL.
& 4 A A.TO/V-BAA’AVES, AVov. 22, 1829, Sunday.—My thirty-
first birthday ! my first married one God be praised
for the happiness that attends it. Others have been accom-
panied by hopes, and plans, and expectations for the future;
this presents the realisation of all, and more than all I have
ever dared to hope. I no longer look on to what is in
store; rather I dwell upon the present enjoyment, and
tremble lest another year should bring with it any change.
My heart is often full to overflowing when I think of the
many fond dreams I cherished of the days to come, and feel
now how they have all so fully come to pass. It was in our
own little church I this day knelt and prayed, and it was
my husband's voice to which I listened, and with him have
I this evening read the Psalms and Lessons to our little
household, and so joined together in the sacred services of
the day. How long has this been an object of my wishes,
Journals—“THE GREEN BOOK.” 345
to unite with the partner of my heart and life in such duties.
In his tender affection, and in the perfect Confidence which
exists between us, there is a charm thrown over our daily
life which certainly equals, and I think exceeds, what I had
fancied would be the case ; and such is the fear and trem-
bling with which its duration is thought of, that I am
anxious to record something of these happy days as they
pass, which may hereafter recall them to the recollection
more vividly than memory unassisted Could do. I can
breathe no prayer for the present, but that a sense of
our utter dependence on God may never leave me, and that
He will in his mercy strengthen my faith and resign me to
His will ; that whatsoever that will may require from me, be
it in suffering or be it in joy, my comfort as well as my
thankfulness may rest solely on Him.
“I begin a new life, with new duties, new responsibilities,
and I heartily pray that I may fulfil them in that Christians
spirit which may in some measure atone for the imperfection
in their performance ; and that he whom I so dearly love
may together with me grow daily in the knowledge of the
truth and in the love of God, may He of his goodness grant
by the assistance of his Spirit. I feel myself sadly wanting
in submission, often failing in thankfulness, wayward in the
midst of blessings, ruffled by the merest trifles; the pride
and Self-will in my heart are continually struggling against
my better feelings, but they will, I trust, not always gain
the victory, and when no higher motives have influence, the
strength of earthly affection will do much. Why do not we
fear to grieve Him, from whom we receive all, as much as
we do to cause one painful feeling to our nearest earthly
friend? My Own Augustus ! I must not love you too much,
or God in his wisdom will recall my wandering affections
to Heaven, by taking from me that which makes Earth—
Heaven. -
346 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“Mov. 29.-Augustus read in the morning service to-day
Doddridge's paraphrase on the 1st of St. John, which wants
only simplifying in the words to make it intelligible to the
ignorant. Sunday is always a day of rejoicing with me, and
I love my dear Augustus more than usual when he has been
exerting himself for the good of his people.
“AXac. I.-A letter with the account of Mrs. A 's death
affected me a good deal. So young a person taken away
in the bloom of happiness is always an awful thing; but
here her having so long desired the very event which
has closed her earthly course is a striking lesson, and I
feel that I ought to benefit by it. How wrong it
shows it to be longing after that, the consequence of
which we can so little foresee. To God we must commit
ourselves entirely, and not dare wish for that which he
withholds.
“APec. 2.-With what a characteristic dispute about great-
ness does the 18th of Matthew open. This is the constant
struggle now as then, and the simplicity and humbleness of
a child are as little to be met with in these days of know-
ledge and learning as in those of ignorance and poverty.
“By their angels in Heaven,' sounds to me very strongly
as if there were appropriate spirits to minister to each
faithful Christian. Augustus has been reading Coleridge
this evening. Nothing can be more delightful than his
style when not involved in obscurity; I certainly prefer it
to Landor.
“Augustus told me a curious story of Mr. Pitt being
waked out of a sound sleep by Mr. Windham and others,
and told that the mutineers had seized Admiral Colpoice.
He rose up in bed, asked for pen and paper, and having
written ‘If Admiral C. is not released, fire upon the ship
from the batteries till she is destroyed,” gave it to Mr.
Windham, lay down, and was Snoring before they got out of
JOURNALs—“THE GREEN BOOK.” 347
the room. Lord Spencer was one of the party, and told
Lady Jones.
“A)ec. 13.−We have had a long talk about the
heathen philosophers. Augustus thinks it is to the crumbs
of truth they picked up that the verse ‘God has not left
himself without a witness’ may be spiritually applied—that
they might from the Hebrew poetry and prophecies gain
some light. Coleridge's opinion is that they had themselves
a providential, though not a miraculous, dispensation to
raise their intellect above the sensible world—to spiritualise
their ideas. How inefficient this was, is proved by the fall
of their theories into epicurism amongst the Romans. The
Stoics were austere moralists, the falseness of whose system
was soon detected, and consequently rejected by those who
liked to live for pleasure ; and, just when the religion of the
Jews had become corrupt, and the philosophy of the
heathens sunk into Atheism, Christianity rose with reviving
force. At no other time could it have been spread so
rapidly or extensively as when all countries in the civilised
world were subject to one power, and Connected with one
another through this medium. The Reformation was a
resurrection of Christianity, which was repeated in England
after the French Revolution by the Methodists.
“Christmas /)ay, 1829.-This blessed day is the first
since we have been so blessed by the gift of each other.
How my heart swelled within me on receiving the cup of
blessing from my husband's hands at the altar of our own
little church, where he read with so much feeling and
earnestness those beautiful words of comfort, encourage.
ment, and prayer. I never felt them come so much home
to my feelings; and imperfect and cold as my best attempts
are to realise to myself the presence of Christ, I trust that
these will be accepted, and that God will grant to me a
daily increasing knowledge of, and love for, my blessed
348 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Saviour. That we may assist and help each other in
the use of spiritual things, is my earnest desire and
prayer; and never do I feel more thankful for my
present happy life than when we unite in these feelings
and wishes. It was a thorough Christmas Day. The
Sun shone bright upon a Lapland Snow, and there was
a wholesome clearness in the air, invigorating to mind and
body.
“Pec. 31.-We have reached the end of this happy,
blessed year, 1829. It has given to each of us, I believe,
that which is more precious than any other gift of God, and
not one anticipation of the happiness attending our union
has been in vain. Seven months have we now been one,
and not one cloud has come between us ; each day seems
only to draw us more closely together, and to unite our
thoughts and feelings more intimately. Let this conviction
produce in our hearts true thankfulness to Our Father who
has given such earthly happiness, and make us watchful lest
it grow into a too engrossing feeling, excluding that higher
love to which it should be subject.
“Jan. 1, 1830.-The new year begins most brightly
and happily, but I scarcely like to look on to its events;
for when the present is so blest, one cannot but fear the
changes which may be wrought. But my trust must not
fail, for God can give us strength to bear. May He lead us
daily and yearly nearer and nearer to himself, that our cold
hearts may glow with more love of heavenly things, and be
weaned from dependence on anything earthly. May I per-
form the new duties which are opened to me with the
humility of a little child, conscious of my own unworthi-
ness, and seeking earnestly for help in all my struggles after
holiness.
“ſan. 10.-Julius is here, and reads to us in the
evenings. He enjoys a story with all the simplicity of a
Journals—“THE GREEN BOOK.” 349.
child. In church, his reading of the lessons and prayers
was most solemn and devotional, but in the sermon his
tone rather wants variety and energy. Nothing could be
better and plainer than the words of his sermon, and the
thoughts were beautiful. I particularly liked his allusion to
our love of tracing things from their beginnings, &c., and
the showing how knowledge is not the one thing needful—
how much we need a Redeemer, &c. I think, however, for
the audience he spoke to, that little would be understood of
the natural longing after good ; and the classical allusions
rather proceeded from the scholar than the parish-priest. I
long for him to be thrown more into the world, that, by
mixing with different classes of society, his theories may
become less visionary.
“Jam. 18. —It grieves me to have to part with Julius just
as we were becoming more intimate, but the moment of
parting calls forth the real feeling, and his farewell speech
of how happy it made him to have a real sister was a great
delight.
“Jam. 28.--When I come to study any subject it always
appears to branch off into so many channels, and there
arise before me so many points on which I am ignorant,
that, instead of keeping steadily to one, my mind is apt to
glance off to all the various means before me—gleaning,
perhaps, a little from each, but not making any completely
my own. To be sure, the more one knows the more one
must sink before one's self in consciousness of utter ignorance,
and before the overwhelming force of all the materials for
human knowledge, spread out in all ages, and so little made
use of as they should be.
“I am interested in reading connectedly the Mosaic history
—how constantly and immediately God presided over the
Israelites—how entirely their laws were adapted to every
particular occasion, not general in principle—how strongly
35o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFF.
the necessity of atoning for sin is shown forth in the sacri-
ficial ordinances.
“Aeb. II.-If substance means literally what is beneath, to
tendez-stand a thing must be to find out that substance—to
penetrate below the surface to what lies under. If nobody pro-
fessed to understand a thing who had not thus stood under
it, and seen its deeper and hidden parts, how much error
and confusion would be saved How equally does God
proportion things, that where outer trials are wanting, inner
ones are created by the perversity of our own hearts. The
system of indulgence under which I have always lived
makes anything less of ease and comfort seem a hardship
which requires compassion; and I find that while great
sacrifices, by Calling out a degree of admiration, are a means
of fostering our self-love, little ones which often do not cosé
us less are more salutary, because they pass unnoticed. I
grievously need a more humble and submissive faith—a
more perfect trust in the Divine will. If this were, indeed,
attained, all would be peace, and it is the weakness of our
faith which leads us to murmur, to grieve, or to be anxious.
I have much, very much to learn. God grant me grace to
learn of Christ to gain more of the spirit of child-like meek-
ness and more resignation to his will.
“June 2, 1830.-This happy day has come again, telling
how a long year of happiness has been granted to us. We
have lived over again in memory every hour as it passed of
that eventful day, and rejoiced in feeling how much nearer
and closer is the tie that binds us than it was even then ;
and I more especially enjoy the remembrance of that which
first secured to us our present comfort whilst it is undis-
turbed by all the painful and agitating feelings of the last
2nd of June. How can we be grateful enough for so much
of earthly blessing; and yet how often am I half disposed
to murmur, or at least grieve, that others are not added, of
JoURNALs—“THE GREEN BOOK. 351
which I know not if they would contribute to my happiness.
God knows what is best, and in His hands I can mostly rest
my hopes, though the flesh is weak, and will sometimes
presume to wish for itself. . . .
Oct. 23, 1830.-I have been many weeks away with my
own family. How dearly I love them, and yet I cannot
help feeling now how little they are in comparison with this
one, and how much happier my life is now in my own home,
with its duties and interests, than the less active one I
formerly led. When I was at Stoke, I felt how little I had
ever done there, and how much more I should now like to
do. The last year has brought with it so much more of
apparent responsibility that I am aware of a much stronger
feeling of the necessity of exertion than I formerly had.
Yet even now how far does it fall short of all which I ought
or even wish to do. Some idle excuse, some vain scruple,
some foolish pretence rises up at every turn to divert one
from the right path of making the consideration of others
always supersede that of self. God be praised that we are
returned safe to our dear home, and may He assist our
weak efforts and fill our wavering hearts with good desires,
that so we may go on increasing in knowledge of His Truth,
showing it forth in Our Own lives, and making it known to
all around us.*
* The Journal called “The Green Book” was continued through
my mother's whole life. Extracts from it will from this time be occa-
sionally inserted at the dates where they occur.
Y.
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES.
“What an union for two believers is a Christian marriage
—to have one hope, one desire, one course of life, one service
of God in common the one with the other | Both, like brother
and sister, undivided in heart and flesh, or rather really two in
one flesh, fall down together on their knees, they pray and fast
together, they teach, they exhort, they bear one another
mutually; they are together in the church of God, and in the
Supper of the Lord; they share with one another their griev-
ances, their persecutions, and their joys ; neither hides any-
thing from the other, neither avoids the other; the sick are
visited by them with pleasure, and the needy supported;
psalms and hymns resound between them, and they mutually
strive who shall best praise their God. Christ is delighted to
see and hear things like these ; He sends His peace on such
as these ; where two are, there is He, and where He is, evil
comes not.”—TERTULLIAN.
A. W. H. fo C. S.
& 4 AVOV. 24, 1830.-For fear you should be alarmed by
cross-country accounts in the newspapers, I write a
few lines to say we are all safe, after one of the most
painful days I ever went through. -
“About two o'clock we were summoned by two half-
drumken men who professed to be sent on. They came to
the door, and asked for money, ‘any trifle,’ announcing that
two hundred were coming at their heels. After failing of
their errand, they went down to Pile's house, opposite us,
whither I followed them. He was gone to Marlborough,
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES. 353
and there were none but women in the house. As the only
chance, I had the church-bell rung, but none of the labourers
came; perhaps they were too far off, and did not hear.
About ten minutes after the troop arrived. The machine
had been taken to pieces, but that did not satisfy them ;
they must break it. And breaking it they were, when Pile
on horseback dashed in among them, and fired. They
would have dispersed, perhaps, in a fright, but in a place
where they could close with him, his gun went off a second
time. They dragged him down, and have nearly killed
him. They then burst into the house, and broke everything
to pieces, and for some time I expected they would serve
us in the same way; so irritated were they, and so mad
with drink. Indeed, they talked of Coming back to-night,
and burning down all his ricks and barns. But the news
had reached Devizes even before I could send a messenger.
The Yeomanry were here by six, and I have just heard that
they have surprised several of the rioters in the public-house
at Woodborough. On the Marlborough side ten men were
taken to-day; and a regiment of Lancers were to be there
by eight o'clock to-night. So we feel safe again. Maria
behaved perfectly, as she always does, thinking of everything
that was wanted, and taking every kind and proper step
towards her poor afflicted neighbours. I had no idea the
English peasantry were such cowards as the men to-day on
both sides proved themselves. We hear Woodhay has been
ransacked. The fires on Saturday and Sunday were
dreadful.”
TM. H. to C. S.
“Alton, Moz. 25.—We have had no further alarm beyond
the many reports, of which, if we believed one half, one
could not have much rest. However, at Pewsey there has
been a meeting. Col. Wroughton says the people are
VOL. I. A A
354 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
satisfied, and there will be one at Devizes to-day. Troops
are at Marlborough and Devizes. We have our own special
constables, patrols, and fire-engine, and I trust are in a
better state of preparation than we were. Poor Mr. Pile is
not out of danger, I fear, though I hope he will do well. A
large fire-ball was found in his field the morning after the
attack. We hear of five great fires over the hills towards
Calne, and at Salisbury dreadful work is going on. Our
ringleaders are chiefly taken, and we had the pleasure of
seeing some of them go past with the cavalry yesterday
morning. All the villages round us seem to have contributed
their share of men ; and I fear there are some very bad ones
amongst them. Our village had not one, and only two
were from Great Alton, but of course they all rejoice
secretly at what is to bring them greater wages. At the
same time they are frightened to death, and the wives come
crying about their husbands,-they are sure they will get
their heads broken, &c. At all hours people are Coming,
farmers to consult about what should be done, and with
fresh stories. In short, we live in a strange, nervous state;
and if we do not make an example, and that speedily,
of some of the worst, there will be no end to these out-
rages.
“On Tuesday evening, when all was over, and our fears
for the night were quieted by the arrival of the cavalry,
Augustus and I sat each in our arm-chair, so completely
worn out by the anxiety and fatigue of the day, that we
neither of us uttered a word for a couple of hours. From
my station at the drawing-room window, I saw the whole
combat, and you may guess my horror when, hearing the
confusion of Mr. Pile's fall, I Saw Augustus rush towards
the place, surrounded by the ‘bull-dogs,'—and my sub-
sequent joy when I saw him get away and walk home.
They threatened vengeance so loudly that he kept out of
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES. 355
sight from that time, and I talked to the people who
came to the door. As soon as they had filed off across
the field to Mr. Miller's, I went down to Mr. Pile's,
and such a state of distraction as the house presented
I never saw. I went again to hear the doctor's report.
The sisters were all activity, and busied about their
brother, whilst the poor old mother, not allowed to go
into the room, went moaning about, lamenting first over
her son, and then over her china; she herself got a great
blow from one of the iron crows. The greater part
of our rioters are men who earn from twelve to twenty
shillings a week at the Wharf, and spend it all at the beer-
shops.
“AWov. 26.-The activity of the magistrates and yeomanry
have struck a panic, which will, I trust, spare us any further
alarm. Yesterday a Bow Street officer came to get infor-
mation. He came out of Kent, and says his own impression
is certainly that the fires proceed from the people of the
country. He hoped to have got a good clue to one of our
incendiaries. The chiefs of our ringleaders are in custody.
and Augustus went this morning with Mr. Miller to identify
some of the prisoners. He was doubtful about one, till the
man put an end to his hesitation by saying, ‘You, sir, can
witness I was not breaking the machine, for I was talking
to you.’ \
“The worst of such alarms to one's self individually is the
want of Security they create ; every unexpected noise, or
delay, or interruption, makes one nervous. How anybody
accustomed to wars would laugh at one's petty fears; but
certainly a body of undisciplined Savages with nothing to
lose are not pleasant neighbours. Our own parish is un-
touched by suspicion, even ; but it is very uncomfortable
talking to the people. It has, and naturally, too, raised
their own discontent, and one hears nothing but murmurs,
356 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and very rarely an expression of proper feeling at the
Outrages, though they are all as much terrified as if they
were likely to be attacked. I hope a general agreement
will soon be entered into, which will settle things. Our
tithes of Course must fall as the price of labour rises,
and we can get little this winter. Had a few people
acted at first in a spirited manner, and resisted the giving
of money, it would not have reached such a height ;
and Sir Edward Poore, as a magistrate, is very much
blamed for having given them such encouragement. All
agree in condemning the beer-shops as one great incentive
to evil.
“I have written so confusedly before that I think you
will have no clear idea of my share of the day, so I will
tell what I saw. On the approach of the troop, as they
came over the bridge, Augustus said to me, “Go home, and
keep in the house;’ and so amid the cook's entreaties
that ‘Master would come too,” which I knew was vain, we
betook ourselves to the house, locked and bolted doors
and windows, and had just retreated up-stairs, when a
thundering knock came at the front door. Finding my
plan of concealment would not do, I presented myself at
the drawing-room window, and held a parley with them.
“They wanted to do no harm.’ “What have you got those
clubs and hammers for, then P’ I refused money and went
away, but the continued knocking, and threats of breaking
doors and windows, soon made me pull out some shillings
and throw to them, with which they went away content.
Meanwhile I saw in the churchyard all the women and
children collected : leaning over the wall of Mr. Pile's yard
I could distinguish Augustus and One or two others; and in
the farmyard and all round it were the mob, with shouts,
hammering the machines to pieces. I suppose this had
gone on for twenty minutes or half an hour, when we (the
wiltshire RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 357
cook and myself, for the other servants were all gone nearer
the scene of action) heard a tremendous gallop, and in an
instant saw Mr. Pile ride furiously amongst the mob, who
gave way directly, and had he kept his ground there, all
had been well. There was a confusion, and all I could
distinguish was that the farmyard was cleared ; a report of
a gun came from the ricks behind the barns, there was a
great scream set up, loud shouts, and to my horror I saw
Augustus and those with him rush into the field amongst
them. However, the alarm for him was not long ; after a
few minutes I distinguished him leaving the crowd, and
making his way to the house, and never did my legs carry
me more willingly than as I flew down-stairs to open him
the door. When I again got to my station, the mob were
all come round and advancing upon the Piles' house, and
the noise was terrible of breaking their windows and doors.
As they had vowed vengeance against Augustus for having
brought the gun out of the house, he kept out of sight,
whilst I sent away the few who came for money, and who
were easily contented. After they had completed their
destruction at Mr. Pile's, which was not till the poor
mangled victim was brought down-stairs again, and had
given them 24, Io, we had the satisfaction of seeing them file
away across the fields to Great Alton. In about half an
hour they returned to break the Crowe's machine which we
had put in the field, and then we saw no more of them ; but
as they went off to Stanton, declaring their intention of
returning at night, it was an amazing relief when Mr.
G. and some other men arrived, who said they had just
left Devizes, and heard the troops ordered ‘ on Alton.’
And so ended our siege, which it must be owned was as
little resisted as ever enemy was ; but the best labourers
were all at a distance, and those near, far too much frightened
to give any help.”
358 MEMORIALS of A QUIET LIFE.
Aſov. 30.-I must copy for you part of Julius's letter
about the riots — The gentry, the farmers, the clergy, the
citizens, the tradesmen of the towns must assemble and
form constitutional associations for preserving peace and
order. By active energy we may still avoid the danger,
which if we are supine will crush us. Most now are weak
and yield to intimidations, for it requirés an inordinate
degree of courage to resist a mob with such fearful weapons,
and so unscrupulous in having recourse to the most fiendish
measures. Surely, too, if people are but active, many a
poor harmless peasant may be saved from joining the
wicked hordes, many may be saved from the snares they
have already fallen into. Surely the clergy still have an
influence over their flocks: they should preach from the
bulpit, they should speak in every cottage of the blessings
of peace and order, of the intolerable, inevitable calamities
that must fall on every class from a system like the present.
Surely our nobility and gentry, in spite of the pestilential
watering-places and other temples of vanity and frivolity
that draw them away from their estates, may still marshal
faithful tenants and peasants, if they will but appear among
them and at the head of them. Surely the charity whichi
the ladies of England have bestowed so liberally and almost
prodigally, has not altogether fallen on Stony ground, but
will produce some good fruit even for themselves here.
The heart of England I am convinced is still sound, in
spite of all that has been done to poison it. But it must
be appealed to strongly and honestly. We are trying at
Cambridge to organize a kind of body for the protection of
the country round, in the hope that our example may be
followed, though there are many who say there is no need
of it yet. Good God, not yet When will the time come
to shake off our sleep P When that sleep is cast off by the
pangs of death ! I was rejoiced by your ringing the church
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES. 359
bell; but, alas ! the Dark Ages are past when that sound
would have acted as a summons to every living being for
miles around.’” -
M. H. to MISS CLINTON.
. . . “Owing to our predecessor farming his own glebe,
we have large farm buildings, and those SO connected
with the house by thatch, that had the rioters chosen to
fire the farthest stack, it would have run like wild fire
through our old timbers. I was so stunned by the events
of the day, that for some time afterwards I could scarcely
feel, and rather thought than could utter a prayer of thanks-
giving. What should we do in such moments without
the consciousness that whilst man is against us, we have
God with us, and the privilege of going to Him, in the
earnestness of real want, to implore His protection.
Did we but ask for spiritual gifts with half the energy
with which in time of need we beseech Him for temporal
aid, how surely should we find within us the growth
of Christian graces, which we so sluggishly ask for in
general.”
M. H. to C. S.
“Alton, Dec. Io.—The odd thing about the riots is, that
this is not a year of scarcity. There has been no hard
winter and no uncommon pressure of any sort to raise
this outcry. And when One sees that half of the discon-
tented are men who spend their money at the beer-shops,
and who might get ample if they chose, it rather hardens
One against Sympathy with their distress, and inclines one
to think the lenity and indulgence granted in return for
their proceedings, not the best-judged.
“Our carpenter alleged as a reason for the riots here—
360 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
‘Oh, they are so ignorant in this county,+there's a many
who boast that they do not know a great A from a turnip,'
and certainly in this vale the march of intellect does not
appear to have been great ; but it is disheartening to see
how small fruit is produced by exertion, and attempts at
improvement. Some of the worst characters come from
Mr. Methuen's parish, and he has been working for years
both week-days and Sundays.”
M. H.’s Journal (The Green Book).
“Pec. 11.—We are returned to a calm after a period of
much anxiety and alarm, in which we have been mercifully
preserved from evil. In the hour of need how necessary
and supporting it is to lift oneself above earth, and implore
protection from above. I know not how else great trials
can be borne, and even in Smaller Ones, it is through prayer
alone that the spirit can be refreshed and comforted, and
strengthened to bear the evils around. Yet I felt the weak-
ness of my faith, and how hard it was to cast all one's
care on that merciful Father who invites us to do it;
some would still cling to earth and raise unworthy doubts
and fears, and selfish feelings are ever pulling strongly
against those heavenly ones of trust and confidence, which
should possess one's soul. I feel myself so unworthy of the
mercies granted to me, so unable to feel for them that
gratitude they should inspire, that when I look on myself I
can find no comfort. When the moment of danger arrives,
then I feel the wavering of my faith and how much my
happiness is set on things below. Whilst I cannot but
long for other blessings, I feel how difficult it is to bear those
I have with a spirit of resignation to the Giver. May
He who knows my weakness have mercy on it, shew me
to myself in every secret fault, and lead me by gentle
steps to that fountain which alone cleanseth from sin.”
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES. 361
“Jam. 4, 1831.-How fearfully does the year open to
this country. With trials and condemnations, and, though
with less of disturbance than a month ago, with the Con-
tinual apprehension of such. A bad Spirit seems to be
everywhere at work, and the ties and bonds of society
to be loosening amongst all classes. An impatience of
restraint and disregard of authorities and government
is growing up, and the ignorant alike with the informed
cast from them the wholesome ties which formerly re-
strained them. Whence all this originates—how it is to
be conquered—no one seems philosopher enough to dis-
cover; and it is not easy to trace back to their causes the
effects which the change of times and circumstances have
produced: in short, when I begin to think on it, all
seems confusion and difficulty. That wiser heads may
through God's grace be led to the best mode of remedy.
ing the evil, is all one can pray for. When one thinks
of the advantages and blessings hitherto granted to this
country, and sees around one so few really feeling and
acting upon Christian principles, so few to whom the
Gospel seems to have been really made known in more
than its form, can one wonder if God should withhold
His protection, or permit our neglect of Him and setting up
of ourselves to meet with their fit reward P -
“Excess of luxury and refinement have brought other
nations low before us, and if our only superiority, the pos-
session of Christianity, is made of non-effect, how can we
expect to stand more than they did P Let each look at
home. What do I see there P Perfect thankfulness for
all the mercies I receive P entire submission to, and
hearty trust in Him who gives them P an immovable faith
and love in God my Saviour, an increasing effort to do Him
service, to live to His glory, to promote the knowledge of
Him? Alas, no-I find none of these things. And yet
362 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
because others think of me better than I deserve, be-
cause they love and cherish me, I would fain deceive myself
with flattering delusions. Oh, may I pray for a true know-
ledge of myself, that I may find out every secret spring of
action, let it be ever so mortifying to my own proud spirit;
and whilst I learn to judge of others with more mildness,
and find excuses for every deviation they may make, may I
probe deeper into every fault of my own, and listen not
to the tempting voice of praise, remembering ever for
how much I have to account, how many advantages,
few temptations, and great mercies. And oh, Father
of all mercy, do Thou assist me by Thy Spirit, and
grant to me and my beloved such a measure of it as
may lead us day by day and year by year nearer and
nearer unto thee, that our pilgrimage may be continually
one from earth to heaven, and our life here prepare and
fit us for the eternal home when Thou wilt be to us Ali
in All.”
M. H. to MIss CLINTON.
“Aſton, Dec. 17, 1830.—I hope by this time you are as
free from apprehension as we are. I was told only two
days ago that Mr. Hunt was coming with some unknown
multitudes to invade us, but, as they have not yet appeared,
we may conclude, I think, that we were thought unworthy
of so illustrious a company. But I suspect we are not yet
peaceable at heart, nor can be so till all discussion is at an
end, as to the price of labour, &c. The farmers in their
first alarm promised more than they can now perform—then
the labourers rebel. Some of those in the neighbouring
villages threaten to punish those in ours for submitting to
a lower rate, and our yeoman-farmer declares he will not be
bullied into paying more until all is settled and the country
quiet again. What a struggle of interests it is . . . .
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES. 363
There certainly is a general spirit of insubordination show-
ing itself in all classes. How much less is the authority of
parents over children upheld than it used to be, and the
attachment between master and servant. Of this latter
bond, our wounded neighbour, Mr. Pile, was saying that in
his father's time the single labourers all lived in the house,
took their meals with the family, and went quietly to bed at
nine o'clock. Now they will not do it, but prefer being in-
dependent and having their time to themselves. Conse-
quently the hours after labour are commonly spent by the
young men in drinking or rambling about, and all that
social tie is broken through which used to connect them
with their master's interest. . . . . Then in dress, how
it has lessened in respectability, through the cheap and
flimsy nature of the materials introduced by modern im-
provements. We were riding one day lately and passed a
woman dressed so perfectly according to the old style, with
her kerchief pinned tightly over a dark blue gown which
looked quite new, that Augustus inquired where she got
so good a dress. “Ah, sir, you cannot get such nowadays
—it was part of the moreen bed-curtains that Old Lady
Wroughton gave me above twenty years since, and it has
been washed many a time, and always keeps new.” <>
I have moralised enough, and, to turn to our proceedings,
must tell you that we had a dinner party of eight yesterday
—an event so rarely happening in our little rectory, that it
was not at all a thing of course, that the dinner should
come and go, and the company take their chance of being
pleased or not. I assure you due consideration had to be
given as to the best mode of enabling one boy to wait on
eight people,_and also where the six strange horses were
to go. Augustus brought out his choice Trinity ale, and I
regaled them with my Portugal plums and Alderley ginger-
bread and all kinds of clerical dainties. There were no
364 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE
contretemps, they seemed well-pleased, and all went off
much to the satisfaction of my anxious maid Mary, who
thought, doubtless, that our credit would have been ruined
for ever had there been any disaster. The party was
entirely clerical, but not one word of theology was talked,
which was quite as well. Had it been, one knows at what
a low ebb it would have been, and how truly the Evangelicals
might have said how much more attention was engrossed
by the temporal than the spiritual wants of the people, and
how little of real interest or concern the latter excited. To
be sure, if the early Christians could return to earth and be
present at some of the Christmas parties of the present day,
they would be puzzled to recognise their brothers in name,
and would not easily believe that they both professed to
serve the same Master. . .
“I suppose you have seen in the paper the decision of
Sir J. Nicholl in favour of Lady Jones' intestacy. It is, all
things considered, the only fair decision, and though we are
losers, Augustus rejoices in it as more conformable to his
aunt's wishes than the re-establishment of the first will
would have been. -
“We dined at Devizes the other day to meet the Napiers
and T. Moore. I liked the poet much better than I ex-
pected. . . . . Our drive home was enlivened by the
post-boy being attacked by a man with a pistol, threatening
to shoot out his brains if he did not stop, -and with
difficulty he contrived to flog his tired horses out of
reach.”
M. H. à? C. S. -
“Aſton, Jam. 4, 1831.-Julius is here. He preached on
Sunday on, ‘The Lord is my Shepherd, therefore can I lack
nothing.” It was a beautiful New Year's sermon—the latter
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES. 365
part referring strongly to the present state of things—the
want of security ; how an Englishman's house was no longer
his castle; warning them against evil advisers—agents of
Satan, going about in sheep's clothing—in reality their
bitterest enemies; that every newspaper is now telling to
what end their counsels lead in this world, and they must
know what it would be in the next, &c. He ended by a
prayer, beginning, “Heavenly Shepherd.’ He was more
animated, and I think the sermon was more of an address
than last year. Still it had his usual faults of being too
much drawn out without a point to rest upon, if you know
what I mean—not leaving any very distinct impression as
to the tenour of the whole argument; and further, the scrip-
tural part seemed rather as if added to, than moulded
together with, the philosophical deductions. I suppose he
never thinks it dull here. Several evenings he read out
pieces in Milton's Reformation, which is, to be sure, a
different English from the present, and strong enough. He
and Augustus had a long argument on Sunday evening as
to how far Milton was responsible for the savage expressions
he uses towards the bishops of his own day; Augustus
maintaining that in men of genius, that was the mode of
temptation to evil passions; Julius asserting that he did not
really feel it, and that it was merely imaginative violence
and manner of expressing the principle of hatred towards
what was bad. . . . . I have been obliged with Julius, &c.,
to put in a word for Evangelicals, feeling as I do, that, how-
ever bigoted on many points, and however inconsistent
occasionally, and however presumptuous and absurd, there
is amongst them more of real influential piety and spiritu-
ality of mind than amidst most of the accusers; and that
taking out a few such exceptions as Arnold, Arthur Per-
ceval, &c., they are more likely to do good as clergy than
the opposite party.”
366 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
M. H. to L. A. S.
“Sunday after Christmas, 1830.—It should have been
the blessed Christmas night itself that I wrote to my own
L., but I was otherwise engaged last night, and this evening
will serve as well to share with you the joy of this season,
and Say how I have felt that we were one in the services
and rejoicings of the past two days. A bright sunshine and
clear frost seem to belong to Christmas, and give outwardly
the cheerful brightness which one's inner man is led to feel
in dwelling on the glad tidings this day brought. It is the
custom here for the carols to be sung in the night, and it is
so delightful to be waked out of sleep by the many voices
below our window, proclaiming Christ to be born in Bethle-
hem. There is something in the stillness being so broken,
without any visible change, which thrills through one's very
heart. What joy and happiness those lose who care nothing
for that Saviour so freely offered, and who would cling to
the cold formalities of natural religion, putting aside so
entirely the merciful link connecting us with heaven. It
does seem to me also a wonderful perversion of human un-
derstanding to find in Scripture any ground for lowering the
nature of that Saviour, and making Him less than God. I
have been the more struck with the inconsistency lately,
having compared the different passages on the subject, and
both directly and indirectly the evidence does appear so
unanswerable. Was it not Erasmus who said he understood
the Bible till he began to look at commentators? I think
I almost agree with him. . . . .
“You cannot think, in my visitings away from home, how
fearful I often feel lest I should be seeming to agree too much
with one side or the other; but the fact is that, when I hear
fresh instances of party Spirit, of presumption, and of that
ugly thing called Cant, I cannot help agreeing in the con
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES. 367.
*
demnation of such unchristian conduct, though generally
giving most of the accounts the credit of exaggeration; and
then, on the other side, when I see how much more of real
spiritual feeling there is amongst those who are called
evangelical, I cannot help preferring their society and con-
versation, although I dislike exceedingly the notion of
belonging to a sect, or of thinking all Christianity void that
is out of it. In short, it always ends in my going to the
Book, where there is not one following of Paul or another
of Apollos, but Christ is all in all, and where the simplicity
is so strikingly contrasted with the colour given by all
human authorities, and where humility and charity are the
graces most earnestly inculcated. My Chief feeling, in hear-
ing anecdotes unfavourable, is the longing that those to
whom they relate could know how much discredit they
bring on the doctrine they wish to adorn, by a too formal
adherence to the letter without regarding its spirit; and
though it would be worse than mean to compromise what
is really essential, I do think much harm is done, or at least
many a stumbling-block is laid, by attaching so much im-
portance as some do to trifles, and by the jealous fear of
being too liberal. Excellent as are many of the religious
books of the present day, I believe that were religious
teaching to be confined more exclusively to the Bible, it
would be more wholesome, and that fewer errors would be
taken up ; and in the same way I think that, delightful as
the communication is with those who agree with you on
religious points, the kind of religious conversations held
between people of the same opinion has a great tendency
to breed party-spirit and nourish a degree of self-conceit.”
“A/arch 20.-I fully understand your feeling of preferring
a life which has its crook. I do believe that following only
one's Own pleasure arid having no call for exertion is not
only the least wholesome, but, taking it all in all, the least
368 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
hafty way of passing life. I am sure I always find it so;
and that to have Sacrificed one's own inclination in ever so
trifling a way, is always repaid doubly. I cannot tell you
with what joy I look forward to this spring, in the hope of
getting you here; but I would earnestly guard you, in
coming here, against expecting too much, either from our
people, who have as yet perhaps made but little progress,
or from us who are at present but beginners in the art of
teaching others, and perhaps in teaching ourselves. O.
thought this the dullest and the ugliest place he was ever
in, so you must not fancy that you will find a Paradise out
of doors of beauty—such there certainly is within of love.
But I have no fears of your not being happy here.”
M. H. to C. S.
“Aast Sheen, May 27, 1831.-We came up here on
Monday. . . . . On Wednesday evening I went up with
Vſrs. O. L. to the Ancient Music concert: we had good
seats just before the director's box, and were in time to
see the Queen enter the royal box, and hear the ‘God save
King William' struck up. With all the discussions and
feelings excited lately, one could not hear this without look-
ing forward and feeling the unsettled state of things just
how ; nor could one look at the Queen and help thinking
5n how frail a tenure her elevation might perhaps rest some
ime hence. There was something very thrilling—almost
overpowering—to me, in the ‘God save the King,' sung in
Shorus, all standing up ; and I am now so unaccustomed to
ublic places, that even the number of people, all well
lressed, had the effect upon me, as on a child, of novelty.
I was sorry not to be nearer the Queen ; one has a
curiosity about such people—to see how they talk (you
know what I mean), whether they really are amused and
interested by what goes on. The Selection was a particu-
}
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES. 369
larly good one, and Pasta sang gloriously ‘Ombra Adorata'
and a song of Paisiello, and one heard her so perfectly.
The harmony and melody of the Knyvetts was delicious in
its way, and I have seldom heard at a concert less of the
tiresome music one generally has.” -
“Aſton, May 30, 1831.-Did you think of us on Satur-
day, returning with Lucy (Stanley) to our quiet home 2 It
was a very cool travelling day, and cleared up to a beautiful
evening; so that our drive in our own carriage from Marl-
borough was delightful, and Lucy was enchanted with all
the woody lanes we came through. Augustus was preparing
her all the way for the change she must expect when she
got here. However, our little peaceful green home was all
she could wish, and I believe fully answered her expecta-
tions. The three weeks we have been away seem to have
made such a change in the growth of summer, and the
extreme quiet strikes one much on coming back. I believe
Lucy was in one of her most delicious moments, feeling the
completion of her long-raised hopes.”
“AZłon, June 2, 1831.- There could not have been a
more delightful day for the celebration of our second anni-
versary. The Sun Shines without a cloud, and everything
looks as joyous and happy as our hearts feel. It is indeed
a blessed thing to have had two years of such happiness,
and this is quite a fit day to represent it. You may suppose
how Lucy has enjoyed it. We had the long table and
benches brought out of the barn, and put on the grass-plot
under the cherry-tree, by the quince, and twenty-five chil-
dren came at twelve o'clock to a dinner of bacon and
potatoes, and gooseberry pies. The Piles, Miss Miller, &c.,
came to look on, and had chairs put out to sit under the
trees. What is so common with you, being quite a new
thing here, was much thought of Augustus said a grace
before and after, and the children sang their hymn, and
VOL. I. B B
37O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
each had gingerbread given, and then away they went. It
was really no expense, very little trouble, and gave much
pleasure. The boys, being out at plough this afternoon, are
to have their supper at seven o'clock; and we, having dined
at three o'clock, are now going—Augustus and I–to take a
delicious ride together, and Lucy to enjoy her solitary
ramble on the Downs, with her camp-stool and Brute.
“—We are all come in now, well tired, but I must finish
my letter to you. It has been the most exquisite summer's
evening, and you may guess how we have enjoyed our ride.
How I rejoiced in our being in the country again in this fine
weather, for though Sheen is very pretty, it is not above
half country.
“We have a curious case in the village just now, of a poor
woman, named Mary Browne, who was seized while she was
peeling potatoes with what she calls the Dreads, fancying an
evil spirit came over her, and she has now taken to her bed
for three weeks, constantly tormented by this spirit, which,
she says, tells her she shall never be forgiven, tries to hinder
her praying, and puts all sorts of bad thoughts into her head
whenever she tries to think of God or heaven. She seems
perfectly same, but so very miserable, it is quite sad to see
her. Then she has taken a fancy that she is thus tormented
in consequence of having taken the sacrament, which I had
persuaded her to do on Good Friday, and thought I had
satisfied her scruples. There is the oddest mixture about
her of self-justification and self-condemnation. I used to
think her so insensible when I talked to her, and now she
seems to feel only too sensitively.”
M. H. (JOURNAL).
“June 2, 1831.-Our third wedding-day ! Two years of
uninterrupted happiness have been granted to us—such
years as perhaps may never again be permitted us to enjoy.
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES. 37 I
We have grown in love to each other, and in comfort with
all around us. Have we grown as much as we ought
in love and devotion of heart to our Heavenly Master P
This is a question I hardly like to ask, for I fear the true
answer would be a mortifying, self-condemning one. Some-
thing of earnestness in the great work appointed to us, has,
I would hope, been added to us; a few seeds scattered
amongst our people, have, I trust, been the beginning of some
good, which, by God's blessing, may spring up even from
the weakest instruments. But when I look into myself I
find nothing there but food for sorrow and mourning, that,
with such advantages of situation and circumstances, I have
made so little progress in attaining a true Christian spirit;
that I am so little humbled before God; that my faith is so
weak, my trust so wavering. Oh, my God and Saviour, do
thou listen to my earnest prayer Take from me the cold-
ness and deadness of heart I so often feel in spiritual things.
Enlighten me by Thy Word of Truth to see and know Thy
will, and by the Holy Spirit assisting me, enable me to
struggle without ceasing in bringing my thoughts and affec-
tions into obedience to the Cross of Christ. Help me to
subdue every selfish and wayward feeling, every desire lift-
ing itself up against Thy will, and make me to feel what
immense causes I have for thankfulness to Thee. This day
united us for ever upon earth. Oh, may it be the fore-
runner only of that more perfect union we may hereafter
enjoy in heaven I Do Thou, gracious Lord, be with my
husband, softening his heart more and more into perfect love
for Thy service, strengthening his faith, and filling him with
that joyful communion and heavenly peace which Thou dost
bestow on Thy true believers. We must look forward to
times when all may not go on as smoothly as it now does.
Troubles and Sorrows must come ; and I feel at times a
painful dread lest there should be found wanting a chasten-
37.2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
ing hand to wean me from a too great love for the things of
this life, and from placing my affections too entirely on
earthly objects. I have been, with one exception, perhaps
too prosperous, and my life has too little call for self-sacrifice
to be altogether as wholesome as it might be. I must
endeavour to supply the need of outward teaching by a
more watchful self-examination, a more diligent study of
God's Word, and more earnest and unremitting prayer
for help and support. May God in His mercy quicken
my feeble wishes, and bring them into reality and fulfil-
ment.” -
A. W. H. (NoTE-BOOK).
“ Whitsunday.—Who has not seen the Sun on a fine
spring morning pouring his rays through a transparent white
cloud, filling all places with the purity of his presence,
and kindling the birds into joy and Song? Such, I con-
ceive, would be the constant effects of the Holy Spirit on
the soul, were there no evil in the world. As it is, the
moral sun, like the natural, though ‘it always makes a day,’
is often clouded over. It is only under a combination of
peculiarly happy circumstances, that the heart suffers this
sweet violence perceptibly, and feels and enjoys the ecstasy
of being borne along by overpowering, unresisted influxes
of good. To most, I fear, this only happens during the
spring of life: but some hearts keep young, even at
eighty.”
L. A. S. to C. S.
“A//on, June 3, 1831.-I have only been letting a few
days pass over the heads of my ideas here, before I began
to write. Everything is exactly like my expectation, except
that I had imagined too large a scale, and that I had
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES. 373
|
no idea how great a difference there was between Augustus
known, and Augustus unknown, for I never knew him
before in the least. The second day after I came I thought
a little child would look very dear on the little lawn, but I
hardly think it is necessary to their perfect happiness, it is
so entire. For myself, I can only say the guest without a
husband is as happy as the hostess with ; and, when I was
walking over the White Horse's Zail yesterday evening, I
felt the very feeling of Wordsworth's Solitary in the ‘Excur-
sion,’ when—“No prayer he breathed—he proffered no
request.’ The only alteration I wish, is to cut down half
the trees, but Augustus does not at all agree. It is so
amusing to see the interest the grave scholar takes in his
cow, and horse, and meadow. He came in yesterday and
said he meant to water the grass in the orchard, and was
very angry one day because Maria and I had walked all
through the long grass, which was to be cut at five this morn-
ing. He takes his daily round through the village, and re-
turns with a minute account to his Aſia. You would have en-
joyed seeing Maria yesterday, busy preparing for her school-
children, filling the jars with flowers, placing the table under
the cherry-tree, all the children meanwhile peeping through
the gate ; and then, when all was ready, Augustus exclairn-
ing, ‘Throw open the doors,'—and putting each happy little
thing in its place. The feast concluded with the children
singing the Morning Hymn, led by Maria. I did enjoy the
day thoroughly. It is no difficult task to rejoice with those
who rejoice,—and rejoice was written in every look and
action of the two throughout the day. Then we dined at
three, and I and my camp-stool went to explore the Downs.
The carpet of Cistus, and milkwort and thyme there, is
quite beautiful. I delight in the Downs, but they are very
fatiguing. The only thing I long for is a running brook,
with forget-me-not. The source of the Avon is like the
374 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
outpourings of a soap-tub. Likewise there is a great scarcity
of flowers—except dozemy ones.
M. H. to C. S.
“Alton, June 8, 1831.-I do not think our political
horizon is at all more cheering than yours. On Saturday
night, a great fire consumed four wheat ricks, and four barns
full of thrashed corn, about seven miles off, near Abury,
because the farmer had used a machine. On Monday we
called on Mrs. Goodman, and found the old lady in great
alarm ; one of her sons, who is a farmer, having sent word
that morning that one of his servants had been told by a
horseman riding by—‘If your master does not pull down
his machine, all his ricks will be burnt by to-morrow night.'
This sounds just like November again, and Augustus and I
rode home with something of the same feeling returned.
This, with the expectation and threat of burning all the
corn as soon as it is ripe, makes one look forward with
some dread to the next few months. There is no doubt
that a most fearful spirit of insubordination and dissatisfac-
tion is abroad, and if ministers do not speedily find some
remedy, I fear the Reform Bill will have little effect in
quieting the disaffected. . . . . We read Burke, and find
him really a prophet, and lament there is no such wisdom
I) OW.
“One day Lucy attacked Milton’s ‘Paradise Regained '
as lowering Christ; so Augustus brought it out to see, and,
I think, allowed it to have that tendency. You would
laugh to hear her say she has only one objection to Alton,
—that she could not be alone enough, meeting people in
every field ; and even on the Downs on Sunday evening she
met some men who entered into conversation, and told her
a long history about the parish, and ‘if Zady Hare thought
she would ever do any good she was mistaken,’ &c.
wiltshire RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 375
*
Augustus is getting very fond of her, and says it is some-
thing quite mezo to him, the books she mentions, and the
people, and some of her remarks. She certainly lives more
in another world than this ;-but nothing can be more
charitable and lenient than her way of Speaking of people.
She is much delighted with our hay being all about, and the
whole family turning out to work. One day a Swarm of
bees settled in our kitchen chimney. The next day two
claimants came to own them,--that great division existing
as to whether they had flown here from the north or south.
Augustus referred the matter to certain judges, who decided
against our parishioners; and I believe it ended in
Augustus paying both parties for them, and the bees are
established in our garden.
“The little carriage has arrived at Marlborough ; but now
is a great difficulty as to who can be trusted to drive it over
here? As our new horse has not been tried, and William
has never driven him, we are afraid of sending him for it.
Gideon offered his services, but not being used to coach-
manship he has been rejected, and in short, I do not at
present see how it is ever to get over the nine miles between
Marlborough and here, unless we call a parish meeting to
ascertain if any of our flock can drive. Then when got
here, where is it to be housed, the barn being otherwise
used ? So you see we are put to great inconvenience by
our new gift.”
M. H. (from her Parish Journal).
“June 11, 1831.—There had lately come into the parish
a Baptist named Richard Douse. I had not held any com-
munication with him till this evening, when in coming from
my usual visit to Mary Browne, I went into his cottage.
After Some little talk about poor Mary's unhappy state of
mind, he said, “Ah, I was once in as bad a way as she is.
376 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
It is now many years since I was turned to the Lord.' I
asked him what caused him to think seriously. “Why it
was one day when I was working for Mr. Pile's father;
there were a many of us, and we were talking of dying. I
said I was not afraid of death, why should I? I had not
been Cursing nor Swearing, nor doing as many did. I
always went to church, and did nobody any harm. The
next day it came over me all at once. I was not able to go
out to work for eight weeks. I thought I was so vile a
sinner, God would not have mercy on me. I could get no
rest, and they were for sending me to a mad-house, thinking
I must be mad. One day I was out in the field. I had
beat away my wife and mother that I might go and pray,
when all of a sudden it did seem to I as if I heard a voice
say in my ears, “The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from
all sin.” and in that minute it seemed just as if two great
hefts of wheat were lifted off my back.’ From that time
Richard Douse seems to have been comforted, and said
what a blessed thing it was ; that he had seen others in
a like way. A young woman at Allington had sent for him
when she was ill. He had talked with her, she was bad
a long time. Some time after she died ; he was not with
her, but he heard she was triumphant. Another case he
told of a relation of his own. When she was dying, she
sent for him, and, hearing he could stay all night, said, ‘Oh,
let us bless the Lord for it, then you'll be with me and hear
the last word l’ He answered, he hoped it would be a com-
fortable one. She replied, ‘I can only give as it is given.’
When her parents asked, why she liked so much to have her
uncle with her, ‘Oh, because we talk about Jesus Christ;"
and she would not talk of anything else.
“A woman coming in at this time, we took Our leave,
when he followed us out of the door, putting out his
rough hand to shake mine, the tears standing in his eyes.”
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES. 377.
M. H. to C. S.
“Alton, June 15, 1831.-You will be glad to hear we
Åave got our little carriage from Marlborough. We bor-
rowed one of Mr. Miller's servants to ride Goodman Dull to
fetch it, and on Saturday it arrived. The pony looks
twice as well in harness, and goes admirably. On Monday
we were, as you may imagine, all inpatient to try it, and set
out about five, Augustus driving. The very first turn, we
came suddenly on two immense timber loads, and narrow
indeed was the alternative of going into the ditch, or being
fastened on a wheel. However, we did escape both evils
and went merrily on, and nothing can do better. The
carriage runs so easily and quietly, and ZXu// scarcely
merits so unflattering a name now, he goes so perfectly,
never starting or stumbling, and just fit for his driver.
“My poor woman continues much the same, though we
have doctored her body with physic, and her head with
vinegar and water, and endeavoured to exercise her mind
by reading and talking. It is a very singular case certainly.
She is a woman that a year ago, in an illness, I found
it impossible to make any impression on. She was “not
worse than her neighbours, went to church,’ &c. Now she
has these fempts come over her, that God will not forgive
her, and that the Evil One will carry her away. It makes
her in a sweat all over. Then she prays and it goes away;
but her dread is, lest it should get the better. She is
comforted and very grateful for our reading to her, and
says, if she can get over this, she thinks she shall be happier
than she ever was.” &
C. S. to M. H.
“Aſg//ake, June 23, 1831–A beautiful day on Monday
tempted me to choose the open-carriage on the railroad.
378 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
We got there an hour before the time; but not having seen
the establishment, I was anxious to investigate the whole
apparatus of engine and carriages. At ten we started.
Three open cars have cushions and divisions, and look
very inviting empty, but when filled you are brought into
inevitable contact with much that is disagreeable. I was
especially so, for I had an intolerable fat neighbour, who
was up and down every minute, till at last some one told a
story of a man who was killed last Friday by standing up
contrary to advice, in that very carriage, and tumbling back-
wards over the side ; after which he was a little quieter.
The carriage held four-and-twenty. Two men who sat
opposite amused me by their conversation. Respectable
tradesmen they looked ; one—indeed both—sensible
moderate men. Of Reform, one said he had been a
Reformer all his life and was so now ; but should be more
hearty in the cause if he could be sure it would stop ; but
when he heard the triumph of the demagogues in the
success of their perseverance, he could not but agree with
them that they had but to persevere again to get what they
wanted more ; that he knew many Reformers who were
beginning to look the other side the question. He was the
sort of man that looked as if he spoke the opinion of a
certain class. Nothing can be less enjoyable, I think, than
the mode of travelling. You see nothing before nor behind
but the carriages before and behind. The noise is deaf.
ening, the motion jarring, and besides the Manchester
atmosphere you carry with you, which there is no sea-
breeze, as in a steamboat, to counteract, particles of
cinders or iron dust get into your eyes and blind you for
he time, and make your eyes weak for a day or two after-
wards; however, in the shut carriages these evils are avoided.
Our train consisted of a hundred and fifty. It is as well
managed apparently as it can be ; but to me, who detest
WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND WILLAGE DUTIES. 379
all bustle of the kind, the luggage and the omnibus, and the
quantity of trunks that even three little people take to
convey their goods when everything must have its place,
make the convenience of one's own carriage rise sensibly
before one. I feel it, however, almost wrong and un-
grateful to speak disrespectfully of such a wonderful in-
vention and arrangement as it is. The rapidly improving
state of the country through which it passes is curious,
Chat Moss getting into cultivation—houses building, &c.”
M. H. to C. S.
“Millard's Hill, July 2, 1831.-We left Lucy to her
solitude on Tuesday, and set off hither at eleven o'clock in
the little carriage—only Augustus and I. We trotted
merrily on to Trowbridge, it being a cool day, and thought
we had maligned Dull. Then we waited an hour, had
dinner, read the newspaper, and set off again at half-past
five. The road was so hilly all the way to Frome, that we
got on very slowly. Our chief amusement was that, in
going up one of the long hills, we were overtaken by a
newsman from Bath, who began talking to Augustus, Saying
how many more papers had been in request—at the rate of
eight or nine a week more than before the Reform Bill.
Then he talked of how many miles he walked a day, &c.;
“but I shall not have to do it much longer.” “Why? how
so P. Have you got some other place P’ ‘No, sir; a rela-
tion has died in the East Indies, and I and my brother are
his heirs, and we never saw till lately the advertisement,
which had been for three years in the papers. We were
offered yesterday 24, 4,000 for our shares.’ “But you won't
take it P’ ‘No, sir; we know what the amount is—ninety-
three thousand odd hundred pounds.’ He entered into all
the details of how the Will was in Doctors' Commons, and
about the interest and legacy duty, &c. “Not that we
38o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
should have been up to this if the lawyers had not set us up
to it.’ He was the commonest pedlar-looking man.
Augustus was very near giving him a shilling, for the sake
of saying that he had done it to a man worth the half of
ninety-three thousand pounds.”
C. S. to M. H.
“Alderley, July 7, 1831.-We came back from Highlake
by the train, but in the shut carriages. There was a man
killed in our train, but we knew nothing of it at the time,
but that there was an unexplained stop of a minute; in fact
you know just as much of what goes on in any other part
of the train as if you were at Alton. There were only
three places vacant when we went three hours before the
time to take our places. It is more like taking places at a
theatre than anything else. You book yourselves for the
seats you choose, and, having a number on your ticket, find
your place accordingly in the train. Another remark I
made was, how little idea you have of the distance you pass
over, when the objects are not previously known to you.
No road having ever been upon the line of railroad, of
course there are no landmarks, and for anything one sees,
the distance might be only twelve miles. It did seem
marvellous, indeed, to find one's self at Huyton Church, six
miles, in eight minutes, from Liverpool.”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“Stoke, Sept. 30. — I felt very sad in parting with
you, dearest Lucy, and in thinking that I should return
without you to our peaceful home. Our pilgrimages are at
present, it is true, through widely different paths, and yours
is often rugged, whilst mine is permitted for a time to be
strewn with flowers; but the final home is the same to both,
and perhaps the very thorns and briers which seem a hin-
wiltshire RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 381
/ - - - -
drance at the time, may be the best and surest means of
arriving at the end in safety, and further the poor weary
pilgrim on his journey far more effectually, than the more
pleasant attendants on the road in flowers and Smoothness.
However this may be, it is happily for us arranged for our
good by One who seeth not as man seeth, and whose
infinite wisdom and mercy knows how best to suit our
needs. May we only use the means placed in our power,
whether of joys or sorrows, so as to advance nearer and
nearer to His eternal kingdom, and then it will matter little
whether these few years be spent in one way or another.
What a blessing it is, dearest, that our re-union has proved
indeed so true a one, and that we feel ourselves in the same
course, running the same race; we indeed are far behind,
yet I would fain hope striving after the same prize; and
especially do I rejoice that it is no longer I alone who
share your thoughts and love and prayers, but my own
dearest Augustus also who is united with me in your heart.
This is no trifling result of our three months' happiness, and
will endure long after the impression of it becomes less
strong than it is at present.”
“Stoke, October Io.—.....When I think how I used to com-
plain of the want of interest and the dreariness here, which
now seems to me by comparison so extended and beautiful,
and think how it never has occurred to me, at our little
miniature of a garden and house and grounds, to feel a
deficiency, I am fearfully sensible what a great weight of
happiness rests upon one person, and how dependent I am
—upon what? Upon a Father who loveth His children
better than any earthly parent, and will never leave nor for-
sake them. We have had a delicious evening service. Julius,
who is staying here, read prayers, and Augustus preached,
I having just before had the pleasure of hearing one of my
favourite cottagers say of the last Sunday's sermon, ‘I have
382 - MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
never had it out of my head since. I never heard a minister
that satisfied me so well. I hope I shall never forget it, he
went so desperate deep ; and told such truth, one could not
but understand it. I take it he must be a rare good Aver
to preach like that.’” - -
XI.
SUNSHINE,
“Every one ought to read in a triple book,-
— in the book of Creatures, that he may find God;
— in the book of Conscience, that he may know himself;
— in the book of Scripture, that he may love his neighbour *
ALANUS DE INSULIS.
M. H. to C. S.
& 4 A/ECKFIEZP AZACE, Oct. 15, 1831,-Who do you
think we have here 2–Lady Elizabeth Whitbread.
She is mother to Mrs. Shaw-Lefevre, wife of the member
for Hants (which I never knew till I came here, so un-
communicative is Augustus about his relations), and sister,
as you probably know, to Lord Grey. I must speak of her
first, for I can only think of her. She is a magnifice/if woman,
—has been very handsome, and is so dignified, with such
simplicity and strong sense; one could see in a moment it
was no ordinary character. When Augustus was reading a
letter of Lord Grey's in the paper to-night, her eyes filled
with tears; and when he said anything in praise, her face
glowed with delight. Just now, one does look with great
interest at any person connected with political life, and she
has all the old experience of it, and delights Augustus by
bringing up what she has heard from Charles Fox. Mrs.
Lefevre is very much pleased at our coming, wants us to
384 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
stay longer, and is all kindness. There is nobody but her
daughter-in-law, Mrs. Shaw-Lefevre, and her children, who
live here. Mr. S. Lefevre is absent at Winchester sessions,
but returns to-morrow. It is an ugly-looking red brick
house, but very excellent inside, rooms on a large scale, and
everything very handsome and well appointed, though a little
formal. There is a charming large common close by, with
Copsewood, and wild brambles and furze, looking both
cheerful and picturesque ; and the distant views, like Wood-
hay, are soft and rich. Mr. Blackstone is the vicar, and
comes in and out here whenever he likes. He has been
here both evenings, and this evening we have had some
amusing discussions, in which Lady Elizabeth bore her share,
and that a very delightful one. There is a genuineness and
truth about all she says that does one good to hear ; and
then she does Zisſen in such a way ! and raises herself up at
times in her plain black dress with such dignity, when any
opposition to her opinion is raised. Augustus had attacked
some expression of Mrs. Shaw-Lefevre's at dinner, and she
said immediately, ‘Oh, you and mamma would agree about .
language, she is as fastidious as you are ;’ and accordingly,
as soon as we went into the drawing-room where Lady
Elizabeth was (for she has been very ill, and only comes down
in an evening), they began a discussion upon language, in
which she quoted Fox's opinion that you should always
talk with the people, and she found as much fault with
modern corruptions as Augustus himseif-said she could
not understand half of what was said nowadays, there was
so much phraseology in certain sets. Then they got upon
public speaking, and she criticised some of the speeches,
and spoke with delight of her brother's; then to preachers,
when we had a very amusing discussion between her and
her daughter about Mr. Howels. . . . But I must not go on
in this way; you may imagine how entertaining it is. I
SUNSHINE. - 385
quite delight in this country, it is so cheerful and airy, and
yet so well wooded; just the sort of country to live in for
enjoyment.”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“The dear Aſton, Oct. 22, 1831.-A threatening shower
passed away before we got into the Vale, and the Sun shone
brightly as we came over the brow ; and said Augustus,
• ‘Well, it is not so beautiless.’ There stood Miss Miller and
her cousin busy at work in their garden; there were the little
school-girls at the usual corner; and some little way farther,
there came out of his cottage-door, at the sound of the wheels,
John Brown himself, in his blue cap, which he took off,
stroking down his hair as you may see him doing, with his
honest welcome. The dear little peaceful home ! You know
what my feeling is when I come back to it, and that I have
scarcely a word ready to give the servants who greet us, so
full is my heart at this moment.”
L. A. S. to M. H.
“Corinne Bay, Penrhos, Sept. 28, 1831.-This has been
a happy Sunday. I could not go to church, and have spent
most of the morning and afternoon in my rocky chamber,
with the Seagulls and kittewakes for a congregation. No-
where, I think, can one enter more into the beauty of
Christ's discourses than by the sea, where most of His words
were spoken. The waves, in their stillness or motion, must
be the same everywhere, and the sound, on our ear as we
read, was in His when he spoke.
“At this moment, a huge brown seagull is flapping over
my head, two white-sailed sloops are lying in the bay,
and the air is as soft as June. The wind does not touch
my paper, but there is enough to give the sea motion,
| VOL. I. C C -
386 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and make the small waves break over the limpet-covered
rocks.”
“Oct. 16.-I intend this to find you when you arrive at
the dear home. I have fancied you saying every now and
then to Augustus, “next Sunday we shall be in the little
church;’ and much as you have enjoyed seeing all the
dear Stoke and Alderley people, I Anow the full heart of
grateful joy, and the thrilling sensation, with which you will
see Gideon run to open the gate, and feel, as you drive in,
that you are once more all in all to each other.” -
“AVov. 7.—Now for two happy hours. They all went to
Beaumaris this morning, since which I have fulfilled alſ
necessary duties, and now have established myself in the
breakfast-room. The three Greek books are ready open ;
my task for to-night, the thirteenth and fourteenth verses of
Matt. vi. When I was eating my solitary dinner just now,
I thought of the last I ate at Alton, with Brute by my side.
It is blowing a heavy gale, and there are such strange noises
abroad ; the dogs are snuffing and listening as if they heard
people—growling low. Your letter came just as I was thinking.
of you both in prayer, and spoke less of earth than heaven.
You place me completely by your side. How little I did
what I ought to have done; how much I did which I Ought
not to have done at dear Alton, and yet it is very Sweet to
me to think that we are perhaps sometimes helped on Our
way and fresh grace given, in answer to the humble
prayer of some of Christ's little ones, who remember the
little word of advice or comfort we offered, long after our
own fleeting thought of it passed away. I have been
refreshing myself with some of St. Augustine's and St.
Anselm's meditations, and I always find myself most
honestly described in the writings of these old Fathers,
there is such a deep knowledge of the human heart, with
such simplicity and heavenly-mindedness. They spoil one
SUNSHINE- 387
for modern authors. I find Julius very often in these old
men's quaint sentences.”
Only a week after their return to Alton, Augustus left for
London, to hear the legal argument of the Winchester
Appeal, which he had been long occupied in drawing up on
the Founder's Kin question.
M. H. to A. W. H.
“Alton, Oct. 29, 1831.--When the dearest Augustus gets
this, his ordeal will be over, and the argument whether good
or bad will have come, I trust, to a conclusion. Either
you will be railing at the inefficient manner in which Jenner
served your cause, or at the long-winded prosiness of your
opponents; you will have longed to get up and defend your
own position, or you will scarcely feel a triumph from the
weakness of your adversary. I hardly dare venture to hope
that this will find you satisfied with the able way in which
the question has been argued, and content to rest its
decision on the impression that argument has left. You
know how much your own darling Mia will think of you
and wish for your Success on Monday ; and if you are dis-
heartened and wanting comfort, you will like to have a few
lines telling you So, though they can do you no further
good. I rejoiced so much yesterday in the beautiful day
for your journey, I hardly could regret you were not with
me to enjoy it ; and my walk up the hill was full of pleasant
and grateful thoughts, both of you and the dear Luce, who
had been my last companion on the Downs. With so
bright a sky and balmy an air, one could only love tenfold
those whom God has given us to love, and feel how little
reason one has to doubt his wonderful care over them. I
am glad you do not know how weak and faithless my heart
often is as regards the future, and how many times there
388 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
comes across my happiness an unreasonable dread of what
is to corne; such feelings are however useful, I daresay, and
serve to keep up a sense of our dependence and need of
help, which might with stronger nerves be forgotten or
weakened. We have received such great mercies hitherto,
we cannot doubt that the same loving Father will be with
us always, whether in chastening or joy. Dearest Augustus,
you know how tenderly I love you ; and how, when you are
absent, my heart cannot help gushing over with affection,
for then I feel how bare and desolate life would be without
you. It is so blessed a thing in our affection that no
blights or spots obscure it, as is often the case in little
things, between those who are really attached, from dis-
similarity in character, or some unavoidable circumstance of
unsuitableness. But I must not dilate on this often-told
theme. I hear a voice calling me to give an account of
myself, and though it should be ever so unimportant in
the eyes of many, to my own husband I know that the
details of my day cannot be uninteresting.
. . . “The school was, of course, my first object; where I
was much pleased with the progress the children had made
in our absence. They had learnt all I had set them very
perfectly, and said it very well, and I was well satisfied that
Mrs. Patrick had done her duty thoroughly . . Then,
what else did I do?—scold Gideon, who did not much like
it, and said he should be three days over the work, which
three days were short ones, seeing the potatoes were safely
Aodded—is not that the word 2–before night.
“ Oct. 30.-No dear Sunday work to-day—no sermon to
pin, no date to write, no hymn to hear. The house seems
especially dull and unlike itself to-day; and, when the teach-
ing was over, and service ended, I missed the dearest
Aug. sadly. The only consolation I could find was that
the singers did not choose to sing, and that both morning
SUNSHINE. 389
and evening service were without any relief, so that you
would have been tired. The churches were reversed in
consequence of the frost this morning, which made the
great church too damp for use ; but this afternoon we had
service there, and our seat, I am happy to find, has been
new boarded at last.
“I have been reading Chalmers’ “Civic Economy.” How
admirable what he says of the advantages of Local Districts,
and the bringing teachers and people into contact; and the
want of more labourers in the vineyard to make the harvest
plentedus. In how many places one hears complaints of
the want of churches, and ignorance of all the people;
and yet people talk of no Church reform being necessary.
The danger is, lest in these change-loving times, a stone or
two may be pulled out, which may chance to be the main
prop of the whole, and the whole edifice may come down at
once, where repair and amendment only are needed. We
must labour all the harder whilst means and time are
allowed us; and, if in this little spot we could sow some of
the good seed, it will be a blessed support and comfort
when the great earthquake does come. I pray for my
dearest Augustus that he may be strengthened and con-
firmed in his own faith, and enabled to win many over to
the Truth, and may we both make many shoots upwards, if
it is only as a sign of our thankful love for all the blessings
given us.
. . . Sleep well to-night, and do not dream about stand-
ing up before the Bishop to plead your Anti-Founder's
Cause, and do not let all the ghosts of poor Wykeham's
much injured and greatly beloved kinsfolk haunt you.
When may I look for the dear step, “that has music in it,
as it comes up the stair; for there's nae juck aboot the
hoose when my gude man's awa’ P’”
390 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
A. W. H. to M. H.
“JCondon, Oct. 31, 1831.-We were at it till dark. Sir
Herbert Jenner learned and composed; Erle, strong, clear,
and very good; Phillimore, as yet, weak as water, save
such strength as in spite of himself Wykeham's statutes give
him. He has got half through his speech, and will pro-
ceed to-morrow morning. Then comes Lefevre, who will,
I fear, be powerful. We have the right of reply, and all is
done. You would have been amused at the objection
taken at the beginning of the case against my presenting
the Appeal, because I was no longer a member of New
College. He also read a passage from the statutes against
those who, “at the instigation of the old Serpent,' plot any
innovation on Wykeham's statutes. So that all my labours
have been at the instigation of the Devil Truly, if so, he
has been a worse paymaster than usual, for he has given
me none of his coin.
“AVov. 2.-Our argument was resumed yesterday. I got
to the Court a quarter before ten, and found Phillimore at
work. They had begun about ten minutes. But what sort
of a place is the Court P Why, like any other Court, with
one end raised, like a horse-shoe, with a great round chair
in the centre, wherein sat the Visitor, with the collar of the
Garter, but out of lawn sleeves. Patteson was on his right,
and Lushington on his left, on less conspicuous seats. These
filled the centre of the horse-shoe ; we occupied the right
of it, Phillimore and Lefevre the left. In the centre, below
us, was a large green-baized table, round which sat the
reporters and the audience. When Phillimore ended, up
got Lefevre, very serious, and wisely diffident. With the
Canon and Civil Law he had the good sense not to meddle.
His best point was an attempt, and I expect a very just one,
though it made little impression on the Judges, to infer from
SUNSHINE. 39 I
a variety of old documents that the questions discussed
before Bromley and Laud were not of degree, but of pedi-
gree—and, if so, the main prop of our argument is cut
away. Jenner replied, and made some good points in
reply to Phillimore, and would have made more, but
Phillimore, to break the effect of his speech, kept inter-
rupting him every other sentence. His law was dull and
lengthy, and I half wished the reply had fallen to me. I
woke the night before, with my head full of what I should
say if I had to speak. About four the business closed, and
the Judges departed, not half so tired I hope as I was.
My impression of the ignorance of Doctors' Commons is
unchanged. With Jenner's industry and attention I have
every reason to be satisfied. But most assuredly, if the
case were to be re-argued, I would go to work myself; and
I will venture to say, that with the insight I have gained
into the bearings of Civil Law on the question, and the ad-
vantages of great and good libraries, I could do better, or
at least provide better materials on the question.”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“AVoz. 2.-What is the dear Luce about, that I have not
had a word to comfort me in my solitude P but, indeed, you
are with me now in every walk, and it is quite curious how
you rise up in my path wherever I go. It is no longer an
occasional thought and wish that you might sometime or
other come here, a feeling I used to have when breathing
the Down air—this Lucy would enjoy ;-but it is the cer-
tainty that you know every bye-lane and house and field
around us, and that to your mind's eye they are often as
present as they are to mine in reality. The little sparkling
old Hannah Baillie told me the other day, ‘I never can
help thinking of she as I go down that lane, nor should I
if I lived to a hundred l’ And then she told me of your
392 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
sitting down and reading to her there, and of all that was
said on both sides. The dear little woman is as eager to
hear and to learn as ever, and there is a sincerity about her
which one must hope much from. “Ah,” she said, ‘I hope
God Almighty will bless that good lady for all she did here
—indeed her pleasure seemed to be amongst the poor;”
and, little as it may seem to many, by you the prayer and
blessing of poor Hannah will not be despised. All hands
and minds are just now as busy in getting in potatoes as
they were in gleaning when you were here, and few people
are at home. Do you remember the Canting old man, who
talked of how many chapters he read in a year P Since we
went he has sent his son and daughter, and their children,
away, and taken his sweet/heart to live with him. So much
for the good his chapters did him I begin to think his
former wife was not much to be wondered at for having a
distaste for texts. - .
“And have I written all this, and not said a word of the
dear Master, the chief subject of my rejoicing over your
visit that you have learnt to know and love each other P It
is such a pleasure to me to think that there is now one
person who knows what he is, and there is no one but you
who does know it in the same degree, and there is a sensible
difference between thinking it right people should love each
other, and thinking it impossible they should do otherwise.”
“Saturday Evening, ZVoz). I 2, 1831.-Augustus has not
gone down to the Study. He is walking about in the
drawing-room, then sitting down, and Scribbling as fast as
he can, then referring, it may be, to the newspapers before
him ; for his subject is the cholera—his text, I believe, is
2 Chron. vii. 4—and what a subject it is How soon has
England followed the fate of its sister countries, in spite of
that sea, which so many hoped would save it from the
scourge. If the evil really comes home to our own doors,
SUNSH IN E. 393
God will, I hope and trust, strengthen us to meet the trial.
At present, I confess, I shrink at the prospect, and feel
very faint-hearted in thinking of the winter before us.
Sometimes I am quite ashamed of the indescribable dread
I feel of all the trial of our faith likely to beset us, and the
more we love each other, and enjoy our present happiness,
the more I tremble for the sad reverse it may please God to
bring upon us. For the first time, I now really rejoice
that I have no children to watch over and add to my
anxieties, and, in the present state of this country, I feel
sure it is far better to be as independent of outward circum-
stances as possible. My faith is sadly weak at times.
Pray for me, dearest, that I may have grace given to help
and support me, and to enable me to set my affections more
upon things above, and that my Augustus may be helped to
rouse the sleepers and excite the slothful to watch and be
ready. The liability to fevers in this vale has taken away
one's confidence in the free/ess openness. Augustus brought
from London a medicine chest full of the proper medicines,
and he has been giving orders to get the unsavoury lane
purified, as well as a dry path made for the people to come
to church.
“And now, to turn to a more agreeable subject. What
do you think he brought me from London P the most
beautiful little Greek Testament you ever saw. Then I
have a Parkhurst like yours. With these excitements, I
hope to get on much with Greek, and, by-the-bye, I can
comfort you with the experience I have had—that, having
for a long time been forced to study every word, and fancy
it was all uphill, and I was getting on so slowly, all at once
I found myself far more advanced than I thought, and got
on much more rapidly. It is much the best way to read
only a little, and make yourself thoroughly mistress of it,
as you seem to be doing.”
394 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“Sunday Zvening.—How I wish you could have been
here to-day, and have heard the sermon. Augustus began
by saying that he should explain what the danger was that
the form of prayer alluded to, and entered into all the
details respecting the disease, its beginning, and gradual
approach ; read out of the newspaper the symptoms, and
also the advice of the physicians about temperance and
cleanliness; then specified how this country, from its thick
population and rapid communication, was, more than any
other, likely to have it spread in every part; entered into the
details of how every house should be ventilated, and how
both personal and domestic cleanliness were essential as
precautions, and all this before it came to our doors. When
it was really come—if it did—‘the first thing, to put the
patient into a bed as hot as possible, the second thing to
come to me,’ without a moment's loss of time—an hour's
delay might be fatal : he had procured all the necessary
medicines. When, from the temporal danger, and the pre-
cautions necessary, he turned to the far more important
need of timely repentance, and the impossibility in this
sickness of turning to God at the last hour, and was
gradually warmed by the subject to exhort and beseech
their consideration of these things, you may fancy how
the dear Augustus's Countenance was lighted up, and how
all the feebleness of bodily fear (of which he has by nature
much in cases of danger) was subdued and conquered by
the hright hope within him and the prospect of serving his
Lord and Master; and when his appeal to their Soul's wel-
fare ended by his triumphant question of, ‘What have
Christ's servants to fear?—a little sickness, a few pangs, a
plunge into the grave, and an issue thence to life and
glory !” the impression left was far from being the melan-
choly one which all the earlier details of his sermon might
have led one to expect, and I really feel more comfortable
SUNSHINE, 395
than I have done for some days. It was in Great Aiton
Church, and the people were, as you may suppose, all atten.
tion, and some, I believe, in tears. God grant their hearts
might be touched. Augustus got through it very firmly,
but could scarcely get through the blessing. At this
moment he is resting upon the Sofa, and I have been
playing and singing the hymn in times of danger, “And
when thy sorrows visit us, oh grant thy patience too.”
A. W. H. to L. A. S.
“AVov. 22.-The dear Mia and her husband unite—when
are they disunited P−to send greeting to their dear Luce.
They wish she was here to keep the birthday to-day, and to
rejoice with them in their happy lot. . . . . I have taken
a great liking, a great respect, rather, for Pontin. We
were asking him about bedding, and he said, with the
greatest simplicity, ‘Oh, we are very well off now—we
have got sheets.” “But, to keep you warm P’ ‘Oh, yes,
and we are warm enough with the sheets—we do very
well, thank you.' And his little girl the other day, seeing
Our Jack and Dull coming down the brow, put down her
umbrella, though it was raining, and hid it under her cloak.
‘Why did you do that, my little girl?’ ‘Not to frighten
the horses.’”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“Aſov. 22.-Augustus is just gone off to the barn,
having been busy studying the ‘Sermon on the Mount” for
to-night. I wish for you so much in our daily evening
lecture. Sumner's book is very good for the purpose, and,
of course, Aug. puts in explanatory bits of his own, and he
sometimes reads one of Reginald's hymns. The people
bring their Bibles, and look out any references, and it is
just what I have long wished for. We have to-day finished.
396 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE
*----------
together, Malachi, and shall begin to-morrow with Lowth's
Isaiah. You, too, will be studying this prophet, for he is
in the course; so you may think of us, and I know you
like to know our line of thought and study.”
JULIUS HARE to M. H.
“Cambridge, AVov. 22, 1831.-Very many happy returns
of the day to you, dearest Maria and on very many 17ths
and 22nds of November may you and Augustus drink each
other's healths, each of you blest in seeing the other by
your side, both of you blest in living amid a flock to whom
you are administering the comforts of earth, and whom you
are buiding towards the bliss of heaven. Dearest Maria,
it is a great joy to think that one of my brothers, the
dearest of them, is blest with the choicest gift that Heaven
can bestow, a good and loving wife. For myself, though I
know full well how to prize it, though there is nothing on
earth that my heart reveres so much as the graces of
womanly virtue, my destiny has cut out a path for me, from
which I can only gaze at it from afar, but which, God be
thanked, has many pleasures of its own, far more than
enough to content any heart, not a prey to morbid cravings.
Still, I rejoice most heartily that one of my brothers has
met with the goodlier lot, the choicer happiness; and may
God bless you, Maria, for being the source of it—for making
Augustus so happy I wish I could give you my greetings
by word of mouth, and could drink your healths in your
presence. As it is, I must content myself with doing so in
my lonely tower : and yet I ought not to call it lonely; for
it is thronged with immortals, though the outward shell of
mortality is rarely seen in it.
“When you come here next spring,-and, as you have
set your mind upon dragging me away from my beautiful
|rooms to Hurstmonceaux, in order that you may stay in
SUNSHINE. 397
your beautiless parsonage of Alton, you positively must not
put off coming here, God willing, beyond the coming out
of the leaves next spring, you must make yourself at home
here for at least a week, and then you will have time to .
find out what noble-minded persons I am living among.
“Edward Stanley seemed thoroughly well pleased with
his stay here, and told me that our great men were the
best people he had ever met with, talking wisdom and
nonsense in the same breath, and with the same uncon-
straint, and pouring out their knowledge as liberally as if it
was dross.”
L. A. S. to M. H.
“Aenrhos, Mov. 15, 1831.-My week of solitude, unlike
yours, has seemed only a day long. I have done so much
Greek. No study ever came in one's way at a better time;
it puts everything else out of my head and makes the hours
fly; and living as I do so much alone in thoughts and
interests, though with many round, it is very wholesome to
have some one engrossing study; and to look steadily at the
times before us, with the almost certain approach of cholera,
requires a steady and continual practice of Æaith, which
though I can enforce strongly, I shrink from at times
myself in looking forward to all that may be in store for
those I love. One thing always will come into my prayers
—that if the cholera does come, it may not reach A//on.
“Mov. 22, 1831.-The first thing I remembered when I
woke was—your birthday, and my eye fixed on the dear
Alton picture over the fireplace. The first verse of the
morning Psalm is the proper language of rejoicing for this
day–oh, how often we forget to thank God for the present
blessings he is loading us with, while we are anticipating a
time when they may cease, forgetting that if we are his
children they never can cease. God bless you both, is
398 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the constant prayer of my heart. Do not fear the cholera.
Put all into the hands of that God, whose eye is ever over
us. You may say of me—‘she talks to me, who never had
a husband, and I am very weak in Faith '—but we both
know there is a Rock and Shelter from every storm. There
is a beautiful passage on Faith in our favourite Leighton,
‘Faith rolls the soul over on God, Faith sets a soul in
Christ, and then it looks down upon all temptations, as at
the bottom of a rock, breaking themselves with foam,'—or
something like this.”
“A/der/ey, ZXec. 22.—I dreamt last night I was at Alton,
and you told me in consequence of Something Augustus
had said at church, that Mary Brown had decided on going
to the sacrament at Christmas. Often, when I am on my
Knees in prayer, the white cottage, or the dirty lane, have
come so visibly before me, it is no exertion of thought, but
quite natural to pray for her. Poor thing, the more one
feels the perfect joy it is, to walk under the light of God's
countenance, the more easy it is to pray for those who are
for a time suffered to walk in darkness. All this would be
Greek to poor Mary, but tell her I thought of her last
Sunday in church, when reading the Collect and Epistle, and
the Epistle struck me as one just comfortable and short for
her to learn. It is a good Christmas greeting. ‘Rejoice in
the Lord always; and again I say, Rejoice’—as if there was
nothing more else for God's people to do, but to rejoice. I
shall rejoice much with you this Christmas, for I shall spend
much of my time with you. I hope Julius will have some
sunny days to walk up Old Adam, and if he calls the view
from thence beautiless, he will be only fit to live all his
days with the noble-minded sages of Trinity College.
“Augustus would be ashamed of me (though you will not)
if he knew how I delight in all the Smallest things you can
tell me about him, the Mia, and Alton. You need never
SUNSHINE. 399
fear speaking of him, though it be in praise. Remember I
have lived under the same roof for three months, and love
him so much, that I can well understand your loving him
almost too much. If all Christian pastors were like him,
there would be a different spirit in England now. The
seed you are now sowing in Alton will not be lost, but after
many years of perseverance and trial, with God’s blessing
on your labour, may we not hope a little Christian band of
rescued souls will, from that apparently barren soil, enter
into heaven, there to prove your crown of rejoicing.”
“A)ec. 29.—Your note has just come. Such brings Some-
times more comfort and love and healing on its wings, than
pages of writing. If much talking is bad, a word in Season
is very good. If God indeed is our God, we do well to
rejoice, but very ill to complain of any little passing trouble.
It is in the storm and amid the rocks that the Anchor and
Beacon are most prized, and many a blessed promise in the
Bible would remain a sealed promise, if the key of sorrow,
or trial, or temptation, were not sent to open its stores, and
send warm to one's heart such words as—“Be of good
cheer, it is I, be not afraid.’ -
. . . . “I have been trying lately to like old Jeremy as
well as I do Leighton, because Augustus does, but I cannot
help finding my greatest delight in the meek and spiritually
minded Leighton. Jeremy puts a great staff into my hand,
but Leighton does the same, and at the same time puts a
rose into the other hand.”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“Pec. 14, 1831,-I am just returned from the top of Old
Adam, having thought of you as I can scarce help doing
always on those green sloping Downs, with all that wide
country spread below one; and watching, not the busy
gleaners and the Waggons loading, but the slow, toilsome
4oo MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
plodding of the horses and oxen at the plough. The soft
mild air and autumn gleams make one's position so high
above all earthly fogs and smoke as wholesome for mind as
body, and I am come home all the better for the pure air I
breathed there. p
“Augustus gives an extra lecture this evening to as many
as like to come, about the Sacrament, and will have more
next week upon it, preparatory to Christmas. He takes
increasing delight in this part of his work, as well as in our
domestic lecture, and I do hope and trust that God's blessing
may attend his labours.
“The cholera seems gaining ground. . . . . My really
greatest fear of future trouble and sorrow arises out of the
conviction I have, that such would lead me nearer to God,
and that my heart does need often a greater exercise of self-
denial, and to be taught a greater dependence on happiness
not of this world. I want to be helped to be ever ready to
let, ‘ Rapture, comfort, present ease, as Heaven shall bid
them come and go.” One thing I do feel, and that is after
mornents of greatest depression, there comes across me a
bright and cheering hope that God will, when the hour
comes, He will make a way for us out of the trial, or
strengthen and support us through it. As we were reading
on Sunday evening of dear old Latimer's last moments,
how glorious did one feel a Christian's end to be, and what
the triumph over human impurity and weakness which such
a spirit had gained.
“Last Sunday as Augustus had preached in our church in
the morning, he had not been able to write a second
sermon for Great Alton, so he took a volume of Bishop
Wilson's sermons, which are very plain, up into the pulpit,
and after a few words explanatory about the good old man,
he read them a very good Advent sermon, with his own
httle alterations.”
SUNSHINE. 4O I
“St. John's Day.—I longed yesterday to have answered
your dear letter, but the sun shone so bright, that, when
Shop was ended, I could not resist a ride till our early
Christmas dinner. When I came into the house I met
Augustus in the passage, his face radiant with joy, and he
pulled me into the study to see a parcel just arrived from
Aunt Louisa, containing three most comfortable warm
shawls for our three best old women, and a parcel of warm
stockings for the men. Cannot you fancy the dear man’s
happiness over them : I could not guess what had hap-
pened. Our Christmas Day was perfect, except that in
consequence of some dissension amongst the singers, we
were deprived of our waking Carol, and I was obliged to be
satisfied with the good news being communicated by a voice
sweeter to my ears than a more harmonious one would
sound to many. Derhaps the moment of greatest joy in the
whole day was when I saw the red cloak and black bonnet
of little old Hannah Baillie amongst those who were round
the altar, and saw and beard Augustus, with eyes full of
tears and such a smile of joy, and his voice trembling with
emotion, give her the blessed bread and wine. He could
hardly say the words, and the affectionateness of his man-
ner to her, and the simplicity of heart with which we knew
she was receiving the blessing, were most touching. Poor
Mary Brown, alas ! had no heart to come, but I saw her in
the evening steal across the fields to church, and I hope
she picked out a great deal of comfort and good from the
sermon.”
M. H.’s Journal (The Green Book).
“Jan. 4, 1832.- . . . . . Perhaps it is for me the more
desirable to have some written trace of my present enjoy-
ment left, since I bear about with me a constant impression,
A feeling I can hardly give words to that my present life is
VOL. I. T) D
'402 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
as it were a dream, from which I shall be awakened before
it has lasted any great length of time, to find myself once
more alone in the world, with God only as my refuge and
comfort. This is no new feeling or view of things, although
it is of course strengthened by the circumstances under
which this year has begun—circumstances which, I must
own, press at times heavily on my mind, far more so, I fear,
than a faithful trust would allow of ‘Be not faithless, but
believing,' is a charge I too often need as regards temporal
things; for though I have a firm belief that with the trial
will come strength meet to support it, if we only seek and
ask for it, my faint heart is sadly apt to shrink from the
prospect of trial and suffering, and from the possibility of
having my greatest earthly comfort and treasure taken away.
Most deeply do I feel the weakness of my faith and how
little it practically works within me, when fears and doubts
and anxieties cross me about a future which is all in the
hands of Him who has so mercifully ruled all the past for
my happiness, and who will not leave nor forsake me, even
should He see fit to call to himself the heavenly spirit he
is now preparing for heaven. To that home we are both
journeying. Oh may we never turn aside from the strait
way, but whatever rocks beset our path, may we be per-
mitted to tread it together, and may the light, as we go
on, ever brighten before us and lead us on from hope to
hope, forgetting what is behind and beside us, and pressing
forward with greater earnestness to the prize of our high
calling.”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“Jam. 22, 1832.-Augustus has now an evening school
on Mondays, and studies as much for it as if it was a scien-
tific work, in all the School-Books, to learn the best mode
of drawing out the sluggish understanding of his untaught
SUNSHINE. 493
lads. It has always been a subject of reproach to me that
we had made no attempts to teach this class who are above
the Sunday school in age, though far below it in knowledge,
and the prospect of confirmation just gives us a handle for
instructing them. There are many grown people who
express a wish to be confirmed, and we shall not dissuade
them, as it affords a pretext for talking and reading to them,
and enforcing an examination into the state of their souls,
and may eventually lead them to come to the Lord's Supper
with fewer scruples and more hope of benefit. Every way
opened for one is so good a thing, for it requires some
courage, and I fear more boldness than we have, to press the
subject on people uncalled for.
“We dined with the C's, the other day, and at this
dinner party an agreement was made amongst the clergy to
meet at our house on the Ioth of February to discuss how
they might form a Society amongst themselves to meet at
stated times and communicate together on professional and
religious subjects. The difficulty will be how to make it
general enough to admit members of different opinions and
degrees of zeal, which, in order to do general good, must be
an object; and how to make it, as Mr. Majendie well said,
a meeting not like a common dinner-party of neighbours,
but one from which each might return home better, and
encouraged and stimulated on to further exertion. The
hope is that the decidedly uncongenial will not join, and
that those who are only a little sluggish and partially asleep
may get some little good.
“I wish you had seen Augustus's grateful face the other
day when he had been talking with old Pontin, who came
to him for advice about confirmation, and who did express
himself so thankfully for all he had received, more especially
for the spiritual instruction he got in the barn. I came in
at the moment, and when the good old man left the room,
4O4. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Augustus cried like a child. Truly it is a blessed office to
have thus to minister comfort and consolation to the sick
in heart, and with even one's weak and imperfect endeavours
to be able to do some little good; and whilst so much
remains to be done, and so much is undone, I trust we
shall not be tempted to bow down to our own acts, though
one must be ever watchful, for of all the deceitful insidious
ways by which self sets itself up, there are none more so
than through the medium of things done. When there is
something tangible to lay hold of, then self erects its head :
‘I have done all this, -spent this money, or time, or
trouble l’” - -
“Jan. 9.—The Master began his sermon on New Year's
Day by telling the people what was meant in the world by
‘a happy new year,’ and then dilated on what he wished for
them by the expression, in referring to that blessing as in-
cluding all he could most desire to be granted them, and
explaining to them all it included. It was a very happy
New Year's Day, and the first week of 1832 has been most
blessed. Every day we seem to grow happier and more
united, and often do I tremble and turn away from the
thought that it is so, in dread of its being thought fit to
withdraw it from us.
“I quite long for you to read Neander. To be sure it
does make one groan over the change from Early Christi-
anity, and yet he is so fair and impartial, he does not in the
least attempt to conceal that human nature was then just the
same as now, just as prone to set itself up and rest in the
change produced by forms, just as ready to slacken its zeal
whenever persecution lessened. Neander thinks so much
more of the inward than outward service, that you will see
he is not very orthodox according to our Church on outward
forms of government, &c., but the Christian life he does set
forth most beautifully, and I can hardly conceive a person
SUNSHINE. 405
reading through his book and not feeling more impressed
with the feeling and understanding of what spiritual Chris-
tianity ought to be, and how it should leaven our whole
life and amalgamate itself with our habits. In a passage
quoted from Tertullian on the blessings of a Christian
marriage, you will, I hope, think of us. About prayer it is
excellent. I will quote a passage as a specimen : ‘The
spirit of thankfulness to a heavenly redeeming Father, the
spirit of childlike resignation to Him, the feeling in regard
to Him of the needfulness of his assistance, and the Con-
sciousness of being nothing and being able to do nothing
without Him, must animate the whole Christian life. This
life must, therefore, be a continued thanksgiving for the
grace of redemption, a prayer of Constant longing after an
increase of holiness by communion with the Redeemer.
This was the view of prayer which the New Testament was
designed to substitute in the place of that which had pre-
viously prevailed.’
“We never take ‘the Sabbath day's journey’ now ; it is
too late after church. It is now only in the new orchard
walk, and thence we see all the dear people going across
the great field in their smock frocks and red cloaks. The
church is fuller than ever.
“Aeb. 21.--Whenever anything is going on I long to tell
you, because I know you will rejoice when we rejoice and
sorrow when we sorrow. Augustus has been very busy the
last day or two bringing into effect his long-wished-for plan
for giving the cottagers each a piece of land for their own,
and Maslen having consented to give up a part of our glebe
which he rented, Augustus has determined to let it out in
lots to every family in the parish in proportion to its size.
Gideon, as our ambassador, went round to give notice, and
yesterday, after the Shop was over, every man having a
house in the parish came, and they all stood round the
4O6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
kitchen while the happy rector put down the quantity of
land each wished to have, and read to them his conditions
and rules, to which they all joyfully consented.
“It is since I last wrote that the cholera has made such
near approaches to us. In consequence, Augustus gave
notice on Sunday in church that he had always determined
when it came so near, to have weekly prayers in church, and
he therefore now told them that it was his intention to have
them at half-past eleven o'clock every Wednesday, the
time at which he hoped it would be most convenient for
them to come, that they were not to be alarmed at the
approach of danger, but meet it with the boldness of
Christians. And then he told them how the heaffhen fled
from their sick in time of pestilence, and how the primitive
Christians nursed them and devoted themselves fearlessly
in the service of others; and after a little further exhortation
on how they should feel on this occasion—how it behoved
them more especially to repent and turn to God in earnest,
he said that he hoped those who were not able to come
and join with us in church in imploring God's mercy and
forgiveness, would, when they heard in the field the church
bell summoning us to this service, put up their own prayers
for the same purpose.
“We are looking forward with great impatience to the
Feast day, which is to succeed our Fast, and you will fancy
how the dear Augustus chuckles over the thought of our
dinner-party in the barn, of Becky King, Hannah Baillie,
and all the old men in both parishes. They know nothing
of it yet. These would seem very egotistical details to any
one but you.
“ Wednesday Evening.—Our congregation was thirty-five
besides children, which was satisfactory, and shows they liked
the plan. Of course Augustus chose and shortened the
prayers a little, so that they might get to their work in time.”
SUNSHINE. 4O7
A. W. H. to L. A. S.
“We have just got Arnold's second volume. As far as
I have seen them, the sermons are quite a model: they are
aimed with great care and skill at the congregation he is
addressing, and he generally hits between wind and water.
You must read them. . . . . . He ought to be a bishop ;
though his promotion will occasion a great outcry. An
excellent high-churchman said of him the other day, ‘I
know him and revere his virtues; but I will not buy his
book: I may perhaps look into it; for he is just the man to
do incalculable mischief.’ So was said of Wilberforce ; SO
was said of Luther; so will ever be said of those clear-voiced
men whom God raises up from time to time to speak plainly
in the ears of his sleeping people.”
L. A. S. to M. H.
“Alderley, Aeb. 15.—I long to read Dr. Arnold. All my
prejudices are in his favour; it seems to me the present
times are particularly calculated to keep prejudice low and
humble. The narrow road to heaven, though still we are
sure as strait as it was when our Saviour described it, is, to
the human eye, now So broken up into very narrow lines, that
sonne good men walk side by side, their eye fixed on the same
object, their feet avoiding the same stumbling-blocks, but yet
with a wall between them, which prevents the more lowly
on-creeping traveller from seeing that they are walking
together. How differently the world speaks of and judges
two such men as Dr. Arnold and Mr. Girdlestone; and how
differently they themselves see human measures and things,
—yet they are one in Spirit, and one in labouring to do all
for their Master's glory. Many, we may trust, are loving
members of that blessed invisible Church within a visible
Church, which Cowper speaks of, who are, to earthly eyes,
walking very far asunder. -
408 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. .
“Feb. 28. I open your letters with a little blessing, and I
close them with another. From the first day I heard of the
cholera being in London, I have said an additional prayer,
with my evening one, for you, my darling, that your faith
might be strengthened, and that you might be enabled to
cast all your care, your one great care and treasure, wholly
and entirely on God. The moment I heard of the cholera,
I remembered what Augustus said about having prayers,
and hoped he would. When I read of the dear people
standing round the kitchen, listening to their rector, my
heart was as full as if I had been one of them.
te “It is very comforting to see how strong the spirit
of Protestantism still is in England and Ireland, that if there
really is danger, thousands will flock to their post, and as yet
a Radical Ministry will not be England's Law. I have felt so
often lately how much easier it must be to ‘act the martyr's
part,” than the patient waiter and truster, how glorious and
enviable must have been the last moments of some of our
|Reformers, their human feelings, knowing what a legacy they
were leaving to their country, their heaven/y eye seeing
what St. Stephen saw. If there is so much dispiriting and
sad in the present state of England and Ireland, there is
much also most reviving; and, perhaps, if actual danger
should come to England in a political or religious form, all
party spirit will be forgotten, and the true Christian Martyr
and Patriot again appear united.”
The intimate knowledge which Augustus Hare had now
attained of all the family and domestic interests of his
parishioners had drawn the tie between pastor and people
at Alton so very close ; and the grateful affection with
w) lich they regarded him, the warm welcome with which
they greeted him on his morning walks (for the very small
SUNSHINE. 409
size of the place enabled him to visit almost every cottage
daily), had brought the Alton villagers so near his heart,
that he looked forward with dread to any possibility of
separation, and felt that in any other event, except that of
the wardenship of Winchester being offered to him, a post
for which he felt himself peculiarly qualified, and whose
duties he could not venture to evade,-he could not endure
to be separated from them. No pecuniary advantages could
weigh in his mind against the comfort of his quiet home,
a home which was not so much marked by any outward
site, as its foundations were laid deep within the hearts of
his people. Thus the prospect of the rich family living of
Hurstmonceaux, in view of which he had married, and
which he knew would be offered to him by his brother,
upon the death of his uncle Robert Hare, had ceased to
afford him any pleasure. Unlike his brothers, whose affec.
tions clung around its Old Castle, and who were attached by
the associations of childhood to its every field and wood,
Hurstmonceaux had never been his home. He had only
been there on Occasional summer visits with Lady Jones,
and associated the place with his mother's increasing strug-
gles against poverty and ill health, and her complaints of
the rudeness and uncouthness of its people, who were con-
trasted by her with the grateful peasantry, to whom she had
been accustomed near her villa at Bologna. He remem-
bered also, that his mother herself, as she observed the
nervous Susceptibility and delicate refinement of her little
Augustus, had felt how unfitted he would be to cope with
such a people as that of Hurstmonceaux then was, and how
much she would prefer seeing him established elsewhere,
4 IO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and her quick and ardent Julius in the family living. All
these circumstances Augustus had for the last year urged
upon his brother Julius, entreating him to take the richer
living, when it fell vacant, and to leave him undisturbed in
the humble rectory of Alton.
Since the death of Lady Jones, to whom he had been
most tenderly attached, and with whom he had been in the
habit of staying whenever he could get away from Cam-
bridge, Julius Hare had had no other home than his beauti-
ful rooms in the tower overlooking the Lime Avenue at the
back of Trinity College. Here he had rejoiced in the con-
stant society of a noble band of friends, Whewell, Worsley,
Peacock, Thirlwall, Sedgwick,-and, in a younger genera-
tion, Sterling, Trench, Maurice, and Cavendish.
At this time also, the professor of Italian at Cambridge
was the Marchese Spineto, whose clever and charming
wife had been a Miss Campbell, of Craigie. With her, in
great measure, lived her handsome sister, Jane, widow of
Sir Thomas Munro, Governor of Madras, who had died in
India in 1827. A close intimacy with the Spinetos led,
two years after his separation from his cousin, Mrs. Dash-
wood, to the second engagement of Julius Hare, with Lady
Munro–an engagement which lasted for many years, far
into his Hurstmonceaux life.
JULIUS HARE to M. H. (Inserted here as belonging to the subject.)
“Trinity, August 30, 1831.-I have two long letters to
thank you for, dearest Maria, and both of them, especially
the latter, are exceedingly delightful and affectionate. The
subject of that latter one being So much the most important,
SUNSHINE. 4 II
I will say a few words about it first. Much that Augustus
said, and many of your arguments, have had very consider-
able weight with me. If my blessed mother's plan was
really such as he says, and events, in spite of apparent
obstacles, have thus, in a manner, been working together
for its fulfilment, I should be most loth to hinder it, for the
slightest expression of her will would be to me like the law
of heaven. The greater fitness" of a small parish for
Augustus's health, I also admit. I believe, too, there is a
greater likelihood of working with efficiency in your parish
than at Hurstmonceaux, where, from all I hear, the flock
are in a very wild state, almost at enmity with their
shepherd. Your farmers again are a good deal more tract-
able than my uncle's. All this, on thinking over the matter,
I see clearly ; but on the other hand, I do not like to
think of you shut up for life in that beautiless, uninteresting
country, with your no garden. The house might do very
passably; but the no garden to me would be an insuperable
objection. However, of course it must rest with you to
balance between the advantages and disadvantages of your
present station; if, when Hurstmonceaux becomes vacant,
you still prefer remaining where you are, it will then be my
duty to think about taking it. Remember, however, that
nothing that has passed is to be considered by you as
imposing any obligation upon either of you. You are at
the most perfect liberty to change your mind to-morrow,
next month, next year, or whenever the living falls; you excite
no expectations in me, no wishes, and consequently you will
disappoint none. I am always averse to forming plans, to
making decisions about the future, which the very next
month may utterly frustrate ; and more especially in the
present state of England, how impossible is it to calculate
what will be the state of any living in England, or whether
there will be any livings at all, next year ! If the Birmingham
4 I 2 {EMORI ALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
political union take it into their heads to say there shall
not, our ministers and our parliament will crouch before
them, and execute their decree. So far as concerns myself,
I should be very sorry were any event to happen soon
which would take me away from my present station. And
this leads me to your very kind sisterly admonition. Now
both you and Augustus seem to me to have forgotten that,
according to the principles and the universal practice of
our Church, the education of youth at both schools and
universities is especially entrusted to the care of her
ministers; so that he who is engaged in that office is
labouring in his vocation. These principles and this prac-
tice seem to me to be perfectly justifiable and right. It is
a narrow notion of the duties of the Christian ministry to
Conceive that a Christian minister is not following his
calling unless he is employed in pastoral duties; though
these are perhaps the noblest and heavenliest part of his
office. So that if you tell me I am not performing my duty
as Christ's minister, I will answer, Yes. But that is owing
to my own weakness and waywardness, and is no way
chargeable on the post where I am standing. It is per-
fectly true that the welfare of England, perhaps her very
*xistence, depends mainly on the activity and zeal of her
ministers, and on God's blessing prospering their en-
deavours. But it is also of great importance, more especially
at this season of the intellectual chaos, that the fountain-
heads of knowledge should be under proper care, and that
the young men who go forth by hundreds every year to act
in their several callings, should be duly stored with sound
principles. Such being the case, I think it may fairly be
left open to any individual to select that sphere of the
ministerial duties on which he chooses to enter; supposing
his choice be regulated, not by caprice or indolence, but by
lm weighing of his own qualifications, and of the good
SUNSHINE. 4 I 3
he is likely to accomplish. Now it seems to me that the
task I am engaged in is of all others the one I am best
fitted for, by such talents and acquirements as I possess ;
and little as may be the good I do here, I think God has
so constituted me that I might do more good here than I
could in any other station. At the same time, by peculiarly
fortunate circumstances of time and place, by being in this
glorious college, and having such noble contemporaries, I
am most singularly blest. Several times in the course of
last summer, in conversing with persons I became acquainted
with, and hearing them speak of their situation, did my
heart bound with gratitude for my singularly favoured lot.
It would be a sad exchange to give up my beautiful rooms,
my friends whose converse strengthens and steadies my
mind, and the brother of my heart, Worsley, whose bright
face kindles a feeling of the same sort in me every time he
enters my room, whose step is so gladdening a Sound on
my stairs, for the dismal solitude of that great, big house,
with not even a cottage within half a mile of it, and not a
soul nearer than my friend Townsend at Brighton, with
whom I should have a thought in common. I speak with
the utmost sincerity, when I say I do not think I should
make an efficient parish priest. I know not what, but there
is an incapacity about me for conversing with the lower
orders ; part of it may be constitutional ; habit may have
much increased it ; the very nature of my pursuits, of my
studies and speculations, withdraws me more than others
from the commerce of ordinary thought. I find a great
difficulty in carrying on a conversation except with a very
few of my friends: my thoughts don't seem to move in the
same line as theirs; my views, my interests, seem to be so
different ; it is hard to find a point of union. This grows
upon me year by year. I know not how to check it; and I
fear I should never get over it. I fear I should never learn
4I4. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
to talk to the poor as they ought to be talked to ; in time,
perhaps, I might learn to preach to them ; but that you
know is a very small part of what a parish priest has to do.
Thank you again, dearest Maria, for your very kind, sisterly
letter. I have tried to show you that it is not mere selfish-
mess that makes me averse to exchange, and that I am at a
post where, if I work zealously, I shall be acting the part of
a Christian minister. At all events, you will see that it is
very, very questionable whether you would be consulting
my happiness in placing me at Hurstmonceaux; and
therefore you must not allow Such a notion to have any
weight with you in refusing it.”
The news of Mr. Robert Hare's death arrived at Alton
on the 27th of February, 1832 ; but, before that time,
having obtained the consent of his brother Francis to the
transfer, Augustus had secured the promise of Julius that
he would accept the living of Hurstmonceaux. Both
brothers went into Sussex to attend their uncle's funeral.
Thence Augustus returned happy to Alton, and Julius made
up his mind to leave Cambridge, but decided upon spending
a year in Italy before entering upon the duties of his parish.
M. H. to A. W. H.
“ Feb. 29, 1832. The eight o'clock coffee is just finished
—such a good new loaf, pity the dear master is not here !
And now I may talk to the dearest Aug. without fear of
interruption. He knows full well how the fountain is bub-
bling up at the very thought of him, and how ready it is to
pour itself over on the paper. I should like to know where
you are this evening, whether at some dirty inn, or at
//ius's A&ectory. God be with you wherever you are, and
watch over you, and bring you safe back to the loving wife
SUNSHINE. 4. I 5
the dearest, the Mia. I think she cannot ever have loved
you before when you have been away. It was only make-
believe. Now it is real, if there is reality in anything.”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“Feb. 29, 1832.-You will guess what we felt on Monday
when the packet of letters came in, and three with black
seals at once convinced us what had happened. Certainly,
the first sensation was joy, to think that everything was
settled, and that there was no longer a question left about
our leaving Alton. We could not help putting ourselves in
a different situation, and fancying what we should have felt
had it been otherwise; and I think Julius would have been
quite satisfied had he heard us, that we had acted for our own
comfort. I daresay with the additional income we should
not have been able to do half so much for our people there,
and so much would have had to be spent in wºrofftab/e
ways; and when we were vainly striving to excite some
feeling amongst a scattered people living at a distance, how
often should we have thought of our little family at Alton
with regret and Sorrow. No ; I am quite certain we have
decided for our own happiness, and, hoping as we do, that
it may be a means of Calling forth all Julius's power for the
good of others, I cannot think we have been wrong in fol-
lowing our own inclinations.”
“March 13 (Sunday evening).--—This has been so beautiful
a day, that as I was walking about the fields between services,
and studying my afternoon's lesson for the children, it made
me Seem to see you and your class under the trees on those
lovely Summer Sundays last year. I do love a fine Sunday;
it seems to cheer and lighten the way to God's house, and
fill one's heart with deeper thoughtfulness, to know all alike
can enjoy it; and the dear Augustus was so earnest, and
416 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
applied his subject so home, that I do trust the seed might
not fall quite in vain on some hearts present.”
L. A. S. to M. H.
“Alderſey, March 3, 1832.--I do hope, dearest, you have
indeed chosen best for your own happiness, as you surely have
for those around you; and we will hope that Hurstmonceaux
will be no loser. . . . Tell Augustus, that when I read the letter
which fixed him at Alton, I lit a large bonfire in my heart,
round which all the old men and women and little boys and
girls of Alton shouted and danced for joy.
“I have read almost all Arnold’s ‘Sermons,’ and like
them much. They are like ‘Watts's Hymns for Children,”
so beautifully simple, yet containing all the deep truths of
religion.”
JULIUS HARE to M. H.
“Trinity, March 9, 1831.—Your sisterly letter came at a
time when it was most acceptable ; for, finding that half
measures, as usual, were good for nothing, I betook myself
to my bed altogether last Friday, determined not to leave it
till my foot had regained its usual dimensions. You will,
perhaps, tell me that my malady was sent to convince me
that a college is not quite such an Elysium as I appeared to
fancy, and that, at all events, it is a bad place to be ill in. To
be sure, as Worsley is not here, I have had a very great num-
ber of lonely hours these last three weeks, seldom interrupted
except by a flying visit of inquiry or two ; and with no
great aversion to solitude, still, not being in a plight for
hard-working, I should not have been Sorry to have heard a
little more of the human voice. The letters of my friends,
however, and especially, as women know best how to Com-
fort a sick-bed, of my female friends,-have supplied me with
SUNSHINE. 417
a delightful substitute for it; and among them, yours has
chimed in very sweetly with those I have received from
Anna and Lady Munro. What I said to Augustus will have
proved to you, that unless he has changed his mind, which
I did not think likely, mine is made up. As I was talking
to Thirlwall on the subject the other day, and Speaking of
my happy removal hither, and of the well-spent ten years I
have passed here, he said, ‘Yes, this has been a very
pleasant Purgatory; may your next removal be to a
Paradise l’ This struck me the more, superstitious as I am,
from its coincidence with the expression I made use of in
my letter to Augustus. Be this however as it may, whether
Hurstmonceaux is to be a paradise to me or a wilderness,
or, as is more likely, something between the two—my lot is
now cast. I am to quit this goodly college, with all its
goodly inmates, and to take up my rest there, in all proba-
bility for life. Indeed, when I have once grown familiar to
it, I think hardly anything in the world would ever induce
me to leave it. I agree entirely with you, that ‘a life of
mere literary activity is not all that is required from a
minister of Christ's Church; * indeed, for my own part, I do
not think a life of mere literary activity can be wholesome
for anybody, it Ought always to be combined more or less
with practical activity. If I were not engaged in tuition, I
would grant to you that my present life is not suited to my
profession ; but, by the practice of our Church, as well as that
of the Roman Catholic, the education of youth has been con-
signed almost exclusively to the clergy; nor do I think it
at all desirable that the clergy who are employed in this
task should combine it with the cure of souls. That this
practice of Committing education to the clergy is wise and
wholesome, I do not think you will deny : if you do, I will
leave Augustus to prove to you that it is so; but this you leave
wholly out of sight in your objections to my merely literary
WOL. I. E. E.
418 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
life. The question then ought to be, there being these two
posts for a clergyman to fill, for which I am the fittest,
naturally and by my acquirements P I fear such a question
must be answered in favour of my staying where I am, so
that I have many scruples of conscience to mingle with my
numerous personal regrets. However, as it is the sad
wedding that makes the happy marriage, so he who feels no
pain at leaving one home, is never likely to find, and in-
deed does not deserve, to find another. Happy are they
who discover objects of interest and attachment wheresoever
it pleases God to place them ; and I believe He has blest
me with the power of doing so in rather more than an
ordinary degree.
“It was singular that it was only on the Saturday night I
sent to Thirlwall the last page of our second volume of
“Niebuhr, containing our little prefatory note, and on
the Sunday morning I heard of my uncle's death. But
there is still a third volume to come; and I am already en-
gaged in the Philological Museum, which, though I trust it
will not stop, will hardly go on so well when I am removed
from its immediate superintendence; yet I should be sorry
to see it discontinued, now that, after having been so many
years projecting it, I have at length started it, and in such
flourishing plight. Perhaps Thirlwall will undertake some
portion of the editorial cares, as, I rejoice to say, he is to
succeed me as lecturer, and probably in my rooms, unless
Whewell does so, so that I shall have a rich fulfilment of
that noble prayer: “May my successors be worthier and
better than I.” However, while these rooms are still mine,
you must positively come and see them. I should like to
have the leaves out when you are here, so that you may see
my avenue in its beauty; and I should like too, if possible,
to manage that you should be here with Lady Munro,”
SUNSHINE. 4I9
M. H. to L. A. S. -
“Alton, March 19, 1832.-I have enjoyed a little visit to
Oxford much, partly because I Saw So many people that it
was pleasant both to see and hear, and partly from the
pleasure of seeing the dear Aug. So pleased. Many of
the people you will not care to hear about. They were
interesting to me chiefly from having for many years been
associated with Augustus, and from the interest they seemed
to feel in seeing him again. But there were one or two
people that I wished for you to see and hear with me. One
was Mr. Pusey, the Hebrew Professor. I had a good deal
of conversation with him, and was much delighted with his
extreme goodness and modesty. All he said about the
poor, about a country clergyman's life, of which he spoke
with envy, was so right feeling, and his manner was so
encouraging, that I felt as if I could have said anything to
him ; there was truly in him the humility of deep learning.
He talked to Augustus about Neander, with whom he had
lived as much as he could when in Germany, and said it
was of such as him he was thinking when he praised the
theologians of Germany, and not of the Rosenmüllers, &c.,
whom he had been accused of favouring.
“Another person, not less interesting, Augustus took me
to call upon–Blanco White. He is sadly out of health, and
was walking up and down his little room, wrapt in a great
cloak, and complained of being unable to do anything.
However, after a little time he got animated, and forgot his
grievances. At first his good English would make one
forget he was not an Englishman, but by degrees the
foreigner showed itself in the cast of countenance, action,
and, when animated, by a little hesitation in bringing out
his words. He spoke of the work he is now writing on the
Inquisition, and said he had been tracing the origin of it in
persecution up to the times of Theodosius, but he said it
42O MEMCRIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
was very painful and irritating to his feelings dwelling upon
it. ‘They are not dead, these old fathers; they are every
One of them living. I see them all.’ He talked a good
deal of Whately, who was a great friend of his ; and then
got upon the signs of the times, and that he thought
everything was at work for a change, and of course in the
struggle, evil must be produced, and would perhaps for a
time seem to overbalance the good, but he had a confident
hope good would prevail—just as a body in a state of fer-
mentation appeared to be in one of decomposition; that the
error of the present interpreters of Prophecy seemed to him
of the same nature with that of the old Jews, when they
looked forward to the temporal kingdom of Messiah on
earth. There was a remarkable mildness and suavity of
manner mixed up with his energy, reminding one of the
Spanish priest, whilst his evident sincerity and enlightened
views showed how he had broken through the bondage.
“Living in a college seems to me much like living in a
magnificent prison, being Surrounded by such high walls,
but the Warden of New College has a very good house, and
it is pleasant being there. I think, on the whole, my im-
pression of Oxford was even much more favourable than I
had expected ; that there certainly are a great many who
are very excellent and labouring to do good, whilst many
who sometime ago would have been content with the form
of godliness, are by degrees being leavened with a much
larger portion of its spirit.”
A. W. H. to L. A. S.
“March 25, 1832.-The dear Luce will probably like to
hear a little about our Fast and Feast. We got back from
Oxford just in time to allow of my preparing a sermon on
Lev. xxiii. 27, as a kind of preface to Wednesday's Service.
Monday and Tuesday passed much like other days, except
SUNSHINE. 421
that two of the farmers told their men they should be paid
for a day's no-work on the Fast-day, provided they came to
church, and kept away from the beer-shops. How many
came for this promised pay, and how many from a right
feeling, I know not—though from the interest which they
manifested about the Fast, I hope and trust the right motive
predominated. But, between the two, the church was filled
fuller than it has ever been in my recollection, excepting on
the first Good-Friday after our coming to Alton. Unluckily,
I was rather out of voice ; however, by the help of singing
‘a hymn proper for the day,” I got through my long Service;
and, during the sermon, the interest gave me back my
lungs again. The text (I know you like Such little par-
ticulars) was from Luke xxi. 34–36. The subject was first
an exposition of the chapter, and its division into its main
parts, namely, the destruction of Jerusalem, and the tread-
ing down of the Jews till the times of the Gentiles are
fulfilled; the signs which are to intervene between the
fulfilling of those days and the Coming to judgment ; and the
practical lesson which the text affords of the conduct to be
pursued by us, if we would not be taken unawares. The
practical lesson, of Course, formed the main part, in its two
branches of drunkenness on the one hand and worldly cares
on the other, and I never saw the people more attentive.
Our Fast was kept on vegetables, the servants abstaining
voluntarily from dressing meat for themselves as well as for
us. In the evening I had a supplementary lecture in the
barn; SO passed the day. And then came the Feast. There
had been all sorts of consultations ; what should be
ordered P and who should be asked P But we will suppose
, them well over—the ox's head and skin for soup, and the
cut of the—I forget what—for boiling, safely brought into
the larder; and the guests invited ; and Mary busy pre-
paring the Savoury viands. “But where is the suet for the
422 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
puddings? It is two o'clock. Very odd of that butcher
disappointing mistress. Betty Perry, step over to All
Cannings, and see why they have not sent it?' Thus spake
the careful Mary, but the assisting Betty did not disobey
her word, but she stept forth, and stept, too, pretty hastily,
for she was back again from All Cannings in an hour and
a quarter with the long-expected suet: so active are people
when they go upon their own errands, and serve with a
ready will. We had Majendie to dine with us, and J.
Sloper, too, rode over, which made us a large party in
the drawing-room waiting the announcing of the com-
pany. And now the door opens, and John says, “Please,
ma'am, they are all come ; ' and the dear wifie has put on
her cloak, and we are all gone together into the barn,
where, ranged on the two sides of the long table are stand-
ing—three old Kings, and old Hailstone, and old Perry,
and old Hams and John Swanborough, and Becky King
and her good man with the large appetite and weeping
eyes, and Hannah Baillie, and Sally Browne, eleven in all.
And at the top and bottom of the said table were tureens
of good, rich, substantial broth ; with Sloper at one end, and
the Master at the other, to help the same. And now the
Master has said grace, and the standers have become sitters,
and the spoons are in full activity; and Majendie and the
dear wife and Mary are waiting upon the full-mouthed
guests. And they are all looking very happy, and saying
that this zwill be a day to talk of, and drinking our good
health, as the sober mug of beer is set before them. After
the broth came the beef, and then the puddings, which I
think were the favourite part of the feast; and then another
grace, and we are once more in the drawing-room, pleased
at having been able, and with how very little money and
kindness and attention, to please so many of Our people.
And so, having finished my story, what remains but to with
SUNSHINE. 423
the dear Luce good-bye, and to commend ourselves and our
parishes to her prayers.
“(M. H.) The dear Master's report will not preclude my
say, for he has not told what two dear, appropriate graces
he uttered before and after the Feast, nor how the old men
raised up their hands together as he said them, and prayed
for a blessing both on the receivers and givers, and joined in
their hearty amen; nor has he told that of the remnants six
families have had an abundant meal sent home to them to-
day. You may fancy the delight the dear Aug. took in his
evening; and I scarcely ever felt more thankfulness, more
love, not for the dear people, nor for the precious husband
but for Him who gives the means and inspires the will.
How I wished for you on Wednesday. You would have
liked the sermon much, and would have spent the day to
your heart's desire. The chief part of the sermon was
urging the necessity of making the day a symbol of our
future life by greater self-denial, more continual prayer, and
deeper humiliation, that it might not pass away in a few
hours' service, and that perhaps lip-service, but in a real
fast of the heart.
“April I.--We have, though not as yet actual death,
dangerous sickness before our eyes just now, and our last
two days have been taken up almost entirely by attending
three sick-beds. One of them is at Stanton, whither in
Mr. Majendie's absence they sent for Augustus yesterday
morning, to a poor Sick-boy of seventeen, who had had
a horrible accident ; falling from a hay-cart on the sharp
teeth of a harrow, which went in through his back four
inches, and of course his torments were excruciating. Both
times when Augustus went yesterday he was scarce able
to speak, except in ejaculations of ‘Lord, have mercy
on me!’ but his father's account was very touching,
how he had prayed, and how he had warned him about
424 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
his future life; and once, when he woke from a doze,
he said ‘Father, I have been a long way. I saw in my
dream a great hill, and there was a narrow path up it, and
I wanted to go along it, but there were so many bushes on
both sides I could not get along, and I saw Christ at the
top calling me to him, but I could not get to him till He
held out his hand and helped me.’ Is not this a singular
and touching story P. The father never left him, while.
the mother and sister were going on, unconcerned, with
their work below stairs, only seeming to grieve over the loss
of the father's day's work.
“Of our own two cases, one is the blacksmith's daughter,
a young pretty girl of sixteen, who lived with Miss Miller
as servant, and came home a few days ago with constant
sickness, which has now turned to inflammation on the
brain, and I can hardly think there is a chance for her.
She was quite insensible herself to-day, but after helping
to hold her whilst the doctor bled her for the third time,
Augustus and I knelt down with the poor afflicted father
and sister, and he prayed for her and for them, and more
sincere prayers, I am sure, were never uttered. Augustus
could hardly get through them, much less wish them good-
day afterwards. Our other patient, poor James Powell,
is nearly in the same state, and I believe from the
same cause—inflammation on the brain. Both these
cases show how vain is the hope of administering
spiritual comfort even, and much less spiritual instruc-
tion, in dangerous illness. Neither of them could even
join in the prayers, but for the survivors it is a call that
may not be in vain, and some words uttered in such
moments, when sorrow has opened the heart, may go home
with God's blessing on them. You may suppose how
wretched poor Avis Powell is ; and really here, where we
live so much amongst and with the people, two such cases
SUNSHINE. 425
of affliction throw quite a sadness over everything. I
suppose were we oftener summoned to such scenes, the
heart would grow in some degree hardened to them, but
we have had so few of them, that Augustus was quite worn
by the feelings they excited. Poor Prudence I feel the
more interested for, because she has all winter been one of
my Tuesday's confirmation class, and seemed to take such
interest, and be so grateful for all I taught her : she ap-
peared to be a thoroughly good girl, and perhaps to one in
her rank of life this may be taking her away from the evil to
come. When the poor have strong feelings, it is the more
touching, because they come out so naturally, and the
father's hard features, moistened by tears, following so
anxiously to know what one thought of his “ darling' (so
he called her), and so resigned to think it was best if God
did take her, were very hard to hear unmoved. We have
just sent John off to Pewsey (eight o'clock), to carry the
last news of the poor patients to the doctor. Augustus is
about his sermon—“Though I walk through the valley of
the shadow of death,'—and I have tried to make you
present with us by setting before you the subject of our
thoughts and employment to-day and yesterday. In re-
turning from such sick-beds, how grateful do I feel that
hitherto God has in mercy spared us such anguish. When-
ever the time Comes, as Come it must, when we too shall be
tried, we shall have your prayers, dearest Luce, and He
who is our rock and fortress will be with us and support us
through every storm.
“Sunday Evening.—This morning Augustus sent Gideon
off to Devizes for Dr. Brabant, that nothing might be left
undone; and he came whilst we were at church, and pro-
nounced both cases to be utterly hopeless. Poor James is
not so insensible as Prudence, but only seems occasionally
to recognise those around him. When Avis said to him to
426 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
day, ‘Do you hear Mr. Hare praying by you, James?” he
muttered, ‘I shall soon hear more than I have ever done
yet !” but generally he appears quite unconscious of who is
there, and only holds up his hands, as if praying inwardly.
You may suppose how solemn a day this has been with us
all ; how my first class wept over their dying companion
as I touched upon her state to them; how Augustus alluded
in his sermon to the two cases of extreme sickness, and be-
sought all to be ready ; and how many tears were called forth.
If anything can touch those hitherto careless, surely death,
when it calls the young and healthy and the stout and robust,
as James was a year ago, must preach most powerfully.
“April 17.-Two hours ago I watched the remains of poor
Prudence consigned to the grave—ashes to ashes. It was
such a lovely evening, and the view of the hills above the
little Cottages from Great Alton churchyard in the still
evening light, with Augustus standing over the grave, read-
ing those fine words, and the group of people all round,
sobbing their responses, was truly a sight not to be
forgotten. I do not wonder at the effect of field preaching.
There is a solemnity in the scene where the sky is above
one and nature all round, that is far above the most
hallowed aisle. It is an affecting sight to see a young
maiden borne as this was by young men, and the white
sheet carried over the bier by eight young girls all dressed
in white, with white hoods over their bonnets. In this case
also the bearers were true mourners, and wept bitterly over
the loss of their companion, and besides her own family,
there was scarcely a dry eye in the church, which was nearly
full of people. Augustus took the opportunity, and in a
few touching words, after the lesson 15th Cor. was ended,
addressed the congregation assembled. Pointing to the
coffin where lay the body of her who one little fortnight
since looked forward to life with as much confidence as the
SUNSHINE. 427
healthiest amongst us, and who was now called away almost
ere she had entered life, he said how only two days before
he had been called upon to perform the same office over a
man in the prime of life. He was cut off without more
time for preparation than this delicate flower which had
scarcely blossomed. Could any one say that the summons
would not call him next? Could any trust that he should
have longer warning granted 2 Could any feel that he was
ready? Which did they think of the hours spent by this
young girl did she now look back upon with most pleasure
and delight, those spent in idleness and wasted in folly,
or those devoted to her God? Be it then our care so to
pass our days here, that when, like her, our earthly forms
are laid in a narrow box, we may look back on hours of
piety and devotion, and that no dreams of wickedness may
disturb our rest. Something to this effect was said. Then
as we went out of church he spoke a few words of comfort to
the poor afflicted sisters and brothers and father. “Re-
member, my good friends, that those who sow in tears
shall reap in joy.’ The mother was too ill to attend the
funeral, a great sorrow to her, poor thing, for they consider
these things so much. Her grief is very touching, for it is I
am sure hallowed by the true source of comfort. She kept
up as long as life remained, and never left her darling's bed,
watching her with such intensity, never heeding my going
in, but addressing to the poor unconscious girl such words
as these—‘Yes, you are going to be a blessed angel in
heaven with your dear Saviour, are you not, my child?”
Both she and poor James died the same day. It was on
Sunday evening that we followed him to his last home,
Avis and her five children were there. His illness had
excited great interest amongst his fellow-labourers, and God
grant that the softened hearts which shed so many tears as
his body was consigned to the grave, may bear in mind that
428 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
they like him may at the last have no time for making their
peace with God. The 4oth Psalm was, by his own desire,
Sung during the funeral service, and a hymn over his grave.
These to others might seem trifling details, but
you will be interested in them, knowing how we live as one
family with our people, and really the last week these two
families have excited all our interest and sympathy. I
quite longed for you at the funeral—to stand with me by
my earthly treasure, and pray for me that strength of faith
and love may be ours daily more and more till we are
called hence too. I think I could have stayed by Prudence
as I saw her this morning in her coffin for hours, she looked
so calm, so peaceful, and there is something so mysterious
in death. Is it not curious that my last lesson to her was
that very chapter of Cor. xv.”
L. A. S. to M. H.
“Alderley, April 13, 1832.-By this time, I think, poor
James Powell can be no longer one of your living congre-
gation, but, if he is gone to God, if he should be the first
shock of corn gathered from the little field given in charge
to Augustus, we may now see how his illness of last
summer was sent to prepare his soul for its long journey.
How well I remember Augustus telling us one day, after
one of his visits there, that he had been teaching him—‘I
must work the will of Him that sent me whilst it is day—
the night cometh when no man can work,' and how much
struck he seemed with it. The night has soon come to
him; God grant it prove to him eternal day. Tell Avis,
with my best comfort, I prayed for her and her family this
morning, and send her this verse from which every Christian
family may take comfort. ‘Leave thy fatherless children, I
will preserve them alive, and let thy widow trust in me.’
Since I left Alton, I have been so daily in the habit of
SUNSHINE. 429
following you in all your known and fancied pursuits, that I
feel as much with you in all you tell me, as if I was really
there. During prayers, I have so often found myself walk-
ing up the hill towards that white cottage. I used to carry
so light a heart up that dazzling hill. I do not think the
happiness of any one creature was ever so thoroughly felt
by another, as yours by me. Everything you speak of, joy
or sorrow, hope or fear, I instantly see reflected in my own
heart; and I do feel it a blessing that the never-failing friend
of my early life has a husband, whom to know well, is to
love. I cannot in the least describe the effect knowing him
has on my mind—the sort of effect that it is to the eye,
looking out on a landscape through an Orange-coloured
glass window, that makes everything look sunny.”
JULIUS HARE to M. H.
“ 7% inity, April 4, 1832.-Alas, what sad tidings the
papers contain : The mightiest spirit that this earth has
seen, since Shakespeare left it, is departed. But he departed
just like himself, in the perfect healthful possession of all
his faculties, as a man who has fulfilled the duties of the
day, and falls into calm sleep after it: and even his last
moments were moments of enjoyment, he was just express-
ing the pleasure he felt in the genial warmth of the spring.
What a pleasure it would be to possess the arm-chair in
which Goethe closed his eyes, after having gazed on all
that this world could produce, and behold, ‘to him it was
very good,' and I doubt not that to the very last moments
he felt the truth of his favourite stanza –
‘Liegt dir gestern klar und offen,
Wirkst du heute froh und frei;
Rannst auch auf ein morgen hoffen,
Das nicht minder glücklich sey.”
43O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Dear, glorious old man, would I had seen him before he
was taken away; would I had heard his voice, and beheld
the calm majesty of his face.
“What if—the thought has just struck me—we erect a
joint Hare monument to our mother and aunt in Hurstmon-
ceaux church P That would be appropriately a Hare monu-
ment; and I think it seems likely to be the place with which
we are to be most intimately connected, and if there is to be
another generation of us, we may teach them to venerate
the two blessed sisters, our double mother.”
On April 25, the news of Marcus Hare's return to
England reached Alton, and the rector left for Plymouth
the next day to meet him and preach on board the
Southampton, the admiral's flag-ship, to the commander-
ship of which his brother had lately been appointed. He
rejoined his wife at Sheen, and they afterwards went
together to pay their long-promised visit to Julius at
Cambridge.
A. W. H. to M. H.
“A)evonport, May, 1832.—Marcus says that when the
Crocodile sailed for Sydney, they left one of the crew in
hospital there, with a dog that was much attached to him.
On they sailed, and no one thought any more of the man,
till one night the sentinel came to the officer on watch
while they were off Van Dieman's Land—‘Very strange,
sir, but M has just walked up the gangway, and his dog
with him.’ Then came one of the seamen—‘A curious
thing has happened, sir; I saw M just now standing
between these two guns.' The seaman said nothing about
the dog, and there had been no communication between
him and the sentinel. This became the common talk of
SUNSHINE. 431
the ship, and they found on their arrival at Sydney that the
man had been buried the evening he was seen, and, what is
a curious coincidence, the dog had been missing at the time
for two or three days. This last fact was mentioned by
Colonel Lindsay, in whose hospital the seaman had died,
and who came on board to inquire into the story, it had
been so much talked of.”
L. A. S. to M. H.
“May 3, 1832-Have I not followed you closely, my
Mia, all through this last week? Did I not see Augustus
open the letter, and give the jump P and did you not hear
me wish him joy of the arrival of ‘the dear Marcus, whom
I have heard him speak so much of? and did I not see you
sending him off to Plymouth, trying to persuade yourself to
get through a few days without him, which I will give you
full credit for having managed very ill P” -
IM. H.’s DIARY.
“May 12.—To Cambridge. Trinity College. Dr. Whe-
well to dinner.
“AMay 13.—Sunday. Sermon, Professor Scholefield and
Mr. Rose. To the Marchesa Spineto. .
“AZay 14.—Mr. Kenelm Digby to breakfast. To
Babraham. Dinner in Julius's rooms. Thirlwall, Rose's,
Spineto's Whewell, Romilly, Airy's.
“May 15.-Library. King's College Chapel. Dined
Thirlwall’s.
“A/ay I 6.—Breakfasted Mr. Rose. Called Marchesa
Spineto. Mr. Landor to dinner. Dined Marchesa's.
“AZay I 7.—Mr. Sedgwicks. Luncheon Marchesa's.
Dinner Whewell's, Professor Smythe, Rose's, &c.
“May 18.-Left Cambridge.”
4.32 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
I. A. S. to M. H.
“May 11, 1832–I have been looking in Heber's journal
for all he says of Lady Munro. How highly he speaks of
her, and the estimation in which she was held, also her
beauty and pleasing manners. She must be the most
likely person possible for Julius to like. You would like to
have such a sister—and one who knew Reginald, too, in
India. Now, dearest, I have written enough to show that
I think of my darlings when they are absent from their
Cage, but shall much Congratulate them when they hop into
it again, and the song is sung, and the perch returned
to.” \
“Alderley, May 26, 1832.-At this moment you are
returning to Alton, and are, perhaps, descending Dull's long
hill—Oh, no, I forgot, you come the other way—or you
may be just turning in through the gateway, or Standing at
the drawing-room window, feeling, I need not tell you how,
while the Aug. is gone to visit his pig, and his cow, and
his meadow, and now you may, for a while, forget the king-
dom full of troubles, and lead the life you best love. I
could scarcely be more with you at present than I am in
fancy this evening, and Mary is rejoicing, and Brute is sitting
erect for joy, and the quince-tree is in full leaf, ready for
another swarm of bees. -
“I mean this letter to get to you on the 2nd of June.
How I shall be with you on that day I need not say. I
shall creep after you to the study, go through the service
with you as you read it with your dear husband, then collect
the flowers in Mrs. Pile's garden, and get the table ready
for the children. I shall not long to be with you ; but be
happier thinking of you at a distance than I was—present
—last year, for then, oh how much less I loved you both
than I do now.
SUNSHINE. 433
M. PI. to L. A. S.
“Alton, May 26, 1832.-I have no need to say one word
of description to my dearest Luce. On many an evening
as lovely as this have you sat out with me on the little
peaceful grass-plat, and listened to the blackbirds, and
enjoyed the extreme quiet and shade of our little home.
On many such an evening have you walked up the toilsome
hill, and sucked in greedily the little breezes of fresh air
that met one at the top ; and then, when we had come
down the green path of the corn-field, we called in at Brown's
cottage, and found John with prayer-book or Bible in his
hand, and said a few words of comfort to poor Mary. Just so
have the dear Aug. and I spent this delightful close of a
summer's day, and often does it make me think of you, to
return so exactly to the blessed days of last year, only
wanting you to enjoy them with us. Nor did we the less
miss you as we drove along the lanes yesterday evening in
the Dull carriage, and I could almost have fancied you
feated in the vacant seat, repeating Keble as we went
elong. The joy of getting home, and in such weather, was,
as you may guess, very great; for we have been in so many
different places, and seen so many people, that it seems a
very long time since we went away, and, Surely, no pleasure
we have had during our absence has given us half the
gratification of hearing poor sick Charles Gale's expressions
of joy at hearing Our carriage-wheels, and thinking it must
be Mr. Hare, or of being told by so many that they have
‘missed us desperate.' Yet, much as we enjoy our return, I
do not regret that we have been away. It is wholesome,
both for mind and body, to have the variety and change of
scene, air, and Society, and gives us food for future reflec-
tion, as well as making us begin our work here again with
greater zest from the temporary break. I believe it is quite
necessary, for one's own individual good, to mix occasion-
WOL. I. F F zº
434 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
ally in the concerns of Earth. It draws forth other, and
often more trying, points of character than are called out in
retirement, and is very humbling to one's inner man in show-
ing how hard it is to be tolerant when others differ from us,
how difficult to be charitable when one's own standard is
not followed. That we are, not from any merits of ours,
but from God's good pleasure, placed far away from the
temptations and trials of the world, I do most gratefully
feel as a most merciful privilege and favour; but, at the
same time, I am fully aware that there remain temptations
and trials within us, quite sufficient to make us watch and
fear, and that we must be more diligent in our inward
search, since the outside has much less need of cleansing;
and I do not think I ever return to our happy life without
feeling as if the absence had strengthened and confirmed me
in my love for heavenly things, and taught me to know
myself better.
“Julius's rooms at Cambridge are most perfect, looking as
they do down that glorious avenue, and the Gothic windows
are filled with beautiful geraniums, &c.; his walls literally
lined and papered with books, except one side, over the
fire-place, where Raphael’s “Madonna and Child,’ and two
or three other good pictures are. I fully enter into his
feeling of the unworldliness, the freedom from care, the
leisure afforded by such a life, and with him the warmth of
friendship keeps alive the affections, which, in general,
must lie dormant in a college; yet I shall be much sur-
prised if, after two or three years of his country life at
Hurstmonceaux, Julius has not received more of real happi-
ness than in many years at Trinity.”
L. A. S. to A. W. H.
“/une 2, 1832-Dearest Aug., to-day one year ago I
heard you say the grace for the school children on the lawn
SUNSHINE. 435
under the cherry-tree, and I felt from that moment I should
like you. It seems a very little while since this day last
year, yet in its course we have both had many joys and
little troubles, now passed away; and on looking back
nothing seems to have been really of consequence, but
how we have done God's work. You have both been fed
in green pastures, and in leading others to the waters of
comfort, have been yourselves refreshed and nourished, and
may there be a deep well now filling at the door of your
hearts from those very waters, to uphold and strengthen
you when God shall call you to a more arduous task than
that of feeding His lambs and enjoying His mercies. It
does not lessen your present happiness to be prepared for
a change ; and who can look on England now, and not
involuntarily turn round to see if the sword and armour be
ready ? I always think of you both, as the two, not best,
by I hope many hundreds, but quite as the two happiest
people in the world, in your lot and perfect oneness of mind.
It is always a holiday to my thoughts when I let them have
a ramble to the dear Alton, only they would be there
much too often if I did not keep them in order; but on the
2nd of June they are to be with you all the day.”
A. W. H. to M. H.
“June 2.—
“No youthere drank his exiled prince
So zealously as I drink thee,
No nun ere hung around her cross
So fondly as I’ll cling to thee.
“What words ! a wife—by God's own hand
To man the last, best present given;
Love—the religion of the heart,
The only foretaste here of heaven.”
436 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
M. H. to L. A. S.
“The ſhafty Aſton Rectory, June 2.-The evening of this
blessed day is come, and our dear Luce is sharing our
thanksgiving over its third anniversary. Never were three
years more rich in mercies, more sparing in trials and
troubles; and how can we be grateful enough or loving
enough for being so tenderly treated P You know, and none
so well, all the cause we have for blessing and adoring God
that He has brought us together and permitted us to serve
Him, and, ‘by love's supporting power, to cheat the toil
and cheer the way; ' and it is a comfort to think that we
have your prayers that we may not make this our earthly
home the only one to which we look, but that we may press
onward, feeling in every added mercy an added link to that
chain of love which should bind and unite us to our
heavenly home ; that so our future pilgrimage, be it set with
roses, as the past has been, or, as is perhaps more likely,
with thorns, may still be leading us heavenward, and that
our union may be perfected and completed hereafter. I
was almost afraid we might have a wet day from the showers
of the last two, but the sun shone as brightly as on the last
.ind of June. The table and benches were spread under
he cherry-tree, with chairs for the lookers-on ; the jars of
flowers placed upon the table; the children, consisting of
twenty-four girls and seven of the little boys, arranged in
order. Then came the Master, and said a grace resembling
the one of last year in substance, only with the addition of
a few verses read first out of the parable of the marriage
supper. After the second grace the children sang their
hymn, and then all the little ones performed their little
exercises, and so ended the feast. After the Company had
walked round the orchard, they took their leave, and my
darling Aug. and I were left to ourselves. Whilst he betook
himself to his sermon in the afternoon, I went to fulfil his
SUNSHINE. 437
duty of reading to poor Charles Gale. I do not know
whether you remember him—quite a young man, with a
wife and three little children, but since last Summer he has
never been out to work again, and is now in that slow,
lingering consumption, which wastes away day by day, with-
out any severe pain, though he suffers much from weakness,
&c. He has, however, none of the false excitement and
hope of life which usually attend this disease, and has for
some time felt that he was beyond the skill of any earthly
physician. A more humble and grateful patient I never
visited, and as he is able to read, and takes great delight in
it, he is far better taught than those we have generally to
deal with. Whilst we have been away he has read quite
through the ‘Pilgrim's Progress,’ and he talks of all the dif-
ferent parts quite as if they were realities. He was very
much interested too in Hooper. He is so very thankful
for being taught, and says he never missed anything so much
as ‘not seeing Mr. Hare,” while we were absent. He has
not much of the joy of believing; he mourns so much over
his own want of love, and that, from his weakness, he can
pray so little: and he said to-day, ‘When God is so merciful
to me, and has done so much for me, it seems so bad not to
love him more. Ah, this is the griefl’ But his sorrow is
a much softer and more Christian sorrow than poor Mary
Brown's, and though he has not an assured, he has a com-
fortable hope, I think, at times, and is turning to his Saviour
as his only trust and confidence. His poor wife sits by with
a sick child on her knee, that will scarcely outlive its father,
and I would fain hope that she is learning where she must
seek for hope and comfort when her trials come, as they
must shortly do.
“There was a wedding this morning to celebrate the day,
and the bells have been ringing quite suitably. It has been
such a warm evening, and the boys have had their supper
438 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
under the cherry-tree, too, at eight o'clock; and now bed-
time is come, and I must end my talk with you, and rest
my tired body to be ready for to-morrow and its duties.
“Monday.—It was the most delightful day yesterday, and
our new church arrangements answered very well. We had
a very full congregation in the morning, when Augustus
preached on Psalm lxviii. 18. In the afternoon all the
Stanton people (the church there is being rebuilt) came with
Mr. Majendie to Great Alton Church. Augustus went, and
I stayed at home to teach the children, for which it gave me
a nice long time. We dined at four, had a pleasant rest
for reading on my part on your seat in the garden, and for
Augustus to walk about and meditate on his lecture till a
quarter before seven, when Little Alton church bell again
called us together, and we had a very full church. Aug.
made variations in the lessons for the benefit of those who
had heard the regular ones at afternoon service, and, instead
of a written sermon, he took up Arnold's sermons, and took
one of those on Faith as his groundwork, adding a great
deal of his own, and it had in fact all the impressiveness of
an extempore sermon, to which I have no doubt he will,
after a little practice, get used in this sort of way. Nothing
could do better, and earnestly did I entreat a blessing on
his words, that some of those listening so attentively might
take them home. How the dear Luce would have enjoyed
her Sunday; but perhaps one spent less agreeably would
have been more profitable, for outward advantages often
make one less watchful, and it is not in proportion to the
external that the internal work goes On. To those who
have to teach others, too, it is more difficult to turn one's
thoughts home and learn for one's self, and I find myself
thinking so much oftener of what will benefit others than of
taking the lesson to my own use, that there is its danger
even in every duty.
SUNSHINE. 439
“Our laburnums are in such beauty—they make the place
look so gay.”
“The Zuce Seat, June 21.-Before me is the large
field, and just beyond it the tower of Great Alton Church
peeping out of the trees; on one side of the field old
Maslen's farmhouse, on the other side a bit of our wee
church. The great elm-tree spreads its shade over my
head, divided from me now by no fence, only a gravel walk,
running along on one side into the orchard, and on the other,
through an archway of honeysuckles, round the corner to
the flower garden. And here I sit, where Luce so often
used to sit, where so many Greek lessons have been said, so
many newspapers grieved over, and so many comfortable
words read from the Book. Scarcely could I believe it
another June ; for in the field behind me the Master is hard
at work in his hay, and all our little household are engaged
in making the most of one of the finest of Summer days.
. . . . . I am sure it will need little exercise of fancy in
you to place before you the dear Master looking so
pleased over his work, and singing his chirping notes of
joy as the sun shines, and the pleasant breeze gives
assurance of the safety of his favourite hay. Nor will
you have any trouble in picturing the bustle yesterday,
just after dinner, at the news of an approaching storm,
and how the walking haycocks were speedily seen tra-
versing the field and uniting into one rick, the tall, thin
bearer bending under his load as he went along. Nor
would you less have been present a few days since, when
we were called out by a swarm of bees around the house.
They clustered round the chimney, and made an alliance
with the former occupiers, and we concluded they were
from our own hive ; but up came a man soon after to
claim them, and our own we found afterwards in the
hive. When they swarm, I do not expect that anybody
44O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
will let us keep them, for everybody comes here after
their bees, so fond are they of coming to our garden.
“Poor Charles Gale is dead. He had not seemed any
worse the day before when I was with him, but he has
left behind his weak and suffering body, and I trust his
soul is in that rest for which he so earnestly longed, and
yet to the last so much feared, lest it might not be for
him. Such assurance of hope as many seem to possess
is not given to all, but I think one cannot doubt that
where the heart is looking to Christ, and trusting to Him,
and doubting only from the greatness of personal humi-
liation, the obscurity and dimness which hides the glory
from the earthly body will all be removed the moment
the spirit quits its weak tabernacle here. I have always
been accustomed to incline to think perfect assurance
either a presumptuous feeling or a gift to but a few
favoured servants of God, though fully aware that it has
been constantly united with the deepest humility
“Ariday.—What a change of weather since yesterday !
Instead of bright Sunshine, and Summer's sky, all is gloom,
and wind, and rain, and the poor master's hay must take its
chance. We were all set to work in a great hurry yesterday
afternoon, and they got a good deal carried before the rain
began.”
“July 18.—We have had a great alteration made in our
little church, which is such an improvement. That little
arch which hid the pulpit and its inhabitant from all the
chancel end has been taken away, and a large opening
made, which gives room for two pews in addition, and
will enable every one to hear and see. We have been
obliged to have service in Great Alton Church for two Sun
days, and next Sunday our own will be re-opened. Aug.
means to speak about the change, and take for his text a
verse out of 2 Kings x. 21—“And the house of Baal was
SUNSHINE. 44.1
full from one end to another ; ' showing how the church,
may be filled, and yet not by worshippers of God, and that
the purpose of it is not for people to stand and sit uncon
cerned with all that is read or spoken, as So many seem to
think. Our Sunday is now a very busy day, for between
the morning and evening services, that is, in the afternoon,
Aug. catechises and lectures the class of young men and
women for confirmation from two till half-past three or four ;
then we dine, and have service again at Seven, with a sermon
more especially addressed to the young persons, and a good
deal put in extempore.”
L. A. S. to M. H.
“Zeamington, June 12, 1832.-On Whitsunday we went
to hear a Baptist minister, who preached ‘in a large upper
room furnished, the last time we were here. They have
now built him a chapel. There was nothing finer there
than a straw-bonnet; the singing was literally singing God's
praises; and his sermon the pure simple truth as it is in
Jesus. Here we shall go while we stay at Leamington ; for
a church is only a building unless it has a soul, and the
church here has no soul.
“Nothing can exceed the attention and tenderness of Dr.
Jephson. He has come regularly every day since I wrote
last ; and every time we see him, we feel our interest in him
increase. An old and venerable clergyman who was at the
door yesterday when he came in, said to him, ‘Ah, doctor,
if you would but take my medicine as readily as I take
yours.’”
L. A. S. to A. W. H. (After a remonstrance from him
upon her attending the Baptist Chapel.)
“Leamington, June 27, 1832.-Yes, all the zworld of
Leamington do fill the Church of England Chapel every
442 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Sunday, twice or once, to receive dispensation and en-
couragement to commence another week of vanity and folly.
There stands at the door a boy, with a heap of dirty tickets
in his hand, and a man stops pulling the bell, and says, “do
you want a pew 2–give that boy a shilling, and he'll give
you a ticket.’ You give your shilling, and a clerk, in ap-
pearance and expression a close resemblance to Mephisto-
pheles, and who walks about all church-time serving Mammon,
takes your ticket, and shows you into a crowded pew. I
Suppose it is possible, when there, for some few so to abstract
their minds from the present scene, as to worship God in
spirit and in truth, but Z cannot do it. Woe unto you, if
you look up, you find a hundred pair of eyes, under the
smartest bonnets, looking about as if at a spectacle. I can-
not be so independent of my senses, when I hear the
n \ockery of worship, as to gain the least benefit from any
part of the service : it seems to me that it is making an idol
of the church, if we do not make a difference, according to
hyw it is served. If one was starving, and saw a palace,
with a fine service of plate set out, but no food on it, and
just opposite, a wretched mud cottage, with good food on
pewter plates, would not the hungry traveller enter the mud
cottage and eat. The blessed little Baptist Chapel here is
the mud cottage, and Mr. Coles the means of leading many
souls to Christ. . . . But there is no fear of the most ex-
cellent Baptist minister who ever preached, making me
desert the Church of England. Every time I go, I feel more
strongly how beautiful our service is, and, in my own parish,
I would not leave my parish church for any dissenting
chapel; but here, where I am unknown, with no ties, no
duties to leave, I feel it would be turning my back on a door
which God himself had opened, if I did not go thankfully to
Mr. Coles' chapel.”
SUNSHINE. 443
A. YW. H. to L. A. S.
“I am sorry to hear so bad an account of the Church at
Leamington; but it is one of the advantages of our good
Church, that we (meaning by “we” the educated) are
only very partially dependent on the qualifications of the
minister. If he can read, and most clergymen can do that
much,--he must read the liturgy, =all his stupidity, if he be
stupid, all his carelessness, if he be careless, cannot un-
make that into anything unscriptural or undevotional. And
as to the sermon, Herbert has said enough about that; you
know Who, according to him, when the preacher is incapable,
takes up the text and ‘preaches patience.”
“The day after to-morrow, Julius reads in at Hurstmon-
ceaux. God speed him in his new vocation I cannot regret
that he should be likely to travel with Landor, though I do
regret the abuse I hear of the latter. Southey, and when I
mention him I mention one of the first literary men in Eng-
land as to sterling moral worth, has the following passage
about Landor in his ‘Vindiciae Ecclesiae Anglicanæ.” “Walter
Landor, whom I have pride as well as pleasure in calling my
friend.’ And this is the man who has been described as being,
‘without honesty and principle !' I wish that I could speak
publicly in defence of a man whose heart I know to be so large
and overflowing; though much of the water, from not having
the branch which Moses would have shewn him thrown into it,
has unhappily been made bitter by circumstances. But when
the stream gushes forth from his natural affections, it is sweet
and plentiful, and as strong almost as a mill-stream. For his
love partakes of the violence of his character; and when he
gives it a free course, there is enough of it to fill a dozen such
hearts as belong to the ordinary man of pleasure, and man
of money, and man of philosophy, and to set the upper and
nether mill-stones in them a-working. The loss of Mis-
solunghi, a friend of his who was at Florence at the time
444 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
told me, made him ill for a fortnight. “He ought to have
been more resigned, some respectable man would say at
hearing this. Perhaps, sir, he ought: perhaps he felt too
much : but what shall we say then of those who felt too
little, who felt nothing? what shall we say of the tens and
hundreds of thousands of Englishmen who did not eat a
mouthful of toast, or drink a spoonful of tea the less, for
hearing of the subversion of a Christian fortress, and the
destruction of its heroic garrison by hordes of barbarous
unbelievers? And what I so strongly feel is, that while our
estimate of ourselves must be the strict standard of the
Gospel, our estimate of others must be comparative. He
who feels any wrong, or cruel, or base thing more than
Others, and would go further to prevent it, must always have
my good word. And being such a one, I must continue to
value Walter Landor, while praying that the good he has
already may be improved and hallowed, and that from being
a man of men which he now is, he may be changed and
lifted into being a man of God. Doubtless, there are pas-
sages in his ‘Dialogues’ which I should wish away; and
amongst them, most of his attacks (and they are incessant
where the subject admits of them) upon Popery. I do not
like pulling and tugging at even a decayed branch of a fruit-
tree, lest the tree itself should be shaken, and some of the
fruit should drop off.”
IXII.
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD.
“A religious life is not a thing which spends itself like
a bright bubble on the river's surface. It is rather like the
river itself, which widens continually, and is never so broad or
deep as where it rolls into the ocean of eternity.”—BEECHER.
[N the summer of 1832, Miss Clinton spent a month at
Alton, where her warm affectionate interest in all that
went on made her a general favourite. With her, the
Hares had more enjoyment of the natural advantages of
their home than they had ever yet done, making many
pleasant little excursions in the “Dull carriage,” or long
rambles amongst the Downs, taking “Jack” the pony,
and riding it alternately, and then stopping to sketch.
During these expeditions, Miss Clinton’s vivid perception
of the beauties of nature, and her power of seizing and
making the most of the picturesque and interesting points
which even the dullest landscape affords, seemed to open a
new world to them.
In the middle of August, Miss Clinton returned to
London, and a few days after, the Hares left home to join
Mr. and Mrs. O. Leycester, and be their guests at Tenby,
instead of the annual visit to Stoke. When they reached
446 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Swansea, after a very stormy passage from Clifton, they
found the cholera raging there. In the next house to the
inn they first went to, a number of people lay dead and
dying, and the friends, not allowed to enter the doors by
the town regulations, were standing in an agony outside,
waiting for news. To their relief, they found, after some
hours, that the hotel where the Leycesters expected them
was in another part of the town, and they moved thither;
and the following day, by carriage to Tenby. Cholera was
at that time supposed to be exceedingly contagious: the
favourite remedy was a glass of port wine, with twenty drops
of laudanum, to be taken on the first symptom.
The remembrance of the summer at Tenby was always a
source of peculiar pleasure to my dearest mother, because
she thought that when they were together there, her father
first learnt to appreciate and love her husband, to whose
marriage with his daughter he had given a most reluctant
consent, and with whom he had never got beyond a mere
outside acquaintance, during the short summer visits at
Stoke. She greatly rejoiced in the sensation which was
created in the little town, whenever her husband preached
in Tenby Church, as an opportunity of showing her father
and Mrs. Oswald Leycester how much he was appreciated
by others. And for herself, the summer was filled with days
of entire enjoyment, spent in rambling with him amongst
the rocky coves, sketching in their caverns, or in longer ex-
cursions to Pembroke, and Carew, and to Manobeer, where
Augustus cut his name, and that of his Mia upon the ruin,
and declared that if she were taken from him he should
return to live there as a hermit, as the most utterly desolate
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 447
place that he knew. Each day's companionship increased
the delight which they derived from each other, and their
entire unity already began to make their friends tremble as
to what the effect of any separation might be upon the One
who was left. This was peculiarly the case with Lucy
Stanley. Speaking of the life which the Parrys (see page
228) were now leading at Tahlee, in Australia, she wrote
at this time:—
L. A. S. to M. H.
“Their happiness so much resembles yours. The foun-
dation is the same—the Oneness of mind, the Sunny view,
ever seeing the bright side of things; and if Bella is en-
trusted in her children with the one blessing withheld from
you, she has to set against it, in her anticipations of the
future, the thought that this is probably the most peaceful
spot of her whole life, as from the very nature of his pro-
fession and character, it is unlikely that he will sit down
idly even by the happiest domestic hearth, as long as there
is anything to be done in the service of his country. You,
darling, have a ‘happy warrior,’ whose arms you may help to
brighten, and who is most at his post when by the side of
his own ‘wifie,’ and in the midst of his people. May God
bless you all four, and long continue to others the happiness
of rejoicing in yours.”
M. H.’s Journal (“The Green Book”).
“Zenóy, Søf. 23, 1832.—Why is it that ruins of old build-
ings, independently of their picturesque effect to the eye,
interest and please us so much P May it not be that they
form a link between God's works and man's, having by time
and the operations of nature become harmonized, softened,
and in some sort likened to rocks and picturesque objects
'448 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
of natural beauty, whilst retaining the associations of former
animate life P awakening within us imaginations of what has
been, and calling up those feelings of sympathy for times
gone by, and people who have lived before us, which in the
ordinary course of life are altogether put aside. The sus-
picion and jealousy with which a pious mind perhaps is
inclined to look at the works of mere man's creation, is
here lulled to sleep, by the approach which such remains of
former glory seem to make to works fresh from the
Almighty hand. There is none of the hardness, the limita-
tion, and the consideration of worldly interest, visible in the
broken fragments left, which in a complete building fit for
present use seems to draw the mind only to earth and its
Cares and pursuits. All harsh lines are done away, and the
roof of open sky seems to connect the perishing materials
of earth with the hopes of heaven. God's finger seems to
have been at work here, no less in causing the decay of
human art, than it appears elsewhere in the formation and
arrangement of what are styled AWature's works, and
wherever that finger is clearly visible, then one is inclined
to admire in adoration. If we looked deeper into things,
doubtless we should oftener trace that finger; but we are
very much influenced by external things, and look not
within : else how much should we find to glorify God in,
from the works of man proceeding as they do from the
most glorious work of God, the mind of man.”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“ Zenby, August 29, 1832.-Whilst you are enjoying the
rocks and waves in your bays at Penrhos, I am delighting
in them here. Our large drawing-room has a balcony Over-
hanging a little garden; the said garden has steps imme-
diately leading to the rocks, over which at high water the
waves eddy and rush just as they do on yours; and at low
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 449
water there are delightful sands for a couple of miles all
along the shore. There are the ruins of an old castle on a
promontory forming one side of the Bay of Tenby; and
the rocks on the other are beautiful in colour and form.
Then on the other side of the Castle rock, where we are
situated, we have the open sea before us, with a very fine
rocky island called St. Catharine's close to the shore, and
many caverns amongst the rocks, which are at the base of
the houses. There are a great many people here, but they
are not in one's way; and if the weather becomes fine, we
shall find many a snug seat amongst the rocks and little
bays or on the old ruins. I never saw a sea-place I thought
so enjoyable or beautiful in itself as this, uniting so many
advantages.”
“Sepf. 9.—Our days here pass by so quickly. How I
should like to have had you by me last night as cloud after
cloud, black and heavy as pitchy night herself, sailed over
the beautiful moon, which from under them all shone SO
bright in the Sea. . . . . Our Sunday temple for this
evening has been amongst the rocks, watching ‘the mighty
waves of the Sea,’ as they came rolling up, one bigger than
another, or dashing with their white curling foam over the
rocks. They are now still raging and fuming below our
windows, and the moonshine is sparkling most brightly on
the wide sea beyond; but I will take my eyes off to talk
with the dear Luce whose heart has doubtless this day, with
ours, been raised up in grateful adoration to Him ‘who is
mightier than the noise of many waters.' We have not
hitherto had much stormy weather on our side the coast,
and it is one advantage of this place that one may always
go to a calm or a windy shore as one pleases, by choosing
opposite sides of the town. There is not a great deal to
See in the neighbourhood, which I rejoice in ; for I grudge
the time not spent amongst the rocks and caverns here, and
VOL. I. G G
45o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
I find endless subjects for drawing. We have been to see
one old castle, Manobeer, and Augustus was so delighted
with its lonely situation, he settled how if he lost me, he
should like to fit up a couple of rooms and spend two or
three years there, with no other companions than his books
and the sea-gulls. He has hitherto been occupied since we
Came, chiefly in transcribing his Visitation Sermon for the
press, and he makes himself very happy here: his delight
in the waves and rocks is quite as great as mine, I think,
and we enjoy seeing this fine scenery, the first we ever saw
together.”
“Aath, Sept. 28.—A Quakeress came with us in the
packet from Tenby to Bristol, and I had a great deal of
Conversation with her. She was a druggist's wife, but we
should never have detected any lowness of origin from her
conversation : it was so sensible and full of love that all
want of polish seemed done away. She told me so much
of their discipline and modes of proceeding, and gave me
some of William Penn's tracts. The gratitude she expressed
for my talking so much to her, and the over-estimate she
had formed of me during our voyage, quite humbled me.
I wish I could tell you all our conversation. She said her
heart yearned towards me from the first, when I sat near
her in the packet, long before I spoke.”
L. A. S. to M. H.
“Aenrhos, Oct. 3, 1832.-Welcome back to Alton, my
Darling. In your “goings out and comings in ' I follow you
in spirit very closely. If you saw how I read your letters
over and over again,_in the house,_in the tower,-On the
rocks,—you would think they were well bestowed. . . . .
I am now come up into my tower for the morning, -a wild
stormy day, with driving rain, and break up of the summer
weather. I have just read the chapter for the day, and I
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 451
hope you have done the same ; I like to think the same
verse may perhaps be encouragement and comfort to each,
though in a different way. The verse I stopped at just now
was, ‘and He saw them toiling in rowing, for the wind was
contrary to them.’ It has been my case lately; though out-
wardly our sea may look Smooth, and the temptations and
hindrances be such as the world cannot understand, we
may nevertheless be “toiling very hard,' feeling the wind to
be so contrary, we Scarcely make any way at all. And then,
if the winds from without lull a little, a heavy ground-swell
from within comes on, and the poor vessel almost forgets it has
'an Anchor ready, and a Haven worth all “toiling’ to attain.
“There is no verse in the whole Bible that again and again
comes to me with such support as—“Be of good cheer; it is
J; be not afraid. And He went unto them into the ship,
and the wind ceased.’ Who ever followed Christ, and
could not say, Yes, many times He has come into my ship,
and the wind has ceased, whether it came from ‘fightings
without,' or from “fears within P’
“Last Sunday but one I went to my “Chapel on the
Rocks,' and when I came to the end of the Epistle, I saw under
it written, ‘Alton, Sept. 4, 1831,” the last dear Sunday I spent
there last year, and I shut my eyes to see that little church,
and that blessed and beautiful countenance, and the Mia by
my side, and the naughty School-children, and the old
attentive faces; and then I opened them again on the
broad blue sea before me, and thanked God who had given
them another year of such happiness as few of His ungrate-
ful creatures will ſet themselves enjoy, for He gives the same
materials to many.”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“Aſton A&actory once more, Ocf. 9.—The last day of the
ſine weather, Dull brought me safe home from Bath, and a
452 MEMORLALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
delightful drive it was, with the thoughts of Alton and the
dear husband before me. There he was in the Devizes
road, all ready to welcome his Mia after our three days
of separation. You may guess how joyful a Sunday ours
was, with Augustus in the pulpit, and all the listening old
men and women, in the place of fine bonnets and gay
gowns. . . . . I have a new plan which I hope will turn
out useful. It is to have a weekly meeting in Gideon's
cottage for as many mothers of families as like to come.
They are often unable to go to church, and most of them, I
suspect, too ignorant to learn much when there, and if I go
to their Cottages they are generally engaged in washing or
something unfriendly to one's doing any good. Betty Smith
seemed quite delighted with the proposal, and said she
knew many who would be glad of it. So on Thursday, at
two o'clock, I am to have the first. Perhaps the dear
Master will give us a prayer.
“I am sure there is a good in one's absence from home
and the break in one's regular duties, one returns to them
with so much greater zest, the people are disposed to be
more pleased when they have missed us much, and one
begins as it were afresh with renewed hope and energy,
feeling all the more how blessed a privilege it is to be
allowed to work together as labourers, however humble, in
the vineyard.”
“ Oct. 29.-Augustus had a most melancholy letter from
Mr. Rose the other day upon the prospects of the Church.
. . . . As far as the Church of Christ is concerned we
know that she stands on a rock not to be shaken, and, if
persecutions do arise, I doubt not many will be strengthened
and confirmed in their faith, and much latent zeal will be
drawn forth. . But for England as a nation, if through love
of wealth, or expediency, or principles of worldly economy,
such as those advocated by political economists, and nowa-
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 453
days even by women (Miss H. Martineau for instance), it
casts off that beautiful Christian edifice which has bound
together jarring interests and forced upon the people that
instruction they would in many cases be slow to seek for ;
or if, by lowering the condition of its clergy, it leaves the
higher classes to the influence of all the temptations of their
situation, without reverence for those appointed to teach
them, what will she have to answer for, and what hand but
that of a merciful God can carry us through the evils she
may expect to draw upon herself?”
M. H.’s Journal—(“The Green Book”).
“Aſton, Moz. 3.−How immediately self enters into every-
thing we think or do | If we are in the course of duty led to
any exertion, however small, we are apt to be puffed up by it,
‘I have done this,’ ‘ I ought to be thanked.’ A return of
good crop is expected from the seed Sown, and often there
arises a secret wish that others should know what has been
done. Now this is not that love ‘which seeketh not her
own,” and of all its characteristics I suspect this is the
hardest to make ours. Poor and worthless as we may feel
ourselves in the abstract, or when comparing ourselves with
the standard of Truth, I fear in particulars, in the detail of
our lives, we are but rarely conscious how little we are.
And why is this? Because ‘we Compare and measure our.
selves by ourselves,’ that is by others weak as ourselves and
who may do less. And even this would not be so unfair a
rule as we make it, if our imaginations would only invest our
fancied inferiors with the advantages and trusts committed
to us, and suppose what they would do then. But we take
people as they are, with all the circumstances of their rela-
tive positions unallowed for, and Compare our own doings
with theirs, and take credit to ourselves for the contrast,
without bearing in mind that our talents may have been
454 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
five and theirs one. And truly it is an awful thought to
consider that God's justice must weigh the means vouch-
Safed to his creatures in the balance with their attainments
when we think what those means have been to us, how
singularly great and numerous, whilst the hindrances have
been so few ; and when, further, the nothingness and weak-
ness of our return is estimated without being held up by
the self-delusion of our own hearts. -
“‘In all reforms I would cut off all abuses that cling
round an institution as far as possible, but take care to pre-
serve the principle unimpaired, and to restore it to its
original use. In constitutions, as in individuals, what suits
one will not suit another, and the true wisdom is to perfect
the one you have, and not seek to substitute another that
may not adapt itself as well to the different circumstances
of the case.’ This, or something like it, Augustus answered
to my question of how far one ought to concede in such
matters as Reform. It requires, however, more skill and
penetration than falls to the lot of many to define the exact
limits of that principle—how much is the essentia/part, that
root which may not be touched, how much the accidents
that may safely be pruned away. The moment a wound is
inflicted on a vital part, the animated being droops, withers,
and at last dies; but so nearly is that vital part connected
with members not vital, that till the consequence follows,
the nature of that wound may be unknown.”
L. A. S. to M. H.
“Alderſey, Moz. 19, 1832.-I have such constant delight
in ‘Valehead Rectory,’ to which I have recourse again and
again, when my thoughts grow downwards, from mixture
with this most earthly earth. The poetry is beautiful, after
long acquaintance, and I never close the book without
having gained some of the feeling for which I opened it.
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 455
• Valehead Rectory' always seems to me in prose what the
• Christian Year’ is in poetry, and what Augustus is in
human nature.”
“AVoz. 30, 1832.- ... Since I came back I have been
reading much in the works of the holy and beloved Leigh-
ton. I never can read many pages of him, and think of
anything else, which I can do, most unhappily, with most
others. He is so truly the essence of the Bible, and raises
one gently above the earth, and the view of one's own sin-
ful self, to the full contemplation of the high standard we
are aiming at. Dear old Jeremy always keeps me too much
in contemplation of the extreme ugliness of sin, and I think
I can get away from it most easily by fixing my eye on the
“Beauty of Holiness;' but both together—Leighton and Tay-
lor—would be a religious library sufficient for any Christian
who did not live in the fifteenth century.”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“A/fon, ZXec. 22, 1832.-I hope this may reach you on
Christmas Day, that it may bring us more forcibly to your
mind's eye, join us more earnestly in your prayers, and
communicate to you something of that share of joy we
shall be feeling with you, in the coming again of that
blessed season. It is a comfort to think that others are
feeling it with us, and that Christmas is to many a quiet
hidden soul bringing its glad tidings, not the less surely
because it is, alas, in these times, only in secret that the
real joy can often be felt. It is, indeed, sad to think that
in a Christian Country, and uniting as most do in Christian
worship, this should be so—that the Name uppermost in
our hearts should not be allowed to pass our lips, and that
the rea/ Cause for rejoicing is the one that cannot be even
hinted at. But we must not turn to the sadder side. Let
us rather think of the many thousands who have, by the
456 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
first coming of this day, been turned from darkness into
light, and of the peace and comfort to our own hearts
springing up with the assurance of ‘a Saviour which is Christ
the Lord '—that He who thought it not beneath Him to lie
in a manger, and be subject to infant weakness and human
suffering, is now mediating for those whom He has re-
deemed—watching over their struggles, and sending His
Spirit to guide and to help them, more powerfully than
when on earth He comforted his apostles by words and
deeds. It is, I do believe, our little faith which chains
down our thoughts to the mournful recollection of our own
weakness, instead of leading them upwards to forget our-
selves in the adoration of our Lord and Master, and which
so prevents our feeling our hearts burning within us, and
makes us serious instead of glad. When, however, we see
how little there is of Peace on Earth, no wonder if we are
often sad ; and these days of political excitement are more
especially unfavourable to it. We do feel most thankful to
be out of reach of it altogether. -
“Yesterday, being St. Thomas's Day (on which Lady
Jones always gave her gifts), the blankets were given out,
and Augustus was as happy as you can fancy him being,
calling the people in, one by one. We lend them till
Easter, and they are most thankful. Truly my path lies
through green pastures; my only grief is that I am so little
thankful, that I do not love Him more who pours upon me
such abundance of earthly comforts. God bless our dear
Luce.”
L. A. S. to M. H. (during an illness of Augustus).
“ Z)ec. 31, 1832.-I cannot help the abiding conviction
that here all will end well. Klopstock lost his Meta, and
George Herbert's wife was left early a widow ! Still it is
perhaps a great comfort when we feel that sanguine hope,
THE SHA DOW OF THE CLOUD. 457
though we cannot always give a reason for it. When the
rod falls, we bow beneath it, and meekly and fervently love
on. We shall not, shall we, be worse off, for having
hoped that in Our case the cup may for a while pass by,
though we know there is no reason why it should. Your
Christian letters come to me like angel-songs, from a brighter
and purer world. Yesterday I wrote you a long letter, and
burnt it to-day, because I thought it discontented, Oh! if
we could but remember that our Master's eye is never off
us, that He saw His disciples “toiling in their ships,’ though
they knew it not.
“You and I must feel somewhat differently at the close
of a year, though in much together. I shake hands joyfully
with the old friend, and hail the new one, as a step nearer
Aſome, not, I trust, with a morbid feeling—I can never be
unhappy in this life ; but the very thought of what is called
Death is a sensation of joy to me, which none but you can
understand, and you perhaps hardly yet. I do earnestly
hope the feeling is not a presumptuous one, still when I
am happiest the feeling never varies, though hardly does it
bear putting into words. And it is now on the stroke of
twelve ; in a few minutes the old year will have passed
away. God bless you, my dear ones, and may the close of
every year find us with our lamps burning, that if our Lord
calls us, we may not fear to follow Him. What a thought it
is—that to any one of us, this next year may be the entrance
into eternity
“The church bells have just struck up, and they are
ringing in the New Year; the hand of my clock is on the
twelve. At this moment our prayers may be ascending
together to the throne of Grace. Almighty and Blessed
God, Father, Saviour, and Comforter in one, bless us and
keep us through the year just opened on us, guide us
with Thy counsel, strengthen us with Thy might, and after-
458 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE,
wards receive us into glory. To Thee, O God our Saviour,
be all glory, majesty, dominion, and power, both now and
ever, Amen.”
In the autumn of 1832, after he had taken possession of
the Living of Hurstmonceaux, and had given directions for
the addition of several rooms to the house, Julius Hare set
out for Italy with his friends Worsley and Landor, visiting
Holland and many parts of Germany on the way. Almost
all the interesting letters in which he described his travels
and his first impressions of Rome to his brother Augustus
were unhappily destroyed by Mrs. Julius Hare. Scarcely
any memorial of this journey remains but his letters to hia
brother Francis :—
Julius HARE to FRANCIS HARE.
“Augsburg, Oct. 27, 1832.-It is a month .to-morrow
since we (that is, Landor, Worsley, and I) left London : we
saw the great Netherlandish towns, and the treasures they
contain, pretty well ; spent a couple of days at Bonn, one
at Frankfort, and another most delightful One at Nurem-
burg, which we all agreed in admiring above all the towns
we have ever seen. Landor says Rome is nothing to be
compared to it in point of beauty and interest.”
“Vicenza, AVov. 15.-. . . . We have been seeing much,
especially in the way of pictures, though of course rather too
rapidly: and both Landor and Worsley have been most
delightful and instructive companions. At Munich the
Gallery was closed; but we saw the Glyptotheca, Schliessheim,
and Schelling, who, now that Goethe and Niebuhr are gone,
is without a rival the first man of the age,_I know not who
is the second. We had three glorious days at Venice, that is,
THE SHADOW OF THE CI.O.UD. 459
in the picture way, for it rained the whole time. Our last
morning we employed in buying. Landor got a Schiavone
for himself, and, with inimitable skill in bargaining, a
beautiful marriage of St. Catherine by Giovanni da Udine,”
and an exquisitely lovely head of St. Cecilia (a Perugino, or
early Raphael–Landor inclines to think the latter) for me,
for a hundred louis, so that Hurstmonceaux will again
bear witness to the family love for the arts. This morning
we spent at Padua. What magnificent relics there are
there ! The hall must have been the finest room in the
world, as large, to judge by the eye, as Westminster Hall,
and covered with paintings by Giotto, Mantegna, and other
mighty painters. What a place, too, is the chapel of the
Eremitani. Giotto seems clearly to be, with perhaps the
single exception of Raphael, the greatest genius that painting
has yet seen, at least in the modern world.”
“Aſiesole, Dec. II.-Here at Florence, from being at Lan,
dor's villa, I have not been able to do as much as I might
otherwise have done. But I have learnt to worship Raphael
more devoutly and reverentially than ever, and I have seen
the Niobe. Many other admirable things, too, have come
across me. Pietro Perugino is divine, but the picture at
Bologna is still lovelier and heavenlier than any here. In
Fra Bartolomeo I am disappointed, his drapery is mostly
the best part of his pictures: in the famous St. Mark it
is the only good one : the expression is bad. The Job
seems to me poor, the Isaiah miserable. In single figures, he,
as far as design goes, is a thousand degrees below Correggio,
the four Evangelists on the cartoons for his frescoes are
the sublimest single figures I ever saw. The Resurrection,
in the Pitti, is very magnificent; and perhaps, however,
* There was a replica of this picture exhibited at Burlington House, in
the Loan Exhibition of 1871, where it was attributed to Marco Basaiti,
I470–1520,
460 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
I should have thought better of him, but that Landor had
led me to expect something almost equal to Raphael.
The Fra Angelicos in S. Marco, are exquisitely beautiful.
John of Bologna, too, is a very great man, though I think,
in spite of Landor, very inferior in genius to Michael
Angelo ; and to place him above Phidias and Praxiteles
seems to me to be utter nonsense. The Mercury is a
singularly agile figure, but not a god, unless it be a
dieu de la danse. The Rape of the Sabines and the Nessus
seem to me to be much too violent for sculpture, with
too many projecting points. His Oceanus, however, and
still more his Neptune at Bologna, are very grand. What
a grievous thing it is that Michael had not a little of
Raphael's meekness, and was not content with doing a
thing most beautifully, unless he could astound and amaze.
His Madonna and Child at Bruges is worthy of Raphael;
his angel at Bologna is as lovely and angelic as any of
Perugino's ; and yet he could paint that monstrous and
anatomical abortion in the Tribune. He is almost always
grand however, and full of genius: every time I walk
before the Palazzo Vecchio, I am struck with awe by his
David, and nothing can be more solemn and majestic than
his Giulio de' Medici, and the four figures at the feet of the
monumentS.
“Atome, Dec. 20.-We just arrived here in time to take one
walk round St. Peter's before the zenzi-guaſtro. The general
effect of the exterior seems to me much less fine than St.
Paul's : the dome does not harmonize well with the flat
roof beneath it. But the dome itself, the Colonnade, and
the interior, are unrivalled. Our sitting-room, in the Via
di Monte Brianzo, looks down upon the Tiber, and over
it to the Castle of St. Angelo, the Mont Mario, and St.
Peter’s.
We were greatly delighted at Siena by the admirable
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 461
Raphael and Pinturicchio frescoes, and by one of the
most beautiful Peruginos in the world. The three Sienese
painters are by no means ordinary personages, at least,
Razzi and Pacchierotto are often very great : Beccafumi
seemed to us very inferior to his two compeers. We
found a beautiful Pierino del Vaga too, though sadly dis-
figured by dirt, and a number of other good pictures, at the
house of a Cavaliere Brillanti.
“ Zwelfth ZXay, 1833.−Many happy returns of the day to
you. This always used in old times to be a festive day
with us ; and I wish circumstances had allowed of our
spending it together. Your children, I trust, are brought
up, as we were, with a due veneration for the Befana: she
seems to be nearly as worthy an object of worship as many
that find votaries here. We do not seem to make much
way through the map of materials before us: on the contrary,
the horizon seems to widen as we advance. Hitherto,
however, holidays and religious ceremonies have stood a
good deal in our way: but the puppet-show at Ara Coeli
to-day has given us our fill of the latter, and the next, I hope,
will be a clear week, without any obstacle or interruption.
Yesterday, we spent the morning at the Borghese, but
only got through four rooms, and even those incompletely :
for when there is leisure, we find it much more profitable
to see few pictures at once, and study them, and discuss
them, and try to make out the characteristics of the
master's style. What a superb collection it is though even
in it are evidently some misnomers, and Sassoferrato has
the post of honour, when there are twenty greater painters
in the room. The Garofalo's there, at the Doria, and at
the Sciarra (the two landscapes in the best Venetian style),
have given me a much higher notion of him than I had
formed before : Surely many of the numberless monotonous
repetitions of the same conventional heads in the small
462 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
pictures fathered upon him, must be by his scholars. The
colouring is always good : indeed in this respect the Ferrara
school come near to the Venetian : but very often they
have little merit besides. Your old favourite, Dosso Dossi,
is multitudinous and of all sizes at Modena : but there did
not seem to be much in him. The early Peruginesque
unfinished Raphael at the Borghese is, I suppose, an his-
torical picture. But I should be inclined to doubt whether
the portrait said to be of himself in his youth by himself,
is either one or the other. That by Timoteo della Vite
is a very interesting picture: his beautiful Magdalene at
ſBologna had taught me to admire him. Raphael's Deposi-
tion is certainly a most beautiful and Sublime picture ; but
I think the Germans go too far in calling it his finest work.
The Spasimo, so far as one can judge from Trochi's fine
engraving, seems to be so, or at all events to stand by the
side of the Sistine Madonna. In the Deposition the central
figure of the corpse-bearer, which people praise for its
muscular strength, seems to me a grievous fault. Rubens
may make his Crucifixion an occasion for displaying nerves
and thews; but Raphael was too heavenly for such things.”
To A. W. H.
“Rome, Day of the Purification.— .... I rejoiced when I
left England in the thought that, till I returned thither, I
should not see another proof-sheet ; and lo, they are threat-
ening to pour in upon me of all places in the world here in
Rome. Here in Rome, where one has so many better ways
of spending one's time; where authorship seems to be the
last thought that ever enters anybody's head, I seem to be
fated to publish, and of all things in the world, a sermon.
I preached the Sunday before last, and, to suit my sermon
to the time and place, took, ‘What went ye out into the
wilderness to see?” for my text, and the evils and dangers
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. . 463
of living abroad for my subject; and, as I had resolved,
followed your example in scolding the misbehaviour in the
churches. But you know people rather like to be scolded,
at least, when the scolding comes from the pulpit, and is
not immediately personal. Vehement preachers have
always been popular ; and so in the following week a num-
ber of the congregation expressed, through Mr. Burgess, a
strong wish that I might be induced to print it ; and as the
applicants were personally unknown to me, I felt myself
forced to set about trying to get a papal imprimatur. The
chief said he had already heard a great deal about my
sermon, and if I would take it to him to read over, that he
might see there were no objectionable expressions, he would
be very glad to give me his license. Here the matter stands
now ; but people say if the license is granted, it will be a
great point, for that it will be the first instance of a Pro-
testant sermon printed at Rome. To make amends for the
trouble it will give me, I have had one or two very touching
expressions and thanks. Far the most delightful thing was
a note from Bunsen (the Prussian minister), who was there,
and borrowed the sermon after church, and read it into
German to his family in the evening. Next morning, before
I was dressed, I received the following note, which I send
you in the Original —
“‘Theurer Freund, erlauben Sie mir dass ich Sie mit
diesem Namen begrüsse. Ihre gestrige Predigt hat mir
bewiesen dass der Grund auf welchem unsere Verbindung
ruht, zu tief liegt um von der Sturm der Zeit berährt zu
werden; ein Grund der Gemeinschaft der Ihnen meine
Anhänglichkeit fürs Leben verbürgt, und mich mehr als je
winschen làsst ibre Freundschaft fürs Leben zu gewinnen.’
“You have heard something of Bunsen, and know that I
expected to like him very much. I like him far more than
I expected, and hardly know any man who unites so many
464 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
high merits, without, so far as I can see, a single defect.
He is one of the friendliest, most amiable, liveliest, most
sensible, best informed, most entertaining of human beings,
Overflowing with kindness, good humour, with high spirits,
most actively and unweariedly benevolent; and I have
never discovered the least spark of ill-nature in him, or of
selfishness, or of vanity, though we are constantly together.
Over and above everything else, he is a man of the strong-
est, purest, most fervent piety. Circumstances have in
some degree given another turn to his studies, else his own
bias would have been to devote himself entirely to religion.
Even as it is, he has done a great deal. He has made a
collection of German hymns, a large octavo volume that he
has selected from above eighty thousand. He is engaged,
too, in publishing a complete collection of Christian litur-
gies, and has made great researches in all ages of the
Christian Church for this purpose. Nay, he has himself
printed a liturgy for his own chapel here, drawn in great
measure from ours, or rather from the same sources; but it
differs from ours in some very important points, and I
think mostly for the better. The German Protestant chapel
itself, too, is entirely his creation, and has been of very
great advantage, among other things, by having put a stop
to the conversions which had previously been so frequent
among the German artists. . . . .
“As for Rome, dear Rome, it seems as if I had seen
nothing of it; and yet I have seen more than in all the
other towns I ever was in put together—more objects of
love and of thought. It will be a great grief to me to leave
her with the thought that I am never to see her again : yet
it will be a great happiness to have seen her, and having
been seen, she will become a part of sight.”
THE SHADow of THE CLOUD. 465
M. H.’s Journal—(“The Green Book”).
“January 14, 1833.−A new year ! To how many is it
nothing but an old one ; new in nothing but its name, old
in the strengthening of all former propensities; old in indo-
lent habits; old in time wasted or misused. The point is
to ascertain how much it is wise to retain of the old, how
much ought to become new. Perhaps in these days there
is more danger of casting off too much of the old than there
is of neglecting to adopt the new. Change is the Cry of
the day, and though the new may only be what is old, new-
cast and under a new form, still there is the restless desire
for change, and the extravagant hope that all good is to be
effected and all evil done away by such a re-modelling of
things. But I am led away from my first idea, which was
rather a practical and moral one—to consider within our-
selves how the fresh stage of life ought to be a new one in
its most useful sense. Now it seems to me a clear principle
of Christ that we should never stand still—never feel satis-
fied we are doing enough ; else why have we a model before
us of perfection we never can reach, if it be not to stimulate
us onwards, leading us on step by step, and ever keeping
before us a point yet further to be attained, both to keep us
humble and excite us to action? Each year, then, should
be a stage of advance in our own souls, by a growth in
Christian grace and a weakening of natural corruption, and
also an advance in the work we are called to, whatever that
work may be.
“When I look back on the mercies of the past year, how
ashamed and humbled do I feel to think how my heavenly
Father has watched over, preserved, and blessed me, and
how little I have given Him in return—how little of love—
how little of prayer—how little of service Yet let me hope
it has not been altogether in vain; that some few seeds of
good have been sown though there ought to have been an
VOL. I. H. H.
466 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
abundance of them ; that some few feelings have been
strengthened and realised, though many have been sluggish.
Alas ! how much readier we are to dwell upon the few
miserable little grains of wheat in the year than to seek out
and mourn over the harvest of tares How much more
willingly my mind turns to the hope that I have acquired
more power of realising to myself the constant presence of
God my Saviour, than it does to the more certain fact of
how often I have failed in trusting and believing—how little
I have shown my sense of His presence. . . . .
. . . “One thing I am very sensible of in the past
year—-a great increased perception of the variance between
the principles of the world and those of the Bible. The
having so constantly before my eyes in our retired ſtfe and
parochial duties the higher views of Christianity, and the
reading so much more than I used to do of theological
books, and so much less of worldly publications, has
quickened my perception of the difference, so as to strike
me forcibly, either when mixing with others or reading the
literature of the day. But perhaps I leave out the chief
cause—the living with one whose whole life is based on
Scripture principles, and whose whole thoughts and practice
are alike resting on that sure basis.
“How little am I duly thankful for such privileges and
blessings as God has bestowed on me, in my situation and
in my most precious husband, with whom I have been
allowed three years of such uninterrupted happiness. Oh,
may I be more grateful, more loving, more faithful to Him
who gives me all His best gifts in such abundance, and may
He bless them to us both, so that we may be yearly more
devoted to His service, and more earnest in our calling,
not forgetting, whilst we strive to better others, that we, too,
have a great work begun which has to be perfected, and for
which we must not cease to watch and pray !”
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 467
IM. H. to C. S.
“Aſton, Jan. 5, 1833.−Our New Year's Day was a very
happy one. After church prayers (which we have on all
saints' days and occasional services), the Sunday School,
fifty-six in number, assembled in the barn to receive their
prizes for their tickets. I invited the Piles and Miss
Miller to see, and whilst I sat at one end with the list
of names, &c., Augustus gave to each, as called, his or
her packet, consisting of the sum for their tickets, made out
in Scissors, work-bags, books, handkerchiefs, stockings, &c.
Being the first reward-day they have ever had, of course
it was thought the more of. We made them a speech, and
then they begged to sing a hymn the mistress had taught
them to surprise me, and away they went. The school-
master, mistress, the clerk, Gideon and his wife, and our
old cook, came to eat beef and plum-pudding with our
servants, and did not seem least pleased with Mr. Hare's
going to drink their healths, and wish them a happy new
year afterwards.”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“Jan. 6, 1833.−The beginning of another year of life
does indeed seem overflowing with thoughts and feelings,
mercies past for which we cannot feel grateful enough, and
opportunities to come for which no prayer nor faith seems
sufficiently strong. Last year we began the year with cholera
impending over our heads, revolution threatening us. Now
we are mercifully freed from one evil, and the other is at
least for a time removed to a distance. Still so weak is
my faith, that I am afraid I look back with greater pleasure
than forward. And yet the same God and Saviour who has
been with us through the one will no less surely be near us
through the other, and overrule all things for good. You
468 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and I must, of course, feel differently on some things; and I
can only for myself personally desire to have a continuance
of present happiness, with greater earnestness and zeal in
making use of the great privileges I now enjoy. Still, blest
as I am, Could Augustus and I both leave the world to-
gether, I should look forward to the moment of entrance
into eternity, where sin does not dwell, as a moment to be
humbly wished for. As it is, since one may be taken and the
other left, we can but resign ourselves wholly into our Mas-
ter's hands, and entreat him to make our will one with His.”
“/an. 21.-Let me tell you of Augustus's first attempt at
what in Wickliffe's time was called Postilling. It was luckily
the 41st of Isaiah last Sunday morning, such a fine chapter,
and his exposition was so plain, being extempore and from
the desk, that I think many must have hearnt much. He
prefaced it by telling them how Scripture used to be thus
explained till man perverted the practice, and that was
no reason its advantage should be now lost, after so many
years. He told them a good deal about the nature of the
Prophecy, and the different senses it bore, and the diffi-
culties attaching to it, and how its perfect completion was
probably not yet come. I suppose it was quite as long as a
sermon, and the people were most attentive. We had the
real sermon, as usual, in the evening.”
“Aeb. 2.- . . . I am so glad that accident has brought
A. and C. together again. All my observation has always
confirmed me in my belief, that half our harsh and un-
charitable judgments of others would be removed could we
but look into the windings of their hearts, and See all they
had to contend with, and how much more of wheat lay
beneath the tares than we should outwardly guess. . . . .
It is well, perhaps, that we differ in some points, for I am
afraid you are inclined to set us up far too high on your
shelf. The many little rubs of opinion which would occur
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 469
in living together, do not arise in absence, and only what
we have in common comes out ; so that in thinking of us,
you are too apt to associate all that you delight in, and not
to feel .that were you here, perhaps you might find many
things you would not agree in or altogether approve.”
L. A. S. to M. H.
“ . . . The next time I clear out the ‘Chambers of
Imagery,' I will examine well and see whether there is any
foundation for the accusation, that I put you on too high
a shelf. I think it is just possible ; but as I shall probably
be absent nine months for once during our lives, you will
allow it must be better ſor one's growth to be always lifting
up one's head to a shelf above, rather than stooping to look
on one below ; and it is in your power, you know, dearest,
to make this mistake, if it be one, useful to you, and equally
so to me. Let it make you aim high ; strive to be all in
absence I ſancy you are. Whichever of us be foremost in
the race, let the other “urge her with their advancing tread '
(St. Andrew's Day, ‘Christian Year”). Remember you have a
great advantage in being allowed the privilege given to the
‘Herald Saints of old,’ going forth by two and two ;
whereas some are those in the situation of the poor man
(Luke viii.), who, when he had been cured, and had once
heard the voice and seen the Countenance of His blessed
Master, pleaded hard to remain with Him, but was refused
with that striking answer, ‘Return to thy house.” Christ
will not always let us remain close to Him. He sends us
away to work in a corner of the vineyard, where there are
perhaps few who can join in our song. He will see
whether our love is true, and is it not enough to make us
work on, and joyfully, when we do know that the Master's
eye is ever on us, though we see it not.”
470 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
M. H. to L. A. S.
“Aeb. 9, 1833.−Yesterday, about three o'clock, your poor
friend Mary Browne breathed her last, and I trust exchanged
her sorrowing and weak earthly tabernacle for ‘the Con-
queror's song.' I was with her about ten minutes before the
end, when she was perfectly sensible, and knew me as I
stood beside the bed. She lifted up her hand when I
uttered a prayer for her, and muttered with her lips, but
could scarcely articulate. Her cough has been very bad for
some time, but there was no change to excite any alarm till
a few days ago, when she took to her bed, and has not been
up since. From the last Sunday I thought she would
scarcely get up again, and, as you may guess, have been
every day to read to her, but a dying-bed admits in most
cases of but little spiritual assistance. I have in the last
year attended four, and certainly the impression left by all
has been how little in general a person in so great a state of
bodily suffering is capable of thought or attention to the
concerns of their souls, more especially amongst the poor, to
whom mental exertion is at all times so difficult. With
respect to poor Mary, all that she was able to bear or follow
was select verses such as she knew before, and chiefly
ejaculatory ones out of the Psalms, and the hymn of which
you sent her two verses, which she knew quite well. I hope
and believe her mind was more at peace for the last two
days than she had been previously, and she expressed her
readiness to go and trust that she would be happy, while
still lifting up her heart in prayer and beseeching that for-
giveness of which she so much felt the need. . . . . To me
there is a feeling quite beyond describing in standing beside
one hovering between this world and the next as she was
yesterday; seeing the struggle of the earthly frame, and
knowing that the spirit, still alive to visible things, will in a
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 47 I
short time have fled to-where—we know not : that in so brief
a moment all that is invisible and unknown to us is before
her ; that she whom one has so long taught in heavenly
things will know so infinitely more than we do. She knew
Augustus, and fixed her eyes on him as he prayed by her
very earnestly. He went up the hill, and returned a quarter
of an hour after, and all was over. She has so long been an
object of interest, that it seems quite a blank to think one
shall never see her sitting in the chimney-corner again, or
have to cheer her sad grey eye with the blessed promises of
Scripture. Hers was a very extraordinary case. I cannot
quite make it out; but latterly I have rarely adverted to her
own feelings, thinking it better to lead them forward than
allow of retrospect; so that I cannot exactly say how she
felt, but not I think till the last two days essentially different
from what you remember her. There was then more of
resignation than of joy or hope I think, but I am satisfied
there was much of bodily infirmity in her, and I always
think of her in the seventy-eighth Psalm—‘Will the Lord
cast off for ever,’ &c., “and I said this is my infirmity.’
“I am always so struck by the different ways of consider-
ing death, and the light and indifferent tone in which it is
spoken of by those people to whom it ought really to be a
subject of terror, one should suppose they looked on it
as they would on that of an animal, to hear it spoken of as
it is by many; but the fact is that what is beyond is to
them no reality, but so vague an impression, it exercises no
influence over their ordinary modes of thinking and speak-
ing. How can one be thankful enough for the glorious
hope held out to us, for the privilege of knowing and feeling
the truth !”
“Aeb. 12.-Your letter to poor Mary Browne must have
been written nearly at the time she was breathing her last
in this world. On Monday I took it, and with the Master
472 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFF.
went to find John Browne, who was at work in our field,
and there, getting under shelter from the high wind, read
(with some difficulty, I confess) your letter to him. He said
it was a beautiful letter, turning away his face that we might
not see his tears, and put it in his pocket, and I promised
to go and read it to him again some day when he was at
dinner, that Polly might hear it. . . . . I fully intended to
have gone to the funeral, and was ready waiting for it, when
so violent a storm of rain and thunder came on just at the
time that I could not go ; but I saw them from the window,
and thought how poor Mary's spirit was rejoicing perhaps,
instead of entering the church as on former occasions cast
down and disquieted within her. Only one Sunday before
the last she was in her corner at church wishing probably
for that peace which she has now entered. You cannot
think how much I seem to miss her, having for so long been
an object of interest, and her last illness was so short. . . . .
Sometimes when I look back on my Stoke life and my
feelings as M. L., I can hardly believe in my own identity.
Either that time or this appears to have been a dream, I
hardly know which, but quite as often the latter as the
former, and I have at times a very strong impression of the
time to come when the dream will be over. But in Ouſ.
brighter moments of faith, one can look forward without
trembling, with perfect confidence in that blessed Saviour
who has thus far guided us in safety, and will not, we feel
assured, leave nor forsake any who look to Him, and Him
only.” -
T. A. S. to M. H.
Alderley, Feb. 12, 1833–Poor, and yet most happy Mary
Browne, I had no idea her end was So near. Every night
when I have gone to bed, for the last ten days, I have
arranged my lamp so that its light might fall on the white
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 473
cottage in your picture which hangs within my bed. I little
guessed that her spirit had already fled while I was praying
that she might be comforted. How glorious a change for
her, for of her safety I trust we need have no doubts. For
you, my Mia, it must be very good to live the life you are
now leading, and twenty years more of such daily experience
in yourself and others will, I think, prove a truer and better
key to the right meaning of the seventh of Romans than
any searching into man's writings or critical examinings. . . .
My own Mia,' you know how I may say your earthly
happiness is mine, so vividly do I enjoy it with and for you;
but do you know that it is my reserved comfort to think that if
now God were to cloud over a part or even the whole of that
happiness, I could even then think of you without trembling;
and this is as much my prayer as for the continuing of that
happiness; and may that God and Saviour who has guided
you so far bless you both still, and pour into all our hearts
more and more of that most excellent gift of charity that we
may bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, and
endure all things.” .
“Aeb. 20.-There is no command oftener sounding in
my ears than this, ‘Let your light so shine before men, that
they may see your good works.” Every day I see how it
is the more necessary for the lamp to burn steadily and
brightly, for the Conduct to be consistent, uncompromising,
and gentle; for often perhaps, when a word would not be
borne, an act of ſorbearance or self-denial might be re-
membered in a cooler moment. Yet so often, when my
tree is shaken, does there often tumble down a crab, any
one might be forgiven for doubting the care and attention I
9ay to the roof. I fear, by nature, it was such an inveterate
crab, it requires a fresh graft every year to make it bear
any fruit.”
474 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
M. H.’s Journal—(“The Green Book”).
“March 4.—I seem to myself to have got a clearer notion
lately of the different steps which are attained in religious
progress, and a difficulty I have felt in reconciling what I
See with what I read in Scripture seems to be diminished.
There are two distinct classes, say the Evangelicals, those who
Serve God and those who serve Him not, and I see and
acknowledge the truth. Still one cannot look around with-
out feeling there are many who are far removed from being
indifferent or careless as to their duty—who do sincerely
desire to do it, and to a certain degree do serve God more
than the world, and yet that these same people are equally
far perhaps from that simplicity and reality of Christian
faith which makes Christ's service and his yoke a delight
and a joy to them. Now may it not be that such persons
are in fact Jews in heart and practice? Of God they have
a reverence and fear—they serve Him outwardly, they
acknowledge Him inwardly—but of love as a principle of
action they are as yet ignorant, consequently their religious
service consists in outward acts. Of Christ as a Saviour and
Mediator they rarely think, and consider the reference to
Him as the great cause of our hope and dependence, as
rather of a fanatical spirit. In such persons year passes
after year and no change is visible; the same round of duties
is performed, but the spirit which should animate them con-
tinues dormant, nor do their worldly thoughts or opinions
betray any symptoms of leavening. Of such persons it is
untrue to say that they despise Or are regardless of God; but
their service is one of fear, and their Creed scarcely less
enlightened than that of a Jew. People do not consider
what it is that distinguishes Christianity from Judaism, and
fancy themselves Christians before they have left the old
slavery of the letter and form.”
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 475
It was in March, 1833, that a bad cold, affecting the throat,
and a violent cough, formed the beginning of the illness from
which Augustus Hare never recovered. A slight paralysis
of the nerves on one side of the face caused severe bleeding
to be resorted to, which materially weakened the system.
For some weeks he was confined to the house, and his Mia
was filled with anxiety. Mrs. Stanley wrote from Alderley
urgently desiring to come and assist in nursing him ; but
to this he refused to consent, preferring that she should
postpone her visit to May, when he hoped to be well and
able to enjoy it. In April, all anxiety seemed over, and he
was able to resume his parochial duties, and delivered an
address upon his first reappearance in his little church,
which was afterwards printed in Consequence of the impres-
sion it made upon his people. During his illness they had
shown the greatest anxiety about him. “It seems as if one
of my own children was bad, not to see Mr. Hare about,”
said one ;-and when he was recovering—“I be just about
glad Mr. Hare's better, for he is a good friend to all of we.”
A. W. H. to the People of Alton (Address in Alton-Barnes Church).
“Indeed, brethren, I know not how it may have been
with you, nor whether you have missed me, during the time
I have been kept away from you : but I can truly say, that
I have missed you. I have missed the well-filled benches
near me; I have missed the familiar faces in the gallery; I
have missed the delight of praying with you, and the pleasure
of instructing you. At the season of the great festivals, and
especially during Passion Week and Easter, the spirit of the
coldest Christian is more alive than at other times. It is
impossible to hear the history of Christ's sufferings, how
He was scourged, and nailed to a cross, and left to hang
476 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
there till He died, amid the mocks and laughter of the by-
standers, it is impossible for men to hear all this with their
ears, and to have it almost brought before their eyes, and to
know that Jesus went through it all for their sakes, that they
might be forgiven, and might live, it is hardly possible for
anybody to hear ah this without having his heart burn
within him. These then are the seasons when the minister
who loves his people has most pleasure in speaking to them
and teaching them. He loves to strike while the iron is
hot, while the heart is moved and softened, in the hope that
at such a time, by God’s grace, his words may sink deeper.
And yet it was just at this particular season, when I should
so much have enjoyed being with you, that it pleased God
to affect me with sickness, to separate me for a time from
you, my people and friends. Do not suppose I murmur at
this dispensation: far from it. God knows best what means
and what instruments to employ for the conversion and in-
struction of his people. If I had been in health, you would
have been taught by me alone. As it is, you have had the
advantage of hearing different teachers; and it may be, the
words of some of them may have sunk deeper in Some minds,
and have done them more good, than anything I should have
said, if I had preached to you. If it be so, God be praised for
it! Yea, God be praised for my sickness, even if it had been
more severe, if it be the means of calling any one among you
to a knowledge of His saving will ! But still it did grieve
me much, that I could not be praying with you and teach-
ing you. Never did the little church appear more beautiful
in my eyes than on those Sundays, while I looked at it with
a melancholy pleasure, and watched you as you went into
God’s house, or returned from it. Truly, at such times, I
could well have said with David, ‘How amiable, how lovely
are thy tabernacles, thou Lord of Hosts My soul hath a
desire and longing to enter into the Courts of the Lord.’”
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUID, 477
M. H. to L. A. S.
“March 27.—“Shall we receive good and not evil at the
hands of our Father P’ Well may we feel that, bright as our
sunshine is and has been from year's end to year's end, we
may endure, and bless God that He has thought fit for a
brief space to send this cloud to overshadow our joy, and
make us more fully sensible how dependent it is upon His
good pleasure. Now, when it has pleased Him to bless the
means used and give us again a gleam of Sunshine, I begin
to feel more what a fearful dream I have been in for some
days past, and I do more fully cast myself before His
throne, who might, had He seen fit, have chastened me so
much more severely. My precious treasure looks still very
ill, and coughs sadly. Many an anxious moment yet remains
before I can feel sure that it will please his heavenly Phy-
sician to restore him to former vigour and health ; but there
is so much improvement, I indulge a hope he will be able to
bless me and his people, and do such little humble service
as he can render his Master on earth. His own mind has
never for a moment been disturbed ; it has been calm and
serene as the most peaceful lake.”
“March 28.—God be praised my mind is now at ease,
and the cloud is breaking fast and letting the Sun shine
through again.”
“April 2. — . . . I have felt during my anxiety that I
could not utter long prayers or well Connected ones; but
that my whole life was a continual prayer, and for this
reason I rejoiced to be alone. When I was not in the
room with my beloved Aug., which was only at mealtimes,
and when I went out into the garden for a short time,
I felt I was alone with Him who could help, and would
assuredly strengthen if I asked ; and though I could not feel
ready and submissive to resign all at his bidding, I did pray
478 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
most sincerely to be enabled more and more to be brought
to this, and that the present warning might in this way be
blest to us both. I am certain I was able to go on better
from having no one, no not the nearest and dearest friend
to speak to and dwell upon the circumstances when at liberty
and leisure to do so. When I was not engaged with him, it
was far better to be thrown upon one's own reflections, which
naturally led one above this world to seek His grace and
Comfort, who will hear, however weak and faithless our
petitions are, and miserably weak one does feel at such a
time. . . . . And now that it has pleased our Lord to
take away His chastening hand and restore to us our bright
earthly happiness, you must pray for us, my own Luce, that
we may not forget Zozº, thankful we should be. Aſozy,
indeed, there is no fear of it, with the remembrance of the
anxiety so lately felt ; but our hearts too soon get used to
their blessings, and forget how easily and how readily they
may be taken away.” |
“You may think how sad it is to have Easter without its
usual minister to officiate, no Wednesday's service, and no
evening lectures. Last night, for the first time, he read a
few verses and a collect to the servants, but with so trem-
bling a voice he could scarce get through that, and it made
him cough so that I fear it will be long before he will be
fit for Sunday duty.”
“Aaster Zuesday.—My darling Augustus is going on
well. I wished for you so on Friday. Half an hour before
afternoon church, Mr. Majendie came. Augustus and I
had arranged the room ready, and he administered the
blessed bread and wine to Marcus, Mary, Augustus, and
me, and you may suppose all we felt in so receiving it, with
the prayer appointed for sick persons. . . . . Marcus went
yesterday; he is one of few words, but loves us much.”
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 479
L. A. S. to M. H.
“March 29.—I need not tell you how I have suffered
with you in these days. I have indeed felt, what I always
said, that in one affliction I should be to you a miserable
comforter, and what else could the dearest and most sym-
pathizing friend be 2 Well it is for us that there is a friend
whose ear is open to the feeblest call for help, and whose
power to give that help is all-mighty. We must not forget
under whose hand we are fainting. Though a grievous east
wind has for a little season blighted your beautiful gourd, let
us lift up our hearts in humble and cheerful confidence, and
rest them on Him who doth never afflict willingly or grieve
His children. Perhaps after four years of such unvaried
happiness, some little check was necessary, to remind you
more strongly that there is danger in giving all our affections
to one created blessing, however precious and love-worthy
that blessing may be. You do not feel now you could say,
‘Thy will be done,’ and yet it is what God will have his
children Say, even when he takes away their all. It is
perhaps good that you should be obliged to contemplate
what nature shrinks from as too hard to bear, and though
you cannot now pray long or connected prayers, your whole
day must be a striving in prayer, to be conformed to God's
will and to have none but His ; and when our beloved
Augustus recovers, though you thought you loved God
before, you may find that this was wanting, though by your
own heart only the lesson may be known. I am so glad
‘Marcus’ is coming to you. Tell the dear Augustus I have
great faith in the simple united prayers of a loving parish,
and if no church can be opened, the prayers offered up by
his people for his recovery in their separate cottages or at
their work will avail much.”
“Alderley, April 8, 1833.−I feel that you know all I have
43o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
been thinking in the last week, for our hearts will have been
offering up their tribute of joy and gratitude and humilia-
tion at the same gracious throne, and gaining from the
contemplation of Our Saviour's sufferings and glorious
resurrection fresh supplies of strength, to go on our way
rejoicing “with fear and great joy,' as the Marys did
when they found the sepulchre empty and Jesus risen
—fear lest we should not sufficiently honour and care-
fully follow such a Master, and ‘great joy' because we
know and are assured that in those dreadful hours of suffer-
ing He bore the punishment we each and every one must
have incurred ; and it is not the least thing we have to be
grateful for, that we live in these days, when eighteen
hundred years have gone on proving the truth of our
Saviour's words, and gradually and to the letter so fully
accomplishing all things, that we may almost wonder how
it is our faith ever wavers, or how such a miserable being as
an unbeliever or doubter can still exist. I sometimes
think if one could but show to any one the love, the peace,
which Jesus can create in our hearts, they must long to feel
it too. Yesterday morning, as I was walking through the
wood to church, with everything in nature to make glad the
spirit—the songs of the birds, the myriads of flowers, the
bright sun–I thought how many would allow it was de-
lightful and most gladdening, and say it required no peculiar
religion to feel grateful and happy while the senses were
under such an influence; but only the believer knows and
can testify that those same joyful and thankful feelings,
which bring tears to the eye, and overflowing gratitude to
the heart, can be felt when all is dark and dreary around,
when the animal frame is under no sunny influence, and
when in this world perhaps our way must be lonely and
often beset with thorns. God's Sun shines most warmly on
our hearts when the world's Sun shines least; and who that has
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 481
once felt its reviving rays would not easily spare the other's,
if it be his Master's will. . . . . I do not ever remember
passing Passion Week in so peaceful and happy a frame of
mind as this last has been. I could hardly have felt more glad
or warmed up ; and whenever I was at prayer, it seemed as
if the thought of Augustus's recovery was the one drop to
make the cup overflow. How clear it is that the Bible was
written for the creatures of a changing world; if we had no
sin to mourn over, no afflictions to wean us, half its pages
would lie useless. There is one woman in the Bible whose
example comes oftener to my thoughts than any other,
because hers was a simple, straightforward faith I think One
might attain, and should if one aimed higher—the Shuna-
mite—she did not doubt for one second but that it was all
zee//; but it is so difficult to feel secure with God when a
trouble comes. How you will watch over your gourd when
it quite revives; but remember, dearest, you must not watch
too anxiously, or let your heart beat too easily; the best way
to ensure its stay with you will be to trust it wholly and
calmly in God’s hands.
“I think I helped my thoughts very much the last week to
keep singly to their object, by carefully reading only what was
done on each day, and as far as possible bringing before
myself what passed ; then, not having read any of the
chapters before, those on the Resurrection, with all connected,
came more forcibly, more powerfully home on Easter Sun-
day. I do not think in the round of life there is a moment
more overpowering, more thrilling, than when the organ
peals forth accompanied by those anthems preceding the
collect—“Christ, our Passover, is sacrificed for us.” Oh, we
ought to be very joyful all the year round, come what will
on Our journey, when we think what our home will be—
who, the Friend, the Master, preparing our mansions in it.
“Alderley is looking most beautiful. The wood is one
WOL. I. T I -
482 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
sheet of daffodils and anemones—larches all greening, and
every hedge ready to burst into full leaf. I think even
Julius would allow that a mass of young larches, in their
first fortnight's unsullied coats, is a refreshing sight.”
M. H. to L. A. S.
“Affril 13, 1833.—Your plan was exactly one we were
talking of one day as so useful—that of realising more the
passing events of our holy week; and though there was
no church service except on the Friday, as there would have
been had the pastor been among his people, at home we
got our little chapters and prayers in the evening. Now he
is weak in voice, I generally read the verses, and then he
Comments on them after ; he reads the collects and prayers,
and I say the Lord’s Prayer, and so we jointly get through
our little humble service. . . . . Augustus's confinement
and inability to do anything is more trying perhaps now
when he is better than it was when he was entirely incapaci-
tated ; but God's will must be ours, and his time ours, and
slight indeed is the trial of our patience Heat present sends.
May it prepare us for the far greater that may one day be
our portion.” -
“April 21.—I cannot close this day—so beautiful with-
out, and so full of thanksgiving within—without making Our
dear Luce share in its great blessings. The Sun has shone
with almost a summer heat, and the air, for the first time
this spring, has been most balmy and delicious, as if to
invite the dear pastor once more to his church. He was
afraid of undertaking a full service or the whole morning
one, so got Mr. Caulfield to take that for him ; and this
afternoon we had the happiness of going again together into
God's house. Scarcely could I restrain my tears when he
entered his desk, and you may think how freely they flowed
when, before the general thanksgiving, he rose up and said
THE SHADOW ()F THE CLOUD. 483
that, having been so long unable from illness to officiate in
that place, he begged now to offer his humble and hearty
thanks to God for being restored again to health, and then
in the customary place added, ‘especially for Thy servant
who now desires to return thanks for thy late mercies
vouchsafed unto him.' . . . . My dear Luce will need but
to be told the facts of to-day to lift up her heart in joyful
thanksgiving with us for the mercy God has shown us in
thus restoring us to our great and undeserved happiness ;
and the extreme loveliness of the day, combining to fill and
soften our hearts, has made it one continual feeling of
praise. Once more did we take our walk in the fields after
church, enjoying together the heavenly day; and since
dinner, for nearly the first time, I took my way down your
well-known lane and up the Luce path, and looked down
on the lovely view, with a beautiful sunset glowing all
round, and felt that heaven would indeed be on earth were
all within as beautiful as all without, if in those peaceful
cottages there were no sin, and all were love. I miss sadly
poor Mary Browne in her chimney-corner, to speak a con-
soling word to as one passes by. Patty grinned from ear to
ear as she expressed, in more words than I ever heard from
her before, how “comfortable it was to see Mr. Hare in
church again. Old Hannah Baillie almost cried her joy,
though it was evidently saddened by his looking so ill.
The other day, in coming across the field, she quick-
ened her step most gladly at hearing him call her; but
her countenance Soon fell as she turned to me—“How
bad he do look’—and her merry eyes did not get back
their sparkle. I fear the dear old woman is weaken-
ing in bodily strength, but if she ripens in spiritual, one
must not regret it. She is one of the little ones whom Christ
will not despise; for she hath given of her two talents, two
in return.”
484 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“April 30.—The dear Augustus has been getting on, though
the weather since those two warm days has not been kindly
to him. He has been out two or three times in the Dull
carriage. Stronger he certainly is, and on Sunday morning,
by leaving out the Commandments, he got through the
whole of the rest of the service, and once again preached to
his dear people. He spoke to them about all the seasons
that had passed during his sickness, and his feelings during
it, in such a way as to melt a great many to tears, and head
after head sunk down. Such occasions it is a great pity to
waste; and when their hearts were thus full of affection for
him, their minister, we may hope his words were blest with
more than usual efficiency to their souls. He got through
it very fairly on the whole, and has not suffered from it.
The Sunday before, old William Hams told me he could
not help crying in church to see ‘how bad he did look; but
God in heaven be praised, he is out again.'”
“May ZXay.—To-day we are to have all the men of the
parish to hear the Rector's new plan for them—that he will
pay the malt duty for all who wish to brew at home. Since
he formed his plan, Parliament seems to intend taking it off;
however, that will not be for a year, and I daresay they will
not value his thought for them the less.”
“May 16.-I am sure you will fancy yourself in the little
church. Now Augustus has got to two Services again ; it
seems quite like old times; and yesterday, Ascension Day,
we had prayers and a “postilling,' as usual. What weather
this is; I never knew so enjoyable a May. In a week
everything has become perfect summer, and the foliage is
quite thick. I am writing to the music of a swarm of
bees, which, as usual, have betaken themselves to our
chimney.”
“May 28.—Last night we had our thanksgiving Supper,
the preface to which was the verse out Nehemiah viii. 10.
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUID. 4.
5
Twelve dear old people thankfully partook of ‘the portion
prepared for them,' and expressed much joy at seeing Mr.
Hare so well again. To-day the grass was begun to be
cut, and the master is full of delight at the thoughts of his
haymaking. The orchard was all down by six o'clock, and,
after a due consultation of authorities, the Croft is now under
Gideon's hand and scythe.”
“June 3.—The dear Luce had her full share of out
thoughts and wishes in the happy return of the most blessed
2nd of June. It was a lovely morning, and, weak and miser-
able as our thanks are, I did feel my heart overflow with
gratitude in thinking of the four years of perfect and unin-
terrupted happiness that has been granted to us, with, lately,
the added blessing of Augustus’s recovery to health. Here,
in church, with all the delightful service and Augustus's two
dear sermons—one in the morning, the other at the six
o'clock evening service, on the Trinity—you may think
whether I wished or longed for any one blessing more,
except that of a more grateful heart, and more power to
utter all the overflowings of one's feelings. It is a great delight
having the Stanleys here, and I rejoice that K. should think
Alton a loveable place and a haven of peace and rest from
worldly cares and troubles.”
AUGUSTUs W. HARE to W. W. HULL, Esq.
“Afrið 19, 1833.−As to repenting of my intention of ful-
filling what we deem to have been our aunt's wishes as to the
charities in her will, if I have anything to repent of it is of
my pride—supposing it to be pride; but I hope it is a joyful
thankful feeling, miscalled pride, that two of the three sub-
scribers besides myself to this charity fund should be my
own dear brothers. And Francis would have been of the
party too, but for scruples of delicacy, and a notion that, by
486 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
ioining to pay the charities, we are practically censuring and
assuming a sort of superiority over those of my aunt's heirs
who do not contribute, and who happen to be at least as
numerous as ourselves, to say nothing of his having already
given up three-fourths of his share to the person for whom
he believed my aunt designed it. I Ought to add, that our
fourth contributor is our cousin Mrs. Dashwood. We give
24, 250 apiece, because we see that our aunt in every will set
apart a portion for public charities, which seems to us to
manifest a settled purpose; and as the money was hers to do
what she pleased with, we hold that we ought to be thankful
for such a portion of her property as she chose to give to us,
her own relations. For the rest, it is not ours, we conceive,
and therefore we feel ourselves bound to apply it according
to her supposed intentions. On examining the various
memoranda we determined that we would take the 24, 4,000
(a sixteenth of her property) as our standard, and our con-
tributions accordingly are in that proportion. We four con-
tributors have received between us a fourth of her property,
and we contribute 24, 1,000 between us; and I do feel joy
and thankfulness that Julius should have been the great
promoter of the scheme, instead of saying, ‘Oh, if there
had been a will I should have had double or triple;’ while
Marcus, on the other side of the Indian Ocean, Came to the
same conclusion after consulting with his own heart, and
determined, long before he heard our scheme, to give his
money himself, let others do as they might.”
L. A. S. to M. H.
“Aeamington, May 2, 1833.−Yesterday we went to visit
our Wesleyan Methodist friend, Mr. Whitehead. Do you
remember in our favourite tract it says, how much easier it
is to talk of religion than to talk religiously P. He does the
latter. . . . . I see that the holy Calvinist and the holy
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 487
Methodist walk on the extreme sides of the narrow path.
and yet their eye is on the same object, their hand on the
same staff, and if either faint or fall the same words of Hope
and Comfort lift them up. It is impossible not to feel this
strongly when living with Christians who are one in spirit,
but two in doctrine. -
“This is the first true summer day, so very lovely, and
‘while the earth herself is adorning this sweet May morning,'
I am unfolding, like a leaf, under the sun's influence, and
thinking how, if we lived more in prayer and praise, more
habitually grateful for the never-dying hope of a Christian,
we should feel all the year round something as we feel on
such a morning as this ; but we cannot have all here,
and must rejoice as we can in our poor little houses
of clay.”
M. H. to C. S. (after her leaving Alton).
“June 4, 1833.—The house seemed very dull without
you all yesterday, and yet the returning to our old ways
makes it rather like a bright vision than a reality that you
have been here at all. We had a charming drive to Man-
ningford in the evening, though it was tantalising enough to
exchange it for a dinner party, even with such a sight as
Miss Elizabeth Penruddocke in lilac hat and feathers,
yellow lined Cape, and a bright green gown.”
C. S. to M. H.
“A/a/vern, Vune 9, 1833.−We reached Devizes from
Alton in forty minutes, and as the rich unbroken country on
the other side passed before our eyes, we determined that
Alton was far more interesting, far more desirable—in fact,
its external is but a type of its internal character, all so
separated, isolated, cut off from the surrounding world;
while in all other places there seems such a mingling that
there is no saying where one ends and the other begins.”
488 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
M. H. to L. A. S.
“Stoke, /une 24, 1833.−Stoke looks very pretty, and we
are very happy here; it is such a pleasure to see the old
man of eighty as young and sprightly as if he were twenty.
. . . . It seems so Odd Seeing and knowing so little of the
people, and I feel quite ashamed of myself in having for-
merly been so little amongst them, and having lived so
dreamy a life, for myself always. The shadow of M. L.
haunts me here and there, and strangely bewilders me
sometimes in the changed feelings of M. H. I suppose I
shall never quite lose the mixture here, but the result is a
most thankful feeling and a strong sense of increased
responsibility.”
M. H. fo C. S.
“Stoke, /une 26, 1833.−Julius has arrived in England
from Italy, and talks of coming here for a day on his road
to Cambridge | He is much delighted with the thought of
Augustus and Marcus having furnished his dining-room for
him. “My parsonage will Certainly be held out as an
example of the luxury of the clergy. And now I shall be
able to sit at my solitary mutton chop, with my Atlantian
sideboard to bear three knives and two forks, and with
eleven splendid morocco chairs stuck round the room, call-
ing for ghosts to come and sit on them. My aunts, too, are
going to bedizen my drawing-room. I have everything I
can want, just as if I had Fortunatus's cap without the
trouble of wishing; but the heart-gladdening part of the
matter is that the wishes are anticipated by the thoughtful
affection of my friends, and that too while I am far away.
God bless you all; would I were worthy of you.’”
Towards the end of July, the Augustus Hares went to
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 489
Alderley Rectory, and while they were there Marcus Hare
was invited to Alderley Park, which he left engaged to
Lucy Stanley, the beloved friend of his sister-in-law.
L. A. S. to M. H.
“Alderley, August 28, 1833.−My heart is too full. It is
like a cup full to the brim, and I am afraid of letting one
drop escape, for fear the whole should overflow. The only
thing I am sure of is, that amid all its contending feelings,
a Sense of grateful happiness is at the top, and that I may
cheerfully and confidently go forward, assured that the
same Father and Saviour who has led me thus far, will
never place His weak and strength-needing child in any
pasture so beautiful, as to make her forget the everlasting
home, where there shall be neither marrying nor giving in
marriage, but when, as St. Mark’s hymn ends,-
“The saints beneath their Saviour's eye,
Fill'd with each other's company,
Shall spend in love th' eternal day.’”
JULIUS HARE to M. H.
“Aurstmonceaux, September 9, 1833–God be praised
for the great blessing he has bestowed on our dear Marcus
and on us all ! I know you will deem it a blessing; so will
Augustus, who already loved Lucy as a sister; and I feel as
if it will also be a very great one to me, although I have
hitherto remained in the background, and perhaps, but for
this marriage, might never have become cordially intimate
with her. Meetings of two or three days, with years between
them, are a scanty foundation for friendship to spring from.
Now, however, the ice is broken ; she will assuredly do us
all much good; and I hope and trust that she herself will
be a gainer by the marriage, that at least in this world it
490 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
will make her happier. It would have been a great thing if
Marcus married a person who did not slacken the bonds
that unite us; but he seems to have chosen the only person
in the world that will draw them tighter and closer.
Marcus's speech to Lucy, “that he had never in his life done
what he liked, except in marrying her,’ seems to me one of
the most beautiful compliments (that is not the word, but I
cannot think of a better) ever paid ; and we who have
known him from his childhood know how true it is. It
would be indeed very delightful if I could bring you
here from Alderley. I should like to have you here while
everything is in full beauty; and though my house will not
be in apple-pie Order, you will not growl very much at that.
Besides, I shall try, if possible, to get Marcus and Lucy for
a day or two on their way. I know that every day will be
precious to them, and I would not ask it, if I did not think
that I might be of some use to them, in talking to them about
what they are to see and admire, and showing them some of
the spoils I have brought back from Rome, such as prints,
casts, and so on, which will prepare them for what they are
to find. It is a matter of great importance to have one's
eyes properly opened. And oh, what a joy it would be to
me to have my two beloved brothers and my two beloved
sisters here ! My big house would not look lonely again
through the whole winter. The very chairs would begin to
dance and sing for joy, instead of standing SO Sullenly round
the room, scowling, because, in Spite of all the temptations
they hold out, nobody comes to sit on them.”
M. H. to C. S.
“Alton, August 25.-A beautiful day took us from Stoke
to Malvern. We sallied out as soon as we had had a Cup
of coffee, I on a donkey and Augustus on foot, and had
time for a charming ride round by the South seat, with a
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 49 tº
flood of light from the setting sun on the view. Yesterday
morning, having breakfasted, we set off on two donkeys and
rode to Little Malvern—a beautiful morning, and it quite
reminded me of one of our Pyrenean rides. What a lovely
place it is, and the church quite beautiful I do quite
delight in Malvern, we enjoyed it so much. At ten we set
out on our journey, but Augustus’s throat and chest were
So bad he could not speak much. We got home at half-
past eight, Aug. thoroughly knocked up, and it is very
provoking bringing him back much worse than he went.”
On the 18th of September, Augustus and Maria Hare
returned to Alderley, where the wedding took place on the
24th. While there, his failing health was so apparent that
the family persuaded him to consent to give up his duty for
a time, and to accompany the newly-married pair to Italy,
all difficulties about expense being overruled by Mr. Ley-
cester's liberality.
M. H. to the MISS HARES.
“Alderley Aectory, September 29, 1833–My dear aunts,
the bells are ringing a merry peal to tell the world that Mr.
and Mrs. Marcus Hare are one ; so let me give our warmest
congratulations to you both, that this most happy event is
now really completed, and the awful ceremony over, which
has linked together for life two so dear to us all. . . . .
The morning was very wet and stormy, but the church was
as full as it could hold, and the view, looking from the
side of the altar where we stood, was very Striking, with
Marcus and his trembling bride in front of the altar, the
bridesmaids behind them, Sir John and Lady Maria on each
side, and all of us ranged in the chancel round. Edward
Stanley read the service very impressively.
492 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“You will be very sorry to hear that my poor Augustus
has been suffering a great deal from his cough, and he took
the opportunity, the day after we arrived here, of going over
to Bodryddan to see Dr. Warren. Both he and Dr. Brabant
agreed in thinking a cessation from duty and exertion of mind
so essential to his recovery, that after some trouble, by the
united entreaties of all here assembled, he has at last con-
sented to put a curate into our house for the winter months,
and leave Alton, in the hope that he may return to it strong
and well, and able to resume his duties without suffering
from it. And where do you think we are to go to ? We
have actually decided upon accompanying Marcus and
Lucy to Italy, where we doubt not, under God's blessing,
our dear Augustus will be restored to health. There seemed
at first many difficulties attendant on this scheme, but the
chief one, which was the money, my father has helped us out
of, and all others are no consideration where so great an
object is to be attained.”
TM. H. to C. S.
“A/ton, October 3.—This has been a sad week. Augustus's
cough has been much worse since we reached home, and he
has been very weak and incapable of any exertion. Yester-
day and to-day I think he has begun to rally a little, other-
wise I felt quite in fear how he would bear the travelling,
being so weak.
“The way the people speak of our going is very touching.
There is not a dissentient voice about the good of it, if it is
likely to do Mr. Hare good, though mixed with regret of
their own. An old man in Great Alton, who fell down
yesterday and broke his thigh, told Augustus to-day, “Ah,
sir, when I could not sleep last night, I did pray God
would bring you back to us safe and well; ' and that
seemed the uppermost thought of his heart in the midst of
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 493
all his pain. They of course look at his pale face and
think him worse than he really is. It would never have
done to stay here and be unable to do anything. It grieves
him so to be a cipher in his own church. We have some
trouble in getting help.
“I dare not trust myself to say all I feel for your great
tenderness and affection for us, dearest Kitty. God bless
you for it, and make us thankful for having, in addition to
our own happiness in each other, so much in those nearest
and dearest to us.”
“October 14.—Our new curate is Mr. Robert Kilvert,
who seems, from his great gentleness of disposition and his
earnest desire of doing good, to be just fitted to teach our
rustic people; and, with his sister to teach in the schools
and look after the female part of the flock, we shall leave
our parish in great comfort.”
L. A. H. to C. S.
“Alton, Sunday, October 20, 1833.−I know you will
quite understand how much easier it has been in the very
short time I have been here to wish to write than to do it.
I need not say how I enjoyed the journey yesterday, with
the prospect of Alton at the end, or how my heart beat at
the first sight of the White Horse, and the wild soft Downs;
or how the fulness of joy quite equalled all my anticipa-
tions, when we drove up through the little gate, and saw
first Augustus's head peep out and vanish from the study
window, and Maria the same from the drawing-room above.
You can guess the feeling of finding one's self in this pretty
room again, looking out on that peaceful view, and feeling
one's self indeed Maria's sister. To-day has been a blessed
day, and one never to forget. There was only morning
service at the little church, which Mr. Majendie performed.
494 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Augustus had said his taking any part, or preaching, was out
of the question. I was not therefore prepared to see him
quietly, at the end of the service, open the pew door, and
ascend the pulpit, from whence he spoke twenty-five
minutes, without any coughing, and scarcely any appear-
ance of nervousness. He took Acts xx. 32, dwelt very
slightly on his leaving them, but went through the verse,
showing how he commended them to God, and to the
word of His grace, and how that could build them up. He
ended with the twenty-seventh verse of the first of Philip-
pians. I need not try to bring before you the attentive faces
in the gallery, or the occasional blowing of a nose, or
Maria's tearful yet happy face, or my feelings of the purest,
most perfect happiness I ever felt on earth, when I knelt
at that little altar, with my husband on one side and Maria
on the other, and received the cup from Augustus—that
part he was able to do. No one who had seen him kneeling
before the table yesterday, and watched the earnest prayer
and expression of his face, could ever forget it. Not one
foreboding of evil came across me to disturb the joy, and I
think not across Maria. Even when his cough for a moment
disturbed one, it gave one no anxiety. I felt sure he would
return to his people stronger and better than ever.”
Those who were present retain a touching remembrance
of the love which Augustus Hare manifested for his people
at a farewell supper which he gave to them in his barn a
few days before he left England. After he had parted from
them with prayer and a short exhortation, he was sitting
quietly in the drawing-room, when the singers, underneath
the window, unexpectedly began the Evening Hymn.
Quickly unfastening the shutter, his face working with emo-
tion, he threw up the sash, exclaiming, “Dear people, how
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 495
can I leave you !” and then sank back on a chair quite
exhausted by the mental conflict, and then a terrible fit of
coughing came on.
Tuesday, October 22nd, was his last morning at Alton,
and many were the sad forebodings which his looks inspired
in the hearts of his people. “They seemed,” wrote Mr.
Majendie, “to realise during his sermon on the previous
Sunday that they were about to lose him, and they then
began to sorrow most of all that they should see his face no
more. His manner during that service reminded one of
the lines of Baxter:
“‘To preach as if you ne'er would preach again,
And as a dying man—to dying men.’”
On the Tuesday morning, Miss Miller, who had become
especially endeared to him, went in to take leave. He
gave her a little plant to take care of for him, and then said,
“You also are a young plant, you know, and a young plant
must make great shoots. I shall expect, when I come
back, to find you have made great shoots—shoots of grace
and holiness.” As she was going sadly away across the
little field in front of the house, he called her back. It was
to speak to her of James Norris, one of her father's work-
men, who had taken to drinking. “You must treat him
very tenderly,” he said ; “he cannot be driven ; he must
be very tenderly dealt with.”
M. H. to C. S.
“Southampton, October 23, 1833.−From dinner to tea
yesterday Augustus had a succession of people come to say
496 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
good-bye. He had them in the study, and gave a suitable
word of exhortation to each, and was much touched by the
simple and varying manner in which they spoke of our
going. Tuesday happily was a fine morning, so that I
could go round and take leave. Poor old Maslen sent a
message to say if Mr. Hare had any orders to leave, he
begged he would write them down, for he could not bear to
come and wish him good-bye. . . . . At half-past eleven
we got into the carriage and drove away, and certainly, by
the time we had got over the ‘Brow,' I felt the relief of its
being over. . -
“We reached Southampton at half-past six, and found
Marcus, Lucy, and Julius. You can imagine no enjoyment
more perfect than that of our evening together. Lucy was
at the summit of happiness.”
The amusing difficulties of Julius's housekeeping were the
chief topic of that last evening ; he had already spoken of
them by letter.
JULIUS HARE to A. W. H.
“Aurstmonceaux, October 15, 1833.−With regard to
pupil-taking I wanted to know your opinion. . . . . I myself
am no less averse to it than you can be, both from taste
and from principle; for I fear that even without them I
shall have little time enough for anything beyond the work
of the week, and I cannot help grieving at the thought that
all I have been doing, all I have been labouring to acquire
for the last five-and-twenty years, is to be utterly throwr
away, and for what? In order to do, or rather to fail in
doing, that which tens of thousands would have done quite
as well, and thousands far better than I can do. Your
womankind won't understand or sympathize with me in
this ; but they are no authority on such matters. Women
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUID. 497
are too purely heavenly-minded—that is to say, when they
are so at all, religion is to them everything ; and they can-
not see religion in anything but religion. Science, philo-
sophy, statecraft, they know nothing about, and therefore of
course cannot care about. But as I am two thousand
pounds out of pocket by my living, I am not sure that I
ought not, as a matter of duty, to take pupils, so long at
least as that I may lift my head above water, and clear off
my debts. What Marcus says about my parting with my
servants I do not attach much weight to. Elphick is the
only one who would be a great loss, and he would rather
cut his hand off than quit the place; only, if his wife goes,
he will cease to be an indoor servant. . . . . I must say a
little more about Mrs. Elphick. It is true she is not your
Mary; but where can I find another Mary P. She has lived
before in this house; and where could I get any one else P
My cow, though an Alderney, and a delightful gentle crea-
ture, certainly gives very little and poor milk. This may
be partly owing to the badness of her pasture, which, as we
had hardly a drop of rain for above twelve weeks, is, or
rather was the other day, so wretched on my hill, that the
cattle took to browsing upon the sweetbriar hedge. I my-
self saw Elphick churning away, and no butter would come
of it. That this is not a thing totally unheard of appears
from that delightful passage of Ben Jonson quoted in the
Phil. Mus., ii. 211. That Mrs. E. is not inexpert in
dairy lore she proved last year, when they bought an old
cow of my uncle's for four pounds (mine cost eleven), and
made near two hundred pounds of butter in six months.
But that was with an old-fashioned churn ; mine, that gives
nothing, is a new-fangled one, that is turned round like a
wheel. On my return from Alderley, when I was asking
whether the cow was improved, she told me what struck me
as strange, that they never used a drop either of milk or
WOL. I. K. K.
498 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
cream for the servants. With her, she says, it does not
agree, and that she never eats any butter. “But what have
the men for breakfast?’ ‘Bread and cheese, and meat and
beer.' Well, this accounted for the magnitude of my
butcher's bills, and my great consumption of beer. But of
course, unless it be the custom to allow them only bread
and milk for breakfast, I can scarcely set the example. The
women have tea. “What is done with the milk then?’
‘Given to the dogs, or thrown away.’ This set me on
inquiring. ‘Thrown away' does not mean given to the
pigs, for I have none yet, nor a stye. Such vulgar animals
were not allowed to come near the rectory under the ancien
régime, and the carpenter has had too much to do hitherto
in providing lodgings for my books, which even I thought
deserved to be helped first. As to dogs, I believe I have
none of Arctis sort. But George (my foot-boy), who has a
great love for animals, has a spaniel; and a Newfoundland
was brought the other day for approbation, but was too
beautiless for such a slave of the eye as I am. So after
some days he was dismissed.
“I had a letter to-day telling me that another beloved
friend is on the point of taking a wife—Digby. His letter
is one of the most singular I ever read, one of the most
melancholy, and one of the most beautiful. He mourns
over the prospect that he must no longer be melancholy,
over “having been made to know the very alarming truth
that he is a rich man,’ about having ‘been made to hear
that he is supremely happy in this world !’ ‘I do feel,” he
says, “a secret horror at the thought of rest and happi-
ness on earth.' I have also an interesting letter from
Arnold, who says, “As you met Bunsen in Italy, you can
now sympathise with the all-but idolatry with which I
regard him. So beautifully good, so wise, and so noble-
minded ! I do not believe that any man alive can have a
THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 499
deeper interest in Rome than I have ; yet I envy you
nothing in your last year’s stay there so much as your
continued intercourse with Bunsen.’ And all these men
are my friends, my dear fond friends, loving me and
esteeming me, so far above what I deserve. I can never
keep my heart from bounding with gratitude, when I think
over the long list of great and good men who have deigned
to call me friend. . . . . And now I must have done. So
God bless you, and mind you, as our dear aunt used to say;
for body-minding at least you are in Sore need of.”
END OF vol. 1.

MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
"VOL. II,
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
PAG.;
XIII. FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE O O O o e I
XIV. HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY . . . e. e. • 74
xv. THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD . . . . I47
XVI. HOME-LIFE AT LIME • , , , e. e. e. 222
XVII. ABBOTS-KERSWELL . . . . . e s - 3I.7
XVIII. FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL . . . . 328
XIX. HOLMHURST . . . . . . . . . 397
XX. THE SUNSET BEFORE THE DAWN . © © © • 464
XIII.
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE.
“Death is the justification of all the ways of the Christian,
the last end of all his sacrifices, that touch of the great
Master which completes the picture.”—MADAME SWETCHINE.
“Dear, beauteous Death, the jewel of the just,
Shining nowhere but in the dark,
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust;
Could man outlook that mark | *
HENRY VAUGHAN, 1690.
ON the 23rd October, the Augustus and Marcus Hares
embarked together at Southampton in the Camilla,
Julius watching them from the pier till they were out of
sight, and the following morning they arrived at Havre, after
a very stormy passage. Hence they began to post through
France in their own two carriages; “the strange barbarity of
the harness and dress of the postillions, and the miserable
horses with their fiery eyes,” striking them at first, as they
did all foreign travellers in those days. By Rouen, Louviers,
and Mantes they reached Paris, where they remained several
days, and then by Fontainebleau, Sens, and Auxerre (with the
picturesqueness of which they were greatly delighted), to
Rouvray and Chalons. Hence they took the Saone steamer
to Lyons. -
WOL. IK. P
2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
M. H. to REV. O. LEYCESTER,
“Zyons, AVoz). I2, 1833.−Augustus is better, though I
never felt the Cold sharper on Alton Downs than we have
had it for the last week, and French houses are little cal-
culated to contend against it, with their no carpets and
many windows and doors. Our Courier Belloud turns out
So inefficient that if it is possible to do a thing wrong, or
forget to do it at all, he excels in this ingenuity of stupidity.
But Mary, without knowing a word of the language, always
contrives to get us all we want, never has a difficulty, and—
be the hour what it may—we have always fire to get up by,
warm water to wash with, and dry sheets at night, all things
which in this weather we feel the value of doubly.”
“Marseilles, Mov. 20.—We had to wait many hours at
Lyons on board the Saone steamer before it could leave on
account of the fog—hours which made me full of fear for
Augustus; but at kength we were off, and gliding down the
Rhone as fast as Steam and stream could carry us, and very
fast that is—too fast sometimes, I thought, when the scenery
was especially beautiful. It was very luxurious sitting in
one's carriage and being carried along so easily, with Such a
succession of pictures before and around me, and though
there is not so great a profusion of fine castles, I think the
scenery on the Rhone quite as fine as that on the Rhine.
At sunset the glow was lovely as we approached Valence, and
the little crescent moon and evening star in the midst of it,
At Avignon the change to warmth was like that to summer.
Between it and Nismes we saw the Pont du Gard, which is
indeed beautiful, the old stone work of the great bridge
harmonizing so well with the wild and picturesque situation.
The leaves were still on the trees, and as the light fell
through the great arches on the autumnal tints mixed with
the dark olives, the effect was most exquisite. Here we have
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 3
much enjoyed a row through the harbour and on the
Mediterranean.”
“AVice, AVov. 29.-We have greatly enjoyed being here,
and a long stay at Nice would soon fill my sketch-book.
We have engaged a Bolognese courier, Lorenzo, who is
delighted at finding that one of his masters, Marcus, is a
native of the same place as himself. We have not had
anything of the Bise at present, and have found it quite too
hot for a shawl in the boat going to Villafranca. The little
bay with its fortifications and town rising out of the sea, the
green covered mountains above, and the little vessels in the
harbour, made the most perfect picture imaginable.”
The travellers left Nice, Dec. 3, and after a delightful
journey through the beauties of the Riviera, arrived at
Genoa on the 7th. -
A. W. H. (JOURNAL).
“Myons.—We spoke to the wife of the doorkeeper at the
Musée about the cholera. She said they had escaped owing
to the good offices of Notre Dame de Fourvières. I said a
few words about our attributing all such things to God or
his Son. She said, “Vous croyez donc au Fils, mais vous ne
croyez pas à la Mère.’”
“Valence.—Truly a river is a very wilful thing, going as
it will and where it will. It strikes me that the Rhone
would go much more to the west if it had its own way, but
for once opposuit natura—a chain of hills runs along its
western bank, in places like a great rampart, and they keep
it within bounds. There are many points of view up the
valleys, but to me the great beauty is the river itself, with its
broad lake-like bends and reaches.”
“Cuſas.--When we arrived here the postillion called out
4. MEMORLALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
to a friend at the inn door that we were ‘God damns, della
premiera qualita.’”
“Genoa, Dec. 3.-Oh the beauty of the first half-day after
leaving Nice! I had begun to suspect that my sense of beauty
was dying away, but—unwell as I was all day—I felt the
beauty of the country as vividly as I ever did before. Some-
times a rocky mountain facing us, sometimes an olive-valley
stretching down beside us, sometimes a winding course
through that gravest of things, an olive-wood, more than
one snow-capped Alp in the distance, and on the right
always the shining Mediterranean.”
It was on the evening of the 7th of December that some
matters connected with the dismissal of Belloud had to be
arranged before the Court at Genoa. As Marcus was unable
to speak either French or Italian, Augustus was obliged to
go with him through a cold night air and to exert himself
greatly. As soon as he returned to the Hotel of the Croce
di Malta he went to bed, but the excitement and fatigue
brought on an unusual fit of coughing, and, while Mary
Lea was alone in the room with him, he burst a bloodvessel.
For a long time he hovered between life and death, and his
wife never left him, except for a daily walk on the ramparts,
which she always afterwards associated with that period of
anxiety when her happiness first seemed to be crumbling
away.
M. H. (JOURNAL).
“There was a great expression of sternness in Augustus's
countenance when we went to him after his attack. Dr. H.
intinated one day that he had been ‘ alarmed about himself.”
He looked very serious. “There are other causes for dread
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 5
besides the fear of death.’ ‘There are sufferings of mind to
endure as well as of body.”
“The first thing he asked me to read was the fifty-first
Psalm. “No one knows what I have been going through,’
he said to Lucy. The text ‘without holiness,’ &c., seemed
to have struck him very strongly. He said how he had felt
the circumstances of the evening he was taken ill. A file of
newspapers had come from Mr. Le Mesurer, and he was
busy reading them when the servants came to prayers. He
said he had been impatient at the interruption, and did not
pray willingly or heartily. In looking back over his past
life it seemed to him so bad. ‘God took me out of the
world, and placed me in a little paradise, and hedged me
round with blessings, and I have done nothing for him.'
FIe lamented having done so little for the children at Alton,
and expressed his strong sense of God's mercy in not taking
him in that attack, but sparing him a little longer.”
T. A. H. to MR. and MRS. O. LEYCESTER.
“Genoa, Dec. 16, 1833.−Maria has not spared herself a
moment, and not had one good night's rest since Augustus
was taken ill, but she has borne up wonderfully, and been
so calm and serene, I trust she will not feel the effect much
afterwards. Nothing, I believe, has so tended to his restora-
tion as her perfect Self-command and cheerful, quiet, unre-
mitting watchfulness. It is indeed an example good for any
one to see how she is hourly, almost minutely, in prayer,
and striving that her will may be subdued to God's will.
Once arrived at Rome, we may hope that his native air will
restore him to some degree of health. I need not tell you
how at this time I thankfully feel the blessing of being per-
mitted to be near them both, and the best proof I can give
you of my gratitude for all your past kindness is to watch over
your dear Maria. May God help me to do so through life.”
6 MEMORIALS or A QUIET LIFE.
M. H. to Mr. and MRs. O. LEYCESTER.
“Genoa, ZOec. 25, 1833.−I fear your Christmas will have
been clouded by the sad tidings we have been forced to
send you. Would you could see how favourably we are
now going on. Each day he makes some little step. It is
quite like May in the sun, and we have a little balcony,
where Augustus can now sit out and enjoy the beautiful
view of the harbour and one side of the town. It is only
since he has been less ill that I feel what the illness has been
to me, and you must not now wonder if I cannot write very
steadily. The unspeakable mercy of having him better
overwhelms me; and I do feel my own utter unworthiness to
have such a blessing granted when I think how impossible I
find it to resign my will to God's when His seems to be con-
trary to mine. The time here has completely swept away
the remembrance of what went before, and I can scarcely
even recall by what road we came to Genoa; it all seems
like a dream. Oh, be thankful with me that it has pleased
God to spare me this once, and implore earnestly for me
strength to bear whatever He may in future think good to
lay on me either of anxiety or trouble. . . . .
“I delight in my daily walk of an hour on the ramparts,
with the waves dashing up on one side, and so beautiful an
inland view of Genoa. Mary has kept up wonderfully and
been most invaluable in her attentions, and truly hers is a
zºil/ing service, for she puts her whole heart into it, and is
repaid for every fatigue when she sees any amendment in
her master.”
MRs. DASHwooD to JULIUS HARE.
“Podryddan, Dec. 1833.−Your account of our beloved
Augustus, my poor anxiously unhappy Jule, makes me truly
miserable. If the vessel heals there is only weakness to
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 7
fear, but that is an enemy much to be dreaded, if he is
obliged to continue his journey. . . . . Poor, poor Maria |
Oh, if she is but blest in seeing her husband recover, her
watchfulness will do her no harm. Happiness and gratitude
to God are never-failing averters of mischiefs. - Oh, Jule, we
will pray that it may be so, and your prayers, her prayers,
will be heard. How many tears have I shed over the
account: I could not read it to my aunt, they choked me.
Oh, Jule, if God sees fit to take that blessed being to
Himself, I know that it will be as if you were to lose a
portion of yourself, and yet he is so fit company for the
saints in heaven, so unfit for the unsaintliness of earth. We
can only trust to God's mercy—not to him, but to the souls
he was leading along the good path, and amongst whom
he was a guiding star and rock of comfort.”
C. S. to M. H.
“Christmas ZXay, 1833.—Your letter is a sad Christmas
gift indeed. . . . . I feel, however, disposed to follow your
example of looking only to the present, and leaving the
future entirely at His disposal, who knows what is best . . . .
but that this cup—this bitter cup—may pass from you, I do,
and may most earnestly pray. As I read Lucy's letter to her
mother, how I blessed the day that made her your sister,
and gave her the right to be your support and comfort now
and ever.” -
A. W. H. to the MISS HAREs.
“Croce di Malta, Genoa, Dec. 30, 1833.−I am indeed
much better, my dear Aunts, and picking up strength daily.
When I was so ill every one had some peculiar merit which
they brought into the common stock of nursing, and most
thankful I am to them all for all they went through, and all
8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
they put up with on my account. . . . . On Christmas Day
I walked out into the balcony and basked for a few minutes
in the bright warmth of the softest sunshine. . . . . This
must have been a very different Christmas to you from
the last. May the future ones be brighter and happier, and
may each of them—forgive a sick-man for concluding his
letter seriously—find you both approaching nearer and
nearer in heart and spirit to that heavenly kingdom, which
God grant we may all attain through the merits of his
Blessed Son. We start to-morrow for Pisa.”
IM. H. to MR. and MRS. O. LEYCESTER.
“A”sa, /an. 3, 1834.—Most thankfully do I announce
our prosperous arrival here. A more perfect May-day
could not have been for Augustus to begin his journey on.
. . . . We reached Chiavari at four : found Marcus and
the waiter ready with a chair to carry the sick-man up—a
good fire, warm room, and bed ready—and so ended the
first day to which we had looked forward with the chief fear.
. . . . The scenery for the next two days was most beauti-
ful. I can scarcely say I enjoyed it, but I have never seen
anything I admired more. There appears to be nothing to
admire in the country round Pisa, but, as we came in, the
brilliancy of the sky at sunset behind the Leaning Tower and
the domes of the town was most beautiful. . . . . There
seems nothing now to be done for Augustus, but to get him
as quickly as we can to Rome, where his native air will do
more than any medicines.”
M. H. to C. S.
“Pisa, Jan. 6.- . . . . I almost wonder that Italy is
recommended to delicate people, the changes of tempera-
ture are so sudden. To look out of the windows along the
Lung' Arno, you would think by the men's dress you were in
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 9
Russia; all wrapped up in great cloaks, often lined with
fur, and holding them up to their mouths as you see in
pictures of winter. Look again at the women, and they are
going past in lace veils over their heads, or with gold ear-
rings hanging down on the neck, very like what our grand-
mothers used to wear from their watches, hanging from the
belt.
“I have just seen the Leaning Tower, so associated in
my mind with childish recollections; and it is one of the
proofs I have often felt of how different a seeing impression
is from a hearsay one. It does look very strange certainly,
exactly as if some one was pushing it down, and it surprises
one never to see it go any further. The Campo-Santo is
most interesting, and Augustus tells me my education ought
to begin there, as it contains the best specimens of Giotto,
Orcagna, Gozzoli, &c. You would be intensely interested
in Orcagna's frescoes, which are most Dantesque in concep-
tion and spirit. But my present recollections of art are all
in favour of a beautiful dead head of Christ with the
Madonna, by Michael Angelo, in the Albergo dei Poveri
at Genoa, and two most exquisite pictures of Fra Bartolomeo
at Lucca, which reach a degree of beauty beyond anything
I ever saw.”
M. H. (JOURNAL).
“Jan. 7-We moved to Leghorn to be ready for the
Steamer.” -
“Jan. I4.—The packet Su//y came in. We took a boat
and went on board, just as our carriages were put in. It
was a lovely warm day, and the view of the town and bay
quite beautiful—the mountains tipped with snow shining in
the Sun. After looking at Our berths, we took a further row
round the moles of the town under the quarter where all
the Jews live, and landed near the English cemetery, an
IO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
enclosed ground, filled with tombs interspersed with
Cypresses.”
“Jazz. 15.—At twelve o'clock we were on board the
Su//y : the wind was cold and easterly, and I greatly feared
for Augustus, but we got him down into the cabin, where to
our joy we found only one lady and her maid as fellow-
passengers. It soon appeared that she was on her way to
Rome, to nurse a sick brother, whom they scarcely expected
to find alive. No objection was made to Augustus remain-
ing in our cabin, so he had my berth, and I lay on the sofa
just below him, able to supply all his wants at a moment's
notice, and certainly as free from anxiety as circumstances
would admit of. The vessel rolled extremely, and the night
wore tediously away. It was not till one P.M. that we
reached Civita Vecchia. The sun was very hot, and my
poor Augustus was quite knocked up, and with difficulty we
got him into a boat amongst the crowd waiting to take us
on shore. He was carried on a chair through the streets to
the hotel, but it was several hours before we could get his
bed made.”
“Jam. 17.—It was ten o'clock before we were fairly on
our way to Rome. The road kept near the sea for some
miles, then turned across an uncultivated heathy Country
with little but bushes of myrtle and box, in patches here and
there. The sun was extremely hot, and Augustus got very
tired as we went along the tedious hills without stopping for
three and a half posts, and then, after changing horses, on
again till about sunset, when all at once he called out
‘There is Rome !’ and in two minutes after we spied
Marcus's head above the britschka, pointing it out. Far to
the right a dome was visible that one doubted not was St.
Peter's. Augustus, in his anger at the postboy for not
stopping to show us S. Pietro, would call out of the
window and upbraid him, and thus my first sensations of
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. II
delight were turned into those of fear. And truly the sight
of Rome, associated as it was with the end of a perilous
journey, did make one's heart full to overflowing in addition
to all its own associations. It was not till long afterwards
that we had passed the tedious hills, and descended into
the plain, and reached a few houses and roads between
walls, and soon we saw the dome again rising above them
on one side of us, Scarcely had we entered the Porta
Cavalleggieri, when, through some magnificent columns on
one side, the colonnade of St. Peter's burst upon us, lighted
up with the bright moonlight, and, as we drove on, not less
striking were the Castle of St. Angelo, the Pantheon, and
the Fountain of Trevi, as we passed each in succession in
going to and from the custom-house.”
M. H. to E. PENRHYN, ESQ.
“A’ome, Feb. 1, 1834.—I write with but a sad heart, for I
have little good to tell. We are at last settled in our lodg-
ings, and are very comfortable as to rooms. Augustus and
I have two, opening into each other, one of which has full
morning Sun, and is so warm we never need a fire till after
Sunset. It is very quiet, too, and looks out on the Church of
the Trinità de' Monti. We have besides two sitting-rooms,
and M. and L.'s bedroom and dressing-room with servants'
rooms, for twenty-two louis a month, which at this time is
considered very cheap. We moved into them last Tuesday,
and feel all the comfort, after our long wanderings, of being
at last stationary. I wish I could add that we had the
comfort of Seeing any amendment in my poor Augustus, but
at present I fear there is none. . . . . For some days he
went out for an hour at twelve o'clock on the Pincio or
in the Borghese Gardens, and got out of the carriage for ten
minutes to bask in the sun, but now he is not able.” . . . .
“The only thing I have seen, except St. Peter's, is the
I 2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
view from Bunsen's house on the Capitol. . . . . He has
lived here for seventeen years, and has a love for anti-
quities and art which will be most useful to us. But at
present I not only grudge wasting such good things with a
mind so little at ease, but I find that the strain upon my
attention only makes me feel doubly the anxiety awaiting
my return.”
M. H. to C. S.
“On Thursday Marcus took me in a carriage up to the
Capitol where Bunsen lives. Except that moonlight vision of
grandeur in entering Rome, I had as yet seen nothing but
the view from the Pincio over modern Rome. Think then of
our delight, upon being shown into Bunsen's room, to look
down upon all most interesting objects in the ancient city
lying beneath us, with the mountains and the towns of
Frascati and Albano lit up by the evening sun in the back-
ground. We were so occupied in looking out of the win-
dow as not to see Mrs. Bunsen come in, and could hardly
turn away to speak to her. Soon after he came in : it is a
square figure and round face, with a very German look ex-
pressive of benevolence, in which one finds out by degrees
the lines of thought and intelligence. Then we asked to
look again at the view, and he, with the utmost clearness,
in English, pointed out to us the details. Having gone
through them from the drawing-room windows, he took us
through the salon to his own study, and thence, for the first
time, we saw the Coliseum, the Temple of Peace, St. John
Lateran, and, far beyond, the Sabine Hills. Having studied
all that side, he took us to another window and balcony,
which looked out on St. Peter's and the whole of modern
Rome, the different views forming the most complete pano-
rama. I felt at home with both Mr. and Mrs. Bunsen
immediately, and five out of the nine children were running
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. I3
about with that sort of tact of well brought-up children that
are never in the way, yet always of the party. They took
us down into the garden, and showed us an Indian fig-tree
they had planted seventeen years ago, on first Coming, when
they found neither doors nor windows in the house.”
C. S. to M. H.
“Jan. 3, 1834.—How constantly you have been in my
thoughts since I wrote last, I need not tell you. I feel that
you see the case so exactly in its due proportions of hope
and fear. I think that I do so myself;-the present pro-
gress, all one can desire, Save in the One point of the cough,
—the long-continued obstinacy of that, the tendency to
excited circulation,-the anxious, precarious uncertainty be-
fore you. Oh! what a merciful compensation and dispen-
sation it is, that the same tenderness of nature which makes
you so sensibly alive to smaller anxieties than this, also
enables you to feel in its fullest sense that higher love
which can alone be your support, and that perfect trust
which can rest all in His hands. I cannot tell you how
often it has occurred to me within the last fortnight to think
of you, your present situation, your present feelings, with
almost envy, certainly with comparative comfort, with peace;
to hear all the littlenesses that occupy the unafflicted,—how
health and outward and visible prosperity all fail, how
entirely happiness is independent of all,—and if so now,
what in the future P”
“A”. 3.-How many people have burst into tears like
you at the first sight of the dome of St. Peter's, but surely
no one ever did it with such mingled emotions—the point
of hope for so long—all associations lost in comparison
with the one prine object; and yet not lost, for if it had
been Lucca, Pisa, any other place that was to cure him,
the sight would have been welcomed, yet not have affected
I4 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
you in the same way. . . . . If Augustus had not the self.
denial to foibear letting down the window and scolding
the postboy, how will he be kept from talking to Bunsen,
&c. P.” . . . .
“A”. II.-I am obliged to repeat to myself very often,
‘no amendment is to be expected under three weeks,’ but
it was impossible not to feel disappointed, that when the
first fatigue of the journey was over the cough was the
same, but the excitement of it is not over yet, in short, we
must rest in patience and hope. . . . . How I did feel that
I went with you to Bunsen's salon ] and I had been think-
ing, as you had probably, only of the pleasure of seeing
Bunsen, and forgot the situation ; and now if you were to
see no more than those two views, would they not be worth
a great deal—worth all that we could read, or fancy, or
learn from every picture or plan that could be studied ? I
recur again and again to the comfort this place and these
people will be to you when no other sight-seeing or people-
seeing could have either interest or amusement; and what
a comfort it is that Rome is not merely a statue, and
picture, and inside-seeing place, that if you never enter a
gallery you will still be seeing Rome.”
M. H. to REV. R. KILVERT.
“Aeë. 6, 1834.— . . . . I scarcely know how to write to
you, and can only do so in forgetting our short acquaint-
ance, and presuming on that kind interest you have ex-
pressed towards us, and on that sympathy which one
Christian heart must feel for others on whom God lays his
chastening hand. Mr. Hare makes no progress, and I have
lately had the anguish of learning that his lungs are now
decidedly affected. Under these circumstances I try in
vain to be sanguine, and though all things are possible with
God, I cannot blind myself to the persuasion that it is in
FROM sunsăINE INTO SHADE. 15
His eternal counsels that this His servant should be taken
away from us. Augustus himself leaves all without fear and
anxiety in a Father's hands, and speaks with the utmost calm-
ness of the issue, mourning only over his own unworthiness
in his Master's service. May that blessed Master, who
chastens because He loves, strengthen his faith and mine, to
increase his joy and hope in believing, and sustain me
throughout the deep waters. He constantly says God gives
him nothing to bear—gives him nothing but blessings, yet
his cough is very bad and his weakness increases. Your
prayers, I know, will be with us, and those of all our
affectionate friends at Alton ; and we will pray for them also
that this and every other trial may lead them on more
earnestly to seek that peace and rest which this sorrowing
world can never give.”
M. H. to C. S.
“Aeb. 11, 1833.—As I feel a little calmer to-day than for
Some days past, I will write you a few lines. If I once
give it up, the effort will grow stronger in trying to do it
again, and though anything I can say must distress you,
you will prefer it to your own imagination. I have always
in the best moments looked to this, and felt that ours was
too perfect happiness to last, but this does not make it the
less bitter now it has come. If it be possible, consistent
with His purpose, surely He will spare us; and yet I feel that
in His eyes our earthly happiness is so like dust in the
balance when compared with the spiritual good to be
effected by His chastisements, that the more He loves the
more will He look beyond the momentary to the eternal. I
catch at the slightest shadow to rest on, but I feel at times
that there is no hope. It was easy to write to you calmly
from Genoa, when the fear was past, and hope predomi-
nant, but how different it is now ! To see every day some
I6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
little increased symptom of evil—some new token of what
the evil is, and that one so hopeless. I feel how vain it is
to try and blind one's self. He does not know the extent of
what others think, though I never conceal my own feats
from him. . . . . The last two days he has been, if anything,
a little better; and yesterday he sat for some time with the
window open in our sunny room, and it revived him. . . . .
I can write to no one but you. Tell them at Stoke I will
take all the care I can of my own health. Assure Mrs.
Oswald I will not fail to consider money as nothing where
his comfort is concerned ; and I am sure that I shall only
be fulfilling hers and my father's wishes in putting all
thought of expense out of my head.”
C. S. to REV. O. LEYCESTER.
“Aeb. 24.—I heard from Julius yesterday. He has no
curate, or he would have gone off; but the letter is a calmer
one than I expected, and such a one as leads me to hope
that he will be the best comforter she can have ; but for the
present truly, she says, God only can help her.”
C. S. to M. H.
“Alderley, Feb. 24, 1834.—When I sit down to write to
you, I feel as if I had hardly the power of fathoming the
depth and extent of your suffering ; but still, understanding
you as I do, knowing all that I do, no one but Lucy can feel
as I do. I have been sanguine till the pulse remained
obstinate—in short, till the last three letters. Now I see it
all too plain. And now what I most earnestly desire to hear
is, that you have been able to look forward together steadily
to the change, convinced that as long as your mind is dis-
tracted by the anxiety of hope and fears and daily vicissitudes,
it must be utterly impossible to attain anything like resig-
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 17
nation to God's will. Oh ! that he may be spared long
enough to allow of the possibility of this preparation, and
that he may give you the comfort of seeing him in full pos-
session of a Christian's trust and hope. I well understand
how in the near prospect all past life rises up before one as
one never saw it before—as white paper becomes dirty in
comparison with the Snow—and how the exquisiteness of
his moral sense, being sharpened, makes the Comparison
with what ought to be almost unbearable. But this is past
probably while I am writing, and he is now realising a
Saviour's love and promises, and feeling all the more what
it is, from this temporary—as it would seem—withdrawal.
“The coming Spring may, perhaps, bring revival and
amendment for a little while ; but oh I do not let it seduce
you into turning away your eyes from the ultimate evil, but
take the real advantage of it by turning more and more to
the Eternal World, where all, even such affliction, will be
counted light. I feel a sanguine hope that you will be sup-
ported better than I should have dared to look for some
time ago. All the earthly alleviations which have crowded
round you, are, I trust, but faint types of the spiritual ones
awaiting you, which are the only ones to lean upon at last.
I have written to Julius. I feel so drawn towards him—
more than ever—as if he was indeed a brother.”
L. A. H. to C. S.
“22, Via S. Sebastianelſo, Rome, Feb. 13, 1834.—I do
earnestly hope the last bad accounts will have prepared you
for what I am now about to write. May the same blessed
Saviour whose hand is now supporting your beloved Maria
through the deep, deep waters, and making almost bright to
us all the Valley of the Shadow of Death, support you ; for
both Maria and I feel how far more bitter the blow will be
WOL. II. C
I8 MEMORIALS, OF A QUIET LIFE.
to you and Julius than it is to us, who are cheered and com-
forted by seeing the heavenly peace given to our dear
Augustus. Up to Monday morning there seemed no cause
for apprehension. Maria came to breakfast saying he had
passed a better night, and she had had more sleep. But
after he was dressed he was seized with a fainting fit. Mary
ran to support him, and thought he would have died in her
arms. She had just time to call Marcus, who fortunately
was in the passage, and he likewise thought it was the end,
his whole countenance became so changed. When I went
in a few minutes after, he was lying in bed, supported by
pillows, breathing with great difficulty. Marcus and Mary
stood by the bed, and Maria, as well as her tears would
allow, was reading to him verses from the Bible. . . . . All
that day he lay very still in a sort of stupor, scarcely speak-
ing, except when he wanted some change in his pillows, and
once to thank Francis, who had scarcely been able to
leave the house since he was taken ill No great
change took place that night. The next day, Tuesday, he
spoke more, dictated to Maria letters to Mr. Pile, Maslen,
and Julius. He was able to speak very little, and was
reserving all his strength to speak seriously to Francis, the
thing he had most at heart. Maria was able to read to him
in a clear firm voice whenever he wished it. She cried a
great deal, but quietly ; once or twice after any great self-
command, she would go into the next room, bury her face
almost convulsively in the bedclothes, and after an earnest
prayer, return with a calm, cheerful face to his bedside.
Wednesday—Ash Wednesday—he rallied, and became more
like himself, still Thompson said his strength was failing,
and amendment could only be temporary. We were all
fully prepared for this being the last day, and a blessed day
it was. His mind was quite clear, he looked and spoke
like himself; there did not seem a shade or care to disturb
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. I9
his happiness. Mr. Burgess came and administered the
Sacrament in his room. Augustus did not seem at all tired
as we expected ; it was indeed a foretaste of the Peaceful
World he was about to enter. Maria knelt by his bedside,
I next her, Francis and Marcus at the table, Mary and
Dawson near the door. Augustus's face was lighted up with
a joy and brightness I cannot describe; his spirit seemed to
bound forward to meet the blessed words pronounced, and
to take the bread and wine. When it was over we sepa-
rated. Maria was perfectly calm throughout ; but as soon as
it was ended she went into the next room and buried her
face in the bed; then, in a few instants, she was herself
again at his bedside. He lay, looking so quiet, so peaceful.
He had taken leave of Marcus the day before, of Francis
that morning. After the Sacrament, he asked what book
Francis had used. It was his own—the old one of Lady
Jones. He wrote with his own hand, ‘To my dearest
brother Francis. Ash Wednesday: It is to be given by-
and-by.” There now only remained his farewell to Maria,
as he said to Marcus, the hardest task of all. She told me
of it afterwards as calmly as I am now telling you. He gave
her farewell messages to every one and all his last injunc-
tions, made her tie the hair-chain she had given him before
his marriage round his neck, to be buried with him, and
said, ‘I must press you once more to my heart, which, she
said, he did with all his own force. He then said,
‘Now earth is passed away, I have nothing more to do
with it,' and lay quite still. . . . . I look at Augustus, and
cannot feel grief. That will come for ourselves when he
is gone. It is not like watching the approach of Death; he
is stripped of all his terrors. It is rather the feeling of the
cry, ‘Behold the Bridegroom cometh, go thou forth to meet
him.' . . . . It may be any hour now.”
2O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
M. H.’s Journal.
“On Tuesday, Feb. 11, Mr. Burgess came and said a few
comforting words to Augustus, who said that he felt now
‘within the fold.’ When Lucy came in, he took our hands
and joined them together, saying, ‘You must comfort each
other;’ he expressed a fear that he might not live to receive
the Sacrament the next day, and on Lucy saying, ‘Then
you will not need it,’ ‘No,' he said, “but it would be a
comfort to all of you to receive it with me.’ He repeatedly
expressed the sense he felt of being forgiven. “I feel I am
reconciled to God through Christ. I have peace—perfect
peace; but I have not joy.’ He said he prayed for four
things—for comfort and strength for me, for a death without
much suffering, that his death might be edifying, that his
successor at Alton might love his people.
“On the 12th, after Mr. Burgess was gone, he said,
‘There is only one thing left now, that is, to take leave of
you—when shall it be?’ Fearful every hour might be the
last, I said it had better be now. “Then shut the door and
give me the orangeade that I may have strength for it.’
Having drank of it, he raised himself up with astonishing
strength, and, embracing me, said, ‘I must press you once
more to my heart; you have been the dearest, tenderest,
the most affectionate of wives;” and then he prayed that I
might be strengthened and comforted. When I spoke of
meeting again, he said, ‘No, not for many years. You have
too many on earth to love you.’ Some time after, “I did
not say what I ought—the truest of wives; it has been that
truth I so delighted in.' Then he gave me messages for all,
and then said, “Everything in this world is now done ; now
let me be alone, I must go to sleep.' He begged me to put
the locket on the chain to put round his neck, ‘The first thing
you ever gave me.' . . . .
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 2 I
“When a bad coughing fit came on, he thought it was
the last, and, taking my hand in both his, he raised it up
saying, ‘Dearest Mia,' and lifted up his eyes to heaven, as
if in prayer.”
L. A. H. to C. S.
“Aº. 18, 1834.—The fever continued all Saturday and
Sunday, his strength gradually sinking, but he still retained
his quietness and perfect clearness of mind. When I
went in at nine on Monday, I had no idea how much
worse he was. Maria was sitting by his bedside with a
look of resigned misery. He remained all day in a kind
of lethargy. Francis seemed unable to leave the room.
About five o'clock in the evening, Marcus brought in a
letter from you and one from Mr. O. L., and just gave
them to Maria as she stood by the bed, Augustus appa-
rently insensible of everything. Maria gave them to me
to put away. Two hours after, Augustus said to her.
‘You had two letters, what were they P Was one from
Kitty? You know I always like to hear what she says.”
—A few moments after he had forgotten it all again.
Mr. Oswald's letter told them of 24, 200—how he will re-
joice it came just in time. All night he was quiet, but
when Dr. Thompson came in the morning, he said he
was sinking and could not last beyond Sunset. On Sun-
day morning he had offered up a prayer in his own
words, so full of gratitude, saying that even the annoy,
ances of his illness were almost turned to blessings by the
comforts and luxuries around him. . . . . I have come
now into the next room to write—Oh, the contrast between
that dark silent chamber, and the glorious sun shining
through the window on my paper but at this moment I am
not Sad, I can think of nothing but the far brighter sun
which will soon burst upon his sight.”
22 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
BUNSEN to ARNOLD.
“Aeb. 19. . . . Our dear Augustus Hare has left us.
When this arrives, you will already have known that he
expired yesterday, in a state of perfect bliss. He had given
previous directions that he should be buried by the side of
my children. I saw him twice, and loved him from the
first moment. His thoughts were always with his friends,
his country, his Church, but above all, and up to the last
moment, with his Saviour. Requiescat in pace . His
excellent wife has shown herself worthy of such a hus-
band.” -
M. H. to C. S.
“ Feb. 21, 1834.—I will write as I am able : I must not
keep from you his parting words. On Wednesday, after
taking leave of me, he said—‘Tell Kitty I send her my
dying blessing, and to all the dear children.’ ‘Tell your
father and Mrs. Oswald how grateful I feel for all their
kindness, and for all the assistance they have given us in
this journey, though the object of it has failed. Give
my kindest regards and love to E. Stanley and to Penrhyn
and Charlotte ; then after an interval — ‘You must
give a kind message for me to Lou Clinton—give her my
dear love—and I would send her a text if I could think of
one to suit her '—and he afterwards gave me one—‘In
patience possess ye your Souls.’
“He said, not long before his last attack, he had such a
strong persuasion of Satan's agency, and that he felt as if he
would make a last attack upon his faith ; and he dreaded,
lest if any great suffering came, he might dishonour his
Christian character—“I do not suffer yet, but it must come :
* This letter has already appeared in Bunsen’s Life.
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 23
the separation of soul and body is too great not to require a
great struggle.' Never was a fear less realised, nor was faith
ever less tried. It seemed at last to be quite freed from all
doubts. . . . . I cannot tell you how I was struck, as I Sat
by him all those days, when he asked me to read to him,
with the utter inappropriateness of all those parts of Scrip-
ture which one is accustomed to find most useful for daily
use—how entirely to a dying man the whole of the moral
view seemed closed, and the spiritual only applicable : the
work of repentance, too, one felt had long since been
complete. He said, ‘I think I have a contrite heart,' but
he expressed his wish that he had earlier applied the
promises to himself-he saw they were to the Child of
God. The verse he pointed out to me, I think on the
Sunday before his last illness, was I Peter v. Io, and one
Friday when I read to him Psalm xxx., he made me repeat
the 5th verse—“Remember that, Mia.”
“I am hardly come down again from going up with
him to a world of happiness and joy, and from feeling the
release to his spirit from its earthly prison-house. The
moment I look on myself it seems past bearing ; but oh I
rejoice and bless God that he is spared this bitter anguish
of parting, if one must be taken and one left, it is far best
as it is. I have so many to comfort me, so many resources
he would not have had. It was his particular desire that
I should have a home of my own; where, must be a matter
of future consideration, but I feel it would be the greatest
comfort to me. We shall stay here till the middle of April
—as long as the house is taken for—then go straight home
I hope. Marcus and Lucy will perhaps go with me to
Alton, and you will come there after a little. I think I
shall go first to Julius afterwards. My dearest K., how
many things I have to say to you, but I cannot say them
In OW. . . . .
24 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“Lucy was to have finished this, but she is ill. All is over
now. Marcus is just come back. When I think of Augus-
tus now rejoicing, I forget myself, I forget what this is.
When I turn downwards, though I know and feel it is the
will of God, and therefore bow beneath it, I writhe under
the blow. And yet the very perfect happiness that has
been, should be a cause of added thankfulness, not of
added grief. That we have had five years of love so per-
fect, and union so entire, is a blessing vouchSafed to so
few; I would bless and praise God for having ſent it to me so
long; and tenfold heavier as this trial is than the last, I feel
how great a difference the sweetness of the recollections
mingles with it. How I have gone through it, but by the
strength God has given me, I know not, but for the last
fortnight my life has been one of constant prayer. I cannot
tell you what Marcus is to me, the tenderest and the most
thoughtful of brothers. What blessings I have left in your
affection, and that of so many : may I be grateful for these,
and may that faith which I feel is now supporting me, Con-
tinue to do so in the trying future.”
M. H. to REV. O. LEYCESTER.
“Atome, Æð., 1834.—The hand of God has touched me ;
and you, my dearest father, who know how devotedly we
loved each other, will know how deeply. . . . He dictated
three letters, to Pile, to Maslen, and to Mr. Sloper—all, as
you may suppose, in the hope of doing good. I never saw
more affection than Francis showed—never leaving the
house, and scarcely the room, during the whole week,
and so happy if he could do him any little service when
Marcus was out of the way. All Augustus's expressions
were those of thankfulness from first to last—‘God gives
me nothing to bear, I have no suffering,’ ‘I ought to
thank God for every moment of ease I enjoy.' . . . About
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 25
himself, ever since his attack at Genoa, he had felt the
deepest contrition, and the sense of his unworthiness pressed
him down greatly; but in the last week he repeatedly
said he hoped he was in the fold; that he believed Christ
had put him there; that he felt at perfect peace. He said
he had been for two months looking the moral eye of God's
justice in the face, and he felt that if it were not for his faith
in Christ all his hope of heaven would sink under him. . . .
I have not at present suffered from all the deep waters I
have gone through, and the air here agrees with me so well,
I trust I may be enabled to return to you without any
material suffering ; for, believe me, I do not forget how
many God has left still to love and care for me, to how
many I may still give pleasure, and because He has taken
away the one idol that He lent me for a time, shall I repine?
Let me rather bless Him that I have had him so long, and
that five years have been allowed me of such perfect earthly
happiness.”
M. H. to MISS MILLER.
“Aome, Feb. 27.-How shall I write to you, my dear
friend ? . . . You know what our happiness was, and that
I always rejoiced in trembling, I knew it could not last
long, but yet so buoyant is one's nature that till the last
fortnight I was not awakened to a sense how soon it was to
end. . . . Till two o'clock on Tuesday afternoon the spirit
was struggling for its departure, and when at last its hour
was come, God in His mercy took it gently away. There
was not a shadow of pain or struggle; but my beloved
Augustus was taken far above earthly suffering to rejoice in
glory, to have all his hunger and thirst after righteousness
fully satisfied, and bitter, bitter as that moment was, one
could not but feel that to him it was one of unspeakable
gain. It was on Tuesday, in the intervals of coughing, and
26 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
rousing himself with a great effort from a lethargy, that he
said, ‘Tell Miss Miller I cannot write to her, but she does
not need anything I can say to her, and I leave her my
dying blessing.’ -
. . . . “My Gourd has been taken away, but it has been
transplanted a Tree of Righteousness into the Father's
kingdom, and I desire to bless and praise him who, for
nearly five blessed years, has lent me this precious treasure.
He has taken away my earthly idol. He takes from me the
home I so delighted in, but it is to draw me nearer to Him-
self, and I can only adore the love which chastens. My
dear friend, you too, and our dear people, will need comfort.
May God in his infinite mercy give it, and grant one of the
last prayers of your minister, that “he who is to come after
may love his people.’ Heart-breaking as it is, I must come
to you once again. If I can bear it, I shall stay with you
as long as I can, and you must be sure that neither you nor
my other Alton friends will ever be lost sight of. As far as
can be, my strongest remaining wish on earth will be to
comfort you in a loss that I feel can scarcely be repaired.
But God's ways are not our ways, He will never forsake
those who seek after Him ; He can raise up friends when
they think not of it, and when the poor and needy seek
water He will hear them, and give them the fountains of
Ilife.”
M. H. to C. S.
“Aeb. 27.- . . . Just near the end, his anxiety seemed
chiefly that I should not see him suffer, I therefore drew a
little of the curtain that he might not see me. Oh, what a
feeling it is, watching the departing spirit, and feeling that
any moment may be the one when it takes its flight! And
yet, scarcely then could self be felt—scarcely could I turn
to myself, or think of anything but his release; and still,
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 27
now, when a whole week has past, when every trace of him
outwardly is gone, I hardly feel it so personally. We talk
of him as if he were here. I have him with me so vividly,
it scarcely seems possible that we are so divided: there was
something in his freshness and elasticity of spirit to the very
last which to a singular degree prevents one's feeling that he
is not. My dearest, dearest Augustus, it does at times come
over me that I shall have him no more—that his ever bright
mind is to cheer me no longer; that the perfection of
earthly love is passed away; and then, when the sense of
it is too strong to bear, I turn to my God—my Saviour. I
feel that this world is passing, that it is but a pilgrimage,
and that the home, that home where he is now rejoicing in
glory, is the one we shall have for ever; and then I feel
that along my path here, desolate as it now seems, there
are many blessings scattered on every side to lighten and
cheer it, and I may yet be able to do my Master service.
There are still the poor left for me to minister to, still
mourners to be comforted, many to love and to be loved
by ; and when my heart is very sad, if I only ask it urgently
enough, I shall still have the strength given and comfort
vouchsafed, that I have had in the last few weeks of
extreme need. I have a feeling that I should like my
Cottage to be at Hurstmonceaux. To be near Julius, and
with his people (my natural inheritance), seems to me will
be to be nearer to Augustus than in any other spot on
earth, when Alton is taken away. The great struggle will
be leaving Rome, and then Alton But with that soft
alleviating mercy which seems to have been shed over the
severity of this trial, I shall by the reviving influence of this
climate be strengthened in body to bear all there is to
come. How I felt the first going out, and looking on God's
blue heaven, and feeling there was no change there, all
was unclouded and bright as when my Augustus was here,
28 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and now he is taken up far above to a brighter light. The
first day I could see nothing else; but to-day I put up my
veil, and tried to look boldly on that lovely view which I
have now seen in three different stages, when first alarmed,
when without hope, and now. The Gardens of the
French Academy are close to us, at the top of the hill that
leads from our door; it is as quiet as your garden at
Alderley, and there are walks and seats where I can go
unseen.”
Last letter of JULIUS to AUGUSTUs.
“Aurstmonceaux, Feb. 24, 1833. — Dearest, dearest
Augustus, ‘Shall I ever see you again P’ You say in your
holy letter from Genoa, “Beware of being too hopeful till
we have been at least a month in Rome.’ Have I then
been too hopeful? Is it not to be? Am I never to see
you again P God's will be done. How great has His
goodness been to me, in giving me such a brother as you
have been, in allowing us to live together with such perfect
love for each other, such perfect confidence in each other,
as we have done for the last twenty years My thoughts
during these last days have been wandering over the whole
of that period, and I have been thinking of everything that
you have been to me, and done for me, and said to me;
and while I remembered numberless marks of the sincerest
and most generous affection, I cannot call to mind one
single instance in which you ever allowed yourself even to
utter a hasty word at variance with it. Alas ! how different
has my conduct to you been. Never have you caused me
a moment's pain, unless it was for my good ; and even then
you have endeavoured to soften the pain as much as you
could. Of a truth your love for me has been “wonderful,
passing the love of women.' And what do I owe you?
that I am where I am ; that I have the means, so far as
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 29
they can be bestowed by another, of enjoying every earthly
happiness; that I am placed in a situation where the
faithful discharge of my duty to Christ is become likewise
my great earthly duty. Nor is this more than a part, a
small part, of what I owe you. Yet I wished, fervently
wished, to make this debt still greater, among other things
by learning from your example how to walk in the path
where you have set me. - -
“How shall I ever be able to walk there by myself? It
seems to have been by a kind of prophetic instinct that I
was so anxious about your coming here before you left Eng-
land. Alas ! that I should have to live in a house which
has never been blest by your presence. There has been
that sympathy between our hearts and minds that for so
many years, whenever I have heard a beautiful thought or
story, or seen any beautiful object, one of my first thoughts
has always been, how Augustus would like it ! and this bred
the wish to tell you of it, or to show it you. Until I had
done this, my own enjoyment seemed but half complete.
And now what is the worth of all the beautiful objects by
which I am surrounded if you are never to see them P I
wanted to see you in my pew, too, which now will ever
remain empty: I wanted to see you, to hear you, in my
pulpit. We were to have set up a coach between Alton and
Hurstmonceaux. I have often amused myself with writing
imaginary letters ‘from the rector of Hurstmonceaux to the
rector of Alton, greeting.' And now is all the future to be
a blank? Not quite, my Augustus ! As our heavenly-
minded comforter—our dear Lucy—says most truly, ‘I shall
be more blest in walking through the rest of life with the
memory of such a brother than most persons are in the
possession of living ones.’ Oh that that memory may prove
a lively motive to me to walk worthily of it. I am so weak,
I want human motives, I want human counsel and help.
3o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
But that is to be taken from me. Pray for me before you
go, pray that I may become worthy of meeting you again
hereafter. I am writing despondingly, Augustus, but not
as I wrote on Christmas Day. I am grown much calmer,
more resigned to the blow that appears to threaten us: I
can bless God for the inestimable blessing He has given us,
which will Continue an inestimable blessing even after He has
taken it away. But still I cannot help feeling that the loss
will be the greatest that can ever befall me, that the pain
will be the bitterest. Will it befall me? O what a blessing
it would be if you were to be given back to us, snatched
out of the very jaws of Death by Him who is the lord over
Death ! But Maria and Lucy's two letters show me that the
danger is great, that there is more ground for fear than hope.
They reached me yesterday and the Sunday before : indeed,
most of your letters since you have been abroad have arrived
on a Sunday; Elphick usually brings them to the vestry after
morning service, and I read them on my way home. Of the
former, which reawakened my fears after the account of
your recovery at Genoa and of your journey to Pisa and
Rome had made me perhaps unwarrantably sanguine, I
seemed to have a kind of second-sight while I was preach-
ing. My sermon had been an admirable one of Arnold's,
from whom I often take my morning sermon ; they are so
full of sense and sincerity, so devoid of everything like
pulpit conventional slang, you see he means every word that
he says, they only seem to me to want to be made rather
more rhetorical in manner. That was on the text, ‘The
Egyptians, whom ye have seen to-day, ye shall see no more
for ever.” In the latter part, after speaking of the vain
hopes with which people comfort themselves in speaking of
their departed relations, he adds: “But there are others—-
and happy are those who have many such among their
friends and relations—in whom the heavenward bent of
FROM SUNSHIINE INTO SHADE. 3I
their minds, and the heavenly character of their actions, is
visible while they are here below, whom we have seen in
their youth and health treading firmly and steadily in that
path which, when they are gone, we may say and feel
assured, has brought them to their eternal rest. For such
there can be no uneasiness; nor can the boldest hope half
come up to those unutterable joys with which their Master
now blesses them.’ I know not how, when writing this
over, it did not strike me how singularly I was one of those
/happy persons. But in the pulpit this rose up before me so
forcibly, and I saw such a bright vision of my Augustus in
bliss, that for a few moments I quite forgot my audience,
and, when I opened the letter from Rome, I found that the
fulfilment of my vision might perhaps be much nearer than
I had anticipated. Among other things I have been think-
ing what memorial I should like to have of you. Will you
leave me your Sacrament cup, that which you carry about to
the Cottages? So may I, when I am carrying it for the same
purpose, be strengthened by the recollection of him who
bore it before me. God bless you, and, if it may be, restore
you to us; if not, may he render your passage into happi-
mess as easy as possible. God bless you, dear dear Augustus,
I cannot give up all hope of seeing you again. Were
Sterling in Orders you would see me at Rome, and even as
it is, if I can manage it, I shall set off to spend a couple of
days with you. You need not my assurance that I will
always cherish your Maria as a dear beloved sister, beloved
for her own sake, and still more so for yours. Again, God
bless you ! How can I bring myself to say, when it may
perchance be for the last time, God bless you !”
L. A. H. to the Miss HARES.
“A’ome, Feb. 26, 1834.— . . . Augustus did not feel much
joy. He was oftener in deep self-abasement before God
32 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
than in any other frame, before we got to Rome. He often
said, ‘I feel assured that I shall be saved at last, but there
seems so much yet to be perfected in me, so much to purify.
I dread so much that if I were to get well, I might not
Serve Him better.” He has constantly read his Bible; it
has been his never-failing companion for the last two
months, and latterly as his strength failed he has called
upon Maria to read to him. The last few days he could
Only bear a few verses at a time. The Olney hymns have
been a great comfort to him ; the last I ever read to him
was on the last Sunday evening—the one beginning, ‘Why
should I fear the darkest hour’—he said, ‘Beautiful' at one
Verse, and then shut his eyes and lay quite quiet. . . . He
said very little the last few days, but the few words he did
say showed his hope grew brighter and brighter. . . . For
the last hour we all stood round the bed. Marcus took
poor Maria away just before the very last, and I followed.
He was not conscious then. Marcus mingled his tears with
hers, and comforted her—how, I need not tell you.
“Of dear Maria I know not what to say. I trembled at
the thought of how she would suffer, for never had happiness
been greater than hers, or husband more beloved—more
idolised ; but she has been living on prayer during the last
two months, and is now reaping the answer, for no one can
doubt what and who it is so visibly upholding her. She
is in great grief—it cannot be otherwise—but it is a grief so
resigned, so cheerful. She blesses the hand which strikes,
and does not turn away from comfort. The very first words
which she uttered in the first burst of agony, when she leant
against the bed after it was all over, were, ‘Blessed be God
who has taken him to Himself and spared him all suffering;
oh, may we be sanctified to meet him ; let me not forget all
the happiness which has been given to us for so many years.”
And she has said several times, ‘The language of praise in
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 33
the 103rd and the 18th Psalm suit my feelings even now
better than any other.’”
M. H. to C. S.
“March I.- . . . The very thing which many will per-
haps say is a happy thing—the having no child—I feel is
perhaps almost the bitterest drop in the whole. Had I a
child of his to bring up, to trace out a likeness in, it would
have been such a comfort; but I should have loved it far
too much, and made it, as I did him, into an idol, So that
it would have been taken away. All is best as it is. My
earthly affections are too strong; it seems to me as if the
union of husband and wife, when perfect, is too near and
too strong for this world, where one may be taken and not
the other; but so it is that God prevents our resting here,
and forces us to come to Him in the extremity of suffering,
and brings home to us the reality of a life, hidden and
clouded indeed here, but to be manifested hereafter. I do
feel this reality—the brightness of the Light that came to
lighten our darkness, and how when brought low, even to
the ground before Him, all one's hardness of heart is broken
down and the softening influence of His Spirit melts it into
love—when I am tempted to look on and feel what it is at
thirty-five to do so, I send away the thought quickly, for of
all things I know by experience the vainest is to dwell on
juture evils. Life itself is so doubtful, and it may not be a
long future though it appears so, and—if it be, doubtless
He who has so blest me hitherto will give me all the bless-
ings good for me to cheer my path.
“There seems no doubt now the blood-vessel broken at
Genoa was on the lungs, but, what signifies the means? We
did all we could to save him, but it was God's will he should
not rest longer here ; and there, where he is now, there is no
mourning for sin, no weariness of body; he has the fulness
VOL. II. D
34 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
of beauty and goodness ever before him. It is only for his
poor, poor Mia you must mourn, and pray that the comfort
her Saviour has poured upon her hitherto may mercifully be
continued and strengthened.”
M. H. to MRS. O. LEYCESTER.
“A/arch 8, 1834.— . . . God has bestowed on me every
earthly alleviation my Sorrow can have, and for the loss itself
nothing but the strong persuasion that He who is love has
so ordered it, that it must be best in His eyes, can give me
any comfort. And shall I not rest all my cares upon Him,
who in human form has borne our sorrows, and bless Him
for all the happiness He has lent me for a time, to be re-
called because He sees it good to do so? When my heart
is quite sinking within me, I go to Him in earnest prayer,
and He has never yet failed to give me comfort. But there
is much that will be very trying to come, and I feel that I
have not yet drunk half the bitterness of the cup before me.
I have scarcely yet looked into this world's blank; and in
thinking of the joy my beloved husband is now enjoying, I
can in my little sunny room, with no companion but my
Bible or Lucy, forget the depth of my own loss.
“For the last few days, however, I have roused myself to
take several drives. . . . The interest of Rome is now pain-
fully deep, but the remembrance of the things seen under
such circumstances will be so valuable that I would not
forego it, though it costs me something now. I felt almost
afraid of seeing the Coliseum ; but no print can give the
beauty of that soft colouring, or the blue sky seen through
those arches, and the height of that magnificent building,
rising up as it were into the sky. No sermon that was ever
preached could speak so forcibly of the instability of worldly
grandeur as the Palace of the Caesars does; and I know not
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 35
there could be scenes in such accordance with my present
feelings as these, where every step reminds one of the pass-
ing away of earthly things, and urges one to look on to that
‘house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.’ On
everything I seem to see the name “Augustus’ engraved as
large as life.
“One day we drove to the Villa Pamfili Doria, and there
I wandered about alone among the pines, with a carpet of
anemones and violets beneath my feet, as retired from obser-
vation as I could desire. We returned by the Fontana
Paolina to see the view of Rome at sunset, and gloriously it
was lit up; the haze obscured the mountains, but the town,
ancient and modern, lay stretched before us, with every
house and tower and dome as clear as an evening sun could
make them. . . . One spot there was—one group of trees—
that I could not take my eyes from, near the Pyramid of
Caius Cestius. Oh, with what a feeling do I look upon that
spot, and wonder I can bear to look upon it. Rome, with
all its associations of the past, is interesting beyond all
other places; its ruins are filled with all that is most beauti-
ful and most attractive, but to me—now—I feel I must love it
too well, and when the time comes for taking leave of it, how
entirely I shall feel it is leaving him too; yet he, blessed
Augustus, will still be ever near me, rejoicing in the light
that knows no darkness. -
“We came into the town through the Porta Cavalleggieri,
the same by which we first entered Rome—with what
different feelings then —so full of hope that here we should
find health and regain happiness; and though with much of
present anxiety, little of future fear, at least not realised to
one's self. Those noble columns again struck me as the
grandest works of art as we passed close by them, but were
to see them every day that first impression never could be
lost seen through the moonlight, nearly the only object in
36 MEMORIALs of A QUIET LIFE.
Rome worth seeing that it was permitted me to see with
him.
“Being thus out every day makes me feel stronger. My
faithful Mary retained her presence of mind to fulfil the last
office for her dear master, and has since found her comfort
in ministering to my wants, though they are but few ; and
the same cheerfulness of spirit and tenderness of feeling
make her attentions to me no less valuable than they were
to him. Nearly at the end, when he gave thanks to God
for having given me to him, he gave thanks for all that she
had been also. May I be able to lead her on to follow him;
it is the only way I can repay her past services.
“I feel that Julius and I shall be the fittest companions
for one another for some time, and I shall therefore put off
coming to you, and go first to him at Hurstmonceaux. But
there will be another place to go to before this. . . . I dare
not think of it now. The last Sunday before we left home,
Augustus preached on St. Paul's words to the Ephesians, in
Acts xx. 32. Had they known then what was to be, those
affectionate people would, like the Ephesians, ‘have sorrowed
most of all that they should see his face no more.” How
mercifully it is ordered that we do not know beforehand all
that is likely to befall us.”
REV. O. LEYCESTER to M. H.
“It is scarcely possible to say how thankful we are for
the accounts of you—both body and mind. I could not
wish that you felt less—I would not that you felt more ; all
is just as it should be : and the principle which dictates all
you do and think, is one which will remain with you through
life, and be a comforter under all circumstances. You have
certainly, in all of us, friends who will do all in their power
to alleviate your sorrow, and make your interests their own.
I had an indifferent account last night of my dear brother :
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 37
that we have preserved him so long is a cause of great
gratitude to us all. When he goes, I shall be the last
remaining branch of that generation. How long it may
please God to continue to me this blessing of health, I
know not. I pray neither for life nor for death, but submit
myself with the most entire resignation to His wisdom and
mercy. His mercies I have enjoyed most abundantly
through life. I wish I had been more worthy of them ;
but, like you, I rely only on the atonement made for me by
my blessed Saviour.”
M. H. to C. S.
“March 12.-On Saturday I went with Marcus to the
grave, taking Mary Lea with me. It is three miles off, but
just within the walls, and, oh, such a beautiful quiet spot.
Immediately behind the enclosure are the Pyramid of Caius
Cestius and the ruined turrets of the old walls; in front is
a large flat meadow with trees, and beyond it the green
mound of Monte Testaccio, with one end of the town and
St. Peter's at the extremity of the hill. There are a few
trees and shrubs and aloes round some of the graves. You
may think what it was to stand by that new-raised earth.
. . . . . Bunsen's children have a little hedge of roses round ;
I begged to have the same: and on the stone I have desired,
after the dates, to have that verse out of the Galatians—one
of his favourites—‘The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace,
long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, meekness, temperance.’
To my mind no memorial could be truer, and though in
England none would be needed, here it is well to have a
few words that may speak what he was.
“I still look to Hurstmonceaux as my earthly home.
Elsewhere I could have no right in any of the people; the
poor are his legacy, and with them I shall feel nearest to
Alton happiness.”
38 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
M. H.’s Journal.
“March 5.—Bunsen called. The last time he was here
>ny Augustus was lying on the sofa, able to talk to him, and
ask him questions. He showed, as I knew he would, the
deepest sympathy with my grief, and seemed so deeply
touched with my “allowing' him to come, one might have
thought he was to be the gainer. . . . . After some other con-
versation, I asked what he thought about the abode of the
spirit when it leaves the body. ‘We must keep to what
God’s word says—it is never safe in these matters to leave
it. Our Saviour said, “To-day shalt thou be with me in
paradise.” And we are elsewhere told the souls of the
faithful shall be with God; so that we may safely conclude
them to be in bliss, though the full consummation of that
bliss is reserved to the end when God shall be all in all.
Your Church, as I think, beautifully prays for the accom-
plishment of the number of the elect, and I have introduced
it into our service. What may be the nature of their em-
ployment there, we have no means of knowing ; and fully
do I believe that it is in mercy that God has not vouchsafed
to reveal more, as it is in mercy that he has revealed so
much. He but lifts up the veil so high as to encourage us
cn,--what more is to be known will be hereafter. We may
be sure there is spiritual activity in heaven—there can be
no idleness there ; and what will be the joy of those eternal
praises sung to God by the saints in glory !” I am not
sure of the last few words, but it was to this effect. Speak-
ing of a hymn used by Hugo Grotius on his death-bed, and
of the superiority of the ancient compositions over the
modern ones—“They were written by persons who had
endured great afflictions, who had lived in perilous times :
it does very well in prosperity and happiness to go on with
lower views, but in fear of death and in suffering there is
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 39
but one rock to stay on, the merits and love of Christ.’ He
seemed pleased that I had begun to go out again. “I have
always found in affliction that the works of God are the
most soothing of all ; and here in Rome you may be so
much alone. The word of God and prayer are the first
things no doubt, but next to those, His works are the best
comforters we can have.’ Then he spoke of the first burst-
ing forth of spring : ‘It is the revival of all things—a type
of the revival of the spirit after death.’ He rejoiced that
Augustus was laid beside his own two dear children. There
was not a word that did not speak the meek, humble, and
loving Christian, and never did I talk with one who I could
feel was capable of deeper sympathy.”
“March 7.-The Baths of Caracalla are immense in ex-
tent and space—give one an idea of what their luxury and
magnificence must have been, and there is a wild loneliness
about the deserted ruins, with the grass and wild flowers
filling up all the courts and halls which were once so
splendid, that is very striking. Two picturesque-looking
men watching a flock of goats were at the entrance. There
are the niches for the statues, bits of old mosaic work and
broken pieces of marble and capitals of columns lying about,
as signs of what has been. I walked about and felt what
it would have been . . . . . . that is the ever-prevailing
feeling that casts over all the beauty and all the interest one
deep shade.”
“March 21.—A visit from Mrs. Bunsen. Speaking of
the different opinions, she said how every year made her
feel more tolerant of them, more sure that God only could
know what was within. She spoke of the difficulties a
minister must experience in feeling his own liability to error,
and having to assume authority. In the same way as a
mother, she often felt it a struggle to pretend to an infalli.
bility she could not feel. . . . .
4O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“March 29.-In the Pamfili Doria. I never felt so
strongly before how the works of God praise him, as in
looking at those pines. They lift up their heads to the
heavens so completely as if adoring Him who made them.
I thought pines were mentioned among the natural objects
that unite in praise, but I do not find them, only cedars.”
M. H. to C. S.
“March, 14.—I feel so strongly how the anxiety at and
since Genoa has been a preparation most useful; for though
I never could till the last fortnight bring myself to look
Death steadily in the face, of course the fear of it was latent,
and even for the present I felt it was only by constant cast-
ing of my care upon my Heavenly Father that I could bear
up; and truly I have since felt how it is by Åmocking again and
again that one does at length find an answer. I have always
felt there was a somcf/hing between me and God; that there
was a barrier I had no power over, which did seem to stop as
it were my communication with Him—to hide Him from me;
and when I attempted to pray it was often with a feeling—
“When shall I find Him?'—a sort of vagueness about the
whole thought of Him. Still, I felt I had a certain degree
of Faith; and I now am aware I did not believe in the reality
of any deeper feeling. During the last week before his ill-
ness, in my misery, when often I cried the whole night,
nothing but prayer could calm me. Sometimes I got out of
bed to kneel down and implore God's mercy. I used to
pick out a few verses before I went to bed, and repeat them
during the night and turn them into prayer. During the
last week, you know how I was supported and kept up.
Since that the struggle has been at times great. At first it
was only between my confiding knowledge and faith in the
loving-kindness and far-sighted wisdom of God and my own
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 4 I
exceeding loss; but during the last week I have felt the
struggle between that inward self-will and the real love of
Christ,-not as God a Judge, but as God a loving Saviour
full of mercy and love. I cannot describe it to you, but it
seemed to me as if I saw myself so much clearer than before,
as if I felt for the first time that I had a sou!. I have often
tried to put myself in Augustus's place, and to realise the
feeling of leaving the body. I never could. Now, it is but
faint, yet I have a feeling within—it is not a thought, a
belief, but a feeling, sometimes of exceeding mortification in
turning to self, and seeing, as I seem to do in a glass, all
the vanity and pride attaching themselves to my best actions.
I look to myself so ugly in the past that I wonder any one
could love me; and when I read in my Bible, every word
seems as if it applied to me personally—words that were
before an empty sound, seem to pierce through me, and to
have acquired a singular fitness and propriety. Then, when
I look up, I feel as if I had all along been deceiving myself
by thinking I rested on Christ for my dependence, as if I
had not known Him except so generally—not as having
anything to do with me. I never did enter into the feeling
of having an interest in Him. Now I begin to feel it as the
difference one should feel if some great king that one looked
up to and admired greatly was to single one out and inquire
into one's wants, and interest himself personally in all one's
smallest concerns, from the same man looking at one and
bowing to one amidst a crowd of others. I feel what it is—
in me certainly the love of self (fostered probably by long
indulgence)—that keeps one at a distance from God and
prevents one's uniting one's heart and desires all to His ; and
I feel the utter impossibility myself of removing or softening
this barrier, this hardness; and that only the fixing one's
thoughts and affections more on Christ as a personal friend,
and asking more earnestly for the influence of his Spirit,
42 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
can do it. I have felt several times now such an in-
describable feeling come over me, when praying, of His im-
mediate presence, and a glow going quite through me that
gives me hope and confidence that all or at least the great
part of the uncomfortable, the depressing feeling will be
melted away, and that God has in store for me something
of that Spiritual joy I have long desired to have, but never
yet tasted freely. . . . . I have such a sense of all my pre-
vious religious impressions having left the roof of the matter
hitherto untouched, and that the extremity of this suffering
has roused it;-indeed, I felt so strong a persuasion of the
need there was of this, that far more than anything else it
made me think it probable he would be taken from me ;
and how, though we served God together, and though he
taught me much, I still made him the idol of real worship.
How many bitter tears have I shed in the feeling, ‘I don't
deserve this happiness, it must be taken from me,’ and now
it is the bitterest drop that mixes in the Cup. But I am
sure I am being drawn to God, and having no doubts to
contend with, being able to receive as a child what He says,
I have a confiding hope and trust in His power to subdue
the evil and purify the dross, and that He will lift me up to
rest wholly on His promises and taste His peace. I have no
need of teaching what it should be. Could I only devote
myself as faithfully, as unreservedly, to Him as I did to
Augustus, there would be no question of what one should
do here or there; and I feel that so far from contracting, it
would heighten and enlarge every enjoyment that I can
have or desire. Instead of feeling this world one of misery,
I feel it one full of riches; but then, when my heart is most
full of love and thankfulness for what is given me, I do feel
acutely that he is gone—that my enjoyment must be hence-
forth alone: that unreserve never can be with any other
human being, that complete Oneness ; and though I can here
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 43
in my quiet room calm down and soften every grief by think-
ing of his unspeakable joy, I know the future will be very
trying.”
“March 15.-I have felt so strongly all you say: what
yet remains both of comfort and of work in this world, and
how this trial of one's faith may, if indeed blest, be a means
of glorifying Him who with the conflict sends the armour
and the shield to fight with. My dearest Augustus, perhaps
he was not fitted to do his Master's work so effectually in
life as he may now do it in death ; and as you have so
truly said, all temporal mercies have been but types of the
spiritual ones granted. My whole feeling has been one of
praise and thanksgiving ; and now that He has given me
that spiritual sense of His presence, that exceeding love to
Him I told you of last week, I do feel indeed that He has
/oaded me with benefits. . . . . I feel quite fearful lest the
delicacy of the feeling should be hurt or injured or damped.
It is certainly very mysterious. I feel a constant wonder at
myself at what I am sure is no delusion, and yet is so
distinct from any previous impression. It is not a difference
in degree—a strengthening of what was before weak : it is an
awakening to life of what before seemed dormanſ, a remov-
ing of what before seemed between me and God, as if He
was hid from my eyes. I assure you I have two or three
times felt quite the sensation one has on hearing some piece
of good news, and thinking it was too good to be true.
And when I feel such a longing for Augustus to tell my
feelings to—such a sense of what the happiness would have
been had we shared them together—I comfort myself by the
certainty that he is rejoicing in the full enjoyment which I
have only in part; by the thought that unfitted as his bodily
frame seemed to be to stand even the workings of his mind,
far less could it have borne those of the spirit too, and so,
when the Sanctification here was complete, God in love gave
44 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
him a sense of peace, and took him for the joy to a world
where his spirit might rejoice without limits. Do not you
feel with me as if one could realise his joy more than one
can that of others in Heaven P one feels almost as if one
saw his adoration and ecstasy of love ;-the meeting with
the spirits of just men made perfect to him will only be the
perfection and fulness of what was his delight on earth,
and those spiritual desires which were not granted here of
more perfect communion with the Father and the Lamb,
are now the crown of his rejoicing. You will easily conceive
the unwillingness I have to leave this sacred room, and that
it will seem like leaving Heaven to descend again upon
earth, for even my drives here hardly seem to break the
charm—the beauty that meets one's eye, the air and loveli-
ness altogether, give such a distinct character to this over
every other place. Surely never was such an overflow of
attendant blessings heaped on any one. Nothing here to
be done to take off one's thoughts or lower them ; and the
extreme quiet giving one all that precious leisure for laying
in for the time to come a store of heavenly strength, that I
feel will be so much needed. I should fear for myself, fear
lest I could not keep that anchor I now rest on, were it not
for the strong confidence I have obtained in the answer to
prayer, and that, when I most need, the help will be given:
if I am weak, He is strong.”
While the shadow of death was resting upon the upper
chamber of the Via S. Sebastianello, and the widow of
Augustus seemed in spirit to have followed him into the
unseen, his eldest brother Francis was established with his
family in the Villa Strozzi, a solitary house standing in an
old-fashioned garden decorated with grottoes and Sumach-
trees, just on the edge of the Viminal, where the Negroni
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 45
gardens break away to the slopes of the Esquiline. Francis
Hare had for so many years lived entirely abroad, that he
had adopted all the habits of foreign life. Familiarly ac-
quainted with every variety of Italian dialect, and deeply
versed in classical learning, the history and literature of
Italy were as familiar to him as his own. He was eagerly
sought as a cicerone and adviser by visitors to Rome, but
his own preference was for Italian Society, of which he
always saw the most interesting and the best. He had
already three children—a fourth was born on the 13th of
March succeeding his brother's death, from whom it
was desired that he should inherit the name of Augustus,
while his widowed aunt was invited to become his god-
mother.
IM. H. to MRS. HARE.
“I feel greatly obliged by your kindness, my dear Anne,
in thinking of me as godmother to your little babe. It is a
serious office to take upon one's self, and before I can quite
make up my mind to do so, I should like very much to
know whether I may be allowed to have any influence over
him. You know my notions of what a Christian should be
are not after the fashion of the world; and I could not pro-
nounce those Solemn promises regarding the future life of a
child without intending and hoping to have the power, as
far as in me lies, of leading him in the path that leads to
life, and endeavouring to supply him with that armour of
faith whereby he may ‘fight under Christ's banner as his
faithful soldier.' I am sure you will forgive my speaking
thus plainly, and will tell me candidly whether you or
Francis are likely to dislike my interfering at all in the
bringing up of this little boy.”
46 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
M. H. to REV. O. LEYCESTER.
“Atome, March 31, 1834.— . . . You all seem so much
disposed to consult only my inclination, that I feel assured
you will none of you be inclined to think it is from any lack
of affection that I wish to go in the first instance to Julius
from Alton. It was my dear Augustus's wish that I should
have a home of my own, and it is strongly my own desire
that it should be so. It need never interfere with my being
with you whenever you wish me to be so, and paying you
as long visits as I should like to do ; but it would break in
less upon the habits of the last few years than any other
plan could do, and in every way I feel it would be best for
Iſle. . . . . To-morrow I shall have rather a trying day in
the christening at Villa Strozzi. . . . . I can hardly describe
to you—from living entirely in one room, when I go out
Seeing no one I ever saw before, and usually walking in
beautiful gardens, with views unassociated with any former
recollections, and quite alone—how little I feel in the same
world with others. My own future life rarely comes across
me, and when I do turn to it, the real pang of separation
seems felt anew. . . . . I do indeed feel as if my mind was
full to overflowing of all I have learnt from Augustus, and
as if all we have thought and felt together was only be-
ginning to come forth.”
Aºromz L. A. H.
“March.-Maria has much enjoyed walking in the Villa
Wolkonski. She does not say more than a few words, but
she looks at everything, and has a sad, but never miserable,
expression ; she now and then wipes away some tears, but
one could almost think she was, wherever she goes, accom-
panied by the spirit of her own blessed Augustus comforting
her. . . . . Bunsen is like no one I ever met with. One has
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 47
seen pious men, and learned men, and admirable men, but
he unites them all. In going with him through the museum
of the Capitol, and over the site of the ancient temples, you
saw all the accuracy of research of the antiquarian and
scholar, which he explained with all the simplicity of a
child. But even from the dying gladiator, or barbarian
warrior, as Bunsen says he is, I felt it a relief to turn to a
window looking out forth upon the Coliseum and all the
surrounding ruins lighted up by that Roman sun which
Augustus used to say was to cure him if anything could. I
was glad when Bunsen proposed to go down to the Temples
and Forum, where we found Maria just returned from her
drive; and she got out and accompanied us, Bunsen giving
her his arm.”
C. S. to M. H.
“March 12, 1834.— . . . . The more I think of the
future, the more I feel how very peculiarly rich (for a person
without children) your situation is in the resources and
interests remaining. There is so much that connects itself
with him, so much that one could almost hear his approba-
tion of, his delight in, first and foremost,-Julius. I had
such pleasure in writing to him that you meant to come
first to him. His earnest desire to be something to you is
restrained by such a beautiful humility; and what will you
be, and what will you not be to him I quite see all the
advantages of your independent home, and what a blessing
you will find it. To return to anything like your former
life would be impossible. Now in the new life you have to
begin I can see So much power of usefulness, so much
opportunity of keeping in exercise all those thoughts and
feelings which have been developed in the last six years;
I can imagine how the happiness you have had may
still stretch out its influence to gild the rest of your life,
48 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
though it has set to the mortal eye; and you are so free
from the self-reproach which usually attends any loss, you
can feel that you have indeed enjoyed to the utmost, made
advantage to the utmost, of the treasure that has been lent
you; in short, your grief is so pure from any other mixture,
no one thing to embitter; and when I sit in my arm-chair,
as I do, you may think how often, looking at your picture,
I can hope that I may yet again see that cheerful expression.
Just as you probably have been too entirely occupied with
him to think of yourself, so that all the consequences are
but now coming before you, so I have been so entirely
Occupied with you, that what relates to our own personal
loss comes by degrees.
“I shall be ready to meet you either at Alton or Hurst-
monceaux—you will easily believe that you cannot give me
a greater happiness or comfort than in giving me something
to do for you. . . . . In going to Alton, as in so many
other cases, you will feel yourself his representative—feel
yourself fulfilling his will, finishing his work; and may we
not hope that though it seems to mortal sight like taking
away from them what they had just learnt to value at the
very moment when most future good might be looked to,
yet it is one of the strong instances in which God’s ways
are not our ways, and it may be putting the Seal upon what
has been sown. C. D. says she never saw a person who
seemed to hold to this earth so exclusively by his affections,
and to walk so much above its care and pettinesses, without
cant or enthusiasm. And what a rare blessing it is that this
spirit she describes will still surround you—that still you
will live in a world within the world.” .
“Stoke Rectory, March 19.-I was anxious to come here
before my father and Mrs. Oswald had made up their minds
further than the first idea of your returning here, feeling that
the more plans they tried the greater the disappointment
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 49
would be. I believe it was a disappointment to my father's
hopes and wishes to be told you were not likely to make
this a home ; but he is too full of real kindness not to be
anxious only for your doing that which is best for you. You
may think how eagerly I welcomed your idea about Hurst-
monceaux. How and when may be uncertain ; but that
your eventual lot will be cast there, I feel persuaded, and it
is something to rest upon which does one good to think of.
Oh, what a beautiful path I see so clearly marked out for
you, how free from the choking thorns of life, how your
trials are indeed those of the refiner's fire purging and
clearing the gold, how even in this life they are to be
preferred in all their sharpness and anguish to the dead-
ening entanglements and hopeless difficulties of a different
class of trials. How many, Counted happy, Ought to, nay,
would envy you your affliction and all that belongs to it.
“How all you say of your own feelings shows me that
every circumstance was fitted to the purpose of lessening
the violence of the blow ; that reprieve, which I so earnestly
wished prolonged, I now see would have tried you beyond
your strength. And then his apprehension of suffering
makes one feel his exemption from it so very strongly.
There never was a more striking instance of what is sown
in weakness to be raised in power. How entirely the body
was a clog and incumbrance. What a reality of force and
body of meaning must have been given in your mind to
words which one has known till they lose their effect almost.
I trust we also may still keep him amongst us, as you now
feel him. You may easily imagine how difficult Z find it to
realise his being gone. Then again I recognise the alle-
viating mercy of your situation ; he is not gone yet to you,
and the longer you remain quiet as you are, the more
gradual the preparation and the withdrawing. The word
Rome, if any one uses it, makes me start, gives me such an
VOL. 11. E
So MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
indescribable thrill; it is such a mingled emotion with which
I think of it, the interest increased tenfold, and so I trust it
will be with you, that all that glorious sun, that lovely sky,
those memorials of magnificence, will be hallowed by their
association with what you are feeling, what you have felt,
and that even what will be a painful effort to turn your eyes
upon zlozº, will be almost a pleasure to look back upon some
time hence.”
“Alderley, March 30.—Your last letters have been such a
comfort to me on One point. I have suffered so much from
a painful misgiving of my power to sympathise, to be of the
least real comfort to you, of whether you could or would find
it possible to open yourself entirely to me. Think then how
I rejoice in your appreciating so exactly what I can and do
feel, and, above all, in the proofs your letters afford of how
many points there are on which our minds do go together
more than any others do—how I was sure to know better
than anybody, almost prophetically, how it would be with
yOll. . . . . Now that you are about to return to us, I do
feel it so invaluable that you should first have felt the want
of our sympathy, and then the comfort of it, and certainly, so
far as it is possible, you have it in the fullest extent. . . . .
One of the first remarks has been, ‘Oh, if she had a child.”
But, as you say most truly, it would have been a most
fearful treasure, a severe, more difficult trial, I do believe,
than the resignation to having none. And it is in the light
of having something belonging to him, and like him, that I
think of the brothers each in their way. You will not have
to come out of his world ; for you will still have your chief
dealings with the same unworldliness, simplicity, singleness,
noble-mindedness; you will still be as far removed from all
the littlenesses. I already love Hurstmonceaux. The more 1
think of it, the more I see in it all that is most necessary for
you, and will it not confirm and strengthen all your ideas of -
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 3 I
it as a home, to find how it had occurred simultaneously to
Julius, to you, and to me.
. . . “How all your first days of grief are embalmed in
all that is most precious on earth as well as heaven. How -
extraordinary it seems to me to think of you so peacefully,
so hopefully, so unpainfully, as I now do ; when I look
back upon some six months ago, when I turned away from
the most distant idea of such a possibility as not to be
borne, I could not look at it. But I am not unreasonable;
I do not expect this continuance ; I know all that is to
come. I grudge every day that goes by as bringing you
nearer to the end of Rome; perhaps the very day you get
this may be the one before you make that first step into the
bitterness of reality—the getting into your carriage alone.
But I rejoice in your having now been so much alone ; that
is a never-failing resource ; and as that beautiful Bunsen
says, “God’s works must be amongst your comforters.”
And in all that you will see alone, there is this further to be
thought of and felt, that those extreme points of beauty,
which come up to all one's imagination ever could conceive,
are but faint shadows of what he is now dwelling in, are but
helps to our dulled senses to arrive at anything like the
idea of the beauty of which he is in full enjoyment, and
they should rather lead our associations upwards to him,
than suggest even a wish to draw him back to us. This is
certainly the feeling with which one would look at a minia-
ture likeness here of some far-distant and far more beau-
tiful country to which any one loved was gone. In this
way, I trust, you may be able to look without the agony
you at first described, at all that will be before you for the
next two months. It is a most beneficial interval between
Rome and England. I was longing to hear you had been
at the Pyramid. Every desire I ever had to see Rome, as
you may well suppose, has increased tenfold. I shall direct
52 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
this letter with a sigh to think that it is my last there. Jus.
what you Say of Rome realising history, is what your letters
and feelings do to So many passages in the Bible which
have passed unnoticed from their very familiarity. For
instance, I thought of you so much on Good Friday, from
the four first verses of the 4oth Psalm.”
“April 8.-I am grudging every day of this week as it
passes. How I shall think of you on Monday, and by the
time this reaches you, that return to common life which I
have always looked upon as the most trying part of any
grief is begun with you. . . . . Of the differences between
one individual case and another, as Mrs. Bunsen says most
truly, ‘God only can judge.” Every day's observation and
experience forces that more strongly upon one's conviction;
but this should not, Ought not, need not, hinder one's un-
derstanding and being deeply interested in what one cannot
personally enter into, and so I trust you and I shall find it.
I look forward to Alton with a mixture of fear, of pain, of
intense interest.
“Julius writes to me of the happiness it would be to him
and his parish if Maria could make Hurstmonceaux her
home, “if she could bear the contrast of the brothers.’
“April 19.-I think I have never felt more for you than
at the idea of the christening—yet, now that it is over, I am
glad of it, probably you are too, certainly you zuill be : it
will give you a power of doing good in that family nothing
else could, and it will invest that poor little child with a
sacred interest in your eyes which I would fain hope and
trust may not be disappointed—and One should think it
would be a perpetual memento to Francis. I feel that your
coming to England will bring about a great change both
ways. I look to your next resting-place being in duties.
. . . . but all has been so for the best hitherto, that it would
be ungrateful indeed not to trust that it will continue to be.”
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 53
M. H. Zo REV. R. KILVERT.
“Atome, April 5, 1834.— . . . . All Augustus's desires
and thirsting after holiness—his longing after spiritual joys
—are now fully satisfied ; and I am persuaded you will
enter into the feeling of almost happiness that is mingled
with my own most severe sorrow, by the certainty that he is
now one of the blessed company who sing ‘Worthy the
Lamb that is slain,’ and that his spirit is freed from its
earthly tabernacle, and rejoicing in glory unspeakable. For
myself, I can only praise God who, in this great sorrow, has
poured upon me so much spiritual consolation. He has
shown me all the need-be of this heavy chastening, and the
light of his Countenance has so shone upon me, that un
utterable love and gratitude are my only feelings. How
light, how exceedingly light, do all trials here appear when
we fix our gaze steadfastly on that heavenly Zion which is
to be our home, and to which our journey is constantly
tending. Most faithful, indeed, have I found Him who
promised.”
REV. R. KILVERT fo M. H.
“Alton, Afri', 1834.— . . . . How delightful is the
persuasion that there is not a shadow of cloud resting on
the last days of your now sainted husband. We look upon
the path his spirit has trod, and behold it, like the shining
light, increasing more and more into that perfect day in
which it has terminated. To us his sun has gone down,
and even while it was yet day, yet so gone down as to leave
behind not merely a promise and prospect, but a precious
assurance of an infinitely brighter rising again. May we so
die, relying in simple faith on Him who has abolished death
for His people, and live for evermore. I desire never to
forget, whilst I discharge the office of my ministry in this
54 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
place, 70/tom I am personating. He speaks by me who was
the instrument in placing me here. I see that I am sur-
rounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and one there is
among the innumerable throng peculiarly the witness of how
I run the race, especially the ministerial course, in this place
so dear to him.”
JULIUS to FRANCIS HARE.
“Furstmonceaux, March 6, 1834.—It is very, very long
since I wrote to you. I began a letter to you indeed this
day two months, but I could not finish it. All other feel-
ings of late have been swallowed up in anxiety about Augus-
tus, and I have Scarcely written to any one except about
him, and to those who could give me the most accurate
details. To-day, however, when I have learnt that we have
lost him for ever in this world, I feel a longing to tighten
the tie with those brothers who are still left to me; and
while I have been thinking over all I had, and all I have
lost, in him, I have also called to mind what I still have
in my other brothers. How much, dearest Francis, do
I owe to you. How much have I owed you ever since my
earliest years. How patient you were with me ; how in-
dulgent; what pains you took with me ; how you gave up
your time to me ! What unvarying, unmerited kindness
have you shown me all my life long. And though we have
been so much separated by circumstances of late years, and
though my negligence has often let a very long period pass
without any communication between us, the fault has been
entirely on my side, and I found last year at Naples that
your affection was still as strong as ever. Such, indeed, has
always been my situation, that I have constantly been the
receiver of kindnesses from all my brothers, and have hardly
ever been able to do anything in return. I can merely
acknowledge and feel grateful for them. And to-day has
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 55
re-enlivened my gratitude to you, and makes me anxious to
assure you that all your goodness has not been thrown
away on one who is utterly unmindful of it. I want, too, to
thank you for all your kindness and attention to Augustus.
Alas, that I could do nothing for him But you and Marcus
have fulfilled my share of his nursing as well as your own,
and nothing in this respect seems to have been wanting.
Still I can hardly bring myself to believe that our brother-
hood has lost its heavenliest flower. It seemed to be such
an essential part of one's self. I could never conceive myself
as living without my three brothers, and almost fancied that
time could have no power over a bond so strong in affec-
tion. God grant that the same bond which has existed here
on earth, and which has now begun to dissolve, may here-
after be united again in still stronger affection in heaven l’”
M. H.’s Journal.
“April Io.—Mrs. Bunsen spoke of some German writer,
Schelling, I think, who said that every one in the course of
life is called upon, like Abraham, to sacrifice his Isaac.
She spoke of how often men of genius forget to choose a
friend in their wife—how often the man was consequently
vulgarised, degraded, by his marriage—how difficult in
Society it is for a man to understand what a woman really
is. Her last words to me were—“The hand of God has
touched you, the same hand can heal you.’
“April II —St. Peter's: my last view. On earth, God has
no temple like this, and yet in every believer's heart is a
truer, a more living temple to His glory. May mine become
So Hmay the prayer breathed in that glorious House of
Prayer be heard and answered, and Rome, dear Rome, the
Scene of Saddest Sorrow, be the foundation of deep joy and
everlasting gladness, in that lively hope here vouchsafed of
an inheritance in the heavenly city, where, with my beloved
56 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Augustus, there will be no more sorrow or weeping, but
where we shall enjoy together the glorious liberty of the
sons of God.” -
M. H. to MRS. O. LEYCESTER.
“Florence, April, 21, 1834.—You will rejoice to hear of
us thus far on our journey, and one of the bitterest drops
in my cup over—that of leaving Rome. I knew it would
be a great struggle; but till the time came I hardly could
have believed how much I clung to the rooms where I had
watched and prayed by him to the last, nor how much I
felt to have him with me whilst I remained there ; and then
there was the return to the carriage, the associations of the
inns, and the feeling that I was setting out homewards
alone. It seemed like a fresh beginning of life, without him.
For the first two or three days I felt truly ‘so troubled I
could not speak ;' but when the great weight was a little
lifted up, and I could again pray—again read those words
which speak of our pilgrimage here and of the country we
seek above, the load by degrees was lightened and peace
came across my Sorrow.” . . . .
M. H. to C. S.
“Alorence, April 23–The Saturday before we left Rome,
Lucy and I went, for the last time, to the Pyramid. The
monument was put up and the roses planted round, and
Lucy thought, as I did, that there never was a place SO
perfect. I need not tell you what it was to stand there for
the last time. We feel that henceforth it can only live in
one's memory, and there truly that spot will be nearly as
bright, nearly as vividly present, as if it were reality.
“The final parting was so overwhelming that all still swims
before me, and I have never yet been able to see Clearly
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 57
on looking back on Rome: it is all confusion—I lived there
in a dream, a happy dream almost, and waked to the sharp-
ness of reality, when I tore myself away from those rooms
and ſound myself in the carriage with Mary alone. . . . .
Terni, with its extreme beauty, first roused me ; it was
impossible to be insensible to the influence of such soothing
and reviving loveliness.”
M. H., NOTE-BOOK (in travelling).
“When we compare Christians of this day with those of
the first ages of Christianity, their meagre and blighted feel-
ings and half-grown fruits, are as the foliage, flowers, and
fruits of Fngland compared with those of Italy. They have
all the same root, but those of Italy are rich and full and
perfect in their beauty, those of England look as if withered
by want of Sun to ripen and perfect them. We seem to
shrink from being too perſect, and to be afraid of appro-
priating to ourselves all the fulness of apostolic joy—else
why do not the same truth, the same words, send us on
our way rejoicing with gladness and singleness of heart?”
“In searching into the hidden things of God how we
forget that we know in part.”
“One difference between God's word and man's is, that
while we may reach the highest standard set before us by
the one, we find the more we advance towards the other,
the more it seems to pass on before us and rise above our
utmost efforts.”
58 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“Men of the world often like to talk of A'eligion and
Christianity; the man of God delights to talk of God and
Christ.”
“There is a one-sided view in religion, as in everything
else, and those who dwell solely on the one half of the
Bible and leave the other untouched must fall into the
errors either of Antinomianism or Legality. The truth is a
whole perfect in all its parts, and only to be found in all its
fulness in God's word taken as a whoſe, and not one part
disjointed from the rest. If by Antinomianism is meant a
belief in Christ uninfluencing the life, many of those who
use the term in abuse of others are entitled to it. What
can be nearer to it than the profession made of resting on a
Saviour's merits by those who never by act, word, or
thought show love to that Saviour, and who rest satisfied
with the form of godliness without the power Ž”
“The Gospels are first instruments in convincing a man
of sin by showing him all the breadth and spirituality of
Christ's law. The sinner who is by them awakened to his
own shortcomings in holiness by looking at Christ's model
then comes to St. Paul, and learns from him where to find
relief; and having through faith in a crucified Saviour
and access to the Father through Christ found peace, he
then returns to the Gospels, and finds them lit up by a
new light, that shines more and more unto the perfect
day.”
“How true it is of the renewed mind, that it finds Ser-
mons in stones and good in everything.’”
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 59
“There is only one kind of hatred the fruit of which is
peace—the hatred of self.”
“The eastern imagery of the Bible is the dress in which
the essential Truth is wrapped up ; it is peculiar to the
language of the country whence it came, but the feeling it
expresses is universal, and quite as fully shared by every
spiritually minded believer now as it was in the days of
David or Isaiah.”
The travellers crossed the Mont St. Gothard on mules—a
terribly fatiguing and anxious journey through the deep
snow, one of their carriages, as they followed them, being
overturned three times, and the other twice, on the way.
M. H. to C. S.
“Zurich, May 15–The St. Gothard was indeed an
anxious journey, but I went on, only feeling thankfulness
all the way that we had not attempted crossing the Alps
last winter, and thinking what misery it would have been to
me were he with me now, even in improved health. . . . .
The sublimity and grandeur of the mountain scenery, though
lifting one up indeed above this world, was lifting one up
to a God of power and majesty, not of love, and gave me a
deep and painfully oppressive feeling very unlike the sooth-
ing effect of Italian beauty. Yesterday I felt it was quite a
relief to look only on green pastures and green hills as we
came here, although some parts of the road were too like
England not to pain me in another way. I miss the sky of
Italy greatly, and that peculiar beauty everything has there,
but the domestic character of the villages and people and
6o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE,
quiet bonhommie of their manners are much more congenial
than the godless, noisy Italians. You may imagine how in
seeing some of the places again I have been carried back to
what seems like the beginning of life, so entirely does my
zeal life seem to have been comprised in these sixteen
years since I last saw them. All rose up before me,
and, except in my admiration of the scenery, I hardly felt
as if my present identity were the same ; and how predomi-
mant was the feeling of thankfulness, how strong the con-
viction of the mercy and love that had even through many
sorrows been with me throughout : the great happiness that
has been granted to me, and now, when that is taken away
for ever, the inward peace and comfort which can make me
really enjoy every blessing left to me with double the feeling
I then had. It seems to me as if I was then so completely
at the mercy of every passing event and circumstance of
life, as if now I had an anchor of hope so sure and firm to
rest on, that, let what winds will blow, I still must weather
all. Oh I trust and hope I shall keep firmly to that con-
fidence, but I feel as if there would be quite a new and dif-
ferent trial of my faith when I have to acá and not to think,
and when the reality of this life and all its present interests
comes more strongly before me. And then in my loss it is
not as in minor ones, where the first shock is the great suf-
fering, and every day that succeeds softens and lessens
it; with me every day seems to add and make it grow
larger, and the resignation of yesterday does not supply to-
day's need. The daily burden needs daily fresh strength
and fresh help to meet it, and were that to be omitted would
become too heavy to bear. I feel so strongly how it is that
affliction when yielded to, or stoically submitted to, fails in
its effect as a corrective—how entirely the Cross to One's
self-will is the bringing one's heart to receive it without a
murmur.”
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 61
M. H. to REV. R. KILVERT.
“Cologne, /une I, I834. . . . . My illness kept us at
Baden, but this delay turned out a very timely one, for
through its means we fell in with Mr. Fosbery, and I can-
not describe the pleasure and comfort it was to me after the
first pain of meeting was over, to talk to him and receive
his counsel and encouragement. It seemed truly as if God
had sent him to meet me on my way, and give me renewed
strength to go on with, and to lift up my drooping spirit;
and in pouring out to him all the Overflowing of my heart,
in telling of the mercies of my God, it seemed to revive in
all their freshness the spiritual joy and comfort I felt so
fully at Rome. He too entered no less deeply into my
grief than into my consolation, and it is a remark I have
lately had frequent occasion to make, how much more
fully those sympathise in the depth of earthly sorrow who
have tasted the richness of the consolation ; and indeed it
could not be otherwise. Those who partake most of the
mind of Christ must share most that tenderness of sympathy
which to a mourner forms so touching a characteristic of
his human nature, and so brings the love of God home to
our very hearts. Besides, they know who have felt it, how
much closer the bonds of earthly aſfection are drawn where
the tie of united devotion to our Master has hallowed them,
and they know how faint and weary our hearts are apt to
be under the chastening hand of God, even with the fullest
persuasion of His almighty power to save. It is indeed
strange that with the sure promise of such a rest at the end
of our pilgrimage we should ever ſeel discouraged by the
way, and yet more when we daily experience the faithful-
ness of Him who says He will never fail or forsake us. Some-
times I feel truly as if, in comparison of the weight of glory
to come, even my burden became lighter, and as if I could
62 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
rejoice in being allowed to suffer, if by so doing I may
glorify my Saviour and my Lord, who has done and suf-
fered so much for me. If I could tell you how He does lift
me up when I am most cast down, how He does show the
light of His countenance and make me feel how unspeakably
precious He is, you would feel what cause I have for praise
and adoration. -
“Your account of some of your flock is most encourag.
ing, and gladdens my heart. Some little foretaste of the joy
of the angels in heaven seems to be granted to one in
hearing of the turning of souls to God—that awakening of
the heart to its only true peace ; and I do bless Him for
making you so blessed an instrument in leading some out of
our little fold into the right way. May He give a full in
crease, and may the seed now sown never be thrown away
or choked up. How can we tell that even should one
hereafter be set over them who may not have been taught
of God, those very cottagers may not be the means em-
ployed in God's mercy to bring their future minister to the
full knowledge of the truth. I am sure such a thought will
at least give a fresh impulse to your zeal in winning each
individual soul to Christ.
“Many at Alton will, I am sure, feel and pray for me
to-morrow, June 2—a day for five years so sacred, so
precious, now almost too trying to bear but in the strength
of the Lord my God.”
The thought of the Hurstmonceaux home, which Julius
dwelt upon for her, was indeed that which brought most
consolation to his widowed sister-in-law as she drew near
England. She crossed from Ostend with the Marcus
Hares, and, landing at Broadstairs, went first to her brother's
house at East Sheen, whither her father, Mrs. O. Leycester
FROM SUNSH 1 NE INTO SHADE. 63
and Mrs. Stanley had come to meet her. There also she
first saw Julius, who had already written.
“God be praised, dearest Maria, that you are arrived safe
in your own, your Augustus's Country May He support
you through all the trials that await you in the course of the
next month. Why is it that a meeting with those whom we
love, after a time of bitter affliction, is SO painful, when a
stranger produces no sort of emotion ? Is it that they
rouse us out of our torpor, and by awakening the heart
make it feel that its fountain is dried up 2 I long to have
you safe lodged at Hurstmonceaux. Till then you will
have no calm, no repose.”
M. H. to MISS MILLER.
“June 20, 1834, East Sheen.—The time draws very
near of our meeting, my dear friend, but my heart shrinks
less from the thought of it than it did. God has so merci-
fully sustained me throughout every past trial, He has so
graciously heard my earnest prayer to be strengthened to
undertake what at one time I almost feared I should be
unequal to, that I feel assured He will lighten the pressure
when it must weigh heaviest, and lift my sorrowing heart
in thankfulness for all the past. In the midst of all I shall
find at Alton to pain and grieve me, I know that it will
give me the greatest pleasure I can find on earth to feel
myself among fellow-mourners, and to know that all share
my sorrow and value him who is gone. My present con-
stant feeling is of his presence with me, and I shall doubt-
less be enabled to preserve this communion in spirit even
still more closely where all I have to do or say will be in his
place. But this alone could not bear me up. It is the
Comforter himself who gives that strength we should in vain
64 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
look for in ourselves. He is most faithful; it is we only
who, by leaning on ourselves instead of Him, fail often to
receive that comfort and joy which He so freely offers to
those who love Him. I long to urge you on, my dear friend,
in the path you have entered, and encourage you to press
forward to the prize of our high calling, for when we can
keep our eyes steadfastly fixed on the crown of life before
us, and feel that not the greatest sinner need despair of
reaching it, if he only endures to the end, it does make
every present burden appear light in comparison of the
weight of glory to Come. . . . . And now you must look
forward without dread to seeing me, and bear in mind that
though on earth we shall see his face no more we are all
one in union with Him whom he sees in all His glory, and
we only through a glass darkly ; but the time will come
when we shall be permitted to join in singing praises to-
gether to the Lamb who was slain.”
After Mrs. Hare had passed a week with her family, her
sister went with her to Alton, where the three weeks which
alone were permitted them, passed all too quickly in sad
partings and preparations.
In after years Mrs. Stanley often described the arrival at
Alton—how at first her sister lay for some time upon the
sofa without daring to open her eyes to look round ; then
she asked her to read the II 6th Psalm, and in a short time
said, “Now I am quite easy.” After the first two or three
days she gradually went about to some of the people every
day, and was greatly comforted by the cheerful simple way
in which they bid her look forward to another world. All
the Cottagers in the parish subscribed to put up a monu-
ment of affectionate and grateful remembrance in the
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 65
church; every one put on black; those who had nothing
else put black strings to their caps.
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Aſton, /une 28, 1834.—If my dearest Luce could have
seen me half an hour ago seated between the two dear old
men, William Perry and William King, she would have felt
her brightest anticipations of my return to Alton realised. I
could feel nothing but joy as I talked with them, and
received their simple comfort, ‘He will never come to we
no more, but we may go to he, and through the blessed
Saviour we shall all meet, where there will be no more
sorrow.' So they left me with these words, after a con-
versation in which their thankfulness for all their trials, their
simple trust in God's mercy, and the hope of rest to come,
made one forget this world was one of suffering in looking
on to the one to come. Truly, such comforters as these do
one's heart good. How I do thank and bless my God that
He strengthened me to come here. Every day brings with it
such testimonies of affection and gratitude as are most pre-
cious ; and in the two cottages I have been in this morning
the change and growth I find is most delightful—thankful-
ness and Content where there was murmuring, conviction of
sin, and longing after righteousness, where there was indif-
ference; but it does seem, indeed, as if God had been
sending a great increase upon both these parishes. Though
it is now harvest-time, and in all other places the evening
lectures are given up, they cling so here to Mr. Kilvert's
last words, that he has a full attendance in the church every
Wednesday evening. Yesterday I saw Mr. Majendie, who
was touched as if he was a brother with the sense of his own
loss, and it seems he has been quite overwhelmed whenever
he has come over to this church.”
“June 29, Sunday AEvening.—You know I never hoped
VOL. II, F
66 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
to have been able to go to church at all here ; but this
morning I felt as if I could do it—my heart did long after
‘the courts of my God’—I thirsted after that comfort I
had been so long deprived of, and I resolved to go. I
went before the people were all in, so got a little accustomed
to the seat before service began. And then, though sad,
very sad recollections did come over me at times, and the
singing brought many tears, they were soft and gentle tears,
and great was the peace and comfort given by the appro-
priate words of the different hymns Mr. Kilvert had chosen.
Then the sermon, or rather—for it was from the desk—the
exposition, of the words in John xiii., ‘What I do thou
knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter,’ were,
indeed, fitted to calm a troubled mind. Oh, how I wish
you could have heard him. He dwelt on St. Peter's Day,
brought all the passages of his life forward with practical
application to every different state of mind, urging those
who had faith and love to remember it was not a little faith
we must rest content with ; those who had not that little to
seek for it, and not look on it as a wonder, a mystery only ;
and warning the ungodly of the awakening that must come.
But the chief, the most touching part, was quite addressed
to me, showing how the trials which we are now exercised
with, would hereafter be clear to us in all their mercy and
goodness, bringing various Scripture passages of waiting on
the Lord in patience, and the example of the prophets,
martyrs, and, lastly, at Some length, of Our great High
Priest himself and his sufferings, so that we might count our
present trials small in comparison with theirs. Then urging
in the most practical way, as the only weapon, prayer—
prayer, the health of the soul. I do so rejoice I went,
because, having had the first pain over, I can now go again,
and it is such a refreshment. I never Once looked up, So I
did not see anybody there, and when I did think of him who
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 67
so loved that house of prayer, it was only to feel that his
sabbath is an eternal one, his worship freed from weariness
of body or of mind, and that he was rejoicing in the same
Saviour whose presence was cheering me. -
“This afternoon I sent for five of the girls, and heard
them repeat part of that chapter, John xiv., I had sent them
to learn. They cried very much indeed. . . . . When I look
at the people and think of the school children, my heart
does indeed sink, and I am forced to remember that the
Chief Shepherd will be ever with them when their faithful
ministers are gone. But all I hear is so encouraging of the
present state, that I hope, as I pray, that the good seed
may not be thrown away.
“You, my dearest Luce, may think, for you know what
an Alton Sunday was, what it has been to-day walking alone
in the fields where the sermon or lessons were talked over
after church, seeing an empty study, a dinner of Sunday
fare without that most beloved companion to share it. If
any think I could have borne it as I have in my own
strength, that I could have felt such peace in the midst of
such sorrow, they are indeed blind, and know little of Him
who can take out the Sting of grief and make us count all
afflictions light for the excellency of the knowledge of
Himself.”
“July 1.— I am just come in from a drive, from seeing the
beautiful corm waving in the wind, which reminded me of
the plains of Lombardy, and feeling the wind, that in its
soft balmy breath gave the outward visible emblem of that
inward breath by which our souls live and grow, though
their life has its lights and shades, its sunshine and clouds,
no less than the waving corn. I wish I could tell you the
comfort I have had this morning in seeing a poor young
woman who is in a Consumption. She was sitting on her
poor pallet on the ground, and so void of all those comforts
68 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
that in such a sickness I so well know the value of; but
there was no murmuring, and such a humble, touching
expression of mourning for sin on her face as went to one's
heart, and made the reading and talking to her like teach-
ing a little child. She was just in that state when one feels
there was nothing to be done, but to bid her look away
from self to Jesus, her friend, her Saviour, and to tell her to
cast all her burden on Him; and you may well think the joy
I felt in pouring the riches of His comfort into her willing
ear, and how it seemed as if all trouble, all Sorrow, was
taken out of one's own weak heart, in trying to encourage
one who is so soon about to enter, I trust, the same blessed
rest where he, my Augustus, is. There was the deep Cough,
the shortness of breath, the wasted form ; but they did not
pain me. I saw the meek child-like spirit of Christ's own
sheep in her, and came away rejoicing in spirit to think her
Struggles and toils will be so short, I hope I may be able
to go often to her, it may be a comfort to her ; I am sure it
is one to me. Then, next door, one of my dear old men,
William King, I found very poorly; but he and his wife
were so glad to see me, so sympathising, that the Io 3rd
Psalm was the only fitting thing I could read to him. She
Said, “Many, many tears have been shed for /e, but many
more for you ; it is you ma'am we grieve for, and it is a
hard trial; but the Lord has been with you, and He will
make all light.’ The great thing they dwell upon is, how
/he went on more and more in power; and how every
Sunday he seemed stronger and stronger in Spirit, and to go
more on the Scriptures. “When they heard he was a little
better, they heartened up a little,” said another old man,
Stephen King; but then came the worse news, and it was
all bad after. Dear little old Hannah Baillie Cried very
much yesterday evening when I went to her. “Oh that
was a sad day when the servants came into church in their
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 69
mourning, and I thought I should have sunk down when you
came in last Sunday bent down so. You have lost a dear
friend, there's never a woman on earth has lost a dearer;' and
then, as with all, her own loss seemed to press heavily. It
is quite striking how with all I have talked to, and those by
no means what could be called “saints, the great and chief
feeling of loss is for what he did for their souls. “Ah,’ said
Stephen King, ‘Mr. Hare took care of our bodies, and pro-
vided for them : but that was not what I looked to so much,
it was the care and thought he took for Our Souls’—and others
say the same.
“Wednesday.—Last night I came out of the cottages
rejoicing and praising God for His mercy to these people.
Truly, had we returned it would have been a paradise on
earth—too blest for a state of trial such as this life. The
change wrought is quite marvellous. Jane Jenning's
humility, sorrow for sin, and single desire of serving
God is most touching. Speaking of his anxiety for
them, ‘Oh,' she said, ‘I do think, if he could, Mr. Hare
would have carried us all up to heaven with him in his
bosom.’” .
“July 5,--It is quite impossible to tell what the love is
I feel for this place and these people, and I shall have need
of the most earnest prayer to bear me up in leaving it. . . .
Yesterday, when wearied with the necessary packing, &c., I
went to Elizabeth Hailstone, the sick girl, and read and
talked to her of her friend and Saviour, and tried to lift up
her desponding heart to His love and His promises, which
refreshed and comforted me, and made all seem light. What
a blessed thing it is that God's service is one of such free-
dom, such happiness, that when we are trying to glorify Him,
He returns it upon ourselves with such a plentiful increase
of peace and Comfort, and that let our service be as poor
and imperfect as it may.”
7o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“Monday.—I cannot tell you, but you will know, what 1
feel in the church now, and think how he would rejoice to
See such numbers there hungering and thirsting for food,
and how he would bless God for having been the instrument
with so many of awakening the desire. The soothing, com-
forting thoughts I have of Alton now that will never die,
seem to overpower the heavy sense of parting; yet it does
tear my heart in pieces to feel that I am leaving the scene
of all our happiness, the rooms we have shared together,
and where, soulless as they now feel, I still seem in a sense
to have him with me. The joy of finding and leaving so
many truly and devotedly serving and loving God, is, how-
ever, of itself enough to fill me with thankfulness; and
though my pilgrimage will henceforth be a solitary one, he
with whom it was shared is spared the sorrows and pains of
life here, and has the fulness of joy in his Saviour's pre-
sence, so why should I grieve? All is done now ; so the
last two days I shall have for the dear people and those
prayers which alone can bear me through the trial. . . . .
I look round on all, and feel it has passed away. All has
passed away but that hope which will, I trust, grow brighter
and brighter of the unfading life that endureth without
sorrow or tears. May we all press on to it more and more,
looking to Him who can Smooth and clear the way thither,
be it ever so thorny or so gloomy. God be with you, my
Luce.” -
One subject which occupied Augustus Hare's widow during
her short stay in her old home was sending to their des-
tinations the different letters which he had dictated, and
which she had hurriedly written down beside his deathbed.
Among these was the following —
, FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 71
A. W. H. to LADY BLESSINGTON.
“Atome, but from a Roman deathbed.—Pray, dear Lady
Blessington, accept the accompanying volume of sermons,
and for God's sake preserve them, and read them as the
words of a dying man. It is now above two months that I
have been looking death in the face, and every hour of that
time has made me feel more and more that Christianity is
the great remedial measure : but for Christ I could not
have borne to have had the great moral eye of God's justice
fixed on me. If there are any things in the volume which
seem Strange to you, do not throw them aside without Con-
sidering whether, though Strange, they may not be true. Oh,
Lady Blessington, if you knew how much I wish I could
hope I was sure of meeting you in the place to which God
is taking me. Can I hope this P
“Your most gratefully,
“AUGUSTUS W. HARE.”
The little monument which was erected to Augustus
Hare by his poor friends at Alton bore the inscription —
“Sacred to the memory of the REv. AUGUSTUs W. HARE, M.A.,
sometime Fellow of New College, Oxford, and Rector for five years
of this Parish, who, having gone to Italy for the restoration of his
health, died at Rome, Feb. 18, 1834, aged 41.
“The Parishioners of Alton-Barnes and Alton-Priors, sorrowing
deeply for his loss, have placed this tablet in thankfulness to God who
gave and spared him to them a little while, and in affectionate
remembrance of the love wherewith he loved and tended the flock of
Christ committed to his charge.”
The monument which the four brothers had already
arranged to erect in Hurstmonceaux Church, with a bas-
72 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. .
relief representing their mother's death, by Kessels, was
now placed there, in the chancel, inscribed :-
“To GEORGIANA, fourth Daughter of Jonathan Shipley, Bishop of
St. Asaph, -
And wife of Francis Hare-Naylor of Hurstmonceaux Place,
Who died at Lausanne in Switzerland on Easter Sunday, 1806,
Giving up her soul to Him who on that day overcame Death.
Her life was one of dutiful love :
And her memory, after a separation of twenty-eight years,
Is still blest and revered by her children:
Also to her eldest sister, ANNA MARIA, widow of Sir William Jones,
- In whom they found a second mother;
A monitress wise and loving, both in encouragement and reproof,
Forgetting her own age and infirmities, even on her deathbed,
In her zeal for their good :
Her first care was to bring them up in the nurture of the Lord.
The youngest of them, ANNA MARIA ClFMENTINA,
Was taken away before she could fulfil
The bright promise of her childhood.
Her four Brothers erect this Monument of their Love,
To their Mother, their Aunt, and their Sister,
Hoping that they may all hereafter be reunited in Christ.
ems mm.
This hope had scarcely been expressed,
When he among the four Brothers who was the ripest for Heaven,
AUGUSTUS WILLIAM, Rector of Alton-Barmes,
Went to rejoin his kindred among the Blessed,
Leaving a void in the hearts of the others,
Which nothing on earth can ever fill up.”
With the church which held this memorial, with the
parish in which so many of the earlier generations of his
FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 73
family had their home, the life of Augustus Hare's widow
was henceforward to be connected. Most tenderly, with
the most reverential love, was she welcomed to the home
and heart of Julius, with whom, more than any other, she
could hold constant communion concerning him whose
invisible presence and influence were equally felt by both—
him of whom Julius wrote:–
“He is gone. But is he lost to me? Oh no He whose
heart was ever pouring forth a stream of love, the purity and
inexhaustibleness of which betokened its heavenly origin,
as he was ever striving to lift me above myself, he is still at
my side pointing my gaze upward. Only the love, which
was then hidden within him, has now overflowed and trans-
figured his whole being; and his earthly form is turned into
that of an angel of light.
Thou takest not away, O Death !
Thou strikest; absence perisheth;
Indifference is no more.
The future brightens on the sight;
For on the past has fallen a light,
That tempts us to adore.”
XIV.
FIURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY.
“Nothing is lost that is loved in God, since in Him all
things are saved to us.”—S. BERNARDINO OF SIENA.
“He alone never loseth what is dear to him, to whom all
things are dear in Him who is never lost.”—ST. AUGUSTINE.
N all in which two quiet phases of life can be totally
different from each other, did that which was opening at
Hurstmonceaux differ from that which had closed at Alton.
First, there was the variety of outward scene—the exchange
of a limited oasis of green fields, stranded like an island in
the great Wiltshire plain, which, though filled with waving
corn in Summer, was but a ploughed desert through the
winter months, for the wooded uplands of Sussex, the
richly cultivated fields, and the leafy lanes of Hurstmon-
ceaux,−the wild deserted deer-park with its ferny glades, its
stagheaded chestnuts, and its ruined Castle, the fine old
church with its ancestral associations, and the wide view
over a campagna-like level which repeats every cloud in its
varying fluctuations of light and shadow, to the Sparkling
silver line of sea. Then, instead of the farmhouse-like
rectory in which Augustus had lived, the home of Julius
was, even externally, quite different to the ordinary type of
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 75
country rectories, but rather like a good country house,
well placed in grounds of considerable extent.
“The rectory,” wrote Arthur Stanley, “stood far removed
from church, and castle, and village. . . . . Of all the pecu-
liarities of English life, none perhaps is so unique as an
English parsonage. But how peculiar even amongst English
parsonages was the rectory of Hurstmonceaux. The very
first glance at the entrance-hall revealed the character of its
master. It was not merely a house with a good library—
the whole house was a library. The vast nucleus which
he brought with him from Cambridge grew year by year,
till not only study, and drawing-room, and dining-room, but
passage, and antechamber, and bedrooms were overrun
with the ever advancing and crowded bookshelves. At the
time of his death it had reached the number of more than
twelve thousand volumes; and it must be further remem-
bered that these volumes were of no ordinary kind. Of all
libraries which it has been our lot to traverse, we never
saw any equal to this in the Combined excellence of quantity
and quality; none in which there were so few worthless,
so many valuable works. Its original basis was classical,
and philological ; but of later years the historical, philoso-
phical, and theological elements outgrew all the rest. The
peculiarity which distinguished the collection probably from
any other, private or public, in the kingdom, was the pre-
ponderance of German literature. No work, no pamphlet
of any note in the teeming catalogues of German book-
sellers escaped his notice; and with his knowledge of the
subjects, and of the probable elucidation which they would
receive from this or that quarter, they formed themselves
76 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
in natural and harmonious groups round what already
existed, so as to give to the library both the appearance
and reality, not of a mere accumulation of parts, but of an
organic and self-multiplying whole. And what, perhaps,
was yet more remarkable was the manner in which the
Centre of this whole was himself. Without a catalogue,
without assistance, he knew where every book was to be
found, for what it was valuable, what relation it bore to
the rest. The library was like a magnificent tree which he
had himself planted, of which he had nurtured the growth,
which spread its branches far and wide over his dwelling,
and in the shade of which he delighted, even if he was
prevented for the moment from gathering its fruits, or
pruning its luxuriant foliage.
“In the few spaces which this tapestry of literature left
unoccupied were hung the noble pictures which he had
brought with him from Italy. To him they were more than
mere works of art; they were companions and guests; and
they were the more remarkable from their contrast with the
general plainness and simplicity of the house and household,
so unlike the usual accompaniments of luxury and grandeur,
in which we should usually seek and find works of such
costly beauty.
“In this home, now hard at work with his myriad
volumes around him at his student's desk,+now wandering
to and fro, book in hand, between the various rooms, or up
and down the long garden walk overlooking the distant
Level with its shifting lights and shades, he went on year
by year extending the range and superstructure of that vast
knowledge of which the solid basis had been laid in the
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 77
classical studies of his beloved university, or correcting,
with an elaborate minuteness which to the bystanders was
at times almost wearisome to behold, the long succession of
proofs which, during the later years of his life, were hardly
ever out of his hands.””
Great also was the change from the quiet life of mono-
tonous seclusion, only rendered interesting by the Spirit of
love which made all the village joys and sorrows her own,
to the ever-varying circle of literary interests and of intel-
lectual society, by which Julius was surrounded.
“For round him gathered such a band of friends
As the world knows but few, the noblest names
In the great host of truth’s advancing ranks :
The full-orbed sage who spake of all things well;
The friend of early years, of equal aims,
With passionless calm insight, tracing out
The tale of Hellas old, and mastering all
The Teuton guess'd of great Rome's cradled youth :
The seer who through the Tuscan artist’s tube
Called all the stars by name; the wayward moods
Of him who bade the dead to speak once more
In fancy’s drama; and the genial heart
That from the flinty rocks he loved, drew forth
The milk of kindness; one well skill'd to trace
The deep thoughts lying hid in homely words,
The secret treasure of the Word divine ;
And one, the pale ascetic, swift to speak
The thoughts that burn, who since in alien creeds,
Those hot thoughts driving on, has sought for peace;
The man of lordly brow, and lordlier soul,
The myriad-minded marvel of our age,
Friend of all arts, and counsellor of kings
Threading all mazes of the tongues of earth,
• Article by A. P. Stanley in the Quarterly Review, czciii,
78 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Gathering all treasures of the songs of Heaven,
With bold yet loving hand adventuring still
To bridge the yawning chasms of our time,
Now failing, now succeeding; last of all
(For time would fail to tell the goodly list,
The workers and the thinkers of the land),
The bold young Luther of our later days,
With power to clothe high thoughts in glorious words,
To bid the buried past come back to life,
To bring earth's holiest scenes in vision bright
Before our wistful eyes, in outline clear
As though the sun did paint them.” +
But most of all was the change great to Maria Hare in the
companion of her daily life, from the loving character of
Augustus, who was equally gentle with all, who never mani-
fested his antipathy for any one, however distasteful they
might be, to the ardent, impulsive, enthusiastic, demon-
strative nature of Julius, equally manifest in love or anti-
pathy, vehement in language, unable to conceal a feeling of
any kind, and constantly doing battle of some sort for his
friends if not for himself;-from Augustus, who was wholly
absorbed in his Master's work, and who lived only for the
simple villagers by whom he was surrounded,—to Julius,
who mingled so many other interests and occupations with
his parochial and ministerial duties, and who was personally
unknown to the greater proportion of his parishioners. If
only the one companion was considered, it was like the
change from a moonlight calm to a storm at midday.
But perhaps in this very change she found what was best
for her at this time. Her absorbing grief, her hidden life
* Rev. E. Plumptre.
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 79
of prayer, might have made her existence too purely con-
templative, but for the eager stirring spirit at her side. And
in Julius, who was tender and chivalrous to all women,
pitiful and sympathising to all in sorrow, his brother's
widow found a tenderness of more than fraternal love, a
watchful care, a gentle reverence, which was almost amazing
to those who saw them together. He looked upon her
coming into his lonely home, as the dawn of a new, a better,
and a happier life ; and as the greatest blessing which God
could have given him, he honoured and cherished her. He
confided in her every anxiety, he consulted her on every
duty, he talked with her of all he read, he read to her all he
wrote, he considered nothing worth having in which she
had no share.
Vividly still, through the mist of many years, there comes
back to those who shared their home, the beautiful vision
of his great love for his “Mia,” as he always called her,
the touching remembrance of his manner in speaking of her,
of the glow upoli his face, of the glistening in his eye-the
recollection of the intensity of tenderness, of respect, and of
blessing, which was poured forth for her in his morning and
evening greeting. And she was truly in his home as “an
angel in the house,” linking on her present to her past life,
taking up all her former duties, but with her soul purified and
enlightened by the furnace of Sorrow through which she
had passed, receiving God's poor as a legacy to watch and
cherish ;-not morbid in grief, but accepting all the con.
solations which were left to her; not narrow in religion,
and prone to refuse God's other gifts, but joyfully receiving
all,—books, art, music, and, above all, the beauties and

8o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
pleasures of nature, as helps, not hindrances, in her path.
And thus it came to be, that in her after years, which to
many seemed so desolate, as one friend after another passed
beyond the veil, while strangers thought her course must
indeed be leading her through a thorny and a stony wilder-
ness, it was rather the ascending step by step of a ladder,
lighted by an unfailing glow of celestial sunshine, and upon
which figures of angels were ascending and descending—
forms often well-known and loved—ministering spirits from
God.
>. Well remembered by the few still remaining who shared
them, are the peculiar habits of the life in these years at
Hurstmönceaux rectory—the late breakfast in the sunny
book-lined ro 3 with the scent of the orange-trees and
geraniums wafted .." the open doors of the conser-
vatory, the eager discus ions over the letters, the vehement
declamations over the newspaper, the frequent interpolation
of a reading from Coleridge or Wordsworth, the constant
interruption from the host of beggars who knew only too
well that they were never sent away empty-handed, and who
were discovered to have left a secret notice for one another
at the entrance-gate that it was not a house to pass by
Then Julius Hare would seize his straw hat, and, while
**
composing and meditating, would pace rapidly up and down
his favourite walk between the oak-trees, whence he could
look across the Level to the sea, against the shining line of
which the grey stunted spire of the hill-set church would
stand out as if embossed; or sometimes he would saunter
leisurely, with his Mia by his side, and visit each growing
shrub or opening flower with familiar and fond affection.


HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 81
Then would come the many hours of writing in his library,
ending only as the sun began to set, when he would go forth
in the evening dews upon a distant parish walk, returning
to dinner at any hour, utterly oblivious of time; and the
evenings, filled with interest, in which he would pace the
drawing-room in eager talk, snatching a volume every now
and then from the bookcase to illustrate what he was saying,
or would sit down and translate some German author into
fluent English as he read.
“An active parish priest, in the proper sense of the word,
Julius Hare never was ; not so much, perhaps, by reason of
his literary pursuits as of his desultory habits. Constant,
regular, vigilant ministrations to the poor, were not his wont,
perhaps they were not his call. Nor can he be said, as a
general rule, to have accommodated his teaching to his
parishioners. Compared with the short and homely
addresses of his brother Augustus to the poor of Alton, his
long and elaborate discourses will hardly hold their place
as models of parochial exhortation, even to more enlightened
congregations than those of Hurstmonceaux. But it would
be a great mistake to measure his influence on his parish, or
his interest in it, by these indications. Coming to Hurst-
monceaux as he did—to the scene of his own early years,
remembered as a child by the old inhabitants, honoured as
the representative of a family long known amongst them—
he was, from the first, bound to them and they to him by a
link which years always rivet with a strength of which both
parties are often unconscious till it is rent asunder. His
own knowledge of their history, of their abodes, of their
characters, perhaps in great measure from the same cause,
WOL. II. *
82 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
was very remarkable; and although his visits to them might
be comparatively few, yet theirs to the rectory were con-
stant, the more so because they were always sure to receive
a ready welcome. Whatever might be the work in which
he was employed, he at once laid it aside at the call of the
humblest parishioner, to advise, console, listen, assist.
There was that, too, in his manner, in his words, in his
voice and countenance, which would not fail to impress
even the dullest with a sense of truth, of determination, of
uprightness, yet more, with a sense of deep religious feeling,
of abhorrence of sin, of love of goodness, of humble
dependence on God. Such a feeling transpired in his
ordinary conversation with them ; it transpired still more in
the deep devotion with which he went through the various
services of the church. “If you have never heard Julius
Hare read the Communion service,’ was the expression of
one who had been much struck, as indeed all were, by his
mode of reading this especial portion of the Liturgy, ‘you
do not know what the words of that service contain.' And
in his sermons, needlessly long and provokingly inappro-
priate as they sometimes were, there were from time to time
passages so beautiful in themselves, so congenial to the
time and place, that Hurstmonceaux may well be proud, as
it may well be thankful, to have its name, its scenery, its
people associated with thought and language so just and so
noble. Who is there that ever has seen the old Church of
Hurstmonceaux, with its yew-tree and churchyard and view
over sea and land, and will not feel that it has received a
memorial for ever in the touching allusions to the death of
Phillis Hoad, to the grave of Lina Deimling, to the ancient
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 8 3
church on the hill-top? Who that has ever heard or read
the striking introduction of the stories of Hooker's death,
and of the warning of St. Philip Neri, in the sermons on the
‘Chariots of God’ and on the ‘Close of the Year,’ will not
feel the power and life given to the pastor of the humblest
flock by his command of the varied treasures of things new
and old, instead of the commonplaces which fill up so many
vacant pages of the sermons of an Ordinary preacher. Not
seldom, thus, a passage of Scripture or an event of Sacred
history was explained and brought home to the apprehension
of his most unlettered hearers, when it seemed to those who
listened as if the windows of heaven were opened for a flood
of light to come down ; and when the purest and most
practical lessons of morality were educed with surprising
force and attractiveness.”
The spirit by which Julius Hare's ordinary life was
animated was essentially a joyous spirit, perhaps it was the
very energy of his character which made it so. “His family
devotions,” wrote his friend Mr. Elliott, “were always large
in thanksgiving. He never prayed without thanksgiving;
nor without the Lord's Prayer. And it was perhaps that
spirit, so abundant in thanksgiving, which gave a charm and
a joyousness, an uplifted heart and a kindling eye to the
general character of his Social life ; and which made him so
ready to love, and wherever he was known, so beloved.”
And this joyousness went forth to nothing so much as to
the works of Nature, especially to her smaller works, to the
shrubs of his shrubbery, the flowers of his garden, the view
* Quarterly Review, exciii.
84 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
from his window. The thoughts which occurred to him
here in his home-garden, as he was pacing its walks, were
often reflected in his sermons. Thus, in the sermon on the
Contagion of Evil:—
“We are utterly unable to bring forth anything, whether
in thought or deed, that shall be perfect in the sight of
God—as unable as we are to build up a sky with our hands,
and to launch a fleet of stars across it. Hereby we betray
a secret corruption of Our nature, the taint of which spreads
through our whole lives. We betray that we have touched
the dead body of Sin. Think what an enormous difference
there is, in consequence of this fatal touch, between man
and the other parts of Creation. When a tree is healthy,
what a number of leaves does it bring forth, each one perfect
in its kind—unless there be some blight, or some nipping
blasts, something not in itself, but from without, to injure
them. Now, man is made to be lord over the trees; and
the lord should of right be better than that he rules. Yet,
when will man bring forth good thoughts, and good words,
and good deeds, as abundantly as the tree brings forth its
leaves? Whereas if man's nature were sound and healthy,
surely the lord of the earth, he who was made in the image
of God, and was endowed with the mighty, teeming powers
of thought and speech, and desire, and affection, and action,
ought not to be thus surpassed by creatures without thought
or feeling. Or think, again, of the beautiful flowers, each
perfect in its kind, which a garden brings forth in spring
and summer; and then tell me, where are your flowers
which God appointed you to bring forth P Where is their
sweetness? Where are the living seeds in them P Nay,
what flowers, how many, my brethren, have you brought
forth during the last summer? Think well, have you done
anything to which you can give so fair a name P If not,
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 85
can it be right that you alone in the universe should utterly
fail in fulfilling God's purpose. Again, what rich ears of
corn has this autumn ripened how full they have been
how heavy the grain . Have our deeds during the last
autumn been like those ears of corn? Alas no none of us
can say this of himself. Surely, then, we must all be
unclean; for everything we do has a rotting taint of un-
cleanness.”
From the way in which Julius Hare's habits of thought all
had their source in what he read, and his constant hourly
outpouring of all his opinions and feelings thereon, the great
authors both of England and Germany seemed almost more
familiar as household inmates during the first years which
Maria Hare spent with her brother-in-law, than the persons
among whom they visibly dwelt. For Coleridge and Words-
worth especially, his admiration was almost unbounded.
Coleridge he had known intimately in his Cambridge life,
though after his removal to Hurstmonceaux he scarcely saw
him again ; but his interest in the man, as well as in his
works, was kept up through the medium of his friend John
Sterling, and the visits which the latter paid to the poet in
his retreat at Highgate. In 1835 he showed his gratitude
for all that he considered he had learnt from Coleridge, in a
“Vindication,” which he published in the British Magazine,
against accusations which had been brought against both his
private and philosophic character ; this being the first of a
series of vindications which afterwards flowed from his pen.
In 1846 his “Mission of the Comforter" was inscribed
“To the honoured Memory of Samuel Taylor Coleridge,
the Christian philosopher, who, through dark and winding
86 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
paths of speculation was led to the light, in order that others,
by his guidance, might reach that light without passing
through the darkness, these sermons on the work of the
Spirit are dedicated with deep thankfulness and reverence
by one of the many pupils whom his writings have helped to
discern the Sacred concord and unity of human and divine
truth.”
Even in his sermons, Julius Hare frequently drew his
illustrations from the works of Coleridge. Such, in the
sermon on “The Shaking of the Nations,” is the allusion to
the Ancient Mariner.
“There is a beautiful poem, in which a mariner, having
committed a grievous sin, is visited with a terrible punish-
ment; and whereas most poets in such cases would repre-
sent the offender as being overtaken with a violent storm,
even as Jonah was when he fled from the presence of the
Lord, the punishment of the mariner consists in his being
becalmed in the midst of the Sea, under ‘a hot and copper
sky,’ where no breath was, or motion, until the very sea did
rot, and slimy things crawled about upon the slimy Sea.
This punishment of the mariner is a sort of type of what the
state of the world would be, if God did not from time to
time shake it.”
In the writings of Coleridge, his friend especially
honoured the carrying out of what was, in fact, the principle
of his own writings, that “there should be a reason not only
for every word, but for the position of every word.”
“A man,” wrote Julius Hare in the “Guesses at Truth,”
“should love and venerate his native language as the
awakener and stirrer of all his thoughts, the frame and
FIURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 87
mould of his spiritual being, as the great bond and medium
of intercourse with his fellows, as the mirror in which he sees
his own nature, and without which he could not commune
with himself, as the image in which the wisdom of God has
chosen to reveal itself to him. He who thus thinks of his
native language will never touch it without reverence. Yet
his reverence will not withhold, but rather encourage him to
do what he can to purify and improve it. Of this duty no
Englishman in our times has shown himself so well aware as
Coleridge, which is a proof that he possessed some of the
most important elements of the philosophical mind.” Of
the death of Coleridge he wrote –“The light of his eye is
quenched; none shall listen any more to the sweet music of
his voice; none shall feel their souls teem and burst, as
beneath the breath of spring, while the life-giving words of
the poet-philosopher flow over them.”
With Wordsworth, “above all men the poet of nature,”
who had been equally honoured by his brother Augustus,
Julius Hare preserved through life an intimate friendship
and an occasional correspondence, and to him he dedicated
the second edition of the “Guesses at Truth.” A copy of
his works, old and worn with much reading, was never
permitted to be put up in his shelves, but always lay upon
the ledge of the book-case, near the door which opened
towards the garden, to be Snatched up and read in the open-
air in any stray moment of refreshment. More than any
other author, also, would he read Wordsworth aloud in the
evening, his voice telling how his heart followed each line of
the poem.
“Wordsworth and Coleridge,” he wrote, “came forward
88 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
in a shallow, hard, and worldly age—an age alien and almost
averse from the higher and more strenuous exercises of
imagination and thought, as the purifiers and regenerators
of poetry and philosophy. It was a great aim, and greatly
they both wrought for its accomplishment. Many who are
now amongst England's best hope and stay will respond to my
thankful acknowledgment of the benefits my heart and
mind have received from them both. Many will echo my
wish, for the benefit of my country, that their influence may
be more and more widely diffused. Many will join in my
prayer, that health and strength of mind and body may be
granted to them, to complete the noble works which they
have in store, so that men may learn more worthily to
understand and appreciate what a glorious gift God bestows
on a nation, when he gives them a poet.”
It was on receiving an unpublished poem of Wordsworth
from the hands of Julius Hare, at Hurstmonceaux Rectory,
that Landor wrote the lines:—
“Derwent Winander your twin poets come
Star-crown’d along with you, nor stand apart.
Wordsworth comes hither, hither Southey comes,
His friend and mine, and every man’s who lives,
Or who shall live when days far off have risen.
Here are they with me yet again, here dwell
Among the sages of antiquity,
Under his hospitable roof whose life
Surpasses theirs in strong serenity,
Whose genius walks more humbly, stooping down
From the same heights to cheer the weak of soul
And guide the erring from the tortuous way.
Hail, ye departed hail, thou later friend,
Julius ! but never by my voice invoked
With such an invocation . . . . hail, and live l’”
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 89
In the same month which brought his sister-in-law to live
with him, John Sterling came to Julius Hare as a curate,
and the next six months were passed by the three in constant
intercourse and intimate friendship. “Of that which it was
to me personally to have such a fellow-labourer,” wrote the
rector, “to live constantly in the freest communion with
such a friend, I cannot speak. He came to me at a time
of heavy affliction, just after I had heard that the brother
who had been the sharer of all my thoughts and feelings
from my childhood had bid farewell to his earthly life at
Rome; and thus he seemed given to me to make up in
some sort for him whom I had lost. Almost daily did I
look out at his usual hour for Coming to me, and watch his
tall slender form walking rapidly across the hill in front of
my window, with the assurance that he was coming to cheer
and brighten, to rouse and stir me, to call me up to some
height of feeling, or down into some depths of thought.
His lively spirit responding instantaneously to every impulse
of nature or of art, his generous ardour in behalf of whatever
is noble and true, his 5corn of all meanness, of all false
pretences and conventional beliefs, softened as it was by
compassion for the victims of those besetting sins of a culti-
vated age, his never-flagging impetuosity in pushing onward
to some unattained point of duty or of knowledge, along
with his gentle, almost reverential affectionateness towards
his former tutor, rendered my intercourse with him an un-
Speakable blessing; and time after time has it seemed to
me that his visit had been like a shower of rain, bringing
Bº Reshness and brightness on a dusty roadside hedge.
too, the recollection of these our daily meetings
90 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
was cherished to the last. In a letter to his eldest boy, who
was at School, and to whom he used to write daily, about
two months before his death, after speaking of various
flowers in his garden, especially of some gum-cistuses, he
says: ‘I think I like them chiefly because I remember a
large bush of the kind, close to the greenhouse through
which one passed into Mr. Hare's library. The ground
used to be all white with the fallen flowers. I have so often
stood near it, talking to him, and looking away over the
Pevensey Level to the huge old Roman castle, and the sea,
and Beachy Head beyond. The thought of the happy
hours I have so spent in talking with him is and always
will be very pleasant. It is long since I saw him. I have
been too ill, and have too much besides upon Ine to keep up
latterly almost any correspondence; but I know that if we
meet to-morrow, or to-morrow come a hundred years, it
would be as of old, like brothers.’” ”
The pleasure with which Sterling's visits were welcomed
at the rectory was of short duration. In the following year
the failure of his health compelled him to leave Hurstmon-
ceaux, and though he long kept up a correspondence with
his friends, especially with Mrs. Hare, they seldom met
afterwards.
So few events marked the peaceful first ten years of Maria
Hare's widowed life, that it is unnecessary to give any con-
secutive account of them. The Summers were all passed in
the quiet of Hurstmonceaux, in devotion to the spiritual
and temporal interests of its poor; the winters were spent
• Life of John Sterling, affixed to his “Essays.”
HURSTMONCEAUx RECTORY. 9 I
at Stoke Rectory with her father, now in a most patriarchal
old age. The impress of the thoughts and interests by
which she was surrounded is left in the following gleanings
from letters and journals of this time —
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Aurs/monceaux APectory, /u/y 16, 1834.—Am I really
here P Is this place I look upon—I write from-really
Hurstmonceaux? I hardly yet feel it. The shock of leav-
ing Alton, of coming here first, is not yet passed away
enough to leave me frée to think or know where I am. My
Luce, I never yet felt anything like the dead melancholy of
my present sense that Alton and its beautiful happiness
have passed away for ever. I cannot tell you what the
feeling was on arriving here yesterday to know that the seal
was set to it, that there remains no more of the past, that
all is become new. . . . . Yet I feel strongly how good it
is for me to be taken away from such smooth paths, how
far too pleasant and self-indulgent a life it would have been
to deal with such affectionate and simple people as those,
to have had such tender love and gratitude. No ; God
loves me far too well to endanger keeping my self-loving
heart from its onward path, by allowing such earthly happi-
ness, and yet He scatters such blessings around me as may
safely be permitted elsewhere.
“On Sunday I gave all the Bibles, covered with black
cloth, and made, though with much difficulty, a little exhor-
tation to the Alton children with so precious a gift. I printed
in the first page, “From her dear minister, Rev. A. H.,’ and
2 Tim. iii. 14, 15. In the evening, Mr. Kilvert preached
in the little church on ‘Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise
from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light.’ It was a
very striking sermon, and the animating thoughts which it
92 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
aroused, lifted up my poor drooping spirit from the very,
very sad feeling of never again being in that most blessed
church—my Augustus's church, and with his people—to the
time when the redeemed of the Lord will meet to sing
together the praises of the Lamb in the church on high.
. . . . In the morning came the leaving the scene of so
much love and peace and joy. It was leaving a part of
Augustus to leave the rooms we have shared together, that
dear garden-walk, those peaceful fields; and though earth
has many Sorrows, I cannot imagine one heavier than this
has been at the time. It is indeed, blessed be God, alle-
viated mercifully in various ways, or how could one bear it?
but the pang is no less there. There is a peace which will
never leave me: I have many yet left to love and be loved
by, but you know how a severing like this can never be
altogether softened down, and now begins the real experience
of its painfulness. The first day, I was so worn down I
could only, like a wearied child, lie in my Father's hands
ready to do or suffer all His will, but yesterday I was able
to enjoy part of the journey through a very beautiful country,
All the way here from Brighton is ugly enough. . . . . This
house is indeed beautiful inside as books, pictures, and
busts can make it, and there is a pretty greenhouse. It is
not so exposed as I expected; the trees and shrubs are
grown up very much. From my window, where I now sit,
I look on the church spire, at the top of a bank running in
a straight line along the horizon; and on each side of the
church, behind it, I see a blue line of sea with a dark speck
which I suppose is a ship. It is a view without any pic-
turesque beauty, but one to grow fond of, and, being open,
it gives one's eye space to range over. There seem to be
some little woody dells near the house that I shall like to
explore, and the lawn and flowers are much nicer than I
expected. Hereafter how differently I shall look on all
HURSTIMONCEAUX RECTORY. 93
this—when time has wearied down the sense of what I have
left.”
“July 29,--I daily feel more and more how exactly this
place is suited to me—how fitted at present to restore my
inward peace. There is so much time alone, and so much
interest of a kind which will take me out of self; and of
Julius I cannot tell you all the gentleness and tender affec-
tion. I have been for two days with the Penrhyns at East-
bourne, which is the quietest place possible, no Smart people,
and a magnificent sea. As I sat on the beach till near
dark, and watched the waves rolling up and the vessels
sailing on in the evening sunlight, how I did think of that
bright Sun that lights our fragile vessels through a sea often
troubled, and will as surely lead them to a haven of peace
and rest—that haven where he, my beloved Augustus, is
now safe from every storm and wave l’’
“Julius's delight at my return was the nearest approach
to that affection I so miss, of anything I have met with. I
found him in great sorrow at the news of Coleridge's death.
I feel too the public loss, as you would if you had read the
MSS. I have lately been reading of his—such a rare com-
Dination of the highest intellectual and deepest spiritual
truth as one seldom sees; but I can only now feel that he
is truly one that never dies, and think of the joy to his spirit
to be set free. There are some letters on the inspiration of
Scripture which Mr. Sterling lent me, showing strongly the
mischief done to many minds by insisting on the verba/
inspiration of the historical Scriptures, and making a dis.
tinction I never saw before between the revealing word that
spoke in the law and by the prophets, from the assisting
Spirit that kept the other Sacred writers from all essential
error in their narratives; but with all this there is mingled
such a deep Spiritual feeling of the depth of God's word,
such beautiful application of it, and sense of its life and
94 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
spirit, as only one could have who had drunk deep of the
well of living water. This needed not the corroboration
afforded me yesterday by a letter Julius showed me written
to Anna, who has been most kind in supplying his temporal
wants. He expresses in it his thanks for her liberality with
the real humility of a Christian, and after describing his
bodily infirmities and inward peace, speaks of his deep
inward sense of sin against God, and the comfort he could
alone find in being able ‘to rest exclusively on the all-perfect
righteousness of his Redeemer and Saviour.” These are his
own words, and everything in his letter shows that they are
not zºord's alone. Mr. Sterling, who feels towards him as
towards a father, is gone to attend his funeral.”
“July 2 I.-K. is gone now ; and you may suppose I feel
a loneliness, after having had either her or you with me for
so long, in being left alone ; but far greater is my sense of
thankfulness in having such a comforter as Julius to be my
companion and friend. That heavy weight I had on first
coming here, has in the last few days been lightened so as
to enable me to look once again on the Sunny side, and see
through the clouds of the present time that ever bright
rainbow of promise that can make even this wilderness
appear like Eden. Did you think of me as you read that
verse on my last dear Sunday, and hope that I should fulfil
it by ‘seeking Him further in the wild, who can turn earth's
worst and least into a conqueror's royal feast P’ He who
has borne me up hitherto will, I doubt not, graciously
smooth the rough way and make even the wayside rich in
blessings. So at least He seems to purpose for me, and
why I should be so crowned with daily mercies I know not.”
“/u/y 22.—This house is quite perfect, not at all too
grand for a parsonage-house, though outside it looks more
like a small squire's than a rector's. . . . . Yesterday for the
first time I went out with Julius in his new carriage, and
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 95
saw the old castle, which is very grand and picturesque, and
the churchyard, which is one I long to go and sit in, having
a magnificent old yew-tree, and a view all around over a
great open expanse, bounded on One side by the Sea; just
where you and I shall love to spend hours together reading
and talking over all those heavenly joys on the other side of
the grave, that many of those sleeping beneath the sod are
now enjoying. The lanes leading to the church are very
pretty. But my greatest pleasure has been in looking at the
many cottages, and thinking how much work there would
be for me, and hoping that, amidst all the people, there
would be some found who would rejoice in hearing the glad
tidings. I like this rectory more daily, and the peep at the
sea is a great delight to me. When it is blue, very blue, it
reminds me so of the dear Mediterranean, and I do so wish
there was no France between, that it rolled on straight from
here to Italy. The little specks of white glittering in the sun
are a constant interest, and last night a silver moon was
reflected along the whole line. - .
“August 18.-I have been reading, and with quite a new
delight, the ‘Pilgrim's Progress.’ I love to think that like
Christiana I am treading along the same path my Christian
has trod before, and it cheers many a weary hour to think
of the shining ones awaiting on the other side of the river,
ready at the King's call to lead one through the same gate.
As my bodily health declines, for it does decline, and as
time goes on, I feel more strongly how entirely crushed my
this world's happiness is. I can scarcely bear to think of
Rome, dear Rome, and my dear precious Alton is indeed
now become a paradise not of this world. I hear people
talk of summer, and wonder what they mean, it is so unlike
any Summer I ever lived through before. Even when it is
hottest and brightest, all looks to me dead and cheerless,
and everything wears an aspect so utterly changed, that I
96 MEMORIAIS OF A QUIET LIFE.
can hardly believe, it is quite an effort of the reason which
tells me, that it is the same earth which twelve months ago
was so full of life and enjoyment to me.
“Julius's and Mr. Sterling's tenderness are enough to
spoil one. Mr. Sterling has brought me a most exquisite
little book of Peter Sterry—‘The Kingdom of God in the
Soul of Man ;'. ... but there are many days when nothing
but the one Book will satisfy, and I get on very slowly with
anything else. I feel persuaded the more we leave that as
our chief food, the more we become unspiritualised, and
perhaps this is the reason so many real Christians in these
days of religious books are so little spiritual.”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“July, 1834.—No one can now keep side by side with
you through every pang and recollection as I can. I can-
not tell you how constantly I feel, and the more now I am
a member of his family, that his absence leaves a gap which
no one else can fill—as peacemaker, as one whom all (how-
ever they might disagree in other things) agreed in loving.
My own Mia, I am very sure you are more blessed in the
memory of such a husband and companion than any one,
even the happiest one could name. .... I now feel as if
Alton had passed away, but shall always have the picture of
it in my mind, just as it was. I look upon you now, my
Mia, with a very peculiar feeling, as if a portion of your
being were dwelling with him, in the world whither he is
gone, and yet another portion were left among us, to cheer
and encourage, to animate us on Our way. If he whom I
so dearly loved has left a vacancy in my life, which I feel
zlothing can ever fill up, you, whom I have equally loved,
have added a joy such as I have never felt. When I think
of you, it is like an Amen to the Bible, to the truth and
certainty of all its blessed promises—as your strength has
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 97
been, so I dare to hope mine would be, for in every hour
that passes, my heart's true expression is, ‘Whom have I
in heaven but Thee, and there is none upon earth that I
desire beside Thee?’” -
“July 22, 1834.—You know too well how I rejoiced in
your happiness not to know how I Sorrow with you, but I
strive now, with, and for you, to look onward ; from the
moment you left Alton I felt this. You are no longer
indeed to work in that blessed spot, but God has yet other
work for you to do, and though. He has taken to Himself the
one beloved companion, and sent you forth into the world
alone, the same Saviour and Comforter is watching over both,
and not in your best happiness at Alton did I think of you
as one so restingly, So Surely, so for eternity united as now.
You have indeed suffered, but it has been, it is, but for
awhile, the branch has been purged, but it is only that it
may bring forth more fruit; if the blessedness of this life
has been denied to you, it has been but to unveil more
clearly the far higher joys of the one where you and he are
to serve your God for ever. Yet a very little while, my
Own Mia, and we shall all be there, and this world can
never be joyless as long as our eye is fixed on Aim.”
“August 12, 1834.—One of the Guesses which has lately
been much in my thoughts is, “A man does harm to others
by his actions, to himself by his thoughts.” How often at
the close of a day, all outwardly fair and harmless, those
around might say, ‘how good;’ one's own heart, ‘how bad:"
the Christian life is so very tender, a thought, a bad feeling
only mounentarily let in, lonely moments neglected, prayers
put off, human praise delighted in, self promoted while
apparently kept down. ‘To walk with God’ is a mystery, a
mere form of words, to the, as yet, unfighting Christian, but
when once the warfare is begun, the unending conflict here
between grace and sin commenced, how clear, how expres–
WQL. II. H
98 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
sive they are; we cannot walk with Him if there is a single
point at variance, our will must be His, our spirit Aſis.”
“Corsſey, Aug. 13–Sometimes when I am looking on
these soft downs, and walking with Marcus round this lovely
spot, I seem as in a dream, and I think, ‘Is it to me that
this is given P’ I have a very peculiar feeling, I cannot
describe it to you, as if my earthly happiness had risen out
of the ashes of yours. . . . . How the corn-fields always
bring Alton to my mind.”
“Sept. 24.—I need not tell you the chastened, mingled
feelings of this day, or how near I have felt to you through-
out it. When Marcus was recounting over the mercies of
the past year, those kinds of mercies and loving-kindnesses
which do seem to make the heart overflow, a tear fell down
his face, as he half whispered, I was thinking of the dear,
dear Aug., and we both felt how so vast a something seemed
wanting in the absence and silence of that warm angel-
sympathy which would have made that day so doubly
blessed had Alton been what it was. Still the mutual
feeling was, dearest Mia, or poor, poor Mia, as Marcus
always says when feeling most what you have lost, but
happy, most happy Augustus.”
M. H. to L. A. H. (on the first anniversary of her marriage).
“Aſurstmonceaux, Sept. 24, 1834.—Shall such a day as
this pass unnoticed, dearest Luce P Do I not too well
know what the 2nd of June was ; do I not too deeply feel
what thankfulness I owe my Father in heaven for the bless-
ing He gave me on this day to let it go by without an out-
ward expression to you, no less than a fervent prayer to
Him of all I feel and think. Oh may the union thus
begun be one not for time but for eternity; as your affec-
tion one towards the other grows and deepenS, may your
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 99
earthly marriage be but the type of that heavenly one,
when clothed, not in your own garments, but in the fine
linen of Christ's spotless righteousness, and adorned in the
bridal jewels of love and holiness, you may both, at your
several calls to meet the Bridegroom, be found ready with
oil in your lamps, and the water which filled your frail
earthly vessels turned into wine by the Saviour's power and
love. Oh how deep will be your thankfulness this day,
and how your joy will be mixed with awful seriousness in
the feeling that he who so richly shared your last year's
happiness, to whom this day was a consummation so
earnestly desired of earthly wishes, is now transferred from
grace to glory, and, in the kingdom of the blessed Jesus, is
amid the saints rejoicing tenfold in the hope that the joy he
is now realising, may, through your means, be brought
home to others. There are moments when ‘the sweetness
of the stream' does give me such a foretaste of what ‘the
fountain’ must be, that I can only adore and bless my God
that my beloved is now tasting all the joy and bliss unsullied
by the alloy inseparable from earthly weakness and infirmity;
and the thought of his former presence and my present
solitude is insufficient to chill the thankfulness of my heart.
Dearest Luce, our lots through life have been strangely
interwoven, and this day which made your earthly happi-
ness, gave me my earthly comforters. We are so apt to
take as our natural portion that which God in his infinite
loving-kindness pours down upon us, that I do not now,
nor shall I perhaps ever till faith is changed into sight,
know all that I have owed of blessing and comfort to you
and Marcus. . . . We are travelling on together through the
same wilderness, and yet the promised land is even now
open to us: the desert is even now turned into the garden
of Eden; the rose blossoms even though its thorns are not
all yet broken off, and the ransomed can even now find joy
IOO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and gladness although all sorrow and all sighing is not yet
at an end.”
M. H. (MS. NotE-Book).
“July, 1834—O Lord God Almighty, Father of Mercies
and God of all Comfort, look down, I pray Thee, upon
thine unworthy servant, who is weary and heavy laden, and
pour upon her the riches of Thy consolation. Thou canst
heal the broken-hearted, Thou canst comfort those who
mourn; be with me, my Lord and my God, to uphold and
strengthen me. Give me patience to run the race Thou
hast set before me, and faith to look upon the joys unseen,
that I may count this my sorrow light, when compared with
the glory to come. O Lord Jesus, Thou didst leave Thy
home of glory, and take our nature, and become a Man of
Sorrow and acquainted with grief, that we might live with
Thee: conform me to Thy likeness, that having suffered
with Thee here, I may be with Thee for ever. Thou hast
redeemed us from the punishment of sin, oh redeem my
soul from its bondage, that I may be free to live henceforth,
not for myself but for Thee : that I may daily crucify my
own will, and give up my whole heart, my whole mind and
soul and strength to Thy service and Thy glory. Help me
to put away self, and to remember that this life is not given
for my ease, my enjoyment. It is a schooling time for the
eternal home Thou hast prepared for those who love Thee.
Keep my eye steadily fixed on that haven of rest and peace,
that I may not faint nor be weary from the length of the
way, but may strive to walk worthy of my high calling in all
meekness and lowliness of heart, continually pressing on in
faith and love to greater fruits of holiness, that Thou mayst
be glorified. I desire to bless, to adore, to magnify Thy
name for all the great benefits Thou heapest on me daily,
for all the riches of Thy grace which Thou hast made known
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. IOI
to me, and for all the comfort with which Thou hast com-
forted me. I am unworthy of the least of these mercies, but
Thou knowest our frame, that though the spirit be willing,
the flesh is weak, and Thou wilt mercifully renew my
strength, that I mount up as with eagle's wings, and Thou
wilt fill my cruse of oil, that so to the end I may hold fast
the confidence and the rejoicing of the hope. O Lord, my
earthly home has passed away, the joy of my heart is re-
moved from sight. I have it may be a long pilgrimage
before me; but in Thy sight a thousand years are but as
one day, and Thou canst so fill my soul with an abiding
sense of Thy presence and longing for Thy glory that I can
feel length of years as a passing shadow, if I may but do
Thy will and promote Thy glory. And after that I have
suffered awhile, when I am strengthened, stablished, settled
in Thy love, when I have done all the work Thou hast for
me to do, do Thou, O gracious God, be with me to guide
me through the valley of the shadow of death, and in Thine
own good time free me from this earthly tabernacle, and
take me to dwell with Thee, O Holy Father, Son and Holy
Ghost, with all the Company of angels and archangels, and
the spirits of the just made perfect, that with him I have
loved on earth I may join in singing eternal hallelujahs to
the Lamb that was slain from the foundation of the world.”
M. H. to MISS MILLER.
“Hurstmoncéaux ſectory, /u/y II, 1834.— . . . You know
too well my exceeding love for Alton, the very bright and
beautiful happiness God granted me for five years in that
home of peace and love, not to enter into the wrench it has
been to be severed for ever from a place endeared by such
recollections. It did indeed seem as if the last tie on earth
was rooted up, and all Connection with him I loved better
than life torn away, when I drove away from that most be-,
IO2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
loved spot; and now that I am arrived here, and feel a seal
as it were put upon the reality that former things are passed
away and all things become new, it does weigh me down
very heavily at times with the sense of my changed life. I
would not have you think of me as better than I am, and look
on my faith as other than it is, often weak and sensitive to
outward hindrances. I know in whom I trust; and it is a
special comfort to be sure, as every Christian may, that
though our Father may see fit that His children should be
at times left without the support of His countenance, and
feel all the weight of earthly sorrow, it is only for a time,
and to give a deeper sense of dependence on that love
which will assuredly be poured out on all who seek it, and
which can make the wilderness of this world like Eden, and
her desert like the garden of the Lord. It was not the ex-
citement of the moment, it was an enduring reality—that
which I felt so strongly in that dear church on Sunday even-
ing, when in the overpowering sense of parting for ever with
that house of God where he had delivered the good tidings,
where we had knelt together Sunday after Sunday in the
congregation of our affectionate people, and where we had
shared together the food of heaven—it was not, blessed be
God, only the effect of Mr. Kilvert's words that lifted me
up from God's earthly tabernacle,_then one could not hope
to feel the same when the means are taken away,+but it is
to the loving-kindness of Him who wept Over the grave of
Lazarus, that the poor widow looks and knows the time will
come, when those who have loved their Saviour and joined
in communion with Him in His house of prayer on earth,
will with ‘His redeemed return and come with singing unto
Zion, and sorrow and mourning shall flee away.' If there
were no other words of confort in the whole Bible, Surely
these ought to make all suffering seem light, with the addi-
tional promise that not only sorrow shall be done away, but
HURSTMiGNCEAUX RECTORY. Io.3
everlasting joy shall be on our heads. If a thousand years
in God's eyes seem nothing compared with this weight of
glory, why is it that we count ten, twenty, thirty years so
endless a time P Rather let us feel how all too short it is
for us to show our sense of His boundless love towards us,
if by enduring all things in the strength that He Himself
gives, we can in any—even the least way—prove our love to
Him. You, my dear friend, may never, I trust, be called
upon to bear a Cross so heavy as mine ; but a cross you
must bear if you would be Christ's disciple, and the cross of
daily self-denial, of daily forbearance towards others, of
daily sacrifice of your own pleasure, your own ease, even
your own desire of doing your Master's work, will come back
to your own soul, be assured, with tenfold greater blessing
than the best sermon you ever hear, or the kindest friends,
or the most useful books. There must first be life in the
soul as well as in the limbs, but when that is awakened, it
is exercise that will invigorate the graces of the one, as it
does the power of the other, and the more trial there is, the
more you will be drawn into conformity to Him who was
perfected through suffering.
“I am fully Sensible myself of the love God has shown
to my soul by every trial He has sent, and I trust that from
the present weight of sorrow I may with thankfulness yield
that fruit He meaneth to draw from the branch he has
purged. . . . I have much to say to my dear friends, but
it must wait till I write again, I will only now send my
kindest love to all who ask after me, and bid them not
forget to pray that God will hear the cry of those in tears,
and give thern peace and comfort.” -
M. H. to REV. R. KILVERT.
“Aurstmonceaux, August 15, 1834.—I am so weak I have
been forced to give up visiting my only two poor acquaint-
IO4 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
ances here. I regretit very much for one of them whose days
are numbered. She suffers greatly and with much patience,
and it has been a great delight to me to speak to her of the
glad tidings, and now He who has in some degree opened
her heart, Can Open it still further, and pour in the balm
without my feeble help. The last time I went I asked what
she would say if in prison and condemned to death, I came
and said I would die for her, and the Judge would pardon
her. Her eyes filled with tears, ‘Oh, ma'am, what should I
do P’—‘I will tell you, you would feel such love and thank-
fulness you could not do enough for me.’—‘Oh, that I
should indeed.’ It was easy to see how she believed what
I said, because she saw and heard me, and that she did not
believe what Jesus said, because she did not see and hear Him.
And is it not wonderful that we should not believe? I some-
times think it is passing belief that the Lord of Heaven and
earth should come down and become a carpenter’s son,
without a home, and be mocked and scourged, and crucified
for me. A thousand years of life could not show my thank-
fulness; and yet, when I am very weak, a glow of pleasure
comes over me to think that in a few years perhaps this
poor cage will be worn out and the day's toil be over, so im-
patient is my weak heart under His will. And yet I long
too to live and help others on, so far as lies in my power, to
like precious faith.”
The one drop wanting in the cup of married happiness at
Alton had been that no child had been given, and as his
earthly life was fading, Augustus Hare had grieved that his
Mia should not have this interest left to comfort and Solace
her. In the solitary hours of her long return journey it had
occurred to her as just possible that her brother-in-law
Francis and his wife might be induced to give up their
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. - Io 5
youngest child, Augustus, born at the Villa Strozzi, in the
first weeks of her sorrow, and to whom she had been god-
mother. When she was established at Hurstmonceaux
rectory, she determined to make the attempt, and was
almost as much surprised as rejoiced by the glad acquies-
cence her proposal met with. She stipulated that the child
should henceforward be hers and hers only, in every sense
of the word, and that it should be brought up to consider
all her family as its relations, as near—or nearer than those
who were related to it by blood. But no opposition was
made to her wishes, and it was promised that the child
should be sent to her in the following summer, when it
would be fifteen months old. -
How happy this adopted relationship of mother and son
became in after years—how close their union, how filled
with every blessing to the child who in heart was more than
her own, who shared her every interest, her every thought—
none but those who had a part in their daily life can tell.
M. H. to MIRS. HARE.
“Aurstmonceaux Zº'éctory, /u/y 22, 1834.— . . . . I have
had much to go through since we returned to England, and
the last and heaviest pang of all, that of returning to the
dear home I loved so much, and of leaving it for ever, has
been very difficult to bear. God, however, has strengthened
me through this suffering, and in many ways it has been
softened to me. Especially comforting was the affectionate
sympathy of all our poor people at Alton. They have all
united to put up a tablet in the church expressive of their
love and gratitude, and neither the poorest nor the youngest
person in the parish would be excluded from offering his
mite—one old mar. came two hours before the time ap-
106 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
pointed, with his sixpence, for fear of being too late. My
sister was with me all the time of my stay, and came with
me here last week. She is now returned into Cheshire, and
I have taken up my abode here for three or four months.
Julius's kind and gentle attentions are most soothing to me,
and, when I am strong enough, the helping him in his
parish duties will be the greatest interest I can find. He
seems to have got an admirable curate in Mr. Sterling, but
as they are both quite inexperienced in such matters, I hope
even my little mite of experience may sometimes be of use.
This house is most comfortable, and, by the kindness of his
friends, Julius has been enabled to furnish it very well and
suitably. In books and pictures he is very rich. . . . .
And now, my dear Anne, I have a great request to make,
and one that if you think it very unreasonable you must
forgive. Do you think that I could prevail upon you and
Francis to consent to part with your little Augustus, and to
give him up to me? I am aware that it is a bold petition,
and if you had not so many to provide for, I should not
think of making it; but, as it is, I have thought that if you
could be induced to such a sacrifice, it would be such a very
great delight and interest to me, to have that little child to
rear up and love, that life would again seem to be worth
having in its prospect. . . . . All I ask is, that you will take
my proposition into consideration, and give it a patient
hearing. Should you be disposed to accede to it, my own
earnest request would be to have your little babe as soon
after it is weaned as it could bear the journey, and as any
opportunity should occur of its coming to England. I
think that you would thus feel less in parting with it, and
that it would become doubly endeared to me by having the
care of its childhood.”
“Sept. 30.—It gave me more pleasure than anything else
in this world could give me, to hear that you and Francis
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. Io?
were favourably disposed toward my request, and that I
might look forward to having your little Augustus for my
own. Your wishes that I should reconsider the desire I
had expressed are very kind and considerate, and in many
cases there would be justice in them : in my case I feel
there is a difference—which you who knew us comparatively
little could hardly be expected to enter into—from common
separations of the same kind; and though in the course of
time the acutenesss of the pain will no doubt be worn
down, the severing of a bond so very close can never be
otherwise than deeply felt, till the time comes when the
separation will end, and though he cannot return to me, I
may, through the mercy of God, be permitted to rejoin him.
In looking forward to that time, and pressing on in the way
he went, I have constant peace and comfort, and the hope
of having a dear little child to share my otherwise solitary
home, makes the future look far less dreary than it would
naturally do. I rejoice to hear that you are likely to be
in Switzerland, and that I may hope to have my precious
charge sent to me next Summer, when I shall hope to be
established in a house of my own in this parish, and to
become a deaconess under Julius and Mr. Sterling.”
C. S. fo M. H.
“Sół. I.-I had not much fear of what Mrs. Hare's
answer would be, but am glad indeed it is so decisive of
their feelings. Julius and I had already looked forward
to the possible destiny of that little child, altogether form-
ing such a beautiful link in the chain of interest at Hurst-
monceaux, such an additional tie there; and if not for that,
there is the more certain future to bring him up to and for,
and it does nake me think with far greater pleasure of the
cottage, that almost as soon as you are settled he will come,
that he will begin his new life there with you.
Io.8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET IIFE.
“Your description of your own state of mind seems to
me the very thing that one looks to as the state in another
world—the sort of enjoyment of knowledge, beauty, every-
thing; such it must be in species, however inferior in degree.
I believe the best thing for you just now would be, if you
had bodily strength, to do some mechanical work, which
would a little take off the ferment of thought you speak of
—doing nothing you cannot. The simplest and easiest
mechanical occupation would hinder the machine inside
from going too fast.” -
M. H. to REv. R. KILVERT.
“Sept. 25, 1834.—Your meditation on the offices of the
Redeemer came peculiarly home to me, as I had been not
long before thinking a good deal on the type of His High
Priesthood in Melchizedek : the fiſhes offered to him in the
name of the faithful by Abraham seeming to present an
especially useful lesson for all believers, as also the bread
and wine with which he refreshed and blest his servant
affords much spiritual comfort in the Sure and Certain hope
of such nourishment being derived from our blessed High
Priest in the Sacrament of His Supper. . . . . But when I
particularise this source of comfort, I feel I am doing injus-
tice to those varied and hidden riches of Secret places that
day by day are springing up and furnishing me with fresh
consolation and encouragement—opening new glimpses of
the mercy of my God and Saviour, and urging me on with
new zeal to help forward Others in a way of such exceeding
gladness. Though much tried by pain and the irritability
of great physical nervousness, I have been constantly blest
in the inner man, and can most truly testify to the truth of
Cowper's words, ‘Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love,
she communes with her God.' And this most graciously
permitted foretaste of Heaven does lead one from ‘the
HURST MONCE AUX RECTORY. Io9
sweetness of the stream ' to think so highly of the ‘Foun-
tain,” that scarcely a regret can at such times be felt—let me
rather say it is changed into a thankful joy—in thinking of
those who are now freed from earthly weakness and in-
firmity, and rejoicing with the Lamb that was slain. Happy
it is for us, for us poor, weak mortals, that sin and self are
opened to our view at the same time with heavenly hopes,
or we should soon learn to fancy some self-earned merit in
the free and undeserved bounties of our God.”
M. H.’s NOTE-BOOK.
“Sóſ., 1834.—It often seems to me as if my own spiritual
experience afforded a clue to the varying opinions and
theories of others; formed as they usually are on one state
of feeling, and not on the many states through which a
Christian has to pass.
“At Rome, when I had so felt the real weight of sin, that
I could not hope for eternal happiness from any good
works of my own, and had sought and obtained peace
through faith in Christ's all-sufficient sacrifice and merits,
then followed a complete renunciation of self into God's
hands. It seemed for a time as if self was swallowed up in
the contemplation of eternity and the assurance of the
inheritance bought for me by Jesus. All the rubbish of
earthly-mindedness seemed swept away, and I lay, as it
were, quite passive for the actings of God's spirit. Thoughts
of God were the first to spring up in the morning; my heart
waited not for my head to teach it how to pray, but was
lifted up unconsciously and without effort in words of
prayer and praise. The looking to Jesus as my Saviour,
though before the all-prevailing and influential source of love
and gratitude, seemed now for a season to be lost in the
adoration of God Himself, and the operation of His Spirit on
my soul, sometimes felt almost sensibly in an indescribable
H. : O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
communion with Him who is ‘in us all,” became more
exclusively the object of my thoughts. In prayer I felt
most strongly that God was in me, that I no longer had to
search for Him out of self; His temple was my heart. I
knew nothing then of mysticism ; I had never read a word
of that school of theology: but I sometimes thought within
myself this must be very much what the Quakers feel.
There was then no temptation to try me; I was abstracted
from the world, lived in a complete atmosphere of spiritual
and heavenly thoughts, and sin seemed to be completely
dead. But this was not to last—my peaceful, uninterrupted
heaven on earth—my Roman Solitude—ended. The jour-
ney, with all its trials of fatigue, illness, Sorrow, the having
again to do with my fellows, soon showed me that sin,
though lulled asleep for awhile, was not dead, and, of course,
the near view of heavenly things I had obtained, quickened
the mind to detect the least falling away from the perfect
union of my will with God's, that for a time seemed to
have been allowed. Then frequent, painful experience of
the continued, though subdued power, that self retained,
brought me again to feel the blessedness of the Saviour's
love and righteousness, to feel the Comfort of the forgive-
ness He had bought, and the sure dependence I might place
on His perfect goodness in the sight of God, as a rock never
to be moved, while my sanctification must ever be imperfect,
and if the sole ground of hope for justification, must be
unstable. •
“So, as it seems to me, is it that there is a germ of truth
contained in Quakerism, Mysticism, and even the enlarged
Unitarian notion of the Godhead. . . . but all equally fail
in not being adapted to the corruption of the outward
world, wherein, without becoming hermits, temptation to
evil is unavoidable, and corruption in the heart—which,
though rendered in the regenerate subordinate to the love of
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. III
God—is not rooted out. So that without continual be-
holding of God in Jesus Christ, we shall grow cold in love;
without looking to Him as our justification, we shall become
faint in hope; and without making Him our example, we
shall come short in holiness.”
“Mov. 1.—When from outward circumstances or inward
temperament, the Bible is the main food of my mind
through the day, and all other supply of intellectual nourish-
ment is only the garnish, as it were, to this chief dish ; or,
to borrow an image from music, when God's word is the
air, and man's word only the accompaniment, my soul is
kept in perfect peace ; it feels as if all were in its right place
and fitting proportion. When, on the contrary, from hin-
drances from without or within, this is not so, and the
wisdom of man is most prominently brought before me, and
that of God thrown into the distance, I feel ill at ease, and
my mind seems tossed to and fro without stay or peace.
“Nervous sympathy with others greatly adds to the
difficulty of maintaining a firm position when with those
who feel differently; but perhaps this too may, by prayer
and watching and self-denial, be conquered through His
power, who is able to subdue all things to Himself. I have
not yet resisted unfo blood. What must have been the
struggle, the fight of the divine against the human nature
which went thus far !”
“To the natural man, Time is the substance, Eternity
the shadow ; to the Spiritual man, Eternity is the substance,
Time the shadow.”
II 2 - MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“The difference of touch between a sensitive and ner.
vous woman and a rough ploughboy, is much that which
there is in being with or without a thick gardening glove.
Many people seem to have a glove upon their minds, and
to feel nothing but the broadest and most general outlines
of a thing.”
“It would be as unwholesome for the mind to feed only on
Scripture, as it would be for the body to be restricted
entirely to bread or to meat. There are diseases of the
body which require for a time the simple diet of one kind of
food; and so the mind, under peculiar trials or temptations,
needs only divine truths to nourish and strengthen it, and
would not be able to digest other spiritual food. But this is
not the healthy and healthful state of either body or mind.
The variety of powers in both require a variety of nourish-
ment, that no one power may go without its fitting support,
and that all may be invigorated and strengthened together.”
“The worldling's motto is Self-indulgence; the Chris-
tian's is Self-denial.”
“In God's kingdom we cannot remain on neutral ground;
those who are not for are against. But there are many who
appear to man's eyes to stand neutral, because he cannot
discern whether the seed within is ripening into life, or
withering away to death.”
“The soul that has once enjoyed the light of God's
countenance could no more disbelieve, though it were
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. II 3
never to be permitted to see it again, than the existence
of the sun could be doubted, though perpetual clouds were
to obscure it.”
“Gleams of sunshine often light up the distant landscape,
while the sky over our heads is covered with clouds: so is
the reflected light of Christ's righteousness often seen in the
members of His body, while the Sun of glory Himself is hid
from view ; and by those who have never beheld His face,
the light which beams on His servants is ascribed to their
own nature, and not recognised as a borrowed light.”
“When the new man is ‘put on, the old man is not,
alas, put off; it is only put under.”
“No anthropomorphism in the New Testament P Is not
the very essence of it contained in the manifestation of the
Incarnate God in the form of a servant—the Word made
flesh—seen—heard—handled—carried up into heaven—
there sitting at the right hand of God the Father P e
“The Trinity in Unity is revealed in the Old Testament;
the division of persons in the New.
“They follow two lines—Theology as a science, and Religion
as a personal way to Salvation.”
“The natural conscience can discern a difference between
right and wrong abstractedly, but when unrenewed by
divine grace, there is no struggle against the wrong when
VOL. II. - I
II.4 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
evil is present to the mind; whereas the new man feels the
sin warring within him at the time of its greatest influence,
and strives to overcome it and gain the victory.”
“Christ tells us that the way of life is narrow, and that
few find it. But we are commonly told that it is very un-
charitable to suppose that any but decided malefactors will
not enter heaven. How wide, then, must be the way, and
how many find it !”
“The man of the world comes to me and talks of the
comfort I must find in Zºeligion : that God will strengthen
me, perhaps. It is an abstract assertion, quite true indeed,
but could give me no comfort in itself. The Christian talks
to me of God's love in Christ, and we dwell on the Saviour's
love till our hearts burn within us, and till the full depth
of present suffering seems light in Comparison of the glory
to come. The one looks as a spectator on a scene in which
he bears no part, the other as a fellow-actor in a reality of
which he is sharing both the joy and the trials.”
“‘We walk by faith, not by sight.” In these days we
walk by sight, not by faith. In all our dealings with each
other this is evidently the case : a reason must be given, a
proof shown of every act and every opinion; it must be
demonstrated to us that our friend is right in a tangible form,
by some actual experience, before we will take it for granted.
Again, in education, the appeal is made to the senses, not
to the reasoning powers: a child is taught numbers not by
an act of the mind, but by perception of the eye.”
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 115
“We feel opprest when kindness after kindness is poured
in upon us by man, and no opportunity presents itself of
rendering any return. Would that we were equally moved
by receiving benefits from God, and yielding him no token
of thanks.”
“The poor copies of Christ's life which are presented to
us even in the lives of the most sincere Christians, resemble
the copies of good pictures made by little children. The
proportions are all faulty, and the colours do not blend
together. There is a likeness, but so imperfect a one, that
we must not take pattern by the copy, but ascend up to the
Original and study its every feature, there, where alone it is
perfect.”
“It is much easier to catch hold of and imitate the in-
firmities attendant on the virtues of others, than to follow
the simple grace itself; and often the two are so closely
associated in our minds that we cannot distinguish them.”
“The same pencil is hard upon one paper, and soft upon
another. How is this P Does the pencil change P. We see
clearly here how the effect varies according to the substance
on which the pencil acts. And equally certain is it that
the seed, which is the Word of God, though unchangeable
in its own nature, produces different results, according to
the soil of the heart into which it falls. Yet many seem to
think only one impression can be produced, and that all
others must be wholly false.
“It is as if one ray of the sun alone were the real one, and
all other rays a delusion. Truly, God's thoughts are not as
II6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
man's thoughts. How wondrous are the riches and variety
of His works and ways.”
“I should like to add a word to one of the petitions in
the Litany, saying, “Forgive us our sins, negligences, igno-
rances, and prejudices.” How many wrong thoughts of
others, false estimates of things, and self-delusions, are the
result of prejudices formed hastily, or from some bias of
feeling, from drawing conclusions on insufficient knowledge,
or too great confidence in our own judgment.”
“Some good people seem to think that because self.
sacrifice is a noble thing, everything in which self is sacrificed
must be good and right. But our views of sacrifice, like
all others, are often dim and confused. Sometimes self is
sacrificed most where it may appear to be giving up least,
and sacrificed least when it seems to be giving up most.”
“In the Prayer Book we speak to God, in the Bible God
speaks to us; yet in these days how many exalt the one to
an equality with the other, who would cry out if accused of
making the voice of man of equal authority with that of God.”
“In old days there was a simple and plain notion of duty
which was instilled into children, and acted on by men.
Nowadays every such act is considered in the light of a
sacrifice, and acquires thereby insensibly the garb of a merit,
so that if it is not fully recognised, or is fruitless, there is
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. - 117
disappointment and a feeling of having made the sacrifice
in vain.
“Those who make these sacrifices are held up to admira-
tion and praise, while such as do not appear thus to give
up anything for others are looked upon as selfish and
worldly. But in this, as in all other things, Satan is busy to
intermeddle and deceive. Often, in the unobserved, silent
performance of duty, which is felt to be the natural and
proper element of life, where no thought of a self to be
given up has place, and no alternative of self-pleasing comes
into the mind, more of the real spirit of Christ dwells, and
the fruit of peace is more visible, where nothing is expected,
no disappointment felt.”
M. H. to MISS MILLER.
“Aurstmonceaux, August 5, 1834.— . . . I feel ambi-
tious for you, my friend, that you should become alto-
geſ/ter a Christian, and if, through means of my own expe-
rience, I can help you on, I shall be very grateful. There
are mally things I should like to say to you, because I know
well there are many in which you may, out of the very warmth
of your heart and earnestness to do right, need counsel. One
of these is that in these days when there is much profes-
sion, and a great fa/3 of godliness, one should bear in
mind that, as far as others are concerned, consistency is the
great and most prevailing means in our power of showing
forth that there is truth in what we believe. The great
scandal and offence of the cross of Christ is not always to
be attributed to its own self-denying principle, though that
is doubtless the chief stumbling-block, but often the faithful
and zealous servants of Christ add their own offence by
showing forth only a part of their Master's doctrine. Many,
II 8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
who have a full and a true view of what Christ has done for
them, rest satisfied with love to the Crucifica, without
seeking to follow the example. It is in this way, I think,
Dissenters often err, and that I feel our own Church follows
more closely what is Christian truth; that without dwelling
On one part to the exclusion of another, without bringing
One doctrine forward and keeping others back, it takes that
full and complete view of the whole that one meets with so
perfectly in God’s word, and so seldom in man's. It is
that union of the principle of utter self-abasement and
dependence on Christ alone, and the fruits of that principle
shown forth by Sanctification of the inner man growing
more and more as the believer goes on from strength to
strength. . . . And do not turn from the Supposition that
you may be of use to others. Remember our Lord's dis-
ciples had but five loaves and two fishes, and yet His
blessing converted those small means into food for four
thousand people ; and so will He bless all, even the very
least of our services, if consecrated to His glory, and not as,
alas ! they so often are, to our own. You, in your class of
life, just as effectually as I in mine, may render to the Lord
your humble attempts to win others to His service. Do
not look for means of serving him out of the situation He
has placed you in, but look for them in it, and you will not
be at a loss to find plenty of occasions to prove that you
are desirous of being indeed counted His child. . . . If you
are in any difficulty, think of Christian's Roll—there he
found his guide, and you will find yours, and the same
weapon of A//prayer which he used, must be yours too.
. . . . I can only, in conclusion, Commend you to His
almighty care, who can sanctify you, body, Soul, and Spirit,
and make you a temple fit for Himself. Lean on him and
not on yourself, and look from your own imperfect and
spotted holiness to the blessed Jesus, till you become
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. II 9
fikened to His image, and conformed to the mind that was
in Him. To Him let every thought and word and deed be
consecrated, and He will pour upon you of His peace and
consolation.”
L. A. H. to MISS CLINTON.
“AZurstmonceaux, Moz. 25, 1834.—You will be as glad
to hear from me from this place as I am to write to you
from it. I am more satisfied about Maria since I Came.
She is very weak, but she looks so well, so bright, so cheer-
ful, I cannot think there is anything materially wrong; but
we must wait for time to restore strength to a frame which
has been so much shaken. She lies on the Sofa all day,
and Julius watches over her with the tender care of a
mother over a darling child. You may guess how much we
talk, how happy we are again together. It is like a dream
being here, the spot which in our earlier visions was to be
the Aſton. It is a bleak-looking country, but not ugly even
at this season ; and there is something very beautiful and
peaceful in the church and churchyard standing on the hill
overlooking the wide campagna, with the sea beyond. I
have been over the castle, and been shown the scenes of
many of Marcus's early plays and recollections. This house
is beautiful with books and pictures, and the bright con-
servatory Communicating with the drawing-room and study.
Maria lies in the former, with Bunsen's perfect bust oppo-
site, and the Raphael on her right. I have driven past her
home that is to be ; it stands very conveniently for the
church and School, and many Cottages near, and there are
good open fields and walks to the back, and a wide extended
view. Julius and Mr. Sterling have been very busy estab-
lishing a Sunday-School, and you would have been delighted
to see the teachers—all grown men, labourers and farmers—
I 2 O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
giving their whole hearts to the work; they come voluntarily,
for no pay, and attend regularly.”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Stoke, Dec. 15, 1834. — Here I am once more in my
father's house. The first two days I seemed to see Augus-
tus's vacant chair, and hear his voice in every room. When
I open my Bible I can hardly turn to any part but those
chapters of St. John we read in Greek together. When I
look out on the well-known view I can hardly give you any
idea of the degree in which it appears to me as a picture of
past days, a Scene seen through a glass, with which I have
no connection, and which has no reality. It gives me no
pain ; and I look on Hodnet Rectory and the Hawkestone
Woods.with a deadened feeling of consciousness that all
has passed away that once gave them life, but with scarcely
any feeling that I am a sufferer by it. . . . . The prevailing
feeling I have at present is always not how much I have
suffered, but what shall I render to God for all the exceed-
ing mercies with which he has loaded me.”
“Jan. 17, 1835.-My dear Luce, this was the day we
reached Rome : how different from this one I look out
now on a snowy world, and feel myself within a poor and
solitary Mia, whose happiness would be for ever gone had
not God of his exceeding mercy given me to prefer Jeru-
salem above my chief joy—yes, even above my Augustus—
my Alton. Then, how I suffered from the heat, from the
anxiety, hourly increasing anxiety; but the end and hope of
our journey was before us. At the extremity of the plain
rose up St. Peter's, and recollections of the eternal city
were swallowed up in the sight of Augustus's birthplace, in
the hope of his restoration—alas ! in how little anticipation
of his heavenward flight. Every day, every hour of the next
month will come before me as vividly as if it were yester-
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. I2 I
day; but it is only to make me bow with deeper thankful-
ness, and more entire submission to Him who has so led
me through the deep waters without allowing them to over-
whelm me. You will easily guess that now, when We are
the original Stoke trio once more, when I have no outward
thing to hide from me the bare reality of Žis absence, I feel
more sensibly than I have ever yet done that on this earth
I am alone; and yet never did I feel more truly that I am
not alone, since Emmanuel himself, ‘God with us,’ has been
made known to me in all His power.”
“Aeb. 21.-‘In all their affliction He was afflicted, and
the angel of His presence saved them : in His love and His £ity
He redeemed them, and bare them all the days of old.’
These words were my comforters on the 18th, the words
with which I strove to cast off the strong and painful recol-
lection of the last struggles of a departing spirit, and look
up to Him who then in that hour of first desolation, no less
than through a whole widowed year, has ‘looked down on
me and had compassion.' . . . . It is so blessed a privilege
to ro/Z all one's cares over on God, to know that He will
watch over those that love Him, that not one drop will be
added to the Cup beyond what is good and wholesome.
My song of praise on that first morning of my widowhood
(Ps. xviii. 14 to the end) has been truly mine through this
year. May I be graciously permitted to sing it with in-
creasing earnestness, to feel the “Head Stone of the corner’
more and more truly my refuge and dependence, till I may
sing it in the heavenly Jerusalem with him who is now re-
joicing in all the fulness of joy. You need not fear for my
health : I am creeping on by very slow degrees, and in His
own good time my Heavenly Father will give me such a
portion of ease and comfort as He sees good for me, to do
the work He has for me. May I only be faithful in His
service, and count all loss but the furthering His glory and
I 22 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
being conformed to his image. I know now how Ziffle I
believe, how weak is my faith, how much I lack of humility
and Christian love ; and I know that I can no more rest on
myself for One moment than the tottering babe can let go of
its mother's hand. But I am ambitious ! I do desire to ad-
vance far along the road I have now only entered, and to
draw many along with me. Still the flesh is weak though the
Spirit is willing, and at present I can only suffer and endure.”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Pec. 27, 1834.—How truly in thinking of you this
Christmas, my Mia, do I feel the contrasted feelings of the
two lives a Christian lives; all the sadness of the natural
heart, which, if this life were all, or the larger part,
would make one feel what a mockery it were to wish you a
Żafty Christmas, remembering what your Christmas was,
and what it is nozeſ. But the less one is able to look to
earth, the more do I delight to think how I can rejoice with
you even more than I could do perhaps on any former
Christmas. In thinking of your sorrows, my heart bounds
forward more eagerly to meet and welcome Æſim who gave
Himself for our sins, that we might be delivered from the
present evil world ; and I can think of the change to him,
your beloved Augustus, how this time last year he was
“grieved and wearied with the burden of sin,’ scarcely able
to believe his salvation secured,—and now he is saying
Glory to God, in the midst of the heavenly host, and is
rejoicing in God his Saviour.
“On Christmas Day I thought of our dinner last year at
Genoa, and that solemn ending to it,” which almost startled
one at the time. Of you I thought with no feeling but
* Augustus had administered the Sacrament at that time to his
family.
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. I 23
thankfulness. I feel as if with this life's Sorrows you have
dome, as if its emotions of joy or pain could never ruffle your
spirit for more than a moment. A little longer, a little more
work to be done perhaps in the service of the Heavenly
Master, and then you also will enter in. In the latter part
of the angel's song, Peace and good-will to man, you could
and did most fully join at Alton; but oh how far brighter
and purer will be the Day never to end, when you shall find
yourself with your angel One, singing, Glory to God in the
highest.”
s
JULIUS HARE to REv. F. BLACKSTONE.
“Aſurstmonceaux, ZXecember 5, 1834.—I rejoice to say
that my widowed sister, who has been spending the summer
and autumn with me, has resolved to fix her home in this
parish. It is the greatest blessing which, after so irreparable
a loss, could have befallen me; and my parishioners too
will all find it a blessing to them. She lives in heaven with
him who is gone before her; but is contented to wait with
patience till God in his own time shall think fit to reunite
her to him.”
M. H. to MISS MILLER.
“A)ecember 23, 1834.— . . . I can only give you to-day
my Christmas wishes and prayers that this season may be
blessed to you. Do not look back too much, but look on.
You will grow more upright by lifting up your head and
gazing upward, than by lamenting over and looking at your
Crookedness : and the more your eyes are fixed on the
Saviour's image, the more you will desire to become like
Him and learn your own unlikeness. You must bear in
mind that since you have been permitted to faste that the
Lord is gracious, the state of your religious feelings, espe-
cially if excited by outward means, is no sure test of your
I 24 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
soul's growth; and that what you have to look to and seek
after is a daily practical conformity to the mind of Christ in
self-denial and meekness, and that true love that beareth,
endureth, and hopeth all things.”
M. H. to Miss HIBBERT.
“Stoke Rectory, ZXcember 24, 1834.—Your letter, my
dearest Laetitia, came when I was on the point of leaving
Hurstmonceaux, and the Subsequent journey here, and the
rest necessary since I arrived, has prevented my writing
Sooner. But I will delay it no longer, as I find it always
needful to take the opportunity now of seizing any hour of
wellness to do what I wish to do ; feeling so uncertain of its
continuance. If you have any knowledge of my weak and,
nervous state of body, you will be glad to hear I bore the
fatigue of the long journey and painful excitement of the
return here far better than I could have hoped ; but He
who has so mercifully watched over me through every past
suffering has guided me through this trial also, though, as
you may well believe, it was impossible to return to my
father's house, lonely and desolate, instead of bringing with
me the joy and happiness of my earthly life, without much
suffering and sorrow ; but a loving God has strengthened me,
and kept my heart fixed on that heavenly home to which
this life is but a short journey—a pilgrimage surrounded by
blessings and mercies far above what we can deserve or
look for. It is my constant grief to feel that all the strength
and confort I have, is attributed to my mental power of
exertion, whilst I am so sensible that were I for one day to
have ny cruse of oil unrenewed, my strength of mind would,
with the present pressure on it, give way at once. Were it
not for the all-sustaining arm of my Redeemer and my God,
for the gracious answers He vouchsafes to my unworthy
prayers, I should be weaker than the weakest; for it is
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 125
always forgotten by those who so set up the natural strength
of character, that along with it goes also a natural strength
of feeling that requires even a greater degree of Supernatural
strength than a mind weaker in itself. When, when will
people learn to give glory to God in the Highest My dear
Laetitia, I have now, as you know, been ten months in the
greatest of all human afflictions; for the last five months I
have been constantly ill and extremely weak; all resources
of active life have been entirely cut off, my longings to
benefit others—first the poor and afterwards my own family
—by leading them in the right way, have been entirely pre-
vented, and I have been forced to give up one attempt after
another at exertion both of body and mind; and yet I can
most truly say that never has my abiding peace, nay, even
happiness, deserted me. ‘The shadow of a great rock in a
weary land’ has been over me. He who has promised to
comfort, even as a mother comforteth her child, has com-
forted and refreshed me. My connection indeed with this
earth does seem altogether rent asunder, and all around me
even here, where there is so much to remind me of the past,
appears like a dream, a picture that I can look at, now the
first shock is over, almost without emotion. My real life is
that hidden one with Christ in God which is a never-failing
well-spring of delight ; and though in proportion as my
health enables me to return more to the usual routine of
daily life and society, the struggle must be greater to pre-
serve the spiritual joy and peace that can support me under
the earthly privation, I have found constant and earnest
prayer so effectual, my God so faithful, so tender in mercy
and loving-kindness, that I feel as if it would be the height
of ingratitude, the most inexcusable want of faith, were I
for one moment to doubt that He will bear me up unto the
end, and that He will never give me one trial or struggle
more than is fit for me. My prevailing feeling on returning
I26 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
here is not how much I have suffered, but how much
mercy I have received during the past year. To have the
gulf removed that separated me from God, to feel that union
as of a branch in the Vine, makes all suffering appear light,
since it is His will—since by it we may be more closely con-
formed to His image who was made perfect through suffer-
ing. Were it not for this, were it not for the unspeakable
joy of feeling that Jesus came at this time to be my Saviour,
to buy for me an inheritance undefiled, there where my
beloved and angel one is now rejoicing before His throne,
how could I bear the remembrance of those Christmas
seasons we spent together at Alton, so blessed in every
earthly happiness P. How could I support the recollection
of last year's watching by him at Genoa P The glad tidings,
mingled as they are with such thoughts, come with a chast-
ened and sober joy; but it is such as is most meet for the
waiting Christian, who has yet to bear the burden of sin,
and is not yet permitted to taste fully the glory that is to be
revealed. Much as it has been given me to feel of spiritual
joy and love, doubtless to lighten that weight of earthly
sorrow that would otherwise have been too heavy for me to
bear, I feel sure the safest and surest state for One travelling
along the ordinary path of life, must be one of quiet and
confiding dependence on the Saviour's strength and simple
obedience to his will, whether of doing or suffering. I asked
earnestly for strength to be given to me for going once more
to Alton, which appeared almost impossible at the time :
it was granted. From the time I besought restoration of
health to enable me to get here, which had been delayed
from week to week, it was given. I mention these to
strengthen your faith, which you say is weak. Of course
temporal gifts must be altogether submitted to His fatherly
knowledge and wisdom, but we must not be afraid of mak-
ing all our requests known to such a Friend.”
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. 127
To the same.
“Stoke, Jam. 29, 1835.-I have this morning seen in the
paper that your house is become a house of mourning. I
know none of the particulars attending your affliction, and
am therefore altogether ignorant of the peculiar consolations
or trials with which it is accompanied. But the loss to you
of a parent, to your beloved mother of a husband, is one of
so serious a nature that with the feelings of a fellow-mourner
I cannot rest till I have poured out to you something of
that comfort with which I have myself been comforted. I
know indeed most truly how powerless human comfort is :
that there is One alone who at such seasons can arise with
healing on His wings; still the voice of a sister in sorrow, a
sister in Christian hope, cannot be unacceptable. You will
already have felt the exceeding mercy that allows us in such
heaviness of heart to go bold/y to the throne of grace ; you
are, I doubt not, daily experiencing the blessedness of that
refuge from the storm provided for us in Him who was made
perfect through suffering, and who, having been touched
with our infirmities, knows so truly the weakness of His poor
children, and how utterly inefficient their own efforts would
be, without His strengthening grace. It is only, I am per-
suaded, by an entire and full renunciation of our own wills,
a child-like submission to His loving though chastening
hand, that we can find peace and rest for our souls. And
even if all appears dead and gloomy, even though there
may not be that sensible comfort, that precious hope
which is sometimes vouchsafed to cheer and lighten our
path of Sorrow, it is still the Lord that doth it, and most
Surely will He do as seemeth unto Him good. Our
views are short-sighted and earthly and narrow ; we see
little beyond our own little world of hopes and fears, but
He who is Lord of all, knoweth all the breadth and length
I 28 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and depth and height of wisdom and of love, and will
appoint all things for His glory. He can make all things
work together for good to those that love Him, and will
doubtless, by means of this trial of your faith, renew your
strength and lead you to a more steadfast and abiding hope
of glory. And your dear mother, too, will be led to a firmer
trust in Him who is the stay and support of the widow and
the fatherless. He can bind up the broken-hearted and
comfort all who mourn, and when we are weary and heavy
laden, He is ever near, Calling us to come to Him, and by
meekness and lowliness of heart find rest and peace. Oh,
when we look at our perverse hearts, and feel how often we
have as sheep gone astray and been brought back to the
fold by His guiding care, when we feel that He is the
Shepherd who will lead all who give themselves up wholly
to Him, it is strange we should ever faint or be weary by
the length of the way. A few more years, a little more
trouble, and this our pilgrimage will come to a close; that
better country will open before us, and every tear and every
sigh wrung from us here will prove a jewel in our crown, if
through its means we have been drawn closer to Him who
will then be our all in all. I have found the greatest
comfort in those passages where we are exhorted not hence-
forward to live to ourselves, but for Him who died and rose
again ; by keeping ever in mind that we are not our own,
but bought with a price, and therefore all our aim, Our
desire, our joy should be, to glorify God with body and
spirit, since they are God's, not ours. When I am tempted
to faint at the thoughts of the dreariness of life, it may be
of many years of life, it is an unfailing source of comfort to
dwell upon the thought that here I am to suffer God's will,
that He may be glorified ; that my own ease and pleasure
is not to be looked at for one moment, and that by Con-
formity to the life and mind of Christ, if, through the
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. I29
gracious means He Himself gives us, I am able to further
the salvation of one soul, the present chastening even now
appears rather joyous than grievous. A thousand years in
His sight are but a day. Hereafter they will appear such to
us too. Let us then forget what is behind and reach on to
what is before, remembering that each trial is a trust for
which we have to answer. It is the voice of God speaking
to our souls of things to come, and warning us to leave
things below. May we never rest contented with our
present hope; but let us go on day by day, growing in
grace and the knowledge of our Lord Jesus, firmly assured
that zwhatsoezer we ask of Him, if it be according to His
will, we shall certainly receive. He is ever the same, as
ready to hear to-day as He was yesterday, as abundant in
grace to-morrow as to-day. May He heal all your sorrows,
strengthen your faith, and quicken your love, my dear
Laetitia, prays your affectionate fellow-mourner and sister in
Christ.—M. H.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Stoke, Zec. 31, 1834.—‘ Old things are passed away, all
things are become new.” Of how few can this be said as
truly as of my last year. All without and all within so
changed that I can scarcely sometimes believe my identity
with former days. I do grieve to part with a year that I
began with him ; it is as the last parting word—a com-
pletion of the earthly separation, a close of the blessed life
it was permitted us to enjoy together. And yet this year
that has so ended our temporal happiness has given him,
my beloved and now sainted Augustus, to the visible pre-
sence of his God and Saviour. I have yet to travel
onward toward it, but the same path will lead me to
it, the same grace will strengthen me to reach it, and
He who has seen fit to cause the grief, has also be-
VOI, II. K
I3o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
stowed the joy of a lively hope that the inheritance is laid
up for me also. Forgetting that which is behind, may I
reach on to that which is before, counting all suffering light,
if I may thereby be conformed to my Master's image, and
glorify Him who hath so graciously dealt with his unworthy
servant. There is yet many a struggle to be made, many a
hard fight to be fought, many sorrows to be tasted; for
though the spirit is willing the flesh is very weak—the old
man will often strive to wrestle with the new, and the
spirit of this world will cause me many a trial in those I
love the most. Yet, through and above all I may be more
than conqueror through Him that has so loved and blessed
me. Blessed Jesus, let not my confidence fail, nor my faith
be wavering, but stablish, strengthen, settle it, that after I
have suffered awhile, thou mayest shorten the time of trial
here and call me home.”
“Stoke, Van. I 3, 1835.-There is in my present spiritual
horizon, as compared with that I experienced at Rome, just
the same difference that exists between the natural clear-
ness and brilliancy of Roman Sunshine and the compara-
tively faint brightness of an English sun. Then it was
by sight, now it is by faith I walk: and though the sensible
joy is less strong, the peace and hope is no less Sure and
abiding now than it was then : rather let me say it is more
sure, more steadfast, for so many months of trial and mercy
cannot have passed in vain. He on whom my whole soul
rested in the first hours of sorrow has now been indeed a fried,
a proved stone, a help ever present through many days and
weeks of suffering; and not only has He been faithful in all
mercy and blessing, He has not allowed his poor servant
hitherto to be faithless to herself. Often when I have felt
the strongest confidence in the strength of His arm, I
tremble at the thought lest after a season of such long
spiritual prosperity He should see fit to try and to humble
HURSTM ONCEAUX RECTORY. I31
me by leaving me to my own weakness, lest through the
infirmity of the flesh I should be tempted to let go that
anchor of my soul, now so sure. But He hath said, ‘I
will zlof leave thee, nor forsake thee, I Zºi/Z uphold thee;’
and has He ever yet failed me P Oh faithless, unbelieving
heart, how base is it to doubt for one instant the power and
love of One who has so loved, so blessed, so Comforted me !
“From the first dawn of reason I can trace up the
striving of God's Spirit against my own evil will. He would
have drawn me from myself, He would have united me to
Himself, but I would not. I was indeed kept from open
evil; I took note of the workings of my own mind; I knew
something of the pride of my own heart; but it continued
its resistance. Self maintained its hold, and all the bless-
ings received seemed to strengthen its power. But this was
not altogether so. The increase of light made the contrast
more perceptible. The outward circumstances combined
to draw me into nearer communion with heavenly things;
my eyes were by degrees opened to see more of the true
nature of Christ's kingdom, and more of my own unfitness
for it, as so did my gracious and merciful Father lead and
bring me through paths of earthly joy to that peace and
hope that endureth for ever. And still self is the enemy,
though subdued, ready to rise up at every temptation.
Though lulled asleep for a while, I know it is still lurking
in the heart. All its burden, all its weariness, never will be
destroyed till this mortal puts on immortality; but I desire
of my blessed Master to strengthen me to wage unceasing
war against it, that He would enable me to forget and hate
it more and more. And, above all other Christian graces,
bestow on me a spirit of meekness and lowliness of heart.”
“Jazz. 3 I.-The intellect is a rich gift, and one for which
we are especially responsible. It ministers above all
others to God's glory, by promoting the good of men and
I32 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
affording variety of means to meet the various wants of
human nature. But my heart is so selfish that I often feel
disposed to envy those who have less in this way to answer
for ; who can maintain that more simple and constant com-
munion with God which the exertions of the mind seem
often to hinder and drive away. In the first days of my
spiritual joy and peace it was that direct looking to God and
living by faith that influenced my first waking thoughts, my
latest night ones: the first moment of consciousness my
heart sprung up to heaven in thankful joy; words seemed to
be called up without effort out of Scripture or from hymns;
and before I fell asleep at night I felt quite unwilling to
lose in forgetfulness the sense of my Saviour's presence.
But now my mind is continually interposing with thoughts
of how to clear this point and solve that difficulty, of how
to express this truth, or show that error. There is a con-
tinual labouring to serve others; a restless desire to make
known the riches of God’s grace to my fellow-sinners. And
so, I suppose, it should be in some measure; for we are here
to work, not to enjoy, and God pours out of His spirit, not
that we may be set free from care, but to enable us to help
others on. There is, however, need for a continual supply
from the fountain head, or the stream will grow muddy by
its contact with earth, so that here, as elsewhere, there must
be watchful nicety to discriminate how much of time and
thoughts must be directly devoted to others, how much
individual nourishment the spiritual life requires. It is a
question too of continually recurring difficulty, how far it is
necessary to give way to the pressure of weak health in
allowing self-indulgence, and how far it becomes us to neglect
our own ease and comfort in doing good. We are not to
exert ourselves only when it is easy to do so, and to give
to the Lord what costs us nothing; at the same time the
hope of being restored to health, and devoting it to His
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. I 33
service more exclusively, makes me feel it often a duty to do
nothing now. Oh how wise, how truly merciful a com-
mand it is to watch / I feel jealous lest a moment’s Zwatc/2-
ſessness should allow of the entrance of evil, the renewed
struggles of self, the deceit and delusion of a perverse heart ;
but the guard and watch-tower in which I trust is the Lord
Jesus Himself—my God!”
“Aeb. 18, 1835.—Where, where does the spirit flee when
the earthly tabernacle is left vacant, and all that was the
living, the enduring part has departed P I suppose it has
been asked and sought vainly and unceasingly since first
the sorrowing mourner saw before him the earthly form of
what he loved as all that remained, and still the mind will
strive to follow the heavenward flight, and wish and long to
pierce the thick gloom. My Augustus—dearest most
beloved how could I have watched your last moments,
heard the last sigh and lived on, if the precious certainty
had not been mine that your blessed Spirit had left me, only
to join its God. This is truly a release—a release from the
in prisonment of a frail and suffering shell, from the con-
tinual struggle of a renewed soul seeking to cast off sin and
be one with God, to the power of soaring up unfettered and
purified to the presence of its Saviour, to feel in all its
reality how far better it is to be ‘absent from the body and
present with the Lord.’ To you, time is done away, and
one year is a measure empty of meaning; to me, too, time
is in one sense no longer real. I cannot love you less,
nor sorrow for you less, nor feel less strongly the entire
loneliness of this earth in which I live, though years should
be added to years. But time is still to me a precious, a
responsible gift; it is a talent to be used in a daily increas-
ing conformity to the mind of Him who hath bought me for
His own, in a continually renewed crucifixion of my own
will and submission to His ; in an ever-growing desire and
I34 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
endeavour to glorify my God ; and if, through means of all
the suffering I must yet go through and the long patience
with which I may yet have to wait before that blessed time
when ‘Thy welcome call at last is given,” I am called to
minister to the spiritual wants of others—if I may be
strengthened to advance through much tribulation to a higher
degree of union with Christ, why should my faint heart be
discouraged or cast down, since I know “my labour is not
in vain :’ that “he that endareth to the end shall receive the
crown of life.’
“Death is not the end but the beginning of life. On
this day my Augustus began his heavenly, his real life. Oh,
gracious, merciful Father, make me Thy true child, Thy faith-
ful servant, as he was. Give me a firm and lasting hope on
the same Rock of salvation, and lead me as my good and
gracious Shepheid through the dark valley as peacefully
and gently as Thou hast led him, and finally receive me
also to Thyself. And Oh, may I lean ever on Thy guiding
hand through the wilderness of this world, that I may not
fall, and that, be the pressure of trouble and Sorrow what
it may, the presence of my Lord and Saviour may ever
enlighten and cheer my darkness.”
“April 25, Zeamington.—How strangely and mysteriously
are body and spirit linked together | Sometimes the disease
of one part unconsciously affecting all : Sometimes the mind
and body being quite at two. In this life, probably, we
shall never know how far feelings are governed by bodily
sensations: but I am inclined to think there is a morbid
sensibility of the one attached to the other. I, at least, feel
this the most trying part of illness, the extreme Sensitive-
ness to every word spoken, every feeling expressed, that, in
a more healthy frame, I should not regard—a sickly craving
for sympathy, while the mind is quite conscious how large
and unusual a share I have met with, and do still find in
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. I35
all. Do I say this to excuse my own discontented, often
murmuring thoughts P Oh no | There is mingled with
such feelings much of the unsubdued self-will, the over-
estimation of self, that marks the existence of the old man
still, and the tenacious way in which it clings to even a
renewed nature. Sometimes I think I have hitherto done
little or nothing in the conquest over self, so powerfully and
painfully am I sensible of its dominion. The two natures
are so distinct that I could at any moment describe the
process of thought in the one as separated from the other.
It is in proportion as the one or the other prevails that I am
happy or unhappy. The moment temporal things and the
love of self are predominant, all is dark, gloomy, and Sad—
I long to flee away and be at rest. When the love of Christ
is uppermost, I count all things but loss, for the blessedness
He has given me, and, for the sake of promoting His
glory, can rejoice in tribulation, and even desire length of
days.”
M. H. to MISS MILLER.
“Aeamington, April 21, 1835.- . . . I have more espe-
cially felt the call to be ready since I came here, and found
Dr. Jephson's opinion of my state to be a more serious one
than we had supposed. Not that he thinks there is any
present danger to be apprehended, but there is so much
real disease in the System, that he thinks it is a case not to
be trifled with, and that it will take a long time to set right.
. . . . Nothing can be more comfortable than my situation
here. I have a very good house, immediately opposite to
Lady Parry, so that at any time I can have her society, or
her sister Miss Stanley's. And though you may well believe
that in this, my first experience of a solitary life, there are
times when the contrast of former happiness is painfully
felt, my abiding feeling is one of perfect peace and often of
136 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
real joyfulness. After an evening spent in communion with
Him who is now my all, I hardly know how to express my
thanks for His mercies to me in giving me such true, such
satisfying happiness, such as this world knows not of.”
M. H. to REV. R. KILVERT.
“Aeamington, April 18, 1835.-The first opinion con-
cerning my health expressed by Dr. Jephson was so un-
favourable that I had prepared myself only to look for a
long continuance of illness, and I still feel feebly sensible
of the necessity of being ready—a happy privilege to keep
One ever watching lest the Master come and find the house
not set in order. We are so earth-bound that, though always
Conscious that we know neither the day nor the hour, it
requires the voice of the physician to say the enemy is
really within the city, and if not expelled must vanquish.
And then when that is once said, and all the issue appears
to rest upon those outward events in God’s own hands,
over which neither doctor nor patient have any control, we
are driven, as it were, to feel that the thread of earthly life
is a very weak one, and that the beginning of eternal life
may be at hand. What an affecting, what a fearful thought,
were there not promise after promise of His all-powerful
arm—‘the arm of the Lord '—to sustain and bear us up
when we pass through the waters or through the rivers,
through the fire or through the flame, ‘I will be with thee;’
were there not that stronghold in time of trouble that
neither tribulation nor distress can separate us from the
love of Christ. I hope that I am not arrogating to myself
words to which I ought to lay no claim, when I express my
feeling in St. Paul's words— to me to live is Christ, to die
is gain.' Though the way may seem to be long and weari-
some, if we can advance His kingdom, we may be well
contented and thankful to remain here, Sure that though we .
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. I37
may feel faint, ‘the Lord will renew our strength, and enable
us to mount up on wings as of eagles.’ And should it be
His will to remove us from a toilSome pilgrimage to a
haven of rest and joy, whenever the call comes, may it find
the lamp trimmed and faith in full exercise, holding fast. On
the Rock of ages. . . . May the hope of the future stir up
the sluggish and ease-loving part of our nature to crucify
self, and press forward to the image of Him we love, being
changed from glory to glory, counting all sufferings light
if we may be conformed to His mind, and He be thereby
glorified. Though in a solitary house—solitary to the out-
ward eye, you will believe I am not alone, and never feel
the presence of my crucified Lord and Master so unspeak-
ably near, as at such seasons of quiet and seclusion.”
M. H. (1834–36. Notes for Julius Hare’s life).
“At the close of 1834 and beginning of 1835, it became
evident to Julius that his beloved friend and curate, Mr.
Sterling, must give up his labours from ill-health. He was
therefore now for some months alone in his work. His
letters of this period show the increased earnestness and
diligence with which he followed it. He was, however, fre-
quently cast down by his deep sense of his own insufficiency,
and the worthlessness of his ministrations amongst his
people. His Cambridge life had not fitted him for inter-
course with the poor, and, with the tenderest sympathy with
their distresses, he hardly as yet knew how to soothe or
elevate them by higher thoughts, so that it was the saying
of some whom he visited—‘Mr. Hare is so kind, he looks
so sorry, but——he does not say much.” It was reserved for
his people to teach him much of the simplicity of scriptural
truth. Especially was he taught by the heavenly-minded
Phillis Hoad, whose death gave rise to a funeral sermon,
one of the most eloquent and impressive he ever preached.
138 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
At this time also he was engaged in arranging and revising
for the press the sermons of his brother Augustus, and the
carefulness with which he carried out this work brought
with it its own reward, in giving him a stimulus in adapting
his own style to the wants of a rural congregation. Although
his thoughts could not always be restrained within these
limits, whatever in his subsequent sermons was popular in
style and familiar in illustration, may be in great measure
traced to the brotherly type he followed, and to which he
ever expressed his obligation. It was in this year that he
preached his first visitation sermon on, ‘Lo, I am with you
always, even unto the end of the world.” How distrustful
he felt in undertaking the office of preaching before the
clergy, how he dreaded it beforehand, and how much en-
couragement he received from its effect, may be seen from
his account of it. It was at this period that the new Poor
Law came into operation, and so much opposition was
raised to it, that he felt bound to do all he could to lighten
its bondage and restrain its hardships on the poor of his
parish. Consequently he became guardian of the Hailsham
TJnion. For hours would he sit each week on the appointed
day, at the Board, endeavouring to moderate or direct the
uncultivated, and often illiberal men, with whom he had to
work. His pen was the one to write whatever statements
or petitions were required, and, with little knowledge of
details familiar to others, he, by refined feeling and Christian
piety, was often able to soften the severity of the law. But,
in spite of these exertions, and his well-known tenderness of
heart, such was the prejudice against the change in the law,
that all manner of evil reports were circulated concerning
him—amongst other things he was accused of intending to
send all the children of the parish workhouse out in a boat,
to be sunk in Pevensey Bay !
“But at length these foolish calumnies died away, and a
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. I39
permanent influence remained with the farmers, with whom
his intercourse had then begun. In every vestry and parish
meeting he was also present to control and regulate the
measures suggested. In spite of the habitual unpunctuality
and irregularity of his private life, he never failed in his at-
tendance at these public meetings, whatever the annoyance
or inconvenience might be.
“Another mode in which he both served the parish and
learnt to know the wants of his people at this time, was by
receiving every Sunday, after evening church, the pence for
the clothing club. However tired by the services of the
day and by attendance at the boys' school, he sate in the
vestry surrounded by his parishioners, entering their weekly
Subscriptions in a book, and receiving their money. Often
was this the opportunity for their pouring their distresses
into his ear, and seeking relief which was surely given.
‘Ask, and ye shall receive,’ was truly fulfilled in him—an
earthly illustration to the higher form of loving answer to
prayer promised in those words.”
M. H.’s Journal (“The Green Book”).
“June 2, 1835.-The seventh blessed day that God has
given me! Yes, most blessed still, though sorrowful. Years
of life could not be sufficient to render thanks for the
greatness of the temporal happiness, fleeting as it was, that
was granted me, and far less for the weight of eternal
happiness to which it has been the means of leading me.
Now, indeed, my poor praises are offered up in tears, for
the flesh cannot help mourning while the spirit rejoices;
but the time will come when the tears will be wiped away,
even by the Lord God Himself, and when in fulness of joy,
unsullied by temporary and selfish sorrow, I shall be able to
look on every sharp stone and rugged ground that. I met
with, as the point of chief rejoicing, the means by which I was
I4O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
weaned from a too great love for the creature, and “learnt
to love God only and the things above.’ How merciful a
Father is He, who, while He looks with such tender pity on
His children and binds up their wounds, still continues to
chasten where He sees that it is good they should be
Chastened, and blesses in taking away far more than in what
He gives. ‘The fashion of this world passeth away.” Oh,
may I feel this more and more, and as earthly things by
degrees resume their power over me, may I be kept from
resting on them, holding myself loose from all but God—
crucifying and denying self, and losing it altogether in
Christ. That grace which has hitherto sustained me, is still
strong to save ; may I never lose hold of it through self-
dependence and slothfulness, but daily renew my dedica-
tion of all I think, and feel, and have to Him, who is my
Father, Husband, and Brother. . . . . Cast out, I beseech
Thee, O Lord Jesus, all that is contrary to thy Spirit, refine
and purify my heart, even if it be in a furnace sevenfold
heated, that it may be clothed within and without with Thy
righteousness, and nourished day by day with heavenly
manna, that Thou, the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords,
the Author who hast begun and the Finisher who can Com-
plete my faith—that Zhou mayst be glorified.”
AVotes by MISS MILLER (during a visit to Mrs. Hare
at Corsley).
“Cors/ey, June 6, 1835.--When in my whole life have I
spent such a happy day? I wish I had strength and time
to mention every word and particular. After breakfast, I
walked with my Mrs. Hare in the fields, talking of him
we both loved, and of the many words and things we both
remembered his saying and doing while with us on earth.
At two, I drove her in the pony-carriage through much
lovely scenery to Longleat. The excessive heat tried her
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. I4 I
strength rather too much, but her words I hope to remem-
ber through eternity. Beautifully did she spiritualise all
nature's striking objects, remarking once when we entered
a thick grove of trees, which shaded us from the rays of the
burning Sun, ‘This, refreshing as it is, gives us but a very
faint idea of the shadow of that great Rock in a weary
land.’ And again, ‘We who live in a land so mercifully
supplied with water, cannot fully enter into the figurative
Scripture language of “streams found in a desert”—of the
invitation, “Ho, every one that thirsteth,” as the eastern
nations may ; but in a little time we shall know the true
meaning of the streams of the living water, and the foun-
tain of life, where we shall drink of them and never thirst
again.” For my sake she kindly entered on her own
experience, desired to know my every thought, ray chief
trials, my weakest points, to make her usefulness greater to
me. She spoke of her own advantages, natural and spiri-
tual, with almost heavenly humility, at the same time feeling
that from her much would be required, because much had
been bestowed. She referred to her blessed time at Alton,
believing that it was a season of education for her soul, to
fit her for future usefulness in God's vineyard ; and that the
close union of thought, interest, and pursuit with a mind of no
common mould, had given a premature maturity to her own,
for which she felt responsible to God, desiring to use it to
His glory. She remarked that after her return from Rome,
after having been for so many months deprived of earthly
Christian communion, when she again enjoyed it, it almost
seemed to unspiritualise her, so clearly and constantly had
her soul rested on God alone, while travelling alone in her
carriage with only Mary and her Bible. I seem almost now
to see the ascent where she so tenderly and lovingly advised
me for my good, hoping the joy I found in my visit would
only accomplish the end she had in view, the strengthening
I42 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
me for a more diligent discharge of home duties, and not
lead to any sinful regrets at my separation from her. . . . .
“Whiſ-Sunday, June 7.-My heart seems too full to
write of this day, when I have parted from my friend. . . .
At church we had the comfort of kneeling together at the
blessed Table, which my beloved Mrs. Hare had not done
in a church since the Sunday before she left Alton for
Rome. How very singular that Mrs. Marcus Hare and I
should again be with her. . . . In the evening, the hearts
of those around me seemed to have been touched by a ‘live
coal’ from off the morning's altar; and I cannot describe
the rich spirituality of all that was said, nearer akin to
heavenly converse than anything I have before met with.
Before tea, I had my parting walk with dearest Mrs. Hare.
She leant on my arm, giving me the Sweetest counsel with
the most Christian love ; and oh what a blessed union is
this Christian fellowship, thus uniting high and low in one
common bond, levelling all distinctions in regard to accept-
ance with God, and yet maintaining, perhaps increasing out-
wardly, the respect which one loves to give to those whom
God has placed in situations So much above us, and
endowed with attainments so far superior. She talked of
many at Alton, and of their three successive ministers.
She then left me in the garden for a time, and I went to
her later in her room, where with many tears I received a
little book from her, and several books and letters for the
Alton, people. We then knelt in prayer; and she affec-
tionately commended me to God, and gave me her parting
blessing.” . . . . -
TM. H. to REV. F. BLACKSTONE.
“Aſurstmonceaux, July 21, 1835.-. . . . May we not
look upon the clouds which at present seem to dim your
HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY. I43
spiritual horizon as trials sent to exercise your faith, quite as
surely and often more severely than any outward dispensa-
tion ? Is it not one form in which the Tempter is permitted
to assail those who are faithful in heart though not always
in deed, when he leads them to look too despondingly on
their own spotted righteousness, and so draws them away
from the more fixed contemplation of the stainless righteous-
ness in which alone we can venture to appear in Zion ?
And does not self thus still assert her power, even when
clothed in abasement, by leading us to look for our ground
of hope and confidence in the new and clean heart, instead
of allowing the consciousness of utter demerit to sink self
altogether in the Scale, and make Jesus our Righteousness
a/Z in al/? It is presumptuous, most presumptuous, in one
who is herself a babe in Christ, to speak of things which
have but within the last two years been manifested to her
in anything like clearness; but I can truly say, that the
season of greatest Spiritual joy which has been vouchsafed
me, was when self was for a time utteriy crushed to the
ground, and I could feel—would that it were oftener the
Case—that I was the chief of sinners. Then the blessedness
and mercy of the redeeming love which had bought an in-
heritance for one so unworthy did fill me with joy and love
unspeakable ; and it is from a deep consciousness that it is
the rising up again of Self that obscures this joy, which makes
me feel it necessary, when inclined to be weighed down by
my sense of infirmity, to look away from self, and dwell more
exclusively on the glory of the Lord, by beholding which
we can alone be “changed into the same image, from glory
to glory.’ -
“I know Mrs. Blackstone's motherly heart will be in-
terested in hearing that I have adopted one of Francis
Hare's children, a little Augustus, born at Rome a fortnight
after our separation, and in another month I hope to have
I44 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
him under my care, as I am sending out a nurse to fetch
him from Germany, whither his father escorts him.”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Aſurstmonceaux AEectory, August 26, 1835.-My own
Luce will bless God who has given a little Augustus to me,
—a dear little immortal creature to train up in the nurture
and admonition of the Lord : and she will, I know, pray
that I may be enabled to look upon it rather as a loan than
a gift, and to be ready to resign what is lent when He sees
fit. At four o'clock yesterday, the carriage wheels were
heard, but Julius and I listened, and all was silent, till a cry
from up-stairs made me rush up. The heavy rain had wet
them, and they had crept up the back-stairs. On going
into the room, there the baby sate on Mary's knee, with his
frock already off, smiling so winningly that, having expected
to be greeted by a cry at the sight of the strange face, it was
a great comfort to be met so cordially. . . . As soon as he
was dressed I brought him down, and his delight in seeing
the pictures was very great. Then he ran about the passage,
and went into each room, looking round with an air of
observation which was most amusing. He cannot say
many intelligible words. He will take some trouble, I
dare say, to get into obedient ways, and require some firm-
ness to break his growing selfishness. He is much more
companionable than children of his age usually are, but
dreadfully passionate.”
M. H. to MISS MILLER. -
“AZurstmonceaux AEectory, Oct. 6, 1835–. . . I do not
doubt that bodily indisposition has had much to do with
the cloud that has lately oppressed you ; and though the
conviction of this should not make us slothful or careless, it
ought to furnish us with a humble confidence and refreshing
HURSTMGNCEAUX RECTORY. I45
comfort, to feel that all these infirmities which arise from
the flesh are known to the Father, have been experienced
by the blessed Son, and will assuredly be the means of
purification by the Holy Spirit, if we make them causes for
greater watchfulness, and if the trials they give to faith and
consistency lead to a consciousness of our own weakness,
and to more earnest cries for grace to help our need. I
speak feelingly on this point, having so long and so Con-
tinually felt how much our nervous system and bodily frame
have power to influence our feelings and thoughts, and how
very often the effect of renewed strength in any part that is
diseased is to restore the tone of mind, and bring back the
harmony that may have been for a time destroyed. Do
not, then, be cast down, nor be surprised when your sensible
comfort is lessened. Receive it only as one of the ways in
which, so long as your spirit dwells within a corruptible
body, it must continue to be tried ; and make every such
season profitable to your growth in grace, by striving to
Crucify your tendency to depression, and fighting more
vigorously against the enemy, who will flee from you, if you
do truly lift up the Standard of the Lord—the standard of
faith and prayer against all his wily suggestions. I can
hardly tell you the degree in which I have at times felt the
mighty power whereby God is able to subdue even the
most rebellious or irritable or doubting thoughts, and bring
them into that Submission and peace the world knows not
of, when I have cried out heartily for relief. It is our
unbelief only that keeps us away from the sure support that
in every trial we should find ; and looking away from all,
our shortcomings, from our lack of faith and love, we must
fix our gaze more steadfastly on the Sun of Righteousness,
and so from beholding His image be transformed into His
likeness, not always experiencing the joy and happiness
which is reserved for the Saints in light, but sharing such a
VOL. II. L
I46 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
degree of consolation and stayedness of mind, as God may
See good for us while yet seeing through the glass darkly; and
resigned and Content to go on in the path He has appointed
for us to walk in, without any sensible token of His favour,
when it seems good to Him to hide His face from us. We
must ever bear in mind that, as followers of the blessed
Jesus, our part here on earth is to do the will of our Father
in heaven. Doubtless, in His nightly prayers and watchings,
His communion with the Father was blessed far beyond
what our frail natures can reach ; but even He, we know,
experienced the cloud of doubt, the agony of fear that God
was not with Him : let us not then wonder, nor be cast
down, if our view is not always clear and bright.
“To turn to Alton affairs, you must, in patience, hope all
things; and this very exercise of faith wiłł invigorate your
own soul more than any gratified spiritual indulgence you
might receive. And you may, with my kindest love, say to
any who are grieving over the change, that they must re-
member ‘praying is the end of preaching' (as Herbert
says), and they must learn to go to the house of God, not
to seek his ministers only, but far more to seek Him who is
there more immediately present. If in simple and childlike
wish to profit and learn they attend the worship of God in
His holy temple, if they make their church-going a season of
prayer, and of learning from the rich feast out of His word
that is set before them, their Sunday will not have been in
vain.”
XV.
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD.
“Ah, if you knew what peace there is in an accepted
sorrow.”—MADAME GUYON.
UST one mile from Hurstmonceaux Rectory, separated
from it by a little wood and some swelling corn-fields,
in a still retirement, surrounded by ancient trees and a
bright garden, stood the pleasant old-fashioned house of
Lime. The place had once been the site of a small monastic
institution, of which it bore trace in a series of large fish-
ponds, which occupied the hollow below its little lawn, and
through which a small brook found its way into a copse
carpeted with anemones and primroses in spring. Another
side of the garden was girt with five lofty, jagged abele-trees,
conspicuous from a great distance, and known as ‘the Five
Sisters of Lime,’ beneath which ran a grass walk, from which
there was a wide view over the levels to the distant downs
and sea. The principal rooms of the house opened by large
windows upon the sunny garden with its brilliant flower-beds.
If England had been searched over, a house could scarcely
have been found more suited to my dear mother than Lime,
and to it she removed in the second year of her residence
at Hurstmonceaux.
148 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
M. H. to MISS LEYCESTER.
“Lime, Hurstmonceaux, Oct. 20.-I am now settling in
my new tent, pitched, I trust, in sure trust on the supporting
arm of Him whose power can alone hallow it to His ser-
vice ; and in the hope that amidst outward loneliness, His
glory will be in the midst of us, enabling us to devote our-
selves to Him. The first evening of my coming here, when
my little household assembled for the first time, the words
of Solomon in the dedication of his temple beseeching
* God's eyes to be open toward this house day and night,’
seemed to be specially applicable, and I did earnestly pray
that here “His name may be.’ ‘The Zord is there’ is always
to me a most comforting name as applied to the spiritual
Zion, the believer's heart, and I trust in some degree it
may be true of the little household church now begun here.
You, who have no dread of solitude, as so many have, will,
I know, enter into the exceeding comfort I feel after two
years' wandering to find myself in a home of my own, free
to act and think as I deem best, and permitted by my
Heavenly Father to have strength enough to go along the
daily walk of life with some little—though at present but
very little—ability to help others.
“The first arrival here, and seeing again so many things
which recalled Alton strongly before me, was very over-
powering ; but it was a gentle, not a bitter sorrow, a peaceful
and thankful consciousness that though he who was the joy
of my former life is now removed from sight, he is still ever
near in fellowship of the Spirit, and that in following the
path of his Master and mine I am still walking together
with him. My sweet little baby Augustus seemed as if sen-
sible of all that I was feeling that first evening, and clung
to me and kissed me over and over, as if to show his wish
to comfort me. Truly, I am most richly blest in the posses-
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. I49
sion of this little treasure, whose winning ways would cheer
the saddest heart, and in the affectionate kindness of Julius,
who is also so constant a subject of interest to me.”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Aurstmonceaux, Zime, Mov. 19, 1835.-I cannot tell
you how perfect my life here is ; how it combines all I could
wish, and to exchange this quiet and peaceful life for going
into the world is a trial. However, I feel it is not only
right, but good; the longer I continue abstracted from the
concerns of their world, the more intolerant I shall grow of
the opinions and feelings of others, the more exertion will
it be to mix again in any society. It is time I should live
for others, not for myself, and learn that most difficult
lesson, to live above the world though in it. Everywhere there
will be my Master's work to do; there will be His glory to
magnify by life and conversation; and all this preparation
time will have been to little purpose if it has not taught me
in meekness and love to live with those who feel differently.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Oct. II, 1835.-The great riddle is, how to unite spiri-
tual elevation of mind with the daily walk of life, not using
a Christian liberty only to indulge in those high aspirations
which are reserved for the Saints in glory, but as those still
warring in the flesh and members of a body as yet one with
Christ only in grace, striving to live, not out of the world,
but kept from the evil in it. When I am brought into con-
tact with others, whose heart is entirely in this world, whose
thoughts are all here, I am much too apt to be cast down
and oppressed, to keep my own state of mind undisturbed.
I cannot think or speak freely; it is as if a heavy clog fet-
tered me from showing my true self. If at the cost of much
self-denial this cowardly fear is broken through, the balance
I 50 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
seems to be overweighted on the other side. In setting
forth the cause of truth and righteousness, I am apt to
forget the meekness and love with which it should be
enforced, and sometimes irritation of feeling, instead of
forbearing love, attends the finding fault with others. So
hard is it for our corrupt nature to put on Christ Jesus
wholly. We may at times attain to some faint shadows of
His likeness in one point or other, but then quickly is the
true limit passed over, and sin usurps the place of righteous-
ness, in the mode of doing, if not in the motive of action.
. . . . The unsullied peace and joy I have so long felt in
spiritual things has been a boon unspeakable in value, that
has cheered me through the first year of what would other-
wise have been overwhelming sorrow ; now that new in-
terests surround me, and fresh duties call for exertion, let me
learn in contentment to receive gladly all that is given, and
to relinquish anything that may be taken away : pressing
forward only to the conformity with Christ which a daily
self-denial can accomplish, and finding the means of that
self-denial, not in any fancied good to be refused, but in
fighting against the prevailing tendency of the time or place,
when it acts upon me for evil, whether it proceeds from the
faults of others, or from my own bodily trials of health.”
“Aime, AVov. 1, A// Saints.-‘They seemed to him but
a few days for the love he bare to her.' Oh, that such a
love as this might fill my heart to Him who has so loved
me, that the years of my earthly pilgrimage might, like those
of Jacob's servitude, seem but a few days for the love Ibear
to Jesus, my Lord and my God. And so they would, if the
soul could ever be kept at that height of spiritual joy and
peace to which it pleases God occasionally to raise it. But,
alas ! it so cleaves to earth, and earth so encompasses it
about, that without a life of abstraction from the world and
men, it is hard to preserve the freshness of an ever-flowing
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. I5 I
fountain of love, able to swallow up the polluted streams
that are continually pouring into it. And then we begin to
flag and faint and droop the wing, instead of seeking
with greater earnestness the strength of Him who can
renew and restore our souls by His gracious power and
lift them up above every hindrance from without or from
within. Oh, Satan does most truly prove himself the
subtlest and most crafty of enemies in beguiling and leading
us away from prayer, when he knows that we should soon
become too strong for him. And there is scarcely a point
in which against the convictions of experience and reason
he is able to do so much, as in keeping us from a constant
and regular habit of communion with our King and High
Priest in stated prayer. In all the lives of the sainted fol-
lowers of Christ we find prayer has been the great weapon
whereby they have fought so good a fight, and through
which they have been made more than conquerors. And
yet longing as I do to follow after them, to make their
pattern mine, I find it very difficult to do so in this point.
Something is ever at hand to keep me away from this
instrument of grace, whereby I might draw down the free-
dom from self and sin that I so often need. O Lord, help
me in this my weakness, that I may not quench Thy Spirit,
nor lose the privilege Thou hast granted of drawing near
the throne of grace. So shall the oil of my lamp be ever
freshly trimmed by Thee, and each day's duty and its toil
lightened and guided and hallowed by the influence of Thy
counsel and Thy strength.
. . . “In once more forming a household of my own, I
have devoted it in heart wholly to the Lord who has pro-
vided for me a house so peaceful and so good. As the
mountains round about Jerusalem, so may He be round
about this house, not only to guard it from temporal evil,
but to make every heart within it His temple and sanctified
I52 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
by His Spirit. . . . How many of His redeemed are on this
day united with us in fellowship of the Spirit. The com-
munion of His elect stretches out in an invisible bond from
earth to heaven, and unites together those who are now
ministering spirits around the throne with the militant spirits
On earth. My Augustus, never in our earthly union were we
knit together so closely as we are now in the unity of one
spirit, adoring together Him to whom we owe our all of past,
present, and future bliss. You are drinking in ever deeper
and purer light from the fountain of light. Oh, may I not
seek for happiness or good in any lower source, but be per-
mitted to mount higher and higher to that knowledge and
that joy which is now yours for ever !”
“AVoz. 22.-‘Thou shalt remember all the way which the
Lord thy God led thee' these seven-and-thirty ‘years, to
humble thee, and to prove thee, and to know what was in
thy heart.' Truly, the chastening has been that of a loving
Father, willing ‘to do me good at my latter end ?’ And
when I remember all the mercies with which He has sur-
rounded my path through the past, all the blessings with
which he is now crowning me, it is enough to weigh me
down with shame that I should ever faint or be discouraged,
or count the little crosses or hindrances that beset me any
trial at all. This day—how changed it is to me now—no
longer one of any pleasure, I rather feel as though I would
wish it forgotten than noticed. And I am tempted to feel
that for others it is now a day that is worthless ; but this is
a temptation arising from wounded feelings, not the truth
of a thankful and submissive spirit. By this last I know
and can at times feel that my life, though no longer of equal
value, is still a precious one to many; and it would be most
ungrateful for the rich affection with which all load me, to
turn away and count it nothing because it does and must
come short of that which was once mine.”
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. I53
“S/o/e, Jan. 4, 1836.- . . . Formerly with how mixed
a feeling of hope and fear I looked on to every new
portion of time, uncertain how it might be chequered, and
fearful of every blight that might come on the present
enjoyment. Now I can hear with satisfaction and pleasure
the words—‘a happy new year,’ for I feel its happiness
cannot be touched by outward changes, it rests on a founda-
tion not to be moved, and if it be but an advance to eternity,
‘ein Schritt zur Ewigkeit,” it must be good, let its trials, its
school lessons, prove as bad as they may
“Oh, Thou who alone canst give the enduring sense of
the all-important nature of heavenly things, the vanity and
nothingness of earthly ones, I bless and adore Thy blessed
name, O Lord, most holy, most true, that Thou hast merci-
fully brought me out of darkness into light, and given me that
present abiding consciousness of everlasting life, which can
make all times and places alike since Thou art ever with me.
I indeed, through the distraction of thoughts often occasioned
by outward things, cannot always hear Thy voice, cannot
always discern Thy love ; but I know that the cloud belongs
to earth, not to the Sun, and that Thy heavens are as bright
and warm as ever, though to me for a while obscured.
“I close the past year with thanks for the numberless
mercies given; and I pray that I may be strengthened to
render more faithful service in the year to come—that I
may be kept more steadfast and consistent in my Christian
walk, not conforming to the world's notions even in appear-
ance, and yet dissenting with gentleness and meekness. I
ask for increased knowledge of the simple truth as it is in
Jesus, that the Sophistications of men may not lead me
aside from the true and living doctrine, which is the power
of God. When I see not rightly, may I be taught. When
I do see, may I not be again blinded through any philosophy
or deceit. Let not the temptation of being accounted
I54 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
tolerant lead me aside, nor on the other hand let the desire
of conformity to those who are true followers of Christ, lead
me into any exclusive or unbrotherly feelings. To main-
tain the truth in love, and at the same time to be filled
with love to those who differ, as well as to those who agree
with me, this is my great desire and earnest prayer.”
“Feb. 18, 1836.-Is it indeed two whole years since my
blessed Augustus joined the saints in glory? Oh, my Lord
and my God, let me magnify Thee who hast made this day
of such bitter earthly sorrow, such heart-rending bereave-
ment—a day on which I can still rejoice and bless Thy.
name. How can I dwell on any thoughts of my own loss
when I realise the freedom with which his spirit must have
winged its flight from a weak and suffering body to the
presence of its Lord ' To him the change was one of un-
speakable, unimaginable blessedness: what has it been to
me? Not less blest doubtless, since in crushing my earthly
happiness down to the very dust, it has taught me to seek
and find that true enduring joy which will grow brighter
and brighter to the perfect day. From setting all my hap-
piness on things below, it has lifted me up to find it only
in those things which are above, where I can still hold
communion with my departed one in offices of love and
praise to Him, of whom cometh all things. Most truly
can I say here, where no mortal eye looks, where no mis-
trusting mind can think it a vain-glorious boast, that in the
might of that spirit which has been given me, I never for
one moment have desired to recall him who was the desire
of my life; and when I think of him, it has been from the
first so exclusively in his present living Spiritual being, that
it is only by a great effort of recollection that I can place
him before my mind's eye in any other light. Sometimes,
indeed, when in the company of others, and chiefly when
the union of an attached husband and wife is present to
THE SULVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. I55
me, there will come a momentary flash across me of my
own loneliness, a passing thought ‘I was once as they
are;' but it goes by, and the opening into the past is
quickly closed again.”
M. H. to MISS MILLER.
“Stoke Rectory, Jan. 9, 1836– . . . . The change since
last year both in health and spirits has enabled me to feel
in all its fulness the joy of Christmas. At the blessed table
of my Lord, and in singing praises in my heart “with all the
company of heaven,' I feel most surely to be united with
him who has now entered the full assembly of the first-born,
and is released from all the burden of sin and sorrow. At
all times I feel that we are still one, but never so fully as in
these holy seasons of spiritual rejoicing, when the visible
world is for a time permitted to be hidden from view, in the
more immediate presence of the invisible. . . . . My boy,
my little Augustus, is given to me as a temporal blessing
which I cannot describe, as his endearing ways so twine
themselves round my heart, that I feel one has to keep
watch continually lest the Giver should be forgotten in the
gift, and the child worshipped in the place of the Father
who made it. But the fragility of a child’s existence ever
reminds one that, at any time, the thread of its life may be
snapped asunder, and its stainless soul translated to the
realms of light before it has become conscious of dark-
ness.” .
“Aeb. 29, 1836.-I was very grateful to you for your
letter on the 18th, when such encouraging tidings from our
beloved Alton were the thing, of all others in the world,
calculated to give me pleasure and comfort; and though all
earthly means would fail to lift one up above this time of
trial, and give the peace that dwelling on the weight of glory
to come alone has power to do, it is an added source of
156 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
relief and solace which I bless God for putting it into your
heart to give me. . . . .
“I know you will thank God for the increase of strength
by which I have been enabled, during the last month, to
look far more steadily on things to come, and dwell less
painfully on the past than I did last year. And though the
remembrances would force themselves upon me occasionally,
and fill me with more sadness than usual, I have been kept
in peace on the whole, and able to look beyond the present
blank and daily warfare to that enduring life which it was
permitted me to begin here with him, who is now rejoicing
in sight, while I have yet to live upon the less stable view
of faith. I can hardly give any one a notion of the degree
in which, looking only at this world, all appears before me
as the land of the shadow of death ; but looking at it
through the light of the knowledge of Christ and His resur-
rection, all seems transformed and illumined with hope and
joy, at least, wherever one can behold the reflected light of
His righteousness, and Christ reigning over the heart. Sin,
sin only, is the burden and weight that oppresses and
clouds our life here; that is the only sting that wants draw-
ing out to make all things right. I feel so constantly
weighed down by the unbelief of others, that it has led me
to dwell a good deal on the duty that believers hardly
sufficiently look to, of the love we are bound to feel not
towards our brethren in faith, but to all sinners, if we would
partake of the mind of Christ. “What thank is there if we
love those who love us?’ It is but the natural feeling of
the renewed mind to love those who agree in feeling with
us; the great difficulty and the Christ-like disposition is to
love and bear with our neighbour as ourself.”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Corsley, 7am. 28, 1836.-How your dear letter yesterday
went to my heart. Your loss, and the exceeding struggle, as
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD I57
others forget, I feel actiſh rather than for you. For what we
too have lost is fresh as at the first ; besides, I loved him as
you did, only differing in degree, and often when my heart is
overflowing with a sense of its great happiness in the pos-
session of one so very precious as my own Marcus, it fills
again at the recollection that the earthly giver was your
Augustus—that to you was owing all I have so richly
enjoyed in two years, such as I never looked forward to.
We should have been too happy perhaps had Alton been
left as it was. He blest us and then went to that happier
home, happy as this world was to him, and you are left for
awhile, at once to be a warning, and a yet greater encourage-
ment and comfort, for I feel now just as strongly what I did
when he chided me for saying, “If you are taken, I should
never try to comfort the Mia’—perhaps I feel more, know-
ing from experience Something of the happiness such a
union zcas. Yet, I see you supported, and Comforted, and
even rejoicing, beyond all I could have asked or hoped,
and this very letter you have just written, which you seem
almost to fear may seem the language of complaint, made
me feel more forcibly than ever how truly God is with you,
upholding, and strengthening, and pouring into your heart
the peace which the Love of a Saviour only can give, and
which nothing can take away.
“Aeb., 1836.-You come to me, dearest, in my dreams,
like a ministering spirit, to preach good and comfortable
things. I dream of you so often, and your image comes
accompanied with such a peculiar repose and cheer-
fulness, not of this world, that I quite rejoice when you
do so.
“Oh ! I do try to cling closely to that Rock on which I
feel more and more all my hopes depend, for earthly pos-
sessions do seem to me like dreams or wild flowers which
we pluck and enjoy, and see Wither before we get home, so
158 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
that I feel I never could rest on them for one moment—
though to enjoy all given is, I think, not only intended, but
acts as a daily incentive to fill one's heart with thankfulness
for whatever comes, for God is Love.”
M. H.’s NoTE-Book (1836).
“In Stoke—Out of Stoke, are two classes of parishioners.
Often those out of the parish return to be buried in it; but
it is those within that receive the benefits of it during their
lifetime.
“Is not this a type of many that are in Christ's kingdom,
enjoying its privileges, in the promise of the life that now is,
no less than in the hope of the one to come P while those
out of Christ may still have some distant hope of the inherit-
ance, and in their last hours be brought back again into the
fold, though from a weak faith, and not laying hold of the
promises, they are void of the present peace, enjoyed by
those who have cast off the spirit of the world and walk by
faith.”
“One difference of the Jewish and Christian dispensations
lies in the visible and invisible manifestation of God's
dealings with men. In the spiritual childhood of the world,
outward signs were needed to make known God's power
and rule, the secret springs of the machinery were dis-
played; but when the fulness of time was come, men were
to walk no longer by sight, but by faith. The same Pro-
vidence watched over and appointed all things; but His
children were to feel, not to see His hand. So in the Hebrew
Scriptures we find God's attributes declared, and His inter-
ference in human affairs constantly set forth. In the apos-
tolic writings, the whole attention is turned to our relation to
God, and the principles and duties that attach to us as His
THE SILVER LIN ING OF THE CLOUD. I59
children and servants. And wisely is it so arranged ; for
when a true faith has once taken possession of the heart,
all that unbelief of spiritual agency, that reluctance to own
any power above our own that clings to the natural man, is
melted away; and the believer in Christ cannot doubt the
influence exerted over all the events of his life by the
providence of God.
“It is not by texts it should be proved : it is by the
whole Bible itself; its facts, its exhortations, its promises
are all idle mockery, if God has no more daily rule over His
creatures, and over the instruments he has made, than the
watchmaker over the watch that he has once set agoing.
It may be, though the universal laws of nature are, in the
common course of things, doubtless, immutable, the par-
ticular application of those laws are in God's power to turn
as He wills. So Job expresses the subjection of the light-
nings to God’s order, by that poetical figure ‘Here we are l’
But the moment we begin to inquire, ‘Aſozy can these
things be P’ ‘Aſow God works through second causes P’ we
are lost in the maze. Let us be content to know that He
who is truth hath said, ‘I the Lord do all these things,’
‘My counsel shall stand, and I will do all my pleasure,’
‘I have spoken, I will also bring it to pass; I have pur-
posed it, I will also do it.’ So believing, let us adore and
be thankful, well assured that while we know so little as we
do of earthly matters, we could ill bear to know more of
heavenly ones.”
“The exclusive spirit of the Evangelicals (so called) and
their common mode of Speaking of others have always been
repugnant to me. Yet it is impossible for any one whose
spiritual being has been awakened, not to be conscious of
the difference of feeling—the absence of spiritual desires in
16o MJEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
another. The right course, I am inclined to think, in
accordance with the precept of “Judge not,’ with the
apostolic spirit, and with the character of Our Church and
all its offices, is, in general Society, to endeavour to treat all
and speak of all who profess themselves Christians as our
brethren in one hope ; to strive against the natural shrink-
ing from a manifestation of principles that cannot be entered
into ; and in meekness and love to maintain in one’s own
conduct and language the importance of heavenly above
earthly things, the value of the substance above the shadow;
abstaining from all unnecessary Condemnation of others who
may appear to act on any other motives. All who belong
to the visible Church of Christ should be treated as mem-
bers of that Church, and looked upon as fellow heirs of its
privileges, and, as far as possible, addressed on the same
footing as children of one family—except where an opening
is made to speak to any one personally and practically.
Then the general union must give way before the individual
difference, and the true and home-searching appeal made,
whether the name of Christian be of outward or inward
application; whether it is in the form or essence that God
is worshipped; whether the faith in Christ be a living root
or a dead profession.”
“One of the difficulties often brought forward in these
days is the difference existing between the language of our
Church in her offices, and that used by all serious minis-
ters: the one seeming to admit all into the privileges of
Christian hope who are outwardly received into the
Church; the other, restricting those privileges to those who
by faith have truly embraced Christ as their Saviour. May
not the solution possibly be this : that the services of the
Church are designed for the use of all who profess and call
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD, 161
themselves Christians; that they are not intended for pur-
poses of reproof, exhortation, or instruction, but as a mode
of communication between man and God, in which it is
pre-supposed that all who do avail themselves of such forms
are what they profess to be. The preacher of God's Word,
on the other hand, has a very different office to perform.
His work is ‘rightly to divide the word of truth,' so that the
threatenings, no less than the promises of God shall be
made known, and those who have the form without the
power of godliness shall be awakened out of their sleep
while those who are reconciled to God through faith in
Christ may be encouraged and urged on to holiness
of life. While the Church offices have only to supply the
wants of the visible body of Christ, the preacher has to
endeavour to transform the visible into the invisible Church,
and to bring it from a nominal to a real union with its
Head.”
“Our will and God's are not by nature one. So long as
we are ignorant what God's will is, all seems well. Our
own will has its own way, and though that be often a
tyrannical way, there is no struggle against it, and therefore
all is smooth. But as the conscience becomes more
enlightened, as by degrees God's will is opened to us, by
whatever means it may be, there arises an opposition to our
own will that goes on increasing in strength as we grow in
the knowledge of God. It meets in its progress with many
a stumbling-stone, and so long as the heart is proud and
will not bend itself, so long as it trusts to its own power of
coinbating the evil within, God will resist—He will not help.
The moment the struggle has become so great as to make
us Cry loudly to Him for help, the moment we come as
little children and ask for strength, His ear is open and His
WOL. II. M
I62 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Spirit is ready. Sometimes it may be that He waits like
the Inan at the door till we have called many times, that
He may be sure it is a cry of real earnestness; but most
Surely is the grace then given, and though the self-will is not
rooted out, though there it will be to the end, its reign is
over, and henceforward, though often rising up, it is kept
Subordinate to God’s will and at one with it.”
“When a soul has through grace been led to seek for
pardon through Christ, and has received the full assurance
of His love, it begins to hunger and thirst after righteous-
ness, and this leads to a diligent inquiry and adoption of
every means that may help in conforming the mind to that
of Christ, Sanctification then becomes the one prevailing
desire of the soul, and oftentimes it may be that it engrosses
the attention so exclusively that the recollection of the
justifying merits of Jesus are cast into the shade. Then
comes the tempter in his most subtle form as an angel of
light, leading the soul by degrees into one of these two
errors—either to build its hope of favour with God on the
change that has taken place, and the Sanctification which,
however imperfect, is still begun in itself; or to a gradual
distrust of salvation through the want of those evidences of
holiness which it esteems needful to prove its title to God's
acceptance—and so to be continually cast down, in doubt,
fear, and uncertainty.”
“There is a great diversity of judgment as to the value
of outward acts of devotion and the need of public means
of grace. May not one cause of this difference lie in the
circumstances of life as well as in the peculiar character of
THE SILVER LINING OF THE QLOUD. 163
the individual P When there are many distractions of
thought in the daily life, many interruptions to the serene
and even course which alone is favourable for commu-
nion with God, it is a blessed and a solemnising help to
fix the mind and make silence in the soul when we can
come into a sanctuary set apart for His worship, where
every association is of a holy nature, where the voice
and tone of the man of God calls us to join in prayer and
praise. He is an instrument in tuning our hearts, which
our new strength is insufficient to do for itself. And the
constraint imposed by an appointed service, by fixed words,
by the help of sound to the ear, of all things consecrated to
the eye, seems to lift up the dead soul unto God, and take
away the power of worldly things which shut us out from
His presence.
“In proportion, therefore, as there is difficulty in fixing
the attention, so is the public worship of God a great
blessing and comfort.
“On the other hand, when the ordinary habits of life are
retired and private ones, when the presence of the Most
High is realised in the silence of our own homes, and when
reading the word of God can be joined with meditation and
prayer, the want of this outward machinery is not so much
felt, rather it is at times perhaps an effort to conquer the
distraction occasioned by having the society of others
around us. But then is it really needed as truly as in other
circumstances, to take us out of self, and make us feel a
fellowship of spirit with other members of Christ.”
“If it is contrary to truth when we say of a morning the
sun has risen, and of an evening ſhe sun has set, instead of
saying the earth has revolved on her axis, then, in the same
I64 MIENIORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
sense, there is a contradiction to truth in the expression in
Joshua, ſhe sun stood stil/. As absurd as it would be to
object to the Common every-day expressions of familiar life,
because not in accordance with philosophical accuracy, is
the cavil at the statement of the appearance presented by
the miracle, instead of its cause being brought forward. We
indeed know from science what is the cause of the appear-
ance, and Joshua did not; but the accuracy of the appear-
ance, so far from being thereby lessened, is rather increased,
since he related the plain and simple fact that was before
his eyes, without making deductions of his own that might
have been fallacious.”
“The pantheist sees God only through all; the mystic
acknowledges Him only in you all. To see Him above al/,
through all, and in you all, as sovereign Lord of heaven and
earth, the true and living God, united to His manifestation
in His works, and His operation in Our hearts by the
indwelling of His Spirit, this is a hard matter to feel in all
its fulness.”
“A great love can see and own defects in the object of
its affections, and yet love on.
“A little love fears the truth and seeks to hide it.”
“If we wish to compose a heaven of holy spirits and
lovely minds, let us take the ideal of all those we most love
and honour, and we can wish for nothing more perfect than
such a fellowship would be. By the ideal, is meant the
THE SILVER LIN ING OF THE CLOUI). I65
graces and talents of mind and character purified from all
earthly dross and taint of sin.
“How beautiful must be the lives of the just made per-
fect when thus clothed upon with Christ's righteousness,
and shining in the brightness of that light which shall never
be dimmed ! “They shall be as the stars in the firmament
of God.’”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“January 26, 1836.-Our dear uncle Hugh Leycester is
dead. He looked calmly for the coming on of death as for
no unwelcome guest, and was seen to lift up his hands in
prayer after he could speak no longer. He remained till
near the end as much alive as ever to all that was going on,
keeping bits of conversation on his slate to look at after his
visitors were gone. When K. One day Said something to
him about the difficulty of breathing, he smiled and said,
‘Tired of eighty-six years of breathing, I suppose.” He
waited patiently for what one wrote (for he was quite deaf),
pleased with anything, yet content without anything, anxious
only about the well-doing of all. At the last all was peace,
and I trust and believe in no sense a false peace. The words,
“to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with his God,'
seem to describe exactly the character of his life. My father
feels the loss, a heavy one, of his last brother, whom he
has always looked up to with such interest and affection.”
M. H. to MISS MILLER.
“Alderley Kectory, March 11, 1836—The blessing of
Mr. Kilvert's ministrations at Alton, like all others that have
attended tes—I Say us, for Surely the invisible, no less than
the visible, disciples of Christ rejoice over every means of
grace vouchsafed to His people—is a call for thanksgiving
166 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and praise, that, slow as our hearts are to offer this service,
must quicken mine with love and thankfulness. I have
been spending a happy Passion Week with my cousins, the
Leycesters of Toft, who shared in all the feelings it inspired,
and from having spent the last year in a house of mourning,
knew doubly how to feel the blessedness of the season that
recalls the Christian hope—Christ risen.
“I am going from hence to Dr. Arnold's, and then I
look forward to your meeting me at Leamington ; and I
know not whether Mary or I shall be the happiest in
showing you our child, and through you making known to
the affectionate people at Alton how God has blest me in
the gift of so dear a little companion.”
M. H. to L. A. H. -
“A.ime, April, 1836.—Truly this is a sunny home. There
are quantities of wild flowers which you know the
delight of, and baby is so happy with them. . . . In an
evening, when from weariness and pain I am unable to
read, I am sometimes tempted to forget that there is an eye
looking with Compassion and tenderness, and an ear ready
to hear every complaint, so that I do feel the want of that
tender, pitying affection I once had ; then perhaps, at that
very moment, there will come in a messenger from the
rectory, with a beautiful verbena plant, a fine balsam, or
some other token that I have still the affectionate attention
of a dear brother to prevent the outward blank from pressing
too heavily, and to melt me into tears at the thought of my
own unworthiness of such continued comforts. Then in
my dear child what is my comfort.”
M. H. to MISS CLINTON.
“Aime, May 18, 1836.--Having shared my London
groanings, it is quite fair you should share my fresh country
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD, 167
enjoyments; and had your letter not come I had proposed
to let out a little of the overflowing on you, well knowing
that it would cheer you in the midst of uncongenial spirits
or in a smoky atmosphere. But whatever I might have
intended, your delightful letter makes me with double
pleasure enter on our renewed intercourse, forgetting all
that was not said and could not be fully enjoyed with a head
bewildered by noisy carriages and shopping perplexities, and
remembering only the pleasure of having met again in Com-
parative London quiet, and broken down the barrier of two
years' silence. Since I came here I have continually
thought, how Lou would enjoy seeing baby trotting about
on this Sunny grass, Crying out in a most loud voice at the
blue-bells and periwinkles (a very hard name, too) that clothe
the hedge-bank that bounds the garden. I wish you had
not told me there were no trees here. I never saw it before,
but I begin to think it is so. At least the few that are not
yet in full leaf, make a bareness in the landscape we can ill
afford, and my barbarous landlord in my absence has cut
down some trees in a little orchard close by, that make a
terrible Open gap, showing the barn and farm buildings
which were not visible before from the house. However,
there is such a profusion of wild flowers, and all the green
here is so unsullied, and this May sky makes the line of sea
so blue, that I am well Satisfied with my country luxuries.
I hope it is not selfish to love living alone so much as I do ;
to feel the return to this solitary home the only real personal
happiness I can now enjoy. For though I can take deep
interest in others and look on at their enjoyments with
much pleasure, it has usually a dash in it of much that is
painful to me; such a vivid consciousness that their happiness
is built on materials that are ever shifting, and must finally
be moved away, that I am always haunted by the feeling
that when the Storm Comes, they will have no fixed rock to
I68 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
bear them up above the waves. And then, feeling as I do.
that the clouds have opened and displayed to me a brighter
sky beyond, which others so often seem careless of and
insensible to, I am ever conscious that I ought to make
known more fully what I conceive of the reality of those
hidden things, let the pain of implying wrong be what it
may,+Or, what to one's self-love is equally restraining, the
fear of being supposed to set one's self up as better.
“Most truly could I echo back Julius's joyous words on
Our meeting—‘My ſtaffy six months are begun now.’
Though I shall not see him as often as formerly, yet it will
be quite enough to take off all sense of loneliness, and to
make just that mixture of solitude and society which suits
my present condition. And, even were it not so, the feeling
of being able to add to his comfort is a positive thing I do
not feel elsewhere or with any one else. Do not fear, how-
ever, that I shall ever wish to turn hermit. Though thank-
ful for the present rest, I know too well its temptations not
equally to be glad that I am called away from it occa-
sionally to mix with others, and find out how much there is
of good under other forms than those which at times one
fancies the only right ones. The day is gone by when those
who have been smitten down to the ground as I have been
can be permitted to serve God only in the temple, we of
this generation must carry out the harder task of serving
Him in the world. You will think my world is a small One,
and so, God be praised, it is.
“I wish you were here to help me in arranging books, &c.
I should not object either to your sowing Soume seeds for me
in the place of ‘Master Cornford, though I much doubt
whether you would hold a basket as patiently for me,
while I cut off old dead roses, as little Baby-boy, or think
you had gained as great a treasure as he does when it is
thus filled. He is at this moment putting a lily of the
THE SILVER LINING OH ſhE CLOUL). 169
valley, which he has diligently pulled to pieces, in the sun-
shine in hope of “making it well.’ If I should forget to
speak any other language than his you must not be surprised.
I constantly feel that he learns so much more from every one
else than he does from me, because I know too well all that
he understands, and go on talking to him within the limits
of his knowledge, instead of giving him some of mine.”
“June 8.—At present the mere act of living is such a
fatigue that I feel daily as if I had done a very hard day's
work after lying on the sofa most of the day. The little
strength I can find is given up to the arrangement of the
Alton sermons for the publisher. Weakness and tiredness
is not with me that negative species it often is, it is £ositive
in its pain, down to the soles of the feet, and it seems as if
all the aching that belonged to past exertion, and was then,
from stress of mind, unfelt, is now beginning to come out.
It is all natural, and I am only too thankful to have been
able to go on till now when there is no further call upon me.
And then to have such a gentle affectionate comforter as
Julius to soothe me with a woman's tenderness, and such a
comfortable home, and a parish where, when I am able, I
can be of some use. Every day brings its own peace and
comfort, and yet, as a whole, time does now drag a weary
pace at best. And so it must be, dearest Lou, yet awhile,
but then comes the rest and all the day's toil will be for-
gotten, or remembered only to heighten the joy.”
“Zime, /une 28, 1836.-At length perfect summer is come,
and I am enjoying the airiness of my drawing-rooms (which
sounds grand, and is really comfortable), into which I moved
for the first time yesterday. I wish you could see the view
from one window, of the church spire rising above the
distant trees and the line of very blue sea beyond, with its
white specks flitting on it; and from the other window the
little, shut in, quiet lawn skirted with shrubs, and the flowers
17o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
brightly shining in the mid-day's sun, and you would at least
own that, let Pevensey Marsh be as ugly as it may, this little
quiet spot in Hurstmonceaux is fitted for every comfort
and enjoyment that a country-loving hermit could desire.
There is not a day, scarcely an hour, in which my heart
does not lift itself up in thankfulness for this haven of peace
and rest. But do I think that because from weak health,
and from a wrench from all natural things, that nothing can
ever wholly do away in its abiding painfulness, I can only
feel at ease in a separation from the world? Do I suppose
that it is therefore inconsistent with Christian feeling in
others to enjoy society, and to make use of the many and
various talents and gifts bestowed on them P Oh no, I fee?
most strongly the difference which outward circumstances
have made in me, and hope to be preserved from that one-
sided view which would seek to bring every one to the level
of my daily habits of life, occasioned as they are, not by a
healthy, but a sick state of being. To one whose daily blank
requires and needs daily submission, whose will has to be
continually brought through faith in Him who is invisible
to bear what is visible, the line of duty must needs differ
from that of those who are in the straight and common path
of life, and whose duty is, not to shrink from the evil about
them, but to rise above it. Nor can it be, nor would it be
desirable, that those who have to bear an active part in this
world should have the same delight in Contemplative
religion that is mercifully granted where more practical
activity in God's service is withheld. Most truly it is, as
you say, a compensation for the loss of what is outwardly
precious, to have a deeper sense of what is inwardly
so. . . . . . . . -
“I did so rejoice in the thought of your having enjoyment,
and it certainly is a compensatory part of your discipline
in life that your enjoyments are doubled by their after
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 171
effects. . . . Not a word yet of Baby-boy, who is this
moment roaring, kicking, and Screaming, as hard as he can,
not to the advantage of my letter. This is, however, an
unusual diversion of his, for he has been quite good since
he has grown stronger, and with strength his spirits also
increase, though they are of the gentle sort, ‘manma tired,
—head bad, baby play self,’ he says when he sees me put
my hand up to my head. He is a strong instance of the
union of perfectly sweet temper with strong self-will that
rises up in opposition the moment he is ordered to obey;
but every day he has some lesson of patience and obedience
to practice, that is advancing him in his little conquest over
evil.”
M. H. (“The Green Book.”)
“Aime, /une 2, 1836.-If, as I believe and trust, in the
event of this day, Thou, O blessed Jesus, wert present in
spirit, watching over and blessing the union of Thy ser-
vants, no less Surely art Thou now present to us both,
sanctifying and turning that which was water into wine—
changing and purifying that which was mixed with earth
and earthly into a purely heavenly and lasting union, that
neither time nor space can alter. As a bright, a lovely
dream, the five years rise up at times before me, nor can I
yet often bear to dwell on their blessedness. Perhaps as
time passes by, and their memory fades away from the
thoughts of others, they acquire for me a greater sacredness
that I cannot break through in speech, and scarcely in
thought. . . . . “Be still, and know that I am God’—this I
need ever to bear in mind, and to bring my will to be one
with His—not in things gone by only, but in things present;
not in patience only, but in joyfulness; not in submission
only, but in thankfulness. When, when shall I learn that
the path of godliness must be one of self-denial P When
172 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
shall I be taught to forget self and seek only the glory of
God, the honour and love of Him who has bought me for
His own P ‘It is a portion,’ was the original name of
Manna. Let the hidden Manna, the bread of Life, be ever
more and more my portion, my joy, my inheritance ; so
while on this earth trial may be mine, warfare may be mine,
and unmixed happiness must be withheld, my hope may yet
rest securely, and my gaze be fixed more intently, on the
Eternal Rock who can be my stay and shelter through every
St0rm.
“Fountain of Life refresh and strengthen Thy weary
pilgrim from the living waters, that her soul may be as a
watered garden, and bring forth fruit more abundantly.
Head of the Church let one of Thy weakest members be
united to Thee in that close bond of communion and of
love that fills every desire and heals every wound.”
“July 24.—There are times when a looking-glass seems
to be held up before the mind's eye, in which the deformity
that has been for a time perhaps forgotten, is brought again
before our view ; when a glimpse is given into those inward
chambers where lurk so many hidden remnants of original
evil. Those motives, dispositions, and purposes, which at
other times are thickly veiled over, are then seen through
and laid open, giving some faint foresight of what will be the
overwhelming weight of that comprehensive, all-searching,
and manifesting view, which will one day place the whole of
the past clearly before us, without the possibility of turning
away, be it ever so painful to look upon. There are
moments in which the old man, the yet corrupt portion of
our nature, rises up so strongly that it would seem as if the
whole work of sanctification had to begin—as if all the Self-
loving principles had to be cut off anew. . . . . I know that
He that formed the ear does hear; I know that He has
power to help ; so I am without excuse when led away to
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. I73
sin, just as the sick man who refuses the medicine that
would heal him. I feel an ever-growing desire to be con-
formed to the image of Christ, to have His righteousness
wrought in me, so that every part of me may be born anew
after the spirit of Jesus, and my whole body, mind, and
spirit transformed from the likeness of Adam to that of
Christ, that all my joys and Sorrows, hopes and fears, may
be those of the spiritual not the natural birth, and that I
may bring every outward thing into captivity to this new
life. * -
“If I could once obtain such a steadfast, immovable walk
with God, that all other things should become subordinate
to this my heavenly life; that the life of faith should be the
groundwork, and the life of sense but the accessory and
accidental part of my being ; that I could bring myself to
feel more fully my union with Christ as the all-sufficient
portion in whom I have life and happiness, and only enjoy
other creatures in subjection to Him—how much of dis-
traction of thought and changeableness of feeling should I
avoid. I need nothing so much as to be more firm in my
position, that neither the affection nor the example of others
may draw me away from it. Self has to be cast out in all
its forms, in the still clinging to human affection and exclu-
sive attention, in the regarding human opinion, in the love
of human praise. Let me more simply look to God’s glory
and His will. If that be accomplished in my own abase-
ment, if I have a conscience pure in His sight, let me
count it no trial if I obtain not from others the honour that
I might do were my life ordered otherwise, and could I out-
wardly glorify Him by deeds and words. I need counsel
daily to know where and how to serve Him best—how to
devote myself most acceptably to Him—whether by deny.
ing myself in Outward action if He wills I should not work
for Him, or by crucifying the flesh in suffering for His sake
I74 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
in ministering to others to my own cost. May He guide
me in judgment and show me the way, on the right or on
the left.”
M. H. to REV. R. KILVERT.
“Zime, June 18, 1836.-I hope you will write to me
when you have time. I yearn after the comforting words
that a branch of the true Vine can supply, though sensible
that with the living Vine itself, ever near, one ought to lack
nothing. But the lesson of one's own weakness in faith is
one that every day is teaching more forcibly; and while we
know the Fountain is all-sufficient, it leads one to long for
the streams also. It is at seasons when, from external
circumstances, our spiritual life seems to be deadened, that
one feels the blessedness of having one's confidence an-
chored on that which is without one's self, not on any inward
state of feeling; and still more, the steadfast knowledge that
He who merits all our love and all our service is also well
acquainted with the infirmities of body and mind that so
frequently render that service so wretchedly poor and
miserable. I am thankful now to be able to lift up my
neart with something more of cheerful hope, as the repose
of my life here restores me to a calmer frame of mind. . . .
Indeed, I feel ashamed of seeming to complain of trial
when I have only cause for thankful rejoicing—when all is
so peaceful around, and my blessings so numberless; but
the voice of joy and praise is too often swallowed up in one
of prayer and supplication—“O Lord, heal me, for I am
weak’—‘undertake for me, for I am oppressed.’ Had I
strength for it, there is abundant room here for active exer.
tion in my Master's work, and many Souls who appear to
hunger and thirst, though often it seems to be more after
the personal comfort of assurance than after righteousness
itself. There is nothing here of the simplicity of the dear
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. I75
Wiltshire peasantry; and, from the prevalence of Dissenters,
there are many who have such a ready flow of spiritual
language and knowledge of the doctrines of their faith as
makes it difficult to discern whether the belief is a Sound
and practical one.”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“June 2, Cors/ey.--Am I not with you, my own Mia,
sharing all the recollections of this day, as closely as when
I first shared in its happiness five years ago? How vividly all
has been present to me yesterday and to-day—the journey
to Alton in the coach—the first arrival—the feeling of
peace and rest for weeks to come after all the bustle of
London—his welcome—notwithstanding the rain, the love.
liness of that scene—and then this day—the little lawn—-
the quince-tree—the children's dinner, and his grace, the
first thing, I believe, which lighted up the warmth of affec-
tion in my heart, to increase how rapidly, how lastingly
How I did love him with you, you know, my Mia, words
need not tell it, therefore you know how, though Time, as
with you, can weary down the anguish, still the void, the
gap, is as deeply felt as at the first. But then comes the
soothing, the comfort, that which Zime can never bring to
the broken-hearted, but which a Father of love, a Saviour
of sympathy, can richly provide, and has provided for you,
how richly only those can tell who know all you were, all
you enjoyed, and all you have lost. These have been the
words in my mind this morning, and they have comforted
me in thinking of you—“While we look not at the things
which are seen and are temporal, but at the things which
are not seen and are eternal.’ Your earthly enjoyments
were very great, and no earthly sun ever did more brightly
shine over two happy creatures than it did over you two at
that peaceful Alton; but one knew, and you felt daily, even
176 MEMORIALS QF A QUIET LIFE.
at times to the over-clouding of the present enjoyment, that
it was temporal, and that all might soon pass away.
Now, therefore, we will not look at what was, but what is.
Your Augustus is for ever safe and happy, and when those
who remain shall be caught up to meet the Lord in the
clouds, how blessed will be the meetings with those who
have been earlier taken from the trials of life, and were only
left here long enough to enjoy the sunshine and the morning,
and the love, and the beauty of all around, and then
translated to a yet higher Sunshine before the evening
closed in.”
“Seven o'clock, p.m.—It has been a fit day to think of you
—a soft heavy rain falling and refreshing the parched earth,
and, though it cheared up by six, no Sunshine came, Only a
sweetness and freshness seemed to Spring from every hedge
and flower. It is on these days I do so doubly rejoice in
the thought of your dear child; and even when he is ill, it is
an interest, a something to rest your affection on ; and I
cannot help feeling, though he may cause anxiety, he will
be spared to you to grow up and be your comfort, as his
uncles were to their aunt.”
M. H. to MISS MILLER.
“July 18, 1836.-You will perhaps have heard of the
birth of my dear Marcus and Lucy's little boy. I believe
there is not a more happy, thankful creature living than the
latter in the fulfilment of this how-long-wished-for hope.
When she is quite recovered, I look forward to the delight
of having them here for some weeks, when the baby will be
christened in the church of his ancestors, by the names of
Marcus Augustus.
“My own little treasure has grown so strong and healthy,
it is quite a delight to look at him, and his incessant chatter
is most amusing. I could fill my paper with stories of him;
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. I 77
but I cannot give you the impression I could wish of his
Hittle endearing ways. His fondness for flowers, and know-
ledge of the names of every one in the garden or field, still
continues. He runs about quite independently, and is out
nearly all day long. Telling him one day about the garden
of Eden, he asked eagerly if there were ‘daisies and butter-
cups too ; ' and he enters fully into the moral lesson Con-
tained in Adam and Eve's disobedience—“God told Eve
not touch apple—Eve ſiće it—Eve naughty.’ It comes
very home to his experience, in which he has many a
struggle, and I have many a battle with the self-will that
likes to do what it is told not. But I never allow him to
conquer. He is so affectionate, that the precept, “If you
love mamma, you will do as she tells you,' has full force,
and may in time, I trust, be exchanged for that higher
principle of love to God which can only be implanted by
the Spirit of God.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Oc. 23, 1836.—I take out this book to write ; but what
is it I have to say? Only again and again what I wrote
last—that my longing desire is to be crucified to self and
earthly things ; but my daily experience is of their strong
hold upon me. How different a thing it is to be spiritually
minded in the closet when communing with God, and to
be so in the company of fellow-sinners, even when they are
those who love God. Oſtentimes it has seemed to me as if
I had attained no further that delighting in the law of God
and knowing something of its nature; as if the whole
practice of it were yet to come. And yet, at the very
moment when I may thus lament over my shortcontings,
if a word of reproach or blame comes from another, it seen,s
to excite mortified feeling and self-justifying excuses. Oh,
when will this proud heart be beaten down, and the true
WOL. II. N
:
:
178 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
humility be inwrought so that it cannot be moved? When
shall I in deed and in truth put on the meekness and low-
liness of the Lord Jesus P. To be consecrated to the service
of my blessed Lord in body, soul, and spirit, to be a priest
to minister unto Him, cleansed and purified and anointed
by Him, receiving from Him all grace and strength to work
His will and bear witness to others of His truth, this is my
whole desire. Oh, my faithful High Priest, to whom I am
joined in one spirit, do Thou mercifully stablish me in this
purpose, that I may deny myself and follow Thee, renounce
my own will, my own pleasure, my own honour, and seek
only Thine, and in Thee live, and speak, and act, that not
I may live, but Christ in me. Oh strengthen me to deny the
natural feelings, so as to be kept in a more staid, peaceful
frame of mind, and that while I feel the joy of Thy sal-
vation, I may never lose sight of the present troublesome
world in which I live, or of my own sinful heart, ever
warring against Thy spirit; that so I may, with fear and
trembling, be ever watching unto prayer. Teach me how
to pray, O Lord ; quicken me to pray much oftener; teach
me to meditate more on the blessed Jesus, to love Him
more, and to be made to follow Him more simply, stead-
fastly, and humbly.”
“Christmas Eve, 1836.-‘Let me join myself to the Lord
in a perpetual covenant’—a covenant not to serve Him only
in pleasant places and where it is easy to follow Him, but
to follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth; well knowing
that His path is one of toil and suffering, and that we
cannot hope to wear His crown unless we also bear His
cross. One of the lessons I have learnt this year, has been
to feel that when we are Christ's, ‘all things are ours,’ in
proportion as we live up to the privileges given and
strength promised. And that, whatever be the hindrance,
or temptation, or difficulty in our.way, all may be overcome
THE SILVER I,INING OF THE CLOUD. I79
through the power and might of the Spirit that dwelleth in
us. It is in this way we are to be partakers even now of
the kingly dominion in our Lord's kingdom, and rule and
reign over all that is within and without till it be subdued.
By the power of this rod and sceptre, every enemy may be
overcome, and through faith we shall obtain the victory.
To this conviction I cling, in steadfast hope that I may so
by degrees be strengthened, that the life of Jesus may be
manifested in me. . . . . Teach me, O blessed Saviour,
more and more of Thy own gracious mercy and love, that it
may constrain me to glorify Thee more fully, that I may
understand more of the hidden mystery of Thy redemption,
and see in it more of thine infinite wisdom and loving-
kindness to me, a poor earth-worm and crumb of dust. So
in Thy humiliation may I be humbled, emptied of self, and
obedient even unto death, and be with Thee exalted to
power and glory ; now bearing meekly Thy Cross, and
hereafter sharing with Thee Thy crown; one in will, pur-
pose, thought, and deed, that when Thou shalt appear in
glory, the hidden life I now live in Thee may be manifested
to the praise of the Sun of Righteousness, who hath risen on
my darkness, and given me light and healing !”
“Jan. 2, 1837. –Gottlob ein Schritt zur Ewigkeit!
Another year gone by—another begun—every one bringing
us nearer home. All praise to Him who hath led me through
the wilderness in the past year. He has never failed of any
one thing promised. I only have been lacking in my share
of the Covenant—in simplicity of love and devotion to His
service, by impatience and unthankfulness. Blot out of Thy
remembrance, O my Saviour, every word, and thought, and
feeling that has been contrary to Thy spirit; and may I in
this coming year be moulded anew after Thy image, con-
secrated to Thy service, and in body, soul, and spirit, in
mind, act, purpose, and submission, be made wholly one
18o MFMORIALS OF A QUEET LIFE.
with Thee, even as Thou art one with the Father, -one
in Spirit now, that hereafter I may be one with Thee in the
fulness of Thy glory. Sanctify and purify me, that I may
be a vessel purged for my Master's use, and may be
permitted to glorify Thee before men—a witness of Thy
truth now in Thine absence, that when Thou appearest
again Thou mayest not be ashamed to own me for Thine
own.”
M. H. to MISS MILLER.
“Stoke ſectory, Jan. 7, 1837.-I hope ere this you will
have received the copies of the sermons for the Alton cot-
tagers. . . . It is in the hope and prayer that in these ser-
mons, “being dead, he may yet speak,’ that I would send
them to the dearly-beloved people of Alton, begging them
all to bear in mind, that all the earnestness with which they
were addressed in them would now be increased tenfold
could their departed minister indeed speak from the fulness
of glory into which he is admitted, and reveal the whole
truth of the love, and holiness, and justice of the Father in
heaven. And where he is, there every one of his parishioners
is invited to go, there every one will be helped to go, there
every one is promised that he shall be, if they will come as
little children to their Lord Jesus Christ and ask Him
to teach them that which they see not, to take away all
iniquity from their hearts, and make them one with Himself
in spirit and in truth. Not one shall be cast out that comes
to Him. May He graciously incline the hearts of many to
come. I wish I could write to each separately, and speak
to the personal needs of each, and tell them how true and
faithful is the Lord God whom they are in these Sermons
called upon to serve; and I would I had the tongue of
angels to declare to them how great is the peace, and how
sure is the joy that attends those who are brought to die to
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. I81
themselves, and live only for the Lord who has bought
them for His own. But I have no strength to write, and
must be content with sending through you my heart-felt
prayers that every word of Christian truth now recalled to
their minds may be blessed with increase, and bring forth
fruit abundantly to the glory of His grace, who has called,
and will sanctify, justify, and glorify all who believe in
Him.”
M. H. to Miss LEyCESTER (after her Mother's death).
“March 12, 1837.-‘They that sleep in Jesus will God
bring with Him.” Truly we may comfort one another with
these words: most truly may we look on, with sure and
certain hope that in the day of His appearing this your
beloved mother and faithful servant of her Lord will be
found among those that Move that appearing and rejoice in the
glory of the Lord. Yet after all that we can hope, and all
the confidence that we can feel in the weight of the coming
glory, I know and feel what you must suffer in being thus,
for a time, separated from her you so dearly love, and who
has for so long been the object of your deepest reverence
and tenderest care. It is a sorrow such as this world can
never repair. No earthly friend can replace her, no earthly
consolation can fill the lonely place in your heart. But
there is One who is able to make your cup still overflow
with peace and joy, and to be to you more than father,
mother, husband, or brother. He, and He only, who has
promised to be with us to the end of the world, can by His
abiding presence give rest to your soul, and fill it with that
comfort which this world knoweth not. I have long since
been taught that it is not our affection for the departed, it
is our love for Ourselves that makes the chief bitterness of
our grief; and when the love of Christ constrains us to forget
our own pleasures and seek only His glory, then the present
I 82 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Suffering is lightened, and the future hope becomes more
real. It will only be for a little while, and we shall look
on all these passing changes of our life here in the mind of
God, and see in them the continually renewed proofs of
His fatherly love, showing us from time to time how
shadowy and unsubstantial all dependence is, but upon the
Rock that can never be moved, the hiding-place in all our
trouble, the refuge from every storm. . . . I have not
troubled you with letters; you have had many to write, and
I could hear from others, but none can feel with you more
truly. From earliest years I know what your affection has
been to her who is now taken from you. I know how truly
she deserved the richest offering a child's heart could pay
of love and reverence, and I know that the deepest faith
cannot remove the suffering sense of this grievous bereave-
ment. Do not be afraid to sorrow, Jesus also wept, and so
assuredly may those who know and believe that He is the
Resurrection and the Life.”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“JCime, June 9, 1837.-I cannot tell the happiness I now
feel with my child, and in this my peaceful home, or how I
feel stayed in peace on that everlasting and immovable
Rock. I am just now feasting on Peter Sterry, whose
beatific visions of the third heavens are the nearest approach
to communion with the invisible company on mount Zion
that one can have here below. May it only stir one up to
more true self-denial and labour of love here, that we may
be fit for the rest when it does come. Dearly as I do love
and prize all heavenly contemplations, I always find the
result of them is not to tempt me to a self-indulgent spirit
of communion only with God, but much more to a fervent
desire to do His wiſ/. And with this object I am sure prayer
——prayer—is the beginning, middle, and end ; in proportion
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 183
to its earnestness and constancy is the healthiness of the life
of Christ within us.”
Journal by MISS MILLER.
“July 8, 1837–I reached Lime in safety. My dear
Mrs. Hare received me with all her wonted kindness, and
with far more calmness than on the last time I visited her;
and indeed from her whole deportment it is evident that
such perfect peace dwells within as no outward things have
power to ruffle. . . . The grand springs of her spiritual joy
are, I see clearly, a cleaving to the word of God and to
prayer; few books besides have yet power to attract her
attention, but the same little well-worn Bible, which was
her solace at Rome, in her journey over the Alps, and on
her arrival in England, is still her constant companion—
always within reach of her eye and touch, and ever in her
heart. Her bodily weakness is still excessive, and her
nervous system too much unstrung ever again to be as
strong as it has been ; and it is one of her chief crosses to
be laid aside as useless to others, when she is so anxious to
exert herself in helping them onward ; but she is called on
to suffer, rather than to do God's will at present, and she is
blessed with unshaken peace and confidence in her Saviour.
Her house and garden seems the very spot for her to dwell
in—so peaceful, quiet, and pleasant. The rooms open
through glass doors to a lawn, which slopes down to water
overhung with trees, and on the other side some pretty
sloping fields ascend towards the road, while at about a mile
distant is seen the village church, beyond which is the line
of the sea, over which a white sail occasionally passes. As
a constant Sunbeam in this quiet scene is her dear child,
always sporting and gamboiling about among the flowers,
full of fun and merriment, Tolling in the hay-field, or shout-
ing with joy. . . . .
184 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“July 18.-My last day at Lime. On going up to bed
we took our nightly peep at sleeping Baby, and Mrs. Hare
said as she looked at him, ‘God says, “I will water it every
moment,” ” and is not this a little tender plant that needs
His constant care P’ She wished me good-night with her
usual kind words, “Good-night, Love ; I hope you have had
a happy day,’ and her wonted tender kiss. . . . . The moon
to-night rose immediately over the sea, which, though four
miles distant, was by its reflected light brought very near to
us, and stretched in a broad line of light.”
“July 19.— . . . . The last hours passed quickly away.
Then Mrs. Hare asked me to go with her to her room,
where, after reading the tenth and eleventh verses of Isaiah
lxiv., we knelt together in prayer, and she tenderly, lov-
ingly, and with such confidence, committed me to God's
keeping, blessed Him for the season we had enjoyed toge-
ther, and prayed that when the number of His elect should
be accomplished, we might dwell together with Him in
glory. I felt such a calmness imparted to me, that it was
the time, I knew, for saying farewell; SO, begging I might
not see her again, and having twice kissed her, and received
her blessing, I went down alone . . . . and Susan and Baby
walked with me to the coach.”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Seft. 7, 1837.-Miss Miller's engagement to Mr. Pile is
filling all my heart just now. I cannot tell you the mixed
feelings—the recollection of words said at Alton. What he
would have said and felt at this—for must it not be another,
and perhaps the most touching and striking instance of all,
that this is a field of his sowing P
“I dreamt last night, half waking, half sleeping, that
* Isaiah xxvii. 3.
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 185
Marcus was taken from me, and that you and I, more one
than ever, were at Alton, walking up to the Downs by that
path I used to love so much. I thought we were quite
calm and peaceful, and did not shed a tear, but were
looking forward so surely, that we forgot the things that
were behind.”
JULIUS HARE to FRANCIS HARE.
“Aſurstmonceaux, Z)&c. 26, 1837.—Very many thanks for
your kind inquiries about me. It is very true that my legs
have thought fit to follow the example of this revolutionary
age, and have risen in insurrection against the rest of the
body, and been bringing it into Subjection for Some time
past. It was merely a slight scratch in the first instance,
but erysipelatous flesh is loth to heal; and so I have been
under the doctor's hands for it more or less since last April,
sometimes getting better, and then falling back again. So
at length it has become necessary to undergo a radical cure ;
and since the beginning of November I have been confined
to my bedroom floor, forbidden to move from my sofa, and
visited by a surgeon daily, who has been giving me what he
calls ‘constitutional remedies.’ These, I trust, will prove a
more effective and lasting cure than the Reform Bill, and, if
they do relieve me from the danger of future erysipelatous
attacks, the advantage will be cheaply purchased. Further
than the compulsory inactivity, there has been nothing in all
this to care much about. As Maria and Baby-boy came
and took up their quarters here, the rectory became a much
livelier and pleasanter abode than usual ; though now, to be
sure, since they went to Shropshire, it has been somewhat
lonely.
“. . . . Neander, I See, has been publishing a Life of
Christ. This will be the completest answer to Strauss;
who, from his polemical replies, seems to be a very vulgar-
I86 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
minded though hard-headed master of abuse, a man of
intolerable self-conceit, and deluded by an idea which he
had taken from Hegel, and does not understand. Nothing
can be more fallacious than his fundamental principle, that
everything must be progressive. In whatever is at all akin
to inspiration, it is just the contrary, as Homer, Dante,
Shakespeare, Raphael, Phidias show.”
My mother's chief interest in 1837 lay in the promotion
of her brother-in-law, Edward Stanley, to the see of Norwich,
and the removal of his family to the scene of his future
labours. The unusual degree of sympathy and affection
which always existed between her and her sister, caused her
to watch with eagerness for every minute detail of the new
life upon which the Stanleys were entering, with its manifold
duties and occupations. During her frequent visits at the
palace, while regretting the rectory and beechwoods of
Alderley, she found fresh sources of enjoyment in the
picturesque and architectural characteristics of Norwich.
M. H.’S NOTE-BOOK.
“April, 1837.-‘The fashion of this world passeth away.”
Yes, even now, while we fancy it is still with us, it is even
passing before our eyes, the scene is changed while we are
looking at it, old and well-known places and persons vanish
from our sight, all becomes near to our view. So true are
Shakespeare's words, “The world's a stage, and all the men
and women merely players, they have their exits and their
entrances.” In childhood and youth this is hidden from our
eyes, but as life advances, and one change after another
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 187
passes over our life, as one set of friends succeeds another,
and those whom we once associated with are either removed
by death or separated by distance, while others arise to fill
up the place in our daily intercourse of life, we learn how
passing are all joys that lean on present possessions, how
sandy a foundation has all happiness that rests on outward
circumstances. And yet there is a truth that abides, a good
that remains out of each shifting scene. All that is really
precious in it is also enduring, and neither death, nor sepa-
ration, nor change, can rob us of what we have once truly
enjoyed. Let us thankfully adore the wisdom and love
that so constituted the mind of man that it should thus
retain the good and forget the evil, that it should be able to
find good in zanying forms, and be unchangeable even in its
power of change, finding food for hope and joy and love in
every passing scene of life, till we come to the city built on
a Rock, that abideth for ever !”
“The nearest approach we usually make to thankfulness
is to feel that we ought to be thankful, and to mourn in not
being so. The active, upward-springing language of praise
is but seldom able to break through the bonds of weakness
and earthly-mindedness, and the burden of sin with which
we are too often weighed down. To rejoice in having our
wills crossed, in being conformed to His likeness through
suffering, is a hard attainment; and yet perhaps true thank-
fulness oftener arises under outward privation, than when
loaded with what seem to our eyes the greatest benefits.
Our nature seems more especially to show its root of selfish
and ungodly desires in the midst of God's bounty. The
moment we are laid low by His chastening hand, our true
relation to Him, and debt of love, is brought home to our
188 O
MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
hearts in the sense of our nothingness and of His power and
mercy.” -
“To the spiritually-minded, Time and Place are not. The
Word of God is therefore, when spiritually apprehended,
no history of successive generations having reference to
various countries and divers persons; it becomes a living
present whole,_a picture of the dealings of God with man,
of the great contest between good and evil, of the victory
over evil by Christ dwelling in the soul, and holding com-
munion with God.”
“ ( /u/y 7.)—Is it possible that the wicked, when they
leave this world, will love God? The thought is a strange
one, but it has occurred to me from feeling that sin in my-
self or others is the only real misery, and that, without a
love for God, it would not be misery thus to be separated
from Him. If then hell, or, in other words, misery and
suffering, is hereafter, as it doubtless is, only in a far greater
degree than it can be here, the conscious separation from
God by sin, must not there be in the spirits of the departed
wicked some love for God, some desire to live in the bright-
ness of His countenance, instead of under its gloom, to
create such a sense of wretchedness? Or is it that, on
leaving the body, such spirits are brought to a consciousness
of life proceeding from God, such as is effected here in the
regenerate, while the door is shut of reconciliation and
restoration to holiness through Christ, and the life becomes
one, not of harmony, but of eternal and conscious discord.
How unfathomable is the mystery of the possibility of evil
being in any way even in the remotest degree associated with
God l and yet some link there must be between Him and
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 189
the ungodly, or there would not be the exceeding painful-
ness of the separation.”
“(July 8.)—The inheritance of the earth is promised to
those who are godly. How truly, how inseparably is this
promise bound up in the commandment to ‘love thy neigh-
bour as thyself.’ To inherit land is to possess it, to enjoy
it, to have it as our own. And if we did love our fellow
men as ourselves, if their interest, their joys, their good, was
dear to us as our own, then would all their property be
ours; we should have the same enjoyment as if it were
called by our name. We can feel this true in the case of a
dear friend, still more so in the case of a husband or wife,
where, though two in person, the interest is one. This
love, if extended to all, would make the whole earth once
more one people and one family. To this end the first
Christians sought to have all things in common, neither
called they anything their own. Alas ! how fallen are we,
how is the gold become dim How do all now, even those
who truly love Christ as their Master, fail in love to each
other as themselves. But in proportion as we can realise,
through the grace given us, that the things of others are as
important to us as our Own, that we can share their joys and
their Sorrows, rejoice and suffer with them, in such measure
do we taste the blessedness of the promise that we shall
“inherit the earth.”
“It is not the narrow compass of my own garden, my own
field that I can enjoy. It is not my own prosperity that
limits my pleasure. It is infinitely multiplied as I take in-
terest and find delight in all that concerns my neighbours,
and find, in their welfare, the continual source of new grati-
fication. But if we thus are permitted to taste of the happi.
ness of others, and find renewal of life and joy in all their
190 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
joys, so must we also inherit suffering with them—we must
not shrink from bearing their burdens, from grieving for
their sins, from repenting and sorrowing with them, any
more than from rejoicing in their good.
“We are ready enough—our human feelings lead us—to
sympathise in the bodily sufferings, the outward afflictions
of others—shall we not much rather share in the heaviness
that must press them down when sin Separates them
from the light of God's Countenance,—when they do not
feel the joy of being reconciled to Him through Christ.
Oh I that in all things, in spiritual no less than in human
sympathies, we might be made one with Christ Jesus, ready
and glad to give our life for Our friends, and accounting all
our friends, who are of the same flesh and blood, bought
with the same price. Not our own griefs, our own trans-
gressions only, must weigh upon us; we, like Our Master,
must be content to bear the iniquities of others, and feel it
most blessed if through Our chastening or Our Stripes, our
wrestlings in prayer, or our teaching, they may be healed
and restored. Our self-loving nature is ever fancying there
is a point of rest to be found in this world, though we know
that our Example found none; it is ever trying to Cast off
the burden of duty, whatever it may be, under a notion
that when the haven of peace with God is won, the labour
of “toiling in rowing' must be over. And it would willingly
anticipate the time, when ‘they shall teach no more every
man his neighbour, saying, Know the Lord.' But it must not
be so yet awhile, our work is still to teach,-still to bear with
the weakness and the sin of others, remembering how we
too have been tempted,—nay, much more, how after all the
grace, light, and life vouchsafed, we are still daily tempted
to follow our own devices and desires rather than the
perfect, heavenward, holy, self-denying pattern of the Lamb
without spot.
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 191
“If with our Saviour we must lay down our life, Sacrifice
our ease, bear a cross for others, SO also must we ascend
with Him into heaven for them, there to plead and intercede
for them with the Father of us all. We are not slow, when
once brought to a sense of our own sins, wants, and tempta-
tions, to ask for help, strength, and pardon to overcome
them. Let us in this point, too, love our neighbours as
ourselves, let us seek, ask, and knock for them with equal
earnestness, believing for them as truly as for ourselves, that
we ask of Him who hearcth, and will answer our petitions,
and give freely to those who ask in the name, not of their
own worthiness, or of the worthiness of those thus brought
by them to Christ for healing, but in the name of Him who
alone is worthy.
“Oh, that the Spirit of Love which dwelt in the tabernacle
of the Word made flesh, might so dwell in us, so rule and
reign over our selfish Carnal nature, that we might, like
Jesus, our exalted King, who was crucified, and is now
risen to glory that He may give life to them through His
intercession—that we like Jesus may not only ourselves be
lifted up from earth and earthly things, but by the power
and might of His Spirit be enabled to draw others after us
into those heavenly places which are even now an earnest of
all that is most blessed and glorious, a foretaste of the ever-
lasting and perfect fruit of joy, and peace, and love, to be
fully enjoyed only in the land of promise—the land where
Christ and His people will together reign in one kingdom for
ever and ever !”
“There is a twofold view in which to see every object—
one of light, the other of darkness; just as in Scripture the
same image is frequently used to denote good and evil.
Now in suffering we have especially set before us two sides:
192 - MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
One that Speaks of sin as its origin and cause, as its chief
sting and bitterness; the other telling of the mercy which
through temporary evil would work final good, and redeem
us out of sin to lasting peace and joy.
“If in every cross, in every ache and pain, and in every
sorrow, we could look upon the bright side and regard each
as a love-token from a Father's hand, as a medicine sent to
a sick man by his dearest friend—then, instead of finding it
a hard struggle to bear with patience any thwarting of our
will or ease, we should truly give thanks, blessing Him who
thus cares for us, and who endeavours to make us, through
fellowship with His sufferings, like-minded with Himself.
“In some measure and at some time every renewed
Christian is able to see in his chastisement, love not anger,
mercy rather than punishment. But the genuine belief and
acknowledgment should become the hourly, momentary
experience of our lives, not only when looking at the suffer-
ing from a distance, but in its actual presence, realising con-
tinually that Jesus is then speaking to us with a voice of
love as true, and a compassion as perfect, as when on earth
He took away the sufferings and healed the sicknesses of all
around Him. As man He relieved pain, as God He inflicts
it: in both cases is His love equal ; in both it is the same
merciful purpose of preparing our bodies to awake up after
His likeness, fashioned like His glorious body.
“Now we see through a glass darkly the great love which
is veiled beneath the disguise of suffering. Yet in our
weakness let us take comfort in the remembrance that He
who could take His life again, felt the suffering of laying it
down, and prayed that it might be spared Him if it were
possible. ‘Praying more earnestly,’ as He did, may we find
the strength He found, not only sufficient to bear the weight
of our cross, but willingly and gladly to take it up. This
would bring the inheritance of the promise— ‘He that loseth
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. I93
his life shall find it,” to those who are “always bearing about
in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also
of Jesus Christ may be manifest in our body.’”
“August 25.-‘As ye have received Christ Jesus the
Lord, so walk ye in Him.” “He that saith he abideth in
Him, must also walk as He walked.” - -
“Oh Lord this is all my desire—to walk along the
path of life that Thou hast appointed me, even as Jesus
my Lord would walk along it, in steadfastness of faith, in
meekness of spirit, in lowliness of heart, in gentleness of
love; not shrinking from the confession of my Master's
name, or the avowal of His service, but bearing the burdens
of others; considering that I also may be tempted, as I
have so often been in times past. And because, through
weakness, I am often unfaithful to Thy truth, because
outward events have so much power over a weak and
nervous frame, in scattering my thoughts and disturbing the
inward peace, in which alone the voice of Thy spirit is
heard, do Thou, gracious Lord, calm and settle my soul
by that subduing power, which alone can bring all thoughts
and desires of the heart into captivity to Thyself. Never
let me leave hold of Thy guiding arm ; but make me lean
On it continually, in full and entire trust that Thou canst
guide me aright through every rough place and crooked
way. My Father, my Counsellor, my Friend, who hast once
more sent to me an earthly treasure to love and cherish, let
not my affections rest on the creature, but ever soar up.
wards to the fountain of its life, filled with the one desire of
bringing it to Thee, and teaching it to draw spiritual life
and nourishment from its merciful and loving Head. Thus
shall it become a branch of the true Vine, and a member of
"VOL. II. O
I94 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Thy body, O blessed Jesus. Deliver me from the snares
which the possession of my child may bring with it, and
help me continually to regard it as a loan from Thee. All
I have is Thine; do Thou with all as seems good to Thy
divine will; for I know not what is best. I am weighed
down with my own weakness; but I offer unto Thee, O
Lord, myself, my child, my house, my servants, and beseech
Thee to teach me how to Conduct all, so as best to further
Thy glory and their true good. Let not the cares or duties
of this life press on me too heavily ; but lighten my burden,
that I may follow Thy way in quietness, filled with thankful-
ness for Thy mercy, and rendering Thee acceptable service
in the name of Him who alone is spotless before Thee, and
whose perfect sacrifice can cleanse my stained works, and
give them favour in Thine eyes. Pour out Thy Spirit upon
me, to guard me from error and presumption, and to enable
me to make known to others without wavering Thy mys-
teries of love. Finally, may self be daily crucified and lost
in me more and more, that Christ may be formed in its
place, and that the Lord my Righteousness may be no less
without, as my ground of hope, than within, as the renewal
of a corrupt mind unto His image.”
IM. H. to R.E.V. R. KILVERT.
“Stoke Mºectory, Feb. 13, 1838. . . . . Never is the pre-
vailing unbelief so manifest as at times when a ray of light,
let in through the medium of another, shows the exceeding
darkness. We go on continually walking in an atmosphere
of light, with our eyes closed, against it, or, if we see at all,
seeing men as trees walking, dimly and obscurely perceiving
those things which, if we did but open our eyes, would be
bright and clear as noonday. How joyous, how inex-
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. I95
pressibly joyous, will be the perfect day of spiritual light
and brightness, since even the faintest dawn is so cheering
and passing our comprehension, and how strange it does
seem, that knowing as we do the happiness of such
moments of unearthly joy, and feeling sure that the clouds
which hide us from it so often are all earth-born, we still
cleave so fondly to what keeps us afar off, when we might
be ever nigh unto the Lord . We bear about with us a
precious jewel, and are contented but too often to gaze
upon the dust and dross of life, instead of its beauty and
riches. But oh, how blessed a thought it is that it will not
be ever thus, that all the trials and temptations, and even
the sins of every day are working out for us that redemption
which will set us free indeed—a redemption from the bond-
age of self into the liberty of the sons of God, who live no
longer to themselves, but wholly and perfectly for the Lord
whose they are. . . . . I write thus, as I believe in sincerity
of heart and desire for the coming of this day of deliverance,
and willing to bear and do all that may hasten it; and yet,
while I write, my heart seems to reproach me as though
I were seeming to feel that singleness of purpose, which as
yet I have attained so slight a measure of. But you under-
stand how the struggles of the inward man prevail, even
after it has pleased God to show us the way, the Truth, and
the Life, and how possible it is for our nature to hunger
and thirst after the food which yet it may at times murmur
in receiving. I am mercifully preserved from despondency
of Spirit; for I know in whom I have believed, and that He
is a rock on which I may safely and surely build ; for His
word is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. Though
I may and do change, He changes not. Still there are
times when the heart faints and is weary, and is inclined to
cry out, “Oh Lord, how long P’ It seems to me often now,
When I have comparatively better health, stronger spirits,
196. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and more power of enjoyment, with increased blessings of
every kind, as if I were really less happy than I was some
time ago, as if I did not live so near God, as if He were
less well pleased with me, than when I was more imme-
diately under His fatherly correction. I could almost look
back with envy to the time when, through great tribulation,
there shone forth on me such streams of light and joy.
Now I walk more by faith than sight; but we could not
always bear to rest on Mount Tabor; nor is this to be our
season of rest; and it is a blessed thing for us poor short-
sighted earth-worms that we have not the appointment of
our daily lessons, that they are set for us by the hand of
Him who knows now that which we shall know hereafter,
what will be for our good and His glory, for they are both
one. We are disposed often to cry out, ‘Father, save me
from this hour,’ forgetting that it is for this cause we are
here, and when our true prayer should be, ‘Father, glorify
Thy name.’ If, through the midst of the cloud, we would
listen to the voice that speaks, ‘This is my beloved Son,
hear him,' we should find a Mount Tabor in the lowest
valley, a light shining through our darkness that even now
would give us a foretaste of the Land that is afar off, while
we are as yet forced to abide in the Valley of the Shadow of
Death. May we each in our several callings be taught
more and more to listen to the voice within us, and hear
what it would have us do, and be strengthened to do it;
and may the will of God be our object, not our own
sanctification nor the good of others only, but ‘to do the
will of our Father in Heaven.’”
2 o the same.
“April 9, 1838.- . . . . In each of our earthly relations
we have a figure of Him who is in turn all of them to us,
and we are put into different parts of God's School to
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. I97
learn the lesson belonging to each different view in which
we are related to Him who is Father, Brother, Husband, all
in one. May we all profit by this blessed discipline, and
learn not merely from the Word, but also from the dealings
of our God, what He is and what we are. And oh, how
does His love humble us, when we feel what are His crown-
ing mercies, how He lifts up the sorrowing heart with His
joys, and chastens the gladsome one with His fear, that
both may alike grow and increase by all His dispensations.
. . . . All is now so tranquil and blessed around me that
I feel at times oppressed by the sense of undeserved mercies,
and as if I were happiest, because most nearly in my fit
place, when suffering pain or privation. How increasingly
are we taught how utterly ignorant are our notions of what
is best for us, and that we may well submit ourselves to the
leading-strings of One who will direct our way in truth and
in righteousness, rather than try to find out a way for our-
selves. I am taught continually by my little one what it is
to be a little child in mind and heart, though equally often
reminded by him of the bitter root of sin and self which
lies at the bottom of even apparent virtues.”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Zorquay, Jan. 2, 1838.-‘The Master is come, and
calleth for thee’—this was the text of the sermon we heard
yesterday, such a sermon as makes one feel thankful beyond
expression to be under the teaching of a faithful shepherd.
Did you not feel it a happy thing for Sunday to close the
old year, and by its Services prepare one for the better im-
provement of the new one. Never did I spend a happier
Christmas. There is a Sweet, a peaceful consciousness, that
Christ is dearer than all else, more precious than any created
thing, and He sees—I trust He sees, and that I do not
deceive myself—-that I could calmly and with chastened
198 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
thankfulness look on the removal of every earthly blessing
He has given, so that I lose not the sight of His coun-
tenance, and can place my earthly treasures in His bosom.
I do think that if we nurse our babe for Him, and He
should call it away in infancy, in the midst of the bitterness,
and oh what bitterness, I could see it folded to His heart,
and be comforted. . . . . Oh, do not be weary in prayer,
dearest, that you and your little Aug., and I and my two
Marcuses, may together travel onward, inquiring diligently
as we go, a blessed little company, till we see, not the Star,
but the Sun of Righteousness Himself arising, and hear that
joyful sound—‘The Master is come, and calleth for Thee.”
“Aſeb. 14.—I always feel as if I were with you at this
time of year, though each returning February brings with it
its joy; for it tells of a year of absence struck off, and
brings you so much nearer to the meeting again. When
you were happiest at Alton, how often I used to feel it was
too deep happiness for earth, its very perfectness tried the
wreak and frail body, which was not made to bear perfect
nappiness; but the happiness you enjoyed at Alton was
indeed a faint, very faint shadow of that which will be
yours, when you shall together again be employed in bring-
ing glory to God. Oh, how impossible it must be for us
now to form any idea of the exquisite joy it will be to serve
our God without the hindrance of sin and self—amid mul-
titudes, all whose hearts are filled with the same feeling—to
look round and see Our Own joy reflected on every coun-
tenance, and not only for a moment, but for ever, to rejoice
in the Lord. I long for you to see Rockend. To-day, as
we walked along its Rock Walk, I thought no description
could exaggerate, or give an idea of its perfection in all
ways. Even after the severe weather the myrtles and other
pretty shrubs looked healthy and comfortable, nestled under
the overhanging rocks, and quite warm and sheltered. You
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. I99
walk on the edge of the cliffs, the view of the open sea on
one side only broken by the tall shrubs and little trees, and
on the other the bay and cultivated hills of Tor. I never
saw a spot more home-like, that you feel you could grow so
attached to ; but it is never without a chastened feeling that
I look on it. I have lived too long, and I trust that I have
been taught too deeply in my Saviour's School to look for-
ward to any earthly home with blind expectation ; but it is
a very beautiful and inviting Gourd, and so long as we may
be permitted to sit down under its shelter, I trust that we
may be led, through the multitude of our Father's mercies,
to long more ardently for the shelter of that abiding home,
where the sun shall no more go down, but where the walls
shall be Salvation, and the gates Praise.”
“A'ockend, April 23, 1838.—You have been with me in
the last week, my Mia ; past times—Alton in its sunny
brightness, Rome in its awful comfort—so much more rea/
to my eyes than the present scene on which I am looking,
that I scarce know what to begin with, so stupid and
nothing-saying a letter seems, when I am talking with you
and loving you every hour of the day. I often feel that my
affection, my Oneness of feeling with you, no words can
express; it is like no other feeling, and my only satisfaction.
is, that you know it so exactly, no words are necessary. If
you were to be taken to our Father's home first, I always
feel you would be to me as Augustus now is to you—nearer
than ever. I should fancy you saw into every motive, and
witnessed every struggle ; and oh who, when living in the
same room with one all day long, knows half the struggle
constantly going on within, between the half subdued self.
nature, and the victorious power of grace, for in no state
on earth is there rest to the Christian soldier; the enemy
only shifts his ground, but in the hour of earthly prosperity
he is as surely there as in the hour of trial or temptation.
2OO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
That which has brought you so very near me just now has
been the reading some of your old letters, and when I once
begin I cannot stop. It was very sad, but it was I felt
good, and nothing perhaps in the confusion and business of
settling one's house would have ſixed my thoughts more, for
I always find it difficult at such times to read to any pur-
pose, I can only breathe up silent prayers to be watched
Over.”
“May 1o.—We shall soon be looking forward to your
coming, my own, my darling Mia. I am sure my love for
you must be a love that lives from its own root, for it grows
stronger and deeper week by week—absence or silence can
make no difference, in all my joys you are with me, in all
my mournings over coldness of heart, in all my yearnings
after a state where self shall be no longer one's enemy.
“There are some spots here where you and I shall so
delight to sit and look over the wide blue waters, open sea
one way; and then, just turning to the left, the eye, tired
of gazing on nothing but sea, can rest on green woods and
fields. I think it more beautiful every day. Marcus enjoys
the interest of the place much, and is out nearly all day.
He has got several men at work, and intends to do wonder-
ful things with the eighteen acres. A/y part of the domain,
and yours, is the outer boundary next the Sea, smooth,
steep, thymy slopes down to the edge of rugged, rocky
precipices; and there, perched just above a natural bridge
of rock, I often sit and watch the little vessels bounding
over the waves, and think how the Mia will enjoy it.”
“May 31.-We came home last night at ten. It was so
lovely. We walked up to the high terrace and looked down
the steep precipice, the soothing sound of the quiet waves
breaking over the rocks, the stars and Crescent moon, ail
calmness and peace. You would love to see just now the
wind waving the long grass soon to be cut down, and the
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 2O I
woods round Tor Abbey such a vivid green. We can rival
your hedges in flowers, for I think they grow larger and
finer here than any I ever saw, and in such profusion.”
“June 26, Burnet.*—There is a family likeness between
Somersetshire and Wiltshire, and several times yesterday,
when I stopped in the balmy air of one of the loveliest
evenings we have yet had, Alton, not Burnet, was beforeme—
the sounds, the calmness, the white Cottages. I can now
think of those days without bitterness, every year is bringing
us nearer and nearer, never for a moment are you and he
separated in my mind. I think of you both as having passed
away from this lower world, its cares, its anxieties, and fears.
But he is safe in the blessed home we are toiling and
struggling to reach. You are left, not indeed the gay, light-
hearted Mia that it was a joy to look upon, but dearer, far
dearer than ever, and happy, most happy. I always turn
to you as the happiest person I know ; for the innocent
pleasures of this world, its sympathies, its flowers, its sun-
shine, you are enabled to enjoy and sympathise in more
than ever, and yet your heart is in heaven.”
M. H. to MISS MILLER.
“Feb. 17, 1838.-I cannot refrain from sending a small
offering to Alton at this season, when I have so much cause
for thankfulness. I bless the Lord who was pleased to
deliver His servant from the bondage of His earthly taber-
nacle, and permit him to enter into the joy of his Lord. I
bless Him for the marvellous kindness shown to me His
poor servant, in that having made me sow in tears he has
allowed me to reap in joy, even now in my pilgrimage in
which the foretaste of the land that is aſar off is very sweet,
and the hope of one day beholding the King in His beauty
very precious.”
* A place rented by the Miss Hares (Caroline and Marianne).
2O2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“April 9,--I have returned with great thankfulness to my
peaceful home, and find my brother Julius well, and not
Sorry to have his solitude broken. Little Augustus is in an
ecstasy of delight over all the primroses and daffodils that
cover Our hedges and fields. It is a blessed, cheering thing
to have constantly before one's eyes such a bright, unclouded
life as that of a child—a type of that reserved for us where
sin and sorrow shall be no more. But it is surprising even
in a child how many seeds of evil show themselves before
they have had time to develop themselves fully. We must
sow the good seed and prepare the ground as far as we are
able, and then pray for the rain and Sunshine to give it
increase.”
M. H.’s Journal (“The Green Book”).
“How my words should be engraven in thanksgiving for
all the mercies of my God . How richly does He bless me
without and within And yet when I attempt to speak of
Him, my Lord and Master, how cold and lifeless are my
words ! Oh for that baptism of the Holy Ghost and of
fire which may give warmth and power to that which is by
nature so dead and weak. Truly the moments when I feel
most disposed to fall down in shame and pray for pardon
are those when I have attempted to teach others, or when I
have made any effort to worship or glorify Him whom I so
unworthily serve. Lord, hear; Lord, forgive ; Lord, do : hear
what I speak not, forgive what I speak amiss, do what I
leave undone, that not according to my word or my deed,
but according to Thy mercy and truth, all may issue to Thy
glory and the good of Thy kingdom.”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Iime, May 23, 1838.-Little Augustus is, as you may
suppose, revelling amid primroses, bluebells, and violets.
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 2O3
which make amends by their profusion for the lack of
flowers in the garden. He is like a wild thing from Spirits.
You can see him, can you not P running before me along the
fields to the little wood, chattering all the way, with Chelu
running by our side; and how my heart bounds up to Him
who thus blesses me and gives such enjoyment.”
“A//-Saints' ZXay.—Priscilla Maurice has been with me
for some time, and is most helpful in all my parish work.
She is so full of resources, intellectual as well as spiritual,
and has so much knowledge of people and things, that she
is a most agreeable companion. I never saw any one who
did so truly redeem the time towards every one ; she is so
charitable and encouraging in her judgment of others, and
so unwearied in her efforts to do them good; her one con-
stant study is to do her Master's will and give up her own.”
“St. Zeonard's, Seft. 3, 1838.—Ten days ago Priscilla
Maurice, Jule, and I came here and found a small house
without much trouble. One of the advantages of the place,
which I much delight in, is its neighbourhood to Oare,
Dr. Fearon's church. You may remember his name if you
have read Cornelius Neale's life. He had a paralytic stroke
lately, which has almost incapacitated him from preaching;
and when we went, on the Friday evening after we came, to
his school-room service, it was most touching to see this
faithful but infirm old servant of Christ doing his Master's.
work with apparently his dying breath. He could scarcely
get to his seat, and his hands shook so, he could hardly turn
over the leaves. He read some of the evening prayers, then
commented on the Psalm for the day (part of the 1 19th),
then a hymn was sung, and more prayers, then he explained
the Epistle for the following Sunday, another prayer, and a
concluding hymn. It was quite a little heaven below, for
the little flock assembled bore testimony to his valuable
ministry, and it was with one heart and voice that all joined
2O4 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
together in prayer and praise. And he, dear blessed old
man, with a head quite apostolic in its heavenly sweetness
and love, and beautiful in features, did speak with such love,
and truth, and plainness, rising up from his seat as the
animation of his subject inspired him, and then sinking down
in weakness. It was like the last flickering flame of a candle
going out, and One felt as if at any moment he might have
“fallen asleep in Jesus,’ and joined the church triumphant,
while declaring to that still militant the beloved Saviour
who had died and risen again for their salvation. He must
have been a most powerful preacher, with homely illustra-
tions and ready applications of all he teaches, and such
earnestness in seeking to win his people to Christ, but,
though enfeebled, his looks speak more strongly than words
what is the truth of all he teaches. I could not help think-
ing how Augustus would have been delighted, and Jule was
little less so : he said if he had been an artist he should
have asked to paint him for a St. John.” -
“Alime, Sept. 24.—We left St. Leonards with regret. The
day before completed our stay in a visit to Dr. Fearon. I
can give you no notion what the blessed face of that old
man is, and his peace and love. Julius talked to him with
all the reverence of a child, and the old man looked on him
with such interest, and bade him devote all his powers to his
Master's service,—it was the truest riches. There was such
playfulness in his manner. Asking him if he could get out
among his people—“No, very little now ; Mr. Self don’t like
to be kept at home, but it is all well; we should choose
very ill if we chose for ourselves what trials God should
order us.” He was lifted up from his chair when we came
away, and followed us to the door blessing us I am sure
in his heart. It is a countenance that abides with One, with
a sweetness truly of heaven.”
“Palace, Norwich, Dec. 8, 1838.-The great interest of this
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD, 205
place is the cathedral. It is quite close to the palace, and
from my room I distinctly hear the roll of the organ twice
every day. I never enjoyed a cathedral before. Here it is
like a friend, a companion, and its exceeding beauty grows
on one. Had I strength I would attend the service
daily, for it seems quite to lift one out of the world.
There is something most impressive in hearing, in the
dusk of twilight, the beautiful music swelling through that
lofty and magnificent temple to the glory of God. I
feel, too, as if even the absence of any congregation made
it more touching and solemn, to think that, day by day,
those most harmonious and beautiful songs of praise are re-
sounding in the ear of God alone. His presence seems truly
to dwell in this His house, and His glory to fill the temple.”
M. H. to MISS CLINTON.
“March, 1839.-In my continued weakness I feel that it
is good to be kept constantly in mind, that the ways in
which one would best like to serve God are not always
the ways in which He chooses one should show one's love
and readiness to do His will. “To stand and wait’ is a
harder task to flesh and blood than ‘to speed o'er land
and ocean without rest;’ and if the exercise serves to school
one into perfect submission, it is a blessed one for which
One should be thankful. To be useless to others when
one fancies one might be able to do them good; to give
no pleasure when one longs to comfort or please; to be
from bodily infirmity unable to share the enjoyment of
others, and show one's light-heartedness, though inwardly
full of joy and peace,—these are the constant thwartings of
one's own will, that may work out good in a way we see
not ; and, doubtless, since ordained by God, will not tend
to lessen His glory, though we may wish it had been in
our power to advance it in our own way.”
2O6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
In April, my mother returned to the quiet of her own
home, where, soon afterwards, she received the news of
Lady Parry's death, just after her father (Sir John Stanley)
had been raised to the House of Lords as Lord Stanley
of Alderley.
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Zime, May 14, 1839.-Oh may you have been prepared
in some measure to hear that dear sweet Bella has entered
that rest from Care, from Suffering, and from sin, for which
she longed, and was So ripened, and which here below, even
with the choicest earthly blessings around her, she could
never find. She has passed into those heavenly places
where her dear little ones have gone before, and where
she will see the King in His beauty, and live in the presence
of that Saviour she so truly loved while yet unseen. It is
but a little while, and those she has left will follow after,
and join her in the joyful freedom from their earthly
tabernacles, in the union which can never be dissolved.
But oh, how long, how weary does the affliction seem in
the present time, and how severe must be the suffering
through which the glory will be manifested. We know it
is love, the tenderest love to all,—even to him the very
thought of whom makes one's heart bleed, even to those
precious little ones who are deprived of the fondest and
tenderest of mothers; and, hereafter, when we see how this
sharp trial will have worked out the fruits of righteousness
to those who have been exercised by it, we shall give
thanks that God's ways are not as Ours, and that He has
provided the needful medicine to heal all diseases.
Dearest, most beloved sister, how you will feel this blow ;
how you will mourn for this loved one, even while you
rejoice over her It has come so suddenly upon me, I
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 2O7
can hardly yet believe it possible. I can give you no
comfort, but you will find it abundantly in Submitting your
will to His who puts not one drop more of bitter into His
children's cup than He sees will work out their true good,
their final happiness.
“I shall mourn for dearest Bella as a sister. She is so
by long intimacy and Christian feeling, and I cannot bear
to withhold the outward sign of it, when it is so truly an
expression of that which is within.” -
L. A. H. to M. H.
“May 17.—I looked for your letter of comfort and
sympathy. Oh long may you be spared to me; what
would the gap be, when joy or sorrow came, and I could
not turn to you ! It is indeed a heavy blow, and it is the first.”
“May 27.—To-day would have been her birthday, that
day so loved in our family, so associated with all most
happy and enjoyable. The Sun is Shining brightly, the
Jilacs and laburnums all tell of days gone by. The first
thing I opened upon in her prayer-book was the Epistle
for the day. I cannot tell you how it seemed to lift me
up, ‘Come up hither, and I will show you the things
that must be hereafter,'—and then the last words of
that chapter. I felt at once what it was to Amozº, and feel
assured that she was now of that happy multitude who rest
not day or night, who are never weary in body, and there-
fore never weary in Spirit, saying, “Holy, holy, holy, Lord
God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come.’ We
strive in vain to penetrate through the veil cast by those
grand descriptions,—but she is now in full possession, and
is longing to call us up to her.”
M. H. to MRS. R. PILE (Miss Miller).
“Aurstmonceaux, June 4, 1839.- . . . . It was a great
pleasure to hear of your well-being, and to know all around
208 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
you prospering. The thought of a truly Christian house-
hold is so comforting, I quite rejoice and bless God for His
mercy when it is thus set forth. And each in their ap-
pointed place may make their light to shine around, giving
blessing to all, and winning others to a like walk with God,
however small that light may seem to them, for the light is
not ours, and its power depends not on our weak efforts. A
simple faith, exercised in every little daily thing, will be in-
creased more and more, and made to yield fruit abundantly,
while the most regular and decent conduct not grafted upon
the stock of life, living upon its own dead and barren stem,
will bear at best nothing but sour and bitter fruit. To
man's eye all may appear the same, but He who looks on
the heart discerns of what stuff the work is made, and
whether the principle of life be indeed in it. If it be, then
let us rest assured the light will shine more and more unto
the perfect day, unto that passing away of shadows, that
realising of substance, that will be ours when we awake up
in the glorified likeness of Our Lord.
“The return to this, my peaceful home and my quiet
occupations, has been a great refreshment to my spirit, and
a visit from my cousins, Charlotte and Emma Leycester, has
been a great pleasure. They were with me at a time when
their sympathy was especially acceptable, for perhaps you
will have seen in the papers the departure of Lady Parry
two days after the birth of her twin boys, who only lived a
few hours. . . . Her four motherless children are bereaved
of one who sacrificed everything for their good, and I be-
lieve wore out her strength in her attendance on them. She
was a most sweet and heavenly-minded Christian, who had
been much tried and purified to her Own unspeakable gain;
and we must not look on those who remain, but rejoice that
she is thus early permitted to join the Spirits of the just, and
to meet her four departed little ones before the throne.”
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUID. 209
M. H. ſo REV. R. KILVERT.
“Sept. 26, 1839.- . . . . I know not how it is with others,
but I must confess for myself when all goes Smoothly, and
no cross is put upon me outwardly, I find more of weight
upon my spirit than in times of suffering and Sorrow. The
burden of self presses heavily, the sense of unthankful and
unfaithful service is strong, and I do often long to be freed
from a body of sin and death, and to be for ever with Him
who alone can satisfy and refresh the soul. I never felt this
when in sickness or in sorrow, as I do now at times when
surrounded by so much to comfort and gladden me. Yet,
after all, whether present or absent, if permitted to live to
the Lord, and not to one's self, one must be blessed. The
will of God may it be fulfilled perfectly, completely, in me,
be the means what they may.” -
M. H.’s NOTE-BOOK (1839).
“May 26.—We find in the Bible a number of doctrines
and precepts, parts of one whole system of truth, but which,
when separated one from another, and looked at singly,
appear sometimes at first sight to oppose each other. Where
shall we meet with the key-note to bring all into harmony,
to reconcile the apparent jar, to make the full and perfect
chord of unison P. It is to be found only in the contrite
and humble spirit. When, by the life-giving Spirit of God
the inward spirit of man is taught its true relation to God,
when the heart yields itself in lowly submission to the
dominion of Him who has bought it for His own, and the
rebellion and stiff-neckedness whereby it is prone to reject
this King to reign over it is overthrown, and a loving
obedience takes its place, then, and then only, do all the
differing notes and tunes of God's voice meet together, and
utter one full and rich sound of harmony and beauty, the
fuller and richer because combined of so many varying parts.
VOL. II. \?
2 [O MEMORIALS of A QUIET LIFE.
“The soul convinced of sin, yearning after a Saviour,
hungering after righteousness and true holiness, finds no
contradictions in God's Word—the expression of its wants
and the answer to them is already prepared; and though the
understanding would vainly endeavour to explain the mys-
tery of God’s free grace with man's free will, the meek and
lowly heart finds rest in the sure consciousness that it is
God that is working in it, and that He will go on with His
work till it be finished ; that man must receive the Saviour if
he would have power to become a son of God, and yet
it is only through the drawing of the Father that he is
enabled to come to Jesus to have life. He needs no
reasoning to prove how works grow out of faith, and not
faith from works, he knows and feels that the principle of
life must exist before a man can move or act, and that
when that life is awakened, motion and action must
follow.
“June 2 (‘The Green Book').-The tenth anniversary of
my most blessed marriage is come : the day which wit-
nessed my union with one who is entered beyond the veil,
and for a time is hidden from my eyes. The earthly union
is dissolved, but the heavenly one, I trust and believe, is
far closer than in the first days of our married life; and I
would fain hope that as members of the same body, adoring
“he same Head, knit together in the same fellowship of the
Holy Ghost, my beloved Augustus and I are still joining
together daily and hourly in drinking of the same Spirit, and
being one, even as the Father and the Son are one. . . . .
When I look back I feel that the one feature in his charac-
ter that so peculiarly marked the Spirit of God as dwelling
in him was love—a love never wearied in well doing or in
thinking well of others, perceiving the smallest Spark of
good, and yet through this his heavenly glass of love not
deceived by a false standard or delusive desire to Count
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 2 II
evil as good, but seeing truly and discerning clearly what
was of God and what of man. -
“While the link to heaven is drawn close, that to earth
is still unbroken. In the wealth of God’s love to me His
poor servant, while he has taken away that which held me
too fast bound to the creature, He has given anew all that
it is possible for me rightly to 2njoy, and made the earnest
desire of my heart to long after that which would be to the
praise of His glory. . . . . ‘Lord, teach me right judgment
and knowledge ; ' this is my constant prayer. I know not
how to guide my household aright—how to train up my
child in the way he should go—how to draw my dearest
Julius nearer in fellowship of spirit with his God and mine.
Let this threefold duty be made plain to me, so plain that I
may not err in it: and whatever may be the cost, oh may
the Spirit of Jesus reign in me till every selfish aim and
purpose is rooted out, every unkind and severe judgment,
every unloving thought displaced, and perfect love and
perfect purity wrought in my heart.”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Stoke, Dec. 31, 1839.—On Christmas Day, Jule was
engaged in Consecrating Our Own Augustus's schoolroom at
Hurstmonceaux (built with the profits of his sermons) to
Him whose birthday it was. On the afternoon of Christmas
Day, when there is usually no service in church, he had
service there; and after a preface of his own to explain the
purpose of the room, and who, through his book, had
enabled us to build it, he read ‘the Angel's Text,’ as the best
dedication to the Glory of God in the highest, and to the
end of peace and good-will among men. I never could
have borne the way in which Jule spoke of Augustus and
his interest in Hurstmonceaux, and how his sermons would
2I 2 MEMORI ALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
have made them love him, had he ever preached to them,
otherwise I should have longed to be there.”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Adockend, /an. 5, 1840.- . . . When I look back now
to what your happiness was, and think what ours is, I think
the uppermost feeling that remains is a calm, settled, thank-
ful peace. I never wake from a dream of you without a
sense of comfort such as nothing else can give ; it is always
the same. The recollection of Alton is of the brightest sun,
of a sparkling, joyous, Summer sun. Thoughts of you now
are like the calm tranquil stillness of a moonlight night,
when the little waves are softly rippling over the sand, and
the moonbeams dancing on the glassy sea, and when one's
eyes love to rest, not on the green and peopled earth, but
on the Soft blue sky and all its stars. Oh, when I look
back on your life and mine, my Mia, truly does my heart
exclaim, ‘God is love.’ I cannot tell you what a blessing
was added to my number this last year, in learning to know
Julius, in loving him, in feelings of gratitude for all he is
enabled to be to you—to us all. A year of mercies has
just closed, one most dear has been taken from amongst us,
but she, like Augustus, was taken from the fulness of
earthly happiness to her heavenly home, and every thought
of her is encouragement to press forward, and make the
most of the now, as she did.”
“Aſeb. 18.-How unlike this gloomy weather is to that
glorious sun, which I see so plainly shining into that little
room at Rome, where you used to sit, looking as if your
body only was there—your spirit, your whole thinking,
feeling being, ascended with him, and seeing the light into
which he had entered.”
• 1%arch 23.−Poor Mrs. Louisa Shipley ! She prayed
earnestly that she might die in her sleep, and this she
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 2I3
literally did; there was no struggle, it was continued
sleep.”
M. H. to MRS. R. PILE.
“April 24, 1840.- . . . . Whether there is a feeling of
joy and rest in our hearts matters not, if we feel resolute in
doing the will of God. If you find a slackness in this wish
of devoting yourself and all you have to His service, then
my dear Mary lose no time, but go and pour out your heart
before Him, tell Him all your deadness and weakness, and
leave not wrestling in prayer till He gives you a more earnest
desire to follow Him. So many Christians, I think, go on
in needless despondency and depression from not at once,
when they feel lifeless towards God, going to lay their
burden on Him, who will bear it for them, and in return
will assuredly impart His righteousness.
“In your union with your husband you have a constant
type how closely you are one with Christ—only ſive in this
faith, walk in it, and act in it, and as Surely as Christ lived
by the Father, so shall every member of His body live by
the strength and wisdom of its Head. You have no doubt
a great deal to do and think of that is of the earth, earthy;
try and lift this very business into heavenly places by doing
it with the Spirit of Christ. You are serving Him often
quite as acceptably, quite as faithfully, when engaged in
your earthly calling, as when reading His word, or on your
knees in prayer. At the same time it is necessary to go
apart occasionally to ask specially for help and grace to be
able to do this, and it is surprising how few minutes of
your time it would take, if you would redeem this little
time for your God. Often when I have lamented over not
having more time for communion with Him, it has quite
humbled me to find, on looking at my watch, that when I
have, as I thought, made an effort to give up my time to
2I4 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
this purpose, the utmost duration has been perhaps ten
minutes / I mention this as an encouragement to feel how
little real cause we have to excuse ourselves from prayer on
account of want of time, at the same time that it may deeply
humble one to feel how slack one's heart is thus to speak to
God.
“My little Augustus is overjoyed to get back again, and
We are now Once more in our peaceful home, where he is
the happiest of the happy with all the wild flowers that
Carpet our fields and hedges, and his own little garden and
rabbits. My brother Julius has been made Archdeacon of
Lewes by the Bishop of Chichester. . It is an appointment
that suits him well, as it will not take him away from Hurst-
monceaux, and will yet give him an interest and influence
over his brother clergy, that will benefit both him and them.
We have now regular evening service, and a lecture in the
new school-room, which the last edition of the ‘Alton Ser-
mons’ has enabled me to build. Here many old persons
who have not been able to get to church for years are able
to come, and Julius talks to them so familiarly, it reminds
me more of Alton than anything else since I left it.”
“June 8.— . . . . Will you let me tell you what of late
I have found a benefit from. When kneeling down to pray,
instead of beginning to speak immediately, if you would
for a few minutes be quite still and not attempt either to
pray or think, but yield up your mind to God, striving only
to keep out all worldly thoughts, it prepares the soul for the
Holy Spirit to move on the waters, and I find that words
are poured into my mind without effort of my own, and real
prayer is more the result, though at best it is most feeble
and wandering. And when your prayer is ended, then it
is well to rest unmoved for a short time that the influence
may not pass away but become abiding. . . . . Anything
that can preserve in us an habitual communion with God,
THE SILVER LIN ING OF THE CLOUID. 2I 5
and knowledge that we are not leſt comfortless, but are
ever in the presence and with the love of Our Lord and
Saviour, dwelling in us and around us, is a means of keep-
ing our souls in health.”
In July, 1840, the quiet routine of the Hurstmonceaux
life was broken by the marriage of Gustavus Hare in the
old ancestral church.
M. H. to L. A. H.
“July 26, 1840.-The marriage is over : it was unspeak.
ably interesting and affecting. . . . . I have just been
reading a sermon of Donne's on marriage, ending thus:—
‘The God of heaven so join you now, that you may be
glad of one another all your life; and when He who hath
joined you shall separate you again, establish you with an
assurance that He hath but borrowed one of you for a time
to make both your joys more perfect in the resurrection.’
“SO be it !”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Vučy, 1840.-We have just been reading your letter
about the marriage. Z have, as you have, such a feeling
from experience of the perfect bliss, as far as earthly joys
can be so, of wedded happiness, it makes me more able to
sympathise with those who are just married. It seems
almost as if unhappiness from each other must belong to
creatures of another world. We have written two little
notes to Gusti and Annie, and now I may come to you, my
sister. Oh I too well can I tell what the day was to you.
But your life is hid—it is not all the visible life. Often you
are permitted in heart and mind to ascend whither our
Augustus is gone before ; and while you are adding
to and increasing the happiness of others by your warm
sympathy and comfort, there is a peace shed into your
21 6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
bosom that makes you, in the midst of loneliness, one of
the happiest creatures I know.”
In the same summer the death of Bishop Otter came
as a great Sorrow to the family at Hurstmonceaux. A near
neighbour and honoured friend of the Leycesters of Stoke
while resident at his Shropshire living, his intimacy with my
mother had been renewed after his elevation to the see of
Chichester, and his occasional Society had been a great
source of enjoyment to her.
“That which was most admirable about him,” wrote
Julius Hare, “was not his doing so much, but that, having
done so much, he seemed to think he had done nothing.
Never have I known a man in whom, as in him, humility
appeared to be almost a part of his nature—not so much a
a grace acquired by devout meditation and prayer, as the
spontaneous bearing of a gentle and loving heart. With
him it seemed to be well-nigh an instinctive impulse to
esteem others above himself; and many a time have I been
deeply humbled, by finding him defer to my opinions, as
though he had been the inferior. Thus did he accom-
plish his work, or rather win over others to accomplish
it, thus, and by the irresistible sweetness and affectionateness
of his character. These are his favourite words, which
are perpetually recurring in his writings; for by them, after
the manner of most writers, he was unconsciously por-
traying himself, while he was endeavouring to impress his
own image upon others. Few men have ever had more
of the spirit of the disciple whom Jesus loved. Whither-
soever he came he said, ‘Little children, love one another;’
not, indeed, always in so many words; but all his words
seemed to say this. It was scarcely possible to fix one's
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 217
eyes on his mild, calm, benevolent countenance, without
feeling one's own heart softened, without feeling something
of an answering kindness, of a like goodwill toward men.
“God has called him away to his reward. In one of his
last letters to me, when speaking of his anxiety about the
Ecclesiastical Bill, and of the failure of his health, brought
on by that anxiety, he said, ‘I am somewhat depressed just
now by an irritation in the chest ; but I shall do my best in
this as in other matters relating to the diocese, wishing
however, sometimes, that I had wings like a dove.” When
he wrote these words, he knew not how soon his spirit was
to spread out its dovelike wings. Only five weeks after, he
did indeed flee away, and entered, we cannot doubt, through
the merits of his Saviour, into the rest reserved for the people
of God.” +
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Zime, August 24, 1840.-You will grieve for us in the
sad loss of our dear and excellent bishop. I have long felt
it almost too great a blessing for Jule to have such a
coadjutor. It has been such a constant source of happi-
ness to him as I can scarcely give you a notion of, having
his encouraging approval of all he did, his affectionate,
hearty sympathy in every good work. All his daily in-
terests and occupations for the last three months have been
so interwoven with this kind, good friend, there is no one
out of his own family whom he loved more truly. The loss
is great to the diocese and Church, but to Jule it is a very
personal affliction, and we have both felt the last two days
filled with deep grief in this event. e is in my mind
linked with all my early Hodnet recollections, and he too
is now passed into the heavens, to join the blessed Company
* Preface to Archdeacon Hare's Charge on “The Better Prospects
of the Church.” 1840.
218 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
of those earthly friends who have gone before him thither.
Martin Stow, Reginald Heber, and my own dearest
Augustus, how are they all now welcoming the new
arrival of a redeemed spirit freed from its mental prison-
house to share the liberty of the sons of God. And this
faithful servant of God has, indeed, been the instrument of
stirring up others to do the work he is now released from.
He just stayed long enough here to do more in four years
than other bishops in a hundred and fifty. He has esta-
blished a Clerical College, a Training School, a Diocesan
Association for helping the clergy by assistants, and he has
revived the rural chapters, all powerful means of doing
good and enabling the clergy to work together for Christ's
kingdom. Jule feels it such a blessing to have had him for
even this little time, that his language is one of mingled
grief and rejoicing; and he ended his sermon yesterday, in
which he spoke of him most touchingly, by saying that
there was still joy in the thought of him, and ‘We will
rejoice, yea, and we will rejoice.’”
M. H. to MRS. R. PILE. -
“Zime, Sept. 1, 1840.-I have nothing but good tidings
to give of myself and all around me. Truly the God
of mercies is about my path, and loads me with benefits. I
have this summer felt more strength than for some time
past, and quite wonder sometimes at how much more I am
able to do than I could.
“While you are at Alton you must assure all my old
friends of my continued interest in them, and hope that
whatever may be their appointed lot, whether of joy or
sorrow, whether of privation or mercy, they are receiving all
things in patience and submission to the will of God, and
then I know they will work their good. Tell them I am
better and stronger in health than I have been before, since
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 2 I 9
I left them, and that God crowns me with loving-kindness and
blessing. Beg of them not to forget those ministers who once
called on them to love their Saviour, and remind them that
the same Saviour is watching over them now as then, and
that they must draw near to Him in faith, and ask Him to
teach them all they must do.” -
M. H.’s PARISH JOURNAL.
“July 2, 1840. To day I called upon Mrs. P., of Stunts
Green. She could speak but little from illness, and showed
no interest in what I read: it was a painful, unsatisfactory
attempt to talk to her, and she seemed thoroughly dark
and dead to all spiritual feeling. I could but cast the life-
giving words on the waters and pray they might be blest.
At Pellett's cottage I found a great contrast in the sufferer's
state of mind. Outwardly nothing could be more deplorable
—the cottage looked like an Irish cabin in its thorough
filthiness, discomfort, and misery—a number of children
pulling at one another, the mother worn and sickly, and
dirty to the greatest degree—the poor man himself on a
hard chair by the fireside, without any sort of resting-place
for his aching limbs. It was some time before he had
finished the history of his sickness and all his sufferings,
and only at intervals could he find breath to speak of
his state of feeling. When he did, it was indeed a bless-
ing to hear him. “Last night I found more comfort than I
have done yet; I was nigher to Christ—I could pray to Him
better—more of light came upon me.’ Then he said, “Oh
I have a Stony heart—it wants taking away—I have not
been able to pray—the 3rd of Lamentations, that is my
Case. I have been shut out, quite shut out, but the Lord
has waited long enough for us; we must wait for Him.”—
“I know I have got a great burden of sin, but I cannot
feel it. I want to feel it. Last night I saw something
22O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
more of my sins, and I felt better.” “What a strange
thing a ſleazz is . I never knew anything about it until
lately; now I see how full of wickedness it is. There can
be no prayer without the heart. I could not pray, He was
So far off; but last night I prayed for a little ease, and the
Lord gave me sleep, and when I waked I felt as if He was
nearer.’ ‘It gives me almost as much trouble to think of
Others as of myself; they are all going on as I was, without
thought. What a mercy it is I was not cut off before.
God has called me over and over again, but I would not
hear. It has seemed to me as if I could not be pardoned,
but His word tells me I may, and God is no liar.” “I have
been reading this morning about the stony heart—that is it
—it is Stony and hard, but it seemed better last night with
me than it has been yet. I knew I was a great sinner, and
that I had need of a Saviour, but I did not know how to
get at Him ; it must be in His own time.’ He went on
speaking with his eyes cast down—often forced to pause for
breath, hardly seeming to notice what I said, so engrossed was
he with his own thoughts; but every word seemed fresh from
his heart, and testified of the Grace working in him. He
more than once said, ‘The spirit of God will not always
strive with man,’ and almost seemed to fear he had tried it
too long. In this wretched cottage, with how little of
human comfort around him, was the blessed knowledge of
life and salvation dawning on this poor George Pellett to
give joy and peace for ever. Oh! may he be permitted to
find Him whom he seeketh, and feel that love which passeth
knowledge, and be brought through his deep waters into the
haven of rest. When I read to him of Jesus healing the
leper, he said, ‘He is just as near to us now as He was
then if we can see Him by faith.' I sometimes think I must
suffer a great deal more, and go through much more, for
He suffered so much for me.”
THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD. 22 I
“Oct. 18.-Yesterday Julius was told of a poor travelling
woman who was dying in a lane near Cowbeach. We drove
there, and found her lying in a small tent attended by two
women of the neighbourhood. They gave a fearful report
of her sufferings, and she seemed to be in great pain, and
could not speak, only pointed upwards and clasped her
hands. An infant of a week old was with her, and at her
desire Julius baptized it. It was a touching sight indeed
to see that little unconscious babe in his arms and hear the
solemn words, “I baptize thee in the name of the Father
and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost,” pronounced over it,
and to think of the love of Him who thus allowed such a
one to be brought into His family, and called by His name ;
that she, who in this world was born in wretchedness and
misery, houseless, soon to be motherless, without hope or
comfort, should in this blessed sacrament be received into
the ark of Christ's Church and be made an heir of glory;
that she, now the lowest of the earth, should have the
promise to reign with Christ for ever and ever ! Oh! it was
enough to draw me out of the cold formality in which one
is apt to live, to see in such vivid contrast the earthly and
heavenly inheritance. Let me not forget the anguish of
that poor sufferer, nor the Sweet peace of that baby, nor the
touching voice and words of Julius, when as minister of
Christ he prayed for this child to pass through the waves of
this troublesome world and come to the land of everlasting
life, there to 7:eign for ever. The temple of God was around
us, even the curtain of the heavens, and He who sitteth
above the heavens doubtless heard that prayer and now
numbers that little Caroline among His elect. Oh, may she
never depart from Him who has so loved her, but live to
gloriſy Him on earth and reign with Him in glory ever-
lasting !”
XVI.
IHOMIE-LIFE AT LIME.
“Rejoice, oh grieving heart,
The hours fly past;
With each some sorrow dies,
With each some shadow flies,
TJntil at last
The red dawn in the east
Bids weary night depart,
And pain is past.”
ADELAIDE PROCTOR.
THE garden at Lime was really a very small one, but it
was wonderfully varied, and to its widowed owner it
was a source of ever-fresh happiness, while to her child its
delights were inexhaustible. Every variety of flower seemed
to have an especial luxury in blooming in its many little
beds and baskets; and the steep grass bank, which sloped
away from the lawn to the large transparent fish-ponds of
the old monastery, was a scene of enchantment in spring
from the myriads of wild flowers with which it was covered—
daffodils, orchis, lady's-smock, and bluebells, but, above all,
from a perfect glory of primroses, and these of every shade
of crimson and pink, besides the Ordinary yellow ones, their
ancestors having probably been planted in former times,
though they now grew luxuriantly wild.
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 223
And every corner of this garden, in which we led an
almost solitary life for so many years, is filled with the
memory of my dearest mother's sweet presence. It was our
earthly Eden. How often I recollect her sitting in the
sparkling morning of a hot summer's-day, at breakfast in the
cool house shadow outside the little drawing-room window,
where the air was laden with the fresh scent of the dewy
pinks and syringa ; how often meditating in the green alley
which separated our garden from the wheat-field, and which
she called her “Prayer-walk;” how often, in feebler and
sadder days, pacing to and fro in the path at the top of the
kitchen garden, exposed to the sun, and sheltered from the
winter wind by a thick wall of holm-beech, which ended at
a summer-house, the scene of many happy children's feasts,
hung round with old stag-horns which were relics of the
castle deer-park.
During the early years of her life at Lime my dearest
mother seemed to live so completely in heaven that all out-
ward times and seasons were so many additional links
between it and her. Spring came to her as the especial
season of the Resurrection, and in the up-springing of each
leaf and flower she rejoiced as typical of the rising again of
all her loved and lost ones ; summer was the time in which
chiefly to dwell upon the abundance of God's mercies, the
fuſness of His gifts; the golden fields of Hurstmonceaux in
the harvest were to her the image of that great harvest-field
in which the reapers are the angels; she loved to walk in
the hop-gardens, and amid those Sussex vines to dwell upon
the allusions to the Vine and its branches, especially precious
to her as linking each humblest Christian so closely, as of
224 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the same plant, to the great Head of the Church ; Christmas
brought real heart-rejoicing in all its sacred associations.
But most of all, as most to one to whom the future was the
real life, the present only the waiting-time, did my mother
rejoice in Easter. Then her inward spiritual life seemed to
overflow. Day by day through her silent week, the “Stille
Woche,”—which was so real to her, she lived zwith and
followed through each scene of Bethany, Gethsemane, and
Calvary, shutting out the whole world, her spirit following
the sufferings of Christ, dwelt apart with God; in the moon
glittering through the hazels upon the silver riplets of our
beautiful pond she seemed to see the paschal moon which
rose over Olivet. And when the Easter really came, then
her heart rose upwards and lived afresh with her risen and
living Saviour, and with her inmost being poured out in
praise, she fell at His feet like Mary, and with her whole
soul she embraced Christ.
No Christian season was a name to her, all were burning,
glowing realities. And, through the whole of her course,
from childhood to old age and infirmities, the key-note of
her life, the mainspring of her every act, was love—love to
God, love to God's poor, love to her family, love, which by
the rubs and pressure of the world was never ruffled, be-
cause no injury could irritate her, who had always forgiven,
beforehand, and who always thought all others better, so
much better, than herself.
The other prominent figure in the home recollections of
my childhood is my uncle Julius, the gaunt figure, with a
countenance generally stern and engrossed, but capable of
as much variation as a winter sky, and sometimes breaking
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 225
into the most noble enthusiasm, into the most joyous ani-
mation, or into bursts of the most unspeakable tenderness.
It was to my mother that all the bright and loving side of
his nature especially revealed itself. To her, whom all
loved, my uncle was radiant with the most tender devotion.
He entered into all her feelings, he consulted her on all his
plans, he laid open to her all his thoughts; with her alone
he was never cold, never harsh—with her and with the
poor, for to the poor he was always as gentle as he was
generous. In the summer the Marcus Hares generally
passed several months at Hurstmonceaux Rectory, when
we also lived there; but at other times my uncle appeared
regularly between five and six every evening, and dined
with my mother, sitting with her afterwards to talk—gene-
rally of parish matters; often, after his elevation to the -
archdeaconry of Lewes, about clerical affairs; at one time,
much about his new version of the Psalms, which, for the
most part, they arranged together. In the affectionate care
of Julius, and still more in her cares for him, my mother
found her chief link with her past life. If on any day he
missed coming, that day was a blank to her, and in the
mornings she would frequently go up to the high field
between Lime and the Rectory, which was then just within
the limit of her walk, in order that from thence she might
catch a glimpse of his tall figure as he paced up and down
between the oaks which fringed the rectory garden.
Every Sunday morning also my uncle never failed to
come to Lime that he might drive my mother to church,
discussing his sermon or the many parish interests, as they
slowly ascended the hill on which the church stands, seeing
VOL, II, Q
226 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the familiar figures of the well-known country people, the
men in their smock-frocks, climbing the steep path above
the road, and receiving their affectionate greetings. In the
hill-top position of his church, my uncle never ceased to
rejoice. He spoke of it in one of his sermons:—
“Precious is the blessing which we enjoy, in having
the Lord's house amid our dwellings, set up on high,
that all may see it, with its spire ever pointing to heaven,
to remind us, whenever it meets our eyes, how our hearts
also ought always to be pointing thither, with the same
quiet, steadfast, unchanging, immovable calmness. If the
situation of our church is in many respects inconvenient, at
all events it has this advantage, that it stands upon a hill,
so as to be clearly seen afar off; and many a time, I think,
when the sky has been overcast with driving clouds, and
everything else looked gloomy, you must have observed a
pure still light resting upon it, betokening the light which,
amid all the clouds and storms of the world, rests on a
heaven-pointing spirit.””
In the Sunday afternoons my mother would take her
Testament, and find some sheltered seat in Lime Wood,
and there she loved to teach her child, who always felt that
no number of church services could do him so much good
as one Sunday afternoon spent thus with her who “sweetly
instructed him down in his heart.”
It was from the Rectory that my mother derived almost
all the society she still consented to see. Sedgwick,
Landor, Whewell, Worsley, Bunsen, and Thirlwall, were
o Parish sermon—“The Duty of Building the Lord's House.”
HOME-LIFE AT LIAI E. 227
frequent guests there, and one or other often accompanied
my uncle in his daily visits to Lime. In that little home
itself there were few guests, occasionally the Stanleys, Miss
Clinton, Mr. and Mrs. Pile, but the circle was seldom
increased.
In the first years of her widowhood, in her autumn
journeys to Shropshire, my mother had several times turned
aside to the village of Bubnell, near Leamington, to visit
Frederick Maurice, a former pupil of her brother Julius, who
was then officiating there as curate. With him lived his
sister Priscilla, the most remarkable of the eight daughters
of Michael Maurice, a Unitarian minister at Frenchay, near
Bristol, and a man of mark in his own community.
Though very feeble, Priscilla Maurice had not at this time
fallen into the serious ill-health which for so many of the
later years of her life confined her entirely to her bed, and
she passed a part of every Summer at Lime, and was much
beloved there. In 1842 she begged to bring with her and
to introduce to her friend her younger sister Esther, for
whom she was anxious to obtain the relaxation of country
Şir and quiet, as she was at that time laboriously employed
with another sister in teaching a school at Reading. Dur-
ing this visit was laid the foundation of a friendship which
ended in 1844, in the marriage of Esther Maurice with my
uncle Julius, a marriage which naturally brought with it a
great change in my mother's home life, but which she
welcomed gladly at the time as conferring the blessing she
most desired for her brother-in-law, and which she never
for a moment regretted, though the close juxtaposition into
which they were thrown, made the differences of character
228 MEMORALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and feeling, induced by early circumstances and associations,
more apparent as years went on.
In 1842, it came to my mother as a great happiness that
the Bunsens fixed their residence for a time in the old
family home of Hurstmonceaux Place. Their society gave
quite a new zest and freshness to all her intellectual pur-
suits, especially to the German authors in whom she was
interested, and in the daughters of that loving family circle
she found joyful helpers in all her parish work. But in
1844, the distance from London, which was great in those
non-railroad days, obliged Bunsen to leave Hurstmonceaux,
and to bring to end a period which he looked upon as one
of the happiest portions of his life.”
During these years, as her health became stronger, my
mother was able to devote herself more fully to work
amongst the poor, and two or three times in a week spent
the afternoon at Foul-Mile, a neglected hamlet in a distant
corner of the parish. The tenderness of her ministrations
among them is commemorated in the dedication of Julius
Hare's Parish Sermons—“To her who was the blessing of
my beloved brother Augustus during the years of his wedded
life, and whose love for the poor of my parish, since she
became a widow, has been their blessing and mine.”
There was that in my mother's parish visits which will
never be forgotten at Hurstmonceaux. It was that she
never came merely to read and to lecture and to distribute
tracts, but that she brought with her a heart brimming with
loving sympathy to enter into all the troubles of the
cottagers, to advise and help them when she could, in their
* “Memoirs of Baron Bunsen,” ii. 45.
HOMIE-LIFE AT LIME. 229
worldly as well as their spiritual concerns, and in all, to
feel for, if not with them. And thus many an aching heart
in the villages of Lime Cross and Gardner Street, which
were within half-a-mile distant, turned to the old house with
the tall clustered chimneys and bright garden, in the glad
assurance that it contained one who was no cold and distant
mistress, but the warm-hearted sharer of all their joys and
sorrows, and with the certainty that no case of wrong was
too trifling, no perplexity too simple, to obtain a willing and
patient hearing from her whom they were wont to call “the
Lady o’ Lime.” -
Each morning, as soon as breakfast was over, would see
my mother cross her high field with its wide view over level
and sea, and then follow the oak-fringed lane to the girls'
school, where she taught the children — always gladly
welcomed by them from the interest she contrived to throw
into the most ordinary lesson, often enlivening her instruc-
tions with stories of things she had seen or read of, or
simple facts of natural history. Each village girl saw in
her one who was as necessary a part of her home as the
members of her own family, one to whom all her family
relationships and domestic concerns were familiar, and who
cared for each individually. When any were sick or sorry
it was their “Lady’ they wished to see ; if any prosperity
befell them, they hastened to tell her of it; and, at their
little festivals, especially that of the first of May, nothing
was considered complete unless their dear “Lady” was
there, sitting under the laburnum trees, in the little school-
court, enjoying all with them.
But the wealth of the great love which was so abundant
230 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Z
for others, was most of all poured out for the child of her
adoption, who was scarcely ever separated from her, whom
she made after a fashion a sharer in all her thoughts, and a
companion in all her pursuits, for whom she tried to draw
a lesson Out of everything in nature—and who found, even
in childhood, every hour too short, which was passed in the
perpetual Sunshine of her dear presence.
M. H. to Miss CLINTON.
“Stoke Zectory, Jan. 6, 1841.-The first thing I have to
tell you about is my dear father. He is certainly shrunk
and looks more of the old man than he did, though still far
from eighty-eight in any of his ways. His faculties, except
the memory of recent things, keep as good as ever; and as
an instance, he read last night aloud for nearly an hour
from the Quarter/y, the article on the Scotch Kirk, with as
much vigour and interest as I ever heard him. At the same
time there is an evident weakening in his bodily powers,
which requires constant watchfulness, and is fitted to make
one enjoy from day to day the blessing of having him pre-
served to us. . . . . You ask about my mode of life at
Stoke. After breakfast at nine, I usually write till eleven.
Then come Augustus's lessons. Then, if fine, half an hour's
walk and a quiet reading in my own room. At one o'clock
we have luncheon. Letters arrive at two, and reading aloud
to Mrs. Oswald and writing letters has usually taken up the
afternoon. At five o'clock we dine ; Augustus gets some
pictures, and sometimes afterwards my father reads aloud.
By half-past nine we are all quite ready for prayers and bed.
Here is a quiet and uneventful life.
“Julius is much delighted, and I for him and the diocese,
in the appointment of Manning as his fellow Arehdeacon.
It will be a most happy thing for both, his talents peculiarly
HOMIE-LIFE AT LIME. 23.I
fitting him for carrying the outward organization of the
Church into effect, and breathing life into its power. And
though he has a strong leaning to the Oxford doctrines, he
is too wise and candid a man to be led away into t.eir
narrowness and onesidedness.”
ARCHDEACON JULIUS HARE to ARCHDEACON
HENRY MANNING,
“Unity, the unity of the Church, is of all things the
dearest to your heart, at least only subordinate to, or rather
co-ordinate with truth, without which, you well know, ali
unity must be fallacious. . . . . I trust in God that, so long
as we are permitted to live and work together, we shall also
be permitted to show practically, that unity may exist with-
out uniformity, and that the diversities of opinion and feeling,
which on many subjects prevail between us, will in no wise
impair the unity of affection by which we are bound to each
other, or our unity of action in the service which we owe to
the Church and her Lord. If I may without presumption
apply words, which were spoken of wiser and holier men,
may the survivor of us be enabled to say, as Archbishop
Bramhall said of himself and Usher, who in like manner
differed from him on Sundry points of opinion and feeling:
‘I praise God that we were like the candles in the Levitical
temple, looking one toward another, and both toward the
stem. We had no contention among us, but who should
hate contention most, and pursue the peace of the Church
with swiftest paces.’” ”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Peb. 18, 1841.-I must write a few lines on this day
when in thought and recollection we are so closely united,
* Dedication of a sermon on “The Unity of the Church.”
232 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
when I can follow you, my own loved one, in every sad
thought, in every hopeful, blessed prospect. Seven years
of separation are passed, and in how many ways has the
memory of our most precious Augustus been blest. We
have been reading his sermons on the Lord's Prayer in the
last few evenings at our family prayers, and one seems to
hear his voice as one goes along; it makes Marcus some-
times quite speak in his tone. I always long to be near
you at this season. I cannot tell you how the brightness of
that Roman sun then rises up before me, and how I almost
seem to feel the warmth of its rays, as they used to shine
into that room, where you sate with your Bible, and when
truly the Sun of Righteousness was shining into your
inmost soul with healing in His wings. I always wish
that you were spending this day in your own peaceful
home; but perhaps the Comforter is more sensibly present
with you when there is no human sympathy close at hand,
and you can turn to your little Augustus, and feel thankful
that you have one bright flower to bloom on your lonely
hours, and to nurse for Heaven's garden.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Aaster/Jay, April 11, 1841.-How much of mercy and
blessing should I have to record here were I to look back
over the last few months, in which I perceive no note has
been taken . How much of long-suffering, of evil averted,
of comfort bestowed, and yet how much too of unthankful
heedlessness in the reception of these gracious dealings of
my God . . . . . And now Christ is risen the day of re-
joicing is come, and He who through the Cross gained the
Crown, has been graciously pleased to receive the prayers
and praises of His people for this His great and glorious
triumph. O Lord, make me a partaker of Thy resurrec.
tion, by rising out of my carnal nature, and seeking Thy
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 233
kingdom and glory more earnestly. Renew in me a more
lively appropriation of Thy Salvation, that, feeling more
vividly the grace Thou hast brought unto me, I may be
constrained to offer Thee a more willing service, to yield
myself more fully to God, and devote all the energies of
body and mind to the promotion of Thy glory. But for
this I need not only the will and ability, but the wisdom
from above to enlighten my ignorance, guide my judgment,
and lead me to discern the best and surest way of doing
Thy will. Thou who art the Power and Wisdom of God,
O Jesus Christ, give me out of Thy fulness judgment and
wisdom, light and truth, and also humility and love, that I
may be a witness for Thee upon earth, and in Thy due
time be translated into the incorruptible inheritance into
which Thy faithful Saints have passed before us. Lord,
into Thy hands I commend myself and those most dear to
me, my child, my Jule. Oh, Sanctify us all, and fill us with
Thy Spirit, that we may live henceforth for Thee Empty
us of self, and do Thou live and reign in us, that we may
be one with Thee and with each other.”
M. H. to MRS. R. PILE.
“Aurstmonceaux, July 13, 1841.- . . . . We have great
cause for thankfulness in the safety of our sisters-in-law,
both at Bonn and Torquay. Mrs. Gustavus Hare has a fine
boy, and my own Lucy has the desire of her heart in a little
girl to add to her two boys. . . . . You have no idea how
much our church here is improved by the many altera-
tions we have made out of the Alton sermon money, and
the new School-room is very pretty. All this has been done
by my Augustus.* I have now staying here Miss Esther
* f.e. the money produced by the sale of the Alton Sermons was
spent thus.
234 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Maurice, who has lately been at Devizes, and went over to
Alton. She is a great pleasure to me. Mercy and blessing
attend my path and yours, and may we be rich in thank-
fulness.”
In the Spring of 1842, while she was with her father at
Stoke Rectory, my mother received the news of the death
of her brother-in-law, Francis Hare, at Palermo. Letters
had only passed at rare intervals between him and his
brothers, but the fraternal bond was never loosened, and
latterly the adoption of the little Augustus had made an
additional tie between him and his widowed sister-in-law.
His health, which had long been failing, had received a
severe shock in the death of his mother's last surviving
sister, Mrs. Louisa Shipley ; and a still greater one in the
loss of his kind and most generous cousin Anna, already
frequently mentioned in these Memorials, and at that time
married to the Rev. George Chetwode. The will of Mrs.
Shipley, who left almost all her property away from her
nephews to a distant relation, also embittered the last years
of his life, and caused much anxiety as to the future of his
family. He expired on the 11th of January, in the presence
of his wife, her sister, his three elder children, and his faith-
ful friend, the Duke of Sierra di Falco.
Francis Hare was buried in the Protestant burial-ground
at Palermo, and was believed to have died in the Protestant
religion; but, after their own conversion to Romanism, his
widow and daughter always maintained that he was in
heart a Roman Catholic, and even that they had evidence
of his having been baptized in his childhood at Bologna by
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 235
Mezzofanti. Madame Victoire Akermann, for upwards of
forty years the faithful friend and servant of the family,
never heard him speak of religion except once. It was
either at Rome or Naples: he said, “Il y a bien des choses
qui m'empêchent de quitter la religion oil je suis, mais au
fond du Coeur je suis Catholique.”
JULIUS HARE to MRs. HARE.
“Aurºmonceaux, Feb. 4, 1842.--Most grievous and un-
foreseen were the tidings that your sister's letter brought me,
that I should never see my beloved brother again. Mrs.
Hare-Naylor, a short time since, heard what seemed so
good a report; and now, without notice, he is suddenly
snatched away from us. Oh how much do I owe him from
my earliest childhood He was the loving teacher of my
boyhood, the kind, generous, unvarying friend and bene-
factor of my whole life. I owe him this house itself, and
my happiness here at Hurstmonceaux. And never, that I
can remember, have I had a single unkind, a single harsh
or angry word from him. Alas! alas ! how ill have I
requited all his kindness. How negligent have I been
towards him. At this moment I have an unfinished letter
to him lying in my drawer. We were hoping that he would
at last come to England, and live amongst us and with us,
and now we learn that we shall never see him again. Let
me hope that I may be enabled to repay a little of the
kindness, which I owe to my most kind brother, by doing
what I can for his widow and his dear children. I am very
glad you have Mr. Gaebler with you, a person so kind and
So judicious. May God support and comfort you.”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“A'océend, March 11, 1842.-This will welcome you
home, I hope. You know how I always get home with you,
236 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and rejoice; and to have left the dear old Father so well
as I hear he is ; and then comes your darling's birthday,
which being so close to our T.’s, I always seem to keep
along with his.” -
“AZarch 28, 1842.-Our beloved Mary Grey” has entered
into her Rest, on the evening of yesterday, Easter Sunday,
the same day our mothert entered into hers; at six o'clock
she fell asleep. All she had so dreaded of the struggle
between soul and body was spared her ; there was no
struggle, she slept most of the day, all pulsation seemed to
cease at four, and she breathed her last sigh two hours after,
so peacefully, they scarcely knew when she was gone. For
her brother alone, in such a departure, is there a thought of
sadness; but oh, for her the battle is fought, the victory
won, and she has joined the ‘Company of Heaven, with
whom yesterday at that blessed Communion we were feebly
offering up our praises. We had heard on Saturday she
was so much better, we did not think how near she was—
that the gate of Everlasting Life was opening for her, and
that in a few hours she was to be with the Lord. The last
time I saw her I felt I should not see her again, and there
was something so sad yet soothing in looking at her little
garden and beds, while waiting for the door to be opened—
the bulbs all springing up, all so cheerful, so springy, the
season she so loved, and certainly it is as easy to conceive
a glorified, beautiful, deathless body Springing up from our
poor corrupt ones, as it is to believe that narcissuses, and
crocuses, and daffodils all spring from a dry, brown, ugly
bulbous root. This last week has been to me a very blessed
one ; and though I have done nothing but groan inwardly
* A first cousin of my mother's. Her mother was Susannah
Leycester, who married the Hon. John Grey, brother of the fourth Earl
of Stamford.
f Georgiana, Mrs. Hare-Naylor.
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 237
over my coldness, and difficulty of keeping my thoughts
above the little things of life, still I have been enabled to
feel near to my Saviour, and moment's glimpses, as it were,
of a brighter world and sinless happiness have darted across
my view, and placed this life in its right position. Then
yesterday I was permitted once again to kneel with my dear
husband in church. There is no power of expressing all
one wants to feel. ‘Oh, for a heart to praise my God—a.
heart from sin set free.' The happier one is in love and
gratitude to Him, who has so loved us, the more unhappy
one is shut up in such a body of sin and infirmity. What a
blessed state it will be when to enjoy heavenly and spiritual
things will be as natural as it is now to enjoy earthly
blessings.”
“I hope much for Marcus from the change of air to
Hurstmonceaux—that fine high dry hill, that large green
field. I often laugh to think now how ugly I thought it the
first time I saw it, and now Hurstmonceaux always comes
into my mind's eye as one of the most delightful, enjoyable
places I know.”
M. H.’s Journal (“The Green Book”).
“Aaster Day, March 27, 1842.-It is one Church-year
since I have entered anything in this book, and now once
more is Easter returned with all its holy comfort and blessed
promises, and it has found me in the possession of like
mercies with last Easter. May I not hope, in the gain of a
deeper faith, of a more steadfast footing on the Rock of
Ages P For many months cannot roll by and leave no
trace behind, some features of the mind must be changed,
Some lines weakened and some strengthened. Oh, that the
image of Christ may be more visibly stamped within, so
that it may by degrees cover and wholly obliterate the
image of Adam, which was originally painted there. But
238 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
alas ! the heavenly has not yet taken the place of the
earthly ; the strife is going on, and many a temptation has
yet to be overcome before the victory is won, and it can be
a living perfect truth, that as Christ lived by the Father, so
I, His unworthy disciple, live by Him. But, far off as this
Consummation still remains, though many a mountain-top
has to be gained, yet it is ever before my eyes. I am not
conscious of any falling back in the earnest longing to be
indeed Christ's now and ever, and to press on to the prize
of this high calling, in His name and through His strength.
Blessed be He who alone giveth us either the will or the
power to serve Him.
“This Lent has been so blessed a season to me that I
almost grieve to part with it. . . . . I have been taught
something of late through trying and humbling lessons.
Oh, that this knowledge may lead me to a deeper acquaint-
ance with Him whose perfect love and meekness can over-
come my want of it, that I may lose myself in Him. The
outward reality of His holy life and death on earth has
been brought home vividly the last week. May I experience
the power of His resurrection, and when I am lifted up, draw
others with me ! Holy and blessed Jesus I do Thou
graciously grant my petitions this day for myself, my child,
my Jule, and all who are dear to me, in such wise as may
best fit us to glorify Thee, and in Thine own time make us
meet for the inheritance Thou hast purchased for us. And
when we have indeed overcome the world, the flesh, and
the devil, through the might of the Spirit, let us cast down
our crowns before Thee, for Thou alone art worthy to
receive honour, praise, and glory, now and for ever.”
“August 21.-How precious to me are a few hours of
solitude and silence I Surely when one does feel so strongly
that even the society of those nearest and dearest is insuffi-
cient to satisfy one's heart, and that the want of more intimate
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 239
communion with God is a deep feeling of the soul, it must
be a token that weak as is one's faith and love, one’s chief
desire and yearning is after the Eternal—the Invisible One.
Many can find in the society of others and in their secret
retirements all that is needful for their comfort; but I am so
at the mercy of outward things, so acted upon by others, that
I find an essential difference in my spiritual life when called
upon to live as others do, and when alone in my own home.
Doubtless I am able to learn many a lesson of practical
wisdom and love when sharing my daily life with those so
dear to me, so fitted to teach and help me. But not the
less do I prize the privilege of being once more alone with
my God. Oh how deep cause have Ifor humiliation before
Him, that in all the mercies of the past months I have
glorified Him so little, done so little for His honour, and
sought so coldly for His love and grace. It seems so difficult
to draw near and commune with Him myself, that all desire
for the good of others and attempt to win their hearts to
Christ is dead within me. When I speak of Him my heart
reproaches me ; it is as idle words void of life and meaning.
Oh quicken me, Lord, by Thy Spirit, and refresh and soften
by the showers of Thy grace my parched ground, that the
fruits may be more abundant. Oftentimes when all around
is so full of love, so overflowing with blessing, I feel so cold
and thankless I could hate myself for my sin. And yet let
others withhold from me but the smallest particle of that
esteem and love I imagine to be my due, how mortified is
my pride and self-love, how hard it seems to bear ! Lord,
when will self die within me ! When shall I seek for rest
and joy in Thee alone
“Much reading, much talking—these things sadly hinder
the free course of the spirit, and I pine after the still peace
of Soul in which God’s voice is to be heard. The ‘Life hid
with Christ in God —this is what I earnestly crave after, a
24O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET 1..IFE.
life which in the midst of outward change can remain im-
movable, ever strengthening, enlarging, and deepening—a
life which may not be affected by the things of the body,
but which may gradually mould and fashion all things to
itself. It is in fact the beginning of that transformation by
which the mortal is to be clothed with immortality. But
our impatient spirits are ever pressing on to lay hold of that
which God has reserved for His heavenly kingdom. As
subjects of His earthly dominion we are to fight on still,
sometimes called upon ‘to stand and wait,” not appearing
to make any advance against the enemy, sometimes even
seeming to lose ground and let him gain upon us, but still
under the banner of our Great King, who goes forth to
conquer in His own way and not ours, and who knows best
in what part of the battle-field His soldiers can most truly
serve Him. Oh for more faith to trust to His guiding
wisdom to order the place and mode of our warfare l—for
more patience to wait till the day of toil is over, till the rest
cometh, when the presence of the Lord will be the joy of
His people for ever—in brightness unspeakable, in ever
growing love and glory—when the conflict is ended, the
victory won 1 °
In the summer of 1842, while the whole family were col-
lected at Hurstmonceaux Rectory, the news of Dr. Arnold's
sudden death came with an inexpressible shock—“see-ning,”
said one of the circle, “as if it were almost a law of Provi-
dence that when to all human eyes the greatest good is
to be done, the person is taken away—bringing home the
vainness of all human speculation, the crushing of human
judgment, and how we call evil good, and good evil.”
sympathy with Mrs. Arnold, however, overpowered every
other sensation, and the first relief came from the thought
CHANGES. 241
what is around them, satisfied to have no more intimate
communion than that of mere friends or relations; but I am
afraid that I never should have been perfectly happy without
some one person to confide in and to love.”
“AWew Year's Day, 1829.-I must employ some portion
of this day in talking to him to whom in all probability
part of this year will be devoted, if it be only to put on
paper what must pass through both our minds in enterin
on this new portion of life—ſeeze, in every sense to us, to
whom this year will open, indeed, a new stage in our pil-
grimage, new in its duties, its pleasures, its hopes, and
enjoyments. Other years seemed to lie like a blank before
me; I could trace nothing upon them but the probable
round of the same course of days and weeks which had
marked the preceding one. But this comes attended with a
bright train of anticipations; and if no clouds arise to dim
our present Sunshine, I am convinced that it must, indeed,
be my own fault if the close of 1829 does not find me a
happier woman than I have ever yet been. And is no
thanks due to the past year, which brought to both of us
the first security of our future happiness? If one had the
power to show, by conformity to God’s will, one-half the
gratitude with which at times one's heart is ready to overflow
in thinking of all He has done for us, how much better we
should be ; but I am afraid we are too often engrossed so
entirely by the gifts as to forget the Giver, or at least to
forget that idle acknowledgment is not the only return such
love deserves. You will begin to suspect I am inflicting on
you a part of that sermon which I amused myself on this day
last year with writing, to while away the hours at the Raven
at Shrewsbury. But days like these are as resting-stones
on our journey, from which we look back upon the winding
path through which we have arrived at such a point, and
onward to all that is yet in store on the way open before us
VOL. I. R
242 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
—that way, dear Augustus, which we shall in future travel
together. Thorns and briars, it may be, will here and there
intercept us and mingle with the flowers on each side, but
guided by one feeling and one interest, they can scarcely
have power to check our progress; and so long as we are
permitted to be fellow travellers, can we cease to be
happy P yy
M. L. to A. W. H. (after he had been with her at Alderley).
“April, 20, 1829.- . . . . It seemed last night so like
old times wishing you good-bye when you were to go by the
coach early in the morning ; indeed, more than once, I
have been quite taken back to our former meetings in
seeing you here, and only recalled to the present by the
different—no, not different, but stronger—feelings now
excited. I have before my mind's eye so perfectly those
times when you came here during the long winter I spent
here three years ago—everything you said and did, and a
confused recollection of the mingled feelings of pleasure
and pain with which I then saw you. I sit in the same
place, the door opens, and the same Augustus walks in,
but how changed is the feeling ! The past, Sacred as it is
and always must be, is now no longer the prominent feel-
ing; others less sad have taken its place; and, happier
than I ever was before, I now look forward with the brightest
hopes, fearing nothing but that I shall place my happiness
far too much on that which must be perishable.”
M. L.'s JOURNAL.
“ Stoke, May 27.-In one more week the object of so
many thoughts and anxious expectations will be accom-
plished, and I shall have entered upon that new state from
which I promise myself so much happiness. I can hardly
feel now as if such a change were drawing so near, and cer-
CHANGES. 243.
tainly in the contemplation of it am infinitely more com-
posed than I expected to be. That firm confidence which
I have in him to whom I am about to commit my whole
future happiness takes away every shadow of distrust; and
though I feel at times that I am about to leave so many
whom I love for an indefinite time, the stronger feeling
overpowers the lesser one, and I feel chiefly gratitude that
what so long appeared doubtful and distant is now so nearly
certain of being realised. We have been separated so
much, and there have been so many circumstances which
have kept up doubt to the last, that the feeling we shall
now not again be parted is in itself delightful to me; and I
have so long looked forward with so much pleasure to
having him as my constant companion, and our enjoying
life together, that I can hardly believe the time is now so
nearly Come. I seek to convince my Sanguine mind that
such sunshine cannot always last, that my anticipations
will not all be realised, and that there will be a thousand
little rubs and cares and troubles, of which I have made no
calculation, and which will interrupt that enjoyment I have
pictured. Be it so. I am not blind to the changes and
chances of this life, to the certainty that these are tenfold
increased by marrying, and that the anxieties and troubles,
when they do come, are of a much deeper cast than those
can be of a single state. Were there no such vicissitudes,
we should grow too fond of this world, too careless of
another. God grant only that such blessings as He gives
may never be misused or disregarded, that they may excite
fervent gratitude while they keep up dependence, and that
when He thinks fit to remove them or for a while hide them
from our view, we may resign ourselves entirely to his
disposal, and bless Him alike for his chastisement as for
his mercies. From the power, influence, and effect of a
strong earthly affection I have learnt much of the manner
244 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIF
in which a heavenly one should influence us, and how irre-
sistibly such a course of life as would please God would be
the result of such a love to Him as was really deep and
sincere. Let me, then, act upon this knowledge, and never
be content with that bare acknowledgment of his goodness
which leads to no practical end. The highest gratification
I can feel is when I have done anything to oblige or please
Augustus, and the most painful sensation I can experience
is having done anything he disapproves. Ought I not
much more to feel this with my Saviour and God? May
He vouchsafe me such aid that I may never forget Him,
but daily grow in love towards Him, and by constant
dependence on Him be able to perform all those new
duties which I would now enter upon with the spirit of a
true follower of Christ.”
VI.
WEST WOODHAY.
“Dans l'opinion du monde, le mariage, comme dans la
comédie, finit tout. C'est précisément le contraire qui est
vrai : il commence tout.”—MADAME SWETCHINE.
“Love is surely a questioning of God, and the enjoyment
in it is an answer from the loving God himself.”—BETTINA
to GOETHE.
ON the evening of the 2nd of June, 1829, one of the
family at Stoke wrote to Lady Jones:—
“I am most happy to perform the part allotted to me, of
filling up the details of the events of to-day, so as to make
you as much as possible one of the party at Stoke; and we
only wanted you and Mrs. Penrhyn to complete the circle
of those most interested in our dear Augustus and Maria.
. . . . The walk through the churchyard was lined with
the school-children, with wreaths of flowers in their hands;
one went before us strewing flowers in our path ; and all the
silver spoons, tankards, watches, and ornaments of the
neighbouring farmers were fastened on white cloths drawn
over hoops, so as to make a sort of trophy on each side the
church gate, which is, I understand, a Shropshire custom.
The church was Carpeted and garlanded with flowers, one
arch just opposite the altar making a beautiful framework to
246 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the bride and bridegroom. Maria was quite composed all
through the Service, and Augustus looked as if he was
indeed imploring a blessing upon the union then forming.
“At two o'clock they drove away, and the last we heard
of them was that as they went through Wistanswick, on
their way to Newport, the road was again lined with people,
and children, and flowers, and that Mrs. Augustus Hare
leaned forward and nodded to them all, and looked as
Smiling and happy as ever.”
Lady Jones meanwhile was becoming increasingly ill
daily at her house in South Audley Street, but on the wed-
ding day she had written :-
“2nd June, 1829-–I will not let this (I trust) happy day
pass without sending my most affectionate kind wishes and
blessing to, by this hour (two o'clock), my two dear children.
I thought of them often in the night, and never without my
blessing and prayers to the All Good and Wise Disposer of
all events for every happiness in this life which will best
conduce to their eternal happiness in the next.”
Just before his marriage, the small New College liv-
ing of Alton-Barnes in Wiltshire had fallen to Augustus
Hare as Fellow of his college, and he had accepted it.
But the place to which he first took his bride was
West Woodhay, near Newbury in Berkshire, which had
been lent to him for the purpose by his connection, John
Sloper.” It is a picturesque, old-fashioned, red-brick manor-
house, with high roofs and chimneys, embosomed among
* Emilia Shipley, second daughter of the bishop, married W. C.
Sloper, afterwards of Sundridge. Mr. Sloper of West Woodhay was
her husband's great-nephew.
weST wooDHAY. 2.47
trees; in front a lawn, backed by the swelling downs; and
at one side, almost close to the house, the little church, of
which Mr. Sloper was the rector. A more desolate place,
or one more entirely secluded from Society, could scarcely
be imagined; and Mary Lea, one of the two maids who had
accompanied Mrs. A. Hare from Stoke, and who had
already entered upon those loving and devoted ministrations
which were to last for her whole lifetime, had many stories
to tell afterwards of its unearthly occupants, and the mys-
terious noises which were heard there at night. But M.
H.—as I will call, during this period of her life, her who
has been the sunshine and blessing of my own existence, as
she was of that of an earlier Augustus Hare—was very
happy there, and ever after remembered the place with a
tender affection. The family history at this time is best
told by extracts from the letters which remain :-
M. H. to C. S.
“West Woodhay House, June 5, 1829–We came through
the park at Blenheim, which was delicious on such a day,
stopped a short time in Oxford, then to Newbury by
half-past five, and then came on here seven miles through
the most charming woody lanes. You may guess the delight
with which we approached our home, and found ourselves
here. It is the perfection of an old manor-house — the
house very large, which in this hot weather is very agree-
able, and does not look waste or dreary as it might do in
winter. The drawing-room where I now write is a
capital room, very well furnished, with three windows
down to the ground opening on a long lawn running
up to the hills, with trees on each side,-roses cluster-
ing in at the windows, and all looking so retired, I
248 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
should almost say lonely. Then there is a very nice
dining-room, and sitting-room for Augustus, besides a great
hall, and small library; and up-stairs my room is magnifi-
cent, and there is a large tapestried chamber with family
pictures. I don't know how we are to come down to rectory
accommodation afterwards. It seems all so extraordinary
being here alone, so completely separated from everything
and everybody; and you would have laughed to see me this
morning with my two servants, making out to the best of
Our mutual knowledge or ignorance all the things to be sent
for, there being nothing except what has been borrowed
from the farm-house for last might and this morning. Mr.
Sloper comes to the farm to-morrow, which is very well, to
set us in the way of going on.
“I think you may now give full vent to your fancy in my
cause without much fear of being wrong. All you imagined
Of the tenderness, consideration, and perfect way in
which I should be treated falls short of the reality.
When I am with Augustus it is but a continuance of
that confidence and openness which has so long existed
between us, only freed from any doubts or reserve kept
up as long as we were in an ambiguous situation. But
it seems very odd to find myself so completely removed
from all my own family, in so new a place, and obliged
to assume the office of mistress of a household to which I
am so little used. I could scarcely think of any of you
without tears till to-day, and I do not know now that my
heart is not very full in turning to those I have left. It is
so different from any other parting. He understands it all
so well, but says if all women suffer as much in marrying
under so much less favouring circumstances as generally
are, he wonders they ever Survive it. . . . . This weather
is perfectly delicious. Every now and then a dream comes
over me of Tuesday, and I feel as if I was now in another
WEST WOODHAY. 249
state of existence. I scarcely know yet how to write col-
lectedly and say what I feel, for all is bewildering to me
at present, especially to know myself in that situation so
long uncertain, doubtful, and distant, now really come to
pass in the most beautiful form I have ever pictured it.”
M. H. to LADY JONES.
“ West Woodhay, June 6.--Your most kind and affec-
tionate welcome greeted us here, dearest aunt, last night, and
greatly did we both feel your good wishes for us upon that
eventful day which has opened so new a life to us both. I
trust neither you nor we can be deceived in feeling it
to be the beginning of Such happiness as is granted to few
as far as regards our own mutual confidence and affection,
and though, in common with our fellow-travellers through
life, we must expect to meet with our due proportion of
sorrows and trials, I trust we may then rest upon the same
source for trust and support that we do now in gratitude.
The account of Tuesday you will receive from Stoke, I
believe, and probably a more correct report than we could
give—at least it seems to me in recurring to that day
very much like a dream, and I scarcely know what
passed. It is a trying thing and I felt even more than
I expected the wrench, if I may so express it, from all
former ties to form one so much stronger and which was to
last through life. I cannot tell you the tenderness and con-
sideration Augustus has shown me, and how he has endeared
himself to me more than ever by the kindness of his affection
during the last few days. He will now be rewarded by
seeing me as happy as he could desire, and in this delight-
ful place it seems as if we could scarcely enjoy ourselves
enough. . . . The man waits to take the letters, so I must
conclude with the dearest love of your two grateful and
happy children.”
25o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
L. A. S. (LUCY STANLEy) to M. H.
“/une II, 1829.-You will well know how I have rejoiced
in your letters. Our visions and pictures of all you were
to enjoy are indeed realised, and God grant, my own
dearest and best friend, they may long be lent to you. I
See your house at Woodhay, and know it as if I had seen
it—its green hay-fields, and the south-like woods and lanes,
so unlike our northern ones. I almost feel sorry that this
home, where you will pass the first weeks of married life,
is not to be your permanent one ; but perhaps you will
discover as many charms at Alton-Barnes, and every bank
you look upon will now be Thymy, and every view sunny
and smiling.” .
“June 22.—You do indeed draw a picture of the sunny
Thymy bank so beautiful, that one cannot help wishing life
should just now stand still for awhile with you. . . . . I
hardly ever heard any description of happiness after marriage
which sounded so perfect as yours. Everybody says and
writes that they are happier than any one ever was, but I am
sure that you are so.”
M. H. to C. S.
“June 12, 1829.-We dine at five o'clock, and walk after-
wards. You cannot imagine anything more delightful than
these fields are—so very extensive, more like a park, stretch-
ing before the house in a long uninterrupted surface of green
terminated by a range of green hills; and then the hawthorn
is such a mass of Snowy white, that it quite puts to shame
all lanes and hedges with you. What a different style of
country it is to be sure—so much more really retired and
country it looks than the north. I shall try the pony in a
day or two with him walking by my side ; he thinks it will
not run away. Sometimes he reads to me a little, and any-
body would have been amused to see him one evening read-
WEST WOODHAY. 251
ing me a sermon of Skelton's, “How to be happy, though
married.’ To-day he has got down a volume of Rousseau
out of the little old library in the drawing-room, and has
read me some of the letters to Julie, which he calls eloquent
Il OIOSeſ) Se. -
“June 13.—I am most perfectly happy and comfortable.
Last night we had a delicious walk to a farm-house about a
mile off—so pretty, it was covered with roses and plants all
over the outside of the house, and I made friends with the
mistress, who sent me a loaf and oven-cake as a present.
Breakfast over, I go to the kitchen, inquire into matters
there, scold about the bad bread, contrive a dinner out of
nothing, find out how many things are not to be had for
asking. ‘No, ma'am, you can't have that because there is
not such a thing,' is my general answer. Then my bonnet
is put on, and we sally out into our park, find out new
paths, come home, ‘Letters and butcher,’ and so there is
business for the morning.
“June 20.—The last week has been very enjoyable. I
have ridden every day, and Molly goes quite well, only
fidgeting at setting out. However yesterday she gave us a
fright. We went up the hill, higher than we had yet been,
to a point where was a gallows erected. It was exceedingly
windy, and in getting up the highest mound, such as the
beacon at Alderley Edge, the pony was excited, either by
the noise of the wind against my hat, or by its being so
high ; and if Augustus, who was at a little distance, had not
seen—for I think he could scarcely have heard my cry of
distress—and hastened to my aid, in another minute I
should have been galloping away over those high downs
as hard as the pony could go. My terror was momentary.
Augustus led the animal down, the wind being too high for
either of us to speak; but when we got under lee of the
wind, and the pony was quiet again, the fervent way in
252 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
which he seized my hand—‘ God bless her —God be
praised l’—showed how he had been frightened. I don't
suppose fliere would have been any danger for a bold rider,
who would have given herself up to the speed ; but I think
I should have been too much frightened to stick on long.
It was a splendid map view, and our way home through
delicious lanes.
“He is going with me through the Greek Testament,
reading two chapters each morning after breakfast and
lecturing upon them, he reading the Greek, I the English;
and he goes into it thoroughly. Sometimes he surprises me
by, ‘Now this is very difficult—I don’t understand this one
bit ;’ and so then we compare different passages, see what
is the connection, what is alluded to, &c.—in short, it is a
very interesting lecture.”
IM. H. to L. A. S.
“June 27.—This place is quite what I have so often
thought the first home ought to be, and what it so seldom
is in reality. . . . . . I delight in our Sundays; the relief
it is to cast one's self upon Him who will be with us in joy as
in sorrow, and upon whom we may repose with Sure Con-
fidence those trembling feelings of joy, whose uncertainty is
often felt, showing us the need of support even in rejoicing.
I longed for you to have been here last Sunday to have
heard my husband in the church. His preaching is so
earnest, and brings the subject so home, that I cannot but
feel all the time it must be doing good, and if his peculiar
manner has the effect of rousing attention, it is certainly
useful. Then he cordially unites with me in every plan of
considering the good of our little household, and I look
forward with still greater pleasure to all that we shall join in
when we have our own parish. I can hardly tell which
part of our day is the most enjoyable; but perhaps our
WEST WOODHAY. 253
evening walk or ride is the most so. Do not you know the
pleasure of hunting about in a library full of odd volumes
and old editions of books, all mixed in Strange confusion 2
We found yesterday an old ‘Pilgrim's Progress, with queer
cuts and engravings, which was amusing to look over. He
is reading Milton to me, and sometimes Wordsworth, and
anything else called forth by the occasion. Then he enjoys
a little song, and there is a very tolerable large pianoforte for
me to play to him upon.”
M. H. to C. S. (the same evening).
“Augustus and I were in the midst of our reading an
hour ago, when a chaise drove up to the door, and in
walked Mr. Sloper. His first words were, that Lady
Jones was scarcely expected to live through the day,
and Augustus would just have time by the return chaise to
catch the coach. There was a note from Julius, begging
him to come immediately. You may guess the hurry and
agitation of the moment, the putting up his things, &c., and
now, almost without my knowing it has been so, he is gone.
Yesterdav she was very ill indeed. There was a consul-
tation of Brodie, Warren, &c. The latter thought very ill of
her, and feared for to-day. Mrs. Warren” was with her till
past eleven last night, thought once or twice she was gone.
She rallied however a little, but Mr. Sloper seems to think
she cannot get over this attack. I do hope Augustus may
arrive in time to see her, and I feel quite rejoiced to have
him off. How one regrets that she has not lived to benefit
by the happiness she has given. I feel easier on this point
now that I have seen her in London, and that he will feel
* Penelope Shipley, eldest daughter of the Dean of St. Asaph,
married (1814) Dr. Pelham Warren, the eminent physician. Of a
most unselfish and charming disposition, she was greatly beloved by
all the family. She died in 1865.
254 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
she did know me. How thankful I am to be his wife—able
to comfort him, and with the right to know and hear every-
thing. We had no time for any words when he was leaving,
except his reminding me of a dream he had about his aunt
a week ago : that she puzzled him by Saying she was going
into the Barn, when he asked about her coming to Wort-
ing, and which he made out, still in his dream, by the text
of the wheat being gathered into the garner ; and he said to
me at the time, “Remember my telling you this.’ I got
a note from her, written some days ago, full of affection,
and thanking me for knitting her some muffitees. . .
Dearest Augustus ! how I shall feel now he is gone the
increase of love in the last three weeks. We were saying
yesterday how it seemed to grow every day, and how it was
quite a grief to him to think of it; for it could not last, we
had no right to be so much happier than other people. . .
How naturally I fall to writing to you in any emergency
that you may share with me every feeling.”
JULIUS HARE to M. H.
“South Audley Street, June 27.—Augustus will probably
have left you before this, and you will rejoice to hear he
will have the comfort of finding my aunt considerably better.
This morning she said she was a great deal better than
yesterday. When I was reading some of the prayers for the
sick, she asked, ‘Is there not one for rendering thanks for
an amendment of health P’ Still, though the danger is
averted for the present, I am afraid we must not indulge the
hope, even if we ought to cherish the wish, of keeping her
long amongst us. Her general weakness is so great, and
seems rather increasing than diminishing, that her constitu-
tion, however naturally strong, will hardly be able to hold
out much longer; and when her life is so much more
thickly beset with suffering than with enjoyment, even those
WEST WOODHAY. 255
who will grieve most at losing such an object to love and
revere, ought hardly to desire that she should be detained
from her heavenly reward.
“God bless you, and make you and Augustus the endless
source of happiness to each other. He will probably soon
need you to replace his best counsellor and friend, and he is
fortunate in having already secured so good a substitute. I
hope some time or other to be a witness of, and therefore a
partaker in, your happiness. -
“John Sloper has been as kind and attentive, and almos
as one of her own nephews, to my aunt.” -
A. W. H. to M. H.
“South Audley Street, June 28.—Though Julius wrote to
relieve your anxiety yesterday, I presume the loving wife
will send over to Newbury for the letter I promised by the
night coach, and her messenger must not return empty-
handed. Alas ! though there is an improvement in my aunt,
it can only be a question of weeks or days.
“At Newbury I heard the last coach had been gone half
an hour. ‘Horses immediately.’ At twenty minutes after
four I was driving up to the inn at Reading, having gone
Seventeen miles in an hour and a half. ‘Is the last coach
gone?’ ‘No,' said the landlord, “it is changing horses at
this minute.’ ‘Gallop on, driver !' He did, and we Caught
it before it started. There was an inside place, so in I got,
and by nine P.M. was at home. You may conceive my
joy when the servant who opened the door said, ‘Her
ladyship is much better.”
“June 29,-What a delightful note, dearest, did you send
to greet my waking this morning, and make me feel less
solitary and widowed, shall I say, or more. It is just so I
would have wished my wife to write and think, years before
I had one, and when the name was little more than an idea
256 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
to me. To find that idea realised in my own Mia, is a
blessing a thousand times too great for me, did God mea-
sure out his bounty according to our deserts, and not rather
pour it out of his exceeding bountifulness and loving-
kindness.
“My aunt is slightly better. Her nurses have hitherto
been my aunt Louisa and Penelope alternately. Dear,
good, affectionate Penelope would never dream of feeling
tired, or own that she was so, till she dropt; but drop she
will if this attendance lasts much longer, and it may go on
for weeks. Julius has formed a plot for you to come up
and relieve her a little by sharing her duties. Alas ! if my
aunt had done two years ago what she has so nobly done
for us this year, she would have had you now to comfort
her. As it is, you are still so much of a stranger to her,
that there is some fear of her not feeling sufficiently at ease
with you in her infirmities. My belief is that three days
would get over the difficulty, and make your presence a
continual joy to her. I only mention this, that you may
not be surprised if you receive a summons. You would
come, of course, to a lodging ; you would come to attend
on a sick person; you would have to exercise much judg-
ment and steadiness; but you would feel that you were
of use to her who has united us, you would be sensible
it is the only return in all probability you will be
allowed to make her, and you would rejoice that at the
sacrifice of some personal convenience you are permitted
to minister a degree of Satisfaction and ease to her last
moments.”
M. H. to A. W. H.
“West Woodhay, June 30.—What a joy to me have
your letters been this morning. It is in such times as
these that one feels the full delight of the perfect con-
WEST WOODHAY. 257
fidence there is between us. I felt so sure of your under-
standing what my feeling would be about your aunt, that it
was quite unnecessary to express it. I think if I came I
might be of some little use, though less I fear than many,
with equal goodwill, from my awkwardness and inexperience.
But in this, as in everything else, do and order as seemeth
you best; here I am, your devoted wife, whose highest
happiness is to do what you think it right she should do.
“Do not be very vain when I tell you that there was a
very large congregation on Sunday evening, great part of
which was much disappointed at not hearing you preach—
for which laudable purpose they had gone to church | So
you see your sermon of the Sunday before gained other ap-
probation besides that of your partial Mia.
“I need not tell you how much I miss you, nor tantalise
you with thinking what a delicious walk we should have had
yesterday evening after the rain ceased ; but somehow or
other Woodhay does not look so gay and cheerful as it did
Some few days ago, and I hear no laughing voices sound-
ing in its passages.”
M. H. Zo C. S.
“June 3o.—I am satisfied to have had our first month of
enjoyment unsullied. That enjoyment has been so great
as to make me only the more anxious to show my gra-
titude to her who has given it, and to gratify him by the
full extent of whose tenderness and consideration I have
benefited by so much. The separation of this week will
Teconcile me to being in any place with him, though
the exchange of Woodhay delights for a lodging, with
Summer-days to be passed in a sick-room in London, is
not exactly what one should choose. But there is no help,
and I doubt not if it is to be, we shall find ample cause to
rejoice in having done it.
VOL. I. S
$
258 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
t
r
“I thought this morning what a pleasure there is in the
power of sending one's one servant off to the post just at the
time he ought to be bringing in breakfast—submitting to the
indignity of having the coffee brought by a maid rather than
wait for the letters. No quantity of servants or money
could make me feel more independent than the perfect
Command which marriage gives one over the few one has,
and the complete choice left to one's self which inconveniences
to choose. I have just regained strength and Spirits enough
to enter upon the new duties awaiting me, if so it is to be.
How destined my life seems to be not to stagnate. I look
forward to Alton as quite a haven of rest and peace. As
much as anything I dread the jealousies there will be about
my being with Lady Jones; however, I have nothing to do
with that.”
TM. H. to A. W. H.
“July 1.-How I did want you yesterday to admire the
most glorious sunset. Mr. Barker, or Burford, or whatever
is the name, might have taken some good hints for his Pan-
demonium in that glowing sea of fire, with the streams
issuing out of it, and the splendid battlements of clouds
piled one above another closing it in. Even Mr. Sloper
was obliged to stand still and admire it, in spite of the
ominous appearance for the hay ; and truly it has not de-
ceived us, for to-day the heavens seem inclined to pour out
their utmost fury upon us, and it will be well if you find
anything remaining of Woodhay floating on the top of the
waters when you return. -
“Let me take advantage of Mr. Sloper's absence among
his workpeople, to draw near to my Augustus and tell him
how he lives in my thoughts. I can no longer cheat myself
with the fancy that he is ensconced, book in hand, pre-
tending to write letters of business in the library; nor flatter
WEST WOODHAY. 259
myself with the idea that he is pacing the tapestry-room
for exercise this rainy day. It seems to assume a very real
air of separation now. . . . . .
“July 2.—The account to-day is most disheartening.
That our dear aunt may be spared further pain is now all
that we can hope or pray for her in this world. Would that
I had gone with you and could have shared the anxiety and
attendance of those who have so devoted themselves to her
last days, and to whom it will be a lasting satisfaction to feel
that they have done so. But this could not be, and I only
feel thankful that you have yourself been able to be with
her to the last. I have had a very distressing thing to do
this morning, in breaking to Ravenscroft (the cook) the
sudden death of a sister to whom she was much attached.
She was in Sad affliction, and it went to my heart to cause
so much grief; but there could not be a time when such a
communication would be made with more sympathy than
after receiving your sad letter, and feeling that ere this you
probably are mourning the departure of one who has so long
been an object of interest and anxiety. Dearest, how I wish
to be with you it is needless to Say. You are with those who
feel as you do, you will have much to do, and you know
that when the time Comes, and everything is done that can be
done, and you have paid the last tribute of respect and affec-
tion to her who has been so kind to you from childhood, you
will find me to "eel for you and with you, and who through
life will seek to be your comforter and friend. I cannottell you
how glad I am that this has not happened before. As your
wife I may share every feeling, and, as far as earthly comfort
can go, Contribute all I can to replace what you will lose.”
A. W. H. to M. H.
“July 2.-She is much weaker. All muscular power has
ceased. When lying quite back in her chair she seems
26o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE,
easiest. The fire is going out for want of fuel. The pulse
proves the vitality which still remains, but the machine is
worn out. Penelope still insists on sitting up every night.
There is an occasional cheerfulness in my aunt's manner,
and a constant thought and care about others, which are
the best practical Christianity, and worth all the sermons in
the world. -
“July 3– Much the same, but feebler, and, if possible,
thinner, is Dr. Warren's report to-day. Her senses are
growing dimmer. Last night, for the first time, she did not
make me out. This morning she did not know Julius, and
Penelope doubted if she knows anybody. The greatest
comfort is that she is calm and quiet, and apparently suffers
little. She often smiles; and her talk, as far as I have
heard it, though wandering, is on agreeable subjects.
“July 6–My black seal and paper will have announced
to you that all is over. She was called from us at ten
minutes after nine this morning. Nothing could be easier
than her departure. She literally expired, or breathed away
her soul, without a struggle or a groan. Shall we envy or
grudge her the reward of her years on years of active
rnunificence?”
IM. H. to A. W. H.
“ West Wood/lay, July 8.-My own dearest Augustus, you
know how I feel with you—how every thought and feeling
goes along with you—in recurring to the many years of
kindness and affection which must come before you, in
feeling that she to whom you have so long looked for
assistance and guidance, who has been an object of such
long anxiety and interest, is indeed gone. How grateful I
am that I have seen her, and to have the impression which
none but personal evidence can give of what she was, and
still more grateful am I to have the power now of sharing
WEST WOODHAY. 26 y
your grief and seeking to fill up the chasm her loss must
have made to you. . . . .”
Very little doubt had been entertained before the death
of Lady Jones as to the contents of her will. To Mr.
Sloper, to Dr. Warren, and to other friends, she had
frequently spoken of it; and all her relations believed that
she had left her property at Worting to Mrs. Warren
(Penelope Shipley), her house in South Audley Street to
Francis Hare, a legacy to Julius, and the residue of her
property, with her library, pictures, and furniture, to Augus-
tus, whom she had always regarded as her adopted son.
After her death, however, the rightful will was never found,
and it was supposed that she had destroyed it when her
mind was enfeebled by her last illness, mistaking it for the
old will, which was found, and which was inscribed—“To
be burnt.” To all the three brothers this was a great
distress as well as a serious loss.
A. W. H. to M. H.
“July 7 1829, South Audley Streeſ.—Dearest, dearest
Mia. How providential our marriage took place when it
did I Had it been delayed another month, it might not
have taken place for years. My aunt, the most methodical
of women, and possessing an amount of clear understanding
which would have done credit to the best men of business,
she, with all her minuteness of detail, has left two wills in
the same envelope, and in such a state that it seems clear
the second is good for nothing, and the chief question is,
whether it invalidates the first. If it does, she has died
intestate; if it does not, her money goes almost entirely
(for the greater part of it will certainly go) to the last pos.
262 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
sible persons in the world she would have wished. And as
for Worting, it is not even named ; though she had promised
it to Dr. Warren, and, it is quite clear, meant to give it him.
“The last will, which has the signature obliterated, and
‘this to be burnt' written at the bottom, is dated as far back
as 1821. The other is a will of 1809, when my sister was
alive, and is chiefly in her favour. . . . . However, thank
God her life was spared long enough to carry into partial
effect her kind and generous intentions in my behalf.
“July 8.-Old Lewis, the Worting bailiff, has written,
“No doubt our loss is her ladyship's gain, and her dear soul
is at rest.’ His letter is perfect in its way, from its serio-
comic mixture of genuine feeling with scraps of book and
sermon phrases. He talks of ‘How much she will be
missed by the poor of Worting, and regretted by all.”
She will be missed, indeed, unless the search to-morrow at
Worting after a will is successful, and produces some
inheritor of her kind-heartedness as well as of her land. I
have myself not a doubt that it will produce it. The more
Julius and I have compared our thoughts on the matter, the
more certain we are that my aunt has not by negligence, in
the most important arrangement of her life, contradicted
sixty years, or more, of methodical and provident activity.
“July 9.—Doubtless there is another, and of course a
perfect will. So many circumstances on inquiry have come
out, all pointing the same way, that the fact appears to me
as certain as anything can be, which rests only on pro-
babilities and presumptions. It was made about last
Michaelmas, and it cannot have been destroyed since.
Mislaid it may have been ; but sooner or later it will be
found. Perhaps it is so now, or at least it will be, ere I
finish my letter, for Francis, Julius, Mr. Seton (our good
lawyer), and Charles Shipley, set out in a britska this morn-
ing at seven, for Worting; and, allowing them six hours
WEST WOODHAY. 263
for their journey, they are at this moment searching for it.
They return to-night, but it will be late before they can get
back. It is for the sake of justice, and of Seeing my dear
aunt's intentions (whatever they may be) carried into full
effect—it is that those who have equitable claims on her,
and that the poor, may not be deprived of what she
destined for them, and not from any personal interests of
my own, that I am anxious to have her will produced.
“July to.—You will grieve to hear that our expectations
have been sadly disappointed. Worting has produced
nothing. That a will was made at the time she obliterated
the signature from the will of 1821, and that she believed it,
or some subsequent one, to be in existence, is quite certain,
from fifty speeches during the last two months. Whether it
has been destroyed by accident, or laid by too securely to
be found, I know not. It is not forthcoming, and perhaps
never may be ; but to Julius and me, and indeed to all who
love her, and not her property, it is a great consolation that
this inconvenience, grievous and manifold as it is, is not
aggravated by a conviction—no, nor even by a suspicion—
that she was procrastinating or neglectful about her last and
most important worldly act. In the meantime a suit—an
amicable suit, for so I find they call those suits which
provoke more ill-blood than any other—must be instituted in
Doctors' Commons; and if the second will is not quashed
there, the interpretations of the last clause carries us, still
amicably—it is wonderful how amicable people are when
their dirty interests are engaged—into the very pleasant Court
of Chancery. God show us the way out of all such evils l’’
M. H. ſo C. S.
“July 12.-I wish you could know that at this moment
I have got him back. Mr. Sloper being too ill to return
yesterday for his duty to-day, Augustus was obliged to put
264 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
aside his scruples about leaving the house in South Audley
Street, and come in his place, and you may imagine what a
meeting we had about eight o'clock last night. If he had been
dead and risen to life again, I could scarcely have felt more
in having him again. He looks most wretchedly, so thin
and care-worn, and has been made quite ill. He consulted
Dr. Warren, who said, ‘You have come from the extreme of
happiness to the extreme of misery, and the revulsion has
been too great. Go home to your wife, and she and quiet
will be better than all the medicines in the world.' It seems
quite clear that there must have been a subsequent will,
even if she destroyed it by mistake. Francis seems to have
behaved very well. In giving directions the first day after
her death, he burst into an agony of tears, and could not go
on. When the will leaving a thousand pounds to him was
read, he proposed at once its being divided between Julius
and Marcus. In case neither of the wills are good fol
anything, the property would be equally divided amongst
the brother and sisters' children—giving thus one share
to the Dean's children, one to Mrs. Hare’s children,
one to Mrs. C. L. Shipley, and one to Mrs. Sloper's only
child, Mrs. Charles Warren, so of course the Hares' proportion
for each would be small. Lady Jones leaves 43,000 in one
of the wills to charities. It is very puzzling, very annoying,
and likely to be a long source of discussion. Everything
else found is order and method itself—letters all ticketed in
packets, ‘For Augustus and Julius to read, and afterwards to
be burnt,’ and the same to others. All accounts are paid
up to Easter. Augustus heard her mutter to herself, “All
my worldly affairs are settled, servants and all.” A few days
before her death she dictated as clearly as possible a
beautiful letter to Lord Spencer. A year ago he had asked
for Sir J. Reynolds's portrait of Sir W. Jones, evidently wish.
ing to complete his collection. She was affronted, and re.
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 265
“For some years past, since I have been led to know
more of the principles of Church Zife, as they are called, of
those which concern us as members of a Church constituted
in this land for the special need of Christian people, I
have had much ignorance removed, and many useful
thoughts opened to me that before I was dead to. And
the feeling conscious that I had neglected and overlooked
much that was of benefit, has seemed to make me afraid
of esteeming things wrong because contrary to previous
impressions; but I think in the last year since these Church
opinions are become less strange to me, I have felt more
and more how unsatisfying they are, and that the Catholic
doctrines they are grounded on are secondary and subordi-
nate to the Evangelical ones that are built on the word of
God. I strive and desire in love and meekness to refrain
from all judgment of persons who hold such opinions, but
I do return I confess to writers of simpler and more
Scriptural character, to those who have more insight into
the depths of spiritual experience, with the feeling as if I
were landed again on solid ground after floating in a misty
cloud. And though in practical things I find much that
is good in the Catholic school, there is so great a want of
motive and principle of love in them to stir one up to do the
good works. It is so exclusively for self that they urge us,
that we may be holy, not that God may be glorified, that I
feel more and more that the true spirit of apostles and
martyrs is not there, that according to them it is not of
grace that we are to be saved but of holy deeds; not by the
merits of Jesus, but by our own self-denial, our obedience
and patience.”
“Stoke, Avov. 22, 1843–Once more do I Spend this
birthday at my father's house, my former home. Five and
forty years of life have passed by, and here I am. But what
am I? that is the question: what has been done for God's
}
266 MEMORLALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
glory? what has been sacrificed for others ? how have I
been likened to Christ in this portion of my life? To
answer all these questions would take a long and close
scrutiny, and after all is done in this way, how much re-
mains behind, known only to Him who ‘seeth in secret?’
When I have confessed every known sin, every conscious
transgression and shortcoming, I must still cry out for
pardon for the infinitely greater amount of selfishness and
sin that is as yet hidden from my view.
“Oh, my God, pardon my secret and presumptuous sins
of all these five and forty years past, and blot them out of
the book of Thy remembrance, that they may not appear
against me in the day when Thou shalt judge the secrets of
men. And let the knowledge of myself be deepened that
more true humility may be wrought in me, that I may with
more fervour and earnestness flee unto Thee, my Saviour
and my God, to hide me in Thy shadow, to clothe me in
Thy righteousness. I desire to profit by all the means
of grace and holiness, while I am preserved from idolis-
ing them, and to keep firm hold of the true doctrine
of the cross, the cross of Jesus, while I strive more
and more to be conformed to His image in all self-
denial and true holiness. Oh that I might attain a more
heavenly mind, to feel that my daily meat and drink is to
do the will of my Father in heaven, not thinking of what is
pleasing to myself, nor for my own gain even in holiness;
and to find my joy in His presence, His continual nearness,
so that in all places, times, and circumstances I might
truly live and move in Him. “All my fresh streams are in
Thee, O Lord, pour out on me abundantly from Thy rivers
of water, that my garden may bring forth its fruits for Thee,
O Holy Jesus !”
“Iime, Feb. 11, 1844.—For the first time is it granted
me to spend this solemn month 2t Hurstmonceaux.
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 267
All others years I have been alone, separated from all
who could live in the past and share the feelings of this
time when our beloved Augustus passed through the sha.
dows of the valley of death, till he came into its reality, and
through the gulf landed on the shores of the heavenly land.
With those who are so one with him I feel now less sepa-
rated from him, and know not how enough to praise
God who gives me such daily cause of joy and comfort in
the love of those around me. Ten years have passed away
of Our separation—how quickly do they seem to have gone !
and So we may hope the remaining years will pass, although
it can hardly be expected that they can be preserved from
sorrow and trouble so singularly as these past years have
been. I trust that it is with no unthankful feelings that I
still look upon the close of life as a thing to be desired. I
am indeed girt about with blessings, full and manifold, but
what are they to the fulness of joy at the right hand of God
In this world sin is ever within and around us to cloud our
highest hopes, while suffering or infirmity either in ourselves
or in others is continually pressing us down and keeping us
from a Consciousness of our heavenly inheritance. In
humble patience to wait for His time who knows how long
we may best accomplish His will on earth, looking on to
the day when we shall be clothed as with a better and more
enduring tabernacle, cannot be amiss, and the strong link to
earth, which will ever tie us to so many beloved ones here,
will help us to rejoice so long as to them we may be per-
mitted to administer comfort and peace. And then, wher
the end is come, the appointed time fulfilled, how blessed
will it be to mount up above this sorrowful, sinful world,
and dwell in that pure and holy place where there is no
darkness at all—there to enjoy perfect love without taint of
selfishness, perfect wisdom without shade of error My
beloved Augustus, how has your heavenly spirit been drink.
268 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
ing in of the Fount of Light and Love since we parted on
earth. May I, too, grow yearly more like unto your
Saviour and mine, that partaking of His holy life on earth,
I may be meetened to share your glory and His in the king-
dom of the Father l’” -
“Feb. 18, 1844.—On this blessed day was my Augustus
translated from the earthly tabernacle of forty years to the
heavenly rest. And Oh, how joyful and glorious a freedom
must that have been, and how truly does this thought of it
make the day one, not of Sorrow, but rejoicing—a holy
saint's day of thankful love to Him who has thus given
victory over death and the grave. When I return in spirit
to the scenes of that still chamber of death at Rome, and
think how then all earthly things seemed hidden from my
eyes, and how in the change that had passed over him who
was dearer than life, I seemed for awhile to have left all
things here below with him, it seems strange to see how
time closes up those wounds, and opens again new sources
of interest and happiness, such as one could not dream of
in the hours of deepest sorrow. Yet it is a blessed pro-
vision that thus it should be, and that while we live here on
earth, fresh springs should be given to carry us on with hope
till the end comes and our course too is finished. But it is
an awful question, one which some day will present itself
with still greater force than now : have I profited rightly by
this heart-searching grief—have I yielded those fruits which
this chastening purposed to ripen in me, so that God might
be glorified thereby P Alas ! let me not be tempted to
answer the question by the judgments of partial friends who
see but the outside, and whose tender love blinds their eyes
to all that is not good to look upon. Let me rather in the
mirror of God's word and truth judge myself, and condemn
myself, seeing in my heart so few of those features of
heavenly Charity which on this day are brought before me
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 269
in such perfect beauty. . . . . He who now knows even as
he is known, my Augustus, now sees no longer through a
glass darkly but face to face; and what would be the riches,
the glöries of Love that he would reveal to me, could he
now speak from his heavenly dwelling-place, and open all
that passes there to my view—the love of the holy Three in
One, Father, Son, and Spirit, in their eternal and glorious
fellowship; the love of all the spirits of the Just, perfected
from all that hindered the fulness of that love on earth ;
his own love, exalted and purified—what perfect and
complete blessedness would this one vision of eternity
present, to win us from the poor idolatry of human perfec-
tion, and make us yearn for such a participation of heavenly
joy. . . . .”
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“Alime, Æaster Monday.—Easter is come, and with it
spring seems to be coming. Yesterday we had a very
rainy Easter Sunday, but to-day the Sun has come forth ‘like
a bridegroom out of his chamber,’ and is calling to the
primroses to open their buds to him, and to the dead trees
to come to life again. It is quite a Resurrection day, and
all things look bright and happy. I hope that your snow is
gone away like ours, and that you have the same bright
sunshine. If you have read all the history of the sufferings
of the Lord Jesus in the last week, you will know the better
how to rejoice in the angel's glad tidings—‘the Lord is
risen indeed’—and will be able to understand how the
disciples who thought their dear Master was dead, were
filled with joy at seeing Him come to life again. And not
they only, but we too must be joyful, when we think that
such a victory has been gained over death and the grave.
We must die. Yes, my Augustus, you and I must die; but
*
as Surely as Jesus rose from the dead, so shall we rise from
27o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
our graves, and have new and glorious bodies given to us,
that will never be sick or die any more, but live for ever in
the presence of God.”
“April Io, 1844.—We have some pinks blown and many
red roses against the trellis, the nightingales sing more
Ioudly than I ever heard them, and the copse is full of wild
flowers, but I have no dear little boy to entice me into it,
and have not once been into ‘Butterflies’ Wood.’”
“May 1.--Do you remember the garlands you liked so
much to see on May Day ? This year I thought the children
would have more enjoyment in dancing round a May-pole.
So one was put up in front of Mrs. Piper's school, crowned
with flowers, with a blue flag at the top and a great bunch
of gorse. Inside the schoolroom the beams and walls were
hung with evergreens, and from these were suspended many
beautiful garlands of flowers. At the end of the room was
a sort of bower, with a doll dressed as Queen of the May,
and on the tables and desk, jars filled with flowers, and
moss and nosegays tied up in bunches. At three oclock all
the children of Mrs. Piper's and Mrs. Coleman's school,
sixty-eight in number, sate down on the benches, and had
tea and bread-and-butter and large buns—Lea, Anne, and
Susan waiting on them. The children had wished to crown
Mrs. Piper as Queen of the May, but she took the garland
and put it on Emily Elphick, and wanted her to wear it for
ever. But the poor little girl was so distressed in the
thought that she had any honour above the other girls, and
the fear that they might be pained by it, that she cried
bitterly, and would not be satisfied till she had made a crown
for each of her own class as pretty as her own. When the
tea was over, they sang a May-song which I had made
for them, Then they all went into the little court, and
danced round the May-pole, and played at their games,
and were, I think, very happy.
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 271
“It could not have been a more beautiful May Day.
The nightingales are singing so joyously in the copse, and
It is covered now with bluebells and orchises. Your garden
has a beautiful periwinkle in it, and the great horse-chestnut
is full of flower, and like the middle of Summer with its
leaves.”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Iime, May 7, 1844.—How I wish you could see the
loveliness of Hurstmonceaux at this time. One always
fancies every spring it is more beautiful than before, but
surely it is so this year. The profusion of flowers 1 the
birds and nightingales | The Oaks are quite out in leaf
and the copses the richest green. My life is one of Clock-
work—School in the morning, poor people in the afternoon,
and Jule coming at six o'clock and going home at eight.
It leaves time for much of solemn meditation and reading,
which one seldom has elsewhere, and now I shall be for
three weeks quite alone. Sometimes sad thoughts will
oppress one, and make one feel the blank of that human
fellowship which once cheered one's home, and then one
feels how an evil heart of unbelief prevents one's entering
into the fellowship of Him who is able to satisfy all who
come to Him, abundantly above all human love. Mary
said this morning the trees near the pond grew so much
larger than the others because nearer the water. How
truly one feels that the only way to grow and thrive is to
keep near the river of God and be watered by its streams.”
“Alime, May 14, 1844. —To-day is perfectiy lovely.
Alone, here in this peaceful nook, with the cloudless vault
of heaven above, and the Sweet, new-mown grass withering
at one's feet, and the thousand birds warbling in one's ears,
and bright flowers around, there seems nothing to separate
one from God but one's poor body that clogs and fetters
272 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the bound of one's soul upwards. He does seem so near;
and when one can lay hold of one fixed thought of Him,
and really feel this outward world lovely and beautiful as it
is to be but the shadow of Him in whom is perfect light
and never-dying life, oh how it does fill one's heart with
joy and love while it lasts. But then comes the needful
work of the day, and its consequent fatigue, and—‘where
is that mighty joy that just now took up all my heart?' is
often one's question. Poor mortals that we are. Well, the
time will come when this mortal will put on immortality,
and the joy will be full and unchanging—face to face and
eye to eye with Him at whose right-hand are pleasures for
evermore.”
During the spring of 1844, the intimacy between my
mother and her friend Esther Maurice had greatly increased,
and the latter had passed some time at Hurstmonceaux,
where the Marcus Hares were also staying.
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Aaſh, May 18, 1844.—When we reached Reading, we
looked out, and there was the sweet face of course. Esther
got into the carriage, and gave me one of her dear kisses.
ſ never feel as if I could say a word in that minute, only
look and love. She said she thought she really should go
to the Lakes with you, but that it seems too much happiness
for her. She left with me the most lovely moss-rose and
geraniums. Where does she get such flowers; do they
spring up whenever she opens her mouth, like the princess
who dropped diamonds and pearls P”
In July we went to the Lakes, my Uncle Julius and
Esther Maurice accompanying us, and the intimacy thus
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 273
engendered led to their engagement, and to their marriage
in the following November.
M. H. 30 REV. O. LEYCESTER.
“A”xhow, July 18, 1844.—We are safely at the end of
our journey, and at this most lovely spot. It was about
half-past five when we got here, when we received a hearty
welcome from Mrs. Arnold and all the family. Well indeed
does this place deserve the praise bestowed on it by Dr.
‘Arnold. The room in which I sit looks out on a fine range
of mountains closing in a beautiful green valley, of which
the flower-garden belonging to this house makes the fore-
ground; and at the foot of the garden the clear river Rotha
sparkles and bubbles along, dividing the pleasure-ground
from the meadows. .
“This place is perfect for Mrs. Arnold, associated as it is
with him she has lost; and this beautiful scenery must be
soothing to her mind when she looks around and sees God's
hand so visible in these His works. We have had the
Wordsworths here, and this evening go to them. He is
most kind-hearted, with all the simplicity and love of nature
that his poetry bespeaks, and he and Julius have much
pleasant conversation together, to which we listen. We
make this our head-quarters till the Stanleys come to fill our
places, and with the beauty of the scenery and this happy
family party, we thoroughly enjoy our visit.”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Foxhow, /uly 19.—We have been this afternoon to
Rydal Falls, which were quite beautiful, and the gleams of
Sunshine playing through the trees and deep gloom of the
chasm were most picturesque. Afterwards we went to the
Mount. The poet is a good deal older than my impression,
WOL. II. T
274 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
which was from the bust, but in plainness and simplicity
of manner quite what I expected. I was most, however,
attracted by the Sweet old face of Mrs. Wordsworth. There
was general conversation for a little while, and then Mrs.
Arnold asked for me to see the terrace, and Mr. Words
worth (how odd Mr. Sounds to his name) took me by the
arm and led me to the Mount and along his garden walks
to the terrace looking on Rydal water, expatiating as he
went along on the different objects and on the changes that
had taken place, with those nice touches in the perception
of beauty which one sees in his poetry.” .
L. A. H. to M. H.
“August 27, 1844.—I am too much overpowered by the
most unexpected tidings of Jule's engagement to say much,
only the Mia knows me so well she will know what deep
thankfulness and fervent prayers are filling my soul. I had
so much considered him and Esther in the light of father
and daughter that I can scarcely take it in, and yet there is
no one I should so love to think of as the sister of the
Mia, the wife of Julius. Dear Esther, it rejoices my very
heart to think of her patience and holy diligence in that too
often thankless task of teaching, being even now rewarded
by such happiness as I trust is in store for her at Hurst-
IſlC)11CCall}{.
“I have so enjoyed the last few evenings. When near
dark, after the children were gone to bed, I have come up
to the terrace and sat till eight or after, watching the
twilight gradually darken every object; and now the crescent
moon shines out from the dark clouds, so that every evening
will be lovelier. How I do delight in this sea view ; it is
more and more to me every day—that vast expanse of Sea
—the ever-varying lights and shades—the calm soothing
HOME-LEFE AT LIME. 275
sound of the waves—the still small voice that says, “Peace,
be still,’ when anxious thoughts thrust themselves in.”
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“August 17, 1844. — I daresay Mr. Kilvert is to-day
giving you some useful lessons to learn from the harvest-
fields around you, as he did last year when I was at
Harnish. I hope sometimes it may come into my dear
boy's mind, when he looks on all the sheaves of corn, that
Jesus tells us we shall all in like manner be gathered into
His barn. If we look on to that great harvest-day at the
end of the world, it will make it seem of so little conse-
quence what happens to us now, if we are only made ripe, as
the corn is, for Our heavenly home. You are only now like
the blade springing up, but if God waters you with His Holy
Spirit, and you are careful to profit by all you learn, you also
will grow in love to Him, till you are fully ripe and ready
to go to Him. May He help you to do so, and Inake both
of us like Our Lord Jesus, and then we shall be together
there, where there is no parting.”
“Zime, August 22, 1844.—You know the large corn-field
going down to the old parsonage-fields. Well, the other
day I turned out of it, at the large gate on the right-hand,
into another very large corn-field, and went up to the top of
it. There I came upon such a fine view of the Downs and
Hailsham, and the morning sun lit up every house and tree,
So that it looked quite beautiful. Just below me was the
sheep-field, on the top of which stands the Rectory. It was
about ten o'clock, and so I looked, and by-and-by I saw a
black figure moving to and fro among the trees and crossing
the lawn. This was Uncle Jule taking his walk after break-
fast. Had he been looking that way, he might have seen
me, for I stood on the ridge, above which the Lime abeles
are to be seen from the rectory garden. I thought if we
276 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
wanted a telegraph it might be put up there, and we could
talk very easily together. I wonder if you understand my
picture ?”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Alime, Sept. 24, 1844.—As I write this date, it reminds
me of how blessed a day this is to you, my own Luce,
and how much you are feeling to-day in the thought of the
eleven years that have passed since you and your dearest
Marcus were one. . . . . But our thoughts this morning have
been engaged not in marriage thoughts, but in those of death
and resurrection. I went up to breakfast at the rectory, and at
half-past nine dear Jule read the Burial Service, which at
that hour was to be read over the remains of dear, dear
Sterling ! On Friday morning, at Guys, arrived the sad tid-
ings that his noble spiri'. had departed. Immediately they
decided, Frederick Maurice, Julius, and Esther, to go to
Ventnor to have one last look. They reached it at nine
o'clock at night, and there, by the death-bed of him who had
first united them in his own mind, did our two dear ones
kneel and pray together—a solemn bridal. . . . . Julius said
he had such a beautiful Smile on his face, and looked as if
asleep. When the end was drawing near, no one knew how
near, he asked Annie Maurice for his Hurstmonceaux Bible,
the one he used in the cottages, and talked of visiting the
poor here, and how he should devote himself to the poor in
the worst parts of London if he had health and strength
again. A few hours after he had breathed his last.
“For Julius and Esther it will be a time never to pass
away; and if they had needed any warning to remind them
that “here is not our abiding city,' and that their earthly
continuance together could not be for ever, here they had
it brought home with power. But I feel as if I had been
there with them : I cannot speak of it calmly.”
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 277
TM. H. to MISS CLINTON.
“Aſurst/lonceaux Adec/ory, /a/. I 1, 1845. — I have not
written to you since I came to stay at the Rectory, and
Julius, Esther, and I, began our threefold life. . . . . You
may think how pleasant it is to me to see my two dear ones
together, and to share their happiness. Every morning
after breakfast we have a reading together of Isaiah : Esther
with her Hebrew Bible, Jule with his German Commentary.
Then I go to Augustus and his lessons, and they set to
their writing, in which she is sometimes able to help him in
transcribing, but much more by keeping him to his work,
and taking off all the hindrances that arise.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Faster Day, April 7, 1844.—When can a new record
of life begin more suitably than on this blessed day when
we seem to rise afresh to the consciousness of that eternal
life and inheritance assured to us by the Lord Jesus in His
glorious resurrection ? Old things must pass away. We
must put off the old man, purge out the old leaven, and at
this time enter anew into the freedom of the children of
God from all that can thwart the hidden life with Christ in
God to which we are called and chosen. And truly all out-
ward things this day help the inward man to realise the
glory revealed. A cloudless sky and brilliant sunshine is
overhead, and all nature is putting on her new life and
opening to the influence of the sun and air, showing forth
the power of Him who, out of that which seemeth dead,
can awaken life and growth, and transform the face of the
earth again into its spring and summer beauty. And shall
it be so in trees, and plants, and flowers, and will not the
dry bones of Christian Souls find too new vigour and life
infused, if they seek it from the Sun of Righteousness?
33
278 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“Alime, Whit Sunday, May 26.—Another “high day' has
come a day in which to welcome the coming of Him
whose office is to take of the things of Christ and show
them to us; without whom all the blessed work of Christ
would be in vain. Jesus would have lived, and died, and
risen again, His precious blood would have been shed, His
gracious love shown forth, His mighty power exerted over
death, and yet had not this crowning mercy of our God
been extended to us in the gift of His Holy Ghost, we
should still have been in the darkness of sin and misery.
And yet while the soul convinced of sin can feel some little
thankfulness for the blessings of Christ's atoning mercy, it
is slow to feel or express a joyful thanks to God the Holy
Ghost, the Comforter. I, at least, feel it far more difficult
to arouse such feelings on this day than on Easter-day, when
in all His life and glory, the risen Jesus seems to constrain
one's heart and mouth to utter praise to God. Is this from
unbelief? from want of sufficient distinctness in the impres-
sion of the third person in the Trinity ? I imagine it must
be so, and that a vague and undefined feeling rests on my
mind concerning the Holy Ghost as distinct from the Father
and the Son, and so hinders the full tide of thanksgiving
which should meet the coming of this holy day no less
gladly than the former ones in which Christ Himself is
brought before one. I feel it so much more a day of prayer
than of praise. And yet to this Holy One how much do I
owe ? How has he awakened mine ear to hear, my heart to
understand the truths of His word? How has he opened
mine eyes to see the sin within, and torn away the veil of
self-deception which so long had kept me from a true and
right knowledge of myself? How has He revealed to me
the love of Christ, and the glories of Heaven P Poor
indeed and limited are my views of these things, and still
more slow have I been in yielding to His teaching in
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 279
subduing the natural corruption of my heart, and in bring
ing forth fruits of holiness to His praise, and therefore is it
that prayer for a large increase of His grace, an outpouring
of His Spirit, seems more to befit my need than any other
exercise of devout feeling at this season. Oh that the
Spirit of Truth would indeed move my mind in guiding it
to perceive and discern what is truth, that it would keep me
in the simplicity of the Truth as it is in Jesus, that it would
preserve me from error and teach me good judgment and
knowledge in all things, and that the Spirit of Love would
empty me of self, and fill me with true, self-denying, self-
forgetting love, seeking not my own things but those of
others, keen to detect the faults at home and blind to those
abroad. May He whose office it is alike to comfort and to
sanctify, come and dwell in my heart, that being truly the
‘Temple of the Holy Ghost, it may be a house of prayer,
and the spirit of grace and supplication be abundantly
poured forth to lead me continually for fresh supplies of
light and life to the fountain of living waters. Oh, gracious
Saviour, dearest Lord, be not weary of my slothfulness in
serving Thee, but help me by the in-dwelling of Thy Spirit
to struggle on through every hindrance to the perfect day,
overcoming as Thou mayst see best every temptation which
keeps me apart from Thee, and in the end giving me that
blessed freedom which is the portion of thy children, free-
dom from self and sin, and the enjoyment of that com-
munion with Thee which is the end of all sanctification,
that I may be one with Thee even as Thou art one with the
Father. Shall I ask only for myself? Shall my prayers be
limited to my own needs, many and urgent as they are 2
Oh no, pour down, Lord, the fulness of Thy grace on all I
love, shed abroad Thy love into the hearts of those dearest
to me, and draw them near unto Thyself, that every high
thing may be cast down, every imagination brought low, and
28o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the full beauty and truth that is in Thee revealed to those
who know Thee but in part. So shall Thy name be glori-
fied, and Thy love perfected in them, and Thy poor unworthy
servant shall praise Thy mercy for ever.”
“Trinity Sunday, June 2.—We seem to be arrived at the
highest step in the ladder now that the full completion of
the Godhead, the Holy Three in One, is become the object
of contemplation. And great and marvellous is the mys-
tery which on this day we are called to gaze upon and adore
—not the office of the Father alone as electing or fore-
knowing His children, not that of the Son as atoning for
them to the Father, not that of the Holy Spirit sanctifying
and renewing them after His image, but all combined in
one, as each sharing in the work of the other and completing
it; as distinct in their operations and yet one; as separate in
persons, one in substance; with all the blessedness of com-
munion and fulness; rich in variety, yet in perfect unity; one
Lord God, which wert and art and art to be, holy, blessed,
and glorious Trinity | We now know Thee, can appre-
hend Thee but in part; we see through a glass darkly, and
that glass reveals to us Only so much as Our poor weak
minds can endure; for if the full glory of Thy majesty were
to burst upon us, we could not bear the sight, and must die.
But if we would have our hearts lifted above earth, and
behold the perishableness and worthlessness of all that is
best here below, we must look up to Him who sitteth upon
His throne of glory, and worship Him that liveth for ever
and ever, and cast our crowns at His feet, even all that His
grace has wrought in us, for He alone is worthy to receive
glory, and honour, and power, and He must reign till all
things are subject unto Him To Him, then, the most
high and lofty One, that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is
Holy, to Him let me commend my body, soui, and spirit,
that He may take the full possession of me, and Seal me for
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 281
His own. And may the vision of His glory bring me low
in my own esteem, and work in me contrition of heart and
spirit, that I may be emptied of self, and filled with Christ.”
“Oct. 24, 1844.—Again and again am I forced to take
refuge in the will of God as the one only means of bringing
my spirit into a due subordination. When I set this before
me, and put aside all those circumstances, which, Clear as
they appear at times, when one's eyesight is not dimmed by
tears of Sorrow, do cause idle questionings and doubts
under the pressure of crucified affections; when, putting
aside all these, I look straight to God and recognise His
will, I am at once calmed, and feel ‘It is well.’ To unite
myself with Him in heart, to desire what He desires, to
renounce what He forbids, this is the surest way of arriving
at an obedient will. Yet how slow progress do I seem to
make in attaining this settled persuasion of heart and mind,
so as to abide patiently in Him
“But I must not be impatient with the suffering of my
impatience, if I do not consent to the sin of it; while I
strive to yield my will more entirely to God's, let me bear
for awhile the pain this costs. For is not this the very cross
which will purge and root out the evil within P Were it
easy at Once to give up without effort or pain what is dear
to One, where were the sacrifice P And where it is one so
entwined with one's being that every new day and event
draws out some new form of its connection with one's life,
it must be a long and tedious process, here a little, and
there a little, by which the nortification of will can be com-
pleted and all be at peace. Death to self, what is it? As
I looked on the lifeless form of old W. C., I thought here I
See what it is to be dead, without motion, speech, sight,
voice, hearing, feeling, knowledge, thought. But how many
struggles, painful and long, had to be passed through before
this end came ! Then all was stillness, all was peace and
282 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
calm. So must it be with the soul, only that in this life we
can never hope for a perfect realisation of death to sin, the
old man will not yield up the ghost till the body in which it
dwells is also lifeless. . . . .
“Thou, Lord, art now drawing me nearer to Thee through
Sorrow of a peculiar kind, let me nestle in Thy bosom. Let
Thy grace be perfected in my weakness, and so draw my
heart after Thee, that the tide of love which is checked in
its earthly course may flow forth to Thee, and find its most
satisfying rest in Thy all-perfect wisdom.”
“Aſtars/monceaux, ZXc. 29, 1844.—How much cause I
have for praise to Him who in the last two months has
strengthened me under the pressure of much that has been
trying, to realise something of that hidden life in Christ
which is life and peace. And shall I not take Courage from
what is past to go on in the strength of the Lord for the
time to come P There is nothing that seems to me more
real and true than the certainty that whatsoever God calls
us to do, or to give up, we shall be able to accomplish be it
ever so difficult. He provides the means, no less than He
gives the command, and though it may be through much
suffering, even this must be a blessing, for every suffering
for Christ's sake is a means of likening us to Our Lord, and
we must not shrink from learning obedience by the same
process that was passed through by the Son of God Himself.
“This year draws to its close. Oh, what a year it has
been of proving, 1 may and Ought to say, of blessing to my
soul | Never was there a more clear answer to prayer than
God has given me in all that has come to pass, and I know
that hereafter I shall most heartily give Him thanks for every
pang. A new life opens before me. Sometimes my heart
faints at the thought of what it may bring with it, till this
selfish, narrow heart is enlarged and freed from its chains.
But I must not fear when the mighty One is my helper.
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 283
The Lord Jehovah is my everlasting comforter, my sure
rock of refuge. In the daily little things of life no less than
in the great ones I wish to recognise His will, and to bend
mine to be wholly one with His, so shall my heart be
stayed in peace on Him, who is ever the same, ever near,
and who when He sees the fit time come will lessen the
suffering, and make all things appear to me in their true
light.”
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“Iime, Feb. 6—I must write to you from the dear home,
which looks very sunny and bright, though inside the house
there is no little merry face to greet me ; and so, as I am
too old to be contented with the companionship of kittens
and rabbits, I am better pleased to stay generally at the
Rectory with Uncle Jule and Aunt Esther. The little robin
is now hopping about on the grass, having made its break-
fast on the crumbs I scattered for it outside the window.
The sea is gleaming like silver in the bright morning Sun-
shine, and the pond is frozen over so evenly, it is like a
sheet of glass.”
M. H.’s PARISH JOURNAL.
“Aeb. 20, 1845.-I visited Mrs. Lade, a young woman
lately come into the parish. She seemed ill and suffering
and in great weakness, but in a most happy frame of
mind, full of thankfulness for all the kindness she received,
and persuaded of the love of God in afflicting her, finding
the presence of Jesus more worth than all else in the world.
I had no need to talk or teach, only to listen and learn ;
and a sweet feeling of love and peace did she leave with me
for the day, one that recalled past feelings which are but
rarely my full comfort, so oppressed am I by present in-
firmity. The brightness of to-day, however, has seemed to
284 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
lift me above the earth into the pure joys of heaven, and
this young believer helped to make me feel the reality of
the love of Christ.” -
“Peb. 21.—Went with Julius to Gingers Green. There
could scarcely be a greater contrast than the two cottages
there presented. Ann Dann sate with her dear little children
round her, the picture of peaceful happiness and quiet con-
tentment. She was herself neat and clean, full of affection
and pleasure in all I could read or say, and seeming truly
to feel that “to love and serve God with all one's heart' is
the great object of life.
“How different a sight was that of poor Pellett's cottage,
only a few steps across the way ! The mother sate crying
over her pains and ailments, with five little children cower-
ing over the fire, as close together as their heads could be,
all looking as squalid and ragged as the inmates of an Irish
cabin, while the eldest boy and girl stood in another part of
the room. The history of her own sicknesses took up most
of the time, and there was no expression of pleasure or gra-
titude in any offer of food to relieve her weakness. She
seemed too oppressed to be lifted out of it; and even
when after having in vain tried to have a good thought,
she at last used the Publican's Prayer, it failed to give
the comfort it might have done in other cases, so long
does she seem to have sought in vain for help. Smoky,
dirty, poverty-stricken, and helpless this family are at all
times, and I fear must continue. How glorious a change
it was into the outer air, where on One side the Sun was
setting behind the downs in the fulness of its glory and
beauty, glowing with radiance, while on the other the large
full moon was just risen, and making its way through the
vapours around it with the majesty of its silvery brightness.
The stillness of the evening hour gave a calmness to the
scene, and one could not help looking on to the day when
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 285
‘the sun would no more go down, neither shall the moon
withdraw itself: for the Lord shall be our everlasting
light.” Then will the days of mourning be ended, and sin
and sorrow be changed into righteousness and joy for ever-
more.”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Aeb. 18, 1845.-Time is short. How quickly the eleven
years have flown by since your Aug. passed from Our
sight. Your child is the little plant by whose growth we
can mark the time; there was the first happy fruit of his
uncle's translation into the heavenly world. You are still
happiest of the three brothers' wives. We cannot love those
who are gone too well; every thought, every feeling con-
nected with them is also mingled with love and thanksgiving
to Him in whose presence they are now rejoicing. What
could we do without you ? There may—there must be—
fightings within while you are in the body; but whenever I
think of you it is perfect peace and joy—my “Aug.’s
Mia,' from whose union has sprung up all the happiness
enjoyed by Jule and Esther, by Marcus and Luce.”
“A'ockend, March. (Puring an alarming illness of Marcus.)
—I have Scarcely felt cast down at all; the clouds have looked
very dark all round the earthly horizon, whichever way I
turn, but it has only made the line brighter beyond that tells
of the land not very far off, where the Lord Himself shall be
our everlasting light, and the d ys of mourning shall be
ended. The Sea, the broad open sea is such a comforter,
whether calm Or Covered with waves; and if ever there was
a home fitted by its natural beauties to soothe and strengthen,
it is this dear rocky nest.”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Zime, March 26, 1845– . . . . I need not say how
near I am at this Easter time to you, my Luce. It is
286 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
indeed of all others the season when the inward feeling
seems to overcome the outward one, and life and hope to
be given even when the outer things seem passing away.
. . . . Dear Annie Maurice is dying at Hastings, perhaps
is already gone. Frederick writes calmly, and says they
have looked it in the face, that it has lost part of its sting,
and that they can give all up to the will of God. Oh
what depths of sorrow have His children to pass through
in the process of leaving earthly affections to rest upon
heavenly treasures that fade not away. The time must
come, sooner or later, when Christ must be all—all in time
and in eternity. Why are we so unwilling to receive this
favour, so slow to part with anything, to sacrifice our Isaacs'
for His sake and at His word who gave His own life for
us? But it is the blow hanging over the head that makes
the heart beat and fear arise. When it is clear what God's
will is, then all is stilled—the mouth is dumb, for He hath
done it. So I am sure will it be with this poor mourner.
So will it be with you, my own sister, whenever the decree
does go forth, and your beloved one is called to his
heavenly portion. May it be delayed yet awhile, one's
fond heart cries out; but even as it seemeth good to our
Father, so may it be to us.
“Our Easter sunshine did not come till Monday, when
the rain and vapours cleared away, and it was as with you
like summer. It was too hot for me to walk much, and I
sate down under the Rectory drawing-room window, watching
the lambs that had stolen through the wicket, unable to
resist the tempting green of the lawn, while Jule and Esther
walked about enjoying the brightness, and then he came
and read “The first mild day of March,' which was so true
a description of this day. You know how I share all your
Easter feelings, and how our daily service here through last
week's solemn recollections prepares one for the joy. I
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 287
thought also much of last Easter Monday, when I took my
dear children to the park and castle, and they sported in the
wood and gathered flowers.
“Julius and Esther went to Mrs. Wisham after the ser-
vice, and gave her the Communion. A little while before I
had had a sweet visit to the dear old woman. I found her
so low and cast down (I think quite from weakness), fearing
she was a hypocrite, she could not drive away the evil
thoughts that possessed her; and if after all she should be
a castaway; she was so afraid that when she had talked to
us she might have gone beyond the truth. After talking a
little while she became calmer and comforted, and then shut
her eyes and began praying as if no one was by, “My
dearest Lord, my lips are not worthy to speak unto Thee,
but do hear me, and forgive me all my sins,’ &c.; and then
she went on in the most touching way, praying for us all,
and as she held one hand fast, it was for me indeed a
blessing to hear her. Then she opened her eyes and asked
me to pray. Her old husband meanwhile had come in and
stood behind the curtain ; and when I had done he came
forward, wiping his eyes and looking more softened than I
have ever seen him. Her whole heart is now yearning over
him; she can hardly bear him to be away from her, and he
brings up his tea to drink with her, and does numberless
little kind offices for her. One does long for her to have
that sight of /esus, that sure hope in Him which would
brighten her suffering bed, but doubtless this discipline is
needed to prove her faith, and if good it will be given to
her, and ere long she will enter where no doubt or fear can
again harass her Soul. -
“After service came the old people's dinner at the Rectory,
so it was a day of true feasting, such as belongs to Christian
pilgrims. -
“I feel fearful of letting go the impressions of the past
283 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
week, and the feelings connected with the Resurrection are so
specially blessed. There is a tenderness inexpressible which
I feel in the nearness of Jesus to His disciples at that time,
as related to us, and it seems to bring Him so into the
midst of one's home and heart to read of it; and then how
one feels that it is in this world of care and sorrow one's
only true peace to enjoy the hidden life with Christ in God,
and to hear the voice of our Shepherd saying, “Fear riot,
little flock, it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the
kingdom.’ Illness, and suffering, and anxiety have of late
been so present with us that even when all without looks
sunny and bright, one feels it is only as a type of the peace
and blessedness that passes not away that One can truly enjoy
it. I often think how unlike Julius and Esther's newly
married life is to that of most people, even to what mine
was—it is SO chastened and So Solemn.”
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“April 2. —Dear Annie Maurice was laid to rest on
Monday in this churchyard. Eighteen men in white smock-
frocks carried the coffin from the Rectory to the church, in
relays of six at a time. It was very solemn and sad as we
passed through the lane to see the hedges lined with prim-
roses speaking of new life and spring, and before us the
mournful procession winding along the road and up the
hill to the church, which stood shining in the bright Sun-
shine, as if to remind us that all is light in the heaven to
which we believe that our dear Annie has gone.
“The grave was close under the great yew-tree, near
Lina's, and with the setting sun full upon it. There we saw
the coffin let deep into the earth, and heard the blessed
words of prayer, by which we asked to be joined with those
who are gone, that by believing in Jesus we may rest in
nope, as Annie does, of the great resurrection, when her
body will rise again to life.”
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 289
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“April 6.-Again has it been permitted to me this day
to approach the holy table of the Lord and to partake of the
heavenly food provided there, together with the mourners
who have been so deeply chastened. It is but a few days
since we joined together in committing to the grave the
earthly shell of our dear friend. May he who then buried
his greatest earthly treasure be strengthened and comforted
to feel that though apart in the body they are present in the
Lord, and in that heavenly kingdom of which we see so
small a portion, while she who has entered within the veil
is permitted so much fuller a view. As I beheld the deep
pit into which her narrow house was lowered, it seemed to
say, it is not enough that we must die—not enough that self
should cease to act, it must be buried, deep out of sight,
hidden from all human consciousness. We are apt to con-
ceive of the two acts as one, yet there is a great difference
between them. The dead, those who sleep in Jesus, while
they remain with us, are still like what they were in outward
form and feature, we can scarcely believe life has departed
from the cold and silent clay; but when they are buried,
the dust returns to dust, the earth surrounds and covers
them, all the particles of the body so much loved are dis-
solved, and no trace left of it, till the word goes forth to
restore and bring it forth to new life in the great day of the
Resurrection.
“And is it possible, I ask myself, that my warm and
breathing body, this strong current of life which animates
me now, shall in like manner cease to be, that I shall be
still, and motionless, and senseless as the corpse on which
my eyes have gazed with such intentness of late, as if to
read in it some new discovery of God's wondrous works?
No, it seems not possible; the feeling of personal identity
VOL. II. U
290 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. .
is too strong. I myself cannot die. I live in Christ; and
though at His call I may enter on a new and untried state of
being, I shall but part with my earthly tenement, “as a bird
escaped from the snare of the fowler,’ to rejoice in my de-
liverance from a Cumbrous body that clogs the free and full
exercise of all my powers. As the husk of the chrysalis I
shall cast it aside, and rise out of it to soar above the dark
clouds and mists of earth, into the pure and serene atmo-
sphere of heaven, where dwell only those who are holy and
heavenly—the perfected spirits of the redeemed.
“But stay my soul—yet awhile must I linger on, oppressed
by this mortal which hides from me the glory I could not
bear to look at, and am not worthy to behold. For a season
longer I must be content to walk this earth as a stranger
and a pilgrim, far from home, though ever advancing towards
it; and there is so much work yet to be done by me and in
me, that I must not wonder if it be a long time before the
welcome call is given to enter into the joy of my Lord.
Oh to be increasingly taught how to separate myself from
all but God, to know more of the hidden life of Christ in
Him, and to die and be buried to all human affections and
earthly pleasures. There is even now a resurrection life
open to me, if I have but the courage to enter into it—a
life which is without any personal enjoyments, except such
as belong to the angels, who find their joy in doing the
will of God, and acting as ministers to do His pleasure.
Such would I desire to be—His angel—to accomplish His
purposes, to minister to all around, and daily to find food
and strength and joy in Him.
“In family life more especially it seems to be difficult to
maintain an exalted standard, and to preserve a holy and
serious demeanour, unmoved by the daily petty changes
around us, judging by the light of the Spirit and the Word
of God, while we show the greatest love and sympathy with
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 291
all the infirmities and troubles of others. But why should I
marvel that I find it difficult 2 Is it not because I count
on myself as having apprehended something of the divine :
life, when as yet I have all to learn and unlearn, and Ought
rather to sit down on the lowest step of the Temple, and
with the babes learn to cry Hosanna P. It is so easy to
talk, to write, to use good words, to frame beautiful sen-
tences, to imagine lovely thoughts—so hard to Come down
from the high pinnacles of self-conceit and feeſ that we know
nothing, and have practised little as yet of the meekness
and love of Christ. But let me not be discouraged, self
cannot die at once, it must be a slow gradual decay, only
let me keep steadfastly in face of the enemy, not turning
aside because he looks so formidable, but resolutely resist-
ing every temptation by which he would assail me. . . . .
“Let me seek Thee, O Jesus, my risen Lord, and find
Thee. Do Thou commune with me, and let me commune
with Thee. Open to me Thy blessed Word. Teach me
all I Ought to know and to do ; and make my heart—dead
and cold as it is by nature—to burn with heavenly desires
and the love of Thee, that so I may the more readily and
cheerfully yield up all my will, and be satisfied henceforth to
‘dwell alone,’ for Thou alone art my portion, Thou wilt
never forsake me.”
The Summer of 1845 was an eventful one in our quiet life.
In June, my mother paid her first visit since the year of her
widowhood to her beloved Alton home, and, overpowering
as were the associations which thronged upon her, at the
first sight of the White Horse, and the thatched cottages
embosomed in their tufted elm-trees, the heart-felt burst of
loving welcome with which the simple villagers received her
292 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
amply repaid the effort. Amongst her cottage visits, I
especially remember one to an old man named William
Pontin, who after thanking her heartily for her “respectable
gift” said, “I do thank God every morning and every night,
that I do ; but thank 'un as I may, I never can thank’un
enough ; He be so awful good to I; and then it just is
comfortable for I to feel that the Almighty's always at
whom—He never goes out on a visit.”
On leaving Alton we joined the Marcus Hares at Swin-
don, and with them underwent the terror of a frightful rail-
way accident, near Slough. They accompanied us to Hurst.
monceaux, and spent the Summer at the Rectory, where
my uncle Marcus Hare, after a short illness, passed peace-
fully into rest, on July 30. On the 4th of August, his body
was laid amid the group of honoured graves which was fast
gathering around the yew-tree in Hurstmonceaux church-
yard.
M. H.’s Journ AL.
“Hurstmonceaux, 1845–On Thursday evening (July 24),
as we returned from Lewes, we were stopped as we were
driving up to the Rectory with the news that dear Marcus
was alarmingly worse. . . . . There were fluctuations till the
following Tuesday, when all hope faded away. That after-
noon he asked, ‘Where is the Mia,' and taking my hand he
said, ‘Lucy was given to console you, and you are given to
console her—and the children will be yours too.” He
desired at five o'clock that the children might be sent for
from Lime, and he spoke to each of them, and blessed
them. At four A.M. on Wednesday morning I felt the last
moments were approaching, and called Julius and Esther.
In a few minutes they knelt with us by the bedside of our
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 293
departing brother. Julius offered up two prayers from the
visitation service, and then read the 71st Psalm. As we
began to repeat the Gloria Patri, dear Marcus's breath began
to intermit, and as we joined in the Amen his last gentle
sigh escaped him. We again knelt by the bedside, and
Julius uttered our heart-felt thanks, in the words of the Burial
Prayer, to Him who had so graciously ‘delivered our Marcus
from the burden of the flesh and the miseries of this sinful
world, to dwell with Him in joy and felicity.’
“The beautiful dawning of the summer morning, the
glorious Sun that shed its light on all around, and that
entered that chamber of death, seemed truly the outward
type of that blessed Resurrection life which he had now
begun. ‘There shall be no night there ; and they need no
candle, neither light of the Sun, for the Lord God giveth
them light, and they shall reign for ever and ever.’”
M. H. to the REV. R. KILVERT.
“August 1, 1845.-At five o'clock, on Wednesday morn-
ing, our beloved Marcus gave up his spirit into his Father’s
hands, and literally ‘fell asleep’ without a struggle. For
the last twelve hours his sufferings had ceased, and we had
the comfort of receiving his parting words to each of us.
He was ready to depart, though not apparently conscious
himself how near the end was. With his habitual reserve
he did not express much of what passed within, and it was
therefore the more comforting to witness, though we could
not hear, his happiness at the last. At the beginning of
the night he was restless, but his wife began repeating texts of
Scripture to him, and the effect was quite extraordinary in
soothing him, and as she poured out one text and verse
of a hymn after another (I taking it up when she was
exhausted), he became perfectly still, and, with his eyes
294 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
turned up to heaven, continued for about an hour gradually
breathing less and less. . . . .
“Lucy begged to be removed from the Rectory the same
evening, and I brought her here to Lime. She feels deeply
her responsibility with her three fatherless children, but in
weakness is God's strength perfected, and we have truly
been taught how faithful He is to all who believe.”
M. H. to MRS, R. PILE.
“Alime, Azºgust 14.— . . . I knew you would share our
Sorrows. Truly God has been with us, and it is an encourage-
ment to faith to see a fresh instance of His exceeding love
and mercy in the midst of such heart-crushing grief. I
cannot describe to you the consolation my dear Lucy has
experienced—such a vivid sense of Christ's presence, such a
sitting in heavenly places with him who has now entered
within the veil, that, except for short intervals, she has
hardly realised as yet what the earthly separation is. She
will not hear of it being called a bitter Cup, for it has been
mixed by the hand of Love. Since the funeral, she has
rejoined us, and in the most touchingly submissive and even
cheerful manner resumed her duties with her children—
fulfilling so exactly Keble's words, “ Cheerily to your work
again, with hearts new-braced and set—to run untired Love's
blessed race.' Now she has returned to Rockend.
M. H. to L. A. H. (on returning to Rockend).
“ Zime, August 14, 1845.-‘The Lord thy God in the
midst of thee is mighty: He will save, He will rejoice over
thee with joy, He will rest in His love, He will joy over thee
with singing.” Yes, dearest, ‘thy Maker is thy husband,”
and your home and rest is in Him—a sure, never-changing
sanctuary in which you will dwell for ever. Even now,
while the waves and storms of this troublesome world are
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 295
beating upon you, your vessel is fast anchored on the Rock
of Ages, and you cannot be moved. Though your heart
may be torn in pieces, and you must often feel as if life on
earth must henceforth become a dreary thing, yet will your
faithful and loving Saviour be ever near to speak peace to
your soul, and bid you look on to that blessed dawn which
will rise for you as it has done for your beloved; when you,
like him, will breathe ſorth your spirit into the hands of your
Father and his Eather; then you will join fully in that
blessed song of the redeemed, which as yet we can utter So
faintly.
“Your earthly home is now like a body without a soul.
He who animated and cheered it is unseen by your eye,
but he will be ever near in spirit, and as you feel his pre-
sence in every object around you, it will help you to draw
near to him where he is, in the secret place of the Most
High, dwelling in that light which we cannot approach
untC).
“Oh how blessed it is to think that where Christ is
there are His faithful servants with Him—‘the glory which
thou gavest me, I have given them.’
“‘If we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have
fellowship one with the other,’ and ‘our fellowship is with
the Father and His Son Jesus Christ.’”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“A'ockend, Sºfí. 24, 1845.- . . . One passage in Carr's
Sermons is especially full of comfort to me—‘All those
things that once gave me so much delight, and that I dwelt
on as the green spots in my life, are to me now little more
than a dream. They are now dead to me, and I to them;
and it is on my trials, my troubles, my bereavements that I
can dwell with satisfaction; for these humbled me, these
296 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
taught me faith, these drew me to God my Father; and
what is any life worth which has not this tendency?’
“In this glorious view I sometimes seem to hear my
husband's voice bidding me to rejoice, and then I speak
aloud to myself all that I feel he would be saying; and I
cannot tell you how full of love and tenderness my whole
heart is ; and I go straight to my Tower, and open wide
the windows, and have a most blessed hour of prayer and
meditation before my boys come to me.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Aurs/monceaux, Oct. 12, 1845.-A second time in the
course of four months has Azrael, the angel of death, visited
our family, and carried away a beloved one from the midst
of us; a second time has the message come with power—
‘Prepare to meet thy God.” How wonderfully and passing
human thought has Our Lord himself accompanied His mes-
senger, and poured balm into the deepest wounds, so that
even the frail vessel cast on the stormy seas of tribulation
has not been shipwrecked, but has heard the voice of Jesus
speak “Peace.”
“Surely the experience both of the nearness of death and
eternity, and the knowledge of the faithfulness of God to
all who believe, ought to stay our hearts on Him, and help
us to trust Him with our all, not for the present only, but
for the future—-that indistinct vision which our faint hearts
are so apt to cloud with evil, because it is too far off for us
to behold the light which falls upon it, and which will
assuredly gild every dark cloud to those who look beyond
the earthly limits, and seek in heavenly light to behold all
things as in God.”
The winter of 1845–46 was passed at Lime by Mrs.
Marcus Hare and her children, until the middle of Feb.
ruary.
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 297
M. H. to L. A. H. -
“Iime, Feb. 18, 1846.--To-day is the precious 18th, a
day to give much thanks for, when my best half passed into
the heavens. Twelve years have passed away since this our
earthly separation. It is now ‘but as yesterday when it is
past’—quite passed from sight, from outward observation,
yet to the heart and mind near and close as yesterday.
What time or space can ever separate one from that which
is part of one's own being P But every year lessens the
outward separation instead of adding to it; and all we can
wish is to hasten on after those who are gone before, to be
framed and fashioned as they were, in the discipline of this
daily life of trial, into the mind of Christ, that when the
blessed call is given we may be ready to mount up and
dwell with them.
“When I awoke this morning, it seemed so strange to
feel that I was in a house alone, to know that no dear little
merry faces would meet me on going down. But I was glad
to be here, not at the Rectory, this morning, and to
be quite alone. I seem to want the breathing-time, the
perfect rest of this outward solitude. The responsibility of
all the children, the thoughts and feelings for you—unex.
pressed and unshown, yet which have continually been
pressing on me for some months, I now seem to feel opened
to view, and I want to separate myself for a time from the
earthly sympathies and interests of life to seek in Christ
new life and power to go on. . . . Soon we shall be at
home, and rest with Him who is beloved above all, and
those who are dearest to our hearts next to Him.
“Through one short night may sorrow last,
But joy with morning's dawn will rise.”
298 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
The only event which in 1846 marked my mother's home-
life was the death (in June) of her dear old father, who had
teen failing for several months. Immediately upon receiv-
ing the news, we went to Stoke, and were present at his
funeral. A fortnight after, we left this beloved family home
for the last time, and Mrs. Oswald Leycester came to live
at a house which belonged to her in New Street, Spring
Gardens. During this year my mother's failing eyesight
was a constant trouble to her. The following winter was
passed at Hurstmonceaux.
M. H. to A. J. C. H. (at Harrow).
“Stoke Rectory, March 4, 1846.-My journey was without
any event, and we arrived safely at Whitmore at four o'clock.
There was John Minshall and the old horse ready for us,
and in two hours more we were once more at the Stoke
door. But poor grandpapa could no longer come out to
meet me. Grannie took me straight into the dining-room,
and there he lies on a little bed by the fireside; another
little bed is near him, and is screened from the door by a
large folding red screen. He knew me by my voice, but
cannot now see enough to distinguish One person from
another, but he is better than he was, and his mind is quite
clear. To-day is his birthday, and he is ninety-four. His
beard has not been shaven since his last illness, and it is so
long that he looks most venerable, like the pictures of the
old patriarchs, and especially of Isaac in his bed blessing
his sons. *
“We have such lovely spring days here, but I have not
walked beyond the garden till yesterday, when I went
through the village to see Old Molly Latham, and came back
over the large field, and through what we used to call the
Slough of Despond, and, as of yore, it was So wet that I
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 299
got over Iny shoe-tops in mud. There are very few prim-
roses in the hedges here, but such a quantity of pileworts.
I have not been able to get to the island; when I
went to the river and saw all the daffodils on the other side
inviting me to come and see them, I could not reach them,
for the first little bridge from Pilewort Island was broken
down, and I could not jump over.”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Stoke, March Io.—On Sunday evening we had a touch-
ing scene. My father said he should like once more to
have all the servat ts in to prayers. So at nine o'clock they
all came in, and I read prayers, putting my mouth close to
his ear on the pillow, and speaking as loud as I could.
When it was ended, he begged them to stop, and raising
himself in bed, addressed them with wonderful strength and
clearness of voice. He urged on them the necessity of
prayer— if it is only for a few minutes, but remember
words are nothing unless it comes from the fulness of the
heart'—begged them to practise all they prayed for, and to
be obedient to God’s commandments, and ended with
wishing them all to have peace now and at all times,
‘God bless you all, and good-bye l’ he uttered most empha-
tically, and the deep silence was only broken by some sobs
from the women servants. We were much afraid he would
have suffered from the great effort he had made, but he was
not the worse. Generally he speaks very little, and for the
most part it is Completely—‘reposing in decay serene, in
calm Old age his duty done.’ The candle is burnt down to
the very socket, but every now and then it flickers up before
it is finally quenched.”
June 27.-The dear, dear father is now numbered with
our beloved ones in heavenly places. I can scarcely believe
it. One has so often gone through the same process of
3oo MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
anxiety and expectation, that it scarcely seems possible to
realise that he is indeed gone—entered into rest, and freed
from his worn-out, earthy tabernacle. The dear, beloved
old man What a blessing to have had him so long; but
now that he is taken away, there is a blank no one can fill
up. One more is gone to teach one to look up and fix
one's heart more steadfastly where hasting joy and love are.
All one's love for the dear long-loved father gushes into
one's heart, but one does so feel he is the same, only
exalted, purified, sanctified—no more doubts or fears—he
sees and knows now that in Christ is all-sufficient love, and
all-perfect holiness to cover all his sins. All his wonder,
“how can these things be P’ is stilled in the contemplation of
perfect Wisdom.” -
“Stoàe, /u/y I.-At length the Zast visit has come, and I
am at the home of so many years only to bid it farewell for
ever. I come not to be welcomed by the tenderest of
fathers, not to pray that I may be a comfort to him, but to
give thanks that he is delivered from the burden of the flesh,
that he is at rest and in peace. You may think what the
house is—alas ! you know too well—the desolation when
the head, the master, is gone—when the one object to whom
every eye, every thought turned from morning to night, from
night to morning, is withdrawn, and the devoted servants
who have nursed him so unweariedly mourn and weep like
children over his loss.”
“/uly 3–The last tie is broken. “He sleeps in calm
earth, and his narrow bed is made by the side of our mother
and Charles. . . . . The sight of the pulpit and desk and
pew hung with black served more than anything to bring
home that he was gone—the father of his people, for such he
truly was—the never-failing friend. . . . . In the afternoon
when we all dispersed I went to the island, and sat in the
bathing-house and looked on the calm river flowing on just
HOME-LI "E AT LIME. 301
as it had flowed ever since I can remember it—unchanged
while so many years have rolled on and brought to me so
many changes; and here I sought to dedicate myself once
more to Him who abideth for ever, and is a Father who can
nevel be taken away. . . . . I think, as far as the lesson of
death goes, it is almost more instructive when the shock of
corn is fully ripe when it is gathered in than even in earlier
life. The being taken before the number of days is completed,
may be peculiar to the One gone, the consequence of disease,
but where the thread of life has been spun out to the very
extremity, there is no escape from the warning—we must
come to this, however long spared.”
“July II.-One more letter from Stoke, dearest Luce,
and it is the last. The time is really come when this
chapter of one's earthly history must close, and when the tie
which has bound one to this spot for forty years must be
snapped asunder. But Stoke will still abide with us in-
separably. Places, like persons that have been closely
associated with our lives, cannot pass away. They become
a part of one, and form a portion of that inward being that
endureth always, let the outward changes be what they may.
You may think how as I look round on the meadows, the
peaceful river Terne, the beloved father's favourite willows,
the large shady trees and pretty flower-beds and sloping
lawn, I See at a giance all the past days of enjoyment and
of Sorrow that have been passed here, and the succession of
dear friends that have passed away, while all the vague
thoughts which have so often come across me of the proba-
bility of leaving it for ever, are now brought to certainty. It
will seem almost like turning one's back on the dear father
to go from hence ; here he seems so present, I do not feel
at all as if he was away. There is no mournfulness about
the thought of him ; it is only the feeling that instead of his
lying helpless and suffering on a sick-bed, he is resting on
3O2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
his Saviour's bosom in peace and repose. But so it will be
still. Those who die in the Lord, die to sight, only to live
more truly in spirit, and it is a blessing to feel that for them
the passage through the Jordan is over—that they are safe
on the borders of the promised land.” -
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“June 28, 1846.-My dear revered father has been set
free from his earthly tabernacle. Ninety-four years of
earthly life are closed, and I believe that he has now begun
that eternity of heavenly existence, the seed of which has
been hidden in Christ. I believe that now his doubts and
fears are ended, his questionings answered, his speculations
solved, and that in his Saviour and his God he has found
that full and perfect forgiveness and holiness for which he
has so long yearned. One can only give thanks that at
length he has been permitted to reach the desired haven.
But to us who remain how large is the blank | Time has
not been when we were without this most tender and affec-
tionate of friends, nor do I recall a word or deed of unkind-
ness from him through the forty-seven years of my life. In
my sorrows he pitied his child and grieved over me, in my
joys he rejoiced, in my interests he was interested, and if
there is any good in my natural character, it is inherited
from his love of occupation, his cheerful disposition, his
peaceful temper, his observation of nature, and his pleasure
in little things. How closely all one's past life and its cir-
cumstances seem bound up with One's being ; then comes
a change, and outwardly all seems to have passed away, but
with the substance it is not so : that which has been, still is,
and ever will be, so far as it was good and true, and in that
sense our dear father cannot pass away, he lives and is with
us still. When the earthly form is withdrawn, it is that we
may more fixedly look on the heavenly, and by the break-
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 3O3
ing of a fresh link to this world be led onwards in heart and
mind to seek the reunion, when we shall meet to part no
more. Still more are our beloved ones removed from sight
that we may set our affections more fully on Him who is
ever unchangeable—“Jesus, the same yesterday, to-day, and
for ever.’”
“AVoz). 22, 1846.-This my birthday is again permitted
to return, and falls this year on the resurrection day of the
week, as if to encourage me onwards to lay hold of the risen
life in Christ, and feel that passing out of the earthly I must
henceforth be more truly a partaker of the heavenly life.
But how slowly do old things pass away and all things be-
come new : One thing after another must be rent from us,
one cloud after another overshadow us, before we can enter
into the brightness of that light which is in itself pure and
unchangeable. Mists and vapours rise up from the earth
around us, which dim the clearness of our vision of the sun
which shines in all his glory above our heads. But it is a
blessedness for which I must be thankful that I know
assuredly that the ‘Lord reigneth,' even ‘the Lord our
righteousness.’ In the year that is closed what mercie:
have I received, what unworthiness have I shown of the
least of them ; for the restoration of health to so many
who are dear to me, for the translation of my beloved father
to his heavenly home, for the strength vouchsafed me in
all times of need. “What shall I render unto Him for
all His benefits P’ I can only give my own self—all
I have, and all I am. Seal the Covenant, Lord, by Thy
Spirit, that being united to Thee I may abide in Thee,
and may bring forth more abundant fruit to Thy glory. I
desire to surrender myself wholly unto Thee, O my God, to
live more simply as One separated unto Thee, not finding
my joy and comfort in the earthly blessings Thou so richly
bestowest on me, but, while thankful for the gracious gifts,
3O4 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
looking only to the Giver as the source of my happiness and
the object of my life. I cannot shake off the habits of
thought and feeling which many years have wrought in me,
I can only ask of Thee, O Christ, to have mercy on me,
poor and needy as I am, and subdue in me all that is per-
verse and wayward in my heart, and so fill me with Thy
pure and heavenly love that all my narrowness and selfish-
ness may be done away in the wideness of the love.”
Much of the years 1847 and 1848 was spent by my mo-
ther with Mrs. Oswald Leycester in New Street, and in the
autumn of 1847 my dear and venerable grandmother paid a
long visit to us at Hurstmonceaux. The marriage of Arch-
deacon Hare had brought with it much of a feeling, though
not a reality, of separation between Lime and the Rectory;
and the influx of new associations, new interests, and fresh
guests at her Sussex home made my mother turn with
greater warmth at this time to the friends of her earlier life,
from whom the almost too-engrossing devotion of Julius had
hitherto comparatively separated her. The death of Mrs.
Oswald Leycester, after a long and painful illness, in 1848,
left a wide gap, in the loss of one who from the age of
thirteen had lovingly filled a mother's place to her.
The family group at Hurstmonceaux Rectory were mean-
while occupied by ever-changing literary interests. The
death of his dear friend John Sterling, in 1844, led my uncle
in 1848 to bring out an edition of “Sterling's Essays and
Tales,” to which he affixed a memoir from his own hand.
In the same year he plunged vehemently into “the Hamp-
den Controversy,” which was then agitating the English
Church, and delivered a Charge to his clergy whose interest
HOME LIFE AT LIME. 305
was deeply felt, though its great length was complained of
—not the length of words, but of thoughts—that he picked
up all the thoughts that lay on each side of the road he was
travelling.
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“AWew Street, Jan. 15, 1848.-Grannie is much better now
and down-stairs again. It has been so wet since you went
I have not been out till to-day, when the sun shines brightly ;
and I have obeyed its summons and walked in the garden
to the end of the water, where I watched the divers dipping
down for such a long time, and the band playing, and the
soldiers passing to the palace.”
“JCime, Feb. 13.−Here I am at our dear home again,
and much did I enjoy the drive from the station through
the familiar lanes. I find that dear Mrs. Piper (the old
village schoolmistress) is just alive and that is all. She has
been asking for me, and I am so glad to be able to see her
once more and help to close her eyes.”
“Aeb. 29.—We are just returned from attending dear
Mrs. Piper's funeral. We came up with the proces-
sion going up the church hill, and after the twelve
bearers, who were all chosen by Mrs. Piper herself, came
the mourners, and then all the children from both schools.
Aunt Esther and 1 and all the Cther ladies of the parish
joined the procession at the gate, and there were many
people who had been her former pupils in the church. She
was laid by the side of her husband, opposite the vestry
window, and as Uncle Jule read the solemn words over her
grave, it seemed as if she must have been present to hear
them, so often has she talked of heavenly things to me, and
so dear to her were the thoughts of going to her Saviour. I
ſelt that I was parting with a very dear friend. . . . . She
and been schoolmistress thirty-two years, and educated nine
WQL. II. Y
306 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
hundred and ninety-nine children before she gave up the
school; and she was so much attached to all our family, and
so much a part of it, that I shall miss her very much, though
I am thankful her sufferings are over.”
“March 12, 1848.--To-morrow will be my beloved
child's birthday. Last year you came home on that day
and we were together, now we are far apart; but you will
know how my heart is full of you, and how I shall pray for
every good gift to be granted you by your Heavenly
Father. You will now be fourteen years old, and make
the change from childhood to boyhood. I can desire no-
thing better for you than that following the example of
Jesus, you may set yourself resolutely to your ‘Father's
business.’
“Remember always that as you have had the advantage
of being taught what is right, you are answerable to God
for showing before others that you are not ashamed of it,
and will confess yourself on Christ's side. In many a quiet,
but steady way, you may bear witness to the truth.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“June 2, 1848.-This day has ever come to me with its
own peculiar sense of mixed thankfulness and Sorrow. In
these last years more especially have I felt how my whole
life has been linked to this day, and though in actual eye-
presence we only lived for four and a half years together,
yet has my union with Augustus now lasted for nineteen
years. All that went before seems to have been swallowed
up in the change that I underwent when I became one with
him. All that has happened since is So closely connected
with him, that it is all one with the life that we spent
together in our short earthly intercourse. My visits to
Alton have renewed the vividness and reality of what had
become almost a dreamy recollection of blessedness, and
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 307
how sweet and tender they were is not to be expressed.
The first return there was overpowering in its emotions. It
took all the strength that was in me, or rather that I could
obtain from God, to still and quiet the thoughts and feelings
of what had been, to keep me submissive to what is. I used
that strength for the people whom I saw, the time was too
short for personal feeling to find its place. But in my visits
since, greater strength of body and calmness of mind have
enabled me to draw nearer to Augustus, to our four blessed
years of life, and to feel how deep a hold they had taken
on my existence; and now, as time wears on, as blessings
have been given and withdrawn, and my life has become of
late more determinately and distinctly solitary, as far as
Communion and love with any one being is concerned, I
can only strive to enter more fully into the hidden life with
Christ, and endeavour, amid the tossings of heart and mind,
of outward changes and fears, to find a sure resting-place in
His love, an anchor of hope from which nothing but sin
can separate me.”
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“20, AVezº Street, Sept., 1848.-There were such numbers
of people and children in the gardens when I went out from
Grannie's sick-room. It was such a contrast, but I rejoiced
to think there were so many enjoying health and happiness.
“There had been a grand review of soldiers before the
Horse Guards, and the band played beautifully; but I
could not enjoy it, from fear it would distress my poor
invalid. The fog was so thick I could only see dim
shadows moving about, and the glitter of the spears when
there came a gleam of Sunshine.
“We have now been so long together that I miss my
dear loving boy very much, and fancy I hear his voice all
the day, telling me something he has been seeing or doing;
308 MEMORLALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and you, too, will be lonely; but we have Christ near to us
both, and He will comfort our hearts and give us His peace.”
“AWew Street, Sept. 10, 1848.-I must have a Sunday's
talk with you, my Augustus, though you are far away.
How many dear Sundays have we spent together, and we
are never nearer than on this day, when we use the same
words of prayer and praise, and listen to the same lessons
of Scripture. As the same sun shines over our heads, and
we can both see it—in Bath as in London—so does Christ
shine into our hearts equally in all places, and we may hear
his voice speaking to us.” -
“A.ime, Oct. 8.—Once more at home for a Sunday ! I
only want my dear Companion to Come, that we should talk
together of the good thoughts which rise up especially on
this day, and iodk upon the beautiful flowers, which still
blossom in our garden of Eden.”
“Alime, AVoz. 1, A//-Saints.-On this jubilee day I must
write to my Augustus. . . . . These pouring rains are be-
coming serious now, as no seed can be sown for next year's
harvest ; but every now and then the Sun breaks forth, and
reminds us of the Sun of Righteousness, who will, we hope,
shine more and more upon the heathen, giving them light
and scattering their darkness. Is it not pleasant to think
how all Christians will join together to-day—in China and
India, Africa and the South Sea Islands, America, and New
Zealand P. When we go to bed, then their services will
begin, and so twenty-four hours will be spent in praises to
God for having sent His gospel to us, and prayers that He
will give it to others. In this way will be prepared the
great multitude that we read of in Rev. vii., who will come
out of all nations, and sing praises to God on His throne
May we, dearest child, be with that happy company of
Saints; but in order to be so we must struggle and fight on
now, and help others to do so in the name of Christ.”
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 309
“Mew Street, Wov. 4, 1848.-My dearest child will grieve
to hear that our dear, dear Grannie has been taken away
from us. It was all over when I arrived, and for some
hours she had ceased to breathe. By a mistake in the train
we were too late at Polegate, and drove on to Lewes, in the
hope of catchmg the three o'clock train from thence, but we
arrived ten minutes too late, and so did not get here till
past nine. Poor Margaret met me at the door with the sad
news that it was too late. She had fallen asleep quite
gently at seven o'clock.
“You may come on Sunday. My own child, I shall be
so glad to have you here ; and in this house of death you
will, I trust, learn many useful lessons, and realise more
that we must set our hearts and hopes on the life that will
never die. May God preserve and keep us all to serve Him
faithfully while we have the power of doing so.”
“AVov. 17.—We must all be the better for having looked
on death so closely, and been reminded that to this we
must corne ; and then, what will it matter if we have had
more or less of this world's pleasures P . . . . The last
morning in this dear house is come, and now I have the
servants to take leave of.” *
“Abbey Room, AVorwich, Nov. 19.-You will easily see
me in this room, surrounded by the wooden faces and
heads carved in the dark wainscoting, and looking out
upon the side of the cathedral. I seem to have you very
near me here, and to hear your delight over every old
ruin and wall. We had a good journey, the only event
our stopping at Cambridge, where Professor Sedgwick was
ready to receive us, and we had a talk with him for ten
minutes. At four o'clock we reached Norwich, and it was
light enough to see the old gateway as we drove up to the
Palace ; but there are no flowers now to beautify the steps
and palisade, all looks gioomy and wintry. After a drive
3 Io MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
yesterday by Kett's Castle, the Cow Tower, Mousehold,
and the many lanes that are all so like one another, I went
to the service in the Cathedral, and thought it more perfect
than ever; and the daylight waning away from the beautiful
east window, so like the gradual change of the diorama
views from light to dark. I hope I did not like it only
because of the beautiful music or architecture, but because
I was able to worship the Lord of this beautiful temple, and
feel He was present with us.”
1849 and 1850 were almost entirely spent by my mother
in fulfilling the round of her quiet home-duties at Hurst-
monceaux, which she now seldom quitted, having no longer
her aged parents to claim her companionship and attentions.
The circle at Hurstmonceaux Rectory was increased by the
Constant presence of Mrs. Alexander, who, as Mary Mann-
ing, living with the Malcolms, had been the intimate friend of
my uncle's youth, and who, widowed and lonely, was now
invited to become a member of his household. The summer
of 1849 was saddened by the death of the Bishop of Nor-
wich, followed with terrible rapidity by the news of the
deaths of his youngest and eldest sons, Captain Charles
Edward Stanley, at Hobart Town, on the 13th of August,
1849 ; and Captain Owen Stanley, on board his ship,
H.M.S. Acaſtlesnake, at Sydney, on the 13th of March, 1850.
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“March 5, 1849. – Yesterday was dear grandpapa's
birthday. For how many years have we passed that day at
Stoke and now not only is he gone, who used to be so
pleased with his children's love, but dear Grannie too, who
loved the day so much,-and it seemed such a blank not to
write to her upon it.”
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 3II
“Iime, August 18.--To-day is a day of rest at home, and
I shall miss my Augustus much this evening. Our fields
are now all so rich with their sheaves of corn, and it makes
me often think of the Great Harvest, when ‘the reapers will
be angels,’ as I see the men with their sickles cutting it
down ; and I pray that you and I, my child, may be among
the sheaves of wheat, and not the tares, at that day.”
“August 24.—I must write a few lines to greet you on
the 26th, your Hurstmonceaux birthday. It is a day of
great importance to us both, for then first you became my
adopted one, and I undertook to train you up for God, and
you were given up by your natural parents to be wholly
mine. God has put into your heart the spirit of a child
towards me, although not by nature one ; and I pray that
He may put into your heart a true child-like love for God as
your Father, since you are also adopted into His family, by
your baptism in the name of Christ.”
“Sept. 11.—I send you the sad, sad letters from Brahan
Castle. Our dear good Bishop is with his God . . . . .
Aunt K. says that now she feels the real comfort her chil-
dren are to her. She is thankful that Grannie is spared
this grief; and, amid the many thoughts which rise up for
her, the chief is, ‘how he earnestly desired he might not
outlive his powers when he could not resign his bishopric,
and the suffering it would have been to him if he had 5–
that the rest he so earnestly craved he will now have in its
perfection.' . . . . I am going with them to Norwich.”
“A”ulace, AVorwich, Sept. 17.-We got out at Trowse, as
they thought it would be quieter than Norwich, and had
sent the carriage there. The beautiful flowers bloomed on
the steps of the entrance and in the railing above, the
cathedral looked solemn, and the trees and lawn peaceful
and green; but how great a change had passed over the
place . The house seems so desolate without its head.
312 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
When we sate down to dinner, each one felt in silence how
great a blank was there. At prayers Arthur sits in the great
purple chair; and the venerable white head and impressive
words are no longer there.”
“Sept. 22.—All the morning the clergy were arriving and
pacing to and fro along the broad gravel walks. It seemed
a long time till one o'clock, when all were gathered together
in one great black mass before the chapel, and reach-
ing as far as the ruin. We watched them from a bedroom
window. After a time the pall was borne out of the chapel
door, and then by degrees all fell into their places to follow
it. They slowly, and with pauses, went along to the lodge
gates, and when all had passed through, Aunt K. and I
went to the dining-room to wait for the Dean and his son,
who came to escort us by the private staircase to the
cathedral, and took us to the Dean's stalls. When we
first entered the cathedral, we heard one general buzz of the
mass of people assembled. Every gallery in the choir was
full of people in black. At length the bell ceased tolling,
and the words at the beginning of the burial service were
sung as the procession moved into the choir. It sounded
most beautiful, especially as they gradually drew near and
one heard the words distinctly. It took a long time before
all the hosts of clergy and people were placed, and the
choir and east end were filled. Then came the two psalms
and the beautiful 15th of Corinthians, read by the Dean.
When that was ended the Dead March in Saul struck up
which was played the whole time the congregation poured
out of the choir into the nave, and most grand and elevating
it was, seeming quite to lift one up to heaven. There
seemed no end to the people as they passed out. At last,
when almost all were gone, Mr. Wodehouse and Uncle
Jule came back for us, and we passed along with a wall of
people on each side, so that we were quite hidden from
HOME-LIFE AT LIME. 3I3
view, and thus we reached the grave. There we stood by
its side, looking down into the open vault, at the bottom of
which lay the coffin. It is exactly in the centre of the nave,
under the hole that Rajah Brooke climbed into. The Dean
read the prayers, but the sentences beginning ‘Man that is
born of a woman' were sung, and those “I heard a voice
from heaven saying, Blessed are the dead that die in the
Lord, for they rest from their labours,’ were also sung by
the choir behind, and it seemed quite as if angelic voices
were welcoming the faithful servant of God to his heavenly
home. I could have stayed there for ever. There were
only ourselves and the other relations and the servants just
round the grave; we saw no one else. When it was all
over, we paused for a few minutes, and then passed again
through the lines of people into the north transept, and out
through the passage to the palace. I have told you the
facts, but I can give you no notion how impressive it was,
nor how affecting—there were such Sobs and tears from
many present, from the School children, from the clergy by
whom their dear bishop was so beloved. Outside the
Cathedral there were crowds of people—every window and
roof filled. . . . . One of the little chorister boys said after-
wards, “I longed to have lain down in that grave, it was
Such a pity he should be there, and I here.’”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Aeb. 18, 1850.-Sixteen years are completed since my
beloved one was translated from earth to heaven. Oh
how truly can I now bless God for his deliverance from the
miseries of this evil world ; how little would I recall him if
I could.
“Blessed Augustus ! Oh that we might follow thee here,
so that we might live with thee hereafter. But many a step
has to be taken up the hill Difficulty; many a fight to be
314 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
fought before the victory is won, and we can be what thou
wert on earth, still more what thou art now—perfected in
the light of the Father's countenance. I thought when my
best beloved was laid in the grave, and all earthly things
seemed wrapped in one black mantle, that henceforth my
affections would no longer be a hindrance to me, that I
should ever set my heart only where my treasure was. But
it has been far otherwise, and I cling far too closely and
fondly round one after another of those who are dear to me,
and feel sadly bound to earth ; their joys and sorrows are
mine, and it is more hard to exercise faith for others,
especially for my child, than for myself. . . . . Never was
there a greater need than now of watchful prayer, of waiting
continually on God, and seeking from Him guidance and
wisdom, strength and light. There is so much of contro-
versy in the Church, that we need to be able to give a
reason for the hope within us, at the same time that we
must exercise love and meekness toward those who differ.
Here it is that I feel the want of greater knowledge to dis-
cern where and how I should oppose others, and when to
be silent, and suppress the truth as it seems clear to me.
“The daily intercourse of loving affection must not be
disturbed by disputes and discussions, yet even the weakest
may declare the right view of things, and be blessed in
doing so. Perhaps it is a happy thing to hear all sides, to
be able to see the good in all. It preserves one from
bigotry and intolerance, but it is far more trying in some
ways than the decided adoption of one system, and con-
demnation of all that opposes or modifies it. In this con-
dition I often find myself: with hearty sympathy with those
who hold evangelical views on all the doctrines of the
Gospel, and in estimation and love of the Word of God as
the only standard of essential and vital truth, I feel that in
many of them there is a narrowness of feeling alien to the
HOME-LIFE A. T LIME, 315
Spirit of Christ, and also to the varying wants of weak and
ignorant human beings. In heaven we shall need no forms,
no discipline, no rites. The Church Triumphant will be one,
whole, and undivided, and all the varieties of the different
living stones of that building will only make the temple.
more glorious, more rich and harmonious. The sounds of
praise will rise up within it in one united strain without
any discord. But here, in the Church Militant, we must
expect divisions, differences, and discords; for So long as
sin and self exists, so long will they mix even with the
holiest purposes and make them imperfect in accomplishing
their end.”
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“A.ime, March 11, 1850.-In two days more you will be
sixteen years old ! I can scarcely believe that my dear little
child, who used to run by my side, and play with the flowers
he had gathered, is indeed so nearly approaching manhood.
. . . . You are now old enough to seek after knowledge for
knowledge's sake, and to desire to learn correctly and
so/id/y what you can. A mere smattering of knowledge is
worth nothing, and I hope my Augustus will be something
more than a mere diſcſ/ante—one who only skims over the
surface of learning, picking out that part which is pleasant
or agreeable, and leaving out the rest. In everything there
must be pains and labour taken to master the difficulties,
and acquire the uninteresting and dry part, which may be
called the bones of the system, whatever it is. There may
be taste and beauty in a drawing, but if the perspective be
faulty and the lines Crooked, it cannot be really well done.
So it is in languages: there may be pleasure in the writings
of poets or historians, but numberless errors will be made
in translation as in composition if there is no accurate
knowledge of the grammar. And it is not only because of
316 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the attainments of study that it is needful to be diligent, but
because it is only through this discipline of mind that the
character can be formed rightly, and the extravagancies of
imagination so sobered, that one can see things truly and
accurately. In a Life of Socrates which I have been read-
ing, it is mentioned that the great business of Socrates was
in his public speeches to convince the people that they had
‘ a conceit of knowledge instead of the reality;’ and this is
exactly what you will find to be your case by discovering, as
you learn more, that as yet you know only the outside and
superficial part.”
XVII.
ABBOTS-KERSWELL.
“He who begins in the way of prayer, must conceive that
he is beginning to frame an orchard, or garden, for the con-
tentment and delight of his Lord ; though yet it be in a very
unfruitful soil, and full of weeds.”—ST. THERESA.
L. A. H. (who had now gone to live entirely in her farm
at Abbots-Kerswell) to M. H.
“A BAOZS-AZA'S WZZZ, April 4, 1849.-How very near
you and I have been to each other during the last Holy
Week. Never did I pass a more peaceful one ; and I could
see you looking out on the moon, and knew, as if by you,
every thought that passed through your mind. Seldom does
it fall to the lot of any to have so exactly homes after their
own hearts as you and I. I could never wish to move from
here—though, alas ! the lovely, peaceful-looking village is
not as peaceful as it looks, and Satan is as busy as in other
places. How I long for you when I go my cottage rounds.
Not a creature has been to ask for anything, and it is there-
fore more satisfactory to send for them, and let them see
they do not lose by not begging. We discovered in one of
our visitings a little white cottage up in a corner, looking
very pretty and retired, where lived such an afflicted woman,
quite horrible to look upon, but one of the most really
318 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Christian characters in the place, with joy and peace shining
from her scarred countenance.”
“April 13.—How much I have to tell you of our life, our
peaceful life here. I feel that I could well put up a stone
for Ebenezer, for hitherto the Lord hath helped me, and
will He not to the end ? Our earthly home seems passed
away, but happy resting-places still remain, and we are on
our way Home, and I do not think a really happier creature
lives than I am, except when sin from without and within
forces itself upon me. I think you and I are happier with
our absent husbands than most with their living ones, but
our affections are too deep not to try us sometimes, when
memory brings back the shadow of all that is preparing for
us in the substance, -
“Our days are much too short; this place to me is only
too delightful. I would gladly never move. Every day the
interest increases as one gains fresh acquaintance with the
people. I have found another very good old woman, who
lives alone, and was reading her Bible as I went in. Flave!
is her delight ! She was just like you and me ; said she was
never so happy as when alone—that her neighbours say how
dull she must be, never able to go out, and living quite
alone, but she said, ‘I tell them I am never alone.’
“Then it is such a refreshing sight to see the clear pure
sparkling wells up and down—the water running close to
the cottage doors. There is one well I cannot describe;
you must see it some day, and instantly Wordsworth's lines
will come into your mind. This afternoon we ascended
the hill and went such a walk. About two miles off is
Woolborough Church, through the loveliest lanes, you can
scarcely get on for stopping to look at the view—the two
Tors and all that high ground you see from Rockend, and
which here seems close to you, and the other way a wild
expanse of mool and heath, distant hills and villages,
ABBOTS-KERSWELL. 319
the water near Teignmouth, and again in another direction
the beautiful Bradley woods ! It really is surpassingly
beautiful. -
“April 18.—My interest in this village increases as I
come to know more of the poor. The first poor woman I
told you of is dying. I visit her daily, and carry her a bit
of dinner. She is very ignorant, but has read, and now it
all comes back. She told me she had thought much in the
night, and that it had come back to her mind, all about
Christian in the ‘Pilgrim's Progress’ crossing the river,
and how she had never felt what it meant when she read it.
My other old woman, too, who delights in Cheever, I like
very much, and I cannot quarrel with her for her prayer-
meetings, as she cannot ever get to church; but the clergy-
man lectured her well for her sin, and told her to remember
Korah and Abiram.”
“April 30.—How much I have to tell you of walks,
drives, sittings out on my camp-stool, too beautiful to
describe. So very happy is my life just now, so entirely
shut out from the great world. I can only bless God for
each day as it comes, and make the most of it. I could
fill sheets with my cottage visits, each morning and after-
noon a round such as you make, only mine is done walking,
every Cottage being close. There is such poverty as makes
One's heart sad, and when One looks down into the lovely
vale from the heights above, the feeling that life is a struggle
to almost each Cottage circle prevents the enjoyment the
scene might give ; still it makes me more thankful that my
steps have been guided here.
“Yesterday morning L. and I walked to Woolborough
Church, quite the most beautiful country church I ever SaW.
with richly-carved screen and pillars, and a curious old monu.
ment of the Courtenay family. . . . I do not know when I
have spent a happier Sunday since my little boys left me.
32O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
It was a poor sermon, but the church itself preached in
every part of it. . . . . The whole neighbourhood is filled
with little villages and parishes and churches, one lovelier
than another. On Thursday we went an exploring drive,
through lanes of Surpassing beauty, till we thought it time
to inquire our way, and found we were near Ashburton.
Then another day we took the pony and went another
delightful round. You might think I find plenty of leisure
here, but the days seem too short for all I want to do—the
mornings divided between my child's lessons and looking
after people, and afternoons in visiting the poor, or taking
long walks and rides. Then I am doing great things in a
small way as to works: had a parish-meeting called on
Saturday to decide whether I might make such and such
improvements, pulling down a wretched old cottage, build-
ing a bridge leading up to the church; and it was unani-
mously agreed I might do all I wished; so for the expense
of 24, Io I am going to make the parish a present of a most
tidy place, instead of untidiness fit only for Ireland. . . .”
“May 9.-I cannot tell you, dearest, only you know how
I enjoy this life. To me, beautiful fields and flowers, and
May weather, and lovely walks are almost as intoxicating
and reviving as they were in early youth, and the far brighter
sun of another life seems to illumine ail. In every Sweet
and lovely view I seem to have a foretaste of the renewed
Eden that I firmly believe our waking eyes will yet behold—
the thought of how near the end may be gives me a glow
and outward feeling that often sends me on rejoicing, even
through this sinful, Sorrowing world. Sin abounds—yes,
awfully so, even in this peaceful, Smiling vale; but grace
will overcome, sin will have an end, and the time shall
come, and that not far distant, when al/ shall love their
Saviour, when every face we look on shall reflect the same
joy and love. I often sit and look down on this perfect
ABBOTS-KERSWELL. 32 I
spot outwardly, and think how nothing is wanted to make
it paradise but for all to be Christians in deed as well as in
name: the cottages hidden in the Orchards in full bloom,
the church tower rising up in the midst, not a hundred
and twenty yards from each dwelling—the white house of
the clergyman surrounded by its smooth-Shayen lawny
slope, standing quite in the middle of the village, looking as
if it said, ‘Come to me for all you want’—beyond, the wild
heaths and rich meadows—and to the right, our own beau-
tiful plantation, and sioping fields where you may walk for
hours and meet no one. I keep the evenings for my lone
walks, the afternoons are for my village round. Yesterday
I walked to Woolborough Church to meet Annie Hare. As
I sat in the church porch, I felt as if I had not a wish or
want in the world, only that sin were out of me, out of the
world, for the only ugly thing in this world is human nature
—the curse has fallen lightly on the vegetable creation.”
“May 12.—Yesterday we had our school-feast. The
table was laid in the beautiful sloping field close to the
farm, from the top of which you look down over the whole
village. Our flag from Rockend was flying on the top of
the slope, and seven smaller ones, handkerchiefs bought at
our village shop, for which the children ran races. Each
child brought its knife and fork, and plate, and a ticket that
all might be right. . . . . Many from the village flocked
round to see. There never had been known such a day in
this primitive place, and the old people said they never
remembered anything of the kind, so you may guess the
enjoyment it was to see ‘young and old come forth to play
on a Sunshine holiday.' Each child had a cup of cider, and
they did eat. Just as I said the grace for them, vivid and
present as at the time, rose Alton lawn, the quince-tree, the
round plantation before the door, and Augustus's own figure
and voice, as he spoke that grace from the moment of which
VCL. II. y
322 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
I always date the first love of my heart for him. That 2nd
of June, this IIth of May—how changed, how different —
all gone, who made our lives one bright sunny day, from
year's end to year's end, and yet in the memory of these
years, life is not yet sunless. Marcus and Augustus are with
us still—prompt every action, every pleasure—and the
thought of their approval, though secondary, is and ever
will be a blessed encouragement. I don’t know that I ever
felt more alone than I did yesterday, or yet more entirely
happy and peaceful. I did miss our bright-faced boys, and
T. was rather too near my heart for perfect enjoyment;
but all was peace within, and you well know, dearest,
how you were by me. After dinner, began the games. L.
hid nuts and walnuts, and the children hunted for them—
such fun and scrambling. Half the children rushed into
the orchard, where we had put up two Swings and a see-
saw ; and L. was like the queen bee, when she ran the
whole mass buzzed after her. Then there were races.
When all was over the visitors assembled, and she pre-
sented each with their prize, at the end of the long poles;
and down the green hill they all ran, bearing their flags on
high, and shouting with delight. Then Orchard and swing
again ; and at five, all assembled once more at the table, had
currant loaf, buns, and milk, and departed. The mothers
and friends were there, standing up and down the field.
Just as they broke up, the bells began to ring, some of the
villagers hoping we would not be displeased.”
“May 24.—Yesterday, at Torquay, I saw Mr. Garratt.
. . . . He dwelt so much upon the work of the Holy
Spirit—how we were now living under that ministry till
Jesus returns. The Comforter is our teacher—will be so,
will guide us into all truths, if we will only seek his help.
He said this was the truth he was daily learning more and
more—not to be led by any human teaching or minister-
ABBOTS-KERSWELL, - 323
not to think, oh, if this parish had but a different clergyman,
or if such a person were but here to read to this poor per-
son. He said God knew what was needed whenever He
gave us our work; and let us do it without a self-sufficient
or desponding thought, do the best we can, and depend
upon the Holy Spirit helping us. I cannot tell you how
his words have come blessedly in to help the thoughts of
this season. The last words he said, as he shut me out of
his little paradise, were, ‘My dear friend, keep this in mind,
that we are living under the ministry of the Holy Spirit ;
look not to self or man, look to that Spirit only.' I have
since felt as if I had so much overlooked the third person
in the Trinity, and I now pray over and over again the col-
lects for Ascension and Whit Sunday, and feel they contain
all I want, no other words can express half so well. ‘Leave
us not Comfortless'—‘ Grant us by the same Spirit to have
a right judgment in all things'—‘Evermore to rejoice in
His holy comfort.’ This is a blessed season. I do love
Ascension Day ; it seems as if the ‘return in like manner’
were so near, how near perhaps we none of us think.”
“May 27.-Is there any joy in this life like hearing of
Our precious children—that they are well, happy, and—
most blessed news of all—morally well? My letters to-day
are full of comfort. . . . . How one loves to think our own
blessed Lord had a mother, and He can feel for a mother's
weakness | *
“Aſay 30.-My poor Eliza no longer needs my visits. I
was with her at half-past eight last night, and at half-past ten
she fell asleep, I trust, in Jesus. How I did again go
through all the bitterness of death, all that I never dare
dwell on for a moment, that solemn agonizing night of the
3oth of July, as I stood by her dying bed, and heard the
incoherent ramblings, saw the glazing eye, and felt that
already the last struggle was begun. It seems at last to
324 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
have come so suddenly. For nearly seven weeks since I
have been here she has been the one great absorbing in-
terest in our village life ; and when I last read to her, on
Friday, she was so alive, and listened so attentively, I
thought she would live for weeks—nay, even perhaps re-
cover. She did not know any one last night, and there were
so many round I did not feel as if I could say anything. I
did just say, ‘Eliza, do you feel Jesus is near you?” She
answered, ‘Yes, yes,' and then went on with her poor
rambling about her husband and children. The old mother
sate by one side the bed, the husband, who is now heart-
broken, leant against the bed-post, the sister stood over her,
and there were others in the room. How I longed to be
able to read and pray ! but I could only stand praying
#ilently. . . . . This morning I heard the passing bell toll-
ing in solemn tones to the little village that one of its
members had passed away. There is something very
touching in a secluded spot like this, so small a population
that it is like one large family, to hear the church-bell close
to one on these occasions; we are so very close, its voice is
in one's ear. We have had two weddings since we came
here, and have watched the bridal party pace up the church-
path; but this is the first death, and I intend to attend the
funeral.
“A wedding makes me very sad, a funeral never. I
thought so of you—at these times I want my other half.
To-day I felt I could not stay in, so have lived out of
doors, and wanted you. I took my writing things and
books, and encamped on my favourite spot, above
the plantation, where more than anywhere else my own
Marcus is ever by my side. . . . . I sate and looked
over the leafy woods, the running stream below Sweetly
murmuring in my ear. These are days in which one cannot
but be very sad, but there is always a peace and rest
ABBOTS-KERSWELL. 325
mingled with such sadness; one can calmly think of all one
loves laid asleep, for does a doubt ever cross one of His
love and unchangeable goodness who died for sinners, and
then His coming again once more never to leave us, does
that thought ever leave one. What do they not deprive
themselves of who refuse to open the page of prophecy—
to me it is a constant sunshine. This world, this beautiful
world, which on a May-day like this seems almost a garden
of Eden, even with all its thistles and briars—as Irving
says, if this earth was deemed of God worthy to be the
place of contest between Christ and Satan, why should it
not be worthy to be the place of His triumph P
“It seems so strange and silent to have no one coming
from the house of sickness with a saucer for a bit of meat
or a baked apple. Every day that poor woman has been
our one chief object, and it was so near, I could run in at
any time. No ministering servant of Our Lord has been
sent to comfort or pray for her, and those of another com-
munion who would have visited her, were chased away.
But God knew whether she needed human help, and Mr.
Garratt's words have often been a comfort to me.”
“June 2.—Just such a day as this, nineteen years ago, the
table was spread beneath the quince-tree, and the beloved
Aug. and Mia looked on at the happy children, and felt
that in the world more perfect happiness could not be found
than day after day ushered in upon Alton. Is it possible
nineteen years have passed ? It seems as yesterday, and
yet what waves have rolled over our heads since then. I
always feel when taking my lonely rambles and revelling in
the luxuriant beauty of these lanes and fields, that every
feeling of my heart is being echoed back by you. Yester-
day, at four o'clock, were you not standing by my side, as I
stood with my little one beside poor Eliza's grave, and
listened to those solemn words, saw the coffin lowered
326 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
down to its last home, and looked round on the weeping
mourners? It was such a touching scene ; for she was much
respected and loved, and very many attended, most of
them Dissenters. L. and I stood at our door, and then fell
in with the line of mourners, just behind the poor husband
and children. Her grave was dug in a quiet grassy corner,
and I thought, as all departed, a more perfect picture of an
English churchyard and funeral could not be, so very calm,
and peaceful, and lovely all nature looked.
“On Sunday morning when I was sitting behind the
hedge in our orchard, I heard an excellent sermon, and
joined in heart with many voices singing some of Wesley's
beautiful hymns in the open air. I could not, though I
believe I ought, feel that the minister was doing wrong. I
only felt, “Oh that the time were come, when in every
village through the world such scenes shall be going on on
Sunday evenings, and instead of the sounds of rude noise
and angry words we might hear the prayers and praises of
assembled people ascending to God. And why not in the
open air P I walked up the field with our farmer after-
wards, and we heard the voices of many singing hymns as
they returned to their homes. “Why, there you see, he
said, ‘the meeting can't be very bad, for those people would
have been singing something very different if they had not
loeen there.”
“April Io, 1851.-T. and I have been deepening a
brook in the plantation, and every day as I pass the
primrose-covered hedges and listen to the rippling brook
with nature bursting forth into life all around, I can only
say, ‘Lord, continually stir up the sleeping springs of love
within our hearts, and let them run over in praise and
thanksgivings, for great are the mercies preparing for us, if
we do but open our eyes and live by faith.'
“Every evening this week at half-past seven, think of us
ABBOTs-KERSwell. 327
gliding from our little parlour into the old church lighted
up with tallow candles, where it is literally two or three
gathered together. We have service and a sermon, and it
is so sweet when the few join in singing the evening hymn,
and we come out into the dark, and the simple villagers
quietly turn homeward.”
XVIII.
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL.
“We know for us a rest remains,
When God will give us sweet release
From earth and all our mortal chains,
And turn our sufferings into peace.
What we have won with pain we hold more fast,
What tarrieth long is sweeter at the last,
Be thou content.”
PAUL GERHARDT.
ROM the time of her widowhood, in 1834, to the end of
1850, my mother's life had been passed in almost com-
plete seclusion. She had never left home except to visit
the immediate circle of near relations, whose life was almost
one with hers, and, in the summer of 1849, to pay a long
visit at Haslar to Sir Edward Parry, who, from early asso-
ciation, was regarded by her with almost sisterly affection.
From this time circumstances brought a change in the
routine of her life. The desire of giving pleasure to her
son was her first incentive to the foreign travel, which
proved so beneficial to her health, that it was ever after-
wards resorted to as a remedy in her various illnesses, and
which was certainly the means of preserving her precious
life for many years to those who loved her. In July, 1851,
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN T1*AVEL. 329
we went for a few weeks to Rouen, Caen, and Falaise, and
were on that occasion first accompanied by her cousin Miss
Leycester, the loving companion and tender friend who
shared the anxieties of many after years of Sorrow and sick-
ness. From Lisieux we paid an interesting visit to M.
Guizot in his beautiful château of Val Richer. The autumn
and winter were spent quietly at Hurstmonceaux. In the
spring of 1851 my Uncle Julius had the first of the
alarming illnesses which terminated fatally in 1855. In
that spring also he received a severe shock in the secession
of his friend and co-Archdeacon, Henry Manning, to the
Church of Rome.
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Jan. 12, 1851.-So far are we advanced in a new
year ! It is like plunging into an unknown region, of
untried circumstances for good or ill; we know not what
may be in the Course of this year, how many trials, Sorrows,
and crosses, nor how many mercies, joys, and comforts.
But we may safely leave these in a Father's hands. Will
He not make a way of escape out of the coming trials as
surely as He has done out of past ones P And are not all
things, of whatever nature they may be, parts of that
heavenly discipline and training which is to fit us for our
heavenly portion ? If we could more frequently look on all
around us in the light of a passing scene, through which we
must travel to reach our home, we should feel we ought not
to be so much moved by what we see and hear. It does
not belong to us, it must not cleave to us; we must rise
above it, and out of it, and keep a steadfast, calm fixedness
of purpose amid all that seems so changeful and trying.
Nor ought we to be too much cast down and burdened, as
33o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
is the case with some kind and generous hearts, by the sins
and Sorrows of others. There is a purpose in these no less
than in our own troubles, and all will work for good, if by
faith we commit that working to Him who is the Ruler and
Governor of all outward events. To see the light behind
the clouds, the bright gleam in the dark distance, is a
blessed Christian privilege, of which few avail themselves.
Lord, teach me to do it more frequently, and so to keep a
fixed eye on Thee, that I may steer my poor weak vessel
this year steadily to its haven, with Christ as my Pilot, my
Pole-star, my Anchor, my Abiding-rest and Home. I carry
Him with me in all places and at all times. Why should I
fear P Why should I grieve or be disquieted P I will hope
in Him who is my salvation.”
“Aeë. 23, 1851.-Seventeen years have now ended since,
in the chamber of the Via S. Sebastianello, my Augustus
passed through death into life, since he was committed to
the dust in that Roman burial-ground of which Caius
Cestius is the pyramid. No Christian church sanctifies
that ground, yet the same Saviour watches over it; and He
will one day call those saints who lie there to meet Him.
Each year is hastening His coming, and with fresh joy
should we hail its approach ; while each year makes me
give thanks more truly that my beloved one is safely re-
moved from all the strifes, confusions, and anxieties of these
latter days. His tender spirit would have been Sorely
grieved by the divisions of this our day, and his weak body
would have been spent in the effort to reconcile or convince
those who are perverse, ignorant, or prejudiced.
“In looking back I can see only mercy in the dealings
of my God—wonderful love and forbearance has been
shown me—deliverance from temptation and suffering-
answers to prayer. Shall I not trust and not be afraid P
Sufferings must come, anxieties are at hand, perplexities
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 331
may arise, but Thou, Lord, hast not ever left me desolate :
oh strengthen my faith, confirm my love, and help me so
to rise above the affairs of this world, and so to set my
chief affections on Thee, that whatever comes I may have a
heart kept in peace, stayed on Thee.
“Sometimes a light surprises
The Christian while he sings.”
There is a gleam of heavenly light which cheers the
soul when all around looks dark. Were we more in prayer,
in meditation on God's word, and faith exercised more on
the perfection and love of Jesus, Surely this gleam would
shine more unto perfect day. The power and might of
earthly love can only give way before a mightier love, and
that is in Christ alone.”
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“March 16, 1851.-Dear Uncle Jule is not any better.
. . . . We are very anxious about him, and I have indeed
much need to pray to be strengthened in submission to
God’s will, whatever it may be. . . . . Yesterday poor
James Page came to tell us his wife died the night before.
She was dying on Friday when I went to see her, and I
could scarcely understand what she said ; but when Esther
saw her an hour after she had revived, and was able to talk,
and to try to comfort her poor husband by telling him to
trust in God, who had been so gracious to her. She said
she was ‘going a long journey, but it was a pleasant one.’
James told me he was sure she was quite safe, and ‘that
was his biggest comfort.’ It seems strange to think of her
as gone, we have watched over her so long.
“Mrs. Alexander came at four o'clock, and took me a
drive to see her bank in the Boreham Lane. It was indeed
beautiful, with a perfect bed of bluebells for the length of a
332 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
long field, and there was also a carpet of primroses near
the Park-gate that was lovely. My evening was solitary;
and I had time to think of and pray for all the absent ones.
May God bless you, my Augustus, and strengthen you to
find flowers in your work, though not in your lanes.”
“April 8.-Archdeacon Manning came here on Friday
last. Uncle Julius was afraid it was meant as a farewell
visit, and so it proved, though he said not a word which
could imply that it was so. Yesterday came the sad news
that on Sunday last he had joined the Church of Rome I”
ARCHIPEACON HARE to his CLERGY.
“Alas! by a mysterious dispensation, through the dark
gloom of which my eyes have vainly striven to pierce, we
have to mourn over the loss, we have to mourn over the
defection and desertion of one whom we have long been
accustomed to honour, to reverence, to love;—of one who,
for the last ten years, has taken a leading part in every
measure adopted for the good of the diocese;—of one to
whose eloquence we have so often listened with delight,
sanctified by the holy purposes that eloquence was ever
used to promote ;-of one, the clearness of whose spiritual
vision it seemed like presumption to distrust, and the purity
of whose heart, the Sanctity of whose motives, no one
knowing him can question. For myself, associated as I
have been with him officially, and having found one of the
chief blessings of my office in that association,-accustomed
to work along with him in so many undertakings, to receive
encouragement and help from his godly wisdom, and, not-
withstanding many differences and almost opposition of
opinion, to take sweet counsel together, and walk in the
house of God as brothers, I can only wonder at the
inscrutable dispensation by which such a man has been
allowed to fall under so withering, Soul-deadening a spell,
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 333
—and repeat with awe, to myself and to my friends, ‘Let
him who thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.’”
M. H. (“The Green Book.”)
“June 22.—Whitsuntide and Trinity have passed, and
we have now entered on the series of Sunday lessons which
bear on the Christian life, the spring and Source of which is
Love. In God, who is Love, we have the fountain and
fulness of Love, and it is only by dwelling in Him, and
merging our own selfish life in His loving one that we can
be made like Him. Could we but bathe ourselves in that
ocean of Love, and come forth anew in His likeness who
sought not His own good, loved not His own glory, willed
not His own pleasure, how blessed would life become, even
amidst all its trials. But Self rises up to bid us worship
him, in many disguises it is true, and often SO craftily
deceiving us by specious excuses and pretences, that we are
unconscious of his devices. In time of prosperity espe-
cially, it is difficult to discern always where Self is actuating
us, and where the love of God or our neighbour is the
ruling motive. When trial or contradiction comes, we see
and feel the difference between our will and God's will.”
L. A. H. to M. H. (in France).
“A'ockend, July 24, 1851.-There is something very
pleasant and soothing in the thought of the two sister
cousins of early days, brought together and finding them-
selves hand-in-hand for a few brief moments in the journey
through life, with one heart and mind looking on the same
objects, and in everything seeing a faint shadow of the
glories preparing for them in the land of promise:–
“If thus thy meanest works are fair,
How glorious must the mansions be P’
And I am sitting in my Tower, looking on the bay, and
334. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
obliged every moment to jump up, when I hear the por-
poises snorting : it is such a curious sight, the shoals of
mackerel Coming in, and playing on the top of the water,
and the shoal of porpoises following them.”
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“Zime, July 31, 1851—Here we are once more, in the
quiet, green, peaceful home. I am just returned from the
accustomed walk to Gardner Street and old Mrs. Wisham,
giving thanks all the way for living in a land of liberty and
truth, where the poorest cottager has the comfort of her
Bible, and is dependent on no priest to give her pardon or
salvation. Little do they know in this country what their
privileges are.
“It was a little past ten P.M., on Tuesday, when we heard
Fausty's bark at Lime Cross, and were rapturously welcomed
at the door on Our arrival. . . . . I feel quite strange at home
still, for though we have been only three weeks away, the
change is very great. The stillness is almost oppressive here,
and I am only just beginning to get used to it. To-day the
heavy veil has been taken up, and the green and trees are very
refreshing, and the flowers are lit up by the Sunshine again.”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Sept. 2, 1851.—Your letters are bright Sunshine, and I
feast on all you say. How can you and I, dearest, ever be
low, or without the song of praise in Our hearts? When
God called away our own two dear husbands, He pitied us;
He knew the idolizing natures of us, and He would not
leave us comfortless. Out of their ashes rose young
Augustus and my children to cheer us. And how beauti-
ful it is to me to see how you are inspired, and enabled
to do things you never could do alone, for the sake of
your young Augustus. How for their sakes one loves to
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 3.35
brush up old historical knowledge, and live over again
for them what once we have prized for ourselves. Our
own lives now may be hid with Christ, and Our joys Centred
in His promises; but our outward lives are bright and
sunny in our dear children.”.
M. H.’s JOURNAL.
“Oct. 30, 1851.-I called on Ann Hoad at Gingers
Green. Finding in how much poverty she was, I released
her from a long-standing debt. It was a lesson and type
when she fell down on her knees to thank me, and with
many tears seemed as if a load had fallen off from her that
had pressed day and night. Such gratitude, Lord, do we
owe to Thee. Such, do I say ? Oh, what are our little
debts to each other in comparison of the numberless debts
we owe to Thee. May I lie down at Thy feet in over-
powering love.”
“J)ec. 4.—A refreshing visit to old Mrs. Wisham. The
dear old woman, at each pause of the verses read to her,
made her simple commentary in Scripture words or those of
prayer. She was full of wonder at the love of Christ, at the
fall of the angels; full of anxiety to be kept from sin, espe-
cially of the tongue, as ‘Moses who spake unadvisedly.’”
In 1852 an accident in her own garden, and the long
confinement Consequent upon it, laid the foundation of the
ill-health, from which, though spared to us for many years,
my mother never entirely recovered. Henceforward her
gentle life was often filled with much suffering to herself, -
and with great anxiety to those who watched her. The
form of her malady was peculiarly trying to one of her
active mind, and to one who had hitherto found her
chief earthly interest in intellectual pursuits; she had no
336 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
acute pain, but a general oppression, deafness, and trembling
in every limb followed any exposure to cold or damp, and,
in the earlier years of her illness, became most apparent in
the spring months, when her system was weakened by the
long cold of the winter. When any mental agitation
aggravated the symptoms, complete unconsciousness ensued,
and she often remained entirely insensible, icily cold, neither
heart nor pulse seeming to beat, for many hours together,
in which to all appearance life was totally extinct : but
at such times she was always restored to us after a period of
terrible anxiety, rather better than worse for what she had
undergone, and believing (as long as the remembrance
lasted) that she had been enjoying all the beatitude of
heaven. At other times she would lie in a state of “waking
coma,’ not insensible, but unconscious to outward things,
hearing the angels singing to her, and wandering mentally
amid scenes of unfathomable beauty. Her visions never
took any form but those of loveliness, her impressions
never breathed anything but peace; indeed, her unconscious
was but a reflection of her conscious life. When the hot
weather returned, especially if she had the assistance of
elastic foreign air to aid her restoration, she entirely re-
covered, and retained no recollection in the autumn of what
had passed in the Spring months.
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Jam. 18, 1852.-The Christmas season has passed by,
the new year has begun, and the various interests and occu-
pations which have attended it are now come to a close.
There have been the church services and the Christian
rejoicing, the family love and kindness, Christmas gifts,
F'AILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 337
servants' presents, school-feasts and rewards, last of all the
entertainment of neighbours in social festivity. Each week
has seemed to bring its own portion of duty and work, and
now all this is ended, and we are settling down to the year
begun, in more of regular life. How much there is to be
done, how much to be feared, in the coming year ! but as
ſar as we can see, the interpretation of prophecy does point
to the present prospect with unusual clearness; and events
as they are before us seem to be the exact fulfilment of what
has been foretold. But whatever storms await us, God is
our refuge. He will uphold and defend all who trust in
Him. To do His will, to promote the knowledge of His
truth, to lead—if it be only one soul—to the love of Christ,
this will be our greatest blessing.”
I. A. H. fo M. H.
“Jan. 9, 1852.-On New Year's Eve it was one of our
pleasantest sights in the room to see G. G.'s old father and
mother sitting side by side in one corner, and looking as
happy as any of the Children ; and the old man was so
delighted with his present, a woolly comforter of my knitting,
and carried it home like a child. That was the last time
he went out. After lying quite unconscious for three days
with a seizure, he breathed his last yesterday at twenty
minutes after four. It is quite touching to see the old
mother; she is so calm, composed, and peaceful, but seems
like one in a dream ; she cannot realise the absence from
the fireside of the companion never separated from her for
fifty-six years. It is a singular fact, of which there are so
many instances, that the first question his daughter Anne
asked, when she came over from Torquay in the middle of
the night, was—‘what hour did he die P’ for her brother
Edward had come down from the bake-house that after-
noon, white as a sheet, saying to them, “Our father is gone,
WQL. II. Z
338 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
for I have just seen him pass by me.’ It was exactly at the
very moment in which he died.”
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“A.ime, Feb. 20, 1852.-This morning at seven o’clock
the dear little deaf and dumb woman, Mrs. Pears, died. I
had been to hear about her from her sister, and returned
home, when, going down the slope by the steps towards
your garden, my foot slipped on the frosty grass, and I came
down with one leg bent under me. I called for the ser-
vants, but they did not hear, and with difficulty I got up
and hobbled to the kitchen. They helped me to the draw-
ing-room and my sofa, and John went off to fetch Dr.
Cunningham, who says the side-bone is broken. My leg is
bound up and laid upon a cushion, and I must not move it
for some time, or leave this room. . . . . I have so many
comforts around me that I can only be thankful, and regret
my confinement chiefly because I cannot get out to the sick
people. It is a great blessing to have lived so long and
never to have injured one's bones before.”
“March 8.-On Saturday, Uncle Jule came to tell me
that our dear old friend, Mrs. Wisham, had entered her rest.
She had been in such a suffering state for Some time that it
is a happy release for her and all around her. But it is
indeed a loss for us to part from her, and to lose her warm
interest in everything that concerns us, and not to hear her
holy words and prayers. It is losing a friend, and we all
feel it so.” The funeral will be on Friday, and I am so
sorry not to be able to attend it.
“I feel that one does not know till one has tried how
* My mother had annually joined my uncle and Mrs. Julius Hare in
commemorating their marriage by receiving the Sacrament on its
anniversary with this humble friend, who had been bedridden for
many years.
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 339
inconvenient it is to have one useless member that must not
be moved, and the being forced to lie constantly in one
position is very tiring. But I enjoy looking out of the wide
window on the green lawn with its crocuses, and the blue
sky. At this moment the sun is shining on the sea so
brightly, just as I pray, my child, that God may shine into
your heart, and make you reflect Christ's righteousness by
following Him.”
A succession of loving friends took turns in nursing my
mother during her confinement to her sofa, among others
her sister Lucy.
L. A. H. to M. H.
“March 3, 1852.-I look back upon my flight to Hurst-
monceaux with the happiest recollections, seeing all the dear
faces, and just coming in to the Rectory for the morning
prayers after that early walk through those fields which tell
me of happy hours that seem but yesterday, when I had one
by my side whom I felt I should not have long. No place
brings him back more to me than that walk. I stopped
every now and then to recall the very look, the words of my
own dear one, and then the dear loving faces that welcomed
me at the Rectory seemed to assure me that Hurstmonceaux
was not yet passed away, but that loving hearts still dwelt
there. I often try when walking out at Hurstmonceaux
Rectory and Lime to think what it is that gives such a
peculiar, holy, heavenly charm to every object, and I believe
it is that there I took my last view of this earth as my home,
and felt that henceforward, like Christiana, I was to set out
with his little ones, and not rest on the journey till we got safe
to him in his far brighter home, and yet there is nothing to
me melancholy in my walks there. I never feel happier,
340 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
for my other self is there, the Mia, in whom the past and
future are blended, full of blessed recollections and more
blessed hopes.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“March 14.—How often are our purposes frustrated and
God's ways and thoughts shown to be different from our
own This Lent I had intended and hoped to have devoted
to the work of the parish, to visiting and comforting the sick,
to teaching the children. But God has willed it otherwise.
He has said to me, ‘You must be laid aside—be still, and
know that I am God. Learn the lesson I have for you in
your own heart.' Here, then, I desire to be taught what He
would have me learn—submission and patience, and to
spend more time in meditation and prayer, in spiritual com-
munion with the Head, rather than in ministration to the
members. Be it so, precious Lord | Thou knowest what
is for Thy good and for Thy glory ! Truly, His presence
has been with me in this withdrawal from outward duties.
Seldom have I felt more happy and peaceful than while a
prisoner to this couch. My “soul thirsts for the living God,'
and He has refreshed me out of the pure streams of living
Water.”
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“Aime, March 14, 1852.-We are arrived at the third
Lent Sunday. In three more we shall reach Passion Week.
I hope by that time to be set free, and to be no more a
prisoner to worship God alone. I do so long to escape and
‘go with the multitude who keep holiday, but I have His
blessed Word to teach me—His Spirit to guide me. It is
still a Sabbath-day of righteousness and peace. . . . . One
thing which I would urge upon my child is to seek for a
generous spirit. I mean the endeavour to think and believe
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL, 341
good in others, and to delight in helping them, and thus you
will be delivered from petty feelings and narrow, worldly
views. You will find this to be one of the characteristics of
the Brothers, whose Guesses are the expression of those
thoughts and feelings which made them so beloved by
noble and Christian minds, – freedom from self, love of
truth, and desire of benefiting and living for the good of
others and the glory of God. These, dearest child, are
what distinguished your uncles, and what, I trust, may be
your portion and inheritance through God's grace and mercy.
Remember this is the one thing needful—to belong to Christ,
and to be like Him. . . . . You will meet with plenty of
annoyances and discomforts in life, but if you do not dwell
upon them it is astonishing how much lighter they will
become.”
“March 23, 1852.-Yesterday was quite an eventful day.
At half-past eleven, Miss Holland's chair was drawn to the
door, and in I stepped, supported on each side. It was a
strange feeling to be again in the open air. The morning
was lovely, no wind, and bright Sunshine; and truly did I
enjoy it. They drew me first round the lawn, and when its
circuit was made I begged for a further emancipation, and
was taken through the fields and along the high-road to the
top of the hill. You may think how great a change it was
—A. running to and fro with primroses and pileworts
gathered in the hedge, and shouting out, ‘Here, Aunt
Augustus,’ as she poured them into my chair, and the dogs
careering over the field.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Aaster Oay, April II.-The Lord is risen How
did my heart fill with joy and thanksgiving as we this day
sang ‘Jesus Christ is risen to-day. Hallelujah l’ For six
weeks I have been kept from the worship of God in His
343. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
sanctuary. On Palm Sunday and Good Friday I have again
been permitted to offer my prayers and praises in the midst
of the Congregation, and to-day again I have had this great
delight, which one never so truly appreciates as after long
privation. Oh, how loving and merciful has my God and
Saviour been to me, His unworthy child, in bringing me
through this confinement so well, in giving me so many
outward comforts, so much inward peace, and in now
giving me power gradually to resume my usual habits.
May the partial love of friends never deceive me into
the belief that I have been holy, or good, or worthy; but
let the experience of Christ's mercy and the knowledge of
His truth and love deepen in me the conviction of my own
utter helplessness and sinfulness in His sight, and fill me
with love to Him who has so loved me.”
“June 2 (after her first serious illness at St. Leonards).-
This blessed day has again come round. Three and twenty
years have passed since in Stoke Church I was wedded to
my beloved Augustus ! How much of blessing has that
union given me, nearly five years of pure and entire happi-
ness with my husband on earth, and since his departure I
have still lived with him in fellowship of Christian love, and
in his brother and in my young Augustus have preserved
something of his tender affection. How graciously has my
God dealt with me in all his ways sparing me too great
privations, and giving me so many loving ones to fill up the
blank which would otherwise be too great.
“Lately the circumstances of my life at St. Leonards,
and infirmities of body, have prevented me from rising up
as I would do into heavenly places. Oh, Thou who knowest
that the spirit is willing though the flesh is weak, quicken
me by Thy Spirit, and teach me what I may do to glorify
Thee, and how to profit by Thy present dealings with me.
For the first time in my life I have of late been led to feel
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 343
that life is doubtful on earth, this weakness and derange-
ment of bodily powers may even end in-death. Oh, may
I watch and be ready. The Lord of life and death can
bless the remedies, or He may see fit to increase the disease;
whether I wake or sleep may it be in Jesus and to His
glory, and then whether strength is renewed to serve Him
here, or taken away and my future life spent in serving
Him in heaven and not on earth, all must be well. I must
take the appointed means, and leave the issue to the only
true Physician. -
“How little one can realise the change from this all-
engrossing world to that state where we shall be present
with God. Yet any day or any hour may bring this about.
May my marriage-union with my Augustus be the type of
that closer bond with Jesus my Lord, that in His love I may
be ever drawn nearer, and ‘accepted in the Beloved.’”
M. H. (NoTE-Book).
“How many of the perplexities of the world, the mysteries
of life, and the confusions of philosophy, would be removed
by a simple and clear apprehension of the Scripture truths,
that ‘the heart is deceitful above all things,’ and that “all
have sinned and come short of the glory of God.’”
“The most difficult of all attainments is self-distrust.”
“If we would be united, it must be by looking to the
same centre. Is it not to teach us that here alone we shall
find the true bond of unity, that so many different sects are
permitted in the Body of Christ?
“‘As Thou art in me, and I in Thee, that they also may
be one in us.”
344 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“In Christ we may all join in one spirit, and so form one
body, whatever be the diversities of worship, doctrine, or
taSteS.
“The longing for a visible Head is probably to prepare
us for the coming of the true and only Head of the
Church.”
“The Catechism of the world adds to the Church Cate-
Chism one duty more—to the duty to God and duty to our
neighbour, it adds duty to ourselves; and this duty is one
which no one is slow in fulfilling. Would that the other
parts of our debt were as truly and faithfully performed as
fhis one.”
“I looked upon the wall of a room which had been
newly papered. It brought to my mind immediately the
Soiled and torn condition of the old paper that had daily
met my eyes, until I had ceased to notice its deformity.
“So is it often with our sight of our own faults. They
are so habitually before us, they fail to awaken any percep-
tion of their nature, until the contrast of a nature renewed
in goodness and truth reveals the real ugliness of what
existed before without our being conscious of it.”
“Eloquence has such a mighty power over the human
mind that many are apt to forget that there is no necessary
connection between this and truth. A man in a passion, or
a madman, will often pour forth a torrent of eloquence, yet
all his premises may be wrong or false. So may a powerful
preacher, or an ingenious and Spirited advocate, energetically
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 345
and impressively declare his doctrines or his cause, and
yet both may be far from soundness or justice. We must
not allow ourselves to be swayed by intellectual subtilties,
Or wisdom of words and thoughts, any more than by pas-
sionate feelings and human kindnesses, in our estimate of
truth. Let it be tested by the Word of God, let His law
be our standard, His apostles our authorities; and though
we may often have to give up the human idols whom we
admire or love, we shall be preserved from much error and
sophistry wherewith the Devil seeks to ensnare us under the
form of an angel of light.”
“The different modes in which different and differing
people desire to do God's will are as lines converging to a
common centre. When the true-hearted meet in the centre,
in the real knowledge and love of God, the distance of the
varied lines from each other has vanished away, and all is
One.”
“Feb. 6, 1853–In contemplating a person we love, in
Speaking to such a One, in admiring him, what is it that
excites our love and praise P Is it the dress he wears, or
the beauty of the house in which he dwells P : Or is it the
goodness and love that dwells in himself? Surely it is the
character and mind of our beloved one, it is that mind and
character as shown forth to ourselves, that especially wins
our affection.
“And so it is with our best Beloved, with Jesus our Lord.
We cannot love or know Him better from the beauty of His
temples, the Splendour of His services, the attractions to
our senses and imagination in fine architecture, in beautiful
346 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
music, in grand paintings. These may stir our feelings for
the brief time that we are present with them, but we are not
to walk by feeling but by faith, and these teach us nothing
of Christ. In the written Word we learn to know His love,
and by His Spirit it is shed abroad in our hearts. We love
Him who first loved us, and learn what it is to worship in
spirit and in truth. While therefore we delight in pleasant
sounds and beautiful forms, let us never be deluded into
the belief that holiness or religion can be promoted by any-
thing short of Christ Himself.”
(“June 29, 1853.)—Charity. What is its true place in
the scheme of our salvation ? Maurice, in his desire to
meet Unitarians in their assertion of its necessity, places it
in the foreground of Christian truth. But is not this to
choose for ourselves, instead of adopting the apostolic Order
of things P St. Paul says, indeed, that Charity is greater
than Faith, because more enduring. But he lays the founda-
tion of Faith before the superstructure of Charity is erected.
To do otherwise is very much the same as if we were to
attempt to plant a tree by taking its highest branches, with
all their beautiful clothing of leaves, and putting them in
the ground, instead of fixing the root or sowing the seed of
the plant, and then seeing it spring into life and grow up
into a tree.
“The result of the one must be gradual decay and wither-
ing away; that of the other will be increase and growth
unto the perfect tree—bearing fruit in due season, Cven the
fruit of Charity.”
“It is from the mouth of the ignorant that we hear the
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL, 347
words “I know ; from the diligent and well-informed we
hear, “let me learn P’”
“The confusion of fancying ourselves or others in sincere
because we are inconsistent, is a very mischievous error,
leading to despondency and cowardice in our own case,
and to harsh and unfair judgments of others. If we were
to call it weakness, or prejudice, or changeableness of feeling
or opinion, we should often come nearer the truth. How
wise, how good should we be, could we see our own follies,
prejudices, and weaknesses, with the same clearness, with
the same annoyance that we do those of others. But then
they would cease to annoy us, for the moment of sight in
such cases would be the moment of dispersion. All would
vanish at the magical touch of that honest truthfulness
which could discern them. Folly would be transformed
into wisdom, prejudice into candour, and weakness would
rapidly be metamorphosed into strength.”
“The life of a holy Christian should be one perpetual
Sacrament. Every moment of his daily life may unite him
by faith with Christ, so that his clothing, food, home,
friends, work, and leisure may all nourish and feed the life
within, and bring into his storehouse things new and old to
enrich the mind of the spirit from without. By thus receiv-
ing Christ in His providences and His creation, by His out-
ward no less than His inward teachings, we shall be fashioned
after His likeness and grow to manhood in His kingdom,”
“March 5, 1852. –The great secret of happiness is to
throw one's self into the circumstances that surround one,
348 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and learn their lesson, and not desire nor look for some
other. So also in persons, if we could value and profit by
what they have, and not be vainly wishing for qualities they
have not, we should benefit by them far more, and be
spared the disappointment and mortification we so often
feel in finding so little of what we desire in the society
around us. It must be a barren land that produces nothing
good. But it is not always that one sees it on the surface.
We must dig for it, and thus discover many a secret
treasure.”
C. S. to M. H. (Contemporary Letters).
“Canterbury, /an. 1, 1852.-The profound quiet here
equals Lime. We are living so much amongst the illustrious
dead, that we shall forget how to behave amongst the living.
But I shall go away with a happy, peaceful sense of what
this place has been to me.”
“April 16.—I can scarcely believe in my sixty years. I
feel strongly how much cause I have for gratitude in not
having any personal reminder of the advance of age.
Comparatively speaking, I hope this may make me only
more instead of less ready to do what I can with the
remainder of life and strength. Certainly I feel increas-
ingly the shortness and uncertainty of time, and how all is
and ought to be measured accordingly ; also an increased
sense of waiting upon whatever is sent to bear or do,
trusting that the same strength that has been given
will be given again. The 71st Psalm, 18th verse, is my
case.”
* Fragments from my mother's note-books have appeared from
time to time, with the signature a, in the various editions of the
“Guesses at Truth.”
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 349
L. A. H. to M. H. (during her illness).
“June 9, 1852.--I do so yearn to be by you, and as I
cannot, I am every hour breathing up grateful thanks for
the very great mercy of providing us with such a companion
as dear Charlotte. There is no one who could be more
congenial, and it is so very sweet to think of the two who
in happy Toft days were so near and dear to each other,
now brought together in the closest tie of all, oneness in
Christ. Oh, sometimes I wonder how it is, when we do
realise in some measure that life is opening upon us, that
we are so faint-hearted, so utterly cast down at the idea of
any one one loves dearly being near that Home. I ought
to rejoice if I thought you were soon to rejoin your
Augustus, and yet, even though the separation were to be
very short, I feel as if the rest of this journey without you
would be so utterly lonely. I must ask God, if it may be,
to leave you to us, and though I have no faith in presenti-
ments, I have always had a kind of inward feeling that we
two were to be left to travel on together till old age.”
“June 14.—I have found it difficult to get away from
you for the last week, and old days and old memories have
risen up, till my heart has been almost too full—for what
have you not been to me ever since I could love anything.
But it has been only sad for myself, for your letters have
breathed such sweet peace and calm cheerful resignation, I
could only think of you as I have always done as one of
the happiest of living beings, and those two lines seemed
to be ever your language:–
“While here to do His will be mine,
And His to fix my time of rest.”
One feels how with you life hangs on a thread—how soon
the line may be overstepped between slight and serious ill.
35o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
ness, but to you there is nothing alarming. It is long since
you shut up your home on earth, and set off on the heaven-
ward journey, looking for no rest or lasting enjoyment till
there. It is no sad prospect for you, dearest, to have tran-
sient glimpses given into that blessed world of light and love,
where so many you love are safely housed ; but for us, oh it
is hard not to wish you spared to us yet awhile, and I know
for Our Sakes you will do all you can to preserve that
precious life.”
MRS. ALEXANDER to M. H. (absent in Germany).
“August 15, 1852.-The dear Archdeacon is better than
when we wrote last; during these beautiful days he has
been out a good deal in the garden, and though he comes
in exhausted, still the quiet morning in the open air is good
for him. Landor's visit has been a great enjoyment to the
host, and still more so to the hostess, for I never saw
Esther so animated, so amused, so drawn out. The mental
vigour and effluence of Landor is indeed surprising. He
gave his rich stores without stint, and was so gentle and
well-bred that he seemed more pleased to receive than to
bestow. He was occupied all day by his books, pen, or
walking, and claimed not a moment of anybody's time;
but you may suppose there was a beautiful display of sum-
mer lightning at breakfast, dinner, and in the evening !
Bunsen's visit you will have heard of—curious contrast of
mind and habits I watched the two as they walked to
and fro in the garden ; sometimes standing still in the
earnestness of discussion, Bunsen with all the action and
vivacity of demonstration, Landor like a block of granite,
immovable and apparently unimpressible ! Mr. Empson
came with Bunsen. He is the editor of the AEdinburg/,
A'ezžezy, and the son-in-law of Lord Jeffrey, a very interest-
ing man, but in bad health, and so fast fading away, that I
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL, 35r
had difficulty to restrain tears from falling as I looked at his
bent and wasted form.
“You know that James Page has ended his pilgrimage;
long has he lingered on the threshold of eternity. The
dear Rector wishes to read the funeral service himself, and I
shall accompany him if I can. He is to be laid to earth
this day, at five o'clock.”
“August 26.—Here I sit in ‘the Idle Room,’ sole histo-
rian of the Rectory. The dear master and mistress left it
yesterday for Tunbridge Wells. . . . . I have been occupy-
ing myself in trying to make reforms in the garden, but
Elphick * and groundsel are too much for me. I called at
Lime one day and the bell was answered by barking furies,
enough to dismay a stouter heart than mine. Judging by
the Sounds, I should say they are in good strong health, and
if their duty be to terrify visitors, they do it well.”
Having vainly sought health at Hastings and Eastbourne,
my mother was ordered again to try the effects of foreign
travel, and in the middle of July we proceeded, with Miss
Leycester, up the Rhine to Heidelberg, where we found
a charming lodging, with a lovely oleander-fringed garden,
Overhanging the steep side of the hill close to the castle.
The month passed there was one of great enjoyment, and
my mother gained strength daily in drives upon the lovely
Berg Strasse, and mornings spent in the courts and gardens
of the Castle, which were so near as to be like our own
domain. During the latter part of our stay we were joined
by Mrs. Stanley, with her son and daughter, and her niece
Miss Penrhyn, on their way to Italy. After they left us, my
* The gardener at the Rectory.
352 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
mother had regained strength sufficiently to enjoy a short
tour, by Baden, Strasburg, and Metz, to Treves and the
Moselle. Hence I returned to England, and she went to
Kreuznach, where her health became for the time com-
pletely re-established
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“A reuznach, Sept. 2, 1852.-The Mariamme (Rhine
steamer for Cologne) was soon veiled in mist, and we could
see no more. Soon our own steamer began to move down
the river; and I could not forbear sketching the castles
again, thinking them much finer than those on the Moselle,
but the villages less picturesque and the banks hardly so
pretty, being exclusively vineyards. Then we reached
Bingen, and found an omnibus, which, after a dull drive,
brought us to this pretty place.” e
“Sept. 9.—We have been several expeditions. One day
we took Lady Fanny " to Rhein Grafenstein, a high hill on
which we all had to get out to walk—a lovely walk through
heathery woods and rocks, to a view which would be beau-
tiful on a fine day, but we had no sunshine. Another day
we went to Dhaun Castle, in pouring rain, by a long
drive which you would now think beautiful, but which was
monotonous—river in valley with vineclad hills, and large
green pastures covered with purple Crocuses.”
C. S. to M. H.
“Atome, Oct. 5, 1852.--When we entered the Campagna,
I wondered how a place Covered with Such luxuriance of
vegetation—as the thickets of wild vines and wild figs
throwing themselves about everywhere—could be unhealthy;
* Her old friend, Lady Frances Higginson, whom she much enjoyed
meeting again at Kreuznach.
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 353
it is such a free, open breathing-space. . . . . When we
reached the Flaminian gate, and saw the obelisk and the
three diverging streets, it was so exactly what I knew, that
I could hardly believe I had not been there before, all was
so familiar. We went that very afternoon to the Capitol,
and ascended the tower; and then the well-known Forum,
and arches, and Coliseum, and St. John Lateran appeared.
The prints give you an exact representation, except perhaps
that you do not take in the large proportion of dull
town that there is, and the admixture of very common build-
ings. Then suddenly came a gleam of light for a few
moments, and the Campagna was lighted up with a rain-
bow. I never saw anything like it ; of that no print or
picture can give you the idea.
“Our second drive was to St. Peter's, but we only took
a general glance. I was anxious to get to my farthest
point first—the Pyramid of Caius Cestius. It is indeed
the most perfect place of rest one can imagine, and for
/im. The rose-hedge was in full flower, clustering thickly
all round the grave and round that of Bunsen's children,
and there were two aloes at the foot, and the pine and
cypresses.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Oct. 19, 1852.-Months have passed away since I
wrote in this book, months of blessing unspeakable. My
health has been by God’s mercy restored. He has re-
newed my powers, and has again given strength to do His
work. Oh, that I may have profited by past experience, and
with deeper self-knowledge and more readiness to help
others, enter again on the duties of life . . . .”
- - -
The spring of each succeeding year now brought with it
VOI, II. A. A
354 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
renewed anxiety in the alarming state of my mother's
health. Now, too, the hand of death began rapidly to
break the links of the loving brotherhood and sisterhood
who had so upheld and comforted each other. In the
Spring of 1853 my mother was called upon to mourn her
sister-in-law, Lady Charlotte Penrhyn, who passed, after
a long illness, with beautiful thankfulness, into the better
life. In 1854, Miss Clinton, the faithful friend of so many
years, was also taken away. In January, 1855, came far
greater trial, in the death of my uncle, Julius Hare, and
the breaking up of my mother's second home at Hurst-
monceaux Rectory, Connected to her with so many sacred
memories.
The autumn of 1853 was passed by my mother at Ash-
burton, in Devonshire, with Mrs. Marcus Hare. In 1854,
her illness again obliged us to resort to foreign air, and
we went with Miss Leycester to Switzerland, which again
completely answered as a restorative. The summer and
autumn of 1855 were passed at Malvern and in North
Wales; those of 1856 in Yorkshire, Northumberland, and
Scotland. Owing to illness and infirmity, few letters or
journals from my mother's hand remain from those years,
in which others were generally employed to write for her.
From fragments of her correspondence which remain, I
select the following, as belonging in Some degree to the
story of her life —
I. A. H. to M. H.,
“Abbots-Korszce//, Afri/ Io, 1853.−For the first time all
my children have left me. They are in the right place, and
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 355
. . . . soon my pangs will be wearied down, and—all is
teaching the lesson that we have no abiding city here. It
seemed such a change from the fulness of riches to the
depths of poverty, from Friday to Saturday evening. On the
one there was such joy and gladness round our little hearth
—the two dear boys with so much to hear and to tell ; on
the other I was alone. . . . . When I came back from
taking T. to the station, it did seem very still, very silent;
and I felt I could only get through the long evening by
earnest prayer, and with my Bible and Bunsen's hymn-book.
When they are gone, to pray for them. How one's whole
soul pours itself out, and how near it brings all together, the
loved and absent on earth, the loved and safe in heaven.
It seems but yesterday one's children were never far from
one's side,-and now they are dispersed, fledged, each
beginning life's journey. That promise came powerfully to
my mind yesterday, ‘Leave thy fatherless children to me,
I will preserve them alive, and let thy widows trust in me.’”
“Good Friday, 1853–(After a serious illness.)—I must
write a line to my own Mia on this sacred day, and tell her
how mercifully God has dealt with me. I have thought so
much of Lazarus raised from the dead, to follow our dear
Lord through all His sufferings. This has indeed been to
me a ‘stille Woche,’ a calm, Solemn week. How on a sick-
bed all comes before One. You and I have often wondered
how we should feel if death seemed very near, which it
never did to either of us. Now I know, for I did not think
I should recover. One is afraid of dwelling on feelings when
so very weak, being so fearful lest one should be deceived
and the peace and calm be only weakness; but I think some-
thing was real, and that to those who have been in the habit
of living on the thoughts of His coming, death cannot be a
terror. I thought I was going to the eternal home, instead
of the earthly one I was thinking of preparing. It was like
356 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
catching a glimpse through the celestial gates, and hearing
the hallelujahs. It has been an illness so entirely with-
out suffering, it has seemed as if Jesus were gently leading
me to the opening of the Valley of the Shadow of Death,-
just to show that there were no terrors there with Him to
guide.
“Perhaps Monday may see me down-stairs again, but I
expect I shall “go softly' for a long time, and not be in any
danger of over-exerting. The uppermost feeling of thank-
fulness has been that I was permitted to get back to this
dear spot. The peace and quiet of this little room has
been perfect; no sounds but the cock waking up his friends,
the gentle baa-ing of a pet lamb, and the old church clock
telling the hours.”
“April 25, 1854.—You know what the house is after
one's children are just gone,—the silence, the desolation;
and how it seems for the first few hours so like a faint
image of the still greater separation,-the pang that every
little object gives, when it is standing there useless. I have
been feeling very much since they went yesterday how
much more comfort we should have in parting with our
Christian friends, if we could realise the home where we are
so soon to meet. Here we are constantly looking forward.
It is very seldom our happiness arises from the present. The
boys were both keeping up their spirits with—the summer
holidays will soon be here, it is not a long half, only seven
weeks. And /oze. Soon, how far sooner than we think, may
that ‘meeting in the air' take place, when Christ's people
shall be caught up to meet Him, and all His Saints with
Him.”
M. H. to A.J. C. H. (at Oxford).
“Aime, March 5, 1854.—I have just had the delight of
going once more to our dear church, and when we returned
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 357
the sun had pierced through the mist and dispersed it, and
it is now most bright and beautiful. I have feasted on Lime
dainties in the drawing-room, where Faust has been keeping
me company, and I have now been walking round the field.
Some lovely primroses are out in the hedge-bank, near the
holly, going to Lime Cross ; the hedge and furze at the top
have been cut very low, so that the road is visible; the
pond is full and clear. I come along its banks, up by the
strawberry-beds, pick some violets in your garden, and take
a turn round the kitchen garden ; and now I am reluctantly
come in, and am telling you of my Sunday's walk, which
you will follow without trouble. No words can tell how I
enjoy the sight of these refreshing country scenes, and the
pure sweet air, scented with violets, which are in full pro-
fusion under the south-west wall of the house.”
“March 12, 1854.—My beloved Augustus's birthday is
at hand, and to-morrow he will complete his twentieth year.
I can scarcely believe you are so old, so quickly have the
years passed since you were a little boy running by my
side. May God bless and preserve you from all evil of
body and mind, and strengthen you to serve Him. I
thank Him for having given you to my care, and for having
put into your heart a true love for your adopting mother.
You are able now to repay all the anxieties of earlier days,
and hitherto you have indeed done so by your tender care
and loving attentions, especially in the last two years, when
my infirmities have so much increased. I hope, my own
Augustus, that this year may be a very profitable one to
you, and that the life at Oxford may prove a means of
fitting you for God's service; and that both the instruction
you receive, the knowledge you gain, and the society you
join in, may work together for your good, and may stablish
your character in manly principles, in expansion of mind,
and in love of truth. I need not add a sermon to the little
358 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
book I send; so I will only exhort you, while you desire to
be useful to your fellow-creatures, not to forget that you
yourself must first draw out of the well-spring of the word
of God, which is ever new. Do not judge of what is truth
by the inconsistent and imperfect lives of even sincere
Christians, but by going to Christ's own life and words.
Beware of the opposite snares of superstitious credulity and
Over-estimate of outward and visible religion, and of rational-
istic unbelief. To be a true Christian, and not a High or
Low Churchman, must be your aim. But, above all, seek to
be ‘quickened in spirit’ by the Spirit of God, that you may
be not almost but altogether His child, and a faithful soldier
of Christ, able to conquer your besetting sins and tempta-
tions to selfishness, of whatever kind it may be, and to for-
getfulness of God's presence and love.
“This is a most lovely day; and oh how I enjoy a
country Sunday ! all the crocuses look so bright, and there
is such a profusion of violets.” -
“March 13, 1854.—The sun shines brightly on your
birthday, dearest Aug., and thankful I am for this day in
which you were given to me. Villa Strozzi rises before me,
as I travel back in thought to 1834, see you a little baby in
Mrs. Benedict's arms, and how rapidly these twenty years
have passed away. Yet they have carried with them many
from this earth, and in the next twenty, how many more
will also pass out of time into eternity. Perhaps we may be
among the number 1 Though I am, humanly speaking,
most likely to be so, yet God often orders things differently
from our calculations, so that you may be taken first. May
we be ready when the Master calls, at whatever hour.”
“May 28, Zime.—Oh how lovely . The lines are fallen in
pleasant places. It is so bright and warm and Sunny here,
and the garden is filled with gay colours, Snowdrops, hepa-
ticas, and violets, which scent the air. You need not be
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 359
uneasy about me, dearest, for, by God's blessing, I think I
shall again be restored to health. “Mistress come home
again l’ was the interpretation of Faust's welcome on my
return. . . . May my child be more fashioned after the like-
ness of Christ, who sought not to please Himself. Serve
Him with the same loving devotedness you show to me,
and you will find that ‘His ways are pleasantness and His
paths are peace l’”
L. A. H. to M. H. (in her increasing illness).
“June, 1854.—I think over and over again all my pre-
cious visit to Lime, and feel as if I Ought not to have one
anxiety. You talked to me, you played to me, you sang to
me, you were, if possible, dearer than I ever felt you to be,
and you are better than you were last year, still I feel as if
all were in their turn passing on through the dark river, and
that neither you nor I shall be long left behind. We need
not look on, the present is ours.
‘Lord, it belongs not to my care
Whether I live or die.”
I love that hymn more than ever. I read a sentence yester-
day in a Whitsunday sermon, which I will end with. ‘The
happy Christian is no enthusiast, he is one of the most rea-
sonable men in the world. Ask him why he is happy, and
he will open his Bible and point to some truth there, enough
to make any one happy. The Holy Spirit has carried it
home to his heart. Our own frames and feelings may
change, but our Consolations are based on God's word, and
those who enjoy them can account for them.”
“June 25–I feel as if for you, my Sister, I had no prayer
to breathe, but only thanksgivings.
“I Amozy that the everlasting arms are beneath you.
“I Know the door to our heavenly house is open wide,
360 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
and the whole company of the redeemed awaiting you. Is
not that enough.
“There may we meet, every sorrow forgotten.”
“July 17.-I fear no evil tidings, I know all will be well
with those I hourly commit to Him, but to go about as
usual, as light-hearted, is impossible. “Cast all thy care on
me' does not mean that we are to have no care, only we
may cast it all on Him, and feel satisfied He will bear it.
I like that expression in Rutherford—“Remember, when
you bear the Cross, the heavy end is borne by Jesus, the
lighter end by you ; and do not make the burden double by
trying to bear both.” Dearest Mia, not happier, safer, better
were you in that first journey than now ; then there was
heavy, bitter anguish coming. Twenty years have passed of
anxious watching over the young Aug., and now the home,
the heavenly home, seems in sight, and the toilsome journey
nearly ended; and though a few more months or even years
may have to be travelled over, with much bodily weariness,
the silver cord will be gradually loosed, and the happy spirit
freed.”
M. H. to MRS. R. PILE.
“Zime, Oct. 15, 1854.—You will have heard that I was
not so immediately better on going abroad as I usually
am, and I really began to fear I should not get rid of my
ailments; but, by God's blessing, the change to mountain
air at Chamounix did wonders, and I quite revived under
its influence, and have not as yet lost the good effects. I
often suffered more pain before, but I never was so of pressed
in body and mind, and I feel proportionately thankful for
being again able to resume my usual habits, and to lose the
shaking of limbs and loss of power in all ways, which was
so distressing. With my devoted nurses, Charlotte Ley-
cester and Augustus, and my faithful Mary Gidman, I had
* *
fAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 361
every comfort, and when I recovered we greatly enjoyed
the scenery of the Alps, and saw much that was most
interesting.”
My uncle, Julius Hare, had returned home to Hurstmon-
ceaux Rectory very ill just before the Christmas of 1854,
and from that time he scarcely ever left his room. While
she remained at home, my mother visited him every after-
noon, and even then he seemed worse than he had ever
been before. After her health obliged our removal to Lon-
don, his illness increased. A few days before his death there
was a gleam of hope, but on the 22nd of January pain of
the heart set in and this became darkened.
“So great was his weakness that a short portion of the
Scriptures, or a Psalm, was all that he could bear ; for the
fever and the dryness of the throat impeded his articulation,
and made Conversation difficult. In this way the 17th, the
23rd, and the 71st Psalms were read to him, and portions of
the earlier chapters of St. John. When the 17th Psalm was
read to him, he said, “Thank you for choosing that dear
Psalm ; it is one of my greatest favourites.” Meanwhile
his patience and his thankfulness never failed. Two days
before his death, in detached and whispered sentences, and
for the last time, he offered up a prayer in which were these
petitions: “We thank Thee for every dispensation of Thy
providence, and pray that, whether painful for the moment
or pleasant, they may bring us nearer to Thee in child-like
confidence and trust;’ and then in a true pastoral spirit he
expressed his last prayer for the beloved flock of his parish;
‘that God's blessing might rest on them and their minister;
362 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
that they might all be taught of God; and be led to seek
}
more and more earnestly the way of eternal life;’ after which
he repeated slowly the Lord's Prayer—the prayer he loved
so well.
“On Monday evening, the day before he died, the beau-
tiful 121st Psalm was repeated to him, verse by verse—‘I
will lift up mine eyes to the hills, whence cometh my help”—
with pauses between the verses, and an offer to cease if it
were too much for him. But he smiled even then, and,
though unable to speak, nodded his assent and his wish
that the Psalm should be continued. On the same night,
as one feature of his religion had long been a delight in the
frequent communion of the Lord's Supper, it was suggested
that his curate should administer it the next day, if he
would wish it. ‘Very much, he whispered, “if I am able.
It would be a great comfort.' But before the day dawned
he no more needed the memorials of an absent Saviour.
He was present with the Lord. . . . . When it was said to
him in the night of his passover that he was going to his
heavenly Father's home, he faintly answered, ‘I think I may
be ;’ and after a short pause added, ‘Bless the Lord for all
His mercies to me.’ But his last clear words were remark-
able; for they were in a voice more distinct and strong
than he had reached for several days past, and in answer to
the question, how he would be moved. With his eyes
raised towards heaven, and a look of indescribable bright-
ness, he said, ‘Upwards, upwards.’ Soon after that he
» :
passed from earth to heaven.
* From the funeral sermon preached at Hurstmonceaux by the Rev.
H. V. Elliot.
FAXLING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 363
My mother received the news of her brother's death with
tearful calmness, and nothing would induce her to waver
from her determination to return to Hurstmonceaux before
the day of the funeral. -
It was on the 3oth of January, a cold and piercing day,
that the last Hare of Hurstmonceaux was buried. The
coffin was carried from the Rectory to the church by eighteen
bearers in white Sussex smock-frocks, followed by a number
of his friends, his servants, about fifty of the clergy, and a
long train of his poorer parishioners, who fell into the proces-
sion as it passed through the different villages. The widow
joined the other mourners at the foot of the hill leading to
the church. As we passed into the churchyard, it was
covered thickly with snow, but the church was lit up with
the full Sunshine, and the effect was beautiful, on looking back
upon the winding road filled with a throng of people as far
as the eye could reach. The grave was by that of his
brother Marcus, a little in front of the great yew-tree, round
the trunk of which was ranged a group of some of the oldest
parishioners, one old man especially who had lived in the
castle in the time of his Rector's great-grandfather, and who
had insisted on being brought to the church to see the last
of the family with whom he had been so long connected.
All the concourse of clergy standing around in the open air
repeated the responses, and all the clergy and all the
people, as with one voice, said the Lord's Prayer, when,
broken by sobs, it was especially solemn and thrilling, and
the words “Thy will be done” came home to every heart.
The weeks which followed the funeral were occupied in
dismantling the Rectory. All its treasures were dispersed,
364 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the bulk of the fine library being presented by Julius Hare's
widow to the library of Trinity College, at Cambridge, and
the collection of pictures to the Fitz-William Museum. My
mother's intense desire to be of comfort and use to others,
gave her an amount of strength at this time which was
astonishing to those who had looked forward with the
utmost dread to the effect this long-expected grief would
have upon her; but her effort at self-command proved too
great for her physical powers, and after Mrs. Julius Hare had
moved to Lime, and the last link with the rectory life was
thus broken,” she fell into a state of unconsciousness which
lasted for sixty hours with scarcely the faintest hope of
recovery. Yet after that time she was again given back
to us.
M. H. to MRS. R. PILE.
“Feb. 13, 1855–You will not wonder that I have not
written to you under such a pressure of anxiety and distress
as we have had of late to endure. You know what my
dear Julius has been to me ever since I lost my beloved
husband, and what the Rectory has given me of happiness
for twenty-one years past, and you can guess what this loss
is. Still, God is gracious and merciful ; my Augustus is left
to be my comfort, and my health is, I believe, stronger on
the whole than last year. . . . No one could guess what
Julius suffered from his great patience. Well, the cor-
ruptible body no longer presses the incorruptible spirit.
He sees and knows all truth, and no discordant spirits fret
his loving mind. We have another treasure in heaven to
3-y
* The Living of Hurstmonceaux, which had been long in the family,
had been sold by Francis George Hare in 1854. -
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL, 365
join us to the heavenly company; and oh may we set our
affections more truly there where Christ is.”
L. A. H. to M. H. (during Julius Hare’s iast days).
“Jan., 1855.-Well do we know, my own beloved sister,
what passes in each other's hearts, and are indeed together
by that bedside; but, even in this most sad season of
anxiety, can we not see that guiding hand that sent you to
London. ‘The Mia' has done her part : her sympathy and
invisible influence are even now soothing that beloved bro-
ther, but it would have been too much for her bodily
powers, and I am daily giving thanks that you are not
there. Dearest, I cannot spare you both, and, though the
spirit would have been willing, the flesh would never have
gone through it all. . . . . I know the Sweet calm peace
that is your portion, nothing can ever deprive you of that.
Another and another will be added to the blessed company
above, and our turn will come at last; and then there will
be no lamenting, for all will be complete when He shall
come who now lets us mourn, that we may have greater
rejoicing by-and-by. If we look back, you and I, to 1834
and 1845, what a life of lonely desolation lay before us;
but how swiftly the years have fled, how many mercies have
been given How very precious our last week together
at the Rectory was There was a depth of felt tenderness
like that which friends might feel who were met just be-
fore parting for distant lands never more to meet; but
we may hope to meet again, where there shall be no fear of
parting.”
“Jan. 26.-I thought I was fully prepared for Mrs.
Alexander's sad news, but one never is at first, though
to-day I can give thanks for our dear, loving, beloved
Julius, that the burthening body is cast away. Mrs. Alex-
366 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
ander's letter conveyed all the calm she wished; it was a
falling asleep on that beloved wife's bosom, with no wit-
ness—just as most he would have wished.”
“Jan. 30.-One turns from the newspaper accounts of the
Crimea almost with a thankful sense of relief to the thought
of our beloved Julius, gone from this scene of misery to
those bright and happy fields of endless sunshine, to the
company of the just made perfect, to all he is now taking
in. To you now I turn as the most precious treasure to
be guarded ; may you still be spared, my own Mia, mine
only now, for who else knew what you were to them P
Esther did not know our Augustus, but I knew all. Dear
Esther is she not indeed now our sister—the three
widowed ones—one in heart and sympathy l’’
“March 28.—If you are well, I feel sure that Lime is
the best home for you, with all the Sweet spring influences
and nightingales—sad but blessed recollections mingling
with the fallen leaves, but bright and glowing hopes
springing up with every green bud and blossom, speak-
ing of a resurrection to unfailing Sunniness in a millennial
world.” -
“April 18. (After my mother's long unconsciousness at Zime.)
—I am told to write very little, so I shall satisfy myself with
what is indeed the beginning and the end of my Song—
“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless
His holy name.’ The last words you wrote to me, and
which I believed might indeed be the last, have never been
out of my mind, they seemed such a blessed, peaceful end-
ing to the correspondence of above forty years. These
were they–Esther was just coming, and you close your
letter with, ‘ and now / too must rest. Bless the Lord, for
His mercy endureth for ever!'
“Well, dearest, and you did rest. The Lord who giveth
His beloved sleep, gave the poor, over-wearied brain rest;
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 367
and though a trying rest to those who watched, it did its
work, and now you are once more sent back to cheer and
strengthen us all, who love you so tenderly, as our hearts in
the last fortnight have too strongly shown us. You are sent
back to tell how great things the Lord has done for you,
and to bid us more singly, more earnestly fix our eyes on
Jesus.
“Yesterday my children went back to school, and
when I returned to my lonely copse, and sate down and
looked around, and the wood-pigeon's note was the only
sound, I felt as if there was room for nothing but thankful
joy in my heart, as if I could only give thanks for my chil-
dren, my restored sister-friend, my beautiful retreat, where
all nature seemed to be saying, “If ye be risen with Christ,
set your affections on things above;’ there all shall be re-
stored, and no more winter for us, no more death for you.”
“Sept. 28–Dear Mrs. Pile ! what a comfort her visit will
be to you ! So, with her very name, come back bright visions
of that Eden life, when earth was indeed a paradise to you,
and which tell of the future when it shall be renewed and
restored, so far brighter and Sunnier, where no death or
separation can come. Faint not, neither be weary, my own
Sister; many a time have you upheld my steps and Spoken
cheering words; do not despond, because you cannot
always feel bright and hopeful. The body is the clog, but
He on whom all your hopes rest, whose you are, is just the
same, no change there. Only when very weak and faint and
low do we fully take in all the comfort of those words—
“my God, my Strength, my Redeemer, my hope is in
Thee.’
“Sweetly can the soul retire with Him and repose in
Him. .
“With Him our darlings are safe, all is safe, only believe
and pray.” -
368. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“Aeb. 18, 1855–On this day my greatest earthly com-
fort is in the love of my dear boy, and all the hope that God
has given me in you, that He will give you grace to walk in
‘the footprints’ of the dear uncles who have passed from
the Church Militant to the Church Triumphant, and who are
called from their labours on earth to praise Him amid the
armies in heaven. . . . . To-day I visited the grave for the
first time, and could hardly believe it could be the last
resting-place of dear Uncle Jule. I have settled not to
leave Hurstmonceaux, at least for a time, and it is quite
a relief to my mind. No parish can ever have such
an interest for me, and I could not bear to leave that
dear church.”
C. S. to M. H. (on Sir Edward Parry's death).
“June 12, 1855.-Dear Sir Edward One can hardly
believe that he has really passed away from us, little as we
saw him of late years there was his warm noble heart always
ready to receive one. His death, with the exception of
being abroad, seems to have been all that could be desired
—peaceful, without suffering, all his family round him, and
his own mind what it was sure to be anywhere and every-
where. . . . . I try not to let the exception from bodily
infirmity make me forget that age does come on, but it is
very perceptible in the fact of how all seems passing away
like a moving diorama, each successive person carrying away
another bit of the past.”
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“ Dec. 2, 1855–A blessed advent to you, my Augustus !
It tells us of Christmas at hand—of judgment to come. May
we rejoice in the one and be prepared for the other, and
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 369
seek for Christ to dwell in our hearts now, so that we may
not fear to see Him when He comes the second time to
receive us to Himself.” -
1MRS. ALEXANDER to M. H.
“Jam. 2, 1856–Yes, dearest friend, I do live over this
time with you. I know that our thoughts and feelings are
the same. There is in the hearts of both a mournful, vacant
place, never to be filled up. Yet we give thanks that our
beloved friend and brother has ceased from the earthly con.
flict and entered into rest. One by one the bright lamps,
the cheering lights of our path, are extinguished. May the
deeper shadow quicken our homeward path, dearest friend
We shall soon be summoned to follow those who gave to
earth its colouring of gladness. . . . . There are moments
when it seems strange that we should weep for those whom
the Lord has already gathered in But, alas, we cannot
always feel thus. Our poor bereaved one, who sits apart
this night ! may the Lord pour strength and peace on her
Solitary watchings. * Peace and joy in beiieving,' let that be
our prayer for our dear Esther.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“ Oct. I2, 1856.-I am astonished to find that I have not
for four whole years made any entry in this book of thought
or feeling. This long cessation in itself shows the inability
which has pressed heavily upon me of writing or thinking
in this long period. . . . . How many changes, what trying
events, what anxious fears and Sorrowing days have been
mine since 1852 *~.
“My own ill health for part of each year—the illness
and death of my beloved brother Julius—and the conse-
quent sweeping away of all the Rectory friends and interests,
WOL. II. B B
370 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
which were so dear to me—the anxieties about my Augustus
in body and mind— the sad realisation of our fears about
M.—these are all dark features in the past which I can
only briefly allude to. The mercy of God has upheld me
through all, and has made a way of escape in all trials, and
strengthened me to bear them.
“. . . All my misdoings I would confess and bewail to
my Father and my God, earnestly asking for His forgive-
ness and for grace to glorify Him more truly in the time to
come ! I have great need of a more fixed faith. I want a
deeper and a brighter view of that unseen world to which I
am hastening, that all fear of death may pass away, and
that love to Christ may dwell more fully in my heart; and,
Oh, may the Jesus of yesterday be the same to me to-day
and for ever.”
In 1857 the increasing fluctuations of my mother's health,
and her susceptibility to damp and cold, rendered a longer
absence abroad desirable, and we left England in July for
fourteen months. I had then left Oxford, and, except for a
few weeks at a time, was never again separated from my
mother during the fourteen years in which she was spared to
be our joy and blessing. We were accompanied to Lucerne
by Miss Leycester, and after her return to England, in the
autumn, were joined by my mother's widowed niece, Mrs.
Charles Stanley, and by her friend Miss Cole. With these
companions we visited the Italian lakes and all the prin-
cipal cities in Lombardy and upon the Italian coast of the
Adriatic, reaching Rome in November. The following
spring was spent at Naples and Amalfi, after which our
winter companions returned to England, and we spent the
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 37 I
summer most happily in a pleasant cottage in the lovely
green valley of the Baths of Lucca, surrounded by friends.
In September we slowly returned homewards, after some in-
teresting days passed amid the Protestant valleys of the
Vaudois, by the Simplon and Lake of Geneva.
M. H. to A. J. C. H. (during a temporary absence
in Austria.)
“Pension Faller, Zucerne, August 1, 1857.-. . . . The
beauty of the ascent to the Engelberg exceeded all we had
expected, and also its fatigue : Our bedroom was like
Andermatt, devoid of all but beds and straw chairs, from
which I was glad at half-past eight to retire to bed. There
was scarcely anything to eat ; and on Wednesday, having
waited in vain in the hope of something to nourish life, the
truth flashed on us, it was ſour Maigre, not even straw-
berries. These were our discomforts; but we were amply
compensated by the exquisite beauty around us, such Aics
and snow glaciers glittering like silver, and the woods
below with their châlets, and even the convent itself was
striking from its size. We had a most delicious excursion
—I in a chair—to the Taschbach waterfall at the end of the
valley, on Wednesday evening.”
“August 15.-On Wednesday behold us carried in two
chairs up the Brunig. It was very steep and rocky; I got
out at one bit, and was pulled up by the guides. They
sang and Carolled and yelled out the Ranz des Vaches, till
the valley below rang with the echoes, answered by other
invisible guides at a distance. It was beautiful; but at the
Kulm the fog Covered the mountains, and we could see
little of the valley of Meyringen, &c. Yesterday we
set out from Lungern at ten. The Wetterhorn and Well-
horn were perfectly splendid, their silver peaks cleaving
37.2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the sky. We had a charming driver, who sang Kuhreihen
all the way.”
“Our poor dear Fausty is no more He pined away
after we left home, and was found dead under the apple-
tree.”
MRS. JULIUS HARE to MRs. R. PILE.
“Dec. 5, 1857.-It was my sister's great wish to reach
Rome by Nov. 17—her husband's birthday; and on Satur-
day, 14th, they arrived there. She says a deep calm filled
her soul, as she drove past the well-remembered scenes;
but when she reached the inn, and found herself alone in
her room, such an overpowering sense of thankfulness filled
her heart at the wonderful mercies of the journey—of the
last twenty-three years, and of the time when she was last
in Rome, that she was quite speechless for a time. On the
afternoon of the I7th, with her young Augustus and her
faithful Mary Gidman, she once more stood beside the
grave under the Pyramid of Caius Cestius. She does not
seem to have been excited by it; rather it seemed a dream;
but she could raise her thoughts in prayer and praise.
Since then she has been daily enjoying the interesting sights
and scenes in Rome, and seems wonderfully well in health
and vigorous in mind.” --
M. H. to MRS. R. PILE.
“Aome, Christmas Eve.—The return of this season brings
to my mind my friends in England, and my dear poor at
Alton ; and I regret I have not sooner asked my dearest
Mary to employ her usual kindness in providing my winter
gifts for them.
“The return here was, as you will well conceive, a trying
and affecting one, and all the sorrows and all the mercies
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 373
received here nearly twenty-four years ago came forcibly
before me in revisiting the same scenes. You may guess
that my earliest visit was to the resting-place of my beloved
husband, looking as peaceful and lovely as it did when I
saw it last in all the anguish of widowhood, now when I
visit it in the chastened thankfulness of so many years of
blessing and mercy. Of Rome itself I saw comparatively
little in that first sad visit, but now I find interest in seeing,
with my second Augustus, its manifold interests and
beauties. We have had splendid weather, a cloudless sky,
and the hot sun so enables me to bear the coldness of the
weather, that we can even still sit out to draw in sheltered
places. We lead as regular a life as at home, our faithful
Gidman pair” managing everything for us as usual. I can-
not describe the loveliness of the views around Rome—of
the old ruins, the mountains in the distance, and the wide
Campagna in its solitary and wild character.”
“AWaples, April 12, 1858.-. . . . I am glad that the
winter has passed so well at Alton without much illness.
Ours in Italy has been wonderfully beautiful, and, with the
exception of ten days of severe cold in January and
February, it has been most enjoyable, and hot sun and
clear sky have made one feel as if it were almost summer.
The effect on me has been wonderful. Not a day's illness
have I had since I left England last July. We remained in
Rome until after February 18, and greatly delighted in all its
manifold interests of art and nature ; and my younger com-
panions also enjoyed the Society of many friends. I made
an effort for their sakes to enter occasionally into it, but
was thankful to be quiet when it was not necessary. We all
moved to Naples in the latter part of February, and have
since then been in this neighbourhood, seeing its various
* Mary Lea had been married to John Gidman in 1846.
374 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
beauties. Among its interests you may imagine Pompeii
has been one of the greatest. The excavations have as yet
uncovered only one-fourth of this buried city, and what
more treasures may be hidden no one can tell. In the
Museum at Naples are the most beautiful statues, which
have been found quite perfect; and the gems, and utensils,
and various articles found are most curious and interesting.
But still more so is it to go along the narrow streets,
which still show the ruts made by the chariot-wheels, to see
the painted doors of the houses, to see earthen jars still in
the very spot where they were transfixed by the fatal doom
which, in 79 A.D., hid the whole city from sight, till it was
re-discovered in 1755. It does truly take one into the
regions of the past ; and when one sees the grand form of
Vesuvius rising above one, with its smoke ever issuing from
it to bid one “Beware,' it seems marvellous that any one
should have ventured to build or live again under its awful
danger, yet one continued series of towns follows its base
all the way to Naples.
“We have been for some days to Sorrento, Amalfi, and
Salerno, and much enjoyed the beautiful mountain scenery
and donkey-rides—going up and down steep stairs of rock
as easily as on a level road. Nothing can exceed the beauty
of the Bay of Naples on one side, or the Bay or Gulf of
Salerno on the other. And then the Temples of Paestum,
which are of the most exquisite Greek architecture, and
known to have existed 6oo B.C., were most interesting to us.
. . . . I trust the end of August may find us near England.
Though good for bodily health, this wandering life is not
one to suit my home-tastes, and truly thankful shall I be to
be once more in our land of liberty and truth. On Good
Friday we went to the service in the Cathedral of Salerno, in
which a preacher went on for the whole three hours of the
crucifixion, preaching upon our Lord's last words, in the
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 375
most exciting language and with the most violent action.
At the end of every half-hour he prayed extempore, and
then followed a quarter of an hour of beautiful singing and
music. The sobs, groans, and cries of the Congregation
resounded through the church, and many fainted and were
carried out. It was exactly the effect described as the
result of Wesley's sermons: some, we may hope, would
retain an impression.”
MRS, JULIUS HARE to M. H.
“Mov. 7, 1857.-My own beloved Mia, the dearest bless-
ing of your own precious one, and of our precious One, let
me press you most tenderly to my heart as we stand
together in heart on the sacred ground where this will meet
you. Your Own Augustus's words will speak to you as you
go to the Pyramid :—
‘Hush, who dares with impious breath
To speak of death P
We know he only sleepeth,
And from the dust
Truth hath decreed a glorious resurrection;”
and other voices too will speak to you from heaven,
dearest, to tell you that though all seems a dream as you
stand there, yet the blessed reality is near to you and not
afar off, and that those who die and those who live are
alike living with the Lord. I am so glad I shall be at Lime
when you first reach Rome. Where better could our spirits
hold communion together than in that dear home, I by the
side of the yew-tree, you by the pyramid, and both, I trust,
passing from the visible to the invisible, not seeking the
living among the dead, but lifting up our hearts that the
everlasting gates may be opened to us also, and we
376 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
may pass with them even now into the rest that is in
God.”
“Zime, Mov. 16.—Here, in this dear home, I am sitting,
with the window open, and the sun shining on a garden
still full of flowers, and on a lawn so green that the very
blades of grass sparkle with it, while not a brown leaf is to be
seen On its meat surface,—the most ethereal clearness in the
air, and the most brilliant sunshine. And where is my be-
loved sister P / should say she is here too, for I can hardly
believe you are really far away. At other places I have felt
the distance, here I can only feel the nearness. And though
I have as yet no dear words from you since I came, yet
never have I needed them less. There is your chair, and I
see you sitting in it, amid the usual peaceful calm that ever
presides in these dear rooms, and sometimes I could almost
talk to you ; indeed I do often give you a loving word out
loud, and though there is no response it never seems to fall
back drearily, for the living presence is there, though the
outward form is far away. . . . . Oh, how your love was
cherished, how it gladdened the heart that felt it to be its
greatest earthly blessing, and that felt it to be so only the
more when he had one who so fondly shared that feeling
with him. And now, dearest, he would join me in blessing
you for the precious love which you so richly give me, and
which seems to me only to grow dearer as the distance be-
tween us is greater.”
“Zime, Advent Sunday, 1857.-Before this Sacred day
closes I must write to the Mia, that before I leave this
beloved home we may once again talk together. This
day thirteen years How vivid is my recollection of that
solemn day, when first this parish became my home—the
earnest dedication of body, soul, and spirit at the altar, the
receiving from my husband's hands those pledges of the
diviner love which had united us together, the overpowering
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL: 377.
sense of responsibility and mercy. And this, followed by
years of blessing, often chequered indeed, but so full and
rich that only now do I begin to know what it was. And
to-day the husband is in the upper room with his Lord, the
beloved sister with whom our lives were bound up, in a dis-
tant land, and I–at the grave of One, and the empty home
of the other. And yet it has been good, oh, so very good
to be here. These three weeks have flown by too fast for
my wishes, except that they bear one onwards to the true
Advent, when the Bridegroom will return to us, and we
cannot afford to stop the wheels of time if they bear us on
to that, no, not even here, where I should love to remain a
while longer. Never have the dear people been so affec-
tionate and grateful as this time; they seem to concentrate
on me during your absence the love they usually share be-
tween us, and make me your representative in receiving it,
so I must transfer a portion over the seas to you.”
“Innocents Zay, 1857.—If my letters reach you as
speedily as yours do me, this will greet my Mia on New
Year's Day, and most lovingly do I wish you the best bless-
ings during the new year. In what form they may come
we know not, but we do know and can trust in the love and
wisdom of our heavenly Guide and Counsellor, and feel sure
that through whatever paths He may lead us, He will be with
us and enable us to hold fast by Him. So that He abide
with us all will be well, and our eyes will be opened to see,
not the grave, or the “three days’ in which all hope seemed
excluded, but the blessed Presence even in the commonest
earthly things, which will make our hearts burn within us,
and enable us to go on our way rejoicing.”
“Clifton," Jan. 25, 1858.--Your tender words of loving
* Mrs. Julius Hare spent much of the years of her widowhood at
Clifton with Mrs. Alexander.
378 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
sympathy reached me, my Mia, on the 22nd, and thus
came very near the day of my desolation. I knew you
would go to the Pyramid if you could ; and I thought of you
there, in my lonely afternoon’s walk over these downs with
the distant views of the Welsh mountains, which took the
place to me of the Alban Hills on which you were looking ;
and though so very far apart, we were yet near together,
thinking of and praying for each other. Dear Ma-man, as
usual, was so considerate in all her arrangements that I
might be by myself all day, that she made the excuse of a
severe cold not to come down-stairs. In the evening, at
eight, I went to her room and lay on the sofa ; and though
we did not venture to speak of what was filling both our
hearts, yet we spoke of many things bearing upon it, and
before I left her I read the chapter so full of life and hope
—I Cor. xv. The blessed words, “As we have borne the
image of the earthly, we shall also bear the image of the hea-
venly, contain such a mine of comfort, in the thought of
those in whom the promise is already fulfilled, for us
who yet remain awaiting the fulness of the time. It is this
which gives me the best comfort in thinking of my beloved
one; for though the suffering of this life was grievous for
him to bear, yet out of that came so much blessing as
a heavenly discipline, that the sense of relief does not
separate itself in my mind from the blessing. But that
all the longing and seeking of that noble heart after right-
eousness and truth should now have found its full satisfac-
tion in God, and in the light of His presence, that everything
that was not light is made clear, and that no earthly in-
firmity or suffering hinders the glory of that light, for this I
can give thanks even in the dreariest moments, and, God
knows, some are dreary enough. But oh, the lovingkindness
of God . When one looks over past years, and sees that
wonderful chain of love through everything, linking to itself
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 379
the various events of life, and making them all bear upon
the gracious purposes He has for us, one is indeed humbled
to have been so thankless, so mistrustful, and would seek
to go on in the lonely path of life with loving trust in Him,
and keep one's eyes and heart open for all which it may be
given one to do in helping and cheering others and bearing
their burdens. -
Till this time three years ago it seemed impossible but
that you must be the one of the three from whom the first
separation must be. Oh, how different are the ways of
God from our thinking ! You, comparatively restored, in
the land of your earthly sorrows and your heavenly joys;
I, here, in one sense alone, with the memories and blessings
which can never be past to me, and which only become
more precious as time goes on. At this season I know
how your thoughts are with me, as mine with you; for how
we have been one in this love God only knows, and we
will each bless Him for the other for all the sustaining help
and grace which He has given us, through the inwardly
sorrowful path. He has called us to walk in.”
“Feb. 1, 1858—My month is past, and we now enter
upon yours, and yet both are so closely linked together
that each belongs to the other, and we would not and
cannot separate them. Strange and unreal it will seem to
you at times to be in the very place during these solemn
days of remembrance, and yet at other times it will seem
to realise it to you more than when you have been so far
away in body from the spot, which yet you have been so
near to in Spirit. May He to whom the Past is Present,
and whose love has been so manifested in both, be with
you, my sister. ‘He was, and is, and is to come.’ What
a strength and certainty those words give us, in the con-
fusion of mind which often comes over us in thinking of
events, the result of which forms the reality of our daily
38o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
lives, but the distinct details of which often seem almost
lost to us in the dimness which the clouds of earth cause to
rise between us and them. How truly Mrs. Browning says:–
“Places are too much
Or else too little for immortal man.”
Sometimes one cannot bear them, at other times one can
hardly bear to be away. But how great the blessing, that
our tender Father knows all our feelings, understands them
aſar off, and is not wearied with our waywardness, but calls
us not as we ought to be, but as “women grieved and wearied
in spirit,' and as such receives and comforts us ! Oh, the
rest of not having to be other than we are, when we are
before Him ; but knowing that He knows all our weakness
and sin and desire after Him, pities all, and meets all.
“Aeb. 22.—This is your last day in Rome. May the
same merciful guidance accompany you on your further
journey which has been so manifested to you in all the
way the Lord has led you since you left home. I
have just laid down my Bible, after reading the beautiful
morning lesson (Deut. i.); and how truly is the history of
the Israelites in the wilderness reproduced in the history of
the Church, both as a body and in each individual member.
The sure, faithful guidance, and, alas ! the no less sure
rebellion and mistrust on the part of those who are guided.
But blessed be God, He does not weary of us, and in the
very things against which we murmur, the most, works out
oftentimes our greatest good. Oh, may He enable us to
trust Him more simply and faithfully, and then our path
through the wilderness would oftener cross a myrtle and a
shittah-tree in full blossom, instead of only the thorns and
briers which tear our feet, and on which we are too apt to
fix our attention.”
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 381
“March 31.-Your welcome letter from Amalfi, dearest
Mia, comes fittingly on this day—a day when in the un-
utterable agony of desolation which it brought to me three
years ago, your Sweet home, Our Own dear Lime, and my
dearest Mia's heart were open to receive me. I see your
dear face of loving sympathy, as you stood in the hall, and
received me silently with a tender kiss, and sent me to my
room. It seems to me now fresher than ever—the actual
pain of all that was involved in that last night and morning
in my blessed Rectory-home—keener than ever, and yet
with a sense of thankfulness that the actual, outward part
has not to be gone through, that it was once for all, or
rather once for always, but that the present part of it—the
living suffering—remains only for me; the visible part to
others is gone by.
“Well, too, it is, that such a day should fall on this Wed-
nesday in Passion Week, when one's heart may be stilled
under any personal recollections by the thought of Him
whose journey along the way of sorrows for our sakes we
are endeavouring to follow step by step, and who endured,
as seeing Him who is invisible, as seeing the end to be
accomplished for us. And truly, when one looks within
and sees in our own hearts the necessity for all the righteous
discipline sent to us, its perfect justice, as well as love, one
has the witness for the necessity of those sufferings in our
Lord's work of redemption, which would else be such an
inexplicable mystery. ‘He learned obedience by the
things which He suffered.' Oh I may He teach us that
gracious lesson by those things which He gives us to suffer,
and enable us in His strength to go onward, thankful for
all He sends us, willing to receive anything from His
hand.
“The scenes around you, dearest Mia, are not indeed
“helpful, but I trust your spirit will be upborne beyond the
382 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
outward discords, and that at the Cross of our dear Lord
you may be able to feel His gracious presence, to see His
face of love, and to hear the words of peace which He
utters to those who are watching there. And when you
receive this, those meditations will have passed into the
brighter ones of Easter, into which may the Spirit of Life
lead us to enter more and more, so that through the grave
and gate of death we may pass to our joyful resurrection,
and even now sit together in heavenly places in Christ
Jesus.”
M. H. to A. J. C. H. (in Paris).
“Aſome / Sept. 18, 1858.-Yes, dearest Augustus, I can
really date from home ! sweet home !—and no need for me
to tell you with what feelings of thankfulness I do so, after
fourteen months of wandering and change. I was received
by Esther at Hastings, and we came on together by the
five o’clock train. It was a fine moonlight night as we
drove in at the well-known gate, and when we reached the
door, the Gidman pair, who had preceded us by a few hours,
came out to receive us, as if we had only been away a day !
There was the tea-meal all spread out—a beautiful jar of
roses on the table, and large figs and plums. It seems still
a dream, and yet the sight of travelling-boxes keeps up some
connection with the past.
“Well, we had our tea, and a good night; and to-day I
look out and see the luxuriant beds of flowers, “as fragrant
and as fair' as John Gidman himself could have made them.
They are really beautiful—quite an avenue of fuchsias to
your garden.
“There could hardly be a greater contrast than between
our two circumstances—in the hot and noisy Streets of Paris,
and in the tranquil repose and Sweetness of Lime. But we
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 383
are one in heart, and one, I trust, in desire to fulfil God's
will wherever we are.”
“Sunday, Sept. 19, 1858.-How different from our Dijon
Sunday !. Then, panting indoors and Suffocated out of
doors; now, in the quiet shady repose of my garden, look-
ing on the luxuriant flowers, and worshipping God in the
church of our parish and home ! Our dear old church
looked beautiful in comparison with the bare rooms we have
been reduced to of late ; and the well-known smooth face
of Edwin Smith, the shrewd one of Taylor, and the venerable
Ned Burchett, were more pleasing sights to look upon than
crowds of Smart bonnets. Maria Hare gave thanks for her
“restored health, preserving mercies during her absence, and
for her safe return ; ' truly they have called for heartfelt
praise and thanksgiving. All have given hearty greeting
and welcome, but the heartiest of all has been poor Mrs.
Soper, whose placid face brightened up and was radiant
with delight as she almost shook my hand off. Joe was
delighted when I said I was pleased with his work—‘Oh,
you be, then all is right.” Mrs. W. Isted, in her ecstasy,
forgot even her own troubles, in admiration of my looks
and joy at my return. Mrs. Medhurst had been looking
forward to the day of my coming with such anxiety, and was
anxious to know if I had been to Jerusalem. This is the
most definite question as to our travels I have yet had.
Miss B. talks of the school, Mr. J. of the sick people. I
have never once mentioned to any one in the parish any-
thing connected with our tour, more than if we had not
been out of England, except to M. A. Medhurst and old
Wisham, who asked about the Roman Catholics. It does
Seem most extraordinary, because most natural, to be walk-
ing or driving in these leafy lanes, and I could almost for.
get We had been elsewhere in brighter skies or grander
Scenes.”
384 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“Zime, Oct. 2, 1858.-Oh, it is such a comfort now the
evenings are so long and so cold, to be at home, and not to
be travelling, and going in and out of inns, &c. I occupy
my old chair in Peace Corner, and you may picture the old
mother sitting alone, now setting her things in order, now
looking at old drawings, now taking out her crochet or her
book, or musing on the past and on her Parisian child.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Oct. 3, 1858.-Two whole years have passed since I
last communed with myself in this book, and in the interval
I have traversed half Europe. I went out weak, I have
returned strong. During fourteen months my God has in
His great mercy preserved and upheld me from all acci-
dents, illness, and dangers—through all difficulties and trials.
Once more have I been permitted to return to my peaceful
home and to my sister Esther, and to kneei with her before
that table of the Lord where we have so often shared and
received the blessed food from my now sainted brother
Never does he seem so near as when we offer our thanks-
givings in that place, and know assuredly that he is amongst
those heavenly hosts who join their praises with ours.
Have I not also drawn very nigh to the other blessed one
who rests between the aloes of his Roman grave? Here at
Hurstmonceaux, there at Rome, the two who were so united
on earth, now lie far apart until the resurrection. Yet do
their spirits dwell with Christ, and in measure as we dwell
in Him, do we ascend to where they are, and live together
continually. “Draw me and I will run after thee,' is my
prayer and my need, for sadly does my spirit often cleave to
the dust. Now that I am again restored to home life—to
quiet and unexciting occupations—oh, be with me, my Lord
and God, and help me to build up my soul anew in hea-
venly desires, to spend and be spent once more in Thy
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 385
service, breaking through the reserve that has crept over
me, and endeavouring to help all within my reach in their
heavenward course.”
“A.ime, May 22, 1859.-The lull of my present life, in
being restored to my peaceful home without interruption,
and able to devote my solitary hours to thoughts and
prayers for heavenly things, is one for which I am truly
thankful. It seems as if it gave me back to myself once
more, and to all those feelings intertwined in my past life,
which the wanderings of my later years seem to have
clouded over. There is so much to be recollected that is
useful and encouraging. . . . . In reverting to the great trial
of my life, there is so much of wonderful grace and mercy
attendant on it, that I can only adore Him who so
ordered it to His glory. In comparing it with the latest
sorrow that has befallen me, there is a wide difference. In
the one case it was as if all the waves and billows were
flowing over me, but in the midst of the storm a bright light
was seen and a voice heard that said, “Peace, be still ; ' in
the other, it was a dead calm, with a leaden sky; the will
was subdued into silence, but the loving hand that struck
the blow was not unveiled. There was no joyful conscious-
ness of the nearness of the chastening Father, yet perfect
Submission to His decree ; whereas, in the former instance,
the conflict between nature and grace was strong, but the
victory was triumphant. How far change of circumstances
or of health affected me, and how much of the want of
spiritual life has been owing to physical and natural causes,
God alone knows. Faith, I trust, has been exercised though
feebly, and love may have been in being, though for a time
pressed down and silent.”
“Zimte, /une 16, 1859.--To-day will close my Solitary life,
which for the last month has been uninterrupted. For
years I have not thus lived alone, and it is truly good to
YA) L. II. C C
386 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
have a time to commune with one's own heart and with
God, undisturbed by the pressing interests of friends and
events—to have time to review the past and prepare for the
future. I have read old letters and lived over again days
long gone by, and the departed have stood by my side, and
whispered their loving words, and I have awaked up from
the dream and asked, ‘Did these things really exist, and
such happiness—was it ever mine P’ And then I feel that,
though passed out of sight, all is still there—the love un-
quenched, the hope brightening day by day as I go forward
to the land where there is no parting. And all that has
been, is now, save that which was of the earth, earthly.
But the outward Scene—how is it changed, and the inner
man too ! how little I seem to have left of that fervour of
spirit with which I once rose above all the trials of the past
into communion with a loving Saviour and God. And the
difficulty of maintaining an even walk, a calm and heavenly
frame amidst the tossings and changes of all around, the
conflict of opinions, the varied anxieties, the interests of the
world in which one lives, this I find not lessened but in-
creased as life advances. Formerly I had my appointed
work to do in this place, and however imperfectly done, and
however little result there might be, there was a definite
course open to me. I cannot feel this to be so now. It is
hard to piece on what has been Snapped asunder, and others
fill the gap and one seems no longer needed. One is so
apt to seek and long after encouragement, and outward
signs of good done, and not to be contented with the noise-
less, unmarked, uninteresting effort, here a little, there a
"ittle, which seems to be hardly worth making, and to leave
no perceptible effect. But this I strive to resist. To my
God I desire to offer every Small as well as every great
deed, and He can bless irrespective of the unworthiness of
the doer. It is one of the blessings of home flat one can
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 387
show some little love-tokens, speak some words of sympathy
and comfort, which elsewhere would find no object. More
and more do I cling to this home, and feel, with all its
defects, no other could be like it to me. And as present
circumstances are, it seems to be permitted to nue to stay
here. Oh may the holy Comforter teach and guide me
aright to order and direct my life and my spirit in accord-
ance with His will, and to use faithfully every talent com-
mitted to me, and be less like the fig that Cumbereth the
ground than I have been of late. Unfaithful as I have ever
been, yet, O my God, Thou hast had mercy and spared
me: wilt Thou not still forbear, and bless Thy unworthy
Servant P”
“July 17.-This brief season of rest is ended, and I
must go forth again into the wide world. It is good for me,
I know, so I must not reject it—good for the weak body
that is unstrung by heat, and quite as much so for the mind
and spirit that flags with it, and which is often impatient of
the opposition of others. Oh, would that in steadfastness
of heart I could carry into all places a firm, unyielding,
heavenward purpose, judging of all things as in the light of
Goû only, and manifesting it to others. I read of the won-
drous faith and courage of the martyrs, and recognise the
strength given them from above, and yet my poor faithless
heart shrinks from expressing an opinion contrary to that of
those I love. I too often bend to those whose standard is
lower than mine ; I do not seek to raise theirs to mine. O
Lord, hear and help Thy weak servant, and gird her with
Thy girdle of righteousness and truth, arm her with Thy
armour, that she may stand unmoved in the good and evil
day alike, and maintain her post as Thy soldier and ser-
vant.”
In the autumn of 1859 we went to Scotland and after-
388 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
wards to Northumberland and Yorkshire, where my mother
joined Miss Leycester at Filey. It was during this northern
tour that she received the terrible news of the frauds and
defalcations of the family solicitor, and the almost total
ruin of our family—the widow and children of her husband's
eldest brother being deprived of almost everything they
possessed, and suddenly ieft without any means of Sub-
sistence ; and the widow of Julius Hare being also a severe
sufferer, besides having to feel acutely the betrayal of trust
by a person in whom she had placed unlimited confidence.
Her own losses, though heavy, were slight by comparison
with those of the rest of the family, and my mother grate-
fully continued to acknowledge the power which was still
left to her of assisting and comforting her suffering relations,
till, four years after, the widow of Julius was removed where
silver and gold are no longer needed ; and about the same
time, immediately after losing her mother, the daughter of
Francis Hare, by her own indefatigable exertions, had re-
covered such a proportion of property as enabled her to pass
with comfort the few years in which life was still spared to
her.
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“ Oct. 16.-‘Goodness and mercy' have truly followed us
in our going out and coming in. Not one accident has
befallen us in all the hundreds of miles we have traversed,
enjoyment has been richly permitted, kind friends have
received us, and outwardly all things have prospered in our
wanderings. . . . . One sad cloud has dimmed our path.
The distress which the wicked treachery of one man has
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 389
inflicted on so many near to us, has been an anxiety and
sorrow which still presses on us heavily. Still, though
arising out of sin, we ought to carry it to God, and ask that
out of evil good may come ; that increased faith, humility,
and love may spring up in the trial. The “uncertain riches'
flee away, but the sure and certain treasures of heavenly
good things abide for ever, and those who are planted on a
Rock cannot be moved, though all the storms of this
troublesome world rage against them. . . . . Lord, make
crooked things straight, disperse the clouds of prejudice and
error which gather round those I love, show them the right
way, and, while I see and lament their faults, let me not
overlook my own—º be gentle to others, and severe towards
thyself.”
“ Christmas ZXay, 1859.-A few words let me write on
this blessed anniversary which, while it recalls the one great
foundation of our Christian hope in the Saviour's birth,
also brings to mind the love of many living and departed
ones, whose thoughts are with us now, or were with us in
times past, to cheer and comfort us through the coming
year, and sympathise with us in the past one. As years go
on, we find the old number diminish, yet in the past year
God has graciously spared all those dearest to me, and at
this special time I can look around and give thanks for all.
Blessings without number has He granted to me and mine,
and how little have I done for Him -
“Oh that Christ may not only be born in me, but grow
unto the perfect man. . . . . We are unworthy of Thy
goodness, forbearance, and love, but, O Father, look on us
with compassion, and do for us, and all we love, abundantly
above what we can ask ; and ‘in all the changes and chances
of this life,' and as year follows year, and Christmas succeeds
Christmas, let us be advanced on our heavenward way, and
fitted more and more to share the inheritance of Thy
390 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Saints. “Peace on earth, good-will to man, glory in the
highest.’
* Soon and for ever
The soldier lay down
His sword for a harp
And his cross for a crown;
When the faithful reward
Of each earnest endeavour,
Christians with Christ shall be,
Soon and for ever.’”
In March, 1860, we first knew that we should be obliged
to leave Hurstmonceaux, and the summer was sadly passed
in preparations, in leave-takings, and in looking for a new
home, which was very difficult to find. Many places in all
the southern counties of England were examined in vain;
and my mother was on the point of giving up the search as
hopeless, and going abroad for several years, when a little
property near Hastings was suggested to her, which met
all her needs, and which, under the name of Holmhurst,
oecame the happy home of the later years of her life.
M. H. to A.J. C. H.
“Jime, March 2, 1860.-I had just finished my letter
yesterday, when Mr. Taylor came in with a long face—
“Unpleasant news to tell you’—and verily it was unpleasant.
The whole of the Lime estate has been bought, not for the
sake of the land, but of the house and garden | Yes, it is
come at last ; and the dear, Sweet, peaceful home of twenty-
five years must be left, and a new one sought. . . . . The
new owner is most civil and friendly, and there are six
months before us, to look out, and do what we can. When
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 391
there is no doubt or possibility of anything else, one must
not dwell on the dark side; and having been provided with
this home for twenty-five years, I will trust that God will
show me where to pitch my tent for the few remaining years
of my pilgrimage, but, as you know, it will be a great Sorrow
to me to leave this place.
“The last link of the Hare family with Hurstmonceaux
will now be broken. Lea is much upset, and neither she nor
I have had much sleep. She has, of course, been Žacking up
in her waking dreams, and I—trying to Commit my way to
Him who has ever been so loving and merciful to me.
“I am sitting in a flood of sunshine, the garden looking
so bright, and the sea shining ! You may imagine the dis-
tress of our parish friends !” -
MRs. JULIUS HARE to M. H.
“March 5, 1860.-God only knows what your sad news
is to me, for you, for myself, for our dear people. My
thoughts are rarely away from you, and from the inexpres-
sible sadness of the decree which has come to us—‘Ye
must depart.’ Together, dearest Mia, we have clung to that
sweet dear home, truly through evil report as weli as good
report, -clung to it, for all that it has been to us and to our
beloved one who loved it so dearly,–and for all that it has
been since, in keeping the holy associations around it that
no other place could have. I have been out this afternoon
in a solitary place where I could weep freely, and think of it
all. God help us, and teach us what He would have us
learn by these bitter sorrows. No one but you and I can
know how very bitter this is, because no one knows all that
is included in it, and that can never be elsewhere. My own
dearest Mia, I would I could have borne the whole of this
keen cutting away of what we have loved so dearly, but that
cannot be, and I can only pray that you may be directed to
392 - MEMORTALS of A QUIET LIFE.
Some place, where at least your health will be benefited,
and where you may find some poor to whom you may be a
blessing.
“In this Easter may our risen Lord be nearer and
dearer to us than ever before; and then in whatever seput-
chres our earthly hopes may be laid, the heavenly visitants
will be there to remind us that we are not to seek the
living among the dead, for, because our Lord lives, we
live also.”
1MRS. ALEXANDER to M. H.
“March 23, 1860.-Your letter, dearest friend, came
bearing all the Sweetness of March violets, and all the
precious affection which has brightened many successive
birthdays—days not always gladdened by many visible
flowers. I know that your prayers and loving wishes will
ever be with me. As we draw near to the kast mile-stone
of life's journey, we review the road with—it may be—
increased clearness of vision and deeper solemnity of feel-
ing, we dwell on the beautiful and happy portions with a
fonder tenderness, and we look at the trials and Sorrows
and places of sore conflict, but how changed their aspect in
the light of God’s gracious mercy 1
“At this very time, dear friend, a very keen severance is
sent to your heart. You may believe how I share your
pain and that of dear Esther | The removal cannot loosen,
but it will draw and strain the fibres which bind both to the
beloved spot.”
MRs. JULIUS HARE to M. H.
“Zima, August 15, 1860.-For the last time, from this dear
home, I must say a few words to you, dearest Mia, of love
and blessing. When I think of all that it has been
£-
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 393
to me during the twenty-three years which are now just
closing, I can only say, ‘Bless the Lord for all His mercies,
and forget not all His benefits.”
“May He bless you, dearest Mia, for all love and bless-
ing you have given me here, and in the new home may His
presence be with you, and make it truly a resting-place
whilst you continue your earthly pilgrimage; and though it
can never be what this has been, yet if He is with you,
the blanks will be filled up, or only felt so as to draw you
nearer to Him.
“The partings which have filled the last days have been
sad indeed, but calm and hopeful; and I trust the dear
people have been encouraged to look up, in trust and hope,
to the Friend who will not pass away. And now, Lord,
what wait I for P Truly, my hope is even in Thee, who art
our habitation and our rest. The earthly home is broken
up, but Thou remainest the same, and Thy years have no
end. Bless my beloved sister, and her dear child, and this
dear parish. Hold them, and the precious seed we have
sown in Thy garden, in Thy holy keeping, and unite us all
in Thy love here, and in Thine everlasting kingdom in the
day of Thine appearing.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Zime, Sept. 2, 1860.-This year has well-nigh slipped
away, and yet I have recorded none of its events, nor any
of the various thoughts and feelings which have stirred my
soul since it began. But those have not been unimportant.
A great change has been brought about through no wish or
effort of mine, and therefore I must believe it is from God.
It was a grievous thought at first that we must leave this
dearly-loved home. For twenty-six years, Hurstmonceaux
has indeed been such to me, and for twenty-five years have
I found a safe refuge at Lime for myself and my child. It
394 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
seems to have become a part of our very life. But it is need-
ful to be taught that earthly homes, like earthly friends, must
pass away, and that we “build on no tree of the forest’—it
must be cut down.
“Hurstmonceaux, associated with so much of sorrow and
joy, with those departed from our view, and with those who
are still with us, must ere long cease to be our home and
abiding place. Strangers will walk in this garden and fill
these rooms, and the name of Hare will pass out of the
parish where for so many years it has been known and
loved. -
“So be it, Lord 1 since Thou hast spoken the word,
* Arise and depart.’ Only let me learn the true lesson of
this decree, and do Thou in Thy mercy blot out the sins
which have marked my stay in this place, and, in removing
elsewhere, enable me to begin anew, and with more stead-
fastness of purpose serve Thee. These breaks in life are
useful if they lead us to make a fresh start heavenward, and
rouse us from the slothfulness that creeps over a continuous
life in one spot. I can see that we may find it better to be
elsewhere, and that God can make it so, if He makes His
abode with us. -
“O Lord, though all else may change, Thou art the same
in all places and times. May I press forward to the home
prepared for those who fear Thee, and be weaned from
earthly treasures by the gentle voice which tells that they
must pass away.” -
“Iime, Sept. 23.−The last Sunday—the last day in this
beloved home ! It is come to this after six months' pre-
paration; but there has been much to alleviate the sorrow
and give hope for the future. This change is unconnected
with any death, and is accompanied by no sad future
prospects. A pleasant home has mercifully been provided
for us, and in many ways I can see now that it will be
FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL. 395
better for us to leave this place and pitch our tent in
another. In all this I have much cause to thank God
and take courage. And when I look back to the twenty-
six years in which God has blessed me here, how can I
doubt or distrust His future care and love P When in the
‘first lone days of widowhood' I found refuge at Hurst-
monceaux, a dear brother received and sheltered me, and,
so far as tenderness and attention could do, he endeavoured
to soothe and comfort me. Through many years he was
my one daily friend. and blessing. Then came a change
which added another dear one to the number, and then yet
another. Still his love knew no change, and unweariedly
and devotedly did he continue his brotherly care, till illness
and infirmity deprived him of the power of doing so, and
gradually broke down the outer tie which had been bound
So fast.
“That portion of life ended, a new one began, but still
Lime was my home, and Hurstmonceaux became dearer
than ever, as associated with what can never be recalled.
All the childhood and youth of my Augustus have been
spent here, and this too has endeared it beyond other
places. I can hardly yet believe we shall find our home no
longer here, but so it must be. And as I pass in review all
the mercies of my God, and recall all my own unfaithful-
ness, and how poor and worthless have been my services,
I can only marvel and adore His loving-kindness, and fall
low at His feet and say, ‘Lord, forgive my iniquity, and blot
out my transgressions.’ Let me set forth anew, O Lord, as
a pilgrim on earth, with Thy rod and staff, and so set my
heart on Thee, that in all places Thou mayst be my
dwelling-place and home, I in Thee, and Thou in me, until
I return here to my last resting-place.”
At the end of September, my mother went away to
396 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Sheen, leaving us to pack up. Each day was a long leave-
taking. On Oct. 5, in the gloaming of an autumn evening,
when the setting sun was streaming through the diminishing
leaves of the old abele-trees, and throwing long shadows
upon the green lawn and brilliant flower beds, we delivered
up the keys of our dear home, and walked away from it for
the last time.
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“Sheen, Oct. 4, 1860.-My last letter to Lime ! Fare-
well to my beloved home; its beauty and its peaceful happi.
ness are no more for us; but we must be thankful, deeply
thankful, for all it has given us for twenty-six years past.
Lime is dead, but Hurstmonceaux still lives, and will not
depart from us so long as loving hearts remain there, and
that churchyard exists.” -
“ Oct. 8.—I felt a shock to-day when I heard of ‘the key
being given up,' the close of the Lime chapter of our life.
God be praised for it, and may He hallow our new home
with His presence and love.”
XIX.
HOLMEIURST.
“Remember that some of the brightest drops in the chalice
of life may still remain for us in old age. The last draught
which a kind Providence gives us to drink, though near the
bottom of the cup, may, as is said of the draught of the
Roman of old, have at that very bottom, instead of dregs,
most costly pearls.”—W. A. NEWMAN.
OUR new home, only fourteen miles from Hurstmon-
ceaux, was situated on the high narrow ridge of hill
which divides the seaboard near Hastings from the richly-
wooded undulations of the Weald of Sussex. The house
was little more than a cottage with a few better rooms
added to it, but its winding passages and low rooms were
well suited to our old pictures and carved furniture, relics
for the most part of Hurstmonceaux Castle. The principal
rooms opened upon a little terrace with vases, whence one
looked down through upland Oak-Studded meadows to
Hastings Castle and the Sea ; and a narrow garden, filled
with variety of wood, rock, and water, all alike in miniature,
1ambled on either side along the edge of the hill.
To break the change in our lives, and for the benefit to
my mother's health, it had long been settled that we should
pass the winter at Mentone; and as soon as we had taken
398 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
possession of Holmhurst, we proceeded thither, visiting
Orleans, Bourges, Avignon, Nismes, and Arles upon the way.
MRS. J. IIARE to M. H.
“AWov. 29, 1860.-By this time, dearest Mia, you will be
Settled in your new quarters, and may much good and
blessing attend you there. It was well you stayed long
enough at Cannes to find out its attractions, as if not, you
would have been the only travellers who ever gave an indif.
ferent report of that land of beauty, which dear Bunsen used
to call ‘the Paradise of Europe.’
“Yesterday the message of his emancipation came, and
his suffering body no longer chains down the immortal spirit.
His end was mercifully tranquil ; and before he passed into
the state of partial unconsciousness in which he has lain for
many weeks past, the full revelation made to his spirit of
the pardoning love of his Saviour, and his childlike reliance
on His merits, were indeed most blessed. In those days,
when he seemed dying, it was indeed as if heaven had been
opened before those around him; and most affecting it was
to hear how that great mind was brought to feel that all was
nothing to him at that hour but the merits and love of his
Saviour. “All bridges that one builds through life fail at
such a time as this, and nothing remains but the bridge of
the Saviour, was his declaration one day; and this was
evidently the bridge upcn which he was passing over the
river of death.
“And now the two friends are again united ; and I give
thanks that my dearest one was spared the sorrow which
this would have been to him, had he been the survivor.”
Our winter at Mentone was by far the most delightful of
the many we have spent abroad. My mother entirely
HOLMHURST. 399
enjoyed it. The walks and donkey-rides were inexhaustible,
the scenery surpassingly lovely, the climate delicious, and a
pleasant circle of friends occupied the villas, which, thinly
scattered over the Orange-gardens and olive-groves, then
formed the whole colony.
M. H.’s Journal.
“Mentone, AVoz. 28, 1861.-What a pleasure to wake up
here in the Maison Trenca, and to know that there is no
more travelling—inns, stations, Omnibuses, tables d'hôte—
that here we are arrived, and are not to move again for a
long time.
“Maison Trenca is on the side of the ‘fruitful hill’
covered with olives, on the Genoa side of Mentone, about
half a mile from the town. The ground floor of the house
is occupied by M. Trenca, with his wife and children. We
have the first floor; and nothing can be more suitable or
convenient than our apartment—a drawing-room with a
balcony, and three good bedrooms to the South-east, looking
on the sea, with the large red-tiled Pension Anglaise just
below us, and on the left hand the fine rocky coast stretching
out to Ventimiglia, only partially hidden by the olive-trees in
the garden. To the north is our dining-room, a very good
kitchen, and Sºnall spare room.
“It was a wet morning. No matter. Here we are, and
thankful to rest after the fatigues of yesterday and of many
past days. In the afternoon an interval of fair weather
enabled me to get out, and I found a delightful terraced
road leading straight from Our garden to the town, with
villas above and olive-trees below and the lovely view seen
through them, while Mentone, with its high houses and old
archway, reminded me both of Amalfi and Porto-Venere.
Nothing can be more picturesque than the narrow streets of
4OO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
the old town, closed in by dark archways above, and filled
with bright figures beneath; the latter, for the most part
with handsome Italian faces. Most lovely was the view as
I returned, with the golden light on the hills and rocks, and
the clear blue waves breaking on the beach below.”
“Pec. I.--What a beginning of December A hot sun
which would be in England that of May or June; no cold
wind; a truly Italian day. I went to draw on the terrace
in the morning, and in the afternoon we went through the
town to the beach below it, and sate there to draw the
castle tower. Nothing could be more exquisite than the
colouring. All day men have been at work cutting down
the olive-trees in front of Our house to give more Sun and
view. It is frightful to see them perched on the slender
boughs, and cutting away branch aſter branch. One of the
men is quite a picture, with his red handkerchief on his
head and his handsome oriental face.”
“A)ec. 5.-‘The rain is over and gone,’ and gladly have
we once more sallied forth in Sunshine and blue sky. At
one o'clock, Theresine came with her donkey, and we went
to the bridge and villa on the Genoa road; she with our two
camp-stools placed on the Crown of her flat hat, and with a
red handkerchief underneath, was a most picturesque figure,
and her handsome face completed the picture. At the villa
gate I dismounted and we went in, and down the terraces
and steps to a walk whence the great gorge and the old
aqueduct and bridge, with the high peaks above, made a
most splendid scene. The villa itself is enchanting, washed
by the blue sea, with its berceaux of vines and roses, and
large trees of heliotrope and jessamine. When we went
away, Theresine had added a large bundle of oranges to the
weight on the top of her head, from which she gave us two
or three beautiful ones.”
“Pec. 12.-A Splendid morning encouraged us to go off
HOLMHURST. 4O1
to Monaco, driving away from Mentone through the avenue
of plane-trees, across the torrent, which was so swollen on
our arrival, and along the Nice road for a long ascent, till
we turned off on the left to Monaco. A custom-house of
the most primitive kind marks the boundary of this petty
domain.
“Monaco is situated on a long peninsula jutting out into
the sea, and dividing it into two lovely bays, of which one is
backed by a very fine mountainous crag. On the crest of
the promontory are the town and palace, entered through a
gateway by a beautiful smooth gravel road, a perfect con-
trast to those beyond the precincts. This leads up into the
town through avenues of cypresses, and is bordered by
gigantic aloes, some with their flowering stems towering into
the blue sky. I sate to draw in a charming sheltered spot,
surrounded by aloes and euphorbias. The promenade,
through which I returned, is a public one, and most beauti-
ful with masses of aloes and cactus of ten or twelve feet
high, shrubs of geranium still in flower, and myrtles, pines,
and carouba trees, forming a mass of varied and Oriental
vegetation as a foreground to the sea, while in the far
distance a Snow mountain peeped up above the nearer
ranges.”
“A)&c. I 2.-At one o'clock I set off on Lisette with There-
sine to follow Augustus to the Cape St. Martin. The road
wound through olive-woods and splendid orange-groves till
we came out at the Cape, bordered by great white rocks over
which the waves were breaking. It is a most wild, romantic
spot, covered with firs and pines, and the ground carpetted
with an undergrowth of myrtles—the beautiful view of
Monaco and its crags on one side, Ventimiglia and Bordi.
ghiera on the other.”
“Pec. 31.-A beautiful bright day and clear air. I gladly
escaped from my cage to enjoy the glorious sea, whose
WOL. II. D D
4O2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
waves rolled up in long lines across the bay. In this won.
drous climate Carnations are still blooming, with blue Salvias,
roses, geraniums, malvas, and white starry marguerites. . . .
“And so ends 1860. God be praised for all the preser.
vation and mercies which have attended me and mine from
the beginning to the end of it.”
“Jan. 1, 1861.-The new year has begun with sunshine
and brightness, and loveliness in all around. It is difficult
to believe in its being winter.
“The sea was most beautiful with its white-crested waves
rising amidst the deep blue. I took a long stroll through
the olive-woods, and came round by the cemetery, where it
was so sheltered and warm that I sate on the steps of the
chapel, and there gave thanks to Him whose wondrous
works of beauty were stretched before me.”
“Jam. 26.—Augustus went off to Grimaldi, and I followed
on a donkey at one o'clock. The ascent was most un-
pleasant with its precipices—a ‘mauvais pas, indeed, on
the narrow ledge of the mountain, where one false step
would have been fatal. Lisette, however, did not fail me,
and we got safely over the perilous way, up to the wild and
picturesque village on the side of the mountain, embosomed
in olive-woods. Arches and narrow streets, Crooked and
filthy, were more romantic than pleasant. But the tower of
the Grimaldis, beyond the point, is a lovely subject, and
we found a delightful position to sit in amidst rocks and
euphorbias. The waves dashing up over the rocks beneath
the Roches Rouges were magnificent; and rising up in a
column of spray through a hole in one of them, like a minia-
ture Geyser. There is something in the clearness of the sea
that adds to the effect ; the varied blue and green was
most lovely.”
“Aeb. 14.——We drove in the afternoon, an unwonted
luxury. The Sun had been clouded over, so it was not
HOLNIHURST. 4O3
bright, but the views were still lovely. At Ventimiglia the
snow-peaks were partially hid under mist, but looked very
unearthly, and of the purest white where visible.”
“ March 8.-At two o'clock Augustus and I set out for
the afternoon laden with our drawing apparatus. It was
very hot as we went up the narrow stony ascent into the
olive-woods. There we found the banks covered with white
periwinkles, and after a time we went down into the orange-
groves, over a little bridge crossing the torrent, and again
mounting the other side of the hill, came to the Trencas’
Campagne. It was a pretty simple cottage, in front of
which a large fig-tree stretched out its branches, and, in this
sort of piazza, chairs were placed, and we sate down to rest,
with M. and Madame Trenca, who, with their little Louis,
come to spend every afternoon there. He superintends his
labourers, and she brings her knitting, and goes about with
him. By-and-by they took us into the Orange-groves close
by, and there M. Trenca plucked off a large number and
gave us, so that Augustus was heavily laden for our return.
They look so rich and golden on the trees, it seems a
pity to gather them, but the number is so great they lie
strewn on the ground unheeded. A friend of the Trencas
now joined their party, and while we retired to draw
the cottage, they sate before it, and the children played
together.
“Above the door is an inscription with texts—‘Here we
have no abiding city,” “Peace be to this house,’ &c. On
the other side is a large blue sun-dial painted on the wall,
and under it, ‘Nous consumons les années comme une
pensée.’. There is a small room looking out on the sea
above stairs, then a bedroom reached by a ladder and a
trap-door. These, with a room below, now filled with wood,
and a small kitchen, forin the whole of this primitive abode,
where M. Trenca lived before his marriage. They told us
4O4 MEMORIALS OF A QUET LIFE.
their violets sold for twenty-eight soldi a pound, nearly one
franc and a half. One cannot imagine a life more simply
enjoyable than this of the Trencas'—having just sufficient
to do, and not too much to prevent their benefiting by the
beauties around them and living in peace and comfort
and love.”
“April 26.-Augustus and I mounted L'Amore and La
Guisa, and, with Ravellina, went up to Santa Lucia. The
new green of the avenues and valley of Cabruare was quite
lovely, and nothing could be more beautiful than the scenery
and woods as we wound up the steep rocky path of the
mountain. The fir-woods, and the rich carpet of myrtles,
rosemary, and lavender, made the foreground to the fine
mountain range of S. Agnese. We stayed for two hours
drawing at the chapel, and most delightful it was on that
point with the amphitheatre of beauty surrounding us on
each side.”
“April 30.-Our last day at dear, sweet, lovely Mentone.
May God be praised for all its benefits.”
“May I.-A lovely day with a cold wind. At eight A.M.
the omnibus was packed, the rooms stripped of their boxes,
and we went down the garden walk, accompanied by the
Trencas, M. Trenca saying, when I spoke of going home,
“Ah, la patrie c'est bon d'y retourner, cependant toute la
terre est au Seigneur.' We bade them an affectionate fare-
well. They were very tearful over our departure, and little
Louis roared out of sympathy. At last we were fairly Off,
and looked our last on Maison Trenca, Pension Anglaise,
and the streets of Mentone, with many parting words from
those we passed. Beautiful S. Agnese towered up as clear
as ever, and the fresh green made all look lovely in its
spring brightness. Augustus and I went in the coupé, and
the servants inside, so we saw the grand views well Over the
Turbia precipices; but it was a relief when we turned to
HOLMHURST. 405
descend, and Monaco was left behind, so that the lingering
good-bye to Mentone was over. . . . .”
“ Valence, May 9.—We have had a prosperous journey.
The first night we slept at Antibes, and left in a lovely
morning, when the whole Snowy range of the Maritime Alps
were melting into the clouds, behind the delicate tints of the
nearer hills. Our way lay through most luxuriant country
by Grasse to Draguignan ; the corn, vineyards, olives,
flowers of every hue, hedges and fields of roses, the young
green of the fig-trees, and all the spring vegetation, quite a
relief after the comparative bareness we had been used to,
beautiful as that was. At S. Maximin we stayed to see
the fine old Gothic church, and the venerable sarcophagus
said to be the tomb of Mary Magdalen, and the gorgeous
gilt shrine containing the piece of “incorruptible flesh'
which the Saviour touched
“From Avignon we made an excursion to Vaucluse,
through a long expanse of plain, with little variety except a
picturesque village here and there. The road up to the
fountain is an easy ascent by the side of a lovely blue rush-
ing stream, which tumbles over the rocks in its course.
The amphitheatre of yellow rock here forms a great
chasm, immediately under which is a large pool. No foun-
tain is visible, but the water seems to emerge from under
the rocks, and at low water you can see it more plainly. It
is a singular, rather than a beautiful spot. The town is
picturesque, with an old ruined castle on one of its heights,
and backed by the grand gorge of rocks. As we sate to
draw it, the nightingales Sang most sweetly.”
“AZay 12, Grande Chartreuse.—We came here from
Voirons, ascending in a sort of gig from St. Laurent du
Pont. I never saw anything more exquisitely lovely than
the Spring green of the beech-woods, mixed with the dark
firs, or more grand than the gorge of rocks and cliffs under
406 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
which we passed, sometimes going through galleries like
those on the Simplon, at other times isolated crags rising
Out of the deep valley beneath, while at the bottom of the
ravine a torrent rushed along amidst the woody banks.
The road is perfectly good, and there is no steepness of
ascent till the mass of buildings of the monastery appear,
like a small town enclosed within a wall. On asking for
lodging at the Infirmary, which is appropriated to lady
visitors, we found the sisters had only just arrived, and their
box followed us into the house, so, as it had not been
inhabited all the winter, it was like going into a cellar. . . .
In the morning, Lea and I walked up the wild romantic
paths, through fields covered with the most lovely gentians,
forget-me-nots, yellow anemonies, and Oxlips, and then
through fir-woods towards St. Bruno's Chapel. Nothing can
be grander than the situation, and the variety of the woods
makes the colouring lovely; but I am disappointed not to
see one monk with his white cowl : all without the walls is
solitude, it is like a gigantic prison.”
The only shadow over my mother's happy winter at
Mentone, came in the news of the death of her only brother,
Mr. Penrhyn, and the impossibility of being with him in his
last illness. The loss of his warm welcome and unfailing
sympathy made a great blank in her return to England,
though she was much comforted by the loving attentions
which she always received from his four children, and which
she warmly and tenderly appreciated. In the following
spring (of 1862), on March 5, the day preceding the first
anniversary of her brother's death, came greater grief in the
parting with her beloved sister, Mrs. Stanley, endeared to
her in a whole lifetime of unbroken confidence and revering
HOLMPHURST. 4O7
love. It gave an additional interest to her little Holmhurst
that this dear sister had seen and enjoyed it, and that their
last intimate companionship was associated with the new
home. Here my mother remained quietly for nearly two
years. From letters and journals of this time are the fol-
lowing extracts —
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“Aſo/m/hurst, August 22, 1861.-Yesterday, to vary my
thoughts, I went to Hollington, and called on Old widow
Wellar, who had just been cheated out of her spectacles by
a pedlar, who pretended to examine them, and exchanging
an old broken pair into her case, carried off hers. She had
told the ‘pºlice,’ but was in great trouble. Then I had a
long talk with old Burgess, which is really a treat, for he is
a kind of Bunyan in his spiritual experiences and histories.
He told me how he had an ungodly neighbour, “all for the
world, and never going to church.’ He could not forbear
going to talk to him about his ways; he looked uncomfor-
table, but said nothing. Next time Burgess went, he said:
—‘After you were gone I could find no rest; your words
stuck in me; you told me to pray, but I did not know what
prayer was. At last, in my distress, I went into the little
parlour alone, and knelt down —“Lord, teach me to pray.”
He heard, and I had no more difficulty.’
“Do you like a Sunday walk round the garden P. The
basket is quite luxuriant and brilliant with its geraniums,
yellow calceolarias, and ageratum. The borders, too, are
filled, and their flowers gorgeous. Here one or two lingering
roses appear. Those over the verandah are blossoming
wildly and picturesquely over the ivy at the corner of the
drawing-room. The dark purple convolvulus, mixed with
the jessamine, is beautiful Mr. Blackstone, who has just
408 M.F.MORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
been here, says we have ‘the poetry of Hastings without its
prose.’”
“A/arch 11, 1862.-My own Augustus will well know
how my heart is with those in Alderley churchyard, and
now C. L. and I join in spirit in the solemn service over our
dearly-loved sister, and pray for all who are so deeply
bereaved. . . . -
“And now, my Augustus, that one of my dearest earthly
treasures is taken away, you, more than ever, will be my
comfort and Solace, and your tender care and love soothe
and cheer me through my remaining years. May I be
strengthened, if it be God's will, to continue yet awhile with
you, until your heart is more firmly resting on Him who can
stay it in all trouble, and who will never be taken away
from you. Your birthday is at hand, and it is one good of
your absence that I can on paper express what in speech I
could not do, of earnest desire for your good in the coming
year, and health and blessing on my adopted one, for all
that you are to me. . . . . We have all the same enemy
to contend against—Self. Self-seeking, self-pleasing is so
natural to us that only the Spirit of God can cast it out;
and oh what blessedness when such is the case, and all
the unquietness of our poor weak hearts is stilled by His
voice. May the present trial lead us to live more closely
to Him ; and for all His blessings in this our home, and for
all the love given us in each other, may we live our thanks.
God preserve and bless you, my Augustus, and make
you more and more a true and faithful follower of Christ,
as you are a loving and daily comfort to your very loving
mother.”
“Sept. 2.-I miss my darling most in the garden, and long
to admire all to you as I take my Sunday walk. The Sea
is its best blue, the jessamine is all out, the convolvulus is
beginning to mix with it, and the asters are blooming.”
HOLMHURST. - 409
MRS. TULIUS HARE to M. H.
“AVoz. 21, 1861.-My first and most pleasant work this
morning must be to send you a greeting, dearest Mia, for
the day which is so dear to all who love you, and which in
other times has been brightened and cheered by the love,
which prized it so much, and ever hailed it with increasing
tenderness as years went on.
“And though “they reckon not by days or years' where
the beloved husband, and brothers, and parents are ‘gone
to dwell, yet the love that brightened special days on earth
remains, and is perhaps yet allowed some exercise towards
those upon earth whom it delighted to bless. But this we
know not ; enough for us to know that they are with Him
who is love, and that all His manifestations to us, amid the
darkness of this world that surrounds us, are from the love
in which they and we are united.
“Blessings on your new year, dearest Mia, from Him
who giveth liberally, and who in the course of the last year
has again ‘established your border,’ and given you so much
in the place of what He has taken away. May He be with
you in the new home, even as He was in the old one, and
make you the minister of good to others, as well as the
receiver of His bounty.”
M. H.’s Journal—(“The Green Book”).
“AVov. 24, 1861.-My last entry in this book was in our
old home, this must be in the new one. Above a year has
passed since our transfer to the fresh dwelling-place, and in
this time God has mercifully guided us where to go, blest
us in our Wanderings, and brought us safely to our home
again. One great Sorrow has befallen me in the interval, in
the loss of one associated with my earliest recollections,
and who had ever been to me the kindest of brothers.
4IO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Short was the warning, but it found him ready; and so
blessed was the close of his outwardly blameless life, so
ripened was he for his heavenly inheritance, that it took
away the ‘sting of death,’ and, even to those who are left,
seemed to make the consolation equal to the grief. For
myself, I was thankful to be where I could be alone with
God, and rest every care and thought on Him, undisturbed
by the secondary causes which often distract the mind. I
could feel that my beloved brother was safely landed on the
eternal shore, and give thanks.
“Of lovely Mentone, and all the enjoyment and health it
gave, I cannot now speak. It was a bright vision of beauty
to rest in memory, a Season of peace and Comfort of soul to
be thankful for. It is now six months since we returned to
Bngland and took possession of this new home. What
thanks do I not owe to my ever-merciful Father for appoint-
ing our lot in such “pleasant lines,’ and giving me so
‘goodly a heritage’—one so suited to all our needs, so
exactly meeting the wishes and tastes of our whole house-
hold | What can be my prayer, but that “I and my house
may serve the Lord, and that while we share His gifts, we
may do so in dependence on Him, desiring to glorify Him
in the place He has put us in.
“My 63rd birthday is just passed, and it brings with it a
long register of mercies past, of sins forgiven, and of prayers
answered. Should it not encourage me to cast every pre-
sent care, anxiety, and want on Him who has so blest me?
Help me, O my God, to do so I and do Thou for me and
my dear Augustus abundantly more than I can ask for,
filling us with Thy grace, and love, and peace.”
“A/arch 30, 1862.-It is in Sadness and Sorrow I again
take up this book. God has visited us in chastening; and
the sister I have looked up to from childhood, adored in
youth, and clung to as my best earthly friend and comforter
HOLMHURST. 4 II
through middle age, has in one week been taken from us.
It seems hardly possible to believe that the energetic mind,
so warmly interested in all that was going on, should have
ceased to be amongst us. . . . .”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“March 29, 1862.-I have scarcely been able to think of
anything lately but you, my own Mia ; and those lines of
Southey's are never out of my mind—“Not to the grave, my
soul’—which always carry me back to our young days, the
ash-tree on the hill at Alderley, and the many rides and
walks and sittings-out which memory keeps fresh and bright
as ever. Every day I feel and realise more and more that
Death is not, will not be to the believer So much a change
as a perfecting of all begun in Time here. It will be our-
selves free from the flesh and the self of sin and the tempta-
tion of Satan. I have just been meditating on the chapter
of Moses in the mount with God. With Jesus, the man,
the friend, the same for ever, we shall certainly not have
less personal intercourse in heaven than Moses had on
earth. The difference will be that we shall then be raised
and glorified to fit us for His company, instead of His
humbling Himself to meet His people upon earth.”
MRs. JULIUS HARE to M. H.
“March 8, 1862.- . . . One by one, my beloved sister,
the links that have bound you here are loosened, and you
(whose frail body we have so often watched with such
anxiety) are left alone in your generation, at least of nearest
ties. He who has called you to this estate will be with you,
and give you greater nearness to Himself. For that you
have been ever praying whilst your life was so rich, and now
He answers you in a way you little looked for, in ‘an hour
4I 2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
you thought not of.’ ‘The Master is come, and calleth for
thee'—calleth for thee to heal thy'wounds, not indeed by
restoring to earthly life those that are gone, but by giving
you His own supporting presence, in which is the fulness
of life, and in which you are one with all who are with
Him.
“Dearest Mia, I feel as if I had a right to a double tender-
ness of sympathy and share in your sorrow ; for you know
well what this loss and sorrow would have been to him who
loved her so much—and you so devotedly, and that if he
could have loved you more than before, he would now have
poured out all the most cherishing fondness of his loving
heart.”
2 o M. H. azed L. A. H.
“Sept. Io, 1862.-Though I have not been able to speak
with you on paper, beloved sisters, my heart has often talked
with you, and I love to think of you together, true helpers
of each other's highest joy, and seeking to rise together from
the littleness of earth into heavenly places. Many thanks
for all your loving thoughts and helpful prayers for me
during the last month of serious illness. I should have
written yesterday, but felt constrained to copy out a hymn
for , and send it her with a note, just to tell her the
peace and rest which comes, not by struggling to believe,
but just by looking up at Him. It is rest indeed, and worth
any depth of weakness or illness to feel it, and to see, when
you can think or feel nothing, the answering look of love
which is returned to the uplifted heart, or rather, which has
first drawn it to look up, that it may see what there is there
for it.
“Oh, that all our dear children may be led into that light
and rest I think of them each and all, and just lay them
before Him, asking Him to give thern ſilia! hearts towards
HOLMHURST. - 4I3.
Him. The Confirmation Prayer—‘Defend, O Lord, &c.’—
seems to express all I would say for them.”
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“AZurstmonceaux AE/ace, Oct. 9, 1862.-Here I am a
visitor at our dear old home, looking into this pretty park,
with its fine trees, hardly as yet turned in foliage, and now I
must go forth on my round.
“. . . . The shrubbery was most pleasant, with the sun
glinting through the trees, the brown dry leaves crackling
under foot, the castle in full sunshine below. The church-
yard had its usual sheep feeding in the long grass, but the
neat little fence kept our sacred spot free, and it was trim
as a garden lawn. Lovely was it on every side,-the downs
soft and clear, the whole scene in full bright sunlight. Mrs.
Harmer was full of gladness when she opened the door and
saw my face. The sons came in to their dinner, and then
the father, who did not know me, but when told, said he
remembered my husband; they had been boys together,
and then came a lamentation over the Hares. George
Pellett has been to see me. He is “terrified with rheu-
matism outwardly, and inwardly with wicked thoughts,” but
had much that was interesting to say . . . It is a cloudless
day, and Hurstmonceaux looks its very brightest.”
My mother especially delighted in her Sundays. They
were not only days of rest but of real enjoyment to her.
Before going to church she always devoted herself entirely
to thinking of and reading about the lessons appointed for
the day, and referring to Jeremy Taylor, Leighton, Tauler,
Olshausen, Calvin, Luther, Alford, Barnes, and other com-
mentators, for their views on the subjects contained in them.
She also every Sunday read and thought upon the Resurrec-
4.14. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
tion. In the afternoons she visited her garden, and sate out
in the fields overlooking the sea, whenever the weather
allowed. In the evening she played and sang hymns. With
Henry Vaughan, she regarded her Sundays as—
“Bright shadows of true rest some shoots of bliss;
Heaven once a week;
The next world’s gladness pre-possessed in this;
. A day to seek
Eternity in Time.”
It had been a distress to her on our first settling at
Holmhurst, that the church was at so great a distance. In
the autumn of 1862, chiefly through the kindness of a
neighbour, a little iron church was raised close to our
gates. .
M. H. to MISS LEYCESTER.
“ Bo/mhurst, AVoz. 23, 1862.-This morning the sun rose
in a cloudless sky, and the Sea shone resplendent under its
beams, but still brighter has the inward sunshine been to
me this day.
“It was a blessed sound as I went up my laundry stairs
to hear the hum of little voices; and on entering I found
Miss S. and Anne Cornford comfortably seated with two
forms of little boys and girls, Miss S. with a class who
could read, and Anne teaching a hymn. Then you may
think what it was to go for the first time into that little
church, and find it quite full—no carriages to-day, 'So it
must have been the people of the place.
“Mr. Colpoys read devoutly; and when giving out the
psalm to sing, said he hoped all would join, and also in the
responses, and how important this was in public worship
where minister and congregation were to join together. The
HOLMHURST. 415
singing was tolerable, and I can truly say of the sermon,
that I rarely heard one so good, and never one more suit-
able or better. The text was Rom. i. 16. . . . And did I
not walk home praising God in my heart, and kneel in my
room and thank the Giver of every good gift for this, and
beseech Him to bless this His gift to me, my household,
my child, my neighbours, to the glory of His name, and to
the salvation of souls . . . . The house being locked up,
the whole household go to church. And I,_-shall I not
bless the Lord with my whole soul for all His benefits, and
seek for grace and strength to glorify Him in word and
deed for all He has done.”
In the autumn of 1862, my mother's health again began
to fail, and the winter was passed in great suffering and
anxiety. In the spring we again resorted to the unfailing
remedy of foreign air, and, in spite of her great weakness,
reached Hyeres in safety, where she at once began to revive,
and proceeded to Nice, where we passed several months in a
small apartment which had a beautiful view of the sea on one
side, and of the Snow mountains across Orange and Carouba
groves on the other. In the late spring we went for a short
time to revisit Mentone, and then to Geneva and Thun,
where we passed some time in great enjoyment at the
Pension Baumgarten, before returning to Holmhurst. In
these tours the faithful Mary Gidman was our constant com-
panion, and if I went away for longer excursions, she always
accompanied my mother in her rambles through the moun-
tain pastures she so intensely delighted in. The extreme
pleasure my mother felt in mountain scenery was fully
shared by her sister Lucy, who spent this summer in
Switzerland.
416. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Aex, /u/y 14, 1863.−Bex is most delightful, and though
hemmed in by high mountains, the rushing waters of the
Avençon, fresh from the glacier, breathe a coolness around.
Our days glide by so peacefully, I never feel as if I wanted
more than the few books I have. I do often book for my
children, and feel a void, and think of the happy days with
them in this beautiful land, but then I dwell on their happi-
ness, and think what I would have given then to know how
it would be with them. . . . . With these mountains, this
sky, and the pine-covered hills, one cannot feel alone. We
are climbing the mountains, not going down.”
“July 30.—Are we not together on this day—we three
loving sisters, left for awhile here below to give thanks for
past earthly happiness, and to press onwards to the blessed
meeting in our Father's house P I fear our beloved Esther
is worse. . . . . She will read this, and know how near we
are to each other, as eighteen years of mercies give us only
fresh cause for saying, ‘He is faithful who promised, for
every day His promises are made good.’
“Mrs. F. Dawkins and her three daughters, who have the
rooms over ours, are a constant pleasure. Some friend or
interest will always be sent us that we may not be too lonely.
This châlet is charming—the perfect peace and quiet—no
sound but the rushing river Avençon under my windows,
which, though muddy like the Arve, comes fresh from the
glaciers, and so spreads a freshness all around. Yesterday
morning the Dent, which looks down upon us, was covered
with snow, while here it was like a soft September morning.
The great heat is quite gone, the air is so balmy it is life to
breathe it, and I never tire of sitting in the Corner of my
wooden balcony and looking on those granite peaks.”
“Aex, Sept. 3.−I have waited to write that this might
HOLMHURST. 4I 7
find you with Esther. How I shall look for your report.
though, alas, now I feel it can but tell of that which one
knows but never realises fill the separation Comes. I shall
see you all three, the three who never can look on each
other without bringing back the blessed past, and memories
which will soon be changed to still more blessed realities.
This may be your last meeting here ; but I never can feel
very sad when I think of our separation, though when it
comes it is very different; but I have so strong a conviction
we three shall not be very long behind each other, that it
seems as if the meeting were nearer and more real than the
parting.”
My mother's meeting with her sister Esther, in the
autumn of 1863, was indeed the last,--Mrs. Julius Hare
passed away early in the following February, while we were
at Rome.
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Bologna, Mov. 6, 1863–Can it be twenty-nine years,
my Luce, since we were here together ? So it is, and as
Surely as our Lord Jesus was with us both, in those days of
mingled joy and sorrow, so surely is He with us now : you,
in your watching by a sick-bed, me in my wanderings far
away. I wonder whether you recollect this picturesque old
town and its beautiful pictures P.”
“A’ome, Dec. 4.—Nothing can live more quietly than we
do here, quite as much as at home. In the evenings
Augustus reads to me something connected with the history
of the day. There are endless interests, but as long as the
weather keeps fine, we keep to the country and the views
for drawing. . . . . As I walk over the Pincio on Sunday
mornings, do I rot think of those Sunday walks in 1834,
VOL. I f. E E
418 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
when first the inward flood of sunshine illuminated the out-
ward darkness of my life, and revealed the beauties of the
unseen world whither my Augustus had entered—and can it
be thirty years since then P I ask myself. Why should one
ever doubt or fear, when the past testifies so truly that
‘goodness and mercy have followed' one through all of
sorrow and joy P -
“The dry elastic air here gives me new life, and I am
able to be out for many hours daily. The sky is splendid,
and the Alban and Sabine hills, covered with snow, quite
lovely. We still sit to draw in warm places : in the Forum
it is like summer.” -
“/an. 28.-The continued anxiety about dear Esther so
presses upon me that I can think of little else. . . . . There
is no place like Rome for times of sorrow, and where in the
midst of the world, and a gay One too, One can be so
retired and solitary. And there is something in the relics of
past ages and all the old ruins so mournful, and yet, in the
crumblng away of earthly grandeur, so speaking of the
true “Eternal City,' that one's mind is continually filled
with thoughts of a future that cannot pass away. Then the
Campagna, with its wild solitary aspect and lovely views, is
so unlike anything else.”
“Aome, Feb. 18, 1864.—On this day thirty years ago, you
and I, dearest Luce, stood by the bedside and received the
last breath of that beloved one who was then delivered from
the burden of the flesh, and entered the rest prepared for
those who love their Lord. And I can find nothing so con-
genial as to talk to you, my beloved sister-friend, on this
day when you will surely be reading the same Psalm xc.,
and recalling the same scene in that room so near me now.
From the Trinità de' Monti I look down daily on its windows,
and can give thanks for the flood of light poured in upon
me there, and ‘take courage.’ Thirty years How is it all
HOLMiHURST. - 4ſ 9
but as a day—a short day in God's sight, yet how long
a one in all that has been crowded into it. How many
dear ones have been taken away in this space of time from
our sight, how many been given to fill up in some measure
the blank. And she, our Esther, who is now hovering on
the border-land, was a blessing given, now about to be
taken from us. Can we not trust the Lord in our sorrow,
while we praise Him for His goodness P I am so glad to
be here on this anniversary, so solemn and so blessed, and
to be able to spend it in a visit to the cemetery So Sacred to
me. There the growth of the aloes is a token of the years
that have passed since they were planted . . . . . and you
and I are nearing the haven of rest where it will little matter
whether joy or sorrow has been our portion, if only we are
wholly the Lord's, “strengthened, stablished, and settled 'in
His faith and love.
“In this place one needs no outward spiritual communion.
It is enough when alone to commune with Him who is the
same that was yesterday when Rome was in its glory, and is
to-day in its degradation, and will be in the future whatever
be its course—and who has fashioned the beauties which
still gird it round, and which can be equally enjoyed in all
ages.” -
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Alondon, Van. 30, 1864.—Our almost sainted sister lies
close to me. Her gentle voice can now scarcely be heard,
still the love at her heart's door is as warm as ever. She
can still read a little in her Psalm book, but the seeing any-
One causes such terrible suffering, she does not attempt it.
It cannot last much longer, and then—the meeting, not the
parting !”
“Feb. 29.-Our beloved Esther is now rejoicing in the
better world. . . . . Just after midnight on the 19th her
42O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
bell rang, and when the maid came in, quite in a clear
voice, she told her to call her sister. As soon as she went
in, she saw that the end was come. Esther pressed her hand
strongly, stroked it terderly, but could not speak. Only, in
answer to L.'s inquiry, she said, ‘All peace and mercy, or
some such words; and when L. said, ‘Is Christ with you?”
she said, ‘Yes'—closed her eyes, and, like a wearied child,
laid her head on the pillow, and without one struggle or
even passing cloud over the mind, she was asleep.”
M. H.’s Journal.
“AZarch 4, 1864.—I have heard from Arthur Stanley of
Our dear Esther's funeral. . . . .
“It was at Highgate. She had expressed in her will, and
also on a separate memorandum, a strong desire to be
buried at Hurstmonceaux, but a short time before her death
she called for her sister, and asked her how long she was
likely to live, ‘For if I last till the spring, I should still
wish to be laid by Julius at Hurstmonceaux, but if not, if
the funeral is to be in this cold weather, the living must not
be sacrificed to the dead, and I must be buried at High-
gate.’ So it was. Arthur says it was a raw, gusty, sleeting
day. He read the opening part of the service in the chapel,
and then they went in carriages up the hill, for the grave is
nearly at the top of the cemetery, in the vault where her
father and mother and Priscilla are buried, and where Julius
had buried her mother and Priscilla together, and been so
deeply affected, and had knelt by the Open grave. The
mourners stood, partly sheltered by a Small shed, Arthur on
a gravestone immediately at the foot of the grave, against a
large cross, without a name, which seemed to him well to
suit the thought of her who was gone. There lay the three
coffins below, and upon them her coffin descended, with a
white flower or two thrown upon it, and so that sacred
HOLMHURST. 42 I
lamp went out—went out, to our mortal sight, but to be
rekindled, we may believe, with a better and brighter, but
still the same celestial flame, where no cruel wind or sleet
or storm shall agitate its keen pure light for ever.
“Her poor old dog Phloss pined away from the moment
of his mistress' death, pined and vexed himself whenever the
undertakers came to the house, and on the night before her
funeral laid himself down and died—died, the servant said,
just like his mistress, with one long gasp of breath, and
ended a life bound up in our recollections with Julius, with
Havelock, from whom it derived its name, and Julius's dear
friend, Tom Starr, by whom it was given.”
The winter of 1863-64 we again passed at Rome, reaching
it, by a terrible and trying journey, through the flooded
Country around Ficulle and Orvieto, where the unfinished
railway, and the difficulty of obtaining post-horses, made
travelling most difficult for an invalid. Once established in
the Piazza di Spagna, however, my mother began to revive,
and her Comparative health enabled her to enjoy this Roman
winter more than any other. It was especially rich in the
society of friends, especially that of the venerable Caroline,
Lady Wenlock, who was living close by, and who in her
great age preserved evergreen her wonderful gifts of wit
and anecdote, mingled with a most winning courtesy and
careful thoughtfulness for all around her, of two of the
daughters of our cousin, Sir J. Shaw Lefevre, who were
passing the winter at Rome with their aunt, Miss Wright,
afterwards my mother's kind companion and comforter in
many days of failing health and strength, and of Dean
Alford and his family, whose well-informed interest in all
that Rome could offer, added a fresh charm to all we saw
422 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
there, as it has often done elsewhere. The first few weeks
of this winter were perfect Elysium—the sketching for hours
in the depths of the Forum, watching the sunlight first kiss
the edge of the columns, and then bathe them with gold;
the wandering with different friends over the old mysterious
churches on the Aventine and Coelian, and the finding out
and analysing all their histories from various books at home
afterwards; even the drives between the high walls, seeing
the changing effects.of sunlight on the broken tufa stones and
the pellitory and maidenhair growing between them ; the
Sunday afternoons, almost invariably passed with my mother
in the Medici gardens, walking under the pine-trees in the
Sun, and looking upon the distant Sabine mountains, in their
chill, snow garb ; the delicious excursions with the Alfords
into the distant parts of the Campagna, to Ostia, with its
gorgeous marbles and melancholy tower and pine,—to Castel
Fusano, with its palace, like that of the Sleeping Beauty,
rising lonely from its green lawns, with its grand forest full of
gigantic pines and bays and ilexes and deep still pools in
the abysses of the wood, bounded on one side by the path-
less Campagna, and on the other by the sea,-to Collatia,
with its copses filled with violets and anemones, and its
purling brook and broken tower, to Cerbara, full of colossal
caves with laurestinus waving through their rifts, to Veii,
with its long circuit of ruins, its tunnelled Ponte Sodo,
and its columbaria and tombs. These are our winter
memories, these and many quiet days spent alone with my
mother amid Roman ruins and gardens, when her gentle
presence, when the very thought of her loved existence, made
all things beautiful and lovely to the companion of her life.
HOLMHURST. 423
In the spring we revisited Sorrento and Amalfi, and
then went to Courmayeur, at the foot of Mont Blanc, on its
magnificent Italian side. As we passed through Florence
we paid a last visit to Landor, then in extreme old age,
looking most patriarchal in his white hair and beard. His
mind was clouding, and he scarcely recollected us at first,
but he remembered the family, and repeated over and over
again the familiar names, ‘Francis, Julius, Augustus, I miei
tre Imperatori I have never known any family I loved
So much as yours. I loved Francis most, then Julius, then
Augustus—but I loved them all. Francis was the dearest
friend I ever had.” A few weeks after, his great spirit passed
away. Towards the end of June we returned to Holm-
hurst, where my mother spent the whole of the summer.
M. H.’s Journal (“The Green Book”).
“Folm/iurst, AVov. 22, 1864.—Sixty-six | Yes, so many
have been the years of my pilgrimage, and surely they are
drawing near to their close. What a solemn thought, yet
how difficult to realise it ! The last year has added another
to the blanks made in my heart's treasures; in losing my
loved Esther from this world I have lost one who, for twenty-
Seven years, has been a most loving friend, and for seven-
teen years a dear sister. Her calm wisdom and loving
sympathy has made her ever the most precious of my
friends, and I have been so closely bound up with her in
her Hurstmonceaux life, that I feel no one can share in the
recollections Of the past as she did. She is—
“Gone, gone, but gone before,
Silent the name
Upon the lips where once
The music came.’
424 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Like a gentle river she has passed away and been trans-
lated whither so many of her beloved ones had gone
before, and now they are all members of the heavenly
host awaiting the fuller and more perfect bliss of the
glorified Saints.
“May I, in my few remaining years, be fitted to join
them, being clothed upon with the wedding garment of
Christ's Righteousness. There is no other that can cover
one’s emptiness. Oh, in spite of all the discipline of this life,
how poor and wretched are my attainments in the heavenly
life how slothful and dead to spiritual interests May the
Lord himself quicken me to greater earnestness in running
the race set before me, to more faithfulness in the duties of
my life, and more submission in the trials of this troublesome
world, its anxieties, and its contrarieties. O Lord my
Saviour, do Thou come and fill my heart, and enable me,
forgetting what is behind, to press forward to the prize of
my high calling in Thee. Then shall I awake and be
satisfied in Thy likeness, and be united with the loved and
lost ones, and with them join in praises to the Lamb that
was slain, who is alone worthy to receive honour and bless-
ing for ever and ever.”
The winter of 1864-65 was a terribly anxious one. My
mother's powers failed with the approach of winter, and she
became daily more and more ill. Gradually the conscious-
ness came that there was no chance of her recovery but
through going abroad, and then came the difficulty of how
to go, and where. We turned towards Pau or Biarritz
because easier of access than Cannes, and because the
journeys were shorter; and then there was the constant
driving down to look at the sea, and the discovery
that when it was calm enough my mother was too
HOLMHUR eT. 425
ill to be moved, and when she was bettel the sea was
too rough.
At last, on the 21st of January, we left home in the
evening, and crossed to Calais the next day. The passage
was unfortunate, for as the steamer was coming into Calais
a thick sea-mist came on and everything was shrouded.
Bells rang, cannons fired, blue lights went up, but the
steamer could not find the entrance of the harbour. At
last a light-ship was sent out to guide it in, and on reaching
the pier my mother was unable to stand from exhaustion
and fatigue. It was a question if we could go on, but at
last we decided to do so, and had a terrible journey across
the frozen plains of France to Paris, where she was alarm-
ingly ill for several days. Then we reached Tours, where
we were again detained for some days in dismal rooms
looking out on a damp, leafless avenue. At Arcachon she
had a temporary revival, and sate out in the broad balcony
of the little inn near the sea, enjoying the unwonted sun-
shine and the glimpses of the arbutus forest.
Then we reached Pau, and established ourselves in the
Hotel Victoria, in the Basse Plante. We had not been
there long when my mother became much worse, and soon
quite unconscious. She said she thought she could sleep,
but while she slept I was struck by a strange look in her
face, and touched her. Her hands were quite cold. In
terror I moved her arm, it fell lifeless. I raised her head,
it fell forwards.
When our kind cousin, Sir Alexander Taylor, arrived, she
was apparently lifeless, and we were chafing her limbs.
Very soon her expression became radiant, one smile suc-
426 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
ceeding another. Complete beatitude lasted with the same
entire unconsciousness for sixty hours. I felt the more certain
it was the end, because she seemed already in spirit to have
passed the everlasting gates. After sixty hours she spoke,
but her mind still wandered amid green pastures, where she
was still gathering the loveliest flowers, and where she heard
the angels singing to her. She said that her brother and
sister, who had “gone before,' had been with her while she
was absent from us.
Soon she fell into a second and deeper trance, which
lasted a hundred and twelve hours, and was succeeded by
delirium, and then by a third trance, which lasted twenty-
six hours—of absolute rigidity, icy coldness, neither the
pulse or the heart beating, or any breath—an entire appear-
ance of death. Then, from the gates of the grave, God
gave my mother back to me.
Then we went to the Pyrenees, to Argelez, with its green
valley of rushing waters, its splashing fountain, and its inn
with the overhanging balconies; and afterwards to Biarritz,
invigorating and delightful, with its rainbow-hued sea, and
rocks amid which the waves either roar or grumble, as the
wind wills them.
And we came home by St. Emilion, and Poitiers, and
Amboise, with its castled height and primitive cottage-
inn, which my mother so much enjoyed, and where I
picture her sitting in the low whitewashed room, looking
out on the broad river, ebbing slowly by in the golderl
Summer Sunset.
It was in this spring, just when my mother was restored
to us, that another deeply felt blank was made in the narrow-
HOLMHURST. 427
ing circle of her beloved ones by the removal, in the fulness
of faith and hope, of Emma Leycester, a tenderly loved
cousin, who had been almost a younger sister to her.
A. J. C. H. to A. F. M. L. HARE. *
“Aau, Feb. 15, 1865.-My two last letters will have pre-
pared you for the Sad news of my darling mother's state:
She is indeed, I can no longer conceal from myself, fast
fading away, and, with her, all the Sunshine is fading out of
my life. All Sunday she suffered terribly from her head;
yesterday and to-day she has been almost unconscious.
Lea and I have been up for the last two nights, and every
minute of the day has been one of anxious watching. The
frail earthly tabernacle is perishing, but one glance tells
that her spirit, glorious and Sanctified, has almost
entered upon her perfected state. Her lovely smile,
the heaven-light in her eyes, her angel-sweetness, who
can describe P
“. . . All last night, as I sate in the red firelight watch-
ing every movement, and it seemed to me as if the end
was coming, I thought of her hymn, so awfully solemn and
real —
“It may be when the midnight
Is heavy upon the land,
And the black waves lying dumbly
Along the sand;
When the moonless night draws close,
And the lights are out in the house; ,
When the fires burn low and red,
And the watch is ticking loudly
Beside the bed :
* The opinion of a friend from whose judgment I feel there is no
appeal, has urged the insertion of these fragments of letters as giving
the truest picture of my mother’s strange illness.
428 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Though you sleep, tired out, on your couch,
Still your heart must wake and watch
In the Mark room,
For it may be that at midnight
Z will come.”
When the Master does come, she is always waiting. Has
not my darling kept her lamp burning all her life long?
Surely when the Bridegroom cometh she will enter into
the kingdom. -
“I cannot tell how soon it will be. I have no hope now
of her most precious life being given back to me. It is a
Solenn waiting. . . . .
“Aeb. 21.—My mother has been restored to me for a few
days’ breathing space, but I have not been able to count
upon this ; I cannot dwell upon hope. The feeble frame is
so very frail, I cannot think she is given to me for long;
but I glean and store up the blessings of each day now,
against the long, desolate future. >
“Last Sunday week she fell into her first trance. It
lasted between sixty and seventy hours. During this time
she seemed conscious of my presence when very near her,
smiled sweetly, and even once murmured ‘Dear;' but she
was totally unconscious of all else around her, of day or
night, of the sorrow and anxiety of the watchers, or of any
pain or trouble. A serene peace overshadowed her; a
heavenly sweetness filled her face, and never varied, except
to dimple into Smiles of angelic beauty, as if she were
already in the company of the angels ; and, indeed, perhaps
she was, for—'I have not been alone,' were her first words
on awaking; ‘your Uncle Penrhyn and Aunt K. have been
with me.’
“For the last sixteen hours she was in a death-like stupor.
Then the doctor said:—‘If the pulse does not sink, and if
she wakes naturally, she may rally. This seemed granted;
HOLMHURST. 429
at eight A.M. the next day she gently awoke. This was
Thursday. There were three days' respite ; but this morn-
ing, while her doctor was in the room, the stupor came on
again. For some time her pulse seemed entirely to have
ceased beating: since then, she has lain in a trance as
before, not suffering, quite happy, Scarcely here, yet not
gone, between heaven and earth. I cannot describe the
solemnity of the watching in the strange silence,—none of
the usual outward phases of an illness; and as I watch,
snatches from the hymns she has been wont constantly to
read or repeat come to me so forcibly. Now these verses
are in my mind:—
“Have we not caught that smiling,
On some beloved face,
As if a heavenly sound were wiling
The soul from our earthly place P
The distant sound, and sweet,
Of the Master’s coming feet.
“We may clasp the loved one faster,
And plead for a little while,
But who can resist the Master P
And we read by that brightening smile
That the tread we may not hear,
Is drawing Surely near.’
“In the long watches of the night all the golden past
comes back to me—how as a little child I played around
my darling in Lime Wood—how the flowers were our only
friends and companions—how we lived in and for one
another in the bright Lime garden—of her patient forbear-
ance of all injustice—of her sweet forgiveness of all injuries
—of her loving gratitude for all blessings—of her ever-sure
upward seeking of the will and glory of God, and then my
eye wanders to the beloved face, lined and worn, but glow-
ing with the glory of another world; and in giving thanks
43O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
for thirty years of present blessing, should I not also give
thanks, that not through the dark valley, but through the
sunshine of God, my darling is entering upon her rest? . . .
“Aeb. 26.—It is still the same; we are still watching.
In the hundred and twelfth hour of her second trance,
during which she had taken no nourishment whatever,
mother spoke again, but it was only for a time. You will
imagine what the long watchings of this death-like slumber
have been, what the strange visions of the past which have
risen to my mind in the long, silent nights, as, with locked
doors (as the French would insist that all was over), I have
hovered over the pillow on which she lies as if bound by
enchantment. Now comes before me the death-bed scene of
St. Vincent de Paul, when, to the watchers lamenting together
over his perpetual stupor, his voice suddenly said, ‘It is
but the brother that goes before the sister.” Then, as the
shadows lighten into morning, Norman Macleod’s story of
how he was watching by the death-bed of his beloved one
in an old German city, and grief was sinking into despair,
—when, loud and solemn, at three in the morning, echoed
forth the voice of the old German watchman giving the
hours in the patriarchal way — Put your trust in the
ZXivine 7%ree, for after the darkest night Cometh the break
of day.'
“Two P.M.–My darling has been sitting up in bed
listening to sweet voices, which have been singing to her;
but they were no earthly voices which she heard.
“Ten P.M.–She has just declared that she sees Ruth
Harmer (a good, sweet girl she used to visit, who died at
Hurstmonceaux) standing by her bedside. “It is Ruth
Harmer—look at Ruth Harmer,” she said. But it was not
a voice of terror, it was rather like the apostolic question,--
‘Who are these who are arrayed in white robes, and whence
come they P’”
HOLMHURST. 43 I
“Aeb. 27.-She has fallen into a third stupor, deeper
than the others, and lies perfectly rigid. The shadows are
closing around us, yet I feel that we are in the immediate
presence of the unseen, and that the good Ruth Harmer is
only one of the many angels watching over my sweetest
one. Years ago she told me that when dying she wished
her favourite hymn,
‘How bright those glorious spirits shine,’—
to be sung by her bedside; was it these words which she
heard the angels singing to her ? How Strange that the
scene I have so often imagined should be in a strange
country, the only relations near having been strangers
before ; yet the simple people here are very sad, and there
is much sympathy for us.”
“March Io.—I think I may now write with comparatively
less fear of a relapse; I believe that she is really being given
back to us from the portals of the other world on which she
was so long resting. The nurse went away, saying that
fatal symptoms had set in, and that all must be over in
three hours, when she returned ; but in that time the dead
limbs revived, the lips opened, the eyes began to see, the
hands to feel. It had been a death-like trance of one hundred
and ninety-six hours altogether. She remembers nothing of
it now, and nothing of the illness which preceded it; but all
her powers are gradually reviving and awaking. Throughout
it has been less painful to her than any One, and it is so still.”
“March 27.-My Sweet mother continues in a most
fragile and harassing state of health. Some days she is
better, and almost well enough to enjoy reading a little, or
being read to. On others, as to-day, her trembling increases
to such a degree, as to prevent her occupying herself in
any way. I need Scarcely say how beautiful are her love
and patience, how increasing the beatitude of her inner—
432 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
her heavenly life. ‘Oh, how long it is since I have been
at church 1” she said last night. “But you are always at
church in your Soul, darling,' I said. “Yes,’ she answered,
‘that is the greater part of my day, meditation and prayer,
and in the night I have all my hymns and texts to say.”
On my birthday she gave me a most solemn blessing.”
“Biarritz, May 12.—We have greatly enjoyed this de-
lightful place, and the mother has quite recovered in its
bracing air, though she had an adventure which nearly
ended very seriously. We had heard much of the dangers
of walking in the Bay of Bidart (about three miles from
hence), but never really believed in a single wave flowing in
unexpectedly for half a mile. Yesterday Miss E. Blommart
went to draw with us in this very bay, and she and I stayed
with our sketch-books near a ruined bridge, while mother
and Lea walked on farther to the Sands, which looked quite
dry and very tempting, with the sea at an immense distance.
Suddenly, while they were alone on the sands, one of these
tremendous waves rushed in with great violence, and,
almost before they perceived it coming, my mother was
swept off her feet, and would have been carried out to sea
if her companion had not planted herself as firmly and
deeply as she could into the sand, and held her tight till
the water receded. As it was they were completely
drenched, but very thankful it was no worse. We have
since heard of many instances in which people have been
swept away and lost altogether on this spot.”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“May 31, 1865.--Lately you have been so near me in
my dreams, which you know to me are quite a living reality,
that I have never felt far off, and though I knew nothing of
your movements, I felt all was well. . . . . And now comes a
HOLMHURST. . 433
letter from my own restored Mia, as if she had never been
ill or from home.
“To think of you at your own dear home again—in that
little church, among your flowers—to receive once more your
dear letters is comfort enough. You can tell what it is, but
I cannot write it. Only in constant prayer have I found
comfort during your illness, and in thinking that we should
not long be separated, but that the call to one would be the
message to the other to be ready. ... Each birthday reminds
us how near the end may be. In three years we shall both
have attained the allotted age of man, and may then take
on our souls' house day by day, till called away to enter on
our blessed inheritance.”
“August 17, 1865.-In thinking of you, I am often made
aware of one of the characteristics of old age. I hardly ever
think or dream of you in your present home, it is always
Lime; I find myself there continually. I see the old trees,
every spot both there and at the Rectory, and on Sundays
sometimes it is almost as if I were at my little window
watching the people come from church,--or, I am walking
with you through your field, and turning into the lane from
your wicket gate, or it is Alton, still farther back,-or
older days still on the lawn at Winnington and the hill at
Alderley.”
“Abbots-Kerswell, Sept. 30–Often, as I sit in my wood,
I talk, or rather think, of you, and often perhaps our
thoughts are meeting; but as for writing, it is not as in
one's young days, when one came in from a long day as
fresh as one went out, ready to sit up and write till twelve.
Now I feel sensibly the infirmities of age, and when I come
in, perhaps only from sitting out and walking a little, I am
too tired to do anything; but as we enjoyed youth together,
So now we can Sympathize in old age, and feel how it also
has its moon, and even Sunshine—and, as Baxter says, the
VOL. II. F F
434 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
communion of Saints is now an article of belief, but believing
will soon end in seeing and enjoying.
“This place is looking beautiful. We hope to get into
our new house next year. In building it, I never feel I am
preparing for my home, but for the dear M., and it is
pleasant to feel that here I may now end my journey. As
I sate to-day looking around, there was the brown beech, my
Own husband planted, grown into a large tree. Shall we
ever sit together here, you and I—who can say? Here or
elsewhere we shall be once more together, never more to be
separated.”
M. H. (“The Green Book”).
“Aolmhurst, AVov. 6, 1865–Once more do I bid fare-
well to this peaceful home. After the trials and illness of
the last winter and Spring, it seems needful to spare others
the anxiety on my account they suffered in the past,--and
Rome, lovely Rome, is to be our portion. The summer
and autumn have passed away in much outward beauty and
inward comfort, and the rest to body and mind has done
me good, and I trust fitted me to go on my way trusting in
Him whose goodness and mercy have followed me in the
past. May I be enabled to glorify Him more in the time
to come, and wheresoever we go, be strengthened in faith
to cast all my cares on the Lord who careth for us.
“In setting forth again I entreat Thy protection, my Lord
and Saviour, for myself and my Augustus, that we may
cheerfully accomplish all that Thou wouldst have us do.
Keep us from all evil, accident, and illness, and, if it be
Thy good pleasure, restore us to our home again. And to
Thee, O Lord, do I commend this house and all in it while
we are absent. “Whether we live or die may it be to the
Lord,' and may our earthly journey to the so-called “Eternal
City’ be a type of our journey to the Celestial City, where
HOLMHURST. 435
with the spirits of the justified we may rejoice in joy un-
speakable in the presence of our God.”
In November, 1865, we went out again to Rome by
Genoa and the Riviera road, and then by the Maremma
railway to Nunziatella, whence we had to proceed through
the night in diligences, accompanied by mounted patrols as
a defence against the brigands. The winter was passed in
the upper floor of the beautiful Tempietto (“Claude's
House"), looking down over the whole expanse of the city
with its domes and towers. On leaving Rome we passed
some days very pleasantly at Narni and Perugia, and then
proceeded to Bellaggio, and Crossed the Splugen in sledges,
to visit the Bunsens at Carlsruhe.
The only variety to my mother's peaceful summer (1866)
was a visit to Shropshire, and to Alton, where her poor
friends welcomed her with a wealth of ever-green love, and
where she gave a Supper to forty of the older people in a
barn, where the owls hissed overhead in the oak rafters.
After the feast was over, she made the people a sweet little
speech, praying that all present there might meet her at the
Supper of the Lamb. It was her last sight of these old
friends.
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Aſton-Barnés, August 14, 1866.- You can see me in
this dear old home, for even now, though it is thirty-two
years since I left it, there is little of change beyond one or
two new cottages. There are the Downs, the White Horse,
the primitive people, the tiny church and the rectory, still
the same. You perhaps would think there were few now
436 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
left who remembered those old days, but though on each
visit I find some gaps made, we gathered forty old friends
to supper last night in the barn. On Saturday the school-
children, seventy in number, had their treat.
“How surely does time heal all anguish The sight of
this place now causes no pain. It seems to bring back a
dream of a former life—a paradisaical life, when an Adam
and his Eve were walking together in that garden, and for a
very few brief years were permitted to tread the path of life
side by side. And as I cross the fields, go down the lane,
and see John Brown still in his cottage, with head bent over
his Bible, I could live over again those past days. Then
there is still the now venerable white head of that grand old
man William Pontin, who has so much to tell of God's
goodness that he “cannot satisfy himself with thanksgiving.’
The golden sheaves cover the vast plains and sides of the
Downs, and the peaceful hamlets are, as ever, lying in the
valley.”
M. H. to MRS. ALEXANDER. * -
“Aolm/iurst, June 7, 1866.-Dearest Ma-man. . . . . My
pen lingers in my hand as I write these words ! The dear
familiar old address to one who for the last three years has
been to me a friend of the past, ever dear, but passed out
of sight, mute and often unheard of. Yet so long as the
frail earthly tabernacle incloses that beloved spirit, I must
from time to time make an effort to come into its presence,
and at least to find a place in the meditations and prayers
of one whose heart is doubtless chiefly resting in the hea-
venly places, where so many beloved ones are gathered
together, and awaiting her coming up thither. . . . .
* Mrs. Alexander (“Ma-man ’’), for so many years an honoured
inmate of Hurstmonceaux Rectory, resided at Clifton after Archdeacon
Hare’s death. She died there in July, 1870.
HOLMHURST. 437
“Cold winds, and now rain and damp, have kept up a
cough I brought home with me, and till more genial
weather is granted us I cannot quite get rid of it. Other-
wise I am “as common' (according to Hurstmonceaux
phrase) at this season, restored to a certain portion of
health and strength for the summer. One does not get
younger at sixty-seven, and perhaps each year takes away
a little slice of the powers of other days which still remain.
Feeble, ‘silly,”—one must be content to be, L-in our weak-
ness, seeking the more for strength and grace from above.
“How wonderful an example and encouragement is to
be found in the “Words of Comfort and Hope’” which we
know were indeed wrought out, word by word, line by line,
in and through bitter suffering ! ZXiere was a triumph of
faith, and you, dearest friend, were a help in time of need
to accomplish and perfect it. May you also find the like
consolation and hope in your own sufferings, and be made
ready to enter into the presence of the Lord.”
On the journey south in the autumn of 1866 we stayed to
visit Ars, for the sake of its venerable Curé, who died seven
years before, and of whose life so much has since been
written.
A. J. C. H. to A. F. M. L. HARE.
“Cannes, Nov. 11, 1866.—On the night after leaving
Paris we slept at Villefranche, near Lyons, and the next
morning found a nice little Carriage to take us to Ars.
“It was a pretty and peculiar drive: first wooded lanes,
then high open country, from whence you descend abruptly
upon the village, which, with its picturesque old church and
the handsome modern one behind it, quite fills the little
* A collection of the letters of Mrs. Julius Hare was printed after
i.er death under this title.
438 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
hollow in the hills. The village itself is almost made up of
hotels for the pilgrims, but is picturesque at this season,
with masses of golden vine falling over all the high walls.
We left the carriage at the foot of the church steps, and
ascended through a little Square crowded with beggars, as
in the time of the Curé. The old church is exceedingly
interesting. In the middle of the floor is the grave of the
Curé, once surrounded by a balustrade hung with immor-
telles, which are now in the room where he died. At the
sides are all the little chapels he built at the different
marked points of his life, that of Santa Philomena being quite
filled with crutches, left by lane persons who have gone
away cured. Beyond the old church opens out the hand-
some but less interesting modern building, erected by the
Empress and the bishops, with a grand baldacchino on red
granite pillars, and on the altar a beautiful bas-relief of the
Curé carried to heaven by angels. In the old church a
missionary was giving the pilgrims (who kept flocking in the
whole time) a very beautiful and simple exposition on the
life of Christ as a loving Saviour—quite carrying on the
teaching of the Curé.
“At twelve o'clock a sister of charity came to show the
Curé's room. It is railed off, because the pilgrims would
have carried everything away, as they have almost under-
mined the thick walls in their eagerness to possess them-
selves of the bits of stone and plaster; but you see the
narrow bed, the poor broken floor, his chair, his table, his
pewter spoon and earthenware pot, the picture which was
defiled by the demon, the door at which ‘the Grappin'
knocked, the narrow staircase from which he shouted
‘Mangeur de Truffes,’ the still poorer room down-stairs
where the beloved Curé lay when all his people passed by
to see him in his last sleep, the Court shaded by an
cient elder-frees, in which he gave his incessant charities,
HOLMHURST. 439
and close by, the little house of his servant Catherine. She
herself is the sweetest old woman, seeming to live, in her
primitive life, upon the gleanings and the teaching of the
past. She sate on a low stool at mother's feet, and talked
in the most touching way of her dear Curé. When mother
said something about the crowds that came to him, she
said, ‘I have always heard that when the dear Saviour was
on earth, He was so sweet and loving that people liked to
be near Him ; and I suppose that now, when men are sweet
and loving, and so a little like the dear Saviour, people like
to be near them too.” In a small chapel of the school he
founded, they showed some blood of the Curé in a bottle—
‘encore Coulant.' ... Many other people we saw who talked
of him—‘Comme il était gai,” “toujours gai,’ &c. The whole
place seemed cut out of the world, in an atmosphere of
peace and prayer, like a little heaven. No wonder Roman
Catholics like to go into “retreat’ there.
“We have been fortunate in finding a house at Cannes
exactly suited to our quiet ways. It is a primitive cottage,
on the way to the Croix des Gardes, quite high up in
woods of pine and myrtle, upon the mountain side, far out
of the town, and dreadfully desolate at night; but for the
daytime there are exquisite views through the woods of the
sea and mountains, and a charming terraced garden of
oranges and cassia—the vegetation quite tropical.”
“Jan. 8.-I have not known mother so well for years as
this year in her hermitage amid the juniper and rosemary.
She is so brisk and active, and the life is just what she likes,
as she is able to sit out in the woods for five or six hours
daily, and till the new year we have really had no winter,
but glorious summer sunshine.”
M. H.’s Journ AL.
“A'oz', 9, 1866.-We have found exactly what we wanted
in a cottage in a lovelv situation. We mounted by the
44O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Bellevue Hotel to the heathy hillside, and there, down a
pathway, came to the garden of this house, to which a little
shrine on the wall gives the name of S. François. At the
turn of the road is a pergola of vines, cassia-terraces below
lead to groves of orange-trees, and from the front of the
house is a view of the castle and church of Cannes rising
up against the sea, with the Isle Ste. Marguerite beyond.
The companions of our hillside solitude are characteristic of
the place, our maid Margarite who carols over her work in
joyous Provençal ditties, in a free loud voice that is pleasant
to hear, and Madame Boeuf, the mistress of the place, a
hard-working woman, dressed in the broad hat of the
country, who comes up two or three times a week with her
two servants to gather the cassia-flowers.”
“AVov. 30.-We have splendid weather : the bluest of
skies and of sea and a fresh (not cold) air. The walks up
the hills are easy and very pleasant, and I take my stick to
help me up any rocks, and can sit there and look out on the
scene below me, and think—oh there seems too much to
think of at the end of life—of the past—of the future. I
feel a great difficulty in fixing my thoughts where I would,
on Him in whom all is centred, ‘the same yesterday, to-
day, and for ever.' But He needs not our poor words or
thoughts: in heart one can say, ‘Thou knowest, Lord, that I
love Thee.’”
“Feb. 12. Throughout November and December the
weather was most lovely, a very hot sun with occasionally
a cold mistral day intervening, but usually I was able
to sit out, and begin sketching again. Within a short walk
were many small subjects fitted for my powers, and useful
as practice. A charming terrace crossing the hillside leads
to the cottage of Madame Addison and her boy Marius, and
as we often passed her, we soon made acquaintance, and
she was very friendly, sending us flowers, &c. Another
HOLMHURST. 44 I.
path leads to a fine old pine, with a little bastide near it.
Higher up, a terrace walk leads down to an Orange garden
and the bastide of Madame CEillet,_a very picturesque
spot with a lovely view of the Estrelles and of Cannes
Amongst the walks, however, none are equal to the one up
to the Cross. On a sunny morning it is truly delightsome
to ramble up the forest road overlooking the snow mountains
beyond Cannet and Grasse, and then on to the platform
where the road divides into two and the Bay of Napoule
appears on the opposite side with a foreground of heath
and myrtle and pines, especially when, as I have just seen
it, a picturesque shepherdess is tending a flock af goats in
the wood with knitting in her hand and a little child play-
ing at her feet. If we mount a little higher still, we reach
the Croix des Gardes, a small iron cross planted in a large
rock, from whence the view is more extensive still, and one
can descend by a different path. In taking this round we
daily fall in with Lord Mount Edgecumbe's children, the
the three little girls walking and the baby-boy in a peram-
bulator. These mountain rambles are most enjoyable, the
glistening road where the granite and mica sparkle like
diamonds being a sign of the extreme dryness, and the
views around most lovely, especially at sunset, when the
evening glow behind the Estrelles is like fire, with varied
colours.”
“March 12.—The most delightful of our excursions has
been a day spent at Antibes with M. and Madame Gold-
Schmidt. . . . . And now the almond-trees have exchanged
their blossoms for green leaves, and the garden begins
to look gay with tulips, wall-flowers, and anemones
blue and red,—and the wild heath is covered with white
blossoms.”
“April. I.-Dean Alford has been here with us for a
week, which has been a great delight, and since then I
442 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
have had the comfort of having Charlotte Leycester near
“May 27.—We left Cannes on April 26, and have since
been at Arles, and at Le Puy, with its picturesque streets
and singular basaltic rocks. Hence by a wild forest road
we went to the Chaise Dieu, where there is a grand majestic
church like an English cathedral, and rejoined the railway
at Brioude. We then passed several days at the lovely
Baths of Royat, near Clermont, and reached home on the
18th. Oh is there a day in the year more truly happy
than this annual one.”
L. A. H. to M. H.
“Abbots-Kerswell, Nov. 16, 1866.-You seem to have a
very pretty resting-place (at Cannes), but you must not
suppose we are in winter here. At this minute when I raise
my eyes, the wood, no longer plantation, looks almost, I
think, more beautiful than in summer with its bright red and
yellow tints and dark firmingling with the soft colouring of
the fading larches and beech. . . . . You may well believe
what the comfort is to feel here is my nest till I am called
away to the home beyond. I do not envy you your
southern skies, though I like to think of my beloved one
there; only there are moments when a yearning after my
dear Switzerland comes over me, but it soon passes, as I
bound onwards in almost visible foresight of the coming
day when not only all the loved spots of earth, but the
whole extended creation, will open on our waking eyes.
“Of my life there is little to tell. You know just how
the days glide by, hours like minutes, though I think as a
home this is even more peaceful and delightful than I
should ever have thought it could be without one's children.
They never seem far off, and there is some interest or other
every day in our little village,_none of our homes, not
HOLMHURST. 443
even Corsley or Rockend, have been so all I could desire—
uniting so much.”
“Aeb. 23, 1867.—There is hardly a day on which I do
not feel near you. Whenever any fresh glow comes over
my spirit, I fancy it echoed back by her who for so many
years has gone along with me, and now as we are approach-
ing the banks of that river which alone divides us from our
heavenly home, I feel as if we were more than ever one.
While you are reading Pressensé's ‘Life of Christ,” I am
reading Lange's, of whom I never tire : I always rise from
it as if I had been living with our Lord and His disciples.
I read no other books, for no others possess any interest for
me, only the one Thing, the one Hope, the one true loving
Friend of our souls. I cannot bear to be away from Him
for a moment. I carry every care, every trouble, however
small, straight to Him, and come away with such blessed
answers of peace and rest,-not often actual joy, but as you
feel—£eace, not in oneself, but in Him.”
“April 26.—If it had not been for the burden of the old
man, which we must bear about with us to the end, I could
say I had never been so happy as in the last few months; I
have had such glimpses of the joy before us, such a sense of
nearness to the unseen life, it has been at times almost too
strong. I could hardly dare to think, all seemed so over-
whelming, so far beyond anything we poor sinful creatures
could dare imagine to be ours.”
“June 6.-How many truths now seem clear as day to
one, which we have been years in arriving at, sometimes
almost thinking it was heresy, as the world would say, to
believe such. And now, oh the blessed peace and rest in
the full conviction that God is love, and not (as Macdonald
says) only a great King on a grand throne, wielding the bolts
of a Jupiter against those that take His name in vain; but
that when we look for own King we shall find Him blessing
444. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
little children, at table, with a fisherman's head on His
bosom, and somewhat heavy at heart, that even he, the
beloved disciple, cannot yet understand Him. If there is
one thing more than another I can rest on and find never
failing when in the poorest and lowest moods, it is the deep
certainty of Christ's love for us, for us all. We so often
look on His love, as we can see it reflected in our own,
which is so far nearer allied to selfishness, that we do indeed
see through a glass dimly. We can now only love what is
lovable, but Zhen we shall see what infinite love was given
us when there was nothing to love but what He himself
gave.” -
“ Oct. 15.-Did you see in the 77mes the other day about
old age P when real decadence begins—and it said at
seventy. And so I feel it. Every year now seems to
tell more and more. New chinks appear in the poor mud
cottage. May more and more glad warm daylight be let in,
and I do hope I can say it is so ; sometimes the bits of
blue sky that appear look so blue, so bright, and the depths
beyond so dazzling and pure, the dim eye of nature closes,
only to make way for that of faith. I do not think an aged
Christian ought ever to be sad, it is not merely that they
may dwell on what is preparing for them, but what is pre-
paring for al/—for the whole groaning creation, and that
even sin and wickedness and devils will be subject to the
mighty power of the coming King, and find their proper
place, and know and feel it could not be otherwise.”
M. H. to L. A. H.
“Aſo/m/iurst, June 11, 1867.-‘What joy, what peace can
be like this, to feel that we are not our own but Christ's P
that we are become members of His holy body, and that
our life has been swallowed up in His P that we can rest in
His love with the same undoubting confidence with which
HOLMHURST. 445
a child rests in the arms of its mother ? that if we believe in
Iłim, we have nothing to fear about the feebleness and
falling short of our services P for that He will work out our
salvation for us—yea, that He has wrought it out. Who
then is he that condemneth P It is Christ that died for us,
to take away our sins, and is risen again for us, to clothe us
in His righteousness, and sitteth at the right hand of God,
ever making intercession for us, that we may be supported
under every trial and danger, and strengthened against
every temptation, and delivered from the sin of unbelief
and all other sins, and girded with the righteousness of
faith, and Crowned with all the graces that spring from
faith, and at length may be received into the presence of
that Father into which our elder Brother has entered
before us.”
“So speaks dear Julius to the beloved Luce.
“‘It is only when love springs from the only pure source,
as the love of God and of Christ, that it is thoroughly dis-
interested. For even the natural man desires to be loved
by his brethren, and will love them for the sake of gaining
their love ; but when the natural man finds that his love is
Only met by thanklessness, it fades and dies. Christian
love, on the other hand, in its outward workings is like
God's love—it embraces the thankless as well as the thank-
ful. This then, if we love Christ, is what we must strive to
do for Christ.
“In the day when He makes up His jewels, in that day will
the souls of all those He has redeemed be gathered into a
Crown of glory around His eternal head.”
“So says the beloved Augustus to his dear Luce.”
M. H.'s Journal (“The Green Book”).
“Zolm/iurst, July 14, 1867.-A year and a half have
passed since I last wrote in this book, a time in which great
446 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
troubles and illness have come to us, no less than much
mercy and comfort. . . . . In the quiet of our home I hope
I may record more of spiritual life. I am able here to
dwell more on the unseen, to seek more light and love, and
to search the Holy Scriptures with greater attention. It is
not indeed by “frames and feelings’ that one's Christian
state can be tested, yet these and all other fruits of the
Spirit do suffer and vary according to the inward com-
munion with the Holy Spirit of our God. . . . . Let me
endeavour then more and more to arm myself against all
the temptations around by the Word of God and by His
Spirit. Never was it more needful to ‘watch and pray,’
to be “steadfast and unmovable,” to ‘hold fast the sound .
words,’ than now, when on every side errors abound and
controversy embitters. Every shade of false doctrine in
turn comes forth to do battle with the simple “truth as it is in
Jesus,’ and then how hard it is ‘to speak the truth in love,’
to be uncompromising and faithful, and at the same time
bearing and forbearing with the opinions of others, and to
bring forth the truth believed in with loving gentleness.
For this, one must seek to possess more of the mind of
Christ, and be filled with His Spirit, to endure what is
contrary, and testify to the blessed truths He has revealed.
And faith too is wanted, not to despond, though heavy
clouds may cover the sky. The Sun will shine forth unto
the perfect day; though for a time it may be hidden, we
know ‘the Lord reigneth,’ and in this firm persuasion let
me not doubt, or fear that sin, or error, or hatred can ever
shake the Church of Christ founded on the Rock. Only let
it be my aim and prayer to be built upon it myself, so will
not the great water-ſioods prevail, and fixed and immova-
ble I may hope to stand when the Lord shall come and
I am called to His presence, where all mystery will be
unveiled and we shall know as we are known.”
HOLMEIURST. 447
M. H. to MRS. ALEXANDER.
“Aſo/m/hurst, Oct. 26, 1867.-My dearest Ma-man must
have a few parting words. I say parting ones, for one
feels it to be so in crossing the Channel, although, alas,
westward and eastward part us equally now ; our union can
only be in spirit, there where no sickness or sorrow even now
can separate those who are ‘one in Christ Jesus,’ and we
are advancing closer and closer to that perfect union,
where all that is mysterious here, and trying to faith and
patience, will be cleared up, and shine forth in the glory of
the Saviour's love.
“We are very busy packing up again, regretting the
necessity of leaving the comforts and beauty of this home
for foreign travel and strange places ; but the fogs and
damp come to warn me of the needs be.
“. . . . I linger over the close. So much of tender
memory crowds on me as I turn towards the beloved friend
of those blessed days when we were side by side with those
who now “inherit the promises.” May we, dear Ma-man,
follow them, and may all our suffering prepare and fashion
us to be meet for that inheritance of glory.”
A. J. C. H. to A. F. M. L. HARE.
“Oct. 27, 1867.-Our summer is ended, and the time is
come to flit to the South, and leave our pretty Holmhurst
again for Seven months.
“All summer mother has been well. My worldly thought
opposed her going to visit those who had wronged her
in the last three years, but her forgiving spirit looked beyond
mine, and she took her own way and went. She playfully
called her journey “a voyage in the Pacific Ocean.’
“When I returned from Northumberland in September
she was still well, able to walk in her garden, to drive, to
448 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
interest and amuse her many guests, to enter into every
subject of conversation. I often worder whether I value
these blessed hours of her well life enough, I cannot value
them too much—the times when she is able to tell me so
much of her past life and of the thoughts and feelings of
other days—when, in answer to my murmurings at the in-
gratitude she has often received, she has always some noble
answer of sweet forgiveness—when her heart, amidst all
the troubles of the world, seems to cling in such perfect
repose to the breast of her Saviour.
“She sits much apart in her own room now, and reads
more. She realises in her Bible the sentence of St. Chry-
sostom, which says, “All holy Scriptures are a garden full of
the sweetest flowers—a paradise always refreshed with gentle
winds and delightful rain.”
“Three weeks ago came a sudden and severe bit of cold
weather, and she was grievously affected by it. The ail-
ment from which she suffered when we were in London
increased, and she has often been Sadly trembling and help-
less. It is then, in her weakness, that my sweet mother is
even far more precious, far more touching to me, than in her
health. There is a simplicity in the gentleness with which
she adopts all the means proposed for her recovery which
goes to one's heart; there is a childlike smile on her face
when the mind is not quite able to aſ prehend any idea
newly presented which is far more affecting than the
quickest or the cleverest answer could be ; and then the
gleams of recovery are so unspeakably precious.
“All evening I have been sitting at her feet. You can
picture her, in her large arm-chair, with her little table by
her side with candles and her spectacles and books—Lea
coming in and out occasionally to bring things, or see how
she is getting on. She talked of old Mrs. Piper, the village
schoolmistress at Hurstmonceaux, who had left her that
HOLMHURST. 449
chair, how she, good old woman, had often said her prayers
in it, how, when perplexed by troubles without, or wicked
neighbours around her, she used to go up to her room, and
in that chair tell all her sorrows to God. Then I read to
her, out of Goulburn’s ‘Personal Religion,’ a chapter on
‘When thou art old another shall gird thee, and carry thee
whither thou wouldest not.’ The very text seemed so
applicable to her being taken abroad just now. She was
able to listen to it with pleasure, but was obliged to go to
bed directly afterwards, when her ‘good-night, my dearie,’
was more than usually loving and lovable.
“You can see our evening—only one out of so many
quiet evenings of our solitary life with each other, in which
no one else has a share. We are to go to-morrow if we
can, first to Paris and then if possible to Rome; but it is
terrible to be setting out when she seems just on the verge
of a serious illness, and I do so pray that when we walk for
the last time together through the valley of the shadow of
death, it may be in her quiet room at Holmhurst, sur-
rounded by all the associations of her sacred past—not in a
foreign journey, not in a strange inn. . . . .”
Our journey out to Rome was marked by a terrible acci-
dent, our horses taking fright at some navvies emerging with
torches at night from a half-completed tunnel near Sestri,
dashing up a bank, and throwing the carriage over from the
rocks by the side of the road. The carriage was broken to
pieces, but its three inmates escaped without serious injury.
The shock, however, naturally increased my mother's feeble-
ness; and though she arrived in safety at Rome, before
February she was too weak to move from one chair to
another. Her cousin, Miss Leycester had joined us before
her illness assumed an apparently hopeless aspect.
WOL. II. G G
450 - MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
A. J. C. H. to A. M. F. L. HARE.
“A”. 9.-There is no improvement in my dearest mother's
state. If there is a temporary rally, it is always followed by
a worse attack, and intense fits of exhaustion. On Tuesday,
Lea and I took her to the Monte Mario, and she sate in the
carriage while we got out and gathered flowers in the Villa
Mellini. That day she was certainly better, and able to
enjoy the drive to a certain extent, and to admire the silver
foam of the fountains at St. Peter's as we passed them. I
often think how doubly touching these and many other
beautiful sights may become to me, if I should be left here,
when she, with whom I have so often enjoyed them, has
passed away from us to the sight of other and more glorious
SCCI) CS. --
“It is in these other scenes, not here, that I often think
her mind is already wandering. When she sits in her great
weakness, doing nothing, yet so quiet, and with her loving,
gentle, beautiful Smile, ever on her revered countenance—it
is Surely of no earthly scenes that my darling is thinking.
In the night now I am often seized with such an irresistible
longing to know how she is—and then I steal quietly in
through the softly-opening doors, and watch her asleep by
the light of the night-lamp. Even then the face, in its
entire repose, wears the same Sweet expression of childlike
confidence and peace.”
“Aeb. Io.—Mother is better and up again—bright and
smiling. Last week when poor Mrs. C. died, Mrs. R., not
knowing it, sent to inquire after her. ‘E andata in Para-
diso, the servant Francesco said quite simply when he came
back.” -
“Aº. 25.-My dearest mother has gained very little
ground for the last fortnight, and continues very weak and
ailing. Yesterday, for the first time for ten days, she went
HOLMHURST. 45I
out; she was carried down in a chair by Benedetto and
Louisa, and went with C. L. to the Villa Doria. In the
evening her breathing became difficult, and she had all
the symptoms of violent bronchitis; to-day she is much
worse.” -
“March 5.--It was just after I wrote last that her two
doctors declared her lungs were paralyzed, and recovery
impossible; and since then eight days have elapsed, in
which night and day I have never left her side, constantly
expecting the end, Mrs. Woodward and Miss Simpkinson
have been here in turn, her most devoted nurses. On
Saturday morning we all knelt round the bed, feeling that
every instant must be the last. ‘It is the Valley of the
Shadow of Death, she said; “it has come to that at last. I
have always tried to be ready for it. . . . It is a very
dark valley, but there is light at the end. . . . No more
pain. . . . The Rock of Ages, that is my rock '
“‘The Lord comfort you and bless you, my child,’ she
said to me; “don’t fret too much. He will give you com-
fort. Be reconciled to all the family, darling; love them
all, this is my great wish. Love, love, love—oh ! I have
tried to live for love—oh, love one another; that is the great
thing—love, love, love.’ And then after she had sent
messages and her blessing to all her own nephews and
nieces, and after a long pause, she said, ‘Tell your sister
that we shall meet where there is no more controversy, and
where we shall know thoroughly as we are known.”
* My sister really went before. On May 25, 1868, with the same
faith and courage which had sustained her through a sad and stormy
life, she passed, by a sudden and terrible death, to the many mansions
of an all-reconciling world. We found this sad news awaiting us on
the day of our return to Holmhurst, having had no warning of any
previous illness. (My sister had joined the Roman Catholic Church
in the spring of 1854.)
452 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“All through that night, and the two following days and
nights, the state continued much the same, her strength
gradually sinking, but whenever she was conscious, the most
loving words, the most beautiful forethought for all. On
the night of the 2nd of March she rambled gently about
‘going home,’ and asked if ‘Death was always so long in
coming;' then ‘My health will all come back to me soon,
no infirmities and no pains any more.’ On the 3rd she
suffered so much that I felt if God called her I could only
be lost in thankfulness that the pain was over—but I could
not leave her for a moment. Could I afford to lose one
look of those beloved eyes, one passing expression of those
revered features? So I sit beside her constantly through
the long hours, moistening her lips, giving her water from a
spoon, &c. -
“Yesterday morning her face altered and fell. It seemed
like the last change, but her expression was one of transcen-
dent happiness. Then in broken accents she said:—‘I am
going to glory. . . . I see the light. . . . I have no pain
now. . . . Oh, I am so happy . . . no more trouble or
sorrow or sin . . . so extremely happy. . . . May you all
meet me there, not one of you be wanting.” As I leant
over and asked if she knew me, she said, ‘Yes, I know and
bless you, my dearest son . . . peace and love . . . all sin
and infirmities purged away . . . rest . . . love . . . glory
. . . see Christ . . . glory everlasting.’
“‘Oh be ready.” -
“‘Let peace and love remain with you always. . . . That
is my great wish, that strife may cease from among you . .
peace and love . . . peace and love.’
After saying this, she solemnly folded her hands together
upon her. breast, and, looking up to heaven, said, “O Lord
Jesus, come quickly, and let all these meet me again in
Thy kingdom.' ... As she said this her eyes seemed fixed on
HOLMEHURST. 453
another world. Soon after, when I was alone with her, she
said to me, ‘Yes, darling, our love for one another on earth
is coming to an end now. We have loved one another
very deeply. I don't know how far communion will still be
possible, but I soon shall know, and, if it be possible, I
shall still be always near you; I shall so love to see and
know all you are doing, and to watch over you ; and when
you hear a little breeze go rustling by, you must think it's
the dear old mother still near you.” She drew Lea’s head
down to her and kissed her, and said, ‘You’ve done too
much for me. I cannot reward you now, but the Lord will.
Tell J. and all the servants that I was sorry to leave them,
but I’m quite worn out ; it was all for the best. You and
Augustus will stay together and comfort one another when
I am gone ; and you’ll bear with one another's infirmities
and help one another. The great thing of all is to be able
to confess one has been in the wrong. . . . . Oh peace
and love, peace and love, these are the great things.”
“Soon after, in a pause of suffering, she said, ‘It’s very
difficult to realise that when you are absent from the body
you are present with the Lord.’ Then, turning to Mrs.
Woodward, she said, ‘You have been very good and kind
to me, dear Mrs. Woodward. I’m going fast now to my
heavenly home. You will comfort Augustus when he is left
desolate. You know what Sorrow is ; you have gone
through the dark valley. . . . . It seems So much worse for
others than for me.’ -
“In the night, when a little wandering, she said to me,
‘Oh, it is quite beautiful. Good-bye, my own dearest; I
can scarcely believe you will look up into the clouds, and
only think of me as there . . . but you must also see me
in the flowers, and in my friends, and in all I have loved.
. . . I shall always think of you, and you will think of me.
I shall Spring up again like the little violets, and shall put
454 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
on an incorruptible body. . . . I shall always be floating
over you, and watching over you somehow. We shall never
be separated. . . . I am quite worn out. I thought I
should not get better after my last illness, and I was only
given back to you for a little while. I have always felt very
weak, but I shall be quite well now.’
“On the morning of the 4th, her doctors left her, saying
that the case was now utterly hopeless, that the strongest
medicines could now have no more effect than water—that
there was in fact nothing more that could be done. She
still spoke at intervals.
“‘I am all straight now—no more crookedness.’
“‘Rest now . . . . but work, work for God in life.”
“‘Don’t expect too much good upon earth.'
“‘Don’t expect too much perfection from one another.”
“‘Oh how happy I am . I have all I want here and
hereafter ; ' and, with clasped hands and upturned eyes,
“The Lamb—the Lamb is the Zife.’
“She said much else at this time, in her slow and diffi-
cult utterance. All through those days and nights it is she
who has comforted and exhorted us, and not we her. Every
power of mind, of intellect, and memory, has been given
back, lighted from another world. She has seemed to
read all hearts and thoughts. ‘God,” she said, “had opened
her mouth to speak to us.” And though I can tell the
words she said, I can never give—no description can—an
idea of the unearthly beauty of her face, of her uplifted eyes,
of her trembling hands clasped solemnly in prayer or raised
in blessing. It was in that last night, that in a moment of
inexpressible glory, in which all we who were watching
seemed carried up with her in Spirit to the very gates of
God, that she seemed to see the heavens opened, and spoke
with rapture of a beautiful white dove that floated down
towards her.
HOLMHURST. 455
“From that time her pain has all gone. She remains
with us, she struggles for breath, but she only says, “I am
so happy—oh so happy—all I wish for on earth and all I
wish for in heaven; ' and since Tuesday morning she has
scarcely ceased praying, generally aloud, and cheering and
blessing us with wise and holy words. Several times she
has since seen beautiful gardens of the flowers which never
fade—last night the white dove hovering over her. It has
been a passing from one rapture to another, from one holy
vision to another. She says I will not let her go ; but I
would not call my darling, my blessing, back to me, when
she is so happy. I write all this now, because I feel I
cannot write when it is over.”
I insert these fragments of a journal letter written at the
time, because otherwise I feel it would be quite impossible
to give any idea of all that this illness was, an illness in
which those who loved and watched her always feel that my
mother’s “last words” were spoken, though for two years
and a half more her precious life was given back to us. On
the Ioth of March she began to rally, and on May 3rd was
able to be moved from Rome to Spoleto, and afterwards to
Este, in the beautiful luxuriance of the Euganean hills,
whence, after a short visit to Berchtesgaden, we returned
to Holmhurst.
L. A. H. to M. H.
“March 20, 1868.-I feel as if you were hardly come
back again. I have been taken up with you so far on your
heavenward journey, all common-place expressions seem
powerless to say what I am feeling now, on hearing you are
456 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
sent back again for a time, only I know it must be for
some blessed purpose of love to us who are left. May that
purpose be answered, and may all who love you and felt
alike in losing you, be drawn nearer to each other in the
joyful thanksgiving of receiving you again.”
“June 22.-You can see me now, my own Mia, when I
tell you I am sitting in my bedroom window with the
Thalcony full of flowers. It is near eight in the evening, and
after most refreshing rain, everything looks revived. The
parting rays of the setting Sun are shining over the distant
fields, and lighting up some grand clouds which look—as I
love to think they sometimes do—a fitting throne for the
King of Glory when He comes, and oh that the hour was
come. Often at night I get up and look out with a vague
hope and feeling that I may see Some strange sign in the
heavens, and, though I know it is only a vain feeling, the
thought, the hope of that coming is so constantly in my
mind's eye and such overflowing joy to rest on, I love to
think that what now would be called a visionary hope, will
before long be a glorious reality, and somehow I cannot
feel as if there would be any terror. I think, though it may
not be so then, as if my one heart's Cry would be, ‘This is
our Lord. We have looked to Him, waited for Hin), and
lo He comes.’ And I do so love to think of you, my
sister-friend, a sharer of almost every thought for so many
years, now once more near, as if we were really side by side.
I could not feel you nearer, everything I am enjoying I
know you are, that is, God's beautiful creation—the flowers,
the birds, the rippling brook; it is the only thing in which
we do not grow old. I feel in all else the full weight of
seventy years, daily increasing infirmities knocking at the
door of the old house, and telling me that the walls are
shaking and I must be ready.
“Oh, at this moment if you could see the view—the
HOLMHURST. 457
bright glow over the nunnery"—the dark cloud and then
the roseate ones behind—such an evening as you and I
have often enjoyed together, but never, perhaps, as truly as
we do now. All that is sad is past, all that is glad and
beautiful lies before us. Sometimes, as memory glides over
the past, and scenes come back, almost with startling reality
of presence, I feel for the moment a shame, a shrinking
from self, as if I had been so undeserving—so wretchedly
undeserving of all the mercies given ; and then I feel as if
I could never have loved with such an intensity of gratitude
the Saviour from sin, if I had not sinned and in some
measure learnt to hate the sin. Now a thought or imagina-
tion only, which is of Satan, or the World, or the Flesh, is like
a deadly sting, and I turn from it as though it were abhorrent
to my nature. Does it not show there is a new nature, and
yet, till we leave the flesh, the old man will still be alive.
“I think I can say now with truth that I am miserable if
I leave go of that guiding Hand one moment; there is such
an indescribable sense of rest, of confidence and peace,
when walking with Him; and does any word describe the
life of faith more than that—‘walking with God?’ our will
His—only happy when doing what is His will. -
“Now the Sun has nearly departed, and there is that grey,
sepulchral Opal colouring which at once carries one to the
view of Mont Blanc from Geneva, as I have watched it so
often. My Paradise on earth, in thought, is Switzerland;
and for the heavenly one it is to me so material a place. I
never am weary of going through all the imagery given us
to dwell on ; I think, as Milton says, “what if earth be but
the shadow of heaven P' and things therein “each to the
other liks, more than on earth we think.’
* There is a Roman Catholic convent on the hillside opposite
Abbots-IGerswell.
458 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“Now good-night; my window is still open, and I can
hear the murmur of the brook as I stand at it; the birds
are going to roost, and my grey owl is setting up a solitary
hoot preparatory to his evening ramble.”
“July 1.-My seventieth birth-day was a very calm and
peaceful One, in June weather as bright as one looks back
to in Arison-bar days, when one so eagerly looked out in
the morning to see what the weather was. But oh, as you
say, would we go back P I cannot tell you the secret joy
with which I felt and feel the age of man is attained ; and
now I may reasonably prepare and watch for the call,
though most glad to receive and enjoy all earthly blessings.
Aut, while there is sin within and without, I cannot imagine
any aged Christian can ever wish to remain, though we must
be patient; but the thought of all we are going to, of all
we are for ever leaving behind of sin, and infirmity, and
weakness, sometimes fills my eyes and heart to overflow-
ing.”
Those who knew her in her solitary spiritual life, apart
from the world, dwelling more upon the invisible than the
visible, will feel that the last lines are a fitting close to the
extracts from the letters of Mrs. Marcus Hare (L. A. H.)
A very few months after (March 15, 1869), she entered
beyond the veil. Her illness was very short and painless ;
and, as she had wished, alone with the faithful maid who
had been the constant companion of her widowhood, in her
home at Abbots-Kerswell; and in that churchyard she is
buried, in the shadow of its grey church-tower. In this
beloved sister-friend, my mother, with one exception, lost
the last of that loving circle who had grown up around her,
and had shared her interests and sorrows through life.
HOLMHURST. 459
M. H.’s Journal (“The Green Book”).
“Sept. 13, 1868.-How much was this day rejoiced in
years ago a day which gave us our beloved Julius,
and was therefore one of united praise to our Esther
and myself! Now it is a thing of past history. Some
scattered ones look back, and regret their lost ones, and
recall past scenes; but all goes on as if no Hurstmonceaux
Rectory had ever belonged to us, no such loving days been
Olli S.
“So does this world carry away on its waves one after
another of life's fondest visions, and other scenes and
persons take the place of the departed ones. But in our
heart of hearts surely they still lie deep, until again they
shall rise into living communion when the Lord shall come,
and call us forth to meet Him.”
M. H. to MRS. ALEXANDER.
“Aſo/m/iurst, Oct. 2, 1868.-. . . . The tidings which I
receive of my beloved friend seem at least to convince me
of the renewed fact which I last year saw with my own eyes,
that dearest Ma-man, the precious companion of so many
past years, the sharer in its joys and sorrows, the preserver
of its blessed memories, still lives and in heart and mind
remains unchanged. A brief but dear vision that was of
you, dear friend, when I, last autumn, sate by your sofa and
seemed once more to be restored to the thoughts of the
Rectory-life. So little of that favoured time now is left to
me, that it has a dream-like character, when the clouds
open, and manifest that which has passed from sight though
not from remembrance. And I doubt not that to you too,
the sight of any fellow-traveller of those former days recalls
them vividly to mind. Your restful life, unvaried as mine
is by changes of scene and Society, affords you more leisure
460 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
for retrospection than I find, to whom the fatigues and
duties of every present day are too much to allow strength
... for great thought on things not immediately present.
“But I am rambling on as if we were side by side, while
you may like to know more of these present things which
surround me. Alas! I am sorry to say this month is come
with its warning note of departure. The summer is past
and autumnal gales are preparing for winter's cold. So
before I am set fast, and the usual collapse of power comes,
we must take flight southwards, where a prolongation of
warmth may keep up the strength that has been so wonder-
fully restored. *
“I fear the unusual heat of the summer will have been
less favourable to you than to me. While I revelled in the
Italian climate, and enjoyed my garden—its flowers, its
shade, and its sea-breezes—you, probably, were panting
under the heat and longing for cooler days. I never found
it too hot, and the delightful repose in one's own home,
after foreign life, was doubly welcome, when troubles and
anxieties crowded on me, and one needed so much to Cast
one's cares upon Him ‘who judgeth righteously.' Truly I
can say now as ever, that He did not forsake me in time of
need, and has upheld me when most tried. And So we
must believe it will be to the end. Sickness and Sorrow will
endure, perhaps increase, but is He not faithful who has
given Himself for us, the same now as yesterday? To cling
to His love, to rise above the mists of earth—its contro-
versies, errors, falsehoods, and even our poor and imperfect
attempts at holiness—into the pure and perfect righteousness
of the Lord Jesus Christ, this, dearest friend, is my desire
as I know it is yours, and may God bless it to each of us
through our divers paths, and in the end unite us where all
will be clear, all holy, and all peace.
“This, our Holmhurst Hotel. has been full all summer.
HOLMHURST, 461
Now it is ‘closed for the season,’ and Mrs. Gidman (Mary
Lea) will again have to exchange her kitchen activities for
travelling ones. The time is short for unpacking what
remains from the returned boxes of May, and re-packing
them for our approaching migration, for we are intending
Jo start, weather permitting, about the 12th, that we may
cross the Alps before snow and frost beset us. -
“Of public affairs, how much we should have to discuss
were we together . Of the downfall of the Bourbons in
Spain, of the advance of Romanism in England, and of
various other matters. As it is, these must be left, and
summed up in one prayer—‘Thy kingdom come –one of
righteousness and peace.
“I seem to have told you nothing in these pages—nothing
of my doings or thinkings—nothing of the past or present ;
yet, by piecing even these fragments with your knowledge
of the old friend, you may arrive at some additional hints
of the reality. On the 22nd of November next, if I arrive
at that day, you may think of my threescore and ten as
completed, and ‘Surely goodness and mercy' have followed
all these years of my life. For you, what can I wish more
than that so long as you continue here, ‘joy and peace in
believing’ may be your portion, and your ‘rest be glorious’
when it is so appointed. You have my truest love, and my
prayers that we may meet in “His presence where there is
fulness of joy.’”
2 o the same (after our return from another winter
at Rome).
“Aolmhurst, May 27, 1869.-I have been longing to
send my beloved friend a visible proof of my existence ever
since we returned home. We found all well here, and
Augustus is now recovered from his severe illness—a fever
462 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
of three months. I was kept well till the late spring, and
we have much cause to be thankful.
“You will know how great is the fresh sorrow that has
befallen me. Since my other two dear sisters have passed
away, Scarcely any loss could have so deeply grieved me.
A life-long friendship is broken, as far as this world is con-
cerned, and, after all, we reason about past and future, we
live and feel in the present. The blank is so great of
her dear letters. But I must not grudge her the gain. She
longed to depart, and be with Jesus, and her last letter was
one of rejoicing.
“Well, we are nearing our haven more and more, dearest
Ma-man . . . and now I must close my letter, though I
would fain linger over the many recollections that crowd
upon me, as I turn to you, dearest friend, the partner of so
many joys and sorrows. What can we say, but that they
are all swallowed up in the one great whole of God’s love
in Christ Jesus, and we have but a short time now before
faith will be changed to sight, and prayer to praise.”
M. H. (“The Green Book.” The last entry.)
“July 25, 1869, St. James's ZXay.—Another day of fond
remembrance is here ! The Rectory scenes rise before my
eyes—its master's loving thankfulness as he looks upon the
comfort of his life, given to him as on this day—‘the
ladye's' kind words of wisdom and encouragement—and
the mistress in grateful and humble reception of all tokens
of love bestowed.
“Yes, it was a happy, united fellowship, now severed by
the hand of God, who has taken from evil to come those
who were then so precious, and who are now released from
the toils and troubles here, to enjoy the fulness of joy in
His presence. Shall we grudge them such a birthday of
HOLMHURST. - 463
gladness? No; rather may we press onward where they
are, to be, like them, ever with the Lord!
“So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on,
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
- The night is gone;
And with the morn those angel faces smile
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.”
XX.
THE SUNSET BEFORE THE DAWN.
“No Smile is like the smile of death.
When all good musings past
Rise waſted with the parting breath,
The Sweetest thought the last.”
Christian Year.
WE left England for Italy for the last time on the 21st
of October, 1869, after a pleasant little visit to
Archdeacon Harrison at Canterbury. In order to evade
the early snows on Mont Cenis, we took the longer route
through Germany, and spent several days at Carlsruhe with
our old and kind friend Madame de Bunsen. At Verona
my mother was well enough to walk in the beautiful Giusti
Gardens, which we had so often enjoyed together, and at
Vicenza she ſound almost equal enjoyment in the gardens
of the Marchese Salvi, to which we had admittance, and
which were close to our hotel. We spent a week at
Vicenza, finding in its lovely neighbourhood quite the ideal
Italy—rich foregrounds of vines trailed from tree to tree,
and terraces of roses, with the background of the peaked
and snow-tipped Alps. My mother was so unequal to long
journeys, and so much enjoyed the few sights she was still
THE SUNSET BEFORE THE DAWN. 465
able to see, that the end of November edly found us
arrived at Pisa. Though already much affected by the cold,
she was still so far well that I was able to be abs3nt from
her for two days at Siena and S. Gemignano. It was
during this time that I received her last precious little letter.
M. H. to A. J. C. H.
“Mºv. 30, halfpast eight A.M.–The sparrow in its nest with
blinking eyes tells its young one that she has had a better
night, only a few croaks and much sleep. The parent bird
hopes the dark sky will like yesterday change to a bright one,
and that the absent bird will fly about to its heart's content
and then return to the shadow of her wings.”
Soon after I had rejoined her at Pisa, and when she was
increasingly ill and suffering, a catastrophe occurred which
forcibly detained us for many weeks afterwards. -
A. J. C. H. to MISS LEYCESTER.
“Adtc. de Zondrcs, Pisa, Zec. 11, 1869.-How little you
will be able to imagine all we have been going through in
the last twenty-four hours. We have had a number of
adventures in our different travels, but this is by far the
worst that has ever befallen us. However, I must tell our
story consecutively. -
“For the last three days mother has been very ill. On
Thursday morning she had an attack of fainting, and grew
worse throughout the day. Yesterday morning she was
rather better, but still in bed and very feeble indeed.
“The rain, which has lasted for so many weeks, has lately
continued to fall day and night in torrents. The Arno was
much swollen. I saw it on Thursday, very curious--quite
up to the top of the arches of the bridge.
WOL. II, H H
466 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“Yesterday, Friday, Madame Victoire * came to dine with
Lea, and afterwards she came in to see us, and then Flora's
children came in to be shown pictures. I think it must
have been half-past three P.M. when they took leave of us;
Lea went with them down the passage. Soon she came in
saying that little Anna said there was ‘such an odd water
coming down the street, would I come and see ;’ and from
the passage window I saw a volume of muddy water slowly
pouring down the street, not from the Arno, but from towards
the railway-station, the part of the street towards Lung' Arno
(our street ends at the beautiful Spina Chapel) remaining
quite dry. The children were delighted and clapped their
hands. I was going out to see what had happened, but
before I reached the foot of the staircase the great heavy
waves of the yellow flood were pouring into the courtyard,
and stealing under the door of the entrance-hall.
“The scene for the next half hour baffles all description.
Flora and her mother stood on the principal staircase crying
and wringing their hands, the servants rushed about in
distraction, and all the time the heavy yellow waters rose
and rose, covering first the wheels of the omnibus, the
vases, the statues in the garden, then high up into the trees.
. . . . . Inside the carpets were rising, swaying on the water,
and in five minutes the large pieces of furniture were begin-
ning to crash one against the other. I ran at the first
minute to the Garde Meuble, and dragged our great box up
the stairs; it was the only piece of luggage saved. Then I
rushed to the salle a manger, and calling to Flora to save
her money from the bureau, swept all the silver laid out for
dinner into a table-cloth and got it safe off. From that
moment it was a sauve qui peut. P. and I handed rows of
* Victoire Ackermann, for forty years a faithful servant and friend of
the Hare family, “Flora’’ (Madame Limozin) was her daughter.
THE SUNSET BEFORE THE DAWN. 467
jugs, tea-pots, sugar-basons, &c., to the maids, who carried
them away in lapfuls. In this way we saved all the glass;
but before we could begin upon the other side of the Salle,
where the best china was, the water was up to our waists,
and we were obliged to retreat, carrying off the tea-urns as
a last spoil. The whole family, with Amabile and all the
old servants, were now down in the water; but a great deal
of time was lost in the belief that a poor half-witted
Russian lady was locked up drowning in her room on the
ground-floor, and in breaking in her door; though when at
last the lower panel of the door was dashed in, the room
was full of water, and all the furniture swimming about, but
the lady had gone out for a walk
“As I was coming up from the lower rooms with a load
of looking-glasses to the stairs, a boat Crashed in through
the principal entrance, bringing home the poor lady, and
two others, English, who had been caught in the flood at the
end of the street, and had been in the greatest peril. The
boatmen refused to bring them the few steps necessary until
they had paid twenty francs, and then refused altogether to
bring a poor Italian gentleman, who had no money to give
them. Victoire insisted upon taking advantage of this
chance boat to return to her own house; it was a dreadful
scene, all the women in the house crying and imploring her
to stay, but she would not be dissuaded from embarking.
She arrived after several hairbreadth escapes. When she
reached her own house the current was so strong, and the
boat was dashed so violently against the walls, that it was
impossible for her to land; but at length the boat was driven
under her larger house, which is let to Marchese Guadagna
of Florence. Sheets were let down from the upper win.
dows, and she was fastened to them, and those above began
to draw her up ; but when she reached the grille of the first
floor, and was suspended in mid-air, the current carried
468 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
away the boat, and at the same moment the great wall in
front, opposite S. Antonio, fell with an awful crash. The
Guadagna family, however, held tight to the sheets, and she
was raised at last, but, when landed in the upper room, fell
upon the floor insensible. However, this morning the
Marchese has passed in a boat and announced her safety.
“The walls were by this time falling in every direction,
with a dull roar, into the yellow waters. The noise was
dreadful ; the cries of the drowning animals, the shrieks of
the women, especially of a mother whose children were in
the country, wringing her hands at the window of the oppo-
site house. The water indoors was rising so rapidly that it
was impossible to remain any longer on the side nearest the
principal staircase, and we fled to the other end, where Pilotto,
a poor boy in the service who had been dangerously ill of Oph-
thalmia, was roused from his bed, and, ill as he was, was more
use than any one else in receiving the clocks, bedding, and all
small movable articles which I could rescue from the rooms on
that side. We had saved the greater part of the china, when,
just as I was descending upon one of the washing-stands, a
huge wave swept it off with a crash before my eyes; after
which I jumped upon a sofa to cut down poor old Felix's
portrait, and the sofa floated away with me like a boat.
The great difficulty in reaching things was always caused by
the carpets rising, and making it almost impossible to get
out of the room again. The last thing I carried off was the
* Travellers' Book,” all the other books were lost. (I have
been obliged to follow my own especial history, because I
do not know what happened on the other staircase.) It
was above half-past five P.M., I think, when we were finally
obliged to come out of the water, which was then icily cold.
“Meantime the scene in the Street was terrible. The
missing children of the woman opposite were brought in a
boat, and drawn up in sheets, and the street, now a deep
THE SUNSET BEFORE THE DAWN. 469
river, was crowded with boats, torches flashing on the water,
and lights gleaming in every window. All the poor hens
(thirty) in the henhouse at the end of the balcony were
making a terrible noise as they were being slowly drowned,
and even the pigeons and ducks were so frightened they could
not escape, and several floated dead past the window. The
garden was covered with cushions, tables, chairs, books, and
ladies' dresses, floating out of the lower rooms. There was
great fear that the omnibus horse and driver were drowned,
and the Limozins were crying dreadfully about it, but the
man was drawn up late at night from a boat, whose Crew
had found him on a wall, and the horse still exists on the
terrace you will remember at the bottom of the garden,
where it is nearly out of the water. The street was covered
with furniture, carved armoires, &c., floating down into the
great current of the Arno. The cries of the drowning animals
were quite human.
“Meantime, my poor mother had lain perfectly still and
patient ; but about six P.M. as the water had reached the
last step of the lower staircase, and was mounting higher,
we had our luggage carried up to the third floor, secured a
few valuables in case of sudden flight, as they would have
allowed us to take no luggage in a boat, and began to get
mother dressed. There was no immediate danger, but if
another embankment broke there might be at any moment,
and it was well to be prepared. Night closed in terribly—
a heavy black sky, and waters swelling round the house,
every now and then the roar of a wall falling in the neigh-
bourhood, and beneath us the crashing of the floors and the
furniture breaking up in the lower rooms. Mother lay
down dressed; most of the visitors walked the passages to
watch the danger-marks made above water on the staircase,
and to try to comfort the unhappy family in what seems
likely to be their total ruin. It seemed as if daylight would
o
47 O MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
never come ; but at-six A.M., though only seven steps of the
staircase were uncovered, the water was certainlyaninch lower.
“It was strange to come back to daylight in our besieged
fortress, with nothing but water beneath us and all around.
There had been no time to save any food, so there was only
one loaf and some cheese, which was dealt out in equal and
very minute rations, and every one had to economize the
water in their jugs (no chance of any other) and the candles
in their bedroom candlesticks. A saucepan had been
brought up to our room, and this was the only cooking
utensil saved. As the morning wore on, all the visitors,
armed with the iron rods of their beds, were placed at the
windows overhanging the great balcony, because it was
observed that the wooden hen-house would not bear the
force of the waves much longer. At last the grand moment
came, the hen-house broke up, the thirty Corpses of the
drowned hens floated by, and were all hooked up in turn.
Then at eleven o’clock the corpse of a drowned hen was
boiled down in the saucepan, and we all partook of it
with the most intense enjoyment, and at two P.M. another
drowned hen, and so on. Happily all the guests are per-
fectly good-tempered and accommodating, and no one
makes any difficulties.
“This morning I spent chiefly on the stairs at the
water's edge hooking what I could ; sometimes a chair was
washed by, sometimes a jug, a basin, or a piece of clothing.
This afternoon the Vicomte de Vauriol, with a boat, has
broken into one of the rooms towards the garden and saved
some valuable boxes of money, &c., which we have all been
guiding with sheets let down from the balcony to the stairs
where they are landed as at a wharf. Madame de Vauriol
herself had a narrow escape from a sitting-room on the
ground-floor. She was lately married, and the whole of her
magnificent trousseau has floated away over the country.
THE SUNSET BEFORE THE DAWN. 47 I
“The alarm had so far subsided that we were able to put
the mother really to bed this morning. We shall hope to
be delivered soon, but when we cannot imagine, as the rail-
ways to Leghorn, Spezia, and Florence must be under
water, and besides, just now (four P.M.) comes news that
the Government have cut the railways to let the water pass
through from the town (which they surround like a wall)
into the country.”
“A)ec. 19.-Mother has been so ill ever since the catas-
trophe, that there is no chance yet of our being able to
move, though now the waters are subsiding, the smell of the
mud is quite overwhelming. Seventy persons have been
found drowned near this, including a mother and seven
children who had shut their door against the waves, and not
being able to open it again, perished together in one room.”
“Dec. 27.—Mother is slightly better, but neither her
health nor the weather allow of our moving. Rain still falls
in incessant torrents both day and night, mingled with
snow, thunder, and lightning, and it is almost dark at mid-
day.”
M. H. to MISS LEYCESTER.
“A’ome, Jan. 12.-Oh, with what thankfulness did I quit
Pisa, most especially to be delivered from the terrors of a
renewed flood, for up to the last the constant cry was
“L’Arno esbordato—L'aqua viene l’ &c. All the way to
Leghorn the rails were only just above the vast expanse of
waters, but the bridge was not broken down, as it had been
twice before. And when we reached the neighbourhood of
the Tiber, it was almost equally frightful, the water above
the hedges, &c. It was midnight when we arrived here.”
We found a delightful apartment at Rome in No. 33, Via
Gregoriana, but only two days after our arrival my mother
472 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
had a terrible fall, which stunned her at the time, and from
which she never entirely recovered. On the 7th of February
she had a slight paralytic seizure, and a more severe one on
the 13th of March, after which she was in the greatest
danger for some time, and she was never able to walk or to
use her left side or arm again.
A. J. C. H. to MISS LEYCESTER.
“Aeb. 19.—The mother has rallied again to a certain
degree of power, but is able to do very, very little—a very
few verses in the Bible is the most she can read. Our
lovely view is a perpetual enjoyment to her, the town
beneath us so picturesque in the blue indistinctness of
the morning, and St. Peter's So grand against the golden
sunsets.”
M. H. to MISS LEYCESTER.
“March 7.--After going down to the bottom I am slowly
creeping up again, but it seems as if I should never end
this long winter's illness, and my weakness gets more and
more. Mrs. Woodward is, as ever, most kind to me.”
A. J. C. H. to MISS LEYCESTER.
“March 26.—My darling mother is now in a very peace-
ful, happy state—no longer one of suffering, which is, oh
such a rest to us ! She is now able to articulate, so that I
always, and others often, can understand her. She feels
painfully the great weight of the useless limbs, but we are a
little able to relieve this by making tiny pillows of cotton
wool, which support them in different places. We have
plenty of kind help. Mrs. Woodward comes and goes con-
stantly, and on Monday night we were pleasantly surprised
THE SUNSET BEFORE THE DAWN. 473
by the arrival of Amabile from Pisa, who is quite a
tower of strength to us, as Lea's intense devotion and
motherly tenderness for her poor helpless mistress, could
not have kept her up under the ever-increasing fatigue. I
sleep on the floor by mother's side, and scarcely ever leave
her.”
“May 15–The weather has been absolutely perfect. I
never remember such weeks of hot sunshine, and yet never
oppressive, such a delicious bracing air always. The flowers
are quite glorious, and our poor people—grateful as Italians
always are—keep the sick-room constantly supplied with
the loveliest roses ever seen.
“But, alas, it has been a very sad week nevertheless, and
if I ever allowed myself to think of it, my heart would sink
within me. My dearest mother has been so very, very
suffering, in fact there have been few hours free from really
acute pain, and in spite of her Sweet patience, and her
natural leaning only towards thanksgiving, her wails have
been most piteous, and the flesh indeed a burden. .
Dr. Grigor told Lea it was the most suffering phase of
paralysis, and that it usually produced such dreadful im-
patience, that he wondered at her power of self-control, but
from my sweetest mother we never hear one word which is
not of perfect patience and faith and thanksgiving, though
her prayers aloud for patience are sometimes almost too
touching for us to bear. She thinks with interest of the
story of the centurion's servant—“grievously tormented.’
She is constantly repeating hymns, and her memory for
them is wonderful, indeed they are her chief occupation.”
“May 26.-Terrible as the gulf seems between us and
England, we hope to set out on Monday. Each day now is
a farewell. Mother has been able to go several drives, and
has used each of them to see some favourite place for the
last time;-the Coliseum, the Parco di San Gregorio—the
474 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
Lateran—and, last of all, the grave at the cemetery of Caius
Cestius. The sentinel allowed her little carriage to pass
along the turf, and so she reached it and took leave of it,
knowing she could never see it again. Many former servants
and poor women we have known here have begged to see
her once more, Hthey all kiss her hands with tears on taking
leave, and are most of all affected by her helpless state and
sweet face of patience.” -
“Florence, June 1.-Monday was a terribly fatiguing day
but mother remained in bed and was very composed, only
most anxious that nothing should occur to delay the de-
parture, and to prove that she was quite well enough for it.
At five P.M. Mrs. Woodward came and sate by her while we
were occupied with last preparations, and at six Miss F.
came. At seven mother was carried down, and went off in
a little low carriage with Mrs. Woodward and Lea, I follow-
ing in a large carriage with Miss F. and the luggage. There
was quite a collection of our humbler friends to see her off
and kiss hands. At the railway the poor Maria de Bonis
was waiting, and she and Mrs. Woodward remained with
mother, and had her carried straight through by the side
entrance to the railway coupé which was secured for tis.
We felt deeply having then to take leave of the kindest of
friends, who has been such a comfort and blessing to us—
certainly, next to you, the chief support of mother's later
years. “Oh how beautiful it will be when the gates which
are now ajar are quite open were her last words to
mother. -
“The carriage was most luxuriously comfortable, little
sofas to let down, and so much room, every appliance for an
invalid—nothing like it in England. Mother slept a little,
and though she wailed occasionally, it was no worse than an
ordinary night. The dawn was lovely over the rich Tuscan
valleys, so bright with vines and corn, tall cypresses, and
THE SUNSET BEFORE THE DAWN. 475
high villa roofs; she quite enjoyed it. She was carried
straight through to a carriage on arriving here, and so to the
hotel.” .
The remainder of the journey to England was managed by
slow stages and several days’ rest in the reviving air of Macon,
and at last, on the 16th of June, with almost as great
surprise as thankfulness, we found ourselves at Holmhurst.
For some time my mother continued in such a state of
utter prostration from the effort she had made, that she was
scarcely able to notice the fact of her having arrived safely
in her beloved home, but then she regained a certain por-
tion of strength, and for four precious months she was
restored to be our joy and blessing. She never recovered
the lost power of her limbs, but she was able almost every
day to be carried down to her garden, and to sit for hours
amongst her flowers. In her great helplessness she seemed
to find each hour too short for her outpouring of thanks-
giving, and as if she was unable to see anything but the
silver lining of all her clouds, so incessantly did she dwell
upon the abundance of her mercies, so unfailingly did she
rejoice in the love and beauty which surrounded her. Her
dear cousin, Miss Leycester, passed the whole of September
with her, and many loving friends and nieces came in turn
to cheer and comfort, and went away feeling that they them-
selves instead were cheered and comforted. Her memory
seemed not only unimpaired but intensified. She could
repeat the whole of the Psalms and innumerable hymns,
and they seemed to soothe and help her whenever her pains
returned.
476 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
A. J. C. H.’s JOURNAL.
“July 21.—The mother often talks to me in her hymns.
To-night when I left her, she said, with her lovely sweet-
ness, ‘Good-night, darling, - -
“Go sleep like closing flowers at night,
And Heaven your morn will bless.
‘I never wish to leave you,' she said one day. “I never
wish for death—always remember that. I should like to
stay with you as long as ever I can. ... I try so not to groan
when you are here ; you must not grudge me a few groans
when you go out of the room.’”
“July 18.-‘I had such a sweet dream of your aunt Lucy
last night. I thought we were together again, so that I could
speak to her, and I said, “How I do miss you,” and she
said she was near me. I do not know if I had been
thinking of-
“Saints in glory perfect made
Wait thine escort through the shade.
I think, perhaps, I had been thinking of that.’”
“July 19.-‘Yes, I know the Psalms, many in your uncle
Julius' version too. Many a time it keeps me quiet for
hours to know and repeat them. I should never have got
through my journey if I had not had so many to repeat, to
still the impatience.’”
“August 7.-- Read me the end of the Pilgrim's Progress,
about the entering upon the Land of Beulah; that is what
I like to dwell upon.’”
“Oc/. 20.-‘ I always think that walking through one of
the Roman picture galleries is like walking through the Old
and New Testament, with the blessed company of apostles
and martyrs by one's side.’”
THE SUNSET BEFORE THE DAWN. 477
“Mov. 4.—My mother has been almost free from pain for
two months, with many hours of real pleasure in the flowers
and sunshine. She has been up in her chair daily from two
to five P.M. Sometimes she has even been able to write
down some of her ‘Ricordi.' After tea I have generally
read to her, concluding with a chapter and some hymns.
Last night I read Luke xvi. and a hymn on ‘Rest,’ which
she asked for. When I was going to wish her good-night,
she said, ‘I do hope, darling, I am not like the ungrateful
lepers. I try to be always praising God, but I know that I
never can praise Him enough for His many, many mercies
to me.’ I could not but feel in the alarm which so soon
followed, if my dearest one never spoke to me again, what
beautiful last words those would have been, and how charac-
teristic of her; for at two P.M. that night I was awaked by
the dreadful sound which has haunted me ever since the
night of March I 2 in the Via Gregoriana. It was another
paralytic seizure. . . .”
“AVoz. 9.-There is no great change—a happy, painless
state, the mind very feeble, all its power gone, but peaceful,
loving, full of patience, faith, and thankfulness.”
“AVov. 16.-And since I wrote last, the great, the unut-
terable desolation, so long looked for, so often warded off,
has come to me. -
“On Thursday, the Ioth, my mother was much better,
though her mind was a little feeble. I felt then, as I feel a
thousand times more now, how strangely mistaken people
were who spoke of the trial her mental feebleness might be
to me. It Only endeared her to me a thousandfold—her
gentle confidence, her sweet clinging to supply the words
and ideas which no longer came as quickly as they used,
—made her only more unspeakably lovable. On this day I
remember that she mentioned several times that she hcard
beautiful music: this made no impression on me then.
478 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
“Friday, the 11th, was one of her brightest days. I
forget whether it was that morning or the next that my
darling told me she had had such a beautiful dream of her
childhood and of Adderley, ‘and old Lady Corbet, who first
taught me to know what was beautiful.”
“At two P.M. she was helped up, and partly dressed, and
sate in her large arm-chair by the fire, with her pretty old-
fashioned cap on, and a nice little Scarlet cloak which Miss
Wright had given her. She wrote a little letter, and then I
read to her. After her tea at four o'clock, I sate, at her
feet, and she talked to me most Sweetly of all the places she
had admired most in the different stages of her life—of
Llangollen, in her childhood, and Capel Curig, and the
beech-wood at Alderley—of Rhianva, and of many places
abroad, especially Narni, and Villar in the Vaudois, of
which I had been making a drawing. Then she asked to
have one of her old journals read, and I read one of Rome,
and she spoke of how much happiness she had enjoyed
there—though she had endured much suffering. She spoke
of the pines in the Pamfili Doria. She was especially bright
and sunny. I remember Saying to her playfully, as I sate
at her feet, ‘Take a little notice of me, darling; you do not
take enough notice of me,’ and her stroking my head and
saying, ‘Oh, you dear child !’ and laughing.
“At six o'clock she was put to bed. Afterwards I read
to her a chapter in St. Luke—‘Let this cup pass from me'
—and sate in the room till half-past nine; and except her
own tender ‘good-night,’ when I went down-stairs then, I
cannot recollect that she spoke. I remember looking back
as I opened the door, and seeing my sweet mother lying
upon her side, as she always did, and her dear eyes follow-
ing me with a more than usually tender expression as I left
the room.
“When I went back again in an hour she was very ill.
THE SUNSET BEFORE THE DAWN. 479
.*
. . . . She scarcely spoke again; and, as for all those thirty-
six hours which followed I never left her, they all seem to
me like one long terrible night. I remember nothing dis-
tinctly. . . . Each hour of Saturday night I became more
alarmed. Towards dawn, kneeling on the bed, I said the
hymn, ‘Nearer, my God, to thee,’ and some of the short
prayers in the Visitation of the Sick, but she was then
fading rapidly, and at last I said the hymn, “How bright
those glorious spirits shine,” which we had agreed should
only be used as the sign that I knew that the Solemn hour
of our parting was surely come. I think that then my
darling knew this too. About half-past nine A.M. all suffering
ceased. My mother, whose eyes were fast closing then, fixed
them upon me with a long, long farewell look of her own
unfathomable, unsurpassable love ; then turned to Lea, then
again to me, and then, as I rang the bell at my elbow,
and her other faithful servants, in answer, passed sobbing
into the room, and stood at the foot of the bed, my darling,
my most precious mother, just when the first stroke of the
church bell sounded for morning-prayers, gently, very gently,
with a lovely expression of intense beatitude fixed on some-
thing Weyond us, -gently sighed away her spirit in my arms.
“When the Sweet eyes closed, and the dear face lost its
last shadow of colour, I came away. As I passed the
window I saw the first snow-flakes fall. But she is beyond
the reach of winter now—snow and frost can never signify
any more.
>k × >k >k sk
“And since then her precious earthly form has been lying,
with her hands folded on her breast as if she were praying—
the dear lame hand quite supple now, and softly folded upon
the other. Her face has lost every sign of suffering, and
even of age, and her features are smooth and white, as if
48o - MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
they were chiselled in marble. Her closed eyelids and
Sweetly curving mouth express the most perfect restfulness.
The room is draped with white and filled with flowers. Two
Iarge camellias stand at the head of the bed, making a kind
of bower, beneath which she lies. On the table, draped with
white, are all her own especial objects—her now sacred
relics—her bronze wolf, her little gold tray with her spec-
tacles, smelling-bottle, &c., and all her special hymn-
books.
“At first I went in often in my great agony, but I
did not draw down the sheet, but now I draw it down
and look at my dearest one in her solemn, unearthly
repose. . . . This wonderful beauty is God's merciful gift
to comfort me.”
:: $: :k $: 2k
I have copied these fragments from my journal at the
time. I could not go over that time again afresh. Perhaps
to others they will be of no interest . . . . but I will just
leave them.
The funeral was on Nov. 21, at Hurstmonceaux. For
her, with whom every association was sunshine, all the usual
signs of a funeral seemed out of place. There was no gloomy
hearse, no “panoply” of grief; but her coffin, wreathed with
flowers, lay in the drawing-room at Hurstmonceaux Place,
and thither those who loved her most—the children of her
brother and sister, with their husbands and wives, and many
old friends—came to follow her to the grave. Through
the well-known lanes the precious burden was carried by
eighteen bearers in white smock-frocks, looking (said one
who saw them from a distance) “like a great band of
THE SUNSET BEFORE THE DAWN. 48 I
choristers,” to the old church on the hill-top, Connected
with so many sacred memories. Many of the poor,
who so tenderly loved her, were present in the church
—many who had wept with and for her by the graves
of her lost and loved ones gone before, and laid in that
churchyard.
There—not far from the ancient storm-beaten yew-tree,
beneath which Julius and Marcus are buried, but more in
the sunshine, on the terraced edge of the churchyard, look-
ing down upon the Level, which she used to delight in as
like the Roman Campagna—is our sacred resting-place. A
white marble cross marks it now. It is only inscribed—
MARIA HARE.
Nov. 22, 1798; Nov. I3, 1870.
Until the Daybreak.
These family Memorials are ended now. Nearly all those
who shared my mother's gentle companionship have passed
away from earth, and we may believe that with her they
“inherit the promises.”
The story of their quiet life is one which tells how they
were led heavenwards by no strange turning, but through a
straight path leading through various scenes, and thickly
fraught, as most earthly paths are, with alternate joys and
sorrows. If this story shall help, guide, and comfort any
after pilgrims in the same Common way, it will have fulfilled
the wishes of her who, in that hope, permitted it to be
VOL. II. I I
482 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE.
written, as well as those of the writer—her most desolate
SOD1. -
“I)ay after day, we think what she is doing,
In the bright realms of air;
Year after year, her gentle steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.
“Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken
The bond which Nature gives;
Thinking that our remembrance, tho’ unspoken,
May reach her where she lives.”
THE END,
! THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
i GRADUATE LIBRARY
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