^c ' 
 
 o^OUCOt 
 
 RETROSPECT 
 OF A EOA'G LIFE. 
 
 VOL. /■/.
 
 " Great men have been among us— hands that penned, and tongues that uttered, wisdom." — 
 
 "WOBDS WORTH. 
 
 " Histoiy may be formed from permanent monuments and records, but lives can only be 
 ■written from personal knowledge, which is growing every day less and less, and in a short 
 time is lost for ever." — Dk. Jouxsox. 
 
 " Footprints on the sands of time." — Longfellow. 
 
 " Nor sink those stars in empty night : . 
 They hide themselves in Heaven's own light." 
 
 James Mo.ntgomery. 
 
 "They also serve who only stand and wait." — Milton.
 
 i^^ 
 
 ? 
 
 MRS s. C. HALL. 
 
 DR.AWN BY DAKIEL MACLISE.R.A- 
 
 IN 1830. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY LaMB STOCKS. R.A.
 
 jlETROSPECT 
 
 OF A LONG LIFE 
 
 From i8is to i88^. 
 
 BY 
 
 S. C. HALL, F.S.A. 
 
 BARRISTER-AT-LAW, 
 
 A MAN OF LETTERS BV PROFESSION. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, 
 
 iJublishrrs in (Dibiiuuij tc ^cr ,^!tjcsti) the Queen. 
 1883.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 ri;iMED Dr j. s. vii:tue a\-d CO., lijiited, 
 
 CITV KOAD.
 
 m 
 
 73^ 
 H35' 
 
 z ^ 
 
 EETEOSPECT OF A LONG LIFE. 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS 
 OF AUTHOES I HAVE KNOWN. 
 
 I CANNOT here go over the ground I have fully trodden 
 in ''The Book of Memories" (published originally in 
 the Art JournaT) — a series of biographies mixed with 
 personal recollections.* The former — the purely biogra- 
 phical element — I shall exclude, while retaining as 
 much as space permits me of the latter : so that these 
 chapters will consist mainly of episodes — passages that, 
 as being "personal recollections," will, I hope, more 
 forcibly recall the men and women of whom they treat, 
 and prove interesting to the reader. Some of the 
 "illustrious" have died since that book was issued; 
 with others I have dealt in the divisions of this work 
 to which they seem properly to belong ; others, whose 
 
 * " The Book of jMemories " received gratifying praise in nearly all the critical 
 publications. I do not think it requisite to give extracts from them ; but I can- 
 not resist the temptation to print two letters— one from Thomas Carlyle, the 
 other from John Ruskin — communications of which any author might be proud, 
 and of which surely I am proud. 
 
 " Denmark Hill, December \%th, 1870. 
 
 ^'Dear Mr. Hall, — 
 
 " The beautiful book is in every way valuable to me, deeply interesting 
 in itself, with interest upon interest (like Lord Overstone's income) in all being 
 true — and interest at triple usury, in being all truth of the kind it is most help- 
 ful to know ; besides all this it assures me that I am not forgotten by fiiends 
 
 VOL. II. B
 
 ■I COLERIDGE. 
 
 domain was more strictly that of Letters, I am now 
 about to treat of in the chapters that will follow this 
 brief introduction. I may premise that, Byron, Shelley, 
 and Keats only excepted (the first named I have seen, 
 the two others I never saw), there is hardly a man or 
 woman distinguished in literature and art during the 
 century with whom I have not been brought into per- 
 sonal relations — ran^ins; from the slight to the intimate. 
 
 Samuel Tayloe Coleridge — as I knew him in 1825. 
 He was then a resident at the house of the Gillmans, at 
 Highgate ; he had been their guest during nineteen"* 
 years, and there he died on July 25, 1834. Not very 
 
 whose memory of me is one of the few things I still care for, in a very weary 
 time of my life and heart. 
 
 "Affectionately yours, 
 " S. C. Hall, Esq." " J. Ruskin. 
 
 "Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, %th December^ 1870. 
 
 "Dear Sir, — 
 
 " Two nights ago there came to this door a weighty volume which, on 
 opening it, proved to he a splendidly beautiful one as well, and a most kind and 
 welcome gift due to your friendly regard. 
 
 " I have spent all my leisure ever since on the book, and find it altogether 
 excellent reading, full of matter strangely interesting to me. Several of the 
 pieces I had read before : these also I have read again in the revised form : in 
 fact I read all, and only regret to think I shall probably finish it this night. 
 How strange, how grand and trtigical, these silent shadows of the Past, which 
 were once living figures along with us in the loud, roaring Present, and whom 
 we are so soon to join ! You have done your work ^\ath insight, equity, and 
 charity. The book will be a charming guest at many Christmas firesides this 
 year, and may promise itself a lasting use to this and the coming generations. 
 Many thanks — many thanks ! 
 
 " Please offer my thanks to Mrs. Hall, and say her little pieces seem to me 
 particularly excellent, and have a kind of gem-like brightness, where all aroimd 
 them is polished and bright. 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 " S. C. Hall, Esq." " T. Carlyle.
 
 COLERIDGE. 3 
 
 long ago I visited his grave, and saw, through a chink, 
 the coffin that contains the remains of the earthly dwel- 
 ling that tabernacled the great soul. 
 
 "The rapt one of the god-like forehead, 
 The h.eaven-eyed creatui-e." 
 
 He whose ashes are there inurned was truly called "the 
 old man eloquent." Eloquent in his fulness of years as 
 a champion of Christianity, he passed away in the certain 
 hope of a life to come, although in youth he had " skirted 
 the howling desert of infidelity," and had been for a 
 brief while a Socinian preacher. In a memorable letter 
 to his godson he maintained that "the greatest of all 
 blessings, and the most ennobling of all privileges, was 
 to be a Christian," and his last will and testament 
 ended with this passage : " His staff and His rod alike 
 comfort me." 
 
 He was a young man in 1793, when with Southey 
 and Wordsworth he became a Eepublican ; but, like his 
 fellow-poets, he soon shrank from the associates by whom 
 he was contaminated and the principles by which he 
 was for a while tainted, and broke from their trammels 
 in " avowing his conviction that national education and 
 a concurring spread of the Gospel were the indispen- 
 sable conditions of any true political amelioration." 
 
 I was a frequent guest at the house of the good friends 
 of the poet — the Gillmans. They were pleased to see 
 me, and so was he. I had, at all events, the merit of 
 being a good listener: and, whether he was alone or 
 surrounded by his satellites, when he was pouring out 
 his mellifluous talk, I should have as little thought of 
 
 b2
 
 4 COLERIDGE. 
 
 interrupting him as I should of disturbing the song of a 
 nightingale by singing a ribald verse. 
 
 There are few now living who can recall to memory 
 the simple gatherings round the tea-table at Highgate : 
 though simple they were glorious, being, so far as 
 related to the central figure, truly a flow of soul. 
 
 Mrs. Gillman usually presided. She loved the poet 
 with a love approaching worship. I was a favourite 
 with her : probably because I drew near the circle with- 
 out considering myself one of the links that formed it.* 
 
 In one of the communications of Coleridge to me I 
 find the following lines in his handwriting : — 
 
 LOYE'S BUEIAL-PLACE. 
 A Madkigax. 
 
 Lady. — " If Love be dead " 
 
 Poet. — " Aud I aver it." 
 
 Lady. — " Tell me, Bard, where Love lies buried." 
 
 Poet. — " Love lies buried where 'twas born. 
 gentle dame, think it no scorn, 
 If in my fancy I presume 
 To call thy bosom poor Love's tomb : 
 And on that tomb to read the line — 
 ' There lies a Love that once seemed mine, 
 ' But caught a chill as I divine, 
 'And died at length of a decline.' " 
 
 * Mrs. Gillman presented to me the poet's inkstand, a plain and unpretentiou s 
 iirticle of deal, which I gave some years afterwards to the poet Longfellow. 
 She also gave me a tiny myrtle, on which she assured me the poet's eyes were 
 fixed when he was dying : it stood on a table by his bedside. It is now pre- 
 served for mo in the conservatory of a fi-iend at Palace Gardens, knotted and 
 gnarled from ago, but still blossoming in its season : and often brings back to 
 memory the happy visits I paid to the house at Highgate. 
 
 The inkstand was, up to his death, a cherished treasure of the poet Long- 
 fellow : in nearly all the letters I received from him, he refers to it : it was 
 always on his writing table, and was pointed out to every visitor as one of the 
 ♦' treasures of his soul."
 
 COLEEIDGE. 5 
 
 Coleridge's marvellous power of " talk " has been de- 
 scribed by many of bis contemporaries ; it was an unceas- 
 ing flow of melodious words, like boney, luscious to the 
 taste, but with little power to nourish and strengthen. 
 Yet it was impossible to listen without being entranced, 
 without almost unconsciously tendering homage to that — 
 
 "Noticeable man, with large, grey eyes," 
 
 who spoke like one inspired. It was as Haydon wrote — 
 
 " The lazy luxury of poetical outpouring." 
 
 "Eloquent music without a discord; full, ample, inex- 
 haustible, almost divine;" so said Wilson. "He was," 
 wrote Wordsworth, " quite an epicure in sound." 
 
 It is known that Coleridge went to reside with Mr. 
 Gillman (honoured be the name and reverenced the 
 memory of that " general practitioner," a surgeon at 
 Highgate), chiefly to be under his surveillance to break 
 himself of the fearful habit he had contra-cted of opium- 
 eating, a habit that grievously impaired his mind, 
 engendered terrible self-reproach, and embittered the 
 best years of his life. I may well use the term — self- 
 reproach. He has himself called opium " the accursed 
 drug," and his helplessness to resist the craving for it " a 
 hideous bondage." It was this " conspiracy of himself 
 against himself" that was the poison of his life. He 
 describes his terrible habit with frantic pathos as "the 
 scourge, the curse, the one almighty blight which had 
 desolated his life ;" the thief — 
 
 "To steal 
 From my o-^n nature all the natural man."
 
 6 COLEEIDGE. 
 
 He did however prevail in the end over the fiend that 
 tempted, and had long possessed him. 
 
 I have known persons who pictured to me Coleridge in 
 his youth — a hoy at Christ's Hospital,* and when a 
 young man at Clevedon. He was aged when I knew 
 him. My recollection is so vivid that I cannot fail in 
 the portrait I draw. There was rarely much change of 
 countenance ; his face at that time was overburdened 
 with flesh, and its expression impaired, yet to me it 
 was so tender, gentle, gracious, and loving, that I 
 could have knelt at the old man's feet — almost in adora- 
 tion. My own hair is white now, yet I have much the 
 same feeling that I had then, whenever the form of the 
 venerable man rises in memory before me. 
 
 I prefer to any other portrait of Coleridge that which 
 
 is drawn by his friend Wordsworth: — 
 
 " A noticeable man, with large, grey eyes, 
 And a ^j«?e face, that seemed, undoubtedly, 
 As if a blooming face it ought to be ; 
 Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear, 
 Depress'd by weight of moving phantasy : 
 Profound his forehead was, though not severe." 
 
 All his friends have pictured him as a man made to be 
 reverenced and loved. 
 
 * 1 heard this anecdote from a gentleman who was a schoolfellow of Cole- 
 ridge's. Coleridge was wildly rushing through Newgate Street to he in time 
 for school, when he upset an old woman's apple stall. " Oh ! you little devil ! " 
 she exclaimed hitterly. But the boy, noting the mischief he had done, ran 
 back and strove to make the best amends he could by gathering up the scattered 
 fruit and lamenting the accident. The grateful woman changed her tone, patted 
 the lad on the head, and said, *' Oh ! you little angel ! " 
 
 Can we not see in this simple incident the gei-m of that epitome of his soul — 
 quoted again and again by all who advocate the cause of humanity. 
 " He prayelh best who loveth best 
 All things, both great and small, 
 For the dear God who loveth us, 
 He made and loveth all."
 
 COLERIDGE. 7 
 
 This is but a brief memory of him who — 
 
 " In bewitching words, with happy heart, 
 Did chaunt the vision of that ancient man, 
 The bright- eyed Mariner " — 
 
 Him of whom Do Quincey writes as ''this ilhistrioiis 
 man, the largest and most spacious intellect, the sub- 
 tlest and most comprehensive, in my judgment, that has 
 yet existed amongst men."* How rich is the legacy 
 mankind inherits from the philosopher, the translator, 
 the commentator, and the poet. Yet, judged by the 
 exceeding wealth of intellect with which Heaven had 
 endowed him, how unsatisfactory is that legacy. It is 
 an old tale now — that of the high expectations formed 
 of Coleridge and the imperfect manner in which his 
 life's work fulfilled them. A mine of thought was in 
 him, but he wanted the energy and perseverance neces- 
 sary to make its full treasures available to the world. 
 From time to time he would bring forth a brilliant 
 sample of his mental riches, that by its splendour suf- 
 ficiently attested the value of the ore within ; but he 
 never could prevail on himself to bend his neck to the 
 3'oke of that patient industry which has earned greater 
 fame for men much less richly gifted. The history of 
 his life is a very mournful one. Manhood, that should 
 have brought to such a giant in intellect as Coleridge 
 high hopes and earnest endeavoui's, was wasted in the 
 sloth of a double bondage — that of his natural indolence, 
 and that of his acquired slavery to opium. The fii'st of 
 
 * The article concerning Coleridge I printed in the Art Journal and subse- 
 quently in the "Book of Memories," drew from the son of the poet— the Rev. 
 Derwent Coleridge — a letter of which I may well be— as I am — very proud. 
 He wrote to me that he considered it the best biography he had read of his father.
 
 8 COLEHIDGE. 
 
 talkers, he was among the least of doers. Under God's 
 providence, and by means of the devoted care and friend- 
 ship of the Gillmans, the more terrible of these two 
 tyrants of mind and body was at last shaken off; and 
 Coleridge passed his latter years free from the influence 
 of " the accursed drug." But how blighted a life had the 
 great thinker's been ! He had to look back on many 
 years of mental darkness and bodily weakness ; to shud- 
 der over the memory of vain struggles to escape from 
 the thraldom of the terrible vice that had possessed him ; 
 to lament a long separation from the wife of his youth, 
 the Sara of his early poems. Those who cherish the 
 memory of Coleridge will always love best to contem- 
 plate the declining years of his life, a decline rendered 
 serene and beautiful by the untiring devotion of the 
 Gillmans ; but, alas ! it cannot be forgotten that the 
 bright sunset did not follow, as should have been the 
 case, a still brighter day, and that it was the poet's fault 
 far more than his misfortune that his best years were 
 darkened. The richest ground will bear little harvest 
 unless it be carefully cultivated : the highest genius does 
 not exempt its possessor from the need for industry and 
 energy. Such is the moral that the contrast between 
 what Samuel Taylor Coleridge might have done and 
 what he actually accomplished too sadly points. 
 
 In glancing back over these pages I rejoice to note 
 how many great men and women of the past have, if 
 they did not foresee, forestalled the scepticism of the 
 age in which the present generation lives ; forestalled it 
 in this sense, that they have left burning .words to 
 impress on their successors the magnitude of the evil.
 
 COLERIDGE. 9 
 
 The curse is rearing itself hydra-headed in our litera- 
 ture. Half a century ago, atheism dared only insinuate 
 itself stealthily into literary refuse designed for the 
 lower classes to read ; it has now assumed the propor- 
 tions of a creed that is boldly advocated and openly 
 taught. Public men are no more ashamed of being 
 influenced by the black belief than they would be of 
 some bodily ailment that caused them to limp and halt. 
 I do not refer to the lecturers who appear on platforms 
 with atheism as their stock-in-trade, but to those far 
 more pernicious and dangerous writers who, affirming 
 that they derive their alphabet from science, construct a 
 volume of teaching that saps both faith and hope ; and 
 that, if it does not refuse to accept God as the origin of 
 evil, at least denies to God any attribute of good. Those 
 who seek to reduce God to the dimensions of an unloving, 
 pitiless, almost mechanical, power are as much atheists 
 as those who deny His existence. It therefore becomes 
 the imperative duty of every writer who seeks to in- 
 fluence public opinion to do his very utmost to prevent 
 the spread of a disease that may infect the whole body 
 corporate — a moral and social pest, the spread of which 
 would be more fatal to humanity than a famine that 
 would blight, and a pestilence that would kill, the whole 
 vegetable and animal kingdom. 
 
 Sunday lectures for the people arc now delivered by 
 highly educated men who avow themselves materialists 
 and, if pressed, would hardly deny that they are atheists. 
 Books are largely circulated the teaching of which is 
 simply " eat, drink, and bo merry, for to-morrow we 
 die;" that, except to man's laws, there is no responsi-
 
 10 COLERIDGE. 
 
 bility because no hereafter ; that morality is to be eon- 
 trolled by convenience or inconvenience; that duty is 
 but another name for will; that right and wrong are 
 convertible terms ; that, in a word, the only guide 
 to follow is Self — benefits conferred on others being 
 so many deprivations of enjoyment that should be 
 entirely one's own. I pity the man who believes in no 
 future where he will reap the seed he has, in life, planted. 
 True happiness can be derived only from the happier 
 faith that he who does good work for man on earth 
 will enjoy the fruitage in some place we call Heaven ; that 
 consciousness and memory and attendant reason continue 
 to be ours when the sometime habitation of the soul is 
 committed to its kindred dust. 
 
 I repeat, I rejoice to record the encouraging and 
 stimulating fact that by far the larger number of the 
 great men and women I commemorate in these pages 
 were not only believers, without a shadow of doubt, in 
 continued existence after death, but that nearly all of 
 them had firm faith in the revealed Eeligion, which is 
 the key to the Hereafter — 
 
 " Teaching in their lives 
 The love of all things lovely, all things pure." 
 
 He who teaches doctrines of scepticism to the unthink- 
 ing and uninstructed, is as guilty of conveying social 
 and moral taint, as he would be of wilful murder who 
 flung poison into a well from which a parish drew the 
 water it drank. 
 
 There are even worse crimes that some literary men, 
 and, alas ! some literary women, perpetrate. Some there 
 are who so picture vice and virtue as to make the vice
 
 TALFOURD. II 
 
 seductive and the virtue repulsive ; and it is to be feared 
 that to-day such writers find too many readers.* 
 
 It was Yoltaire who, contending for the impolicij of 
 infidelity, said if there were no God we should be obliged 
 to make one.f 
 
 Serjeant Talfoued. — A very loveable man was 
 Serjeant, afterwards Judge, Talfourd. Eloquent as a 
 pleader — almost reaching the dignity of an orator in 
 the House of Commons — a dramatic writer of a high 
 order, and a graceful if not a powerful poet, he was 
 endeared to many who appreciated the genius and the 
 man. I knew him as a valued writer for the Netv 
 Monilihj Magazine^ fr-om which, however, he withdrew 
 soon after the retirement of Campbell, to fight under 
 his banner in the Metro2)oUtan. But his worth as an 
 advocate became known, and he put aside the pen to 
 take a prominent position at the bar. Dickens dedi- 
 cated "Pickwick" to him, not only in acknowledgment 
 of Talfourd's successful efi'orts to secure to "those who 
 devote themselves to the most precarious of all pursuits" 
 
 * " Avoid the Sceptic : poisoner of the soul ; 
 A life curse taking from us faith and trust 
 To prove that dust is animated dust, 
 And that Hereafter gives no place of rest, 
 A social, physical, and moral pest : 
 A thief of hope in death : a monster ghoiil. 
 But women sceptics are fair Nature's blots ; 
 Stars — but of which you only see the spots ; 
 Or trees that, foully cankered at the root, 
 Bear only withered leaves and deadly fruit ; 
 Or streams polluted at their primal source, 
 That run, a stream of poison, all their course ; 
 Social mistakes ; a dull domestic dearth : 
 Women who have no Altar have no Hearth." 
 
 t " Si Dieu n'existait pas, il faudroit I'inventer."
 
 12 EEV. EDWARD IRVING. 
 
 and to the descendants of authors after them, ''a per- 
 manent interest in the copyright of their works," but as 
 a mark of the warmest esteem and regard, and as a 
 memorial of the most gratifying friendship he ever con- 
 tracted ; in short, writes Dickens, ^'In token of my fer- 
 vent admiration of every fine quality of your head and 
 heart." 
 
 Talfourd was greatly loved by all who knew him : he 
 was what Lord Chief Justice Coleridge said of him, " emi- 
 nently courteous and kind, generous, simple-hearted, 
 of great modesty, of the strictest honour, and of spot- 
 less integrity." He died suddenly in court while in the 
 act of addressing a grand jury, and delivering some 
 weighty and eloquent words directed against the vice of 
 intemperance. 
 
 Eev. Edward Irving. — Leigh Hunt called him "the 
 Boanerges of the Temple." His friend Carlyle styles 
 him " a memorable man." He is forgotten now, for he 
 left earth in 1834 ; and his means of being remembered, 
 like those of the actor, died with him. Yet he achieved 
 marvellous popularity in his day (I have seen Canning, 
 Brougham, and Mackintosh among the congregation at 
 his chapel in Cross Street, Hatton Garden), by "dis- 
 courses opulent in ingenious thought, by originality and 
 truth of purpose, by a style modelled on the Miltonic 
 old Puritan, and by a voice one of the purest and power- 
 fullest ever given to man." "No preacher," writes 
 Carlyle, "ever went so thoroughly into one's heart." 
 He was dismissed from the Scottish Kirk (I quote the 
 same authority), by " a poor aggregate of reverend sticks
 
 REV. EDWAED IRVING. 13 
 
 in black gowns sitting in Presbytery, who passed formal 
 condemnation on a man and a cause that might have 
 been tried at Patmos under the jn'esidency of St. John." 
 
 Yet there were not wanting those who decried him as 
 a pretender, a hypocrite, and a cheat. But those who 
 knew him best emphatically depose to the honesty of his 
 heart, the depth of his convictions, the fervour of his 
 faith : and many yet live who will endorse the eloquent 
 tribute of his excellent and accomplished biographer 
 (Mrs. Oliphant) : "To him mean thoughts and unbeliev- 
 ing hearts were the only things miraculous and out of 
 nature. He desii-ed nothing in heaven or earth, neither 
 comfort, nor peace, nor rest, nor any consolation, but to 
 know the will, and do the work of the Master he loved." 
 
 He was the frequent guest, and much-loved friend, of 
 the poet Coleridge. It was some time before his en- 
 forced withdrawal from the Kirk of Scotland ; while he 
 was still astounding audiences, intellectual as well as 
 crowded, and before the appearance of the strange mani- 
 festations known as " the Tongues." The rumour of his 
 burning eloquence and marked peculiarities had preceded 
 him to London ; crowds, on his appearance in the 
 Metropolis in 1822, flocked to hear him preach; and 
 finding that the Scottish clergyman was indeed some- 
 thing strange and startling, came again, and in ever- 
 increasing numbers. Irving drew for a while the atten- 
 tion of men of all faiths — or of none ; but it was as a 
 meteor that shoots across the heavens, and then is 
 quenched in darkest night. Soon there came a time 
 when the enthusiasm, bordering on extravagance, of the 
 preacher provoked yet more extravagant responses from
 
 14 REV. EDWARD IRVING. 
 
 a devoted few of his hearers ; when to the Scottish Kirk 
 Irving became a stumbling-block, and to the polite world 
 of London foolishness. The former cast him out ; the 
 latter sneered at him, ceasing to throng and hear a 
 preacher whom some called a hypocrite and others a 
 madman, and whose peculiar eloquence had no longer 
 the attraction of novelty. A brief season of mockery 
 and persecution, and the sensitive nature of the man 
 gave way. The disease that Edward Irving died of 
 was, practically, a broken heart. 
 
 Many men of ripe intelligence, sound judgment, and 
 true piety endorsed the verdict concerning him of 
 Chalmers, whose coadjutor he had for a time been, 
 that he was " the Evangelical Christian grafted on the 
 old Eoman ; with the lofty and stern virtues of one, he 
 possessed the humble graces of the other." 
 
 Although I have heard him preach in his church at 
 ^^■tiiB:S^«HBe, it was never my good fortune to be j)resent 
 at one of those exhibitions of " the Tongues," when 
 suddenly one or more among the congregation would be 
 — apparently without preparation — "inspired" to utter 
 sounds to which none of the listeners could attach any 
 meaning — at least so far as to construe or translate. 
 
 That many believed them to be direct inspirations I 
 cannot question, any more than I can doubt the words of 
 the Apostle St. Paul concerning " divers gifts," among 
 which he enumerated the " speaking with tongues and 
 the interpretation thereof; " or that on the day of Pente- 
 cost, when dwellers in all the lands of the Koman world 
 were, to their astonishment, addressed by the inspired 
 Eleven, " each man in his own tongue."
 
 EEV. EDWARD IRVING. 15 
 
 The whole tenor of Irving' s life forbids the idea that 
 he could have been a hypocrite; while it is quite as 
 certain that he could not have been self- deluded, year 
 after year — continuously; and with him a very large 
 number of men and women, educated, thoughtful, 
 rational, inquiring, who were well instructed in scrip- 
 ture, and who conscientiously sought to discharge all 
 that appertains to the duties of life. 
 
 At the time to which I refer, Irving was in the prime 
 of manhood and of striking presence : tall, slender, but 
 by no means attenuated, with strongly marked featui-es 
 of the Eoman type, and a profusion of long black wa\y 
 hair that hung partly over his shoulders. On looking 
 closely into his face, you saw how grievously its expres- 
 sion was marred by an obliquity of vision, amounting in 
 fact to a decided " squiat." It is said to have been in only 
 one of his eyes ; but its effect was fatal to the claim that 
 might otherwise have been advanced in his behalf of 
 possessing an awe-inspiring mien, a countenance such as 
 one might indeed associate in fancy with a Boanerges. 
 
 His voice was usually loud and harsh, yet in its lower 
 tones melodious. His preaching was more conspicuous 
 for zeal than charity ; for Irving, whatever his merits 
 and defects, was emphatically a soldier, as well as a ser- 
 vant, of the Cross. He died young ; little over forty ; 
 and it is certain the keenness of the blade wore through 
 the scabbard. His limbs had grown feeble before time 
 might have been expected to make them weak ; his 
 featm-es were wrinkled far too soon, and his trailing 
 black locks were tinged with grey long ere Nature's 
 ordinary date. I imagine him to have been a man
 
 16 WILLIAM GODWIN. 
 
 " cut after tlie pattern " of John Knox ; but the age in 
 which he lived did not favour philippics against special 
 sins, such as gave spirit and power to the homilies of 
 the Scottish Eeformer of the sixteenth century. 
 
 Godwin. — It would be difficult to find a greater con- 
 trast than that between Irving and Godwin. In persons, 
 in manners, in features, in mind, in spirit, they were 
 uttermost opposites. The free-thinking husband of Mary 
 Wollstonecraft — whose union was the slender one of a 
 love-bond, until, in later life, they took upon them the 
 bonds of wedlock — was of awkward, ungainly form ; a 
 broad intellectual forehead redeemed a flat, coarse, inex- 
 pressive face ; his dress was clumsy ; his habits careless, 
 — of cleanliness at least. Lamb is said to have once inter- 
 rupted him during a rubber of whist : " Godwin, if dirt 
 was trumps, what a hand you'd have ! " To me, how- 
 ever, who had read " Caleb Williams " and had not read 
 " Political Justice," there was much attraction in 
 watching and listening to the author of works then so 
 famous, now so rarely read. 
 
 He was the close associate, if not the friend, of 
 Charles Lamb, and I met him in the company of " Elia " 
 more than once. But I remember him still farther back, 
 when he kept a bookseller's shop on Snow Hill. He 
 kept it under the name of Edward Baldwin ; had it been 
 carried on in his own, he would have had few customers, 
 for his published opinions had excited general hostility, 
 to say the least. I was a schoolboy then, and can 
 remember purchasing a book there^handed to mc by
 
 LISLE BOWLES. 17 
 
 himself. It was a poor shop, poorly furnished ; its con- 
 tents consisting chiefly of children's books with the old 
 coloured prints, that would contrast so strangely with 
 the art illustrations of to-day. 
 
 Lisle Bowles. — I met at the dwelling of Coleridge 
 the poet Lisle Bowles, of whom Byron wrote some 
 deprecatory lines in the "English Bards and Scotch 
 Ee viewers ; " but I saw him afterwards in my own house, 
 and once in a street in London, where he said he was 
 "like a daisy in a conservatory." My memory of him 
 will be brief. It may be well commenced by copying a 
 letter written to Coleridge by Charles Lamb. 
 
 "Coleridge, I love you for dedicating your poetry to Bowles. 
 Genius of the sacred fountain of tears, it was lie who led you gently 
 ty the hand through all this valley of wee^Ding, showed you the 
 dark green yew-trees, and the willow shades, where, by the fall of 
 waters, you might indulge an uncomplaining malady, a delicious 
 regret for the past, or weave fine visions of that awful future — 
 
 " When all varieties of life's brief day, 
 ObKvion's hurrying hand hath swept away ; 
 And all its sorrows at the awfixl blast 
 Of the Archangel's trump are but as shadows past." 
 
 Bowles was fourscore years and eight when he died — 
 one of the canons of Salisbury. During forty years he 
 had been rector of Bremhill, Wilts — having so long 
 watched zealously over the spiritual and temporal interest 
 of his flock ; a good man and a good clergyman. 
 
 His poems are now as much forgotten as his sermons. 
 
 He died in 1850. In early youth he was simple 
 enough to inquire of a printer what he would give for a 
 
 VOL. II. c
 
 18 LISLE BOWLES. 
 
 volume of sonnets ? The purchase was declined, but 
 they were afterwards published (in 1789) and speedily 
 consigned to the shelf. When they were well on their 
 way to oblivion, it chanced one day that a young man 
 named Eobert Southey entered the shop, took up the 
 book, spoke of it everywhere in terms of high commend- 
 ation, and the consequence was a good sale. Forty 
 years after, Bowles dedicated to the Laureate a new 
 edition : "To one who exhibited in his prose works, as 
 in his life, the purity and virtues of Addison and Locke, 
 and in his poetry the imagination and soul of Spenser." 
 
 And thus Southey wrote of Min : " His oddity, his 
 untidiness, his simplicity, his benevolence, his fears, and 
 his good nature, made him one of the most entertaining 
 and extraordinary characters I have ever met with." 
 
 Odd he unquestionably was, and Moore, who knew 
 and loved him, described him well when he exclaimed : 
 " How marvellously, by being a genius, he has escaped 
 being a fool ! " In absence of mind La Fontaine could 
 scarcely have surpassed him. 
 
 He was in the habit of daily riding through a country 
 turnpike-gate, and one day he presented as usual his 
 twopence to the gate-keeper, " What is that for, sii'?" 
 he asked. " For my horse, of course." "But, sir, you 
 have no horse." " Dear me ! " exclaimed the astonished 
 poet, " am I walking ? " 
 
 Mrs. Moore told me that anecdote. She also told me 
 that Bowles on one occasion gave her a Bible as a birth- 
 day present. She asked him to write her name in it. 
 He did so, inscribing the sacred volume to her as a gift 
 — " From the Author."
 
 GEORGE CEABBE. 19 
 
 I had the following story from a gentleman-farmer, 
 one of Bowles's parishioners, who cherished an affec- 
 tionate remembrance of the good parson. One day there 
 was a dinner-party at the parsonage. The guests and the 
 dinner were both kept waiting by the non-appearance of 
 the host. At last his wife went up-staii's to see what 
 mischance had delayed him. She found him in a terrible 
 "taking," hunting everywhere for a silk stocking that 
 he could not find. After due and careful search, Mrs. 
 Bowles at last discovered the reason of the " loss." He 
 had put both stockings on one leg. 
 
 But all the anecdotes told of his eccentricities are 
 pleasant, simple, and harmless; and Bowles the man 
 was the faithful counterpart of Bowles the poet — pure in 
 spirit, sweet of nature, and tender of heart — good rather 
 than ";reat. 
 
 o^ 
 
 George Crabbe. — Bremhill, the vicarage of Bowles, 
 was not far from Trowbridge, the rectory of George 
 Crabbe. I knew also — not at home, but in London — 
 that great poet and good man — 
 
 " Though. Nature's sternest pahiter, yet the best." 
 
 But he was stern only in verse. His was the gentle, 
 kindly nature of one who loving God loved man, and all 
 the creatures God has made. His early struggles, less 
 for fame than the bare means of existence, may surely 
 furnish a lesson and, in their result, an encouragement, to 
 those who labour for either through difficulties it might 
 seem impossible to overcome. I met him more than 
 once: on one occasion when he was the guest of his 
 
 c2
 
 20 GEORGE CEABBE. 
 
 friends at Hampsteacl, the Hoares, the eminent bankers. 
 It was, I think, in 1826. He died in 1832. I recall 
 his healthy-looking face as giving little indication of 
 poetic thought nourished by lamplight : it was sug- 
 gestive rather of country fare, country walks and com- 
 munings with God, where the brow is fanned by 
 breezes that have never been sullied by smoke. 
 
 He was emphatically a good man as well as a good 
 clergyman, who discharged laudably and effectually his 
 duty to God and man. The last sentence he uttered on 
 earth was a fitting finis to an honoured and useful life. 
 The words were merely these, addressed to his assembled 
 children, "Be good, and come to me." 
 
 I may have stated elsewhere that we possessed 
 Crabbe's inkstand. It was given by Crabbe's son to 
 Moore, and concerning it Moore wrote one of the best of 
 his poems, the original of which, in the poet's hand- 
 writing (written partly in ink and partly in pencil) I 
 gave to the poet Longfellow ; and in 1880 I gave to 
 Longfellow the inkstand also. 
 
 I was visiting Moore when I made a pilgrimage to 
 Trowbridge, to the church in which Crabbe is buried, 
 and to the marble monument over his grave. It is a 
 work of the sculptor Baily, and one of his best; yet 
 I thought it too grand to be reared over the dust 
 of one who was so thoroughly the poet of the poor, and 
 I fancied a simple tablet to mark his resting-place would 
 have been more in accord with his work. 
 
 I need not tell again here the oft-told story of what 
 George Crabbe owed to Edmund Burke, of the help- 
 ing-hand stretched out, on the first appeal, to rescue
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 21 
 
 the starving young poet from the gulf of despair and 
 misery into which, after a long and brave struggle, 
 he was hopelessly sinking. It was but one of many 
 generous actions that have made the memory of Burke 
 shine on us, across the century that divides our epoch 
 from his, with a lustre more resplendent than even 
 his matchless genius could confer. 
 
 Chaeles Lamb. — Very often, Charles Lamb was one 
 of the party at the residence of Coleridge, with his 
 gentle, sweet, yet melancholy countenance ; for I can 
 recall it only as bearing the stamp of mournfulness, 
 rather than of mirth. Even when he said a witty 
 thing, or made a pun, which he was too apt to do, it 
 came from his lips (jerked out in the well-known semi- 
 stutter), as if it had been a foreboding of evil ; certainly, 
 his merriment seemed forced. Coleridge and Lamb had 
 been schoolfellows, and "fifty years friends without 
 interruption." Their school was Christ's Hospital. I 
 forget which of them it was who, well remembering the 
 floggings obtained, if not earned, there, hoped the master 
 would not be carried to heaven by cherubim, because 
 being only heads and wings they could not be whipped 
 on the way. The life of Lamb has been described as a 
 '' life of uncongenial toil " (the greater part of it was 
 spent as a clerk in the India House), " diversified by 
 frequent sorrows." A terrible shadow was perpetually 
 over his heart and mind. I can conceive that the awful 
 scene of his insane sister, stabbing to death her beloved 
 mother, seldom left his sight, and he may be pardoned
 
 22 CHAELES LAMB. 
 
 for the " one single frailty " that did not lessen, but, on 
 the contrary, increased, the suffering for the removal of 
 which he resorted to the "bowl" that he vainly hoped 
 ■would be filled from Lethe. There is nothing in human 
 history more entirely sad than the records of the walks 
 he and his sister took together, when in after years, and 
 when her brother's entreaties had obtained her restora- 
 tion to his care, Mary Lamb, as the cloud came over her 
 mind, and she saw the evil hour approaching, would set 
 out with Charles along the roads and across the fields, 
 both weeping bitterly ; she to be left at the lunatic 
 asylum until time and regimen restored reason, and he 
 to return to his mournful and lonely home. 
 
 I recall him as the American Willis saw him, " in 
 black small-clothes and gaiters, short and slight, his 
 head set on his shoulders with a thoughtful forward 
 bend, his hair sprinkled with grey, a deep-set eye, 
 aquiline nose, and a very indescribable mouth." He rests 
 with his sister in the churchyard at Edmonton; and 
 some lines written by his friend Gary are inscribed on 
 the tombstone above the grave. 
 
 His person and his mind were happily characterized 
 by his contemporary, Leigh Hunt : " As his frame so his 
 genius ; as fit for thought as can be, and equally unfit 
 for action." But the most finished picture of the man 
 is that which his friend Talfourd draws: "A light 
 fragile frame, so fragile that it seemed as if a breath 
 would overthrow it, clad in clerk-like black, was sur- 
 mounted by a head of form and expression the most 
 noble and sweet. His black hair curled crisply about 
 an expanded forehead ; his eyes, softly brown, twinkled
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 23 
 
 with varying expression, though the prevalent feeling 
 was sad; and the nose slightly curved and delicately 
 carved at the nostril, with the lower outline of the face 
 regularlj^ oval, completed a head which was finely placed 
 on the shoulders, and gave importance and even dignity 
 to a diminutive and shadowy figure." 
 
 Procter thus described him: "A small spare man, 
 somewhat stiff in his manner and almost clerical in his 
 dress, which indicated much wear ; he had a long melan- 
 choly face, with keen penetrating eyes ; he had a dark 
 complexion, dark curling hair, almost black; and a grave 
 look lighting up occasionally, and capable of sudden 
 merriment; his lip tremulous with expression; his brown 
 eyes were quick, restless, and glittering." 
 
 Few men have had more devotedly attached friends. 
 This is the tribute of Coleridge — 
 
 " My gentle-liearted Charles ! for thou hast pined 
 And hungered after Nature many a year, 
 In the great city pent ; winning thy way 
 With sad, jet patient soul, through evil and pain. 
 And strange calamity ! " 
 
 And these words were written by Eobert Southey — 
 
 " Charles Lamb, to those who know thee justly dear. 
 For rarest genius and for sterling worth, 
 Unchanging friendship, warmth of heart sincere, 
 And wit that never gave an ill thouglit birth, 
 Nor ever in its sport infixed a sting." 
 
 But did Charles Lamb ever pine and hunger after 
 Xature as Coleridge fancies him ? Not if "Elia" him- 
 self may be trusted. Lamb's true home was London, and 
 away from it he was miserable. When, after those 
 thirty-six years of desk-AVork in the India House, his
 
 24 CAEY. 
 
 employers and he parted on terms honourable to both^ 
 the gentle essayist tried the charms of a rural life ; and, 
 although he went but a few miles away from his beloved 
 London, repented speedily and heartily that he had ever 
 disturbed his Lares. Charles Lamb's genius was not 
 that of a lover of Nature : it was born of his love of men. 
 He could not be happy away from the life of cities ; and 
 the insiDiration of his best essays is the "busy hum" of 
 the metropolis. It is almost as difficult to think of ''Elia" 
 away from the great city that was the scene of his quiet 
 toil, his fearful afflictions, his snatches of mirth — now 
 cheerful, now whimsical — as it is to take from London 
 the memory of Dr. Johnson. I, at least, can never sepa- 
 rate Lamb's figure in my memory from the busiest 
 haunts of busy London ; for it was in Fleet Street I 
 first saw and spoke to him ; and there he was to my 
 thinking so much at home that, had Johnson been then 
 on earth and known him, " Sir, let us take a walk down 
 Fleet Street," might have been an invitation often and 
 heartily extended by the burly sage to the stammeriag 
 wit. 
 
 Gary was one of Coleridge's fi'equent visitors ; I saw 
 him at Highgate ; but he was more often seen at the 
 British Museum, where he had a position that gave him 
 congenial occupation. His translation of Dante retains 
 its place of honour on the bookshelves. Ugo Foscolo, 
 than whom there could be no better authority, told me 
 he considered it not only the best English translation of 
 any foreign poet, but the best in any language. I recall 
 him to memory as very kindly, with a most gracious and
 
 PEOCTER. 25 
 
 sympatliizmg expression ; slow in his movements, as if 
 he were always in thought, living among the books of 
 which he was the custodian, and seeking only the com- 
 panionship of the lofty spirits who had gone from earth 
 — those who though dead yet speak. 
 
 William Hazlitt. — I did not like Hazlitt: nobody did. 
 He was out of place at the genial gatherings at Highgate; 
 though he was often there : for genial he certainly was 
 not. He wrote with a pen dipped in gall, and had a 
 singularly hai'sh and ungentle look ; seeming indeed as if 
 his sole business in life was to seek for faults. He was a 
 leading literary and art critic of his time ; but he has 
 left to posterity little either to guide or insti-uct. I recall 
 him as a small, mean-looking, unprepossessing man ; but 
 I do not quite accept Haydon's estimate of him: ''A 
 singular compound of malice, candour, cowardice, genius, 
 pui'ity, vice, democracy and conceit." Lamb said of 
 him, that he was, " in his natural state, one of the wisest 
 and finest spirits breathing." I prefer the portrait of 
 De Quincey : " He smiled upon no man ! " He was a 
 democrat, a devout admirer of the first Napoleon ; and (I 
 again quote De Quincey) '' hated even more than enemies 
 those whom custom obliged him to call friends." His 
 was the common lot of critics — few friends, many foes. 
 His son, a very estimable gentleman, is one of the 
 Judges in the Coiu-t of Bankruptcy. 
 
 Bryan "Waller Procter — so his name stands in the 
 Law books, while to the Muses he is known as "Barry
 
 26 PROCTER. 
 
 Cornwall " — died in 1874, a very old man, for he was born 
 in 1790. In 1823, he was in the zenith of his fame ; his 
 tragedy of Mirandola having been a great success. His 
 first poem was published in 1815. His earliest Helicon 
 was the office of a conveyancer, and in the ungenial 
 atmosphere of the Inns of Court his imagination found 
 fresh fields and pastures new. I met him frequently at 
 the house of Coleridge. He was short of stature, with 
 little evidence of energy, but with a peculiarly gentle 
 and contemplative countenance, such as usually begets 
 liking rather than the loftier tributes poets receive from 
 those who venerate the vocation of the bard. From the 
 commencement of his career, his homage was paid at the 
 shrine of the older poets ; he rivals them in grace, fancy, 
 and sweetness ; but he has copied their conceits ; " pre- 
 ferring the quaint to the natural, and often losing truth 
 in searching after originality." Yet a sound mind, a 
 rich fancy, an exquisite skill in dealing with words, and 
 a pure style of versification, are found in rare and happy 
 combination in the Lyrics and Dramatic Sketches of 
 Barry Cornwall.* 
 
 J. T. Fields thus refers to Procter: "The Poet's 
 figure was short and full, and his voice had a low veiled 
 tone, habitually." And thus Carlyle pictures him — 
 
 "A decidedly rather pretty little fellow, Procter, bodily and 
 spiritually : manners prepossessing, slightly London-elegant, not 
 unpleasant ; clear judgment in him, though of narrow field ; a 
 sound, honourable morality, and airy friendly ways ; of slight, neat 
 figure, vigorous for his size ; fine genially rugged little face, fine 
 head ; something curiously dreamy in the eyes of him, lids drooping 
 at the outer ends into a cordially meditative and drooping exjjres- 
 
 • Many of his best poems were published in the Kcic Monthly during my 
 editordhip, under the title of " Leaves from a Poet's Portfolio."
 
 PROCTER. 27 
 
 sion ; Tvoiild break out suddenly no-vr and then into opera attitude 
 and a La ci darem la mano for a moment ; had something of real fun, 
 though in London style." 
 
 Procter was seen at his best in the house of his father- 
 in-law, Easil Montagu, and his most admirable lady 
 (25, Bedford Square). Basil Montagu is described by 
 Carlyle as the most " royally courteous of mankind." A 
 more perfect gentleman it would have been hard to find. 
 He was the natural son of Lord Sandwich and Miss 
 Reay, an actress, who, more than a century ago, was 
 murdered by Mr. Hackman, a clergyman, who was 
 hanged for the murder. The wife, now the widow of 
 Procter, to whom he was married in 1824, was the 
 daughter of Mrs. Montagu by a former marriage. 
 
 Procter was called to the bar in 1831, and in 1832 
 accepted the lucrative office of Commissioner in Lunacy, 
 which he resigned in 1861.. He was in prosperous cir- 
 cumstances all his life ; never under the influence of a 
 malignant star ; and he lived to pass his golden wedding- 
 day with one who was beautiful when young, and is 
 beautiful when old; and he had all his long life the 
 best enjoyments that are derived from — 
 '' Wife, children, and friends." 
 
 I visited him in his retii-ement at Weymouth Street 
 a short while before his death. Just sixty years there 
 were between my fii'st visit and my last. 
 
 His daughter, Adelaide Procter, was on the high-road 
 to fame, and indeed had to a great extent achieved it, 
 when she died in 1804. Her own renown owed nothing to 
 the honoured name she inherited : her early reputation 
 having been made under the nom tie plume of " Mary
 
 28 WILLIAH HONE. 
 
 Berwick." I need scarcely add that Miss Procter's 
 sweet and graceful lyrics have still a wide circle of 
 readers; and that she ranks high among our English 
 poetesses. 
 
 "William Hone. — I may introduce the name of a 
 man who shared with Cobbett the renown acquired by 
 the issue of books that ran counter to a very large 
 section of public opinion. But William Hone was not a 
 member of "the House; " the glory of sending an avowed 
 Atheist into Parliament was reserved for a generation 
 then unborn. I knew Hone when he sold, in a small 
 shop on Ludgate Hill, the books he wrote. That was 
 some years after he had obtained notoriety and popu- 
 larity, chiefly through three remarkable trials in which 
 he overmatched Chief Justice Ellenborough and obtained 
 verdicts of acquittal in each and all. He was too poor 
 to retain counsel, and defended himself; reversing the 
 adage that he who does so has a fool for his client. 
 
 He was in ill-health at the time,^_ yet his defence 
 showed an amount of resolute courage that exacted 
 popular admiration, if it failed to obtain for him general 
 respect. The Government, for it was that rather than 
 the law, assumed the attitude of a bully, resolved at 
 any cost to convict. Public opinion was with the 
 wrong-doer. Such he was, for the broadest latitudi- 
 narian cannot defend his parodies of the Litany, the 
 Lord's Prayer, the Ten Commandments, and other pub- 
 lications that were rightly styled blasphemies. 
 
 The three trials took place at the Old Bailey in 
 December, 1817. On the first day Hone spoke during
 
 WILLIAM HONE. 29 
 
 six hours ; on the second, seven hours ; on the third, 
 eight hours ; yet he was in bad health at the time. 
 Few are now living who witnessed the trials — probably 
 not one of the thirty- six jurymen ; certainly not one of 
 Hone's upholders, among whom were Sir Francis 
 Burdett, Alderman Waithman, the Buke of Bedford, 
 Lord Cochrane, and Leigh Hunt. 
 
 After his acquittals, a public subscription enabled 
 him to remove from his small shop in the Old Bailey 
 to somewhat better premises on Ludgate Hill. It was 
 thence he issued, aided by his ally, George Cruikshank, 
 his famous assault on the King, arising out of the 
 Queen's trial ; and also one of the most valuable books 
 of modern times, " The Everyday Book." But he 
 never made head against pecuniary embarrassment. He 
 failed as a bookseller, set up and failed as the keeper of 
 an eating-house in Bishopsgate, and died in 1842 in 
 penury ; leaving a son and daughter, both of whom I 
 knew. The son became a sculptor of promise, but has 
 made no mark in Art History. 
 
 I have bought books from Hone when he kept the 
 bookseller's shop ; had coffee from him when he kept 
 the eating-house ; and listened to one of his wearisome 
 sermons when he turned preacher. 
 
 Perhaps half a million of his famous " Matrimonial 
 Ladder " — a terrifically bitter attack on the sovereign, 
 George lY. — were printed and sold, yet it would be now 
 almost impossible to procure a copy. 
 
 Hone was a small and insignificant-looking man : 
 mild, kindly, and conciliatory in manner, the very 
 opposite of the traditional demagogue. He must have
 
 30 WILLIAM HONE. 
 
 read a vast deal; there is evidence of that in his 
 memorable defences as well as in the books he edited 
 and bequeathed as valuable legacies to posterity. These 
 books contain very little indeed to which objection can 
 be urgedj either on moral, political, or religious grounds. 
 It is clear that in later life he abjured much, if not all, 
 hostility to those personages and institutions against 
 whom and which in his earlier career he had directed his 
 envenomed attacks. The evil he did was almost atoned 
 for by the good he accomplished ; if the one is forgotten 
 let the other be remembered, and the verdict of posterity 
 be recorded as "forgiven" on the stone that covers the 
 dust of a very remarkable and, I believe, conscientious 
 man. For the production of " impious and profane 
 libels " he was rightly prosecuted, and if the Govern- 
 ment failed to convict him it was mainly, if not entirely, 
 because it assumed the attitude of the persecutor and 
 oppressor rather than that of the advocate of truth, 
 virtue, and religion. 
 
 I cannot, after the lapse of so many years, recall the 
 names of others who may have added lustre to those 
 glorious gatherings at " The Gillmans." The list I have 
 furnished is, however, a sufficiently grand one; and many 
 will envy me the priceless privilege I so often enjoyed 
 of mingling in the cii'cle at Highgate, round the '' old 
 man eloquent " — a circle composed of friends who loved 
 and honoured him, who nightly hung upon his words.
 
 ROBERT SOUTHEY. 31 
 
 Egbert Southey. — I knew Southey only in London, 
 meeting him more than once at the house of Allan 
 Cunningham. I wish I had known more of him, for in 
 my heart and mind he holds a place higher than is held 
 by any other great man with whom I have been 
 acquainted. To me, he is the heau-ideal of the Man of 
 Letters : a glory to his calling to whom all succeeding 
 authors by profession may point back with pride. Not 
 only was his life one of diligent and fruitful laboiu* : it was 
 marked by almost every manly virtue that may combine 
 to crown a king of men. If we look at his public career 
 we find it distinguished throughout by industry, energy, 
 rigid integrity, and noble pride — the pride of a Sidney 
 of the pen, whose aim before all things was to keep his 
 honour stainless. "We turn to his private life, and all 
 we learn of it shows to us Southey as a devoted husband, 
 a judicious and affectionate father, a warm and faithful 
 friend. Though he had to struggle, nearly all his own 
 life through, with poverty, he was ever ready to hold 
 out a helping hand to those whose struggles for fame 
 were just beginning, or as in the case of Chatterton's 
 sister, to tender generous and efiectual aid to the 
 unfortunate relatives they had left. He gave in 
 such instances as those of the sister of the " marvellous 
 boy," of poor Kirke White, of Herbert Knowles, and in 
 a score of others, not only the sympathy of his large 
 heart and generous aid from his slender means, but that 
 which in the case of a sorely-tasked and ill-rewarded 
 writer like Eobert Southey implied benevolence still 
 more active — the labour of his pen. To rescue Chatter- 
 ton's sister from poverty he edited the dead boy's poems
 
 32 EGBERT SOUTHEY. 
 
 and published them by subscription, and some years 
 afterwards became the unrewarded editor of the poetical 
 remains of Henry Xirke "White. 
 
 There have been men of blameless life and splendid 
 virtues who have won the respect of their kind, but 
 never their love. It was not so with Southey. On his 
 memory we look back with a sentiment in which love 
 and esteem are happily blended, and while we honour 
 the heroic worker and reverence the Christian gentleman, 
 the warmest feelings of our hearts are stirred as we 
 recognise how great and loving was his own, and we 
 echo, respecting it, the felicitous words in which the 
 author of " Philip Van Artevelde " described it as — 
 
 "That heart, the simplest, gentlest, kindliest, best, 
 "Where truth and manly tenderness are met 
 With faith and heavenward hope." 
 
 I wish, I repeat, that I had known more of Eobert 
 Southey. It is one of my proudest and most cherished 
 memories — that of the brief and limited intercourse I 
 was fortunate enough to hold many years ago with this 
 Bayard of letters — the literary knight sans reproche. 
 
 My remembrance of him is that of a form, not tall but 
 stately — a countenance full of power, yet also of gentle- 
 ness ; and eyes whose keen and penetrating glance had 
 justly caused them to be likened to the hawk's, but that 
 on occasion could beam and soften with the kindliest and 
 tenderest emotion. His head was perhaps the noblest 
 and handsomest among English writers of his time. 
 
 Years after his death I visited Keswick, and stood in 
 the bedroom where he died. I could almost have 
 fancied that I saw him there, as I gazed round the room
 
 SOUTHEY. 33 
 
 with feelings of reverence approacliing worship. Was 
 it altogether fancy ? It may have heen, or it may not ; 
 I cannot say ; * but I was at the moment recalling the 
 words of his friend Wordsworth, as they are inscribed 
 on his monument in the churchyard of Crosthwaite : — 
 
 ''Whether he traced historic truth with zeal, 
 For the State's guidance or the Church's weal, 
 Or Fancy, disciphned by studious art, 
 Informed his pen, or wisdom of the heart. 
 Or Judgment sanctioned in the Patriot's mind 
 By reverence for the rights of all mankind, 
 Wide were his aims, yet in no human hreast 
 Could private feelings meet for holier rest." 
 
 Born at Bristol on the 12th August, 1774, educated 
 at Westminster School and at Balliol College, Oxford, 
 he in 1794 addressed to Edith, his after wife, a poem 
 which contained these two lines — 
 
 " My path is plain and straight, that light is given, 
 Onward in faith, and leave the rest to Heaven." 
 
 They embodied the principles by which his whole life 
 was ruled and guided from the cradle to the grave. He 
 
 * " Hast thou been told that from the viewless bourne, 
 
 The dark way never hath allowed return ? 
 
 That all which tears can move, with life is fled , 
 
 That earthly love is powerless on the dead ? 
 
 Believe it not! " 
 " I never fear to avow my belief that warnings from the other world are 
 sometimes communicated to us in this : and that, absurd as the stories of appa - 
 ritions generally are, they are not always false, but that the spirits of the dead 
 have been sometimes permitted to appear. I believe this because I cannot refuse 
 my assent to the evidence which exists of such things, and to the universal con- 
 sent of all men who have not leanit to think otherwise. Perhaps you will not 
 despise this as a mere superstition, when I say that Kant, the profoundest 
 thinker of modem ages, came, by the severest reckoning, to the same conclusion. 
 But if these things are, then there is a state after death ; and if there be a state 
 after death, it is reasonable to suppose that such things should be. 
 
 " ROBEKT SoUTHEY." 
 
 VOL. II. D
 
 84 SOUTHEY. 
 
 was for a brief while a Eepublican, but very soon settled 
 down into one of the most loyal of subjects. "When 
 assailed in later life for his change of political faith, he 
 made the apt and admirable reply : "I am no more 
 ashamed of having been a Eepublican than of having 
 been eighteen." To call Southey a renegade is as justi- 
 fiable as it would be to call the Apostle Paul an apostate. 
 
 His home, during nearly the whole of his life, was at 
 Greta Hall, close to Keswick, in Cumberland, and there 
 were, in his lifetime, and have continued to be since he 
 passed from earth, many pilgrims to that sacred shrine. 
 
 As the mourners were gathered round the grave of 
 Southey, two birds suddenly began singing from a tree 
 close at hand. On the occasion of my own pilgrimage 
 there, while I stood beside the grave in which they had 
 laid the body from which the lofty soul had departed, a 
 robin was singing from the branch, of a holly-tree hard 
 by. It seemed to me a fitting requiem for the dead, 
 whose life had been so simple and noble, that sweet and 
 happy song, and the more so because the bird was 
 singing from a holly -branch, and he whose ashes rested 
 close by had written of that shrub some beautiful and 
 touching verses in which he prays that if his yoatli had 
 been keen to wound, his gentler age — 
 
 "Might be 
 Like the high leaves upon the holly-tree." 
 
 I looked over the scene, on which he had so often 
 looked— that landscape than which "Earth hath not 
 anything to show more fair ; " heard the church-bell 
 whoso summons he had so often obeyed ; entered the 
 sacred building (it was a Sabbath-day, well chosen for
 
 SOUTHET. 35 
 
 such a pilgrimage), and was soon seated near the 
 
 recumbent figure in pure white marble that preserves 
 
 his features and their expression with such fidelity, and 
 
 does honour to the sculjotor Lough. I sat in the pew 
 
 that had been his pew, and there worshipped his Master 
 
 and mine, and felt thankful for the lessons so good and 
 
 great a man had given to weaker men, who by treading 
 
 in his footsteps drew nearer to God. 
 
 As regards the writer, and not the man, his prophecy 
 
 of himself has never been to the full realised : — 
 
 " In the memory of the past I live, 
 And those who are to come my sure reward will give." 
 
 The writings of Southey are but little known to this 
 generation ; yet finer models no writer or thinker can 
 have. '' Of the pure well of English undefiled " Eobert 
 Southey freely drank and freely gave to drink. 
 
 His quarrel with Byron is part of the Literary History 
 of his time. 
 
 Unhappily, the mind of Southey decayed before the 
 body — as was also the case with Moore. Mrs. Moore has 
 more than once described to me her utter woe when, as 
 often happened, her beloved husband failed to recognise 
 the watcher by his bedside; and "Do you know me, 
 dear?" met with no response. In both cases it was 
 " softening of the brain " that carried the mandate of 
 death to the body and fuller life to the soul. 
 
 As I stood in Southey's library, it was not hard to 
 picture him with the cloud upon his brain, lingering 
 mechanically and hopelessly among his books, taking 
 down one beloved volume after another, vainly searching 
 for some dimly-remembered passage, and then mur- 
 
 d2
 
 36 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 muring as he resigned the hopeless task: "Memory, 
 memory, where art thou gone ? " There can be conceived 
 no human calamity more pitiful. It is far otherwise 
 now with Eobert Southey ; decay of the brain-mechanism 
 can never more dim the intelligence and cloud the 
 soul. 
 
 "William Wordsworth was no longer living, or more 
 truly speaking, he had passed from the life that is but 
 of a day — though in his case a day of the extreme length 
 the Psalmist assigns to it on earth — he had passed 
 from it to the day that has no night, and to the company 
 of those who cannot die, when I visited for the first 
 time the many scenes of romantic loveliness or grandeur 
 he has made famous for all time. I knew him only 
 in London, where he was more than once my guest; for 
 among his admirers there were none more fervent than 
 were we. I regard William Wordsworth — and I cannot 
 think I over-estimate him — as taking rank next to 
 William Shakespeare among British Poets of all the 
 centuries. 
 
 Some years after the time I chronicle I visited 
 Westmoreland, alas ! not to look on him but on his 
 grave. There he lies, as Wordsworth should do, beside 
 the quiet waters and at the foot of the mighty hills he so 
 dearly loved. 
 
 Walking with him one day from my house in Sloane 
 Street to Piccadilly, I felt prouder than I should have 
 felt if the King had been leaning on my arm. It was 
 said of him that he admired his own poetry more than any 
 other person could, and that he was continually quoting
 
 WOKDSWOETH. 37 
 
 himself. I believe lie had that miniature fault. I may 
 recall an illustrative anecdote. He was breakfasting? 
 with me * and the topic of his exquisite poem on 
 " Yarrow Eevisited " in some way came up. He com- 
 plained that Scott had misquoted him, and taking from 
 a bookcase one of the Waverley novels, read from it the 
 passage — 
 
 " The swan iqjon St. Mary's lake 
 Floats double ; swan and shadow." 
 
 " IS'ow," he said, and I shall never forget the solemn 
 sonorousness of his voice as he repeated the lines. " I 
 did not ^mte that ; I wrote — 
 
 " The swan on still St. Mary's lake 
 Moats double : swan and shadow." 
 
 It was evidently to "Wordsworth's mind a most serious 
 subject of complaint. 
 
 Tall, somewhat slender, upright, with a sort of rude 
 grace, his movements suggestive of rustic independence 
 tempered by the delicacy of high intellect — such was 
 Wordsworth to outward seeming when I knew him. I 
 wish it had been among the lovely lakes and quiet dales 
 of Westmoreland ; but, as I have said, I only visited 
 them after the poet had been removed by the only 
 power that could have compelled him to quit them — 
 death. He loved every stick and stone in the Lake 
 District : mountain and dale, tarn and ghyll, placid mere 
 
 * I find from a note added to a poem he wrote that morning in Mrs. Hall's 
 album that the date of the visit was the 14th April, 1831. To the memoir of 
 him I wrote in the " Book of Gems " he thus made gracious and gratifying 
 reference in a letter I had the honour and happiness to receive from him, dated 
 December 23rd, 1837. " Absurdly unreasonable would it be if I were not satis- 
 fied with your notice of my writings and character. All I can further say is that 
 I have wished both to be what you indulgently say they are."
 
 38 WORDSWOETH. 
 
 and running brook, were all his dear friends : if dumb 
 to the multitude, they had tongues for him, and inspired 
 his own with much of the eloquent music in which he 
 discoursed to the world of the sermons they had taught. 
 Accustomed to gaze with a reverent and discerning eye 
 on the beauties of Nature, he became her great high- 
 priest, the interpreter of a booli that is ever open for the 
 whole world to read. He has left millions upon millions 
 his debtors for benefits incalculable conferred on the 
 whole human family. To him, perhaps, more than to 
 any other poet who has ever lived, may be applied his 
 own expressive lines, commending those who were of 
 his high calling. 
 
 " Blessings be with them and eternal praise, 
 Who gave us nobler lives and nobler cares, 
 The poets, who on earth have made us heirs 
 Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays." 
 
 It was in 1864, I made a pilgrimage to a district 
 that may be emphatically termed the land of "Words- 
 worth, although other high souls have sheltered there. 
 It was at Keswick, Southey worked so long and so well 
 for mankind, labouring until he died in the calling of 
 which he was so proud, and the dignity of which he 
 upheld so nobly. At EUeray John Wilson threw aside 
 the robes of the professor and donned the loose and easy 
 garb that gave him the physical, and with it the mental, 
 freedom he could not have found in a crowded city. 
 It was at Grasmere that poor Hartley Coleridge sinned 
 and repented, repented and sinned ; unhappy victim of 
 a passion irresistible ; dying a self-inflicted death (for 
 alcohol is no less a poison than prussic acid), when his
 
 WORDSWORTH. 39 
 
 genius was yet in the bud — with the promise of glorious 
 fruitage. He rests in the graveyard at Grasmere, "the 
 churchyard among the mountains," where lies Words- 
 worth, and the grave of poor Hartley is shadowed by 
 trees planted by the hands of the greater poet. 
 
 From Ambleside, Harriet Martineau doled out her later 
 and perhaps her wholesomest, because less masculine, 
 thoughts. Close at hand Felicia He mans had breathed 
 the air that soothed the sufferer into content when the 
 heaviest of her burdens was upon her, and gathered 
 from Mature a store of wealth to be distilled in the 
 alembic of her high and pure soul into sweetest verse. 
 AmoDg these mountains and beside these lakes the 
 giant-mind of Coleridge, for a time, drank in draughts of 
 a healthier influence than opium ; and just outside 
 Grasmere a fellow-victim to the baneful drug, De 
 Quincey, dreamed his wonderful dreams. In the Lake- 
 laud, too, the great art-reformer of the age, who is 
 worthy to be ranked with the best and loftiest of poets 
 (although his poems are not in verse), is now passing 
 liis days in work that enriches the world.* 
 
 * That the change in the attitude of the reading public towards Wordsworth 
 was no sudden and capricious revolution of feeling from indifference to worship, 
 but a sentiment of slow, sure growth, the following anecdote may help to attest. 
 One morning in 1831, when the poet honoured me with his company to break- 
 fast, our talk fell upon his lack of popularity ; I, who was among the most devout 
 of his worshippers, insisted that he had many more readers than ho knew, and I 
 showed him how I had myself become so familiar with his writings by placing 
 before him a copy of Galignani's edition of his works, issued in a form, and at a 
 price, that brought the whole of them within my reach. I expressed a belief 
 that of that book many hundreds— probably thousands — were annually sold in 
 England. That led to an appointment with a view to inquiry, and next day I 
 accompanied him to a bookseller's in Piccadilly — a firm with the encouraging 
 and ominous name of " Sustenance and Stretch." The sale in this country of 
 the Galignani edition, as of all English reprints, was strictly "})rohibited." I 
 asked for a copy: it was produced. I asked if I could have six copies, and was
 
 40 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Popularity in the ordinary sense of the term did not 
 visit Wordsworth until his best work had long been 
 given to the world, and he had become an aged man. 
 It was Leigh Hunt, I think, who said of him that he 
 was emphatically " a Poet for Poets." If fame was tardy 
 in crowning the brow of the poet, an inner monitor 
 consoled him with the knowledge that his laurels were 
 sure, and he awaited in tranquil certainty their coming — 
 the day when his country should see him and hail him 
 as he was. But especially, and above all, he was a 
 good man : his example as well as his precept was lofty, 
 ]3rudent, holy, in a word, Christian : yet his deep-seated 
 religious feeling was never obtrusive in its manifesta- 
 tions, never forced into Pharisaical prominence. 
 
 The earthly pilgrimage of "William Wordsworth began 
 in 1770, and lasting out the rest of the eighteenth 
 century halted, at that peaceful grave among the 
 mountains only when half of the nineteenth also was 
 past. Of those fourscore years, the days for the 
 most part trooped forward as peacefully as, in fair 
 summer weather, like feathers drifted from the wings 
 of angels, the soft white clouds float across the tops of 
 the higher Westmoreland hills. A hermit — he had 
 placed his hermitage in Paradise. Whether it were his 
 humble white cottage in Grasmere village, or the some- 
 what more stately home of Pydal Mount, he had but to 
 step to its gateway to see loveliness spread around him 
 
 told that I could. Fifty copies ? — Yes, at a month's notice. And further ques- 
 tions induced conviction that, by that one house alone, between two hundred and 
 three hundred copies had been sold during the year. I believe Wordsworth was 
 far more pleased to find that his poems were read than vexed to know it was in 
 a form in which he derived no profit from their sale.
 
 TVORDSWORTH. 41 
 
 — siicli as few other scenes in England can surpass. 
 Almost at his feet lay the lake of Grasmere, its one 
 island resting among those quiet waters with a look of 
 infinite peace ; close to him, hill rose majestically upon 
 hill, like stairways sloping heavenward and carrying the 
 pilgrim who climbed them high above even the faintest 
 echo of the tumult of the world. 
 
 To have lived among these scenes for the greater 
 part of a centuiy, and to have been gifted not only with 
 the power of perceiving their beauty in its fulness, but 
 with that rarer and more wondrous faculty, by virtue of 
 which the brightness of the outer world is mirrored 
 in imperishable verse, and lessons are drawn from it over 
 which mankind may be kept pondering for a thousand 
 years to come — these benedictions of Providence, 
 combined with the serene prosperity of his life, sm*ely 
 justify us in accounting Wordsworth the most fortunate 
 of poets. It was his happiness too that, though fame 
 looked but coldly on his youth, his life was so stretched 
 out as to anticipate, in its latter days, the homage of 
 posterity. The laurel denied him by one generation was 
 placed on his forehead by the next. Crowned with 
 years and honours he at length passed away, leaving in 
 virtue of the magic of his poetry this English earth 
 of ours, and more especially the corner of it called 
 Lake-land, for ever — 
 
 " Apparell'd in celestial liglit, 
 The glory and the freshness of a dream." 
 
 In a wordly sense, too, Wordsworth was prosperous ; 
 generous friends came to his side and liberally and 
 delicately tendered help when he struggled with poverty
 
 42 HARRIET MARTINEAU. 
 
 early in his life. All his domestic relations were aus- 
 picious and happy. Supplied, in the prime and decline of 
 his years, with ample means — his pension, his laureateship, 
 and his office as stamp distributor, combining to endow 
 him with what, to one of his frugal tastes, was a rich 
 portion of this world's goods — he never felt, as so many 
 poets have felt, the influence of malignant star ; never 
 toiled for the bread that is often bitter to the high of 
 soul ; it was not his destiny to ^' learn in suffering what 
 he taught in song ;" and if in his youth assailed by loud- 
 tongued and shallow critics and neglected by an in- 
 appreciative public, the long career that the lustre of 
 celebrity brightened so late, was radiant with the purer 
 light of an assured hope — the certain hope of immortality 
 for the poet on earth, and for the spirit in heaven. 
 
 I heard at the Burns' Festival Sir John Macneil 
 pronounce this eloquent eulogium on the poet William 
 Wordsworth, and echoed it with all my heart and soul. 
 "Dwelling in his high and lofty philosophy, he finds 
 nothing that God has made common or unclean, nothing 
 in human society too humble, nothing in external Nature 
 too lowly, to be made the fit exponent of the bounty and 
 goodness of the Most High." 
 
 Harriet Martineau. — It was amid the scenes in which 
 Southey, Wordsworth, and Wilson luxuriated, teaching 
 the wisdom of virtue and the happiness educed from 
 faith and trust in superintending Providence — in a bene- 
 ficent and loving God — it was amid such scones that 
 Harriet Martineau lived the later years of her life, and
 
 HARKIET MAETINEAU. 43 
 
 died so recently as 187G, at the age of seventy-four ; 
 although forty years before, and indeed all her life, she had 
 been making preparation for death, or rather arrange- 
 ments to die; "satisfied to have done with life;" that 
 was all, and looking forward only to extinction ! 
 
 The great three wrote and lived to inculcate love, 
 charity, hope, faith, duty to God, belief in God, trust in 
 God, as preludes to that other commandment, '' Love thy 
 neighbour as thyself." Eeligion had. no influence on 
 Harriet Martineau : she not only ignored, but considered 
 it inimical to the well-being and well-doing of man. 
 " Philosophical atheists " were her honoured acquaint- 
 ances and friends ; " free-thinking strength and 
 liberty " seems to have been her motto. '' Christian 
 superstition was at last giving way before science," and 
 she did her little best to push it down. She had a sort 
 of dim idea of an assumed first cause of the universe ; 
 but expectation of reward and punishment in the next 
 world was, in her estimation, an air-built castle. 
 Christianity she rejected. Fresh from listening to the 
 most sublime of oratorios, she writes, " The performance 
 of ' the Messiah,' so beautiful and touching as a work of 
 art or as the sincere homage of superstition, is sadden- 
 ing and full of shame when regarded as worship." 
 
 If she believed in a God, it was as much as her creed 
 allowed her. So early as 1829 she determined to 
 study the Scriptures '■'• for moral improvement ;'''' and in 
 1876 she wrote calmly of " sinking into her long sleep," 
 having "no objection to extinction, seeing no reason to 
 suppose that death is not actual and entire death." Her 
 body she left by will to be used for the purposes of
 
 44 HARRIET MARTINEAU. 
 
 science ; to her soul she gave no thought ; of a Hereafter 
 she had no convincing proofs and therefore she gave to 
 it no faith. 
 
 It was a dismal close to an active and fruitful life : 
 a close without evidence of any trust except trust in 
 herself. 
 
 Those who write in the hope that they may teach, will 
 be reluctantly forced to quote this indefatigable writer 
 — to warn and scare from treading in the path she 
 had trodden from the cradle to the grave. 
 
 It would be hard to imagine a more melancholy 
 picture than that of an aged woman whose doubts are 
 almost certainties that there is no after life ; that the 
 earth work done by a human being can have no con- 
 tinuance ; that hope — weak and faint, or delusive and 
 deceptive here — does but cheat us when it promises a 
 futui'e ; that the elements which comj)ose the body are 
 again to be separated into air, and water, and dust; 
 that belief of the soul's immortality is a dream ending 
 in a sleep from which there is no awaking. 
 
 I do not say that Harriet Martineau utterly denied 
 the possibility of a state of existence hereafter, but her 
 belief (if she had any) was so faint that it proffered no 
 consolation : it was so dim that it gave no light, supplied 
 no comfort, never lessened the burden of care, sickness, 
 grief, disappointment, or hope deferred. Yet she 
 had a religion that in another she would surely have 
 called superstition : she was a devout believer in mes- 
 merism, and had entire faith in clairvoyance, although 
 she rejected sj)iritualism with a degree of bitterness 
 approaching hatred ; she knew nothing about it, she
 
 HARRIET MARTINEAU. 45 
 
 had never seen any of its marvels, and dealt with it after 
 the manner the wise man shuns — of answering a matter 
 before hearing it. 
 
 Of clairvoyance she gives some startling illustrations ; 
 she had faith that an ignorant girl could see her, describe 
 her, and tell exactly what she was doing, though the one 
 was fifty miles distant from the other ; but the miracles 
 recorded in Holy "Writ were to her so utterly incredible 
 that she rejected them with contempt not unmingled 
 with anger. 
 
 Her unhappy mental state induced a proportionate 
 lack of amiability ; those who do not believe in the 
 goodness of God can have no faith in the goodness 
 of man. A woman without a creed is like a woman 
 without a hearth — desolate. 
 
 It is grievous to note that of her contemporaries 
 she has rarely a laudatory and seldom a kindly word 
 to say.* 
 
 * Mrs. pie and Mrs. John Tajdor are among the "mere pedants." Lord 
 Brougham was "vain and selfish, low in morals, and unrestrained in temper." 
 Lord Campbell was " flattering to an insulting degree." Aixhbishop Whately 
 "odd and overbearing, sometimes rude and tiresome, and singularly overrated." 
 Macaulay " talked nonsense about the Copyright Bill, and set at nought every 
 
 principle of justice in regard to authors' earnings He wanted heart, 
 
 .... and never has achieved anj' complete success." She considered that 
 " his review articles, and especially the one on Bacon, ought to have abolished 
 all confidence in his honesty." As to women. Lady Morgan, Lady Davy, Mrs. 
 Jameson, Mrs. Austin, "may make women blush and men bo insolent" with 
 their " gross and palpable vanities." Coleridge, she asserted, "would only be 
 remembered as a warning : his philosophy and moralising she considered to be 
 much like the action of Babbage's machine. Basil Montagu was cowardly. 
 Lord Monteagle "was agreeable enough to those who were not particular about 
 sincerity." Urquhart had "insane egotism and ferocious discontent." 
 Writing of the Hewitts, she said they made "an unintelligible claim to my 
 
 friendship Their tempers are turbulent and um-casonable." Frcderika 
 
 Bremer she accused of habits of flattery and a want of common sense, besides 
 wanting to reform the world by a " floating religiosity." Speaking of Maria 
 Edgeworth in 1832, she makes the assertion of " her vigour of mind and.
 
 46 HARRIET MARTINEAU. 
 
 She was residing at the Knoll, Ambleside, when I was 
 in that beautiful locality, but I was informed that she 
 avoided receiving visitors, and I did not call upon her — 
 a circumstance I afterwards regretted, for she expressed 
 to a mutual friend her vexation that I should have thus 
 passed by her dwelling. 
 
 I had met her from time to time in general society, 
 and I was for a few weeks staying at Tynemouth whilst 
 she was living there, and saw much of her then ; but it 
 was when she was absorbed in mesmerism — a principle 
 to which I was, at that time, strongly opposed. I should 
 have been on that head more in accord with her if at 
 Ambleside I had been one of her visitors. But I imagine 
 we were not in harmony and that we could have found 
 few themes on which we were as one ; we were antago- 
 nists in almost everything. 
 
 Her form and features were repellent; she was the Lady 
 Oracle in all things, and from her throne, the sofa, pro- 
 nounced verdicts from which there was no appeal. Hers 
 was a hard nature : it had neither geniality, indulgence, 
 nor mercy. Always a physical sufferer, so deaf that a 
 trumpet was constantly at her ear ; plain of person — a 
 drawback of which she could not have been unconscious ; 
 and awkward of form : she was entirely without the gifts 
 that attract man to woman ; even her friendships seem 
 to have been cut out of stone ; she may have excited 
 admiration indeed, but from the affections that render 
 woman only a little lower than the angels she was 
 entirely estranged. 
 
 accuracy of judgment having given way under years and her secluded life." 
 Maria Edgcworth lived naany years after that time, and spent most of her residue 
 of life in educating younger members of her family.
 
 ELIZABETH FRY. 47 
 
 Elizabeth Fry. — I find this entry in the " Diary of 
 William Wilberforce: " — "With Mrs. Fry in Xewgatc. 
 The order she has produced is wonderful. A very inter- 
 esting visit. Mrs. Fry prayed in recitative." That was in 
 February, 1818 ; and Mrs. S. C. Hall, then a young girl 
 in her teens, was of the party, under the guardianship of 
 her friend, Dr. Walsh, some time chaplain to the Embas- 
 sies at Constantinople and Brazil. I compile these details 
 chiefly from her note-book. " It was," she writes, 
 "one of the many blessings of my youth that I was 
 noticed by some of the holiest and best women and men 
 who glorified the earlier part of the present century. 
 My dear mother's accomplished mind and gracious man- 
 ners never failed to attract and enliven in society, and 
 the full and vigorous mind of my stepfather — the only 
 father I ever knew — strengthened that attraction. 
 
 " I saw that my good friend the doctor was amused at 
 my nervous grasp of his hand when the ponderous key 
 tiu'ned in the huge lock, and I found myself imprisoned 
 in Kewgate among girls as young as I was, and probably 
 as pure in thought — before their fall. Yet so oppressed 
 with gloom was I that I would gladly have gone back, 
 and, indeed made a weak effort to do so, which my 
 friend gently checked, just as a door opened, and there 
 advanced the plainly dressed Quaker, whose holy renown 
 had taken possession of my mind for many days previous 
 to my introduction to her. She smiled, patted me on my 
 blushing check, and said, ' Thou art welcome to Kew- 
 gate, which thou wilt soon leave ; not so those who are 
 standing by my side,' pointing to two women who had 
 entered with her, one of whom was sobbing ; the other
 
 48 ELIZABETH FRY. 
 
 had a look of dangerous vengeance that made me shud- 
 der. I afterwards found it was part of her plan so to 
 couple the penitent and the impenitent."* 
 
 During one of my visits to Mr. Wilberforce I had the 
 rare and enviable privilege to be introduced to his dear 
 and honoured friend, Elizabeth Fry. Very recently I 
 stood in the room in which she died, and offered homage 
 to a sacred memory. She died at Eamsgate in 1845. 
 I passed an hour, pondering and thinking, in the room 
 in which she left earth for the Heaven in which she had 
 to encounter no more tears and suffering, no load of 
 oppressive guilt ; and where, I am very sure, she met 
 many of the repentant sinners over whom there had 
 been joy — led by her to the footstool of Mercy, taking 
 precedence of the ninety and nine.f She was, as her 
 daughter terms her, '^ a minister of the Society of Friends, 
 and was a member of a family made illustrious by good 
 deeds — the Gurneys." Born in 1780, from early girlhood 
 she dedicated her talent and energy to the service of God 
 as manifested by service to humanity. From her birth she 
 had sound training for "thereafter." Her special labour 
 was not commenced until after she had become the 
 
 * She wore then and always the plainest Qualrer garb : Dr. Walsh told mc 
 this anecdote of her daughter. She was complaining to him that her mother 
 would in no way conform to the habits of society. This was his comment — 
 " Young lady, do you expect to be a better woman than your mother ? " 
 
 The sentiment was in my mind, although the words were written long after- 
 wards by my friend Mrs. Sigourncy on the death of Elizabeth Fry, in 1841 — 
 
 " Oh beautiful, though not in youth. 
 Bright looks of sunny ray ; 
 Or changeful charms that years may blot, 
 And sickness melt away." 
 
 t Well chosen as a theme for art by the accomplished artist, Mrs. E. M. Ward 
 was the picture of Elizabeth Fry, administering comfort to the fallen of her 
 sex in Newgate. It has been engraved.
 
 ELIZABETH FRY. 49 
 
 mother of many children, but when once undertaken, 
 and she had entered on the task of making a " prison a 
 religious place," it was arrested only by death. 
 
 " Fighting her way — the way that angols fight 
 With powers of darkness — to let in the light." 
 
 In 1817 she had ''formed a school in JSTewgate for the 
 children of the poor prisoners," and was perpetually 
 among them, praying — but also working. Such passages 
 as these frequently occur in her diaries: "Half-naked 
 women struggling with boisterous violence." She " felt 
 as if in a den of wild beasts." 
 
 In her evidence before the Ilouse of Commons she 
 describes the dreadful sights presented, daily and hourly, 
 on the female side of the prison — the begging, swearing, 
 gaming, fighting, dressing up in men's clothes ; scenes 
 too bad to be described — women sunk in every species of 
 depravity. And this was barely sixty years ago ! Eut 
 at that time the idea of introducing industry and order 
 into Newgate was treated by the officers of the prison as 
 visionary. Then a band of twelve good women became 
 an Association for the improvement of the condition 
 of female prisoners in Kewgate ; though Avhen the 
 sheriff addi-essed them with, " Well, ladies, you see your 
 materials," the task seemed as utterly hopeless as would 
 have been an effort to instil gentleness, forbearance, and 
 lovingkindness into alligators of the Nile. Yet these 
 depraved and reckless creatures, stubborn against every 
 gentle influence, and secldng to forget the shame and 
 misery of their condition in frantic and shameless mirth, 
 were only the natural products of the inhuman and 
 scandalous law-code of that age. Our criminal code 
 
 VOL. II. E
 
 50 ELIZABETH FRY. 
 
 seventy years ago was drawn up in the very spirit of 
 Draco — on every page was written Death. 
 
 Though to reform prisons was the main object of her 
 life, to which she devoted her energies, it was by no 
 means the only good work of Elizabeth Fry. A more 
 truly Christian woman never lived; and surely the 
 good she did lives after her. ''There was about her," 
 says a writer at the time of her death, " the quietude of 
 a soul conversant with high duties, and not to be satis- 
 fied with so poor an aliment as the applause of man." 
 Wisely, she strove at once to induce repentance for the 
 past, and to point the way to a future " newness of life." 
 Kindly of nature, quiet of speech, strong in sympathy, 
 generous in forbearance, wise in counsel, full of charity, 
 she seemed to love — and I am sure did love — the err- 
 ing sisters she taught. A concej)tion of the joy that is felt 
 in Heaven over the sinner that repenteth, she impressed 
 on the hardened as well as the still conscience -pricked 
 offenders to whom she bore the message of pardon and 
 hope ; she proved to them, not only that " Godliness is 
 great gain," but that none fell so low that the hand of 
 Mercy could not raise them up ; and if she did not sud- 
 denly make saints of sinners, she laid the foundation of 
 a happy and holy change throughout after life, not only 
 converting the pandemonium of a prison into a compa- 
 ratively tranquil nursery of better thoughts and heart- 
 felt penitence, but changing into good wives and good 
 mothers, in another land, many whose conduct had aug- 
 mented the horrors of a gaol — a gaol such as Newgate 
 was when she began her work.
 
 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 51 
 
 Landor. — "Walter Savage Landor was born in 1775, and 
 died in 1864, having attained the patriarchal age of eighty- 
 nine years. Eanking high among the men of genius to 
 whom the nineteenth century has given fame, his career 
 as a man of letters points a moral indeed, but it is by 
 showing that vicious proj)ensities are sure to produce 
 wretchedness, for his misery was entirely of his own cre- 
 ating ; his life was a perpetual wrangle, notwithstanding 
 the advantages he inherited, and might have enjoyed, from 
 the cradle to the grave — his many rich gifts of fortune 
 and of nature. Handsome in his youth, of goodly pre- 
 sence when I knew him in 1836,* of great physical as 
 well as intellectual strength, inheriting large property ; 
 well, if not nobly, born, with natural faculties of a high 
 order duly trained by an excellent education — these 
 advantages were all rendered not only futile, but 
 positive sources of evil, by a vicious disposition, ruled 
 by a temper that he himself describes as ''the worst 
 beyond comparison that ever man was cursed with," 
 but which he made no effort to guide, restrain, or 
 control. 
 
 My acquaintance with him, independent of meetings 
 in general society^ and chiefly at the receptions of Lady 
 Blessington, was at Clifton, where he was, in 1836, 
 living. I had daily walks with him over the Dotvtis. 
 He found me a willing, though certainly not a sympa- 
 thetic listener. I regret now that my lack of accord- 
 ance with his political and social opinions prevented my 
 
 * a brief while ago (in 1882) I visited the house— No. 5, Rivers Street, Bath 
 —in which many of his long term of years were passed ; it was his own, and he 
 had avowed his intention to set fire to and hum it down : a threat which his 
 neighbours verily believed he would carry out. 
 
 e2
 
 52 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOE. 
 
 taking notes of the matters on which he discoursed. 
 Mrs. Hall was not so patient with him. One day he 
 called upon us, and spoke so abominably of things and 
 persons she venerated that she plainly intimated a 
 desire that he would not visit us again. He was at that 
 time sixty years of age, although he did not look so old ; 
 his form and features were essentially masculine ; he 
 was not tall, but stalwart ; of a robust constitution, and 
 was proud even to arrogance of his physical and intellec- 
 tual strength. He was a man to whom passers-by 
 would have looked back and asked, ' ' Who is that ? ' ' His 
 forehead was high, but retreated, showing remarkable 
 absence of the organs of benevolence and veneration. 
 It was a large head, fullest at the back, where the 
 animal propensities predominate ; it was a powerful, but 
 not a good, head, the expression the opposite of genial. 
 In short, physiognomists and phrenologists would have 
 selected it — each to illustrate his theory. 
 
 I do not mean to trace his career, or make note of the 
 infamous principles that upheld -the French Eevolution 
 as worthy of imitation, his reported and credited offer of 
 a reward for the assassination of a ruling sovereign, or 
 his open and ostentatiously declared hatred of "all who 
 are in authority over us." He defended himself, indeed, 
 against the charge of aiding and abetting Orsini, but 
 it is certain that two of the later days of that wretched 
 man's life in England were passed under the roof of 
 Landor in the city of Bath. I find in the leading Eath 
 paper of that period more than an insinuation that the 
 counsel of Landor must have influenced the regicide, 
 not to the very act it may be, but yet have had its share
 
 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 53 
 
 in inflaming the murderous zeal that led the assassin to 
 the cowardly attempt on the life of the Third Xapoleon. 
 ^'Fierce and uncompromising" at Eugby, at Oxford 
 (where he was rusticated), and throughout all his life, 
 up to the shameful outrage of decency at Bath, not long 
 before his death, he illustrated that passage of the poet : 
 
 " And if some sad example 
 To ■warn and scare be wanting, think of me ! " 
 
 He was more than a Eepublican. While yet a boy, it is 
 recorded of him that he " wished the French would 
 invade England and assist us in hanging George III. 
 between two such thieves as the Archbishops of Canter- 
 bury and York." He was a Jacobin, upholding the 
 more odious and execrable doctrines of the French Eevo- 
 lution, and standing by such of the English democrats 
 as also advocated, encouraged, and upheld them. 
 
 It is a dismal record, his purchase and occupancy of 
 Llantony Abbey. Lawsuits and libel form its staple ; 
 insult everywhere encountered insult; persecution and 
 prosecution were met by their like. One of the most 
 beautiful bits of South Wales became an Inferno, and 
 both his enemies and himself rejoiced when he quitted it 
 for ever. His muse was his lawyer ; he chastised his 
 adversaries in Latin and in English verse. The disputes 
 at Llantony were, as Forster calls them, " a comedy with 
 a very tragical fifth act." 
 
 In Italy it was much the same — " a discontented and 
 repining spirit," burthensome to itself and wearisome to 
 all. At Como, at Florence, at Pisa, at Fiesole, with very 
 few exceptions, he made misery for all who came within 
 roach of his influence.
 
 64 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 
 
 There is oue relief to this monotonous story of a 
 degraded and dishonoured life — his friendship for 
 Eobert Southey and Southey's regard for him, that dated 
 back to the time when Southey, as well as he, was a 
 worshipper of the Goddess of Eeason, whose foul lessons 
 were taught and loathsome doctrines cultivated in 
 France — trammels from which the one providentially 
 escaped to be a teacher of public and private virtue, but 
 that manacled the other down to the close of his life. 
 Nay, there is another — his intense fondness for his little 
 dog, Pomero. His greatest grief on leaving Bath was, 
 that he could not take with him this dearly loved com- 
 panion, friend. He was as well known as his master 
 in that city ; and, as it is barely forty years ago, there 
 may be some who remember both. They were insepar- 
 able ; the one had only " a better coat than the other." 
 " Everybody knows him," wrote Landor, " and he makes 
 me quite a celebrity." The man-friend survived the 
 dog-friend, or there would certainly have been one 
 earnest, true, and faithful mourner at the grave in fair 
 Florence. 
 
 In a very different sense from that of the poet I write 
 of Landor : — 
 
 "Nothing in life became him like the leaving it." 
 
 In 1856 he had to meet a charge of libel; the case 
 was tried at Bristol, in August, 1856. Plaintiff was a 
 clergyman of the Church of England. The alleged 
 "false and malicious libel" was contained in a book 
 called "Dry Sticks Faggoted by Walter Savage Lan- 
 dor," and grossly insulted the wife of the plaintiff', the 
 Honourable Mrs. Yescombe : her first husband was the
 
 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 55 
 
 son of a peer. The crime had been largely augmented 
 by several anonymous letters written to the lady by 
 Landor. These were read in court, but they were so 
 disgusting that the newspapers did not publish them. 
 
 The Bath Herald of the time describes the libel as a 
 "purely diabolical invention," not only "mean, malig- 
 nant, and venomous," but " utterly without foundation." 
 An article in the Times of that day, in reporting the 
 case — the charge against " a nasty old man tottering on 
 the brink of the grave," has this terrible conclusion : — 
 
 " How ineffable tke disgrace to a man of M"r. Landor's ability and 
 reputation at the close of a long life to be mixed up with so dis- 
 graceful a transaction. A slanderer — and the slanderer of a lady — a 
 writer of anonjTiious letters, and these letters reeking with the 
 foulest odours of the dirtiest slums — a violator of his pledged word 
 — who is it to whom these words must now be applied ? 
 
 *' Who would not weep if Atticus were he ? " 
 
 The verdict awarded to the plaintiff damages of one 
 thousand pounds. It was anticipated, and steps were 
 taken to deprive the plaintiff of the benefit. It is shiime- 
 fully discreditable to the parties concerned, that a plan 
 was concocted to place the property of Landor beyond 
 seizui-e for the damages— break up his house in Bath, sell 
 his pictures, and remove him to Italy. All that was done ; 
 but the resolute energy of the plaintiff defeated the pro- 
 ject. He followed the defendant to Florence, encomi- 
 tered the lion in his lair, served him with a sufficient 
 citation from the Iligh Court of Justice, the tliousand 
 pounds were per force paid, and Landor became by his 
 own act a beggar. Not long afterwards Browning writes, 
 " Is it possible that, from the relatives of Mr. Landor in
 
 56 FELICIA HEMANS. 
 
 England, the means of existence could be afforded for him 
 in a lodging at Florence ?" The means were found, but 
 be it recorded to the honour of Eobert Browning that it 
 was by him funds were furnished at a time when they 
 were absolutely needed. When he was wrestling with 
 death in " fair Florence," in 1859, Browning writes of 
 him, ''He forgets, misconceives, and makes no endeavour 
 to be just or, indeed, rational. He is wholly unfit to 
 be anything but the recipient of money's worth rather 
 than of money itself." 
 
 This dismal close of a long life was made more dismal 
 by the affliction of poverty, augmented as it must have 
 been by self-reproach. He had earned, if he had not 
 deliberately worked for, the misery he was destined to 
 endure. In September, 1864, he was laid in the Eng- 
 lish burying- ground at Florence, and the perturbed spirit 
 was, so far as earth is concerned, at rest. 
 
 Swinburne wrote a poem that may be accepted as an 
 epitaph : — 
 
 " The youngest to tlie oldest singer." 
 
 Another of the poets, Browning, as I have shown, gave 
 the hoary sinner more effectual aid. 
 
 Felicia Hemans. — In 1879 I visited, by no means 
 for the first time, the church in Dublin where Felicia 
 Hemans was buried, and the house, close at hand, in 
 which she died, on the 16th of May, 1835. The church, 
 St. Anne's, is in Dawson Street ; those who desire to 
 make a pilgrimage to the shi'ine, will have no difiiculty
 
 FELICIA HEMANS. 57 
 
 in finding it : they will read the lines by which it is 
 distinguished from surrounding monuments."' 
 
 " Calm on the bosom of thy God, 
 
 Fair spii-it ! rest thee now ! 
 Even Avhile with us thy footsteps trod, 
 
 His seal was on thy brow, 
 Dust to its narrow house beneath. 
 
 Soul to its place on high ! 
 They that have seen thy look in death. 
 
 No more may fear to die." 
 
 Again, I called to mind the picture drawn by her 
 sister of the death-bed that closed a brief but very 
 beautiful life. " The dark and silent chamber seemed 
 illuminated by light from above, and cheered with songs 
 of angels ; and she would say that, in her intervals of 
 freedom from pain, no poetry could express, nor imagina- 
 tion conceive, the visions of blessedness that flitted across 
 her fancy, and made her waking hours more delightful 
 than even those that were given to temporary repose." 
 A short time before her death, she repeated the lines — 
 
 *' Thou thy worldly task hast done : 
 Homo art gone audta'en thy wages." 
 
 murmuring, " The words will soon be said of me !" Let 
 it be so. Yet her work seemed but half done ; she was 
 barely forty-one years old. Who will doubt that it is 
 continued in another — a holier and a happier sjjhcre ! 
 Ilers had not been a happy life here. In her eighteenth 
 year, she married Captain Hemans, an Irish gentleman 
 of good family. A few years after they were wedded 
 
 * The vault that contains the body of Felicia Hemans holds also that of a 
 faithful servant, Anna Creer, who died two years after her beloved mistress, 
 whoso faithful and devoted attendant she had been for many years, " cheerful 
 and unwearied by night and by day."
 
 58 FELICIA HEMANS. 
 
 he became a permanent resident in Italy, his wife con- 
 tinuing to reside in Wales, rearing and educating five 
 sons who were born to them, working for her own and 
 their honourable independence. The eldest son was 
 George Willoughby Hemans, afterwards the distinguished 
 civil engineer. 
 
 The reasons of their separation remain inexplicable, 
 and surely had now better not be inquired into. But it 
 does not seem that any shadow of blame was attributable 
 to the admirable woman who taught so much, and taught 
 so well, in imperishable verse : no cloud rests upon her 
 memory. That parting is a mystery and must remain 
 so. Yet there have been few women more calculated 
 to win and retain the love of man ; being — as she was — 
 handsome, gracefully formed, her personal charms con- 
 siderable ; while her mind at once of the highest and 
 finest order, could not have failed to render her a de- 
 lightful companion and a sympathetic helpmeet. 
 
 Hers was that beauty that depends mainly on ex- 
 pression. Like her writings, it was thoroughly womanly. 
 Her auburn hair parted over her brow, fell on either side 
 in luxuriant curls. Her eyes are described as ' ' dove-like, ' ' 
 with a chastened character that appertained to sadness. 
 "A calm repose," so writes one of her friends, "not 
 unmingled with melancholy, was the characteristic ex- 
 pression of her face." 
 
 I must leave imagination to picture her widowhood 
 all these seventeen years. " What is fame ? " she asks 
 in a fragment found in her desk after her death. 
 "What is fame to a heart yearning for aff'ection and 
 finding it not ? Is it not as a triumphal crown to the
 
 FELICIA HEMANS. 59 
 
 brow of one parched with fever, and asking for one fresh 
 
 healthful draught, the cup of cold water ? " At the 
 
 distance of half a century, one may still hear in fanc}^ 
 
 her weary cry — 
 
 " Tell me no more — no more 
 Of my soul's lofty gifts ! Are they not vain 
 To quench its panting thirst for happiness? " 
 
 I never saw Mrs. Hemans at Bronwylfa, or at Ehyllon, 
 her homes among the Welsh mountains, or at Dove 
 ^est by Lake Windermere, the beloved scenes of her 
 much sorrow, some happiness, and continual toil. It 
 was at Wavertree, a suburb of Liverpool, that I had 
 the joy, which in memory is a joy to me now, of an 
 interview with the estimable lady. But we had been 
 frequent correspondents ; some of the most perfect of her 
 poems had been published in works I edited, and a prose 
 paper on the Tasso of Goethe she gave to me for publica- 
 tion in the New Monthly Ma^azhie, in January, 1834. 
 It is the only prose paper she ever published. 
 
 I have a letter from Mrs. Hemans containing a poem 
 — both in her handwriting. The letter contains these 
 words, ^'' not piihlished and never to he jmhlishedy The 
 poem was written beside the death-bed of her mother ; 
 the lines are so touching and beautiful that I print them 
 although they have been published in the graceful 
 edition of her works in seven volumes, issued by Messrs. 
 Blackwood, of Edinburgh. 
 
 HYMN WEITTEN BY A BED OF SICIvNESS. 
 
 " Father ! that in the oUve-shade, 
 When the dark hours came on, 
 Didst with a breath of heavenly aid, 
 Strengthen Thy Son :
 
 60 FELICIA HEMANS. 
 
 Oh ! by the anguish of that night, 
 
 Send us down blest relief, 
 Or to the chastened let Thy might 
 Hallow this grief ! 
 
 And Thou that when the starry sky, 
 
 Saw the dread strife begun, 
 Didst teach adoring Faith to cry, 
 
 ' Thy will be done : ' 
 
 By Thy meek spirit. Thou, of all 
 
 That we have mourned, the Chief, 
 Redeemer ! if the stroke must fall. 
 Hallow this grief ! " 
 
 I find among some letters, given to me by Geraldine 
 Jewsbury, the following concerning the sad loss : — 
 
 " Affliction has fallen heavily on me — my mother's death. I 
 was aware that she had long been in a very critical state, but trust- 
 ing to her naturally excellent constitution, or rather perhaps not 
 conceiving the possibility of being separated from her, I had clung 
 to the hope each little gleam of amendment brought, and persuaded 
 myself that these were far brighter and more frequent than was 
 really the case. 
 
 " Such life in this life can never be replaced. But we have cause 
 to bless God for the recollections she has left us — for the cheerful 
 submission to His will displayed throughout her long sufferings, 
 and the deep tranquillity of her last hours. After a night of pain 
 and sickness, during which my sister and I had watched beside her, 
 she fell into a slumber which we were so far from imagining to be 
 the last, that we congratulated ourselves on its happy stillness, and 
 yet with an unutterable yearning to hear her voice again, looked 
 for the time of her wakening. 
 
 " That time never came — she passed away from us in the very sleep 
 which we had fondly trusted might revive her exhausted strength. 
 Oh ! the feeling that all is indeed over ! that you have no more need 
 to mix the cup of medicine, to tread softly, to hush the busy sounds 
 of the household ! But I will not dwell on these things — I will 
 endeavour to look beyond. She was of the pure in heart, who are 
 sure to see God ; and this is a holy consolation. My dear mother's 
 age was only fifty-nine, therefore we might have hoped for many
 
 FELICIA HEilAXS. 61 
 
 more years of earthly union — I had liarcQy ever been separated 
 from, her, and all my children, except the eldest, ^vere born under 
 her roof. These things twine links round the heart, which to feel 
 broken is for a time to ' die daily,' but I thank Grod that I have 
 been enabled to return, though mournfully, to the duties which so 
 imperiously call me back, and that my sister also has been mer- 
 cifull}" sustained in the performance of hers. 
 
 " That exertion is of service to me — and she whom I have lost 
 has left me an example of unwearied usefulness, which it shall be 
 my ceaseless aim to follow. 
 
 "Felicia Heilvns." 
 
 Some deeply touching and eloquently beautiful lines, 
 " Stanzas on the death of Mrs. Hemans," were written 
 by Miss Landon, and published in the Neiv Monthly^ 
 in 1835. (The original copy I had framed, and some 
 thirty years afterwards I had the pleasure of presenting 
 it to George Willoughby Hemans.) I copy two of the 
 stanzas. 
 
 " And yet thy song is sorrowful. 
 
 Its beauty is not bloom, 
 The hopes of which it breathes are hopes 
 
 That look beyond the tomb. 
 The way is sorrowfiil as winds 
 
 That wander o'er the plain ; 
 And ask for summer's vanished flowers, 
 
 And ask for them in vain. 
 
 Ah ! dearly purchased is the gift, 
 
 The gift of song like tliino ; 
 A fated doom is hers who stands 
 
 The priestess of the shrine. 
 The crowd — they only see the crown, 
 
 They only hear the hjonn ; 
 They mark not that the cheek is pale, 
 
 And that the eye is dim." 
 
 Miss Landon also .laid a yet worthier chaplet on the 
 shrine of her gifted sister. Her prose tribute to the
 
 62 THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 character of Mrs. Hemans' writings is exquisitely 
 beautiful; but it is very mournful, as if she foreshadowed 
 her own early doom, and saw the far away grave that 
 was to receive her before, as it seemed to us, half her 
 earth-work was done. She quotes the lines of Mrs. 
 Hemans that I have already referred to, lines as applic- 
 able to the poetess of the " Golden Violet " as to her who 
 sang of "The Better Land," and ''The Graves of a 
 
 Household." 
 
 '' Tell me no more — no more 
 Of my soul's lofty gifts ! Are they not vain 
 To quench, its panting thirst for happiness ? 
 Have I not tried, and striven, and failed to bind 
 One true heart unto me, whereon my own 
 Might find a resting-place — a home for all 
 Its burden of affections ? " 
 
 Seldom has a sweeter, tenderer, or more heartfelt 
 tribute been ofiPered by one poet to another ! She wrote 
 to Mrs. Hall thus of the poetry of Mrs. Hemans — 
 
 " Nothing can be more pure, more feminine, and 
 exalted, than the spirit which pervades the whole ; it is 
 the intuitive sense of right elevated and strengthened 
 into a principle." 
 
 " Ah ! " she adds (the sentiment strongly illustrates 
 the tendency of her own mind) — ''ah! fame to a woman 
 is indeed but a royal mourning in purple for happiness ! " 
 
 Thomas Hood. — "He wrote the Song of the Shu't ! " 
 The line almost suffices to consecrate a lofty memory. 
 He wi'ote it out of his deep sympathy with suffering, 
 and knowledge of the bitterness of the bread that is 
 earned by ill-paid and ceaseless toil; for he was a sufferer
 
 THOMAS HOOD. 63 
 
 himself, almost from the cradle to the grave, and his 
 always hroken health was more completely shattered by 
 need to be a slave of the pen — to be merry on paper 
 when debts and difficulties were the spectres that 
 haunted his every houi' — to concoct jokes for the benefit 
 of his readers in the intervals of release from bodily 
 pain. Such a struggle was not likely to continue till 
 " threescore and ten : " it brought Hood to the grave at 
 the age of forty-six. 
 
 When I saw him first he was in his prime ; when I 
 saw him last he was on his death-bed ; yet his dauntless 
 propensity for jesting was even then paramount. I do 
 not know that it was so much inbred as that use had 
 become second nature. But his wife herself told me of 
 the well-known joke he made when she had been pre- 
 paring a mustard poultice to place upon his chest. He 
 pointed to his emaciated frame and said, "Dear me, 
 Fanny, that's a monstrous deal of mustard to a very 
 little meat." Yes ! flashes of merriment broke forth ; 
 frequently when he was enduring physical pain and 
 mental anguish. And we find him a sad and touching 
 picture ! dictating from his dying bed matter for the 
 printer which he had not strength to write ; while, as 
 long as the wasted fingers could grasp it, his pencil was 
 also active ; one of his latest engraved drawings for 
 his Magazine (which unhappily was "Hood's Own," and 
 brought no return) taking the shape of the " Editor's 
 apologies," a plate of leeches, a cup of gruel, a blister, 
 and three labelled vials. A few months later — for his 
 struggle with death was long and painful — he made the 
 famous remark: " I am so near death's door I can almost
 
 64 THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 fancy I hear the creaking of the hinges." Yery painful 
 must that neighbourhood have been to him; for, although 
 the sunshine of celebrity was tardily beginning to 
 brighten his path, he found little that was golden in its 
 beams. Happily his last days were lightened and 
 cheered by a pension granted to him by Sir Eobert Peel. 
 Honoured be the memory of that great statesman and 
 good man ! It is one of many acts for which he is now 
 receiving his reward ; perhaps in the company of the 
 dying poet to whose death-bed he bade Comfort go and 
 drive away Despondency — not Despair : Hood's was too 
 brave a spirit for that ; but in passing away from wife 
 and children, and leaving them heirs only to the poverty 
 they had shared with him, he might well despond. No 
 more kindly and timely aid was ever tendered, even by 
 Sii* Eobert Peel. 
 
 In acknowledging that debt, he could not resist a pun. 
 " Given over by physicians and by myself .... it is 
 death," he wrote, " that stops my pen, you see, and 
 not my pension." He added : " God bless you, sir, and 
 prosper all your measures for the benefit of my beloved 
 country." And so, almost before fame had found the 
 jDoet, death came for him. 
 
 His admii-able wife, the ministering spirit who watched 
 over his death-bed, did not survive him many months. 
 His son, the younger Tom, died when in early manhood 
 (having established a reputation, inferior it is true to 
 that of his father, but yet which that father would have 
 learned of with pride) ; and his daughter, Fanny Proderip, 
 is also dead. She left thi-ee daughters (to one of whom Mrs. 
 Hall and I were god-parents). To the wife and the
 
 THOMAS HOOD. 65 
 
 daughter the pension was continued; the grand -daughters 
 do not need it, ample provision having been made for 
 their future by the will of one of the brothers of the 
 Eev. Mr. Broderip, the husband of Fanny Hood. 
 
 Obviously, I could treat this sad yet happy theme at 
 much greater length ; but the space to which I am 
 limited enjoins compression. I will content myself with 
 copying a brief poem that, according to Lysons, was 
 inscribed on the pedestal of a bust of Comus in old 
 Brandenburg House, and that seems to come in very 
 aptly in writing of Hood. 
 
 " Come, every muse, witlioiit restraint, 
 Let genius prompt and fancy paint ; 
 Let Trit, and mii-th, and friendly strife 
 Chase the dull gloom that saddens life. 
 True wit that, firm to Virtue's cause, 
 Eespects religion and the laws ; 
 True mirth that cheerfulness supplies 
 To modest ears, and decent eyes." 
 
 His was slow wit; it was neither spontaneous nor 
 ready, the offspring of thought rather than an instinc- 
 tive sparkle ; but it was always kindly, gracious, sym- 
 pathetic; never coarse, never "free," never even caustic, 
 neither tainted with distrust of the goodness of God, 
 nor to rail at the ingratitude of man. His counte- 
 nance had more of melancholy than of mirth, it was 
 calm even to solemnity. There was seldom any con- 
 scious attempt at brilliancy in his talk ; and so for from 
 sharing in that weakness with which wits are generally 
 credited, a desire to monopolize the conversation, he 
 seemed ever ready in society to give way to any who 
 would supply talk. 
 
 VOL. II. P
 
 66 THOMAS HOOD, JUNE. 
 
 No, not a mere jester was Thomas Hood. He made 
 humanity his debtor, to remain so as long as there are 
 men and women with hearts to feel and understand the 
 lessons he taught. He was the poet of the poor, above 
 all, of the poor who are women, and whose sufferings 
 seem perpetual. Alas ! — 
 
 " God ! that bread should be so dear, 
 And flesh and blood so cheap ! " 
 
 remains a cry of as fearful meaning as when ''He sang 
 the Song of the Shirt" supplied an epitaph for the 
 monument placed over his grave at Kensal Green. 
 
 He entered into his rest, the rest that does not imply 
 indolence or idleness, but release from the burdens of the 
 flesh, freedom from temptations, bodily needs, despon- 
 dencies, and dreads, and, with all this, a continuance of 
 work in a holier sphere — on the 3rd May, 1845. " "Weary 
 and heavy laden " all his life, he found " life in death; " 
 and his last words (I quote them from a letter written 
 to me by his daughter), " breathed painfully but slowly," 
 were these, " Lord ! say arise, take up thy Cross and 
 follow me ! " 
 
 We knew the younger "Tom" intimately when he 
 was child and youth ; but did not see much of him in his 
 later years when he was the Editor of Fan. 
 
 He dedicated one of his books to Mrs. Hall. It had 
 been her privilege to print his fii'st poem : thus as he 
 said, "ushering him into the world." Poor fellow, his 
 fate was not a happy one. Of late years, he avoided his 
 friends, who saw little of him for some time before his
 
 FANNY HOOD MKS. BRODERIP. 67 
 
 death. He inherited largely the gift of genius of which 
 his father had so much. Some of his poems might have 
 borne the name of either " Tom." But he lacked early- 
 guidance ; at college he was altogether without re- 
 straint, and being remarkably handsome of person, with 
 qualities that made way in "society," he was, no doubt, 
 courted by the many who liked him, and it is little 
 wonder if for a time he went astray ; contracting habits 
 that certainly shortened his life — a life full of promise. 
 
 I do not think my readers will complain if I give as a 
 sequel to my memory of Tom Hood, Mrs. Hall's memory 
 of our dear and much-loved friend, his daughter, Fanny 
 Broderip. This it is : — 
 
 In what is now "the long ago time," Mr. and Mrs. Charles 
 Dickens invited their friends to a juvenile party in honour of the 
 Lirthday of their eldest son. Who wovdd decline such an invita- 
 tion ? 'Who did not know how the inimitable story-teller made 
 happiness for old and young — his voice ringing out welcomes like 
 joy bells in sweet social tune, his conjuring, his scraps of recitations, 
 his hearty sjonpathetic receptions pleasantly mingling and follow- 
 ing each other, while his wife — in those happy days the " Kate " of 
 Ids affections — illumined like sweet sunshine her husband's efforts 
 to promote enjoyment all around. It was understood that after 
 an early supper there was to be "no end of dancing." This was no 
 over-dressed juvenile party, but a hilarious gathering of young boys 
 and girls; not overlaid, as in our present days they too often are, 
 with finery and affectation, but bounding in their young fresh life 
 to enjoy a full tide of ha2)piness. 
 
 We followed a crowd into the supper-room ; as boy and girl 
 trooped joyously on, we perceived a thin, pale little maid, who had 
 drawn herself into a corner, folded in her white muslin frock 
 tightly gathered about her ; she seemed altogether unnoted and 
 unnoticed ; indeed she evidently shi-ank from observation. But 
 we were attracted by her loneliness in the motley crowd ; so I laid 
 
 f2
 
 68 FANNY HOOD. 
 
 my hand on lier fair head and asked if she were not going in to 
 supper ? 
 
 She said, " No, there is no one to take me ! " " Where is your 
 mamma ? " "At home nursing papa ; but Mr. Dickens told them 
 we must come, it would do us good! " "But where is your com- 
 panion? You said ws." "Yes, my little brother; he is such a 
 merry boy and so fond of dancing, but he is too ill to-night. Yet 
 papa and mamma would make me come." 
 
 I took her little damp hand in mine. My love for children overcame 
 her shyness. "We speedily reached the suj^per-room and promptly 
 found her a seat. It troubled her that I would not sit down ; and 
 Mr. Hall made her laugh by the cjuantity he heaped on her plate. 
 
 " AVell, Miss Hood," exclaimed our host, " I see you have found 
 friends." 
 
 "Miss Hood ! " I echoed. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "I'm Fanny Hood, and my brother is Tom 
 Hood, after papa." 
 
 The young, pale, trembling little maid was the daughter of the 
 poet whose " Song of the Shirt " was ringing its alarum throughout 
 the world. How I longed to press that little girl to the heart she 
 had entered. Her large, soft eyes beamed into mine ; as she rose 
 from the table she sought and found my hand, and said, ' ' May I be 
 your little girl for the evening ? " 
 
 All relating to Tom Hood has been faithfully chronicled by his 
 wife, children, and friends ; what I have to say only relates to her 
 we have loved and lost — the Frances Freeling Broderip, whose 
 "mortality" was laid in earth on the third day of "chill 
 November," 1879, in St. Mary's Churchyard, in a sweet spot under 
 the shadow of the old stone cross, close to her residence, Ivy Bank, 
 in Walton Bay, Walton -by-Clevedon. 
 
 Alas ! that one so young that she might have been my daughter 
 should have left earth so long before me. 
 
 * iS.- S!- * * 
 
 She had resolved to relinquish for a time the income (her pen- 
 sion of £50 a-year) she enjoyed, so that she might labour to keep 
 her brother at College. She was going to live in a sort of farm- 
 house. Oh, yes ! of course she would miss her friends, but it would 
 be such a happiness to work for Tom 1 And away she went. In a 
 few weeks I had a chai-ming letter, filled with violets, white and 
 blue, and two or three early primroses. She praised the country ; 
 it was very lovely; and Tom had written a poem, which she 
 enclosed. Had she not told me of his talent ? Yes, the neighbour-
 
 MRS. BRODERIP. 69 
 
 hood teas lovely, but rather dull. Of course the gentry would not 
 notice a young London girl whom nobody knew ; she did not care. 
 But the place was sadly dull, nothing to relieve its monotony. By- 
 and-by came another letter. tSuch a strange thing had liappened. 
 The vicar of the parish was a very amiable man. He had called 
 on her. Observing copies of some of her father's books among 
 others, he asked her if she was fond of reading, and did sho admire 
 Hood's poems ? "At first," wrote my young friend, "I thought he 
 was ratTier a reserved gentleman, but when he spoke of ' Hood's 
 Poems ' he became quite bright and animated, quoted one of the 
 most touching of his verses from the ' Bridge of Sighs,' but made a 
 mistake, which I told him of, for I could not bear that. He seemed 
 inclined to dispute the point : I produced the passage. He said ho 
 was so glad to find a young lady so conversant with his favourite 
 poet. As I had lived in London I might have met him. "With 
 eyes full of tears I said, 'He was my father.' I can give you no 
 idea of the worthy man's astonishment and delight. He had 
 fancied that my name was Wood, but felt it his duty as a clergyman 
 to call on a stranger who attended church regidarly. Since then I 
 certainly have not felt Cossington dixll. Nothing can exceed his 
 attention and kindness ; some of his friends have called on me ; and 
 instead of a forlorn damsel, I find myself a sort of rural lioness ! 
 indeed, not having as much time as I want to devote to my especial 
 purpose." 
 
 After, very soon after, this information, came a short, a very 
 short letter. 
 
 The vicar had proposed to her ! How could she express her 
 sense of God's goodness to her, or prove her gratitude and affection 
 for affection so disinterested. 
 
 I had the details of the j)reparations for the dear girl's marriage; 
 in due time an account of their wedding tour, and of their greeting 
 on their return to the vicarage — " her beautiful home." 
 i:. 'X- * ^- * 
 
 Hers was a beautiful nature — gentle, sjTnpathizing, good. A 
 worthy child she was of him of whom it is enough to say, '* He sang 
 the Song of the Shirt." 
 
 I rejoice that one of the latest acts of my life is to lay a chaplet 
 of remembrance on her grave, and render this tribute to the 
 virtues of my friend. 
 
 Her many published books are so many "reflects" of her own 
 life ; they are gentle, gracious, generous, kind. No relatives of 
 her own were left to her on her brother's death, but the relatives
 
 70 LADY MORGAN. 
 
 of her admirable, excellent, and high-souled husband were her 
 friends. They loved her dearly ; and one of them by a liberal 
 bequest removed danger of necessitous circumstances from the home 
 in which the three daughters live. May Grod bless and protect 
 them, and continue to keep them worthy of their parents and grand- 
 parents. 
 
 I have but to add another fact to those I have narrated. It 
 was my happy task to print, in a publication I edited in 1852, the 
 first poem of her brother Tom — the yovmger "Tom." That is a 
 pleasant memory. A yet more pleasant memory it is to know 
 that the last letter my beloved friend Fanny Broderip wrote, was 
 addressed to me. It was found among her papers after her death, 
 and sent to me by my god-daughter. 
 
 Lady Morgan. — I once said to her, " Lady Morgan, 
 I bought one of your books yesterday. May I tell you 
 its date?" "Do," she answered; "but say it in a 
 whisper ! " " 1803." It was not the first of her publica- 
 tions. She was an author when the century commenced, 
 and continued to write almost up to the period of her 
 death, in 1859. She w^as born in 1783, in the sister island, 
 from which, at the time of her death, she had long been 
 " an Irish absentee," setting at nought the teachings of 
 her previous life, and slurring over the fact that she 
 deserved a share of the opprobrium she had heaped on 
 sinners she denounced for a similar " crime." 
 
 Ah ! she was a most pleasant Irish lady, proud of her 
 country — so far as words went — and retaining a brogue 
 to the last — ^the brogue that is never entirely lost. Why 
 should it be ? Lady Morgan did not seek to hide hers 
 — perhaps because she knew she could not. 
 
 " Sydney Lady Morgan " — so she usually wrote her 
 name.* I may describe her evenings, from the recollec- 
 
 * Her father was an actor ; his name was MacOwen, which he changed to 
 Owenson.
 
 LADY MORGAN. 71 
 
 tion of one at her house in Kildare Street, Dublin, so far 
 back as 1822, and many at her house in William Street, 
 Knightsbridge, where she lived long, and where she 
 died. T would not say a word that might seem to cast 
 a slur on the memory of one of whom much may be 
 said in praise, if something must be said in censure. In 
 Dublin " my lady " was the centre of a coterie ; from 
 leaders of society she received much homage indeed ; but 
 it was the lesser wits of whom she was the worshipped 
 star. Her large sympathy attracted many, and of embryo 
 poets and artists in the shell she was the willing pa- 
 troness and general helper. I myself owe something to 
 her kindly nature ; from her I received, in 1822, a letter 
 to the publisher Colburn. When, in 1830, Mrs. Hall 
 sought to recall that act to her memory, she had for- 
 gotten it, but wrote, '^ Although the applications I 
 receive from aspirants for literary fame are beyond count 
 or memory, it has rarely happened that I have received 
 such acknowledgments as your unmerited gratitude has 
 lavished on me." * 
 
 In 1837 she received from Lord Melbourne an annual 
 pension of £300. The grant made her comfortable and 
 independent ; so she removed from Ireland, and became, 
 as I have said, an " absentee." 
 
 Her Easy Chair was her throne at Knightsbridge ; 
 
 * I print one of many letters we received from Lady Morgan — 
 "We have both— Sir Charles and I— read and admired your joiat and 
 admirable work on Ireland ; it is written in the true faith ! full of useful facts 
 and characteristic details ; calculated to excite an iuterest for the country and 
 its people, and to excuse their deficiencies and their faults by vivaciously 
 ascribing them to third causes which your industry has detected through every 
 page of the history of the 'most unhappy country under heaven.' I am charmed 
 that the success of the publication has borne some proportion to its merits. 
 "January 15th, 1813."
 
 72 LADY MOEGAN. 
 
 seated there she exacted homagej and received it — the 
 queen of assembled satellites. Her youth had long 
 passed ; but she sought to hide the knowledge even from 
 herself; her exact age was a secret carefully kept : from 
 all letters, account-books, et ccetera^ dates were scrupu- 
 lously removed. 
 
 Her artificial aids were many ; she was rather proud 
 than ashamed of the "little red" that tinged her 
 cheek. She never could have been handsome at any 
 period of her life; petite of figure, her form was any- 
 thing but graceful. Yet her ready, if not brilliant, wit 
 had given her, without dispute, leadership in the best 
 society of the Continent — Italy and France especially — 
 and afterwards made her evenicgs in London exceed- 
 ingly attractive. Her rooms were crowded with memorial 
 tributes, presented to her by many great men and 
 women, and she was pardonably proud of dii-ecting 
 attention to them. Her rooms were small, and always 
 overcrowded ; yet she managed with admirable tact to 
 say a word or two to each of her guests. There was 
 always an odd mixture — Poles and Eussians, "Whig and 
 Tory, great authors and small, mature and embryo wits, 
 the Paj)ist of the south and the black Orangeman of the 
 north of Ireland ; yet, somehow, all behaved as if bound 
 over to keep the peace, and I never witnessed there a 
 quarrel that went beyond fierce and angry looks. 
 
 That she was a vain woman no one doubts. '' Why 
 should I not be vain ?" she said to our friend Dr. Walsh; 
 " have I not written forty books ? " She had lived a 
 long life of excitement ; it was the inspiration necessary 
 to her existence, and she continued to breathe that
 
 LADY MORGAN. 73 
 
 element to the last. In April, 1859, she died, and was 
 biu'ied in the cemetery at Brompton. We were present 
 at her last party, on the 17th of March (St. Patrick's 
 Day) preceding. It was clear to us that her lease of life 
 was an imiisually prolonged one, for, born in 1783, 
 she was now seventy-six years old ; yet she retained 
 mnch of her vivacity, and all of that cordiality in 
 word, look, and action that constituted her principal 
 charm in society, and seems the natural inheritance 
 of her countrywomen of all grades. On that evening 
 Mrs. Hall said to her, "Why, Lady Morgan, you 
 are really looking very well." '' ]^o such thing, 
 my dear," she answered; "it's the rouge, it's the 
 rouge ! " The last time she drew her pension, when it 
 was necessary that a magistrate should certify to her 
 being alive, she refused to see any one — a difficulty 
 hence arose. It was met and overcome by a friend 
 arranging to raise a sort of row in the street, and posting 
 the magistrate on the other side of it. She naturally went 
 to the window to see what was the matter ; he saw her, 
 and was able to sign a declaration that she was living. 
 
 If towards her close of life the amor patrke was much 
 less strong in Lady Morgan than it had been in earlier 
 life, she was, nevertheless, essentially an Irishwoman 
 from first to last — in her natural gifts of kindliness, 
 generosity, consideration, courtesy, and other qualities 
 that constitute the charms of women and attract to them 
 so often the devoted love of men — almost invariably 
 returned a thousandfold. 
 
 Yain, gay, and charming to the last, Lady Morgan 
 lived and reigned ; and the society in which such a reign
 
 74 MRS. NASSAU SENIOR. 
 
 as hers was possible, and over which she exercised a fasci- 
 nation more potent than that of beauty, like the brilliant 
 Gloriana herself, has passed away. 
 
 Mrs. Nassau Senior. — It was onr privilege to know, 
 and, with all who knew her, highly to honour, the 
 estimable lady whose name graces this page; she left 
 earth (an irreparable loss) so recently as 1877. She was 
 the sister of "Tom Hughes," and wife of the junior 
 ]!^assau Senior. I extract from a tribute to the 
 memory of Mrs. Nassau Senior, written on her death, 
 by Mrs. S. C. Hall. Her claim to public gratitude 
 is entirely her own. Few documents have been 
 issued better fitted to be teachers and guides than 
 that which bears her name — '* A Eeport to the Presi- 
 dent of the Local Government Board on the Education 
 of Girls in Pauper Schools." I make no comment 
 on the marvellous industry the report exhibits ; to 
 do anything like justice to the theme would be to 
 occupy much space. I think it would astonish the 
 hardest worker I have ever known. It is full of wise 
 and practical information, given from " the woman's 
 view," and so blended with gentleness, kindness, and 
 considerate Christian charity, that it may be accepted as 
 a model for ail compositions of the kind ; and truly, if the 
 writer be in her grave, she has bequeathed to humanity 
 a treasure above price. It is of considerable length, for 
 it treats of every topic essential to, or illustrative of, the 
 main subject ; if nothing was too high for her careful 
 thought and minute scrutiny, nothing was too low for
 
 MRS. NASSAU SENIOR. 75 
 
 either. I^o topic iu wliicli the public is interested 
 has been so thoroughly exhausted ; not a single point 
 is left unexplained or without comment, while every 
 passage, more or less, seems to have been written under 
 the influence of the Divine text, "Blessed are the 
 merciful, for they shall obtain mercy." This invaluable 
 pamphlet-book is a huge volume of instruction to all 
 persons and all peoples who would promote the welfare 
 of a very large class, scarcely less necessary to the comfort 
 and well-being of the upper and middle classes than the 
 air they breathe ; the atmosphere of life may be made 
 wholesome or unwholesome according to the regulation 
 or neglect it receives, and our homes will unavoidably 
 obtain much that augments happiness or increases its 
 reverse according to the "bringing up" of those who 
 are to minister to our lesser needs — the domestic 
 servants, who are, every hour of every day, neces- 
 sities that enhance or impair the enjoyments, even the 
 prosperity, of a household of any grade. From that 
 most admirable report I could extract a hundred pas- 
 sages to act as guides and warnings; and, I repeat, I 
 know of no work of the class so intrinsically valuable as 
 a legacy to all mankind. But that which especially 
 delights me, and will delight all who read it, is the 
 " pure womanliness " it exhibits on every page. That 
 was what I expected to find in any production of a lady 
 I am proud and happy to have numbered among my 
 friends. " A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath " than 
 the good and gentle and accomplished woman whose 
 loss, it seems to me, is a loss not only to her country, but 
 to all human kind. Her accomplishments were many
 
 76 BARBARA HOFLAND. 
 
 and of a remarkable order ; her voice as a private singer 
 was, I think, surpassed by no voice I ever heard; it 
 was exerted now and then to sustain some useful 
 charity; but it was always ready to gladden the do- 
 mestic hearth. Yet that was among the least of her 
 gifts. I have rarely known a woman at once so largely 
 estimated out of her circle and so entirely beloved within 
 it. She gave an example to all who might be influ- 
 enced by it, that the duties usually described as public 
 are by no means incompatible with such as are to be 
 discharged at home. Those who are bent on doing 
 good will always have time to do it, will never seek, 
 much less find, excuse for the postponement or neglect 
 of a task on which depends the happiness of others. I 
 consider it a high privilege to lay this chaplet on her 
 grave — the grave that hides the fair — indeed, lovely — 
 form that enshrined so much of thoughtful care, perse- 
 vering inquiry, indefatigable labour for holy purposes, 
 zeal tempered by discretion, and wise work calculated, 
 as well as designed, to elevate, and so to better 
 humanity. 
 
 Barbara Hofland. — Dear, good, sympathizing, un- 
 selfish Barbara Hofland ! Is she forgotten — is her 
 admirable book, " The Son of a Genius," now ever 
 read? and is the collection of her works, advertised 
 as the " Hofland Library " (she would not have given 
 them that ambitious title), a collection for few or 
 many readers? They are principally for the young, 
 and are all sound, healthful, and thoroughly good. Her
 
 BARBARA HOFLAXD. 77 
 
 second husband was the artist Hofland, one of the 
 founders of the Society of British Artists. Miss Mitford 
 thus characterizes her in a letter to Mrs. Hall : " She is 
 womanly to her finger-ends, and as truthful and inde- 
 pendent as a skylark." She is buried at Eichmond, a 
 place she dearly loved, and where she died, in 1844. 
 A monument has been erected to her memory by a few 
 loving friends. 
 
 She was born at Sheffield in 1770, and was married 
 to a manufacturer of that town ; he died soon after- 
 wards, leaving one son, whom I knew, and who subse- 
 quently became a clergyman. She was left badly off ; 
 but published a volume of poems by subscription. The 
 j)roceeds enabled her to open a school at Harrogate. 
 After living ten years a widow, she married the painter 
 Hofland, and settled in London. 
 
 The work by which she is best known, and that has 
 gone through, perhaps, fifty editions, is '' The Son 
 of a Genius." It was published by Harris, once a 
 famous bookseller at the corner of St. Paul's Church- 
 yard, whose premises an excellent and liberal firm of 
 publishers now occupy. She received for the book 
 £10. It was so rapidly and frequently reprinted that 
 the publisher made by it as many hundreds. I remem- 
 ber Mrs. Hofland telling me this — on the very day it 
 occurred. She called upon Harris concerning a new 
 edition, time (twenty-eight years) having exhausted his 
 claim to the copyright, which consequently reverted to 
 her. The worthy publisher refused to acknowledge any 
 such right, protesting against it on the ground that such 
 a thing had never happened to him before ! The dis-
 
 78 CATHERINE SINCLAIR. 
 
 ciission ended in his giving the author, with a growl, 
 another £10. 
 
 I found among the papers of Mrs. Hall some notes 
 concerning Barbara Hofland, from which I give an 
 extract. 
 
 I have had the good fortvine to know many of my highly gifted 
 and highl}^ honoured sisters in literature — several more brilliant 
 than Mrs. Hofland — but none more free from affectation — more 
 gentle or genial, more faithful as mother, wife, and friend, or 
 more playful with, or tender to, the young. Children all loved and 
 trusted her ; she never paraded her own works ; and some of the 
 best receipts I ever had in my young housekeeping days were from 
 her big book. In all things she was so womanly ! 
 
 Catherine Sinclair. — There is another whom we 
 were proud and hajDpy to rank among our friends ; she 
 died in 1864, at the house of her venerable and most 
 excellent brother, Archdeacon Sinclair, also a labourer 
 in literature, and unsurpassed in efforts to do God's 
 work as a parish clergyman. Him also we knew well, 
 and honoured much as our pastor and personal friend. 
 Catherine was only one of a distinguished family. Her 
 father obtained a distinction greater than even that he 
 derived from the proud Scottish name he inherited. 
 Many of his books, chiefly on agriculture, supplied 
 information and instruction to a host of after -cultivators 
 of the soil.* Among the thii'd generation of this 
 
 * Not very long ago I found among some old papers, a pamphlet on waste 
 lands — presented to Colonel Robert Hall by Sir Jotn Sinclair, Bart., in 1803. 
 The subject was one in which my father had taken deep interest; having formed 
 and promulgated a plan for converting Dartmoor into arable land, by employing 
 soldiers to do the work when so many regiments (among others his own) were 
 idle or disbanded during the treacherous calm that ensued on the brief and 
 hoUow peace of Amiens.
 
 CATHERINE SINCLAIR. 79 
 
 estimable family there are more than one who have come 
 to the front in doing God's work for man. 
 
 Catherine was very tall, and would have been hand- 
 some, as all her sisters were, but that her face was 
 grievously marked by the small-pox.* Who that knew 
 her did not mourn the loss of a true and loving friend 
 when she was removed from earth to Heaven. Her 
 admirable sister. Lady Glasgow (now also a dweller in 
 the better land), wrote that she was " devoted without 
 affectation, faithful to her Maker and her fellow-creatui*es, 
 without guile, without an atom of literary jealousy, a 
 woman whom it was a privilege and an honour to call 
 friend ! " So Mrs. Hall reported of her in an article for 
 which she received the grateful acknowledgments of Lady 
 Glasgow and the good Archdeacon. Mrs. Hall wrote of 
 her in these words (quoted by Lady Glasgow in a brief 
 memoir privately printed). f She was claimed by all 
 circles, the literary, the scientific, the artistic, the 
 fashionable, the philanthi-opic, the religious; her large 
 mind and quick sympathies finding and giving pleasure 
 wherever she went ; young and old greeted her advent 
 with delight. I have seen a fair girl decline a quadrille 
 
 * Are there many of the opponents of vaccination -who can remember what 
 I well remember, that is, a time when at least one woman out of every six 
 was disfigured, more or less, by the terrible and ineffaceable signs of the pest : 
 with its frequent resultant blindness ? The matter is far too large, abstruse, 
 and perplexing for me to enter upon here. I will merely observe in passing 
 that nowadays you will not see one young woman in a thousand so marked by 
 it as to impair beauty. 
 
 t I copy from this pamphlet an interesting anecdote. " Miss Sinclair con- 
 versing with the old Earl of Buchan, brother of Lord Chancellor Erslnne, 
 expressed astonishment at some instance of ingratitude." "Never be surprised 
 at ingratitude," said the aged peer. "Look at your Bible. The dove to which 
 Noah thrice gave shelter in the ark, no sooner found a resting-place for the sole 
 of her foot than she returned no more to her benefactor."
 
 80 CATHERINE SINCLAIR. 
 
 for the greater enjoyment of a " talk " with Miss 
 Catherine. Gifted with quietness, simplicity, gentle- 
 ness and refinement of manner, she had also a certain 
 dignity and self-possession that put vulgarity out of 
 countenance and kept presumption in awe. She was 
 gifted with a singularly sweet, soft, and low voice ('^ an 
 excellent thing in woman ") with a remarkable elegance 
 and ease of diction ; a perfect taste in conversation 
 without loquacity. 
 
 As an author, Miss Catherine Sinclair will be most 
 frequently recalled by her two principal, though by no 
 means her only, works, ''Modern Accomplishments" 
 and "Modern Society:" yet these volumes, full of 
 wisdom and goodness as they are, afford very insufiicient 
 evidence of the universality of her knowledge, and the 
 depth and delicacy of her richly accomplished mind. 
 She was a voluminous writer for the young as well as 
 the old. A true Christian woman in all the relations of 
 life as well as in her writings, she had the happy art (if 
 an emanation from her own high and pure nature can be 
 called an " art ") of exalting the happiness and 
 increasing the comfort of every house in which she 
 sojourned — the house that she called her own above all 
 others. 
 
 Great as was her merit as an author, as a philan- 
 thropist she had loftier rank in the Book of the 
 Kecording Angel. She gave to her native city, 
 Edinburgh, among other useful gifts its first drinking- 
 fountain, a boon to man, and still more a mercy to 
 animals ; and to more than one charity she was a 
 bountiful giver, out of the earnings of her fertile pen.
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 81 
 
 Perliaps among tlie mourners who followed her to her 
 grave in the vault of St. John's Episcopal Chapel, 
 Edinburgh, in 1877, there was no group whose homage 
 she would have more valued than that of the cab-drivers 
 of the city. The Queen sent this message to her 
 relatives : " Her Majesty was well acquainted not only 
 with Miss Sinclair's literary abilities, but also with her 
 constant, active, and successful exertions for the benefit 
 of her fellow-creatures." And there were few of the 
 Queen's subjects who knew this good- — even more than 
 great — woman, through either her charities or her books, 
 who did not echo the sentiment so graciously and grace- 
 fully expressed by her Majesty. 
 
 Thomas Moore was born on the 28fh of May, 1779, 
 at a house, the lower part of which was then and con- 
 tinues to be a grocer's shop — in Aungier Street, Dublin; 
 and died at Sloperton, Wilts, on 25th of February, 1852. 
 
 On the 28th of May, 1879, a centenary gathering 
 was held in the great hall of the Exhibition Palace, 
 Dublin, to render honour and homage to his memory in 
 the city of his birth. Lord O'Hagan delivered an 
 eloquent oration; Denis Florence MacCarthy* had 
 
 * Denis Florence MacCarthy has since died. It may suffice as a record of him 
 here if I copy a paragraph from my response to a cii'cular informing me of a 
 proposed tribute to the memory of an eminent poet and excellent man. 
 
 " It cannot but be a melancholy satisfaction to me to contribute to a memorial 
 that will commemorate, not only the lofty genius, but the social and moral 
 worth of one of the truest poets and best men it has been my lot personally to 
 know, esteem, regard, and honour— the late Denis Florence MacCai-thy. Such 
 men do honour to your country. It is well that they should be remembered 
 after they have left earth : their works live for generations to come, and will 
 claim the gratitude of thousands upon thousands yet unborn. I rejoice that 
 Ireland will make record of another of the many worthies of whom she is wisely, 
 rightly, and justly XJroud." 
 
 VOL. II. G
 
 82 THOMAS MOOEE. 
 
 written an ode of great merit, wMch Chancellor Tis- 
 dall, D.D., admirably recited ; and there was a large 
 assembly to hear and to applaud. 
 
 This paragraph contains nearly as much as can be 
 said on the subject. Of all the magnates of the city 
 and country, there was not one present, if I except the 
 Lord Mayor. No leader of any profession was there ; no 
 representative of " the Gastle " came; no Fellow of the 
 Uniyersity ; nor was there a single military officer of 
 rank ; no judge left the Bench to be in attendance ; no 
 eminent physician quitted his patient's sick-room to join 
 in the tribute ; and if there was among the throng a 
 single member of Parliament, he did not " show ; " 
 while if a solitary peer, with the exception of Lord 
 O'Hagan, were of the worshippers, he certainly did not 
 grace the platform. And the men and women of letters 
 — where were they ? How many did England, Scotland, 
 and Wales contribute to the gathering ? Where was 
 the native produce in Literature, Science, and the Arts ? 
 Florence MacCarthy represented the genius of Erin, and 
 I was, alas ! the only representative of England. Earely 
 was more emphatic illustration given to the sentence, 
 ^'A prophet is not without honour, save in his own 
 country." While a Scottish man is, so to speak, born 
 to an annuity, for his countrymen ever lend him a 
 helping hand, and consider that on them is reflected 
 some portion — though it be but a tiny ray — of the 
 fame he achieves, it is piteous, yet true to declare of 
 Ireland that with its natives the case is reversed : 
 their countrymen not only take no pride in, but even 
 seem to grudge them, the renown they win. Moore, in
 
 THOMAS MOOEE. 83 
 
 the latter part of his life at least, knew and bitterly felt 
 that dismal truth. 
 
 The sight was humiliating; it gave me, though an 
 Englishman, a keen pang as I looked about me in utter 
 astonishment : and that day has been a mournful memory 
 to me ever since. Patriotism is a sound that has no 
 significance in Ireland, and the poetry of Moore has 
 found greater fame in every other country of the world 
 than it has in his own. The reason is plain ; he was, so 
 to speak, of two parties, yet of neither ; the one could 
 not forgive his early aspirations for liberty, uttered in 
 imperishable verse ; the other could not pardon what 
 they called his desertion of their cause, when he saw 
 that England was willing to do, and was doing, " Justice 
 to Ireland." Moore was the eloquent advocate of his 
 country when it was oppressed, goaded, and socially- 
 enthralled, but when time and enlightened policy had 
 removed all distinctions between the Irishman and the 
 Englishman, between the Protestant and the Eoman 
 Catholic, his muse was silent, because content ; nay, he 
 protested in emphatic verse against a continued agitation 
 that retarded her progress when her claims were 
 admitted, her rights acknowledged, and her wrongs 
 redressed. 
 
 These are the impressive words of Baron O'llagan : 
 " It is the sorrow and the shame of Ireland — ^prover- 
 bially incuriosa suorum — that she has been heretofore too 
 much in this respect an exception amongst the civilised 
 kingdoms of the earth. And the sorrow and the shame 
 have not been less because she has been the parent of 
 many famous men — of thinkers and poets, and patriots, 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 and "warriors, and statesmen — whose memory should be 
 to her a precious heritage, and of many of whom she 
 might speak in the language of the Florentine of old : — 
 
 ' Tanto nomini nulla par eulogia.' " 
 
 As Moore wrote, '' There are those who identify 
 nationality with treason, and who see in every effort for 
 Ireland a system of hostility towards England." 
 "Eantipoles" is the mild term he applies to them in 
 a letter to me. To say that Ireland is benefited when 
 England is injured, he knew to be a wilful and wicked 
 perversion of truth. 
 
 This is my portrait of Moore as I recall him to mind 
 at Sloperton in 1845, when it was our honour and 
 happiness to spend a week with him at his humble 
 cottage, not far from lordly Bowood, the seat of his 
 friend, the Marquis of Lansdowne.* 
 
 The poet was then in his sixty -fifth year, and had in 
 a great measure retired from actual labour ; indeed it 
 soon became evident to us that the faculty for continuous 
 toil no longer existed. Happily it was not absolutely 
 needed, for to meet very limited wants there was a 
 sufficiency — a bare sufficiency, however, since there 
 were no means available to procure either the elegancies 
 
 * Our intercourse was the result of his having quoted, in his " History of 
 Ireland," some stanzas from a poem I had written, entitled " Jerpoint Abbey" — 
 privately and anonymously printed in 1822. These stanzas may be found in the 
 third volume of the " History " by any person who thinks it worth while to look 
 for them. It was not a little gratifying to a young author to find Moore 
 describing this poem, by one of whom he knew nothing, as " a poem of consider- 
 able merit."
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 85 
 
 or the luxuries which so frequently become necessaries, 
 and a longing for which might have been excused in one 
 who had been the friend of peers, and the associate of 
 princes. 
 
 I had daily walks with him at Sloperton during our 
 brief visit along his " terrace-walk ; " I listening, he 
 talking— now and then asking questions, but rarely 
 speaking of himself or his books. Indeed, the only 
 one of his poems to which he made any special reference 
 was the " Lines on the Death of Sheridan," of which 
 he said, " That is one of the few things I have written 
 of which I am really proud." 
 
 I recall him at this moment — his small form and 
 intellectual face rich in expression, and that expression 
 the sweetest, the most gentle, and the kindliest. He 
 had still in age the same bright and clear eye, the same 
 gracious smile, the same suave and winning manner I 
 had noticed as the attributes of what might in comparison 
 be styled his youth [I have stated I knew him as long ago 
 as 1821 *], a forehead not remarkably broad or high, but 
 singularly impressive, firm, and full with the organs of 
 music and gaiety large, and those of benevolence and 
 veneration greatly preponderating. The nose, as observed 
 in all his portraits, was somewhat upturned. Standing 
 
 * Nearly sixty -two years have passed since that evening. The poet was then 
 in the zenith of his fame. To the party at which I met him I was taken by the 
 Kev. Charles Maturin. I had made some little reputation in Duhlin hy a poem I 
 had published on the visit of George IV. to Ireland. Moore's father, mother, and 
 sister were present. When he was leaving the room, I addressed him, " Sir, 
 may I have the honour to take your hand ? " " Certainly, young gentleman," 
 he said, and shook hands with me. I dropped on one knee and kissed the hand 
 he gave me. I related the circumstance to Moore many years afterwards : he 
 recollected it perfectly, saying, he had often wondered what had become of the 
 young enthusiast.
 
 86 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 or sitting, his head was invariably upraised, owing, 
 perhaps, mainly to his shortness of stature. He had 
 so much bodily activity as to give him the attribute of 
 restlessness, and no doubt that usual accompaniment of 
 genius was eminently a characteristic of his. Ilis hair 
 was, at the time I speak of, thin and very grey, and 
 he wore his hat with the jaunty air that has been 
 often remarked as a peculiarity of the Irish. In 
 dress, although far from slovenly, he was by no means 
 precise. He had but little voice, yet he sang with a 
 depth of sweetness that charmed all hearers ; it was 
 true melody, and told upon the heart as well as the 
 ear. No doubt much of this charm was derived from 
 association, for it was only his own melodies he sang. 
 It would be difficult to describe the effect of his singing. 
 I remember Letitia Landon saying to me, it conveyed 
 an idea of what a mermaid's song might be. Thrice 
 I heard him sing " As a beam o'er the face of the 
 waters may glow," once in 1821, once at Lady 
 Blessington's, and once in my own house. Those 
 who can recall the touching words of that song, and 
 unite them with the deep yet tender pathos of the music, 
 will be at no loss to conceive the exceeding delight 
 of his auditors. 
 
 It would be foreign to my plan to enlarge these 
 pages into a memory of Moore. I have given one at 
 considerable length in my " Book of Memories," and 
 I trust have rescued his character from the obloquy to 
 which party spirit, on tivo sides ^ had subjected it. I 
 cannot repeat here what I have done in that work — 
 \ indicate by clear proof the high estimation in which I
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 87 
 
 hold the man, even more than the poet ; and it was my 
 privilege to know the former somewhat intimately. 
 
 The world that has amply lauded the poet has accorded 
 scant justice to the man. I have endeavoured to show 
 Moore in the light of virtues for which he seldom 
 receives credit — as one of the most indepcndcntj high- 
 spirited, and self-respecting of men. For evidence that 
 this brighter view is also the true one, I may refer 
 those of my readers who desire to know with what 
 proofs I sustain my assertions, to the book I have 
 referred to. 
 
 When his Diary was published — as from time to 
 time volumes of it appeared — slander seized on it to fnid 
 means of tarnishing the fame of one of the best and most 
 upright of all the men that God ennobled by the giit 
 of genius. I seek in vain through the eight thick 
 volumes of that Diary for any evidence that can lessen 
 my high estimate of the poet. I find, perhaps, too 
 many passages fitted only for the eye of love, or the 
 ear of sympathy, but I read none that show Tliomas 
 Moore other than the devoted and loving husband, the 
 thoughtful and affectionate parent, the considerate and 
 generous friend. 
 
 On the tomb of Thomas Moore let it be inscribed that 
 ever, amid privations and temptations, the allurements of 
 grandeur and the suggestions of poverty, he preserved his 
 self-respect; bequeathing no property, but leaving no 
 debts; having received no "testimonial" of acknow- 
 ledgment or reward ; seeking none, nay, avoiding any ; 
 making millions his debtors for intense delight, and 
 acknowledging himself paid by " tlio poet's meed, tlie
 
 88 THOMAS MOOEE. 
 
 tribute of a smile ; " never truckling to power ; labouring 
 ardently and honestly for his political faith, but never 
 lending " to party that which was meant for mankind ; " 
 proud, and" rightly proud, of his self- obtained position; 
 but neither scorning nor slighting the humble root from 
 which he sprang. 
 
 I repeat I never knew a better man than Moore in all 
 the relations of life ; the best of God's creatures may 
 take him as a model without going wrong ; and those 
 who adopt literature as a profession can accept hiin as 
 an example, in proof that genius may pass unseamed 
 through seductions so perilous as to seem irresistible. It 
 is gratifying to record that the temptation (at that time 
 scarcely regarded as a vice) to which he was peculiarly 
 exposed was powerless to obtain influence over him.* 
 
 Let it be frankly confessed that some of his early 
 poems were seductive incitements to folly, or even sin. 
 May we not forgive the fault when we remember that 
 they were written and published while he was still 
 in early youth, and that up to the close of his life 
 he deeply repented having written them. On this 
 head it will sufiice to quote the testimony of Eogers : 
 " So heartily has Moore repented of having wiitten 
 ' Poems by Thomas Little ' that I have seen him shed 
 tears — tears of deep contrition — when we were talking 
 of them." 
 
 * At the memorable dinner of "the Literary Fund," at -which the "good 
 Prince Albert" presided (on the 11th May, 1842), the two poets, Campbell and 
 Moore, had to make speeches. The author of the " Pleasiu'cs of Hope," heedless 
 of the duty that devolved upon him, had " confused his brain." Moore came, on 
 the evening of that day, to our house ; and I well remember the terms of deep 
 sorrow in which he spoke of the lamentable impression that one of the great 
 authors of the age and country must have left on the mind of the royal and most 
 estimable Chairman, — then new among us.
 
 THOIIAS MOORE. 89 
 
 A more devotedly attached, or more thoroughly 
 faithful husband, the world has rarely known. 
 
 And a better, purer, and happier wife no man ever had. 
 This is the tribute of Earl Eussell : " The excellence of 
 his wife's moral character, her energy and courage, her 
 persevering economy, made her a better and even a 
 richer partner to Moore than an heiress with ten 
 thousand a year would have been with less devotion to 
 her duty and less steadiness of conduct." 
 
 It was not merely as a poet that he wrote these 
 
 lines : — 
 
 " That dear Home, that saving Ark, 
 
 Where love's true light at last I've found, 
 Cheering "uithin, when all grows dark 
 And comfortless and stonny round." 
 
 Mrs. Hall wrote at some length a memoir of the 
 estimable lady, and did justice to her memory, as I am 
 striving now, and have striven elsewhere, to do to his. 
 
 On the 18th of September, 1879, Mrs. Hall and I 
 had the happiness to discharge a very happy duty to the 
 memory of the poet. He is buried in the churchyard of 
 Bromham, adjacent to Sloperton, in Wiltshire, where he 
 lived from the year 1817, and where he died in 1852.* 
 Charles Murray, the nephew of Mrs. Moore (who 
 inherited the little she had to leave), placed in the 
 chiu'ch a memorial window to the poet's widow. Mr. 
 Murray was an excellent and accomplished gentleman, 
 respected, regarded, indeed beloved, by all who knew 
 
 * The house at Sloperton is a small cottage, for which Moore paid originally 
 the sum of MO a-year, " furnished." Subsequently, however, he hecame its 
 tenant under a repairing lease of £18 annual rent. He took possession of it in 
 November, 1817. Bessy was " not only satisfied, but delighted with it, which 
 shows the humility of her taste," writes Moore to his mother.
 
 90 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 him. He had much ready dramatic talent inherited 
 from his father, one of the lights of the early Scottish 
 stage. He was a brilliant companion, sang sweetly, and 
 occasionally gave marvellous effect to comic songs. He 
 rightly considered that to the public belonged the duty 
 of placing a " companion " window to the memory of the 
 poet. But many years passed away and nothing had 
 been done. In 1879 I set to work to raise a sufficient 
 fund for the purpose, and succeeded.* On the day I have 
 named, Mrs. S. C. Hall drew aside a curtain and the 
 memorial window was exposed to public view. It is 
 an excellent Art- work by Mr. W. H. Constable, the 
 eminent glass painter of Cambridge. 
 
 A simple inscription records the fact that, " This 
 window was placed in this church by the combined 
 subscriptions of two hundred persons, who honour the 
 memory of the ' Poet of all circles, and the Idol of his 
 own,' Thomas Moore." 
 
 * The list was, on the whole, satisfactory. The highest rank is represented ; it 
 •was headed by H.R.H. Prince Leopold, Lord Lansdowne and his brother, Lord 
 Edmond Fitzmaurice (grandson of Moore's attached and generous friend). Lord 
 O'Hagan (Lord-Chancellor of Ireland), and several other peers. There are 
 representatives of literature in the Poet Laureate, the Poet Longfellow, Sir 
 Theodore Martin, Jean Ingelow, Wilkie Collins, Mrs. Henry Wood, Samuel 
 Smiles, John Francis Waller, Justin M'Carthy, M.P., A. M. Sullivan, M.P.,and 
 others. Several eminent lawyers and prominent physicians are contributors; so 
 are many clergymen of various denominations ; while the list included the names 
 of the Lord Mayor of Dublin, the Provost of Trinity College, Dublin, the 
 Attorney -General for Ireland, the Solicitor-General for Scotland, and a Alember 
 of Parliament for Dublin City. A contribution sent by the great American poet, 
 William Cullen Bryant, was, I believe, the latest public act of his life. 
 
 The sum raised, however, would not have sufficed but for the liberality of 
 George W. Childs, of Philadelphia (the proprietor of the Fiihlic Ledger), who 
 generously offered to make up any deficiency, and sent a contribution of £50. 
 Indeed, he offered to pay the whole of the coat, and so relieve me of all trouble 
 and responsibility. 
 
 The window represents the Last Judgment, thus illustrating two of the sacred 
 melodies. It is the west window ; the " west " he dearly loved : often watching
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 91 
 
 The little Mrs. Moore had to leave she bequeathed to her 
 nephewj who sent to us many memorials of the poet, as 
 did his much loved widow when he died. Among them 
 was a small model of an Irish harp, and a little plain 
 deal table, that had during many years stood in the 
 terrace- walk at Sloperton, and " on which he was 
 accustomed to pencil down his thoughts." * On Mrs„ 
 Moore's death I was sent, by her request, " Crabbe's 
 
 the setting of the sun : and, moreover, it is the point nearest to Ireland. It is 
 not mere fancy to think the poet would have preferred the west to the east 
 ■window. A brief service was held in the church by the estimable Vicar, the 
 Eev. J. B. Edgell, who was the Vicar when Moore lived at Sloperton ; by whom 
 he was buried in the churchyard ; and who continued the friend of the widow 
 until her removal from earth. 
 
 * This table I have bequeathed to George W. Childs, Esq., of Philadelphia. 
 Moore's Bible was presented to me. On the iiy-leaf is this entry — 
 
 " Anna Jane Barbara, our first child, born at twenty minutes after eleven 
 o'clock at night, on Tuesday, the fourth of February, eighteen hundred and 
 twelve, at Brompton. *'T. M." 
 
 " Anastasia Mary, our second child, born five minutes before six o'clock in the 
 morning, Tuesday, March sixteenth, eighteen hundred and thirteen, at Keg- 
 worth, Leicestershire. '"T. M." 
 
 " Olivia Byron, our third child,' was born five minutes after ten in the morn- 
 ing, August eighteentla, 1814, and died about five in the morning of Friday, 
 March seventeenth, 1815, at Mayfield, Ashbourne. " T. M." 
 
 " Our dear child, Barbara, died at Ilornsey, on Thursday, the eighteenth of 
 September, 1817. "T. M." 
 
 " Our first little boy, and fourth child, born a quarter before four, on Saturday 
 morning, October twenty-fourth, 1818, at Sloperton Cottage, Devizes. 
 
 " T. M." 
 
 " Christened, Thomas Lansdowne Parr, December twelfth." 
 
 "John Russell, our second boy, and fifth child, born ten minutes before twelve 
 in the day, on Saturday, the twenty-fourth of May, 1823, at Sloperton Cottage. 
 
 "T. M." 
 
 "Our second-born child, Anastasia Mary, was taken away from us about 
 twelve o'clock in the day, on the eighth of March, 1829. " T. M." 
 
 " Our beloved boy, Russell, was lost to us about three o'clock on Wednesday, 
 the twenty-third of November, 1842, aged nineteen." 
 " Our dear Tom died in Africa on his way home, in 1846.
 
 92 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 Inkstand" — the inkstand that had been presented to 
 Moore by the sons of Crabbe on the death of their 
 father — with it I was given the original copy of one of 
 the most charming of Moore's poems — " Lines to Crabbe's 
 Inkstand." The poem and the letter from Crabbe's sons 
 I gave several years ago to the poet Longfellow, 
 enclosing them in a small waste-paper basket that Moore 
 generally used, promising that he should have the ink- 
 stand also, when I died: but in 1881, on the death of 
 Mrs. Hall, I sent it to him enclosed in a carved oak box 
 in which she used to place the most loved of her 
 correspondence. I received a most sweetly grateful 
 letter of thanks from Longfellow not long before he 
 died. To this incident I have alluded elsewhere. 
 
 Among the relics of Moore in my possession were two 
 medals which I subsequently presented to the Eoyal Irish 
 Academy : one was from the College Historical Society^ 
 for composition in 1798; and the other was awarded to 
 him while at the Classical English School of J. D. 
 Malone, for reading history, 1785. If the date 1785 is 
 correct, Moore must have been only six years of age 
 when he received the silver medal for reading history. 
 I presented also to the Academy his diploma as an 
 honorary member. 
 
 It was my happy task to place a marble tablet over 
 the door of the house in Aungier Street. It simply 
 said: " In this house, on the 28th May, 1779, the poet 
 Thomas Moore was born." I also placed a marble tablet 
 over the door of the house in Wexford where the 
 parents of Moore lived till within a few weeks of his 
 birth. It contained this inscription : —
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 93 
 
 " In this house was born, and lived to within a few weeks of the 
 birth of her illustrious son, Anastasia Codd, the wife of John 
 Moore, and mother of the poet Thomas Moore ; and to this house on 
 the 26th of August, 1835, came the poet in the zenith of his fame, 
 to offer homage to the memory of the mother ho honoured, vene- 
 rated, and loved. These are his words : * ' One of the noblest- 
 minded, as well as the most warm-hearted, of all God's creatures, 
 was born under this lowly roof.' " 
 
 Among some of Moore's manuscripts in my possession 
 I found the following " fragments," still unprinted, but 
 not unworthy to be introduced among his works. They 
 are thus headed: — 
 
 "Fragments of a work which I began many, many years ago, 
 giving an account of all the most celebrated and pious women 
 that have appeared in different countries." 
 
 " Be thou the dove that flies alone 
 To quiet woods and haunts unknown, 
 And there beside the river's spring, 
 Reposing droops her timid wing — 
 Then if the hovering hawk be near. 
 The mirror of the fountain clear 
 Eeflects him ere he finds his prey, 
 And warns the trembling bii'd away ! 
 Oh sister dear ! be thou the dove. 
 And fly this world of impious love : 
 The j)age of God's immortal book, 
 Shall be the spring, th' eternal brook, 
 Within whose current night and day, 
 Thou'lt study heaven's reflected ray ; 
 And if the foes of virtue dare 
 With gloomy wing to seek thee there, 
 Thou'lt see how dark their shadows lie 
 'Twixt heaven and thee, and trembling fly." 
 
 " Oh ! lost for ever — where is now 
 
 The bland reserve, the chasten'd air 
 That hung upon thy angel-brow. 
 And made thee look as pure as fair ?
 
 94 MARIA EDGEWORTir. 
 
 "VVhitlier are all the blushes fled, 
 
 That gave thy cheek a veil so bright, 
 
 And on its sacred paleness shed 
 Such delicate and vestal light ? 
 
 All, all are gone — that paleness too ! 
 
 Oh ! 'twas a charm more heavenly meek. 
 More touching than the rosiest hue 
 
 That ever burned on rapture's cheek! " 
 
 ''Those eyes in shadow almost hid, 
 
 Should never learn to stray, 
 But cahn within each snowy lid. 
 
 Like virgins in their chamber stay. 
 Those sealed lips should ne'er be won 
 
 To yield a thought that warms thy breast, 
 But like May-buds that fear the sun. 
 
 In rosy chains of silence rest." 
 
 I have devoted some space to this memory of a man 
 I esteemed, respected, and revered, honoured and loved 
 in common with all who knew him. Of " authorities " 
 better entitled to confidence than I can be, I shall quote 
 in conclusion but one — Dr. Parr, who presented a ring 
 "to one who stands high in my estimation for original 
 genius, for his independent spii'it, and incorruptible 
 integrity." 
 
 Maria Edgbworth. — I write the name with respect- 
 ful homage, no less than devoted affection. It was not 
 an evening, but a week, that we spent at her house. 
 The following note she placed in Mrs. Hall's album 
 preserves the date : — 
 
 "June 18th, 1842. 
 
 " I rejoice to have this day the pleasure of seeing Mr. and Mrs. 
 Hall at my own home at Edgeworthstown — and I the more rejoice
 
 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 95 
 
 as I know they are on a tour through. Ireland, which they will 
 illustrate by their various talents — and truly represent, setting 
 down naught in malice — and if nothing extenuating, nothing 
 exaggerating. 
 
 *' Maria Edgewoeth." 
 
 In our work, " Ireland, its Scenery and Character," 
 we fully described our visit to Edgeworthstown. It 
 was not a little gratifying to receive on that head a letter 
 from the estimable lady, in which she wrote, " You are, 
 I think, the only persons who have ever visited me who 
 have not written a line I should desire not to read." A 
 chapter concerning her will be found in the "Book of 
 Memories," and also one in Mrs. Hall's "Pilgrimages 
 to English Shrines." Mrs. Wilson, Miss Edgeworth's 
 sister, also wrote to us her " grateful thanks " for the 
 delicacy with which we had avoided saying anything 
 that could " violate the privacy of the domestic life in 
 which my sister delights." 
 
 We had known Maria Edgeworth previously, in Lon- 
 don, when she was a visitor to her „iSter, Mrs. Wilson, 
 at whose house we met also the very elite of literary 
 society, who had gladly seized the opportunity to meet 
 one whose celebrity had commenced before most of them 
 were born : for in 1830, though she had still many years 
 before her, she was more than sixty years old. Her 
 personal appearance was that of a woman plain of dress, 
 sedate in manners, and remarkably small of person. She 
 told us an anecdote on that head. Travelling in a mail 
 coach, there was a little boy, also a passenger, who want- 
 ing to take something from the seat, asked her if she
 
 96 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 
 
 would be so kind as to stand up. " Why, I am standing 
 up," she answered. The lad looked at her with astonish- 
 ment, and then, realising the verity of her declaration, 
 broke out with, " Well, you are the very littlest lady 
 I ever did see ! " 
 
 I recall to memory one of the evenings at Mrs. 
 Wilson's, when among the guests were Hallam, Sydney 
 Smith, and Milman. I seem to see the stately form of 
 Hallam — '' classic Hallam " — towering beside that of 
 a man whose personal appearance was anything but 
 stately, Sydney Smith. The one a grandly -shapen 
 image of majestic man ; the other portly and obese. The 
 one saying little, the lips of the other dropping sparkling 
 diamonds of wit every now and then, attention to which 
 was demanded by the speaker's own boisterous laugh. 
 Milman again, bent almost double, not by age but some 
 spinal ailment, was a contrast to both. Especially was 
 he so to his brother clergyman, the witty Canon, for he 
 seemed to think hauteur an essential feature of the 
 clerical office, and impressed, not agreeably, on the 
 beholder, the text, "I am holier than thou," an assertion 
 that Sydney Smith was entirely void of. Bowed and 
 stooping though he then was, there had been a time 
 when the assumption of dignity inseparable from the 
 Eev. Henry Hart Milman was made imposing by an 
 upright bearing and a graceful, if not stately, form. I 
 had seen him in those days, in his rooms at Oxford, so 
 long ago as 1829, when, absorbed in his task, he was 
 preparing for the Triennial Commemoration of that year, 
 in which I heard as well as saw him take a striking part.
 
 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 97 
 
 I return to the theme of Miss Edgeworth. There was 
 a charm in all she looked and said and did. Incessant 
 and yet genial activity was a marked feature of her 
 nature. She seemed to be as nearly ubiquitous as a 
 human creature can be, and always busy ; not only as a 
 teacher of her younger brothers and sisters (she was 
 nearly fifty years older than one of them), but as the 
 director and controller of the household. We could but 
 liken her to the benevolent faiiy from whose lips were 
 perpetually dropping diamonds; there was so much of 
 kindly wisdom in every sentence she uttered. She was 
 born on the 1st of January, 1767, "a God- given New 
 Year's gift " (as, in a letter to Mrs. Hall, she calls her- 
 self) to her almost boy-father : for although she was hk 
 second-born (he was barely twenty-two years old when 
 she was placed in his arms) ultimately she was one of 
 twenty-two childi-en born to Eichard Lovell Edgeworth 
 by four wives. Among Irish writers she continues to be 
 facile priiicepsj the foremost and the best, as well as the 
 earliest. The debt of mankind to her would have been 
 large if her labours had had no other result than to 
 stimulate Scott to do for Scotland what she had done for 
 Ireland.* 
 
 Erom the day we arrived at Edgeworthstown, to 
 find a nosegay of fair flowers on our dressing-table, to 
 
 * His tribute to the admirable lady says all that need be said of her works : — 
 "Without being so presumptuous as to hope to emulate the rich humour, 
 pathetic tenderness, and admirable tact, which pervade the works "of my accom- 
 plished friend, I felt that something might be attempted for my own country of 
 the same kind with that which Miss Edgeworth so fortunately achieved for Ire- 
 land—something which might introduce her natives to those of the sister king- 
 dom in a more favourable light than they had been placed hitherto, and tend to 
 procure sympathy for their virtues and indulgence for theii foibles." 
 
 VOL. II. H
 
 98 MAEIA EDGEWORTH. 
 
 the day we left it, there was not an hour that yielded 
 nothing of delight. A wet day was especially a "god- 
 send" to us, for then Miss Edgeworth was more at 
 leisure to converse. She did all her work in her library, 
 household work and all ; seated at a small desk, made for 
 her by her father's hands, and on which he had placed 
 an inscription — that there her various works for old and 
 young were written, " never attacking the personal 
 character of any human being, or interfering with the 
 opinions of any sect or party, religious or political." 
 
 That eulogy she continued to merit during the whole 
 of her long, happy and prosperous life. She died at 
 Edgeworthstown on the 22nd of May, 1849, in the 
 eighty-third year of her age. If ever there was " even 
 tenor " in any life it was in hers. Her writings have 
 been objected to on the ground that religion was kept 
 too much apart from them ; certainly the theme is not 
 often advanced, and is never intruded. But that they 
 were rightly toned on that sacred theme, who that reads 
 them can doubt ? Her first and latest teacher, her 
 father, affirmed his conviction that ''religious obligation 
 is indispensably necessary in the education of all descrip- 
 tions of people, in every part of the world," and con- 
 sidered " religion in the large sense of the word, to be 
 the only certain bond of society ; " while his daughter, 
 whose mind he must naturally be considered to have, to 
 a great extent, formed, protested against the idea that 
 he designed to "lay down a system of education founded 
 upon morality, exclusive of religion." A similar protest 
 will those who truly appreciate Miss Edgeworth be 
 ready to enter on her behalf. I may note here that
 
 MARIA EDGE WORTH. 99 
 
 family prayer always commenced the day at Edgeworths- 
 town. 
 
 It seems to me that I might wi'ite a yoliime, and that 
 I ought to do so, without exhausting this happy subject ; 
 for a memory of Maria Edgeworth is suggestive of happi- 
 ness only. Forty years have gone into the past; yet 
 Edgeworthstown is as fresh in my remembrance as it 
 Avas in 1842 ; and the good woman who was its blessing, 
 and the blessing of all humankind who can be influenced 
 by holy example and holy teaching, is before me now as 
 vividly as if in actual presence. It is indeed a privilege 
 to render homage to the memory of this admirable 
 woman. Trite as are the famous words that have been 
 applied to so many, I venture to quote them in reference 
 to her, and to declare of her works that they are " not of 
 an age, but for all time." They came almost as a 
 miraculous revelation of what fiction might be rendered, 
 in the hands of an author as pure-minded as gifted, on 
 the readers of her day — a day removed by more than 
 two-thirds of a century from our oa\ti. The circulating 
 library was then too truly what Sheridan made " Sir 
 Anthony Absolute " describe it as being, " an evergreen 
 tree of diabolical knowledsre," and frivolity or coarseness 
 were the chief characteristics of the writers who catered 
 for it. Miss Edgeworth was the pioneer of Sir Walter 
 Scott in bringing about a great reform. 
 
 Though her afi'ection for Ireland was fervent and 
 earnest, she was of no party, even in that epoch of its 
 history when party spii-it ran so furiously high. She 
 had enlarged sympathies and views for its advancement ; 
 neither prejudice nor bigotry tainted her mind or heart. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 
 
 Her religions and political faith, was Christian^ in the 
 most extended sense of that holy word ; though a 
 literary woman, she was without vanity, affectation, or 
 jealousy : in short, a perfect woman. 
 
 '' Not too bright nor good 
 For human natm-e's daily food." 
 
 Studious of all home duties, careful for all home require- 
 ments, ever actively thoughtful of all the offices of love 
 and kindness which sanctify domestic life, the genius that 
 inspired her pen never interfered with her active practice 
 of domestic duties from early childhood up to the close 
 of her lengthened life. Her life was indeed a prac- 
 tical illustration of Milton's lines. 
 
 ''To know 
 That which about us lies in daily life, 
 Is the prime wisdom." 
 
 Alas ! the memorials of her earth-life are very scanty. 
 She once said to Mrs. Hall, "My only 'Eemains' shall 
 be in the church at Edgeworthstown," and she left a 
 letter of request that no life of her might be written, nor 
 any of her correspondence published. She lives, and 
 will live for ever, in her imperishable works.* 
 
 Frances Anne Beaufort, the fourth wife of Eichard 
 Lovell Edgeworth, was married to that admirable gentle- 
 man in May, 1798, and died at Edgeworthstown in 
 
 * From the very earliest of their intercourse, Mrs. Hall received the warmest 
 encouragement from Maria Edgeworth. 
 
 When Mrs. Hall published her "Sketches of Irish Character " she ventured (I 
 well remember) to send a copy to her renowned countrywoman : she received in 
 reply a thorough analysis of the book, a note upon each and all of the stories with 
 very warm praise of the whole. There was not only no tone of jealousy, there 
 was a strongly expressed joy that another author was rising to continue in a 
 safe, right, and holy spirit the work Max-ia Edgeworth had done for Ireland.
 
 MAEIA EDGEWOETH. 101 
 
 February, 1865, surviying her renowned step-daughter 
 by sixteen years ; having attained the patriarchal age of 
 ninety-five. From a little brochure privately printed, 
 sent to Mrs. Hall soon after her death, I extract two 
 
 passages. 
 
 " Mrs. Edgeworth became the head of a large family wliich con- 
 sisted of the two sisters of the late Mrs. Edgeworth, and the 
 children of three previous marriages, with all of whom she lived in 
 perfect harmony. She inherited a gentle cheerfulness and equa- 
 nimity of temper, which with her never-failing kind-heartedness made 
 all who came within her sj)here happy and contented. She had six 
 children of her own, but they never biassed or lessened her affection 
 for their brothers and sisters ; nor did she in the multifarious busi- 
 ness, and complicated accounts, which fell to her share in her new 
 position, neglect her accompHshments. 
 
 ' ' Her funeral was attended by a vast multitude, without a word or 
 a crush, all in silent sorrow for their friend. Her charity had been 
 ceaseless for the sixty-seven years she had resided at Edgeworths- 
 town; at the time of the famine in 1846, she employed a gi-eat 
 number of poor spinners and knitters and work-women, many of 
 whom continued in her pay to the day of her death, industrious and 
 happy under her care. In the long years in which she had lived 
 there she never spoke or thought of any one, nor did any one ever 
 speak or think of her, but with kindness and regard." 
 
 It is to me a happy memory, that which associates 
 the name of Anna Maria Hall with the name of Maria 
 Edgeworth. Well I know the one would have gloried 
 in the belief that she had done for her country a tithe of 
 what had been done for it by the other, the illustrious 
 lady she admired, honoured, and loved — that the pro- 
 phecy of the one when " making up her books " for the 
 final closing had been realised, even in a degree, by the 
 other who was still trembling on the thi-eshold of fame. 
 
 It is a memory that carries me back forty years, and
 
 102 THOMAS CARLYLE. 
 
 which is associated with one who was born more than one 
 hundred and fifteen years ago, thirty-three years before 
 the nineteenth century commenced. 
 
 Thomas Carlyle. — I call to remembrance, as the 
 happiest memory I preserve of that great man, Thomas 
 Carlyle, his appearance as I saw him often presiding at 
 meetings in defence of " Governor Eyre," the question of 
 whose deeds in Jamaica was very prominent in 1865. 
 Carlyle had no pretension to eloquence, in the ordinary 
 sense of the term ; but in ^' thoughts that breathe and 
 words that burn " he was a leader and a guide whenever 
 and wherever he spoke — ardent, vehement, bitter; his 
 tongue retaining to the last a marked Scottish accent, that 
 naturally became broader and more noticeable when the 
 speaker was under the influence of excitement, which he 
 did not control, or attempt to control. Far from doing 
 so, he gave way rapidly and unrestrainedly to the 
 impulse of the moment ; and, shaking his long locks as 
 an enraged lion might have shaken his mane as he 
 spmng upon his prey, would suffer himself to be carried 
 away in a torrent of fiery talk. 
 
 It was said of the elder Kean that his stage combats 
 were " terribly in earnest," those who encountered him 
 in mimic strife perpetually dreading that deadly wounds 
 would follow what should have been mock encounters. 
 So it was with Carlyle. He addressed his audience as 
 if in its midst had been seated his mortal foe, pouring 
 out execrations without stint, imagining an opponent 
 he was bound to crush, and so "threw his blood-stained
 
 THOMAS CAELYLE. 103 
 
 sword in thunder do\Yn " — as a challenge to fresh strife. 
 He had entered — warmly is too weak a word — into the 
 cause of Governor Eyre, that " a blind and disgraceful 
 act of public injustice might be prevented." His 
 example was followed by some of the leading men of 
 England, among them the Poet Laureate, John Euskin, 
 and Henry Kingsley. They protested against " hunting 
 down a man who had preserved to the British Crown 
 the island of Jamaica and the lives of all its white 
 inhabitants." 
 
 The event has now passed into the oblivion awaiting 
 the side issues that lie apart from those main events of 
 history whose decision convulses the world, and is for- 
 gotten by nine-tenths of ordinary readers; but it was 
 productive of intense excitement in England at the 
 time. Some reference to it will not be out of place. A 
 Grand Jury had ignored the Bill by which it was sought 
 to indict Governor Eyre for murder. A Jamaica com- 
 mittee was formed consisting of some eminent men and 
 prominent philanthropists, who combined to avenge an 
 accused and punished man, whom, it cannot be doubted, 
 they considered unjustly done to death. They sent a 
 deputation of inquirers to Jamaica, who brought over a 
 large number of witnesses.* To oppose that movement a 
 society was inaugurated, entitled " The Eyre Defence 
 and Aid Fund." The Earl of Shrewsbury and Talbot 
 was president of the Committee ; Carlyle was one of its 
 vice-presidents. 
 
 * Their programme was thus introduced. — " The Jamaica Committee have 
 resolved to undertake the dut)^ now finally declined by the Government, of 
 prosecuting Mr. Eyre and his subordinates for acts committed by them in the. 
 so-called rebellion, and especially for the illegal execution of Mr. Gordon."
 
 104 GOVEEXOR EYRE. 
 
 Governor Eyre is living in retirement or seclusion. 
 If lie was — nearly twenty years ago — exposed to perse- 
 cution unmitigated — unreasoning hatred, indeed — and 
 was sacrificed, as lie undoubtedly was, to the clamour of 
 party, he took with him, and has kept, that which is of 
 infinitely greater value than would have been the 
 applause of listening senates — the approval of his con- 
 science. But that was not his sole consolation. Some 
 of the most enlightened, upright, and benevolent men of 
 the age, the loftiest minds, and the most righteous men 
 of his country — and not of his own country alone — sus- 
 tained the verdict of honourable acquittal delivered in 
 the West Indies by impartial inquirers and witnesses 
 whose intelligence was obtained on the spot, a verdict 
 which pronounced that he saved Jamaica from the horrors 
 witnessed in St. Domingo, and prevented the massacre 
 of all the white population of Jamaica, and, for a time 
 at all events, the loss of that island to the British Crown. 
 But he obtained a monstrous reward for his great ser- 
 vices to the State — he was deprived of office and all 
 hope of restoration to office, had to sustain his defence 
 out of his own funds, and was rendered, in fact, a man 
 utterly ruined. 
 
 Many men well competent to speak deposed to the 
 antecedents of Governor Eyre in New South Wales and 
 IS'ew Zealand — as "a great traveller, a philanthropist, a 
 protector of the aborigines in Australia, and as having 
 through life maintained a high and spotless character." 
 Such is the testimony of his friend Sir Eoderick Mur- 
 chison; it was borne out by that of other authorities 
 equally reliable.
 
 GOVERNOR EYRE. 105 
 
 Jolm Eiiskin, who contributed £100 to the fund, thus 
 spoke of him — 
 
 " From all that I have heard of Mr. Eyre's career, I believe that 
 his humanity and kindness of heart, his love of justice and mercy, 
 and his eminently Christian principles, qualified him in a very high 
 degree for the discharge of his arduous and painful duties at a 
 most critical period of the history of the colony, whose government 
 he had to administer." 
 
 Carlj^le said — 
 
 " For my own part, all the light that has yet reached me on Mr. 
 Eyre and his history in the world goes steadily to establish the 
 conclusion that he is a just, humane, and valiant man, faithful to 
 his trusts everywhere, and with no ordinary faculty of executing 
 them ; that his late services in Jamaica were of great, perhaps of 
 incalculable value, as certainly they were of perilous and appalling 
 difficulty — something like the case of ' tire,' suddenly reported, ' in 
 the ship's powder room ' in mid ocean, where the moments mean 
 the ages, and life and death hang on yoiu' use or youi' misuse of 
 moments." 
 
 The Bishop of Jamaica, in speaking about him, said — 
 
 '* I firmly believe that the speedy suppression of the murderous 
 insurrections in Jamaica is attributable, under God's providence, to 
 the promptitude, courage, and judgment with which he acted under 
 circvimstances of j)eculiar difficulty and danger." 
 
 The Poet Laureate subscribed to the fund, "as a 
 protest against the spirit in which a servant of the State, 
 who had saved to us one of the islands of the empire 
 and many English lives, seemed to be hunted down." 
 
 The negroes had shown of what metal they were made 
 by atrocities that were considered, and rightly, as the 
 foreshadowings of a gigantic and indiscriminate massacre : 
 the bygone horrors of past revolts loomed out of the 
 distance of years. The extermination of the whites in 
 St. Domingo was remembered by some, and the terror it
 
 106 GOVERNOR EYRE. 
 
 had excited remained an inherited memory with many. 
 In Jamaica at that time the blacks numbered forty to 
 one as compared with the whites ; they were sheltered 
 by thick forests, inaccessible mountains, and almost 
 impassable rivers ; they had been encouraged by ferocious 
 leaders, and supplied with arms that would be sufficiently 
 effective in such hands. 
 
 Under these circumstances, a mulatto named Gordon, 
 a member of the Legislature, who, beyond all doubt, led 
 the " rebellion," was taken, tried by court-martial, and 
 hanged at Morant Bay. Ample proof was obtained that 
 he was the '' Obeah Man," to whom the mass of the 
 negroes looked up as at once their priest and leader. 
 He was clearly proved to be " chief cause and origin of 
 the whole rebellion;" to quote the words of Professor 
 Tyndall, " the tap root from which the insurrection drew 
 its main sustenance." 
 
 He made no secret of his intentions. They were that 
 the negroes should be the possessors of the island, from 
 which the whites were to be expelled. How that object 
 was to be accomplished was clearly shown. A ruthless 
 band of fiends commenced the work at Morant Bay. 
 The news of the massacre — the men butchered, the 
 children slauglitered, and the women worse than dead — 
 was communicated to Kingston, and Governor Eyre was 
 called upon to act. These few facts will suffice as a 
 record of the proceedings of the Committee of " The 
 Eyre Defence and Aid Eund," in which Carlyle took so 
 eminent a part. 
 
 It seemed to me, then, that if the negroes of Jamaica 
 had been dealt with by this fierce man of letters instead
 
 THOMAS CAELTLE. 107 
 
 of the meekly brave and considerately resolute Governor, 
 how much stronger would have been their protest 
 against the fate to which they had been subjected. 
 Assuredly Governor Eyre looked what he was — a merciful 
 man who could never either deliberately or heedlessly 
 commit a cruel act, in whom ^\Tath was bridled by con- 
 science, and to whom the duty of punishing could never 
 be other than a dismal and revolting necessity. He 
 seemed to be, what then — as now — I believe him to have 
 been, a man to whom the approval of his conscience was 
 necessary in committing himself to any course of action, 
 and who did what he and many more believed to have 
 been his simple duty — and no more. 
 
 Of the Philosopher of Chelsea I know but little apart 
 from our meetings on the Committee of the Eyre 
 Defence Fund, and, I think, I visited him but once from 
 the time when, in 1834, "a poor pair of emigrants" 
 settled in Cheyne Eow, in a house (No. 24) which they 
 never quitted until their removal to the churchyard.* 
 
 I humbly think his " Eeminiscences " as given to the 
 world by his executor, Mr. Froude, is a very unsatis- 
 factory book, and does not show the sunny side of his 
 character— that society would have lost very little if 
 it had been suppressed ; indeed, the writer himself 
 seems haunted by a suspicion that it would have 
 been " so best." It inculcates no sentiment akin to 
 religion, impresses no feeling of loyalty, and if any of 
 the virtues are advocated it is so rather in the manner of 
 
 * Carlyle is buried in the ancient burying-ground of Ecclefechan. The stone 
 bears the following inscription : — " Here rests Thomas Carlyle, who was born 
 at Ecclefechan 4th December, 1795, and died at 24, Cheyne Eow, Chelsea, 
 London, on Saturday, February 4, 1881.
 
 108 LADY BLESSINGTON. 
 
 a lawyer wlio finds a few words concerning them in liis 
 brief. His domestic relations, I have reason to know, 
 were not healthful, and his frequent allusions to his wife, 
 whom he here calls his " darling," and concerning whom 
 he writes much, but says little, I fear are to be regarded 
 rather as a confession that requires absolution than the 
 outpouring of a loving soul that perpetually mourns 
 separation, while not a solitary word occui's to intimate 
 the hope of a reunion hereafter. If "truth will be 
 cheaply bought at any price," so well; but I greatly fear 
 the book teaches more of what should be avoided than of 
 what it would be wise to imitate and copy. 
 
 Posthumous honours were lavished on him when he 
 died ; the wreaths of his admirers were thickly strewn 
 on his tomb. If he had earned, he received, homage 
 from all humankind, and perhaps no man of letters 
 ever went to the grave with a larger gathering of 
 worshippers. He had long passed fourscore years of 
 life ; the books he produced make a library, and surely 
 no man ever had so large or so grand a " following." 
 
 Lady Blessington, when I saw her first, was residing 
 at Seamore Place, Park Lane. That was in 1831. She 
 had written to Colburn tendering her services as a con- 
 tributor to the Nev) Monthly ; in consequence of which 
 I waited upon her. She received me with kindness and 
 courtesy, and conversed with me regarding the writings 
 of her countrywoman Mrs. S. C. Hall, with which I 
 found her well acquainted. But the subjects she sug- 
 gested for the magazine were not promising. Some
 
 LADY BLESSINGTON. 109 
 
 objects in her charmingly furnished drawing-room led to 
 remarks concerning Byron, of whom she related to me 
 some striking anecdotes. It was natural to say, as I 
 did say, " If you desire to wiite for the Neio Montlihj 
 why not put on paper the stories you are telling me 
 about the great poet?" Out of that simple incident 
 arose the " Conversations with Lord Byron," which infi- 
 nitely more than all her other works put together asso- 
 ciates her name with literatiu'e. Xot long afterwards 
 she removed to Kensington Gore, and I had a general 
 invitation to her " evenings." 
 
 At that period she was past her prime no doubt, but 
 she was still remarkably handsome ; not so perhaps if 
 tried by the established canons of beauty; but there 
 was a fascination about her look and manner that greatly 
 augmented her personal charms. Her face and features 
 were essentially Irish ; and that is the highest compli- 
 ment I can pay them. Although I knew her history 
 sufficiently well, I attributed to this particular daughter 
 of Erin her share of the ''wild sweet briary fence that 
 round the flowers of Erin dwells," and felt conviction 
 that for the unhappy circumstances of Lady Blessing- 
 ton's early life, the sins of others, far more than her own, 
 were responsible, and that she had been to a great 
 extent the victim of circumstances. To that opinion I 
 still hold — some thirty years after her death, and more 
 than fifty since I first saw her. 
 
 Her " evenings " were very brilliant. Her guests 
 were the leading men of mark of the age, and of all 
 countries. There was certainty of meeting some one 
 who was thenceforward never to be forgotten. The
 
 110 THE EMPEROR OF THE FRENCH. 
 
 sometime Emperor of the French was seldom absent. 
 Prince Louis Kapoleon looked and talked in those days 
 as if oppressed by a heavy dread of the future, rather 
 than sustained by an unquenchable flame of hope, and 
 gave one the idea of a man whose omens of his after 
 career Avere far more gloomy than sanguine. He seldom 
 spoke, except on trivial matters of the day ; and of a 
 surety cfew who met him there had the faith which it is 
 said her ladyship held, that he was destined to be — 
 " Great hereafter." 
 
 It was a dark day for him that time of exile, and des- 
 tined to be followed by an astonishing blaze of pros- 
 perity ; and then — by darkest night ! Many who often 
 saw him at Gore House, condemned to an apparently 
 hopeless exile, the much-ridiculed knight-errant of 
 a fallen cause, lived to behold him in " glory and in 
 state," reigning at the Tuileries the third emperor of 
 his name ; and some encountered him yet again a 
 wanderer, humbled, deserted, and expatriated, dwelling 
 in lonely solitude at Chiselhurst. It was affirmed 
 that he had been imgrateful to Lady Blessington and 
 Count D'Orsay, who "believed in him" when few 
 others did ; but ingratitude was not one of the Emperor's 
 vices. It is certain that both expected too much ; that 
 after the events of 1848 her ladyship demanded from 
 the Prince-President social recognition and admission to 
 his private parties, the inevitable consequence of grant- 
 ing which must have been that from receptions where 
 Lady Blessington was present. Lady Cowley, the wife 
 of the English Ambassador, would have been absent. 
 
 The old road of a disproportion between income and
 
 LADY BLESSINGTON. Ill 
 
 expenditure conducted Lady Blessington in 1849 to a 
 disastrous termination of her brilliant career. Gore 
 House was deserted, its treasures were brought to the 
 hammer, and, to escape her creditors, its mistress became 
 that which her ancient guest had recently ceased to be 
 — an exile, and, retiring to the Continent, died at Paris 
 June 4th, 1849. Her friend. Count D'Orsay, that once 
 '' glass of fashion and mould of form," had preceded her 
 to the Continent — like herself, encompassed by debt, 
 and he followed her to the grave in 1852. Before his 
 death he had erected a huge monument over the grave 
 of Lady Blessington in the burial-ground of Cham- 
 bourcy. His own remains were laid beside hers, and 
 under that monumental pyramid, in massive sarcophagi, 
 the two bodies moulder into dust. Among those who 
 attended the burial of the count was his sometime friend, 
 the Emperor of the French. 
 
 Gore House is now obliterated. It may be said with- 
 out exaggeration that the downfall of that splendid and 
 famous mansion broke Lady Blessington's heart. To 
 see all her household gods, that were endeared to her 
 by a thousand brilliant associations, made the prey of 
 the auctioneer — to be driven from England a hopeless 
 fugitive, was more than her sensitive nature could bear. 
 
 Whatever the faults and errors of her life, I am sure 
 that, as Mrs. Hall said in a letter written in 1854 to 
 Lady Blessington's biographer. Dr. Madden, " God 
 intended her to be good." She was inherently generous, 
 sympathetic, and benevolent : with much of the charity 
 that " covereth a multitude of sins." Her name will 
 not live by reason of her many published books. They
 
 112 COUNT d'orsay. 
 
 are forgotten, and perhaps it is as well they should be. 
 I believe none of her family live ; her niece and name- 
 sake, who wrote two or three novels, died yonng ; she 
 was a sweet and handsome girl, but it was evident that 
 the shadow of early death was over her youth. Lady 
 Canterbury, sister of Lady Blessington, also a beautiful 
 woman, left no children. 
 
 Count D'Orsay, who married Lady Harriet Gardiner, 
 the daughter of Lord Blessington by a former wife, was 
 in person what readers may imagine "the Admirable 
 Crichton" to have been — tall, remarkably well formed, 
 handsome, yet with features inclining to the effeminacy 
 that was conspicuous in his character. Stories are 
 recorded in abundance of his reckless extravagance and 
 utter want of principle ; yet perhaps as many are told 
 that indicate generous sympathy, a warm heart, and a 
 liberal hand.* It was said that his tailor never asked 
 him to pay a bill ; he was very largely recompensed 
 by the circulated report that he was the fashioner of 
 the glass of fashion. So it was with other tradesmen. 
 And at bottom D'Orsay was not a mere fop ;• he was an 
 accomplished gentleman, who led, if he did not make, 
 the fashion ; accomplished in many ways, for nature had 
 endowed him with other gifts than his remarkable ones 
 of form and feature. He was a good artist — painter and 
 
 * I know an anecdote of D'Orsay which, as admirably illustrative of the man, 
 it is right to record. A major, hampered by debts, came to London to pay 
 them by selling his commission. D'Orsay strongly urged him against such a 
 course. The answer was, " I ?«?«< either do so or lose my honour." D'Orsay 
 surprised him by asking the major to lend him ten pounds. It was lent, 
 though reluctantly. The next morning D'Orsay handed to him £750. He 
 said, " It is yours. I took your ten pounds to Crockford's, staked it, and won that 
 money. It is justly yours ; for if I had lost, you would not have had your ten 
 pounds returned^"
 
 couxT d'orsay. 113 
 
 sculptor. Mitchell published from time to time, I think, 
 as many as one hundred and fifty outline portraits by 
 him of his personal friends, free in treatment and strik- 
 ing as likenesses. He spoke several languages. It was 
 rarely that he greeted a visitor without conversing with 
 liim in his own tongue. 
 
 Of the many persons eminent in letters and in art 
 who were frequent attendants at the receptions of the 
 Countess of Blessington I cannot name one who is now 
 living. Her visitors were all, or nearly all, men. Ladies 
 were rarely seen at her receptions. Mrs. Hall never 
 accompanied me to her evenings, although she was a 
 frequent day-caller. We were not of rank high enough 
 to be indifferent to public opinion; for, putting aside 
 the knowledge that slander was busy with her fame, 
 there was no doubting the fact that she had been the 
 mistress, before she became the wife, of the Earl of 
 Blessington. And Count D'Orsay was so little guided 
 by principle that he could not expect general credit 
 for the purity of his relations with Lady Blessington ; 
 yet, I think, he might honestly have claimed it. 
 
 I believe man may feel for woman an affection as free 
 from sensuality as any affection he can feel for man — 
 that a friendship may exist between man and woman such 
 as God, who knows all things, from whom no secrets can 
 be hid, does approve, and which the world would sanc- 
 tion if it could see into the heart and mind. It is 
 not enough for a woman to be pure ; she must seem pure 
 to be so ; her conscience may be as white as snow, but if 
 she give scope to slander and weight to calumny her 
 offence is great. She taints those who are influenced 
 
 VOL. II. I
 
 114 JAMES AIsD HOEACE SMITH. 
 
 by example, and renders vice excusable in the estimate 
 of those whose dispositions incline to evil. 
 
 It would occupy large sj)ace to describe the gatherings 
 at her salons on the evenings when she " received." The 
 very highest in rank and the loftiest in genius were 
 there. Yet amid the reflected light that still shines on 
 me, in memory, from the many stars whose glitter 
 then dazzled me — some of them stars in a less-figurative 
 sense — I seem to recall most vividly the gout-worried 
 author of "Eejected Addresses," James Smith. He 
 found at these evenings an anodyne as well as a 
 cordial, and seldom failed to roll in, in a sort of 
 carriage-chair, which left him in one of the corners of 
 the room where he had always something pointed and 
 witty to say to all who approached him. His face gave 
 no token of the disease under the effects of which he 
 suffered, so as to be always enduring physical pain. His 
 wit was never ill-natured ; there was no sarcasm in any- 
 thing he said ; indeed, a desire to give pleasure seemed 
 ever uppermost in his mind. Cheerfulness was a part 
 of his nature that suffering could not drive out. His 
 younger brother, Horace, was perhaps a loftier character 
 if less genial. He had taken the wiser course, and was 
 a happy husband and father, while James lived and died 
 a bachelor. I have known few better men than Hokace 
 Smith. It would be easy to supply a long list of reci- 
 pients of his well-administered bounty — more especially 
 to needy men of letters. 
 
 The world knows that one morning the brothers woke 
 and found themselves famous — through the success of 
 their poems in imitation of renowned poets, "Eejected
 
 SAMUEL ROGERS. 115 
 
 Addresses." ''Eejected," indeed, had the "Addresses" 
 been at first, for Murray, when the work was offered to 
 him for the modest sum of £20, declined to purchase. 
 Years afterwards, when the brilliant jeu d'' esprit had 
 gone through fifteen editions, Mr. Murray bought the 
 copyright for £131 ; and, although published so long 
 ago as 1812, "Eejected Addresses" is still high in 
 favour with all readers who can appreciate the gentle, 
 genial wit that always delights and never wounds. IN'or 
 can it be said of the novels of Horace Smith that they 
 have ceased to be read, and lie, covered with dust, on the 
 shelves of circulating libraries. 
 
 Samuel Eogers. — What a contrast to the poets I 
 have named was Eogers, the banker-poet of whom the 
 past generation heard so much ! He was born at Stoke 
 T^ewington in 1763 — one hundred and twenty years 
 ago!— yet, until the year 1855, when he died, he was 
 more frequently seen in society than any other man of 
 renown. You could not fancy, when you looked upon 
 him, that you saw a good man. It was a repul&ive coun- 
 tenance ; to say it was ugly would be to pay it a com- 
 pliment,* and I verily believe it was indicative of a 
 naturally shrivelled heart and contracted soul. What 
 we might have done is surely recorded as well as what 
 we have done, and God will call us to account for the 
 
 * Rogers' cadaverous countenance was the theme of continual jokes. Lord 
 Alvanley once asked him why, now that he could atford it, he did not set up his 
 hearse ; and Sydney Smith, it is said, gave him mortal offence h}' recommending 
 him, " when he sat for his portrait, to be drawn saying his prayers, with his face 
 hidden by his hands." 
 
 i2
 
 116 FREDERIKA BREMER. 
 
 good we have omitted to do, as well as the evil we have 
 committed. Such is the teaching of the New Testa- 
 ment. With enormous power to do good, how did 
 Eogers use it ? If he lent — and it was seldom he did 
 — to a distressed brother of the pen, he required the 
 return of the loan with interest — when it could be had ; 
 if he gave, it was grudgingly and with a shrug. He 
 was prudence personified ; some one said of him, '' I 
 am sure that as a baby he never fell down unless he 
 was pushed, but walked from chair to chair in the 
 drawing-room, steadily and quietly, till he reached a 
 place where the sunbeams fell on the carpet." 
 
 In all I have heard and read concerning him I cannot 
 find that he had at any time in his long life '' learned 
 the luxury of doing good." Yet his means of increasing 
 the happiness, or alleviating the misery, of others were 
 large, and his opportunities immense. 
 
 He himself records that, when Madame de Stael once 
 said to him, " How very sorry I am for Campbell ! his 
 poverty so unsettles his mind that he cannot write," 
 his reply was, " "Why does he not take the situation of a 
 clerk ? He could then compose verses during his leisure 
 hours." In this cold, unsympathizing fashion the author 
 of " The Pleasures of Memory" continued to look on 
 the troubles of others to the last. 
 
 Frederika Bremer. — Among the most esteemed and 
 honoured of our guests, when we resided in Surrey, was 
 Erederika Bremer. A little, plain, simple woman she 
 was, who conveyed no idea that she had been in countries
 
 FEEDERIKA BKEMER. 117 
 
 rarely Yisited. travelling and encountering many perils — 
 alone. Her avidity to '' inquire " was great, and as great 
 was her power to obtain information ; the smallest hint 
 seemed to lead to acquisition of knowledge : her books 
 evidence that quality of mind. She seemed always striv- 
 ing to see something she had not before seen, something 
 that might be useful to her to talk about and write about 
 when she went back to her home in Stockholm. We 
 gave her much insight into some things that, but for her 
 visit to us, might have continued strange to her, espe- 
 cially as regarded the interior habits of English cottage 
 homes, and more especially as to English farms — a gentle- 
 man farmer in our neighboiu-hood being her instructor. 
 We took her to many country chiu'ches, some of them 
 very old, and, above all, we showed her over royal 
 Windsor. Although not one of her Majesty's subjects, 
 the Queen would not have found in her realm a more 
 devoted lover than that simple Swedish lady. We heard 
 from her very often after her return to Sweden, and 
 there was no one of her letters that did not contain 
 some allusion, some Avords of respectful and affectionate 
 homage for her most gracious Majesty. There was 
 some personal feeling mixed with her admiration; for 
 as she was driving home with us from Windsor, in deep 
 regret that she had not seen the Queen — suddenly the 
 royal carriage came in sight ; we, of course, drew up to 
 let it pass. In her eagerness, Miss Bremer dropped 
 from the window a venerable parasol, that had been her 
 travelling companion in many lands. In impulsive 
 alarm, she opened the carriage door to reach it; the 
 good Prince Albert saw the movement, guessed its
 
 118 C. C. COLTOX. 
 
 cause, pulled the check-string, and sent a footman to 
 pick it up and hand it to her. It was a gracious act ; 
 little did the Eoyal Lady and her illustrious husband 
 know whom they had thus befriended. At all events she 
 had what she earnestly longed for — a sight of the Queen ; 
 and there can be little doubt that an incident at once 
 small and great bore fruit in her heart and mind. 
 
 Rev. C. C. Colton. — It was somewhere about 1825 
 that I knew the Eev. Charles Caleb Colton, the author 
 of a work that obtained much celebrity, and passed 
 rapidly through eight editions — "Lacon; or Many 
 Things in few Words." I do not suppose there are a 
 dozen persons now living who have read the book.* It 
 was full of judicious counsel and wise thought ; but 
 unhappily he did not carry his theories into practice. 
 Though a clergyman — he was vicar of Kew — he courted 
 the company of the vicious ; he chose his associates from 
 among the lowest class; he was a professed gambler, 
 and ended his life by suicide, to avoid the pain of a 
 surgical operation his medical advisers had informed him 
 he must undergo : — 
 
 " When all the blandishments of life are gone, 
 The coward slinks to death, the brave live on." 
 
 John Kitto. — Till very recently there was standing 
 in Seven Stars Lane, Plymouth, the humble dwelling in 
 Avhich the deaf traveller was born. Seven Stars Lane, 
 
 * He had also published, in 1810, "A plain and authentic Narrative of the 
 Stamford Ghost," and offered £100 (which he certainly could nut have paid) to 
 any one who would explain the cause of the jjhenomenon.
 
 JOHN KITTO. 119 
 
 now a portion of Stillman Street, is one of the very 
 oldest by-ways in time-honoured Plymouth. I visited it 
 in the summer of 1882. The birth-place of Kitto had 
 been swept away to give place to a factory ; but the 
 worthy owner of the latter, desirous to pay fitting honour 
 to the memory of one of the most remarkable among 
 Devon worthies, has caused to be placed over the main 
 entrance a tablet, whereon is recorded in suitable terms 
 the fact that in the house that formerly stood there the 
 great traveller and Biblical scholar was born. 
 
 Kitto' s was, indeed, a noteworthy career. The son 
 of a labourer, he owed to the loving care of an aged 
 grandmother what imperfect education he received in 
 his childhood. John's love of books was intense from a 
 very early age. He was soon set to work, however, to 
 assist his father in his trade of a mason ; and one day, 
 while carrying a load of slates up a ladder, slipped in 
 the act of stepping on the roof they were meant for, fell 
 some thirty-five feet, and was taken up fearfully injured. 
 When he at last rose from his sick-bed, it was to find 
 that the accident had left him deaf for life. The poor 
 boy was then only thirteen. His only friend, his aged 
 grandmother, had become too poor and decrepit to assist 
 him, and after trying every means to earn a living, he 
 was compelled to find a melancholy asylum in Plymouth 
 workhouse. 
 
 Yet from that unpromising shelter he emerged to 
 journey into the remote East ; and after years of fruitful 
 labour and diligent study in Syria and Persia, to return 
 home and impart the mental riches he had acquired to a 
 wide public, in the forms of some of the most valuable
 
 120 JOHN KITTO. 
 
 contributions that have been made during the present 
 century to Liblical literature. That well-known pub- 
 lisher and most excellent man, Charles Knight, 
 became his liberal and discerning patron, and by his en- 
 couragement Kitto wrote for the Penny Magazine and 
 Penny Cyclopwdia — afterwards producing the "Pictorial 
 Bible," a " Pictorial History of Palestine," &c. It was 
 at this period of his career that it was my privilege to 
 know him. 
 
 About 1850 one of the Crown pensions of £100 a year 
 was granted by Lord John Eussell to the deaf scholar, 
 whom neither that painful infirmity nor the apparently 
 insurmountable obstacles that barred his path had pre- 
 vented from winning his way to a manhood of earnest, 
 excellent, and profitable missionary and literary labour. 
 The grant was made in consideration of Dr. Kitto's 
 " useful and meritorious literary work." Some time 
 before, the degree of D.D. had been conferred on him by 
 the University of Giessen. He was also a Fellow of the 
 Society of Antiquaries. 
 
 He died in 1854 at Caastadt, on the I!^eckar, to which 
 place he had been sent for the benefit of the waters 
 there. A monument is placed over his remains : sui'ely 
 it is a pleasure to record that it was erected by the 
 publisher of his latest books, Mr. Oliphant, of Edin- 
 burgh. The good man has made his mark in the literary 
 history of his age and country.* 
 
 * A neat little brochure was recently printed at Plymouth, recording the 
 principal events and incidents in the life of Kitto. It was written by Mr. W. 
 H. K. Wright, the able and energetic secretary of the Plymouth Free Library. 
 Mr. Wright is also the editor of a very interesting and valuable publication, 
 The Western Antiquanj, issued monthly, bi.t previously published weekly in the 
 Western Mornint/ iW'ivs.
 
 HOLMAN. 121 
 
 To this brief sketch of the celebrated deaf traveller, I 
 may fittingly annex some reference to a man in some 
 respects even more remarkable than Kitto, as pursuing 
 his journeys under the weight of an affliction that might 
 well have rendered them impossible, or at least fruitless. 
 I refer to Holman, the " blind traveller," whom I met 
 frequentlj^ at the evening receptions of the painter, Joh:^^ 
 Martin. He had walked over most of the countries and 
 states of Europe, and described with amazing accuracy 
 places he had visited — but had never seen. It was at 
 once a delight and a marvel to converse with him on 
 the subject of his travels. 
 
 Edward William Cox. — I knew him so long ago as 
 1829, when he wrote a poem for the Amulet, Even so 
 early in life he had published a volume — poetry, of 
 course — " The Opening of the Sixth Seal." He was a 
 prominent member of the Bar, and became a judge, 
 though of a minor court. Like Judge Edmonds, of the 
 United States, he had been more than once questioned 
 as to his capability *of "judging" rightly — being a 
 believer in Spiritualism. 
 
 That Cox was a Spiritualist in all senses of the term it 
 is hardly necessary for me to say : in platform speeches 
 and in published books his opinions were made known. 
 Though he guarded the expression of them somewhat — 
 on the ground that prejudice might weaken his decisions 
 delivered in a court of justice — he never hesitated to 
 declare his conviction as to the verity of the phenomena 
 he had witnessed. Nor was he in doubt as to their
 
 122 f SERJEANT COX. 
 
 cause — having obtained and accepted sufficient evidence 
 that those who are called the " dead " do appear and 
 converse with those who are termed the " living." 
 Frequently, in his own house and in mine, sometimes in 
 one company, sometimes in another, the marvels of 
 spiritualism were opened out to him. A few weeks 
 before his removal from earth I was standing with him 
 on the platform of the Great Western Eailway. He 
 used these words — I little thought I should have had to 
 record and recall them thus — " I am as sure and con- 
 vinced that I have seen and conversed with friends I 
 have known and loved in life, who are in the ordinary 
 phrase dead^ as I am that these are railway carriages I 
 see before me ; and if I did not so believe, I could credit 
 nothing for which the evidence was only my senses and 
 my intelligence." 
 
 Exactly, or as nearly as possible, such words were 
 said to me by Eobert Chambers and by William Howitt. 
 It would be hard to find three men whose testimony 
 would be more readily received in any court of law or 
 equity ; men of larger experience, sounder judgment, 
 more enlightened integrity, less likely to be deceived, 
 less subject to be afi'ected by imposture or influenced 
 by delusion, could not anywhere be found in the ranks 
 of intellectual Englishmen. 
 
 I have rarely known so fortunate a man as Serjeant 
 Cox. He commenced life with no commercial, and with 
 little intellectual, capital — with, in fact, so few prosj)ects 
 of success, that he who had prophesied his marvellous 
 " luck " in life would have found few to credit him. His 
 j)ersonal advantages were small ; his voice was not
 
 SEEJEAXT COX. 123 
 
 calculated to arrest the attention of any assembly ; his 
 manners were by no means impressive or refined ; there 
 was no evidence of force of character ; he had received 
 but an indifferent education — hence his acquirements were 
 limited ; he had failed in his efforts to enter Parliament, 
 his native town (Taunton) having twice rejected him ; 
 his legal knowledge could never have been large, for he 
 had given no time to study, and his earlier necessities 
 had forbidden him to "take in" in order that he might 
 " give out." In short, if his career had been merely 
 respectable, and he had filled a third-rate place in his 
 profession, he would have seemed to do all that nature, 
 opportunity, fair industry, and moderate application, 
 intended him to do. " Genius " is a term not in the 
 remotest degree applicable to him from the commence- 
 ment to the close of his career. 
 
 Moral courage he lacked, or he would have boldly 
 and bravely resigned his office as Junior Judge of 
 Sessions (the salary being no object to him), and have 
 avowed the opinions he was known to hold, which in 
 private he did not disavow — on the contrary, which he 
 maintained and upheld, although tlieir open and declared 
 advocacy would have, in the estimation of many, so 
 invalidated his decisions as a judge, by calling in ques- 
 tion the soundness of his intellect, as to have rendered 
 his withdrawal a duty, if not a necessity.* As it was, he 
 
 * Judge Edmonds of New York was placed in a precisely similar position. He 
 did not resign, but he did plainlj', boldly, and emphaticalh- avow his belief and 
 defend it. I quote this passage from his avowal and defence : — 
 
 " It is now over fifteen years since I made a public avowal of my belief in 
 spiritual intercourse, I was then so situated that the soundness of my intellect 
 was a matter of public interest. I had just retired from serving my term in our 
 Court of Appeals — the court of last resort in this State. I was then the presiding 
 Justice of the Supreme Court in this city, wilh the power of wielding immense
 
 124 SERJEANT COX. 
 
 has gone down to tlio grave as one to whom the world 
 owes but a small debt for benefits conferred. Yet he 
 died in possession of enormous wealth, computed to be 
 between a quarter and half a million sterling. In view 
 of this fact it is mournful to have to add that Avhilst he 
 lived he made little, and at his death no effort, "to do 
 good and disti'ibute," omitting the "sacrifices" with 
 which God is " well pleased." In the way of hospitality 
 I think he spent little : his dinner parties were plain ; 
 he certainly could not be accused of any show of 
 extravagance. I dined at his table often, in Eussell 
 Square ; there was commonly but a poor gathering of 
 men of note, and never any women of distinction. I 
 cannot recall many representative men among the guests 
 I met there ; certainly there were none who were promi- 
 nent in the good works that glorify names — that nature 
 and all humanity hold in honour. Nor was he — I believe 
 I am safe in saying — a foremost upholder of any institu- 
 tion that was calculated and intended to advance the 
 cause of religion, morality, social progress, or charity. 
 I do not think there is one such that owes its foundation 
 or advancement to direct aid from Mr. Serjeant Cox. 
 
 At his death he left behind him a sum of probably 
 £400,000 — gained without wrong-doing certainly ; no 
 
 influence over the lives, liberty, property, and reputation of thousands 
 of people. The soundness as well as the integrity of the administration 
 of public justice was involved, and all had an interest in watching it. The 
 cry of insanity and delusion was raised then as now. I remained on the Bench 
 long enough, after sach avowal, to enable people to judge how well founded the 
 clamour was ; and for the fifteen years that have since elapsed I have been some- 
 what before the world as a lawyer in full practice, as a politician, active in the 
 organization of the Republican party, in a literary aspect as the author and 
 publisher of several works, professional and otherwise, and as a public speaker, 
 thus affording to all an abundant opportunity of detecting an j' mental abeiration 
 if there was any in me."
 
 SERJEANT COX. 125 
 
 foul work can be charged against him ; I do not believe 
 he ever added a penny to his store by a dishonest or dis- 
 honourable action, and I fully and entirely acquit him 
 of aught that was injustice to friend or ''neighbour: " 
 an unjust judge he assuredly never was. But the con- 
 demnation of him " who hid his lord's money," and 
 neither misused nor abused it, is emphatic ; his sentence 
 to go where there is " weeping and gnashing of teeth " 
 is pronounced by One to whom the secrets of all hearts 
 are known, and the abstaining from doing good with 
 wealth is as strongly condemned as the will to do evil 
 with it. ■ 
 
 His death made no mourners (excepting his own imme- 
 diate family), and no Institution was the better because 
 he had lived. He was a man of letters, yet he be- 
 queathed nothing to the Literary Fund — to aid hereafter 
 his suffering sisters and brothers in their struggle 
 tlu-ough the Slough of Despond. He was a member of 
 the Press — he gave nothing to the '' Newspaper Press 
 Fund " — a most excellent society — with a long list of 
 suffering Avidows and children, the needy families left by 
 men who had lived laborious days as ministers to public 
 knowledge. He was a member of a learned j^rofession 
 that provides generously for unfortunate members — he 
 left them no contribution in aid. He was, in a degree, 
 an art lover — the Artists' Benevolent Fund was no richer 
 for his demise. He was a spiritualist, printing books 
 (never issued gratis) concerning the phenomena, but he 
 left us nothing that could further or guide "inquiry," 
 and possibly lead to a discovery or development of 
 truth, on which he well knew — none better— that mighty
 
 126 WILLIAM HOWITT. 
 
 issues depended. In fact, there are a hundred fields for 
 the liberal and useful expenditure of wealth, with whose 
 existence he was, better than are most men, acquainted — 
 yet to no one of which, out of his enormous wealth, 
 has he bequeathed a farthing ; while to no per- 
 sonal friend — not even to those in his employ, and who 
 must have largely contributed to make his fortune, did 
 he leave the value of a shilling sterling. 
 
 This long and prosperous career has its lesson ; there 
 are practical lessons that warn and scare, as well as 
 others that stimulate and encourage, and the biography 
 that teaches by example does so often by the force of an 
 example that is to be shunned. Some one has said, if 
 hell is paved with good intentions, it is roofed with 
 lost opportunities. That Serjeant Cox now deeply 
 laments over "lost opportunities" I no more doubt than 
 I do his now existing in some new state of being, with 
 memory strong upon him — no more than he, when on 
 earth, doubted that life continues after this life. 
 
 William Howitt. — A devoted champion of honour, 
 A^rtue, temperance, rectitude, humanity, truth, was lost to 
 earth when on the 3rd of March, 1879, William Howitt 
 " died," if that must be called " death " which only infers 
 the removal from one sphere of usefulness to another. 
 Although fourscore and five years old, in physical and 
 mental vigour he surpassed many who were half his age ; 
 labouring to the last in the service of God, for the good 
 of all humankind and the humbler creatures He has 
 made. I do not here seek to "write a memoir of this
 
 ALARIC WATTS. 127 
 
 most estimable man ; that duty must be discharged by 
 one who has at command better means than I have.* He 
 has, however, left behind him an autobiography that 
 will in due course be published. 
 
 More than sixty years ago, his name, linked with that 
 of his honoured and beloved wife, became famous. The 
 writings of "William and Mary Howitt" were familiar 
 in youth to many who are now grandfathers and grand- 
 mothers ; and it may safely be declared that if there is 
 one of them who did not profit by the teachings of this 
 husband and wife, the fault did not lie with the authors. 
 Theirs — for I will not divide them, although one lives 
 and the other is " gone before " — was a singularly full 
 life ; active, energetic, upright, useful from its com- 
 mencement to its close. Within a few weeks of his 
 death, William Howitt wrote for Social Notes, which I 
 then edited, three grand articles, one concerning the 
 accursed practice of vivisection, one exposing the 
 danger of the habit of smoking — in the young more 
 especially, and one denouncing cruelty to animals. 
 These articles had all the fire of his manhood and the 
 
 * His daughter, Anna Mary Watts, is engaged on that holy work ; it is 
 publishing, monthly, in the Psychological Review, a most excellent periodical : 
 no doubt the several chapters will be issued as a volume. Mrs. Watts has 
 made an enduring and an honourable reputation as author of several excellent 
 and useful works ; she is the wife of Mr. A. A. Watts, who is the son of Alaric 
 Watts, well known and highly esteemed as nearly sixty years ago editor of the 
 Literary 6'o2<m«>-— certainly, the best of the annuals ; many of his poems, of 
 great beauty and power, may be found scattered among books of examples of the 
 best productions of the century. His wife, Mrs. Alaric Watts, was also an author 
 of some valuable books for the young: she was the sister of Wiffen, a Quaker, and 
 a poet of great ability. Mrs. Anna Mary Howitt Watts has found fame by the 
 publications of serial works, but it rests mainly on a volume that has passed 
 through several editions— The Art- work of Munich. It is happy knowledge to 
 know that the renown obtained by William and Mary Howitt is continued 
 into another generation.
 
 128 WILLIAM HOWITT. 
 
 enthusiasm of his youth. It was difficult in reading 
 them to believe they had emanated from the mind and 
 pen of a writer long past fourscore. They were the last 
 warnings uttered by the great and good old man, who is 
 gone to his rest. Yes, there was another addition to 
 the hierarchj^ of heaven when William Howitt was 
 called from earth ! 
 
 Thus another link drops from the chain that unites 
 the present with the past. He was almost the last of 
 the glorious galaxy of authors who, early in the century, 
 glorified the intellectual world — almost the very last. 
 He was the acquaintance of all, the friend of many of 
 them, and of a right assumed a high place amongst the 
 best, if not the loftiest. His was, at least, a more useful 
 life than were the lives of most of his contemporaries. 
 
 Kearly sixty wedded years fell to the lot of William 
 and Mary Howitt. They celebrated their golden wed- 
 ding ten years ago. They were then dwellers in the 
 Eternal City, and in Eome, William, some years later, 
 died. By his bedside were his two daughters and his 
 son-in-law, Mr. A. A. Watts. One may be sure the 
 retrospect of his long life made him happy — that the 
 prospect of a longer life, " even a life for ever and ever," 
 made him yet happier ; for the faith of William Howitt 
 was the faith of a Christian, and his trust was in the 
 Eock of Ages. 
 
 Some years have passed since I saw them last ; much 
 more than half a century since I knew them first. 
 Honoured, esteemed, respected were they then, and so 
 have they remained from that time to this. William 
 Howitt' s grave in the Protestant cemetery at Eome con-
 
 WILLIAM HO WITT. 129 
 
 tains all that was mortal of the useful labourer in a wide 
 and broad field where the seed he planted will bear fruit 
 for all time. 
 
 In 1881 I visited the house at Esher where the 
 Howitts some time resided. It still contains many 
 memorials of their long and useful work — books, por- 
 traits, domestic adornments, gifts, many things asso- 
 ciated with a life-history that suggests only matter 
 for thankfulness and joy. 
 
 The "mingled life" of William and Mary Howitt 
 teaches one especial lesson that cannot in the nature of 
 things be often taught. It is, that two persons, man 
 and wife, can follow the same pursuit, and that pursuit 
 the one that is above all others supposed most to excite 
 jealousy — not only without diminishing confidence, 
 mutual dependence, affection, and love, but so as to 
 augment each of them, and all. The names of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Howitt will in time to come be named whenever 
 question arises as to "compatibility of temper" in hus- 
 band and wife, to be not only life-helpers, but labourers, 
 in the same field — the vineyard of the Lord. 
 
 " A wretched faith is their faith who believe 
 The vineyard workers small rewards receive ; 
 That God neglects the servants He engages, 
 To do His work — and grudges them their wages." 
 
 I should but ill discharge my task if I made no refer- 
 ence to "William Howitt' s ever-brave defence of Spi- 
 ritualism against mocking, incredulous, scientific, and 
 "religious " assailants. Few books have been produced 
 so exhaustive of a subject as his " History of the Super- 
 natural in all Ages." But in all possible ways he 
 
 VOL. II. K
 
 130 WILLIAM HO WITT. 
 
 stood foremost in the van, and was the cliampion of 
 the new-old faith against all sceptics, no matter on 
 what ground they took their stand. We know he was 
 so to the last ; although, like many others, he retired 
 from a contest, the leading fighters in which had ceased, 
 as he thought (and as I think), to struggle for the 
 truth, while many of them excused, if they did not 
 sanction deception and fraud. 
 
 It was in the house of William and Mary Howitt, at 
 Highgate, that I became assured there was more than I 
 had hitherto ''dreamt" of in the mysteries of spiritu- 
 alism, and was convinced of their truth. It was there 
 Mrs. Hall and I first heard and saw things that could be 
 accounted for in no other way than by admitting the 
 presence of those we had known "in the flesh," and that 
 we had, aforetime, believed were existing after death 
 in some other state ; in a word, whose souls had not 
 ceased to exist when their bodies died. It was there 
 I first heard what I could by no possibility have heard 
 unless the spirit of one I had dearly loved, respected, 
 and honoured, was in actual communication with me. 
 
 To suppose that William and Mary Howitt would 
 have lent themselves to a blasphemous fraud was out of 
 the question. We were conviuced; and the conviction, 
 arrived at five-and-twenty years ago, never left us or 
 lessened from that day to this. 
 
 All I desire here to do is to accord honour and homage 
 to a good and great man ; and as regards his venerated 
 wife, to give to her a full moiety of my tribute to high 
 worth and my testimony of strong aff'ection and respect. 
 
 I am nearins: his as-e, and shall, I trust, meet him ere
 
 SAMUEL LOVER. 131 
 
 long. Who shall say that we may not together be sum- 
 moned by a beneficent and merciful Master to labour for 
 this earth in the sphere to which we shall have been 
 removed — to extend the blessings of Spiritualism far 
 more effectually than all our toil has enabled us to do 
 here ? 
 
 I close this brief notice by extracting a passage from 
 one of the many writings of William Howitt. It is 
 memorable, cannot be read too often, and should be 
 accepted as the Shibboleth of all Spiritualists who desire 
 to learn from angels — the just made perfect, those 
 nearest to the God Christ himself — instead of spirits 
 frivolous, misleading, wicked, or altogether evil. 
 
 " The true mission of Spiritualism, and it is a great and 
 magnificent mission, is to recall to the knowledge, and to restore to 
 the consciousness of mankind, the Christian faith with all its divine 
 and supernatural power. Its business is to exhibit the reality of 
 its connection with God and His angels — with the life and spii'it of 
 the Divine Word — and to open our earth-dimmed eyes to perceive all 
 the wealth of celestial wisdom in the Christian revelation ! " 
 
 Samuel Lover. — A pleasant companion, an excellent 
 man, and a poet of no mean capacity was Samuel Lover. 
 I knew him soon after he settled in London. He 
 brought with him high reputation as a raconteur, evi- 
 dence of skill and power as a miniature-painter (for that 
 was his profession), and a certain amount of renown 
 acquired by the production of songs, serious and comic. 
 His first wife was then living, so were two lovely little 
 girls, their daughters. The mother died, and he again 
 married. Both marriages were auspicious. His first 
 
 K 2-
 
 132 SAMUEL LOVER. 
 
 wife helped him up the steep, cheered him on the way, 
 and appreciated his efforts to obtain distinction; his 
 second comforted and consoled him in his decline, and 
 made happy the close of a career not greatly chequered. 
 His life, therefore, was eminently fortunate. In another 
 way he was happy also ; for, although he did not marry 
 until he was thirty years old, he avoided the pitfalls, then 
 more than now, strewn in the path of all yoimg Irishmen 
 seeking fame, and especially so in the path of one with 
 peculiar talent for " Society," who not only wrote but 
 sang melodies, pleasant or pathetic, that were certain 
 either to set the table in a roar, or to touch the hearts of 
 sympathetic listeners. 
 
 Surely, it was fame that Lover had achieved when 
 every street hurdy-gurdy made the listener recall his 
 name — when "Eory O'More" was the stock piece of 
 the popular repertoire* and there was not a mechanic 
 who could catch up a tune who did not hum it to lighten 
 his labour or by his fireside at home. But not only that, 
 in every drawing-room throughout the kingdom, in the 
 colonies, in America, wherever was known the language 
 in which it was written, the sweet and touching song 
 "Angel "Whispers" made its way — to every heart 
 through every ear, for to feel and appreciate it no edu- 
 cated musical taste or knowledge was needed ; the strain 
 was the voice of nature — I should say is, for it keeps its 
 place among the choicest of British melodies, although 
 one seldom hears it now. Young ladies nowadays pos- 
 sess loftier power than it demands, and do not often con- 
 
 * Driving in a stage-coach, from Brussels to Waterloo, I was surprised and 
 not a little gratified, by hearing the guard play Rory O'More on his key-bugle.
 
 SAMUEL LOVER. 133 
 
 descend to sweet and simple ballad melodies, preferring 
 so to discourse as to "encliant the ear" in place of 
 touching the heart ! 
 
 That is, alas ! not only true as regards the songs of 
 Lover ; the lament applies with almost equal force to 
 those of Moore. Their melodies are not often the delights 
 of the drawing-room now. Many ladies would consider 
 themselves insulted if asked to play and sing the 
 '•Mother dear," or ''As a Beam o'er the Face of the 
 Water may glow," of the two lyric poets to whom Ire- 
 land and the world owe so much. Indeed, in most cases 
 such young ladies generally carry their music with 
 them, in order, one is tempted to think, that if they do 
 not delight an audience, they may, at least, be sure of 
 gratifying themselves. But we of the old world found 
 deeper and tenderer chords respond in our hearts to the 
 once-familiar " Melodies," and the undying lyrics 
 wedded to them, than are ever reached by the most 
 brilliantly ''difficult" music of to-day. 
 
 Whenever Lover was our guest (which he was very 
 often) he seldom failed to sing some song he had not 
 then sung in ^Dublic, and frequently it was in our circle 
 it was heard for the first time. To hear him sing one of 
 his songs was the next best thing to hearing Moore sing 
 one of his. 
 
 lie reminded me much of his great prototype : in 
 voice they were not unlike ; in singing both moved 
 restlessly, as if they went with the words ; they were 
 both small, yet not ungraceful of form ; both now and 
 then affected Irish intonation, and both had round faces 
 of the Irish type.
 
 134 SAMUEL LOVER. 
 
 It was not uncommon to hear Lover described as " a 
 Brummagem Tom Moore." That he certainly was not. 
 Far from it. The one was as original as the other, but 
 each in his own way. He was neither copyist nor 
 imitator, and if he had less of the inventive faculty than 
 Moore, he had the art of making his own the thoughts for 
 which there was no other owner. I^ut it was as a teller of 
 Irish stories Lover most delighted an audience. Few who 
 heard him will forget the inimitable humour, the rich 
 oily brogue, and the perfect ideal, he conveyed into the 
 character when relating ''New Pettaties" and "Will ye 
 lend me the loan of a gridiron ?" The only man I 
 knew who surpassed him in that faculty was a contem- 
 porary of his, an Irishman named Jones, an architect 
 who became a sculptor, and was mediocre as both. 
 
 A dangerous illness, haemorrhage of the lungs, having 
 necessitated a milder climate. Lover settled at St. 
 Holier' s, Jersey : there he died* on the 6th June, 1868, 
 mourned by many friends, and respected by all who 
 knew him. 
 
 It is not the least of his merits that in his songs and 
 .stories he avoided political discussions — even allusions. 
 He was a generous sympathiser with all parties, but 
 ranked himself with none ; and, although by no means 
 wavering in his religious views — as a Protestant — there 
 was rarely evidence of preference given to any creed. 
 
 In his seventy- second year he became deaf and almost 
 blind, but he continued cheerful and comparatively 
 
 * "You know how, in our dear old native Ireland, every disease is called by 
 the peasantry an " impression of the heart," and I really think that is the very 
 disease I've got — that is if I have any heart left at all." — Lover in a Utter to Mrs. 
 Sail.
 
 FRANK MAHONEY. 135 
 
 happy, amply meriting the words in which his good wife 
 described him, writing to Mr. Symington on the 1st 
 June, 1868, "He is all love, gentleness, and patience." 
 The following are nearly the last lines he wrote : " May 
 Thy rod and Thy staff comfort me through the valley of 
 the shadow of death." * 
 
 I knew intimately Frank Mahoney, a Eoman Catholic 
 priest, known in literary circles as " Father Prout." 
 It is said, I believe truly, that he was a Jesuit. It was 
 rumoured that he was a Jesuit spy ; perhaps he was, in 
 the sense that all of his Order are so. His father was a 
 respected merchant of Cork, and Mahoney inherited from 
 him independence in the monetary sense of the term. 
 In 1835, or thereabouts, he took up his residence in 
 London, and soon became closely associated with the band 
 of literary free-lances that for some years made Fraser''s 
 Magazine a name of terror. Most of them were able men 
 undoubtedly ; but self-indulgence was the principle that 
 mainly guided the lives of them all. Mahoney took me 
 to one of their " symposiums " on an evening when he 
 was in the chair. " Father Prout " spent most of his 
 latter years in Paris, living the life of a mingled ancho- 
 rite and sensualist. He occupied an attic there, where 
 I once saw him, toasting a mutton chop on which he 
 
 * Two volumes of a life of Samuel Lover were published in 1874 by Bayle 
 Barnard, who has since died. Barnard was a playwright, and it was not a 
 fortunate chance that made him Lover's biographer. A much better work is 
 " Samuel Lover, a biographical sketch with selections from his writings and his 
 correspondence, by Andrew James Symington." Publishers, Blackie and Son. 
 The author of this charming work has done full justice to the memory of his 
 friend the Irish poet. It is a little book, but sufficiently full and comprehensive.
 
 136 FRANK JIAHONEY. 
 
 was about to dine, while on a corner of Ms table, among 
 letters and MSS., was laid a not very clean serviette — his 
 table-cloth. But in these later years of Mahoney's life his 
 room of reception was the reading-room at Galignani's, 
 where, however, he seldom held any intercourse with 
 his kind, usually entering, remaining for an hour or two, 
 and departing without exchanging a word with any 
 one ; and if earth gave him any sources of enjoyment 
 they were not those to which the good, the generous, 
 the sympathetic resort for happiness. He was not often 
 a visitor to London ; but I believe he was rarely in the 
 metropolis without paying a visit to us. Yet he never 
 came with any apparent motive in view, and sometimes 
 his conversation as to past, present, and future was 
 limited to half-a-dozen sentences. Occasionally he 
 would enter our drawing-room, keep his hands in his 
 pockets, look all about him, make some such observation 
 as, " You have changed your curtains since I was here 
 last," bid us good morning, and retire, his visit, from first 
 to last, having perhaps occupied some three minutes. 
 
 Few, I imagine, looked on Mahoney with regard — 
 none, probably, with respect. His was an unlovely as 
 well as a lonely life. Without a home, cut off from 
 domestic ties, and dwelling apart from his kind, he may 
 have " lived laborious days" indeed ; but his recompense 
 for them was very different from such as the poet 
 anticipates for those who toil — stimulated by love of 
 G od and love of man. 
 
 An attempt was made some years ago to erect a monu- 
 ment of some sort to his memory in his native city. It 
 fell through, however, the subscriptions raised being
 
 J. S. LE FANU. 137 
 
 insufficient for the purpose contemplated. Mr. Dillon 
 Croker, who suggested the effort, wrote (as Honorary 
 Treasurer of the Prout Memorial Fund) — 
 
 ' ' For reasons which it is not necessary to discuss, the simple 
 addition of Prout' s name does not appear on the vault of the 
 Mahoney family, which is situated immediately under the shadow 
 of Shandon steeple." 
 
 His poem on the " Bells of Shandon " is, I suppose, 
 the best known of all his songs. 
 
 Joseph Sheridan Le Faxu. — I knew the brothers 
 Joseph and William Le Fanu when they were youths at 
 Castle Connell, on the Shannon ; both became famous — 
 one as an author, the other as a civil engineer. They 
 were the sons of Dean Le Fanu, a most estimable 
 clergyman, whose mother was a niece of Eichard Brinsley 
 Sheridan — a descent of which the family was justly 
 proud. They were my guides throughout the beautiful 
 district around Castle Connell, and I found them full of 
 anecdote and rich in antiquarian lore, with thorough 
 knowledge of Irish peculiarities. They aided us largely 
 in the preparation of our book — " Ireland, its Scenery 
 and Character." William flourishes in active and useful 
 life. Joseph died comparatively young, at his residence, 
 Merrion Square, in February, 1873, having obtained 
 renown as a novelist, and bequeathing to his family a 
 name of which his sons and daughters may be as justly 
 proud as their father was of that he inherited on both 
 sides — for his not very remote ancestors were Hugue-
 
 138 CHARLES MATURIN. 
 
 nots who settled in Ireland after the Revocation of the 
 Edict of Nantes.* 
 
 Eoth the brothers were men of marked personal ad- 
 vantages. Joseph had taken honours at Trinity College, 
 became a political writer, purchased and edited the 
 Warder newspaper, subsequently The Mail. On the 
 death of his wife in 1858 Le Fanu, in a great measure, 
 retired from the society of which he had been an 
 ornament, was seen (and that not often) only in his 
 study at work, and died comparatively young. I never 
 went to Dublin without visiting him. But for the 
 domestic affliction that darkened the later years of his 
 life, he might have taken a far more prominent place 
 than he occupies in Irish history, for he had extensive 
 knowledge based on solid education, was a reader and 
 thinker, and in many ways fitted to shine either at the 
 bar or in Parliament. 
 
 I endorse the opinion of a wi'iter in the Dublin Uni- 
 versity Magazine : "To those who knew him he was very 
 dear ; they admired him for his learning, his sparkling 
 wit and pleasant conversation, and loved him for his 
 manly virtues, for his noble and generous qualities, his 
 gentleness, and his loving, affectionate, nature." 
 
 So long ago as the year 1821 I knew the Rev. Charles 
 Maturin, the author of some novels that are forgotten, 
 and of two successful tragedies — indebted mainly for their 
 
 * Alicia, elder daughter of Thomas Sheridan, and favourite sister of Richard 
 Brinsley Sheridan, married Joseph Le Fanu. She wrote numerous works. She 
 was buried in St. Peter's grave-yard, Dublin, where many members of the Le 
 Fanu family have been interred.
 
 CHARLES MATURIN. 139 
 
 success to the acting of the elder Kean. He died in 1824. 
 A debt of gratitude is due from me to him. He it was 
 who introduced me to Dublin society, and to him I owe 
 much of the comparative ease with which my fii'st steps 
 in the profession of literature were made. I had printed 
 a book, to which I refer elsewhere — on the King's visit 
 to Ireland. I was in the shop of Martin Keene (a well- 
 known bookseller who lent money, and was paid interest 
 by borrowers, who purchased old books at fancy prices), 
 when Maturin entered, took up my poem, read a stanza, 
 and put the copy down, merely saying, " That's a bad 
 stanza." It was certainly mortifying ; but, resolving 
 he should have the chance of reading it all, I took a 
 copy to his house. A dirty, slipshod girl- of-all- work 
 bawled at me from the area, " What do ye want ? " I 
 threw down the book and departed. Maturin did read 
 it, found me out, and the result was his '' patronage " — 
 not a small matter to me then. Tradition has preserved 
 many of his singularities. When he was composing, it 
 was perilous to interrupt the thought that might "en- 
 lighten " the world. On such occasions he walked up and 
 down from parloiu' to attic, with a red wafer stuck on 
 his forehead to " warn off " all who di*ew near him. Lady 
 Morgan tells us that once, when he was in difficulties 
 (he was seldom out of them). Sir Charles Morgan raised 
 for his relief .£50. It was spent in giving an entertain- 
 ment to a large party of guests — who were welcomed to 
 a reception-room somewhat barren of furniture ; but at 
 one end an old theatrical property-throne had been set 
 up, and on it, under a canopy of crimson velvet, sat Mr. 
 and Mrs. Maturin ! Whatever his peculiarities, Maturin
 
 140 GEORGE CROLT. 
 
 Avas undoubtedly a man of genius, and of very kindly 
 nature. 
 
 Of very different character was Charles Phillips, 
 who obtained reputation in Dublin by the publication 
 of certain poems, and by orations at the bar, notably in 
 a case of seduction, " Guthrie versus Sterne," his flowery 
 eloquence obtaining large damages. He became the 
 Irish bar-orator jit?ar excellence. He brought with him to 
 London all his alliteration and flowers of rhetoric, and 
 became a famous pleader at the Old Bailey. He after- 
 wards obtained one of the Commissionerships in Bank- 
 ruptcy, and was a prosperous absentee — no very great 
 loss to his country. He was one of the assailants of 
 Moore, zvhen the poet ivas dead. Concerning that attack 
 I wrote a strong comment in the St James'' s Magazine^ 
 then edited by Mrs. Hall ; Phillips thi-eatened an action 
 for libel— which, however, he thought better of. 
 
 Eev. George Croly was a somewhat severe and bitter 
 political Tory partisan ; but as the author of two endur- 
 ing novels, a successful play, and a work that pro- 
 fesses to inter^^ret the Apocalypse of St. John, he holds 
 higher rank as an author than he did as a clergyman of 
 the Established Church — first, as curate of a parish on 
 barren, beautiful Dartmoor, then as, for a time. Chap- 
 lain to the Foundling Hospital, and subsequently as 
 rector of one of the City churches — St. Stephen, Wal- 
 brook. During the mayoralty of his friend Sir Francis 
 Graham Moon his parishioners presented him Avith a
 
 WILLIAM CARLETON. 141 
 
 testimonial — a marble bust of himself. His was not 
 a pleasant face to perpetuate, neither was his a genial 
 nature to commemorate ; a fierce politician, he hated 
 his opponents with a hatred at once irrational and 
 unchristian.* 
 
 "William Carleton. — I have not much to say of 
 Carleton, and very little that is good. Undoubtedly he 
 was a powerful writer, a marvellous delineator of Irish 
 character — seen, however, not from its best side. He 
 was essentially of the people he describes, peasant-born 
 and peasant-bred, and most at home in a mud cabin or 
 shebeen shop. Of the Irish gentry he knew none beyond 
 the '' squireens ; " his occasional Attempts to picture 
 them are absurdities. To him was accorded one of the 
 Crown pensions — £200. It is to be feared the greater 
 portion was spent in low dissipation. At all events he 
 never obtained, never earned, the applause of his country 
 or the respect of those whose respect was worth having 
 in Dublin, the city where he dwelt. He was a Catholic 
 to-day and a Protestant to-morrow, turning from one 
 religion to the other as occasion served or invited. 
 
 * I hare a letter from Croly, so curious that I print it : it ai-ose out of an appli- 
 cation I made to him for some notes to aid me in compiling a biography for the 
 Neiv Monthly Magazine. 
 
 "In reply to your note relative to notes for my biography, I must protest 
 against the idea altogether. When I am dead, the world may, of course, do 
 •what it pleases with me. But until then I shall not permit any biography of 
 mine to be at its mercy. I must request that nothing shall be said about me in 
 any work where you may have any influence. I should regard it as the last 
 personal offence. There is, therefore, an end of the matter." 
 
 Notwithstanding this verj-- decided expression of opinion, he did, however, 
 some years afterwards, supply me with material for a biography, which I 
 published in the "Book of Gems." 
 
 Croly wrote weekly, from 1839 to 1846, the leading articles for the Britarmia 
 newspaper, of which I was for some years the directing editor.
 
 142 CAROLINE NORTON. 
 
 It is requisite to name him here, among the many 
 Irish authors I have known ; but I did not feel for him 
 while he lived, nor can I feel for him now, any respect. 
 
 The Hon. Mrs. Norton. — It seems but yesterday 
 — it is not so very long ago certainly — that I saw for 
 the last time the Hon. Mrs. Norton.* Her radiant 
 beauty was then faded, but her stately form had been 
 little impaired by years, and she had retained much of 
 the grace that made her early womanhood so surpass- 
 ingly attractive. She combined in a singular degree 
 feminine delicacy with masculine vigour ; though essen- 
 tially womanly, she Seemed to have the force of character 
 of man. Eemarkably handsome, she, perhaps, excited 
 admiration rather than affection. I can easily imagine 
 greater love to be given to a far plainer woman. She had, 
 in more than full measure, the traditional beauty of her 
 family, and no doubt inherited with it some of the way- 
 wardness that is associated with the name of Sheridan. 
 
 All who are acquainted with our literary annals know 
 that she was the daughter of Tom Sheridan, and the 
 granddaughter of Eichard Brinsley Sheridan. Early in 
 life she married the Hon. George C. Norton, a brother of 
 Lord Grantley ; in 1875 she became a widow, and in 
 1876 married a second time — Sir William Stirling 
 Maxwell, Bart. Her grandson is now Lord Grantley. 
 
 In 1840 Mrs. Norton furnished me with materials for 
 a memoii- in the " Book of Gems ; " from that memoir I 
 extract a passage. 
 
 * Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Sheridan.
 
 JANE AXD ANNA MAEIA PORTER. 143 
 
 " At the age of nineteen, Miss Sheridan was married to the 
 Honourable George Chappie Norton, brother to the present Lord 
 Grantley. He had proposed for her three years previously, but her 
 mother had postponed the contract until the daughter was better 
 qualified to fix her choice. These years had enabled her to make 
 acquaintance with one whose early death prevented a union more 
 consonant to her feelings. When Mr. Norton again sought her 
 hand he received it. It is unnecessary to add that the marriage 
 has not been a happy one ; the world has heard the slanders to 
 which she has been exposed, and a verdict of acquittal from all who 
 for a moment listened to them, can scarcely have atoned for the 
 cruel and baseless suspicions to which she has been subjected." 
 
 The dark cloud thus early cast on her life continued 
 to overshadow it for many years ; if it vanished, as I 
 believe it did, when her husband died and left her free 
 to enter into new bonds with an estimable gentleman in 
 all wajs worthy of her, it was but a brief gleam of sun- 
 shine, for her own life soon afterwards closed. Her 
 second marriage was one of compensating happiness ; 
 but it formed only the serene "finis" to a weary pil- 
 grimage — weary, in spite of her literary triumphs and 
 the homage that beauty had made hers, without effort, 
 wherever she appeared. 
 
 Jane Porter. — I had promised Jane Porter that, 
 whenever I visited Esher, I would place a flower on the 
 grave- stone that covers the remains of her mother and 
 sister in the churchyard of that pretty rural village of 
 Surrey. I have done so more than once ; for the last 
 time in the month of March, 1881, having previously 
 visited the house in which the sisters had lived ; * for the 
 
 * It is not likely I shall ever again discharge that happy duty. May T dele- 
 gate it to some kind and sympathizing reader : to whom they, and I, and 
 their friend, my beloved wife, may owe, though in our graves, a debt of grati- 
 tude — and, perhaps, be able to pay it ?
 
 144 JANE AND ANNA MARIA PORTER. 
 
 pretty cottage-home is still there, inhabited by a most 
 kindly lady, always willing to show the small low rooms 
 consecrated to a glorious memory. 
 
 There, during several years, lived and wrote the 
 sisters Jane and Anna Maria Porter, authors of many 
 novels, which, though now forgotten, obtained 'when 
 they were written — the greater part of a century ago — 
 more than renown — popularity of most extended order. 
 The one was born in 1776, the other in 1780. Though 
 children of the same parents, they were strangely dis- 
 similar — the one was a brunette, the other a blonde ; yet 
 they were handsome women both. The one being 
 sombre, the other gay, we used to speak of them as 
 L' Allegro and II Penseroso. Maria was an author in 
 1793 ; Jane not till 1803. The " Scottish Chiefs " was 
 Jane Porter's most famous work. Who reads it now ? 
 Who knows even by name " Thaddeus of Warsaw ? " or 
 who can talk about "The Pastor's Fireside?" Yet seventy 
 years ago those works were of such account that the 
 first ISTapoleon, on political grounds, paid Jane Porter 
 the high compliment of prohibiting the circulation of 
 " Thaddeus of Warsaw " in France. 
 
 I remember talking with Jane Porter on the subject 
 of her then lately printed book, " The Adventures of 
 Sir Edward Seaward." It is a kind of copy of " Eobin- 
 son Crusoe " — the story of a shipwrecked mariner, cast 
 with a young maiden upon an uninhabited island, which 
 they converted into a paradise. I mention the romance 
 because it was so like truth that (as I was told by one 
 of the Admiralty clerks) three intelligent members of 
 the staff were employed for several days searching for
 
 SIR ROBERT KER PORTER. 145 
 
 evidence whether the island did or did not actually exist, 
 whether any proofs of the history given of the castaways 
 were traceable, and whether, of the many persons named, 
 any had places in veritable history ! 
 
 The sisters were admirable and good women, "lovely 
 in their lives," acting, through a long career of success 
 and honour, upon the principle which suggested the 
 record placed by them on the grave of their good mother, 
 who died aged eighty-six, and that declared them to 
 " mourn in hope, humbly trusting to be born again 
 with her into the blessed kingdom of their Lord and 
 Saviour." 
 
 We met once, with his sisters, their brother. Sir 
 Eobert Ker Porter, who had obtained renown in Eussia 
 and fame in England, by the production of huge pano- 
 ramas. He had been educated as an artist, and was, in 
 1790, a student of the Eoyal Academy — the President 
 being Benjamin West. His famous pictures are " The 
 Battle of Agincoui't" and "The Storming of Seringa- 
 patam;" but he painted both from descriptions and 
 fancy, and was present at neither. He was, however, 
 with Sir John Moore at the siege of Corunna, and 
 probably took part in the "burial" of the general 
 when they 
 
 " Buried him darkly at dead of night, 
 The sods with their bayonets turning." 
 
 He had been appointed historical painter to the Emperor 
 of Eussia, and married a Eussian princess. He died at 
 St. Petersburg of apoplexy in 1842.* 
 
 * A nephew of excellent John Britton, the renowned antiquary (one of Sir 
 Robert's best and most valued friends), wrote, in 1880, a description of the two 
 great pictures. "The Storming of Seringapatam" was 200 feet long: it is said 
 
 VOL. II. L
 
 146 SHERIDAN KNOWLES. 
 
 Sheridan Knowles. — Poor Sherry ! the last time I 
 saw him was at a dinner given by a gentleman, who may 
 surely claim a line in this assemblage of memories, Dr. 
 Andrew Ure, a man to whom the world is indebted for 
 a work of great value — " A Dictionary of Arts, Manu- 
 factures, and Mines." Though Sheridan Knowles was 
 then already failing, it was before he became a Baptist 
 minister, which he did in 1852, but after his second 
 marriage — an incident that all his friends lamented. 
 Well I remember his acting the part of Master Walter 
 in his play of The Himchhack in 1832. It was a great 
 success — the play, I mean, not the impersonation, for 
 an actor Sheridan Knowles was not. He lived a long 
 life, and did not waste it. Up to a good old age he was 
 
 to have been painted in six weeks! As regards the " Battle of Agincourt," 
 Mr. Britton printed the following statement : — 
 
 "Regarding the history of the immense painting of Agincourt in the posses- 
 sion of the Corporation, it appears, by minutes of the Court of Common Council 
 so far back as September 2'2nd, 1808, that a letter was read from Robert Ker 
 Porter, Esq., dated Stockholm, May 19th, addressed to Lord Mayor Ansley, 
 requesting his Lordship to present ' the large picture of the Battle of Agincourt, 
 my last, and I think best, work to the City of London. The subject is so 
 grateful to the patriotic breast of every Briton that I need not comment on its 
 propriety as a recommendation rendering it worthy a place either in the IMansion 
 House or the Guildhall. To know that the capital of my native country 
 possesses the last of my productions will be an ample and valuable recompense 
 for my exertions in having produced it.' Thanks were ordered to be returned, 
 by the Lord Mayor, and the Committee for Letting the City Lands was 
 requested to 'consider the best place to display the picture.' It was hung up 
 in the Egyptian Hall, Mansion House, but removed to enable certain alterations 
 to be made in that room, and consigned to oblivion for about twelve years. It 
 was then disentombed, in 1823, and hung up at Guildhall, crowds of people 
 flocking thither to see it. Then, although its preservation and public display 
 were advocated by members of the Corporation, it was rolled up and again com- 
 mitted to its former sepulchre under the Hall. It seems afterwards to have been 
 taken out, unrolled, and hung up for a week or two every thi-ee or four years to 
 ' keep it from perishing ! ' This brings its history down to about 1850. In a 
 letter to the late John Britton, May loth, 1851, Mr. John Sewell says : ' It is a 
 fine performance, fit to be exhibited as a panoramic painting, and I think it is a 
 pity it should remain lost to the public' 
 
 " Where the picture now is, it will be for others to find out."
 
 THE SISTERS JEWSBURT. 147 
 
 healthy and hearty. Macready described to me their 
 first interview, when the actor received the dramatist in 
 the green-room. Sheridan Knowles presented himself — 
 a jolly-looking fellow, with red cheeks, a man ohvi9usly 
 full of buoyancy and good-humour — and read to the 
 great manager his tragedy of Virginius. "What!" 
 cried Macready, half-pleasantly, half- seriously, when 
 the reading was over, "You the author of that tragedy 
 — you ? Why, you look more like the captain of a 
 Leith smack ! " 
 
 ISTatui^e had endowed Sheridan Knowles with a rare 
 gift, but it was not improved by learning or study, and 
 he owed little, if anything, to his great predecessors in 
 dramatic art. 
 
 In his later days, as I have remarked, the celebrated 
 dramatist became a Baptist minister.. I regret now 
 that I never heard him preach, although I am told it 
 was a performance that one might have been satisfied to 
 witness only once. But I am sm-e that, whatever and 
 wherever he was, in the pulpit or on the stage, Sheridan 
 Knowles was in earnest — simple, honest, and hearty 
 always. His was a nature that remained thoroughly 
 unspoiled by extraordinary success. He was born at 
 Cork in 1784, and died at Torquay in 18G2. 
 
 The Sisters Jewsburt. — In September, 1880, I was 
 present at the burial of Geraldine Jewsbury in the 
 cemetery at Brompton. Her grave is adjacent to that 
 of her friend, Lady Morgan. Geraldine had attained 
 the age of sixty-eight. Her many published works 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE SISTERS JEWSBURT. 
 
 bear witness to her industry as well as ability. We kn ew 
 her when she was little more than a child, and had 
 much affection for her during the whole of her long life. 
 Her health was never good; it would have surprised 
 none of her friends to have heard of her death much 
 earlier than it occurred. She lived in her latter years 
 at a pretty cottage at Seven oaks, but died at an excel- 
 lent institution for invalid ladies in Burwood Place, 
 where we frequently visited her. Her mind was not 
 weakened by illness, and it was in a happy state of 
 preparation for the change that was inevitable. Among 
 the very earliest of our literary friends was her sister Mary 
 Jane, whose signature, M. J. J., obtained wide celebrity 
 between the years 1825 and 1830. In 1832 she was 
 married, in a little church among the "Welsh mountains, 
 to the Eev. W. K. Fletcher, one of the chaplains of the 
 Hon. East India Company. She accompanied him to 
 India, and fourteen months after her marriage she was 
 laid in the grave at Poonah, a victim to cholera. 
 
 It was a brief life, but not inglorious ; she ha^ left 
 much that is calculated to do good, and merit, if not 
 obtain, fame. Mrs. Hemans much loved her, and wore 
 mourning for her ; and great Wordsworth was proud to 
 call himself her friend.* 
 
 * Soon after her death Mrs. Hemans conveyed this message to Wordsworth : 
 " Will you tell Mr. Wordsworth this anecdote of poor Mrs. Fletcher ? I am 
 sure it will interest him. During the time that the famine in the Deccan was 
 raging, she heard that a poor Hindoo had heen found lying dead in one of the 
 temples at the foot of an idol, and with a female child, still living, in his arms. 
 She and her hushand immediately repaired to the spot, took the poor little 
 orphan away with them, and conveyed it to their own home. She tended it 
 assiduously, and one of her last cares was to have it placed at a female missionary 
 school, to be brought up as a Christian."
 
 LEIGH HUNT. 149 
 
 She had a forebocliug of early death. In one of her 
 latest letters before leaving England she wrote : — 
 
 "■ In the best of everytliing I have done jou will find one leading 
 idea — Death ; aU thoughts, all images, all contrasts of thoughts and 
 images, are derived from living much in the valley of that shadow." 
 
 One of her letters to Mrs. Hall contains this passage : "I 
 am melancholy by nature; cheerful on principle." 
 
 Mary Jane Jewsbury was thus one of the earliest 
 friends we lost, as her sister Geraldine was one of the 
 latest — nearly half a century having elapsed between 
 the death of the one and the death of the other. 
 
 Leigh Hunt. — Some fifteen years ago, I ascertained 
 that the grave of my old friend Leigh Hunt was without a 
 memorial stone to mark his resting-place in the cemetery 
 at Kensal Green. It was a reproach to all who knew 
 him, and hardly less so to those who were familiar with 
 his books. I desired to remove it, set to work, and 
 after some delay and difficulty the movement took satis- 
 factory shape, and it was done.* Less useful men of 
 letters have their stately monuments in Westminster 
 
 * The Committee was not large, but it contained tlie names of Carlyle, 
 Dickens, George Godwin, Macready, Sir Percy Shelley, Procter, Eobert 
 Chambers, and Sir Frederick Pollock. There were one hiindred and twenty- 
 two subscribers, among whom were Lord Lytton, Mr. (now Sir Theodore) 
 Martin, Earl P>,ussell, Mr. and Mrs. E. M. Ward, Edmund Yates, W. H. 
 Russell, John Bright, Martin Tupper, Blanchard Jerrold, J. R. Planche, 
 Edwin Arnold, Tom Hood, junr., Alexander Ireland, Charles Knight, Albany 
 Fonblanque, John Forster, Sir Charles Dilke, Wilkie Collins, Sir Rowland Hill, 
 &c. The sum collected amounted to £218 13s. 8d., which sufiSced. George W. 
 Childs, of the Fxhlic Ledger, Philadelphia, oflFered to furnish the ichole estimated 
 sum : that generous offer I declined : but I accepted from him a large subscrip- 
 tion in aid.
 
 150 LEIGH HUNT. 
 
 Abbey. At all events those who seek for Leigh Hunt's 
 grave among the many illustrious dead who lie in Kensal 
 Green Cemetery may now be assured of finding it. A 
 pillar, surmounted by a bust, the j)roduction of the 
 sculptor, Joseph Durham, marks the spot, and on it is 
 inscribed the memorable line from the most famous and 
 beautiful of all his poems, " Write me as one who loves 
 his fellow-men," and also a line written concerning him 
 by Lord Lytton, ^' He had that chief requisite of a good 
 critic — a good heart." 
 
 It was a bright day when the monument at Kensal 
 Green was uncovered, and a touching and eloquent 
 address was delivered at the grave by Lord Houghton. 
 The reproach that had endured from 1859, the 5^ear 
 when he died (in High Street, Putney) — two months 
 before he had completed his seventy-fifth year — was 
 removed by the erection of the monument on the 19th 
 of October, 1869 (his birthday). 
 
 He was born at Southgate in 1784, and, like Coleridge 
 and Lamb, was educated at Christ's Hospital. 
 
 I did not know Leigh Hunt in his prime ; but I 
 knew him well when he lived at Edwardes Square, Ken- 
 sington. He was then yielding gradually to the uni- 
 versal conqueror. His son tells us " he was usually seen 
 in a dressing-gown, bending his head over a book or 
 over a desk." Tall and upright still, his hair white and 
 straggling, scattered over a brow of manly intelligence, 
 his eyes retaining much of their old brilliancy combined 
 with gentleness, his conversation still sparkling, though 
 by fits and starts — he gave me the idea of a sturdy ruin 
 that, in donning the mossy vest of time, had been
 
 LEIGH HUNT. 151 
 
 recompensed for gradual decay of strength by gaining 
 ever more and more of the picturesque. 
 
 One of the latest passages of his autobiography is 
 this : '^1 seem — and it has become a consolation to me — 
 to belong as much to the next world as to this." 
 
 His son tells us that his whole life was one of pecu- 
 niary difficulty. It was a mournful fact — one from which 
 a dismal picture might easily be painted, and a dreary 
 moral educed. Though there is no stigma of dishonour 
 resting on his memory. Hunt was too ready, as so many 
 men of letters had been before him, to live — 
 
 " As if life's business were a summer mood, 
 As if all needful things tvould come unsought 
 To genial faith r 
 
 The words that I have italicised seem to me to be an 
 epitome of Leigh Hunt's life. 
 
 Savage Landor told me a story that remarkably 
 illustrates the simplicity, as well as the heedlessness, of 
 his character. Sir Percy Shelley made him an allowance 
 of £120 a year. One day Hunt called upon the baronet, 
 and said, "As you intend to give me that sum as long 
 as I live, I ask you to extend the favour by putting on 
 paper a memorandum to that effect." Sir Percy, 
 startled, asked him — why? "Oh, only," said Hunt, 
 " because it would be easier to raise money upon it." I 
 need not say that was the very thing his generous friend 
 had intended his bounty to prevent. Among the most 
 constant of Leigh Hunt's friends — as to loans — was the 
 good man Horace Smith ; but, in fact, he had many 
 such. In his turn he was ever ready — no matter how 
 straitened his circumstances might be — to open his
 
 152 LEIGH HUNT. 
 
 house or his purse to any friend that stood in need of 
 his hospitality or his aid. 
 
 Testimonies to his kindly, sympathizing, and affec- 
 tionate nature are abundant. His famous sonnet, "Abou 
 ben Adhem," may have been inspired by an Eastern 
 apothegm, but it was none the less an outpouring of his 
 own large heart. As for his life, it was one of the utmost 
 simplicity and frugality ; indeed, he carried the latter 
 virtue to such an extreme that his son, in writing to 
 me, describes his father's diet as consisting often only 
 of bread. 
 
 The following is a passage from one of his writings: — 
 
 ' ' Surely there are myriads of beings everywhere inhabiting their 
 respective spheres, both visible and invisible, all perhaps inspired 
 with the same task of trying how far they can extend happiness. 
 Some may have realised their Heaven and are resting. Some may 
 be helping ourselves, just as we help the bee or the wounded bird : 
 spirits, perhaps of dear friends who pity our tears, who rejoice 
 in our smiles, and whisper into our hearts belief that they are 
 present. 
 
 Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth. 
 Unseen both when we wake and when we sleep." 
 
 Perhaps the tropical blood which his friend Hazlitt 
 said ran in his veins had its share in inducing his 
 disposition to let all things take their course, with a 
 cheerful faith that in the end they would come right — 
 somehow ! Though a tithe of the annoyances and priva- 
 tions he endured would have prepared for most other 
 people a nightly bed of thorns, he did not seem to heed 
 them, or, indeed, to give to their memory a painful 
 thought. Struggling half his life in muddy waters, he 
 usually had a haven — even if only a fancied one — in 
 sight, and was confident he would reach land some-
 
 JEREMY BENTHAM. 153 
 
 Avhere. 'No man was more easily contented; of the joys 
 of the epicure and the sybarite he no more thought 
 than of swallowing pebbles by the seaside. His feasts 
 were really the feasts of the poets.* 
 
 It was Leigh Hunt who wrote for me the memoirs 
 of Keats and Shelley in the " Book of Gems." 
 
 *' No man," his son wrote to me, " had a more abiding 
 sense of religion .... the authority of his mind was 
 Christ himself, whose example and preaching he con- 
 tinually held up as the one most neglected and most to 
 be followed." But Hunt was not, in the true sense of 
 the word, a Christian. He recognised Jesus only as a 
 "martp'cd brother" of Confucius, Socrates, and Anto- 
 ninus — nothing more. Dying, he had not the joyful hope 
 of the Christian to sustain him, but could only breathe 
 as a parting prayer the infinitely less rational and less 
 consoling aspiration, " May we all meet in one of 
 Plato's vast cycles of re-existence." Alas If 
 
 Jeremy Bentham. — One day, very many years ago, I 
 met Dr. Bowi'ing in St. James's Park. He was on his 
 way to Queen's Square to visit Jeremy Bentham. He 
 
 * Thornton Hunt in a letter to me, dated January 4th, 1865, said, " I have 
 read your memory of my dear father (in the "Book of Memories"), and I trace 
 in it the hand of a friendly, sympathetic man. I do not suggest the slightest 
 alteration in it." 
 
 t His son, Mr. Thornton Hunt, thus touches on the suhject of his father's 
 religious views in a letter written to me soon after the publication in the Art 
 Journal of my " Memory of Leigh Hunt." 
 
 " He followed Schiller in his estimate of Moses as a grand reformer : he was 
 constantly referring to Scripture, with which he was familiar, especially the New 
 Testament : in opinion he was very near the Unitarians. He had a perfect 
 confidence in a future existence, often citing an English bishop, who said that 
 " heaven is first a temper and then a place."
 
 154 JEREMY BENTHAM. 
 
 oiFered to introduce me to him — an offer I gladly 
 accepted. He was pacing in his garden when we 
 arrived. 
 
 Bentham was then nearly eighty-five years of age, of 
 very striking appearance, his long white locks floating 
 about a magnificent head, the intellectual organs strongly 
 Ijrominent, the expression full of benevolence, with a 
 smile generous and thoroughly sympathetic. 
 
 I quote a passage from the New Monthljj (1832) — the 
 year in which he died — written, I believe, by Bulwer : — 
 
 " Personally, Mr. Bentham was like so many other great men, 
 aU simplicity and playfulness. He had that thorough amiabiHty 
 which arises from the warmest benevolence. He was without guile 
 — the very antipodes of a worldly man : he who could unfold all 
 the secrets of jurisprudence and legislation, and lay clown regula- 
 tions for the accurate conduct of whole nations, and resolve society 
 and human nature into their last elements, was as simple as a child, 
 and lived in the centre of a vast capital, as far removed from actual 
 contact with the world as if he had seated himself on the Andes." 
 
 I may add another passage from that paper : — 
 
 ' ' He died, it seems, as he would have gone to sleep — this was 
 sure to be the case with the calmest, pleasantest, and most innocent 
 body that ever partook of mortal frailties. His long life passed in 
 perfect, though far from robust, health ; he was never, in all his 
 scores of years, guilty of an excess ; his fame had never been 
 stained, for a moment, with intemperance : the old man left his 
 body as pure as that of a child." 
 
 Yes, it is a gratifying memory to me now — as I 
 accounted it a high privilege then — to have looked on 
 that great man while in life, to have beheld that nobly- 
 moulded head, that most benevolent face, in which 
 almost child -like simplicity contended with god -like 
 intellect, both blended in universal sympathy, while his
 
 CLARA BALFOUE. 155 
 
 loose grey hair streamed over his shoulders and played 
 in the wind as he pursued his evening walk of medita- 
 tion, around the very garden wherein the poet-patriot 
 John Milton was erst accustomed to think his mighty 
 thoughts. 
 
 Mrs. Balfour. — A most good and sweet and very beau- 
 tiful woman (though aged threescore and ten) left earth 
 when Clara Lucas Balfour was called from it to do her 
 Master's work elsewhere, l^ot long before that we had 
 taken part in a joyous ceremony — the celebration of the 
 fiftieth anniversary of her wedding-day. Husband and 
 wife had been joint-toilers in Christian labour in the 
 fertile fields of sin and suffering, of crime and misery, to 
 be found at the East-end of London. They were but a 
 short while separated by death, and are now reunited. 
 Both of these zealous workers had, by writings, preach- 
 ings, and lectures, led many of the seeming lost into 
 the paths of peace. It was a large array of " the 
 repentant " that good woman conducted to the foot of 
 the great white throne. It demands but little force of 
 fancy to see them gather round her, when she crossed 
 the celestial river and rested on its heavenward side. 
 She was one of the emphatically good — good in all 
 the relations of life — and they ought not to have been 
 mourners who, at the Kilburn Cemetery, saw her remains 
 (as I did) laid in earth on Monday, July 8th, 1878. 
 
 Charles Dickens. — So much has been written con- 
 cerning Dickens — he occupied such a prominent position
 
 156 CHAELES DICKEXS. 
 
 in life and in letters — that any lengthened comments 
 respecting him are needless on my part. It is a general 
 opinion that his biographer did not fulfil his task in such 
 a manner as to do justice to its theme : the three big 
 volumes have been not inaptly described as " Memoirs 
 of John Forstcr and Charles Dickens." 
 
 I knew the great novelist when he was a boy ; 
 again in the days of his early celebrity, while he was 
 still a bachelor ; and later, Mrs. Hall and I were present 
 at the christening of his first-born. We had known 
 Mrs. Dickens also while she was Miss Catherine 
 Hogarth. 
 
 Much has been said on the unhappy subject of their 
 separation, and some of the most unfortunate utterances 
 were those put in print by Dickens himself at the time. 
 It is a theme that all will feel bound to treat with a 
 reserve similar to that discreetly maintained by his 
 biographer. Undoubtedly, sympathy was largely felt for 
 Mrs. Dickens — and rightly so. 
 
 I well remember my sensations of astonishment and 
 interest when the first number of " Pickwick " was 
 brought me, and I looked it over. Forster was with me 
 at the time. How, on the introduction of Sam Weller, 
 the work took the town by storm, and its author, who 
 only a short time before had been an unnoticed parlia- 
 mentary reporter, reached at a bound the summit of 
 success, and became the literary lion of the day, I need 
 not here describe. 
 
 No man since Walter Scott has so amply and effi- 
 ciently supplied in fiction the intellectual need of the 
 age ; but that great man did not do a tithe of what
 
 LETITIA LANDON. 157 
 
 Dickens has done to quicken its social and moral pro- 
 gress. Further eulogium is unnecessary ; but I cannot 
 resist a desire to quote this passage from Charles 
 Dickens's last will and testament : — 
 
 "I commit my soul to the mercy of God, through our Lord and 
 Saviour, Jesus Christ ; and I exhort my dear children to try to guide 
 themselves by the teaching of the New Testament in its broad 
 spirit, and to put no faith in any man's narrow construction of its 
 letter." 
 
 I have elsewhere in these volumes alluded to the cir- 
 cumstances under which I fii*st made acquaintance with 
 Charles Dickens — so far back as the year 1826. Who 
 would have di-eamt then that the intelligent-looking lad 
 who, from time to time, brought " penny-a-line " matter 
 to the office of the newspaper on which his father was 
 a parliamentary reporter, would one day be laid, amid 
 national grief, in the mausoleum of our British worthies, 
 while over the grave that would receive his body an 
 eloquent funeral sermon would be preached by a high 
 dignitary of the Church, proclaiming Charles Dickens 
 one of the foremost teachers of his time ? 
 
 As I can write of Dickens nothing new, nothing 
 important, nothing valuable, as I can make only very 
 trifling additions to what is known to the whole world 
 of readers, I prefer the course I adopt, and leave the 
 subject comparatively untouched. 
 
 Letitia Elizabeth Landon. — Of the grave of this 
 unhappy poetess at Cape Coast Castle, Dr. Madden thus 
 writes in the " Memoirs of Lady Blessington " : —
 
 158 LETITIA LAXDON. 
 
 "A few common tiles distinguisli it from the graves of the 
 various military men who have perished in this stronghold of 
 pestilence. Her grave is daily trampled over by the soldiers of the 
 fort. The morning blast of the bugle, and roll of the drum, are the 
 sounds that have been thought most in unison with the spirit of the 
 gentle being who sleeps below the few red tiles where the soldiers 
 on parade do congregate. There is not a plant, nor a blade of 
 grass, nor an}i;hing green, in that courtyard, on which the burning 
 sun blazes down all day long. And this is the place where they 
 have buried L. E. L. ! " 
 
 Her fame, like herself, is but a memory now. But 
 liow bright it was half a century ago ! — how intoxicat- 
 ing ! So quickly won, too, that she might, like Byron, 
 have written, " I awoke one morning and found myself 
 famous." Alas ! Dead-Sea fruit, indeed, was to her 
 the fruit of her genius — of all the women of letters 
 whose pens have assisted feminine charms to make them 
 famous and flattered, few have been more completely 
 miserable ; none can I bring to mind who ever closed a 
 career of brilliant unhappiness by a death so tragical. 
 Her marriage wrecked her life ; but before that fatal 
 mistake was made, slander had been busy with her fair 
 fame — the slander that most cruelly wounds a woman. 
 She took refuge from it in union with a man utterly 
 incapable of appreciating her or making her happy, and 
 went out with him to nis government at the Gold Coast 
 — to die. And not even — tragical as such an ending 
 would have been to the career of the applauded writer, 
 the flattered woman — to wither before the pestilential 
 influences that steam up from that wilderness of swamp 
 and jungle ; but to die a violent death — a fearful one — 
 and to leave to the coroner's inquest, that the manner 
 of her end made necessary, the task of delicately veiling
 
 LETITIA LAND ON. 150 
 
 under a verdict of accident the horrid doubts that her 
 fate suggested. Suicide or murder — which was it, the 
 voice of the public of that day asked, that had so tragi- 
 cally closed the career of the gifted " L. E. L." ? For 
 my part, that unhappy " L. E. L." was murdered I 
 never had a doubt. Her marriage in 1838 to Maclean, 
 who had accidentally met her during a visit he paid to 
 England while he was Governor of the Gold Coast, was 
 speedily followed by her departure with her husband 
 for what was to prove her grave. She landed at Cape Coast 
 Castle in July, 1838, and on the 15th of October she was 
 dead — dying, according to the verdict of a coroner's 
 inquest, from having accidentally taken a dose of prussic 
 acid. But where was she to have procured that jpoison ? 
 I learned by inquiry from her physician that it was 
 not among the contents of the medicine-chest she took 
 out from England, and I have no reason to suppose that 
 any one at Cape Coast Castle was guilty of the culpable 
 negligence of accidentally leaving it in her way. 
 
 "When the ship that bore them to Africa arrived in 
 port, Maclean left her on board while he went to arrange 
 matters on shore. A negro woman was there, with four or 
 five children — Jiis children ; she had to be sent into the 
 interior to make room for her legitimate successor. It 
 is understood the negress was the daughter of a king ; 
 at all events she was of a race ''with whom revenge is 
 virtue,'' and from the moment "L, E. L." landed her life 
 was at the mercy of her rival ; that by her hand she was 
 done to death I am all but certain, although in the only 
 letter she wi'ote to Mrs. Hall from Africa she assumed 
 an air of cheerfulness and content.
 
 160 LETITIA LANDON. 
 
 It was a fate that many of her friends foreboded. I 
 was not at her wedding, where her friend, Bulwer 
 Lytton, gave her away. Few were ; but not many days 
 afterwards I was one of a party assembled at the house 
 that was then her home, to bid the wedded pair fare- 
 well. It chanced that I was the oldest of her friends 
 present ; it was therefore my duty to make her the 
 congratulatory speech. I threw into it as much feeling 
 as I could, appealed to Mrs. Hall for confirmation of 
 my statement that during many years we had known 
 her intimately, each year having increased our affection, 
 regard, and respect, which she could not have so long 
 and continuously retained if they had not been earned 
 and merited. It was, indeed, but an emphatic mode of 
 confuting the slanders that had embittered her life, and 
 of which, no doubt, her husband had heard. The bride 
 wept ; the bridegroom replied. It will not be difficult 
 to guess our feelings when we heard this reply: "If 
 what Mr. Hall says of my wife be true, I wonder you 
 let her go away from you ; " that was all he said ! 
 Laman Blanchard looked at me and I at him, and on 
 afterwards comparing notes we found that a similar 
 gloomy foreboding of her future doom had seized us 
 both. 
 
 Poor child, poor giid, poor woman, poor wife, poor 
 victim — from the cradle to the grave, it was an unhappy 
 life ! I have seldom seen her merry, that the laugh was 
 not followed by a sigh. 
 
 Her poems and her novels are but little read now ; 
 the latter have not been reprinted, the former are for- 
 gotten ; but between the years 1825 and 1845 she
 
 LETITIA LAXDON. 161 
 
 occupied a very prominent position ; her admirers were 
 the whole reading British public. I have, I think, done 
 justice to her in the " Book of Memories." I cannot find 
 space here to go into the history of the slander breathed 
 against her; but Mrs. Hall is authority sufficient to 
 brand as calumnies the whispers that pui'sued her during 
 the later years of a grievous and mournful career. 
 
 For, perhaps, years before her depai'ture from England 
 she had lived as an inmate at a boarding-school, 22, 
 Hans Place,* where a number of young ladies were 
 educated. That fact alone might have sufficed to silence 
 the slanders that assailed her. She there received her 
 friends, and seldom a week passed that she was not a 
 visitor at our house in Sloane Street — close by. 
 
 Mrs. Hall, writing in 1839 of Miss Landon, says^ 
 '' How evanescent were her smiles, how weary were her 
 sighs I " and pictured her then as very fascinating. 
 Small of person, but well formed. Her dark silken haii- 
 braided back over a small, but, what phrenologists would 
 call, a well -developed, head ; her forehead full and open, 
 but the hair grew low upon it ; the eyebrows perfect in 
 arch and form; the eyes round — soft, or flashing, as 
 might be — grey, well formed, and beautifully set ; the 
 lashes long and black, the under lashes turning down 
 with delicate curve, and forming a soft relief upon the 
 tint of her cheek, which, when she enjoyed good health, 
 
 * Her constant companion, fellow-inmate, and faithful friend, was Miss Emma 
 Eoberts — the author of some pleasant and useful books. She went to India and 
 died there, comparatively young. 
 
 Miss Landon used to say of Hans Place, that the single policeman whose sole 
 duty it was to stroll up and down and look at nothing, petitioned his superior for 
 removal on the ground that its loneliness was draining the lil'e out of hinu 
 
 VOL. II. M
 
 162 LAM AN BLAXCHAED. 
 
 was bright and blusliing ; her complexion was delicately 
 fair ; her skin soft and transparent ; her nose small 
 (retrousse), slightly cnrved, but capable of scornful 
 expression, which she did not appear to have the power 
 of repressing, even though she gave her thoughts no 
 words, when any despicable action was alluded to. 
 
 " Weary, beset with privations, unkindncsses, dis- 
 appointments, ever struggling against absolute poverty " 
 — these were the mournful words " L. E. L." applied to 
 herself. In one of her letters to Mrs. Hall she wrote : 
 " Envy, malice, and all uncharitableness — these are the 
 fruits of a successful literary career for a woman." 
 Thank God, there are many happy exceptions. To some 
 of them I shall refer in this book. 
 
 I have placed her maiden name at the head of this 
 chapter; let the one she bore for so short a time be 
 forgotten. On the evening of her death she was buried 
 in the courtyard of Cape Coast Castle. The grave was 
 dug by torchlight amid a pitiless torrent of rain : active 
 workmen hurried through their dismal work, and her 
 body was put out of sight. Mrs. Hall and I strove to 
 raise money to place a monument there ; but objection 
 was made, and the project was abandoned. Lady Bles- 
 sington directed a slab to be placed at her expense on 
 the wall. That, also, was objected to. But her husband, 
 for very shame, at last permitted it to be done, and a 
 mural tablet records that in that African courtyard rests 
 all that is mortal of Letitia Elizabeth Maclean. 
 
 Laman Blanchard published a biography of ''L. E. L."
 
 LAMAN BLANCHARD. 163 
 
 It is kind, generous, and full of interest. He was a 
 dear fi'iend of ours : we had introduced him to the 
 poetess. As a poet, essayist, and editor he took promi- 
 nent and honourable rank. A more estimable man I 
 have rarely known. He died sadly; his mind had 
 become gloomily o'ercast by the death of his admirable 
 wife, to whom he was devotedly attached. He died in 
 a moment of madness, brought on by despondency that 
 had reached despair. 
 
 As an editor — first of the True Sun, and afterwards 
 of the Courier — both papers long ago extinct — he was 
 liberal, discriminating, just ; as a critic sound, generous, 
 and upright. I drew his character at that time, as I 
 draw it now : '' The eloquent and tender poet ; the brave 
 advocate of natural rights ; the brimful and active but 
 generous wit ; the sterling and steadfast essayist ; the 
 searching yet indulgent critic." He was all that. 
 
 '■ ' The siinny temper, bright where all is strife ; 
 The simjile heart that mocks at worldly wiles ; 
 Light wit that plays along the calm of life, 
 And stirs its languid surface into smiles." 
 
 His godson, the son of Douglas Jerrold — who has 
 made for himself a high renown, both as a man of letters 
 and a political writer — married Blanchard's daughter, and 
 they have many children, who may have inherited the 
 genius of both grandsires — the wit of the one and the 
 genial nature of the other. 
 
 Of a thoroughly opposite nature to the kindly biogra- 
 pher of "L. E. L." was Douglas Jeeeold. They both 
 had their trials — the one succumbed to, the other defied 
 
 m2
 
 164 WILLIAM JERDAN. 
 
 and defeated, them. How different their characters, how 
 
 opposite their fates ! Jerrold lived to be a prosperous 
 
 man; but no one ever accused him of generosity or 
 
 sympathy ; his wit, which, unlike that of his associate, 
 
 often — 
 
 " Carried a heart-stain away on its blade," 
 
 was ever biting, bitter, and caustic, and careless as to 
 distinguishing friend from foe. Many of his brilliant 
 bons mots and witticisms are current in literary cliques j 
 but I have rarely heard one repeated that was not calcu- 
 lated to give somebody pain. Long neglect, doubtless, 
 soured his temper, and when reputation and comparative 
 wealth came to him — somewhat late in life, and, I 
 believe, after years of privation — they found him like 
 the wholesome draught w^hich the thunder-storm has 
 converted into a sour and deleterious drink. 
 
 Few countenances expressed a character more truth- 
 fully than did that of Jerrold ; it was highly intel- 
 lectual, but severe, and exceedingly sarcastic — just that 
 of one whom a prudent man would not covet for a foe, 
 and would hardly expect to hail as a friend. 
 
 William Jerdan fii'st appeared in print so long ago 
 as 1804.* During many years the Literary Gazette^ of 
 which he was the editor from 1817 to 1850, was a 
 power in the Press ; its good or ill word went far to 
 
 * He was born at Kelso in 1782, and died at Bushy Heath, Kent, in 1869. 
 Not long before his death I heard him make an earnest and impressive speech at 
 the Society of Noviomagus : of which society — although then retired from it — he 
 had long been a prominent member. He was eighty-five years old and in mar- 
 vellous vigour, notwithstanding the gay life he had led for nearly three-quarters 
 of a century.
 
 WILLIAM JEEDAN. 165 
 
 make or mar an author's reputation, and the sale of a 
 book was often large or limited according to its fiat. It 
 is but justice to him to say he " did his spiriting gently," 
 and was far less given to censure than to praise. It is 
 true that in his latter years he was, as Hawthorne said 
 of him, " time-worn, but not reverend ; " yet in old age 
 he retained much of his pristine vigour, and when he was 
 past eighty could be, and often was, witty in words and 
 eloquent in speech. Yet his life is not a life to emulate, 
 and certainly not one for laudation. Many liked, with- 
 out respecting, him. !N"o doubt he was of heedless 
 habits, no doubt he cared little for the cost of self- 
 gratification, and was far too lightly guided all his life 
 long by high and upright principles ; but I for one will 
 not turn a deaf ear to the prayer, that is half an apology, 
 to which he gives utterance in his autobiography — a hope 
 ' ' that some fond and faithful regret might embalm the 
 memory of the sleeper, who can never wake more to 
 participate in a sorrow and bestow a solace, listen to 
 distress, and bring it relief, serve a friend and forgive a 
 foe, perform his duties as perfectly as his human frailty 
 allowed, never wilfully doing injury to man, woman, 
 or child, and loving his neighbours of one sex as him- 
 self, and of the other better." 
 
 Unhappily he wrote another passage — at least as true. 
 " I have drained the Circe cup to the dregs I " Alas ! 
 the dregs were pernicious to heart, mind, and soul. 
 
 Jordan, although always intensely occupied with his 
 editorial labours on the Gazette, was a voluminous 
 author ; in 1830 he edited and wrote nearly the whole 
 of the " National Portrait Gallery," short and pithy yet
 
 166 ALLAN CUNNIXGHAM. 
 
 comprehensive sketches of character based on interesting 
 facts. There are few works so good of the period, or of 
 any period. 
 
 He left an autobiography ; considering his vast 
 opportunities it is deficient in interest, of little use for 
 reference, and giving us but a shadowy idea of the many 
 great men and women to Avhom it makes reference, and 
 whom he had personally known. Indeed, he had person- 
 ally known nearly all who flourished during the second 
 quarter of the nineteenth centuiy. I have myself vainly 
 sought in his four volumes for the help he might have 
 given — and ought to have given — the writers who 
 should come after him. 
 
 I wish I could say something to honour the memory of 
 William Jerdan, for personally I owed him much ; I had 
 always his good word, and so had my wife ; there is no 
 one of her books that did not receive generous and 
 cordial praise in the Literary Gazette. I grieve that 
 now he is in his grave I can give so little for so much. 
 
 Allan Cunningham. — I owe a tribute of grateful 
 memory to Allan Cunningham, not only for the friend- 
 ship he gave us, but that at his house, 27, Lower Bel- 
 grave Place (near to the atelier of the sculptor Chantrey, 
 whose works he " oversaw " and dii-ected), I met 
 several of the celebrities I might not otherwise have 
 known — notably Scott and Southey. The inscription I 
 would place over his grave in Kensal Green is this — 
 
 " Love him, for lie loved Nature ! " 
 That love was as strong in him after long years of toil
 
 ALLAN CUXXIXGHAil. 167 
 
 in London, as it was when in early yontli he wooed the 
 Muse in the dales of the Scottish shire he dearly loved, 
 and of which he was fondly proud. 
 
 He was born in 1784, came to London in 1810, and 
 having soon after written to persuade the bonnie Scottish 
 lassie he had wooed in green Nithsdale to follow him, 
 married her in July of the following year. Honest, 
 sturdy, loving, true, seldom did a better man take 
 service in the ranks of " Letters : " for Allan was, "by 
 profession," an author, although authorship was in his 
 case the staff and not the crutch. 
 
 He was a tall man, powerful of frame, and apparently 
 of an iron constitution. Of a genial, kindly, courteous 
 nature, these qualities gained for him not only esteem 
 but affection. To the last he gave the idea of a man 
 self-taught, or rather whose teacher was Nature; and 
 his tongue, always when he warmed to a subject, smacked 
 of the heather. There is a pile of granite reared OA^er 
 his grave in Kensal Green — granite from Aberdeen, it is 
 true — but it would seem more in keeping with the 
 memory of Allan Cunningham if daisies grew where he 
 was laid ; or as his friend, Theodore Martin, wrote, in a 
 noble poem that commemorated the burial of Campbell — 
 
 " Better after- times should find him, 
 To his rest in homage bound, 
 Lying in the land that bore him, 
 With its glories piled around." 
 
 His admii-able wife, the bonny Jean of his earlier 
 poems, rests by his side. They were little more than 
 children when they loved first ; they w^ere still young 
 when a prospect of independence to be won by hard toil
 
 168 PETER CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 encouraged them to many. I do not think it can offend 
 any one of their descendants if I relate an anecdote that 
 does special honour to the wife. Mrs. Cunningham, 
 calling one afternoon on Mrs. Hall, told her she had had 
 visitors that morning. Her old master and mistress 
 from Dumfries had visited London, and of course had 
 called upon Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham. The servant 
 brought in cake and wine ; Mrs. Cunningham took 
 from her hands the tray, closed the door upon her, and 
 with her o^\ti hands offered the refreshments to her 
 guests. As she told the touching little story, her 
 Scottish accent seemed to become more broadly Doric, 
 when she said, "I wasna goin' to let anybody but 
 mysel' wait upon my auld master and mistress." I 
 have never known a better example than Mrs. Cunning- 
 ham of what natural grace and purity can do to produce 
 refinement. Though peasant born, she was in society a 
 lady — thoroughly so. Not only was there no shadow of 
 vulgarity in her manners, there was not even rusticity, 
 while there was a total absence of assumption and 
 pretence. 
 
 I reluctantly refer to their son Peter ; although his 
 name is honoured in Letters as that of a successful 
 worker in fields somewhat fallow when he wrote. His 
 researches into the history and remains of Old London 
 are especially valuable, and of great use to all who 
 follow in his wake. Most unhappily he impaired intel- 
 lectual vigour and destroyed life, by habits of intem- 
 perance — the curse of so many of large capacity, whose 
 promise was thus negatived and blighted before the 
 flower had produced the seed.
 
 marryat; palisser. 169 
 
 Two other sons of Allan became general officers in 
 the India Company's service. One, if not both, have 
 left sons to inherit the honoured name : honour which 
 both these estimable officers fully maintained. 
 
 Captain Marryat. — A thorough sailor to outward 
 seeming was Frederick Marryat, the greatest of all the 
 writers of sea stories ; and a sailor in truth he was — 
 daring, energetic, and brave, thoughtful, far-seeing, and 
 enterprising. One fancied the scent of tar was clinging 
 to his thick-set manly frame. At least that is the way 
 I call him to memory. He died, after having done an 
 immense amount of work afloat and ashore, in the vigour 
 of his life, in 1848, when he was but fifty-six years old ; 
 his daughter tells us "he was murmuring passages 
 from the Lord's Prayer when he fell asleep — a shiver 
 passed over him and he was gone." 
 
 His sister, Mrs. Bury Palisser, author of several 
 excellent and useful books, was during many years our 
 frequent and always welcome visitor. She was one of the 
 much esteemed friends of Baron Cuvier, at whose house 
 we first met her in 1830. A very kind, charming, and 
 most intellectual lady she was, and very handsome. 
 Many of her most valuable writings, on china and lace 
 more especially, she contributed to the Art Journal. 
 
 John BAXiii died in his native city, Kilkenny, in 
 1842, at the early age of forty-five. Poor fellow ! he
 
 170 JOHN BAXIM. 
 
 was in deplorably bad health all his life. I knew the 
 author of the "O'Hara Tales" — their joint-author rather 
 with his elder brother, Michael — so long ago as 1822, 
 when he was, for a time, my fellow-lodger in the 
 cottage assigned to me by Ugo Foscolo, at South Bank, 
 St. John's Wood. lie was but eighteen when he 
 produced his tragedy of " Damon and Pythias," and 
 was the editor of a provincial journal when but seven- 
 teen years old. At twenty he man-icd a peasant girl, of 
 much beauty though in delicate health. He began life 
 as an artist, though when he settled in London, about 
 1820, he earned a precarious livelihood by writing for 
 periodicals, and fame ; and a corresponding increase of 
 income but slowly overtook him. Subsequently he was 
 awarded one of the Crown pensions — £150 a year. 
 
 In 1853 a meeting was held in Dublin, a ''Banim 
 Testimonial Committee," to render homage to the writer 
 of so many novels admirably illustrative of Irish life and 
 character, and to aid in comforting those who were left 
 behind to moui-n him — the wife and daughter he fondly 
 and devotedly loved. 
 
 Edwin Atherstone was, as his name indicates, of 
 pure Saxon descent, and his personal appearance tallied 
 with it. He was of herculean build : tall, robust, large- 
 limbed, and handsome, with keen blue eyes and flaxen 
 hail', representing fifty generations of Saxon ancestors ; 
 yet he died early. He produced a remarkable poem of 
 great power, merit, and beauty, which probably not one 
 in a hundi-ed thousand has read. Some idea of the
 
 MES. JAilESON. 171 
 
 nature of this work may be formed fi'om its title, " The 
 Fall of Xineveh." It was illustrated by more than one 
 picture painted by his friend, John Martin. 
 
 ]\Irs. Jameson, whose works " do live," was of Irish 
 birth ; her father, Mr. ^lurphy, was miniature painter to 
 the Princess Charlotte. Iler husband, a barrister, 
 obtained an appointment in Canada, but she did not go 
 with him to that colony ; she remained in London, what 
 in her country is called a " grass widow." Yet her 
 husband, to whom she introduced us during one of his 
 few visits to England, seemed, in all senses of the word, 
 a gentleman — handsome of person, amiable in dis- 
 position, a man to whom any wife might have been 
 fondly attached. During the long period of thirty years 
 she may be said to have been a wedded wife without 
 a husband. Why it was so was a secret they wisely 
 and rightly kept to themselves. 
 
 Though greatly admired and respected, she was one 
 of the few exceptions I have met with as regards Irish- 
 women — not made to be loved. 
 
 Her first book, " The Beauties of the Court of 
 Charles II.," was not a seemly introduction to a literary 
 career in the case of a woman, but her name is attached 
 to volumes on holier themes ; her greatest work was 
 "Sacred and Legendary Ai't," commenced in 1848, and 
 completed in 1852. Some of her best works appeared 
 originally in the Ai^t Journal. 
 
 She was a " liberal " as regards education and 
 religion, and delivered lectui'es on the grievances that
 
 172 HANNAH MOORE. 
 
 affected her sex — a pioneer of the army that has since 
 arisen to wage war for " woman's rights." 
 
 Among literary women such advocates have been, and 
 happily continue to be, very few. Indeed, I do not 
 think I could name half a dozen of the women who 
 were famous during the first half of the nineteenth 
 century, nor do I think there is a greater number of 
 those who noAV live, whom the " strong-minded " of 
 to-day can claim as sister-soldiers in the contest for 
 " woman's rights " — as they are advocated by some 
 women who wrangle at public meetings, and annually 
 assail Parliament, so to alter their accustomed legal 
 and natural rights as to place woman in all ways on 
 what they term an equality with man. 
 
 Hannah More. — In February of the year 1745, when 
 the Prince Pretender, the Young Chevalier, was hiding in 
 the caves at Arasaig, trusting his life to needy comrades 
 who would have consigned their souls to Satan sooner 
 than betray him, there was born to a poor schoolmaster 
 at Stapleton, near Bristol, a daughter (one of five) who 
 was destined to occupy a premier role in the literary 
 history of her country ; and in 1763 there visited 
 Bristol an Irish lecturer on rhetoric, companioned by 
 his son, Eichard Brinsley Sheridan ; among his frequent 
 auditors was a young girl — Hannah More. Not long 
 afterwards, among her friends were Bishop Porteous, 
 David Garrick, William Wilberforce, Samuel Johnson, 
 Edmund Burke, John Locke, Gibbon, De Lolme, and 
 Sir Joshua Eeynolds — names, the sounds of which seem
 
 HANNAH MOORE. 173 
 
 as far off as are those of Harold and William the 
 Conqueror. 
 
 In 1825 it was my happiness to visit that lady, 
 Hannah More : she was then in her eightieth year ; but 
 much later, in 1832, I was again her visitor ; in 1833 
 she passed from earth to heaven — the heaven she had so 
 long and faithfully served ; she has her reward, and is 
 again the companion of the good men and women .she 
 had known on earth. 
 
 Between the day of her birth and that on which I 
 write there are nearly one hundred and forty years. 
 
 Barley Wood is at Wrington, a village eight miles 
 from Bristol; the pretty cottage was reached through 
 grounds that contained many memorials of her friends : 
 urns that commemorated some worthy who was a bene- 
 factor, and whose name obtained renown about a century 
 and a half ago. She left it not long after we were there, 
 and we again, saw her at Eichmond Terrace, Bristol. She 
 was in soimd health and good spirits, enjoying life in 
 the prospect and the retrospect. 
 
 At Barley Wood she met us at the door, gave us a 
 cordial greeting, tripped before us up the stairs to 
 the drawing-room, chatting all the way, and at once 
 commenced her task of showing to us the relic-reminders 
 of friends gone before. One by one she took them from 
 her table, told us what they were and of whom they were 
 the cherished gifts. At length she took from a drawer a 
 play-bill, printed in the last century ; it was the bill of 
 her tragedy of "Percy," the prologue and epilogue of 
 which were written by David Garrick. He had left the 
 stage some two or three years previously, or he assuredly
 
 174 MAEY RUSSELL MITFORD. 
 
 would have acted the part of the hero in that play. At 
 the time it was acted, in 1777, and long afterwards, it 
 was classed among the most successful dramas produced 
 on the British stage. 
 
 I likened her to a benevolent fairy, as she flitted 
 to and fro, her very small person clad in pea-green silk. 
 Mrs. Hall has pictured her, and that picture I copy. 
 
 " Her form was small and slight ; her features ■m.'inkled with age ; 
 but the burdeo of eighty years had not impaired her gracious smile, 
 nor lessened the brilliancy of her eyes : bright and searching, clear 
 and far-seeing eyes they were, even then. She tripped fi*om con- 
 sole to console, from window to window, to show us some gift that 
 bore a name immortal, some cherished reminder of long-ago days — 
 almost of another world, certainly of another age, for they were 
 memories of those whose deaths were registered before the nine- 
 teenth century had birth. 
 
 " Her work was principally for women : but she never sought to 
 lead woman out of her sphere : and it is at once an example to the 
 ' strong - minded.' She sought by all means to elevate, and 
 thoroughly succeeded in elevating her sex. She wrote for me in 
 my album this memorable passage : ' A habit is more powerful 
 than an act : and a previously indulged temper, during the day, 
 will not, it is to be feared, be fully counteracted by a few minutes 
 devotion atniffht.' " 
 
 Mary Eussell Mitford. — Miss Landon called her 
 " Sancho Panza in petticoats ;" yet among the lanes and 
 glades of her own sunny Berkshire she might have aptly 
 seemed a merry milkmaid — proper to the place. Her 
 round figure, jolly face, perpetual smile, ready greeting, 
 kindly words seemed of kin to the Nature that is away 
 from crowded streets. Assuredly she was more at home 
 at Three Mile Cross than she was in London. In London 
 she seemed always en garde, thought an air of patronage 
 the right thing, and that an author about whom the
 
 MARY EUSSELL MITFOEU. 175 
 
 whole world was talldng, and who had achieved the 
 greatest of all literary successes — the production of a 
 tragedy — was bound to be stately as well as cordial — to 
 have company manners that she would have thrown off 
 as a paralyzing encumbrance where the breezes blew 
 among the trees that shaded her native heather. I 
 have elsewhere told the story that one evening at our 
 house, soon after "Rienzi" had become town-talk, and 
 when she was the observed of all observers, some wags 
 were tittering behind her chair; we ascertained the 
 cause — she wore a huge turban utterly out of keeping 
 with her countenance : there was a card pinned to it, 
 on which was printed in large letters, " Yery chaste ; 
 only five and threepence." She had purchased it at 
 C'ranbourn Alley (then a famous mart for second-class 
 finery), had placed it on her head in the carriage, and, 
 not noticing, had not removed the ticket. Mrs. Hal], 
 making some pretence to arrange her headdress, un- 
 pinned and took away the obnoxious advertisement, and 
 she never knew how or why so many wags had been 
 merry at her cost. 
 
 A pleasanter day was that we spent with her at Three 
 Mile Cross, in a small and somewhat dismal cottage with 
 a poor bit of garden, which her feeling and fancy had 
 magnified into the perfection of a rural retreat — rus in 
 m-be, where her pet greyhound, Mayflower, gambolled 
 about her feet; and where the ''neighbours," each and 
 all of whom she had pictured with graceful and kindly 
 pencil in her ''sketches," dropped cui'tseys as she passed.* 
 
 * They were not angry because of the freedom with which they were treated. 
 It was otherwise with Mrs. Hall, who did something of the same kind in her
 
 176 MARY RUSSELL MITFORD. 
 
 Mary Eussell Mitford sleeps in the prettiest of old 
 village churcliyards, where village lads and lasses pass 
 every Sabbath-day beside her grave ; fit resting-place of 
 one whose delight was in picturing "the humble loves 
 and simple joys" of the Sylvias and Corydons who still 
 gather round an English homestead. I hope her dreams 
 are not disturbed at Swallowficld by gas in the highway 
 and the scream of the railway whistle, but that swallows 
 yet build in the cottage eaves, and the blackbird's trill 
 is heard among the fragrant limes, that the nightingale 
 sings there yet, and that roses still bloom in her " Yale 
 of Cashmere." 
 
 There was not much of romance in the career of Miss 
 Mitford ; at least, of such little is known.* She lived 
 chiefly with her father in sunny Berkshii-e. He was a 
 selfish old man — drinking, gambling, worthless — who 
 having squandered his own money lived upon hers ; that 
 which she earned, but did not inherit. 
 
 Miss Mitford Avas a voluminous correspondent. I do 
 not know how many volumes of her letters have been 
 
 earliest book with her humbler acquaintances and friends ; they were mortally 
 ofiended, " never thought Miss Maria would do the like, — putting them in a 
 printed book : " and more than one greeted her with reluctance when she visited 
 her native home ; yet it is unnecessary to say they had been portrayed with 
 feelings not only of regard but affection . The humbler Irish have always had a 
 horror of " being in print." 
 
 * We may except, however, the piece of luck that gave her, when a child, a 
 prize in the lottery. 
 
 On her tenth birthday Dr. Mitford took the child to a lottery office, and bade 
 her select a ticket. She determined — guided, to all appearance, by one of the 
 unaccountable whims of childhood — that she would have none other than that 
 numbered 2,224. Some difficulty attended the purchase of the coveted number, 
 but the little lottery patroness hadher way at last, and on the day of drawing there 
 fell to the lot of the happy holder of ticket No. 2,224 a prize of £20,000. Alas ! the 
 holder of the fortunate ticket was happy only in name. By the time his 
 daughter was a woman, there remained to Dr. Mitford, of all his lottery adven- 
 ture had brought him, a W( dgwood dinner service with the family crest !
 
 MARY RUSSELL MITFORD. 177 
 
 put into print by her friend the Eev. A. G. L' Estrange. 
 He has been, however, a generous and sympathetic 
 biographer ; * so, indeed, has been another friend, much 
 loved and respected by her, Francis Bennoch, F.S.A. 
 To give a list that included all her correspondents, 
 literary and artistic, would be to give a very long list 
 indeed. I found among my letters one from Barbara 
 Hofland to Mrs. Hall, an extract from which, I think, is 
 worth giving, principally because of the " fun " it ex- 
 hibits in the attempt to write Irish brogue. 
 
 "Och! to be sure, my dear honey, and it's your own swate self 
 that is quite ignorant of the most wonderfullest, astonishing sur- 
 prise that is just come upon a body, and that has done a body's 
 heart good to think about — and nivver a word the spalpeen rascals 
 i' the Times has told us about it, bekase, you see, she commanded 
 her nibour to hould their black and white tongues, an' niver men- 
 tion the partickler case. But as to not tellin' o' you, my dear, all 
 as I just happen to know, why it's out o' the question, honey — so 
 here goes. Miss Mary Mitford is married, honestly married, to one 
 of her own kith and kin, a true Mitford of Northumberland, tho' 
 his relationship is a mighty way off. And he have taken her down 
 to his own fine estate and noble ould mansion, and made her who 
 was a rale lady, just aisy for the rest of her days, and her parents 
 aisy too ; and if that isn't good news, I don't know what is, honey 
 dear." 
 
 "Life to the last enjoyed" — in " sunny Berkshire " 
 she loved so long and so well — Mary Eussell Mitford 
 died at Swallowfield on the 10th of January, ISSS.t 
 
 * Very recently — in 1882 — Mr. L'Estrange published a book of letters to and 
 from her, which he terms " The Friendships of Mary Russell Mitford." It is a 
 most deeply interesting book; her correspondence was with a very large number 
 of the celebrities of the age. 
 
 Her conversation Mrs. Barrett Crowning considered " even better than her 
 books; " and Mr. Field writes of her, "Her voice was as a beautiful chime of 
 silver bells." 
 
 t "iSunny Berkshire" was a very Arcadia to Mary Russell Mitford: she 
 fought for it against all comers. Now and then, she was forced into admissioii 
 
 VOL. II. N
 
 178 MARY EUSSELL MITFOED. 
 
 Her tragedies may be forgotten, but her village sketches 
 never can be. To them she is indebted for her fame. In 
 one of the latest of her letters she writes, " I sit by the 
 open window enjoying the balmy air. . . , . The trees, 
 
 and the sky, and a bit of the distant road My 
 
 roses are very beautiful, delicately sweet, and the com- 
 mon white pinks almost like cloves in their fragrance." 
 
 It is very pleasant to know that her love for the sweet 
 things of earth continued up to the brink of the grave, 
 but how far happier, for her, it would have been to have 
 known that earth was but a preparation for Heaven — 
 that the sweetest and brightest of her joys here were 
 as dust. Alas ! we must admit that to the joys to be 
 revealed hereafter she gave no thought.* On the 3rd of 
 October, 1854, Mary Eussell Mitford murmured, "I 
 cling to life." 
 
 that it was not quite perfect ; and very reluctantly confessed that its peasants 
 were sometimes boors. She told me this story — how one day she was taken 
 aback. A lady was walking with her through one of the lanes ; they had a 
 tussle of words : one asserting, the other denying, that the peasantry lacked 
 natural courtesy and politeness ; and both had warmed with the discussion. 
 They had to pass through a gate: suddenly a boy who was leading a cow started 
 forward and opened the gate for them. Miss Mitford was delighted : it was a 
 death-blow to her antagonist. The lady was more than surprised: "Ah," said 
 she to the lad, "you're not Berkshire, I'm sure!" This was the answer — 
 " Thec'rt a liar, vor I be ! " I contrasted this illustration of natural courtesy 
 with an anecdote I have heard my father tell. He was in a boat with the 
 daughters of Puxley, of Berehaven ; the six rowers did their best ; each was 
 rewarded by a glass of whisky ; but a merry lass of the party aiming to play a 
 joke, observing that one of the boatmen was looking away, dipped the wine-glass 
 into the water and presented it to him. He drank it off seemingly without notice, 
 returned her the glass, saying, " Thank ye, meelady," instead of the sputtering 
 she expected. In much astonishment she said, " What, Pat, do you like ssJt 
 water F" This was his answer — " No, mee lady, I don't like salt water ; but if 
 yer ladyship had given me a glass of poison, I'd have drank it !" 
 
 * One of the dearest of her friends writes of her, shortly before her death, 
 " Would to God I knew more certainly than I do that the great thing of all is 
 not wanting."
 
 HARRISON AIXS WORTH. 179 
 
 William Harrison Ainsworth died so recently as 
 1882 in the seventy-seventh year of his age. He pro- 
 duced a score, at least, of novels, and was for some years 
 the editor of the Nev) Monthly Magazine (in 184o), which 
 he purchased from the executors of Colburn. Probably 
 at one period of his career he might have boasted that 
 he had almost as many readers as Dickens. 
 
 I knew Ainsworth when he obtained an unenviable 
 notoriety by his novel of ''Jack Sheppard," a work that 
 effected an enormous amount of evil. It became a sort 
 of sacred book to the ruffians, demireps, and all who were 
 dishonestly or immorally inclined amongst the lowest 
 orders, and, in fact, made, as well as encouraged, thieves 
 and other moral and social pests of society. I hope 
 before he died he '' repented him of the evil." God 
 gave him time in which to do so. 
 
 I saw little of him in later days, but when I knew 
 him in 1826, not long after he married the daughter of 
 Ebers of New Bond Street, and "condescended" for a 
 brief time to be a publisher, he was a remarkably hand- 
 some young man — tall, graceful in deportment, and in 
 all ways a pleasant person to look upon and talk to. He 
 was, perhaps, as thorough a gentleman as his native city 
 of Manchester ever sent forth. Few men have lived to 
 be more largely rewarded, not only by pecuniary recom- 
 pense, but by celebrity — I can hardly call it fame. His 
 antiquarian lore was remarkable, and he made brilliant 
 and extensive use of it in his long series of historical 
 romances. 
 
 is2
 
 180 HAYNES BAYLY. 
 
 Thomas Haynes Bayly had the ear of the drawing- 
 room fifty years ago, and from the pianos and harps, and 
 well-trained voices of the polite world, each new song of 
 his speedily made its way to the ruder choristers and 
 humbler instruments of the street. " I'd be a Butterfly," 
 and " Oh no, we never mention her ! " exercised the 
 hurdy-gurdies and ballad-singers throughout the king- 
 dom. Bayly was of a respectable family in Bath, his 
 father having been a solicitor in that city ; and he was 
 himself articled in his youth to an attorney, but never 
 followed his profession. He was a thorough gentleman, 
 of handsome person and refined manners. His talent 
 did not approach genius, but he hit the popular taste, 
 and his verses, wedded to simple music, long delighted 
 ears not over-fastidious. 
 
 Born in 1797, Bayly died, in 1839, at the compa- 
 vatively early age of forty-two. He is one of the 
 numerous worthies whose names are intimately asso- 
 ciated with Bath; for, in addition to his having been 
 born there, all, or nearly all, his most popular songs 
 were written in that pleasant city. 
 
 Sir John Bowring was better known as Dr. Bow- 
 ring, LL.D. He was knighted in 1853, after having 
 been consul at Hong Kong, and was subsequently 
 the Queen's representative in China. He was some 
 time editor of the Westminster Revieiv ; an advanced 
 Liberal, and Member of Parliament, first for Kilmar- 
 nock, afterwards for Bolton ; and literary executor of 
 Bentham.
 
 bowring; britton. 181 
 
 He was a native of DevonsMre, of a very old family 
 in that county, and was born at Exeter in 1798. It was 
 that fact perhaps that brought us into harmony, for I 
 was not at any time an admirer of his politics — those of 
 " The Philosophical Eadicals," as his school was styled 
 — or styled themselves, taking James Mill as their idol. 
 
 As an author, his reputation mainly rests on trans- 
 lations from languages with which few persons are 
 acquainted, but his public services were considerable; 
 as an advanced Liberal he largely aided his party, and 
 was foremost as a promoter and advocate of many good 
 and useful measures in Parliament ; while as a man and 
 a gentleman he was in all ways beyond reproach. He is 
 one whom his native county may be proud to rank 
 among the worthies of Devon. 
 
 John Britton, F.S.A. — I prefer to give my memorj^ 
 of this eminent antiquary — the pioneer of more recent 
 archseologists — as an extract from the Art Journal. I 
 wrote thus nearly forty years ago : — 
 
 "It is in contemplation by some personal friends of Mr. Britton, 
 in conjunction with others who are cognisant of his services, to 
 ' testify by some public acknowledgment the debt due to him from 
 all who are interested in our ancient architectural glories.' To 
 this testimonial we shall very gladly contribute. Few men have 
 been more useful in their generation. Mr. Britton was a brave 
 and zealous preserver of our national antiquities, when the duty 
 was neither so simple nor so creditable as it has since become. 
 Architecture and archeeology owe him much — he has worked long 
 and ardently for both : a veteran in the cause of Art, he retires 
 from the contest only when the victory has become certain and 
 easy. His experience extends, we imagine, over half a century : 
 fifty years of hard work have, we trust, secured him sufficient io
 
 182 EBENEZER ELLIOTT. 
 
 make tlie downhill of life a facile descent ; and the object contem- 
 platea is only some unequivocal sign that his amiable qualities, his 
 kindly disposition, and his ready zeal to communicate information 
 have their just influence upon a very large circle of friends ; while 
 those who know him only through his numerous works — every one 
 of which has been more or less beneficial to his country — will be 
 equally willing to aid in adopting some mode of recording their 
 sense of his services. Such episodes in a life of labour are not only 
 salutary rewards ; they act as direct encouragement to honourable 
 exertions, and are stimulants to useful energies. In this country 
 * the public ' does that which Governments do — wisely and honestly 
 — elsewhere." 
 
 Ebenezer Elliott. — I cannot pass in memory through 
 Sheffield without taking note of the Anti-Corn Law 
 Ehymer, whose dismal, yet grand and patriotic poems, I 
 do not doubt, aided largely to bring about the repeal of 
 the Corn Laws, when Cobden and Bright were assailing 
 them from many platforms. It was Bulwer Lytton, 
 prompted by William Howitt, who brought the dawn of 
 fame to Ebenezer Elliott. Howitt sent to Bulwer a 
 coarsely-printed pamphlet-poem, entitled " The Eanter," 
 and Bulwer sent a review of it to me, as editor of the 
 New Montlilij Magazine. 
 
 No man could be more happy than Elliott in a green 
 lane ; though an indefatigable and successful man of 
 business, he devoutly and devotedly loved IN'ature. If 
 absolutely rabid when he wrote of the "tax-fed aris- 
 tocracy " — sententious, bitter, sarcastic, loud, with 
 his pen in his hand and class sympathies and antipathies 
 for his inspiration — all evil thoughts evaporated when 
 communing in the woods and fields with the God by 
 w^hom the woods and fields were made ; among them his 
 spirit was as fresh and gentle as the dew by which they
 
 JOHN CLARE. 183 
 
 Vi-ere nourished. I saw him but once, j'et I had much 
 pleasant correspondence with him; and in the "Amulet" 
 some of the sweetest and best of his poems were printed. 
 He was also a frequent contributor to the JYetu MontJibj 
 Magazine. 
 
 John Clare was, far more truly than Ebonezer 
 Elliott, of the class of uneducated poets. I recall him, 
 poor fellow, with his huge overburthening head, that 
 might have dreamed dreams and seen visions, but 
 obviously was not the throne of productive thought. 
 His life was cheerless, or gladdened only by a brief ray 
 of sunshine that speedily gave way to blacker and 
 blacker clouds of calamity, under the gloomy influence 
 of which his mind sank ; and after long years of con- 
 finement he died in the Insane Asylum at Northampton, 
 the town with which his name is inseparably associated 
 — though not to its honour. He was not buried in a 
 pauper's grave ; a few pounds were kindly subscribed to 
 preserve his body from that indignity ; that, and a 
 small annuity purchased for him by subscription, while 
 he was yet free from the most terrible of maladies, is the 
 sum of what his country did for the poor peasant boy 
 who lived through penury and suffering to lea\'e his 
 mark in the literary annals of his time. I knew him in 
 1826 or 1827, and printed in the "Amulet" some of 
 the best of his poems, notably "Mary Lee." At a later 
 period a memoir of him in the "Book of Gems," with 
 some examples of his genius and a reference to the sad 
 story of his life,* brought me a letter from the noble 
 
 * "John* Clare, the Peasant Poet. — It is well known that this amiable 
 m .n and highly distinguished poet, has been fur some years subject to such
 
 184 AMELIA OPIE. 
 
 Marquis who took his title from Clare's native toTSTi ; 
 but I never heard that it resulted in substantial aid to 
 the poor poet. Yet he had been guilty of no other 
 "Crime than poverty, and his errors were only those that are 
 unhappily so frequently found in combination with the 
 highest order of genius. London society, certain coteries 
 of it, at least, made a lion of him for a time, and then 
 consigned him to utter and withering neglect ; what 
 had been sport to the lionizers was death to poor Clare, 
 whom flattery and patronage had disgusted with his 
 former life of hopeless poverty, and who found himself 
 suddenly plunged back into it. 
 
 Amelia Opie. — I have described Mrs. Oj)ie as *' at 
 home " in the gay capital of France. 
 
 " At one moment," as Mrs. Hall wrote, " discussing 
 some point of natural history with Baron Cuvier ; the 
 next, talking over the affairs of America with Fenimore 
 Cooper ; the next, explaining in very good English- 
 French to some sentimental girl who craved her blessing, 
 and called her mere^ that she never was and never would 
 be a nun, and that her dress was not the garb of any 
 such laborious, useful, or self-denying order as the 
 
 aberration of mind as rendered it necessary that he should be removed from his 
 family, and placed in a situation where the best medical treatment and most 
 judicious moans of management could be engaged in contributing to his recovery- 
 He has now been under the care of Dr. Allen, of Fairmead House, Epping 
 Forest, for nearly four years ; and it is with much pleasure that all the friends of 
 humanity and admirers of genius will hear, that in Dr. Allen's opinion, Clare's 
 recovery would soon be complete, if his anxiety for the welfare of his family 
 could be relieved by the consciousness that he had an income more adequate to 
 their support." — Extract from an advertisement in the Art Union, 1845. 
 
 The hopes referred to in the above unhappily proved transitory, and the luck- 
 less poet was consigned to the public asylum at Northampton — to be liberated 
 only by death.
 
 AMELIA OPIE. 185 
 
 Soeurs de Charite. Mrs. Opie was, to perfection, tlie 
 elderly English lady, tinged with the softest hlue^ and 
 vivified by the graceful influence of Parisian society." 
 
 Twenty years later, I saw Mrs. Opie for the last time 
 — only a brief while before her death. It was in the 
 autumn of 1851, at her quiet, pleasant dwelling in the 
 Castle Meadow of Norwich ; and not long after its mis- 
 tress had paid her last visit to London, to see the Great 
 Exhibition of that year. She greeted me with a cordial 
 welcome. Time had touched her lightly, and had not 
 robbed her of her grace, but had only replaced the 
 charms of youth with the beauty of old age. At eighty- 
 four she was a chaiTuing pictui-e of what goodness of 
 heart and cheerfulness of disposition can do to make age 
 lovely to the last. 
 
 Although a member of the Society of Friends, and 
 bound by that connection to be sedate, a leaven of gaiety 
 clung to her through life, innocently and harmlessly, and 
 there need have been no self-reproach in her occasional 
 murmur to herself, " Shall I ever cease to enjoy the 
 pleasures of the world ? I fear not." 
 
 In truth she never did. And so her Diary oddly 
 mingles gaieties with gravities : Maj^ meetings with 
 brilliant evenings, laboui's of love and works of charity 
 with half-idolatrous hero-worship ; and there occur 
 records of worldly joys, over which an Elder among the 
 Friends might shake his head and sigh, side by side with 
 such passages as these : " Went to the gaol, have hopes 
 of one woman." " Called to see that poor wretched girl 
 at the workhouse ; mean to get the prayer-book I gave 
 her out of pawn."
 
 186 AMELIA OPIE. 
 
 She was earnestly and sincerely philanthropic, though 
 her name seldom appeared in the list of subscribers to 
 public charities — for it was her way to give, not letting 
 her left hand know what her right hand did. 
 
 Feminine — essentially feminine — in her gifts, her 
 graces, her strength, her weakness, a true, and therefore 
 a most lovable woman, was Amelia Opie. 
 
 In 1882 I had the great pleasure to meet at Plymouth 
 a grand-nephew of the painter Opie. 
 
 Mr. Opie submitted to me a number of letters from 
 Amelia Opie, several of them dated not long after she 
 became a widow. They made it clear to me that she 
 had been the devoted and loving wife of a devoted and 
 loving husband. Such was by no means the opinion I 
 had previously held ; writing a memory of her, barely 
 ten years ago, I had recorded a very opposite belief, 
 describing Opie as a coarse man, unworthily mated to a 
 charming woman. I rejoice to do justice to his memory. 
 She loved and honoured him. He was, I am sure, 
 worthy to be loved and honoured. It will suffice that I 
 quote a passage or two from one of her letters. He died 
 in 1807. In a preface to his life — published in 1809 — 
 she wrote of her " dear and ever-lamented husband," of 
 her " affectionate duty to his memory." 
 
 " If I ever valued the power of -writing, it is now that I am 
 enabled to do him justice." " While I write I shall feel as if he 
 was not entirely lost to me." 
 
 ''I swear to you that nearly every day of my life (a blank, 
 indeed, to what it was) I go through fits of anguish and regret, for 
 him I have lost, as violent, if not more so, than I have ever felt. 
 He who reads the heart knows how often I cry to Him for mercy in 
 the bitterness of my soul and frenzy, for resignation to His will. 
 My father came in this moment, and seeing me crying, asked
 
 BERNARD BARTON. 187 
 
 what was the matter ; as if any new sorrow was necessary to make 
 me cry." 
 
 Bernard Barton, the poet, was also a Quaker ; but 
 he was to the manner born, and formality sat better on 
 him than it did on Amelia Opie, who certainly never got, 
 perhaps, never tried to get, the world out of her heart. 
 
 Bernard Barton, if a poet, was also a banker's clerk. 
 Dissatisfied with his lot in life, he sought the counsel of 
 successful authors concerning a project he had formed of 
 abandoning the desk, and trusting for bread to the 
 progeny of his pen. Bj^ron, to whom he referred his 
 plan, reminded him of the common lot of those whose 
 sole dependence is literature : 
 
 " Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail." 
 
 And Charles Lamb, after quoting his own exjDerience to 
 show that " desks were not deadly," went on : " Tkrow 
 yourself on the world without any rational plan of 
 support, but what the chance employ of booksellers 
 would afi'ord you ! ! ! Throw yourself rather from the 
 steep Tarpeian rock — slap-dash headlong upon iron 
 
 spikes Oh, you know not — may you never 
 
 know ! — the miseries of subsisting by authorship." 
 
 Barton was wise enough to listen to the warning ; and 
 continued forty years longer at the desk he had dreamt 
 of quitting — happier than if literature had become the 
 serious business of his life. 
 
 I recall him as he walked the streets of London on 
 his visits there, in a broad-brimmed hat and coat of 
 Quakerish cut: a tall man, with a complexion telling
 
 188 JAMES MONTGOMERY. 
 
 less of the counting-house than of walks among the 
 
 fields and lanes that environ Woodbridge, in quiet 
 
 Suffolk. His simple poetry has for its theme domestic 
 
 virtues and homely joys ; and its characteristics are 
 
 rather feeling and fancy than imagination. A letter he 
 
 wrote to me in 1845 well illustrates his character. It 
 
 accompanied a little volume, entitled '' Household 
 
 Verses ; " and I find in it these words : — 
 
 ' ' I am a lover of tlie quiet household virtues — can breathe most 
 freely in that purer atmosphere in which they live, move, and have 
 their being ; and have felt restrained, not less by my taste than by 
 my religious creed, from seeking to gain popularity by the use of 
 those exciting stimulants so much in vogue of later years with the 
 followers of the Muses." 
 
 A Christian poet, who loved and studied the works of 
 God — such is the briefest and best description of Bernard 
 Barton. 
 
 James Montgomery. — If the latest earthly hope of 
 Leigh Hunt was that he might meet his earth friends 
 " in one of Plato's vast cycles of re-existence," it was far 
 otherwise with the Christian poet, James Montgomery. 
 Yet he seemed perpetually burthened with that curse — 
 the weight of which Hunt never felt — mental depression 
 such as haunted the poet Cowper from boyhood to the 
 grave. I knew him in London, where, however, he 
 never was a dweller ; and saw him once seated in his 
 editorial chair at Shefiield. He was usually in ill health ; 
 and as I think, judging by the much I heard and the 
 little I saw, seldom cheerful, yet always (paradoxical as 
 it may seem) happy ; but he looked beyond this life, 
 and had the consolation of faith, trust, and hope. Like
 
 JAMES MONTGOMERY. 189 
 
 Leigh Hunt, he suffered fine and imprisonment for libel ; 
 but the offence in Montgomery's case was far less grave : 
 indeed, we should be astonished now to find it pro- 
 nounced an offence at all. But when he conducted the 
 Sheffield Iris, a libel was a thing easy to fall into ; and 
 so perilous was it for journalists to speak out, that the 
 " liberty of the press " was practically a myth. 
 
 Montgomery, though usually classed among Scottish 
 poets, was an Irishman. His father, mother, and all his 
 family were Irish ; and in the IsTorth of Ireland he was 
 reared and educated, although born at Irvine, in 
 Ayrshire, where his father had for a brief while the 
 charge of a small congregation. Father and son were 
 Christians of the sect of the Moravian Brethren. But 
 Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and England may be proud of 
 a man who did so much that was good and so little that 
 was bad; in whose long life, indeed, we find nothing 
 that was not designed, and calculated, to advance the 
 temporal and spiritual welfare of humanity. He is one 
 of the Band of Immortal Poets who, while they confer 
 honour on their country, are foremost among mission- 
 aries sent to do the work of God for man. 
 
 In 1830, James Montgomery came to London to 
 deliver lectures on English literature at the Royal Insti- 
 tution. It was then that he visited us in Sloane Street. 
 
 Few poets ever suffered more severely at the hands of 
 critics ; and, acting on a naturally sensitive nature, the 
 attacks of Jeffrey in the Edinhurgh, and of lesser Zoiluses 
 in other reviews, probably had the effect they were 
 designed to produce. In a letter I received from him in 
 1837, Montgomery thus alludes to himself: — " The dis-
 
 190 GRACE AGUILAR. 
 
 appointment of my premature poetical hopes brought a 
 blight with it, from which my mind has never recovered. 
 For many years, I was as mute as a moulting bird ; and 
 when the power of song returned, it was without the 
 energy, self-confidence, and freedom which happier min- 
 strels among my contemporaries manifested." 
 
 Grace Aguilar. — A pure, good, and greatly gifted 
 woman — Christian in all but creed — left earth when 
 the Jewish maiden died. Her nation owes her much : 
 her people have, I believe, raised a monument to her 
 memory in the burial ground at Frankfort, where she 
 died in 1847, just thirty years old. Her books have 
 done a great deal to remove the prejudice that succeeded 
 persecution by which the Jews were for centuries 
 oppressed ; and if she did not live to see them on a 
 platform of perfect equality with Christians in England, 
 she foresaw the great act of policy and justice that 
 removed all their disqualifications : and I cannot doubt 
 aided largely to achieve the triumph. We knew her 
 personally and loved her — and she loved us. She was a 
 " woman of Israel," truthful, upright, charitable, just 
 and true. We echo the sentiment we read many years 
 ago on her monument : " Let her own works praise her 
 in the gates." 
 
 Egbert Montgomery. — While at Bath I wrote this 
 memory, recalling also others who have given fame to 
 the renowned city of Xing Bladud's founding, where 
 his baths continue to be healing sources in the most
 
 ROBERT MOXTGOXERY. 191 
 
 beautiful and graceful of all the assemblages of houses 
 in the British Dominions. 
 
 So long ago as 1826, I knew the Eev. Eobert Mont- 
 gomery, the author of many poems, especially " The 
 Omnipresence of the Deity," that attained a popularity 
 which for some years threw into shade the poetry of 
 his namesake James — a far greater poet, of a far loftier 
 nature. Eobert was, I have reason to belieye, the son 
 of a celebrated clown, Gomery, who had di'opped the 
 aristocratic syllable Mont. The son of right reassumed 
 it, and Eobert Montgomery has a place among British 
 poets of the century. 
 
 In 1826 I had a visit from him ; he had written a 
 poetical satii-e, " The Age Eeviewed," and his object was 
 to consult me as to its publication. It consisted of a 
 series of assaults on all the leading poets and critics of 
 the time : a David assailing a hundred Goliaths with- 
 out knowing how to use his sling. His rhymes were, 
 no doubt, clever — that was the most that could be said 
 of them, except that they were just such as inevitably 
 made a mortal foe of every one he attacked. When 
 he had read the production to me, I gave him earnest 
 counsel at once to put his poem into the fire beside which 
 we were sitting. My advice was angrily rejected, and 
 " The Age Eeviewed " saAv the light in due course. It 
 Avas a wanton act of aggression that, before long, no one 
 had reason to lament more bitterly than its author. 
 
 But the portrait I draw of him cannot and ougbt not 
 to be all shade. Beyond his vanity, there was no harm 
 in him, nay, his nature was generous and kindly. Many 
 5'ears subsequent to 1826, we were brought together
 
 192 EGBERT MONTGOMERY. 
 
 again, in consequence of our mutual interest in the 
 Brompton Hospital for the Cure of Consumption — a 
 charity for which he exerted himself ardently and 
 zealously. I will leave this pleasanter side of his nature 
 to [be described in some words of Mrs* Hall, written 
 subsequently to his death : — 
 
 "We knew that the desire of his heart was to do good, and that 
 one institution (the Hospital for the Cure of Consumption at 
 Brompton) has had its fund increased inore than a thousand pounds 
 by the earnestness and frequency of his sermons ;. and we mourned 
 for his ' departure ' as a public bereavement, even on that ground 
 alone ; though that was but one of his many ' outlets ' of Chi-istian 
 charity and love. 
 
 " Gifted by nature with great good temper and unflagging cheer- 
 fulness, he had endured the rebuffs formerly heaped upon him 
 without evincing bitterness or disappointment, and determined, 
 nothing daunted, to ' try again.' 
 
 ' ' The Eeverend Robert Montgomery was born in Bath in J uly, 
 1807, his boyish days were passed at Dr. Arnot's school — near 
 his birthplace, and in 1843 he made a most happy marriage with 
 Rachel, the youngest daughter of A. McKenzie, Esq., of Bursledon, 
 Hampshire. Robert Montgomery died at Brighton at the end of 
 November, 1855. Had his lot been cast in England instead of 
 Scotland (where for some years his sermons filled one of the prin- 
 cipal Episcopalian churches in Glasgow), he would not have died 
 only the minister of Percy Chapel. 
 
 " The poor, in every sense of the word, wore very near his heart ; 
 by his preaching and collecting for them he was enabled (we 
 speak having authority from one who knew him well) to distribute a 
 thousand a year in charity, and this when the net income of Percy 
 Chapel hardly yielded him four hundred a year. 
 
 " The world knew him as a poet ; his congregation as a faithful, 
 eloquent gospel minister ; the poor as an imfaihng friend ; but in 
 his home, no more tender or unselfish husband, father, or relative 
 ever left a hearth desolate ! ' Restless as was his nature, he could 
 tame it down at any time to watch by the couch of sickness, or 
 relieve the pangs of sorrow.' "
 
 REV. ROBERT HALL. 193 
 
 Eev. Egbert Hall. — So long ago as 1828, I knew 
 the renowned Baptist Minister, the Eev. Eobert Hall. 
 I heard him preach at Bristol, and more than once 
 visited him there. Though he lived to be an old man 
 — born in 1764, and dying in 1831 — he was a sad 
 sufferer all his life, from some internal ailment, and his 
 eloquent sermons were often delivered while the speaker 
 was struggling with bodily anguish. 
 
 In 1799 he preached and published his famous ser- 
 mon on "Modern Infidelity," concerning which Bishop 
 Porteous recorded his " applause, veneration, and grati- 
 tude" as "due to the acute detector, perspicuous im- 
 pugner, and victorious antagonist of the sceptical, infidel, 
 and anti- Christian sophist." 'No doubt it contributed 
 much, at that perilous period, to arrest the progress of the 
 atheistical principles that were then making way in 
 England — blighting emanations from diseased Eepub- 
 lican France. 
 
 It would be a great boon to society to republish it 
 now ; for perhaps no pen has so ably encountered — 
 to vanquish — the twin demons of " democracy and 
 atheism." I think I never heard a pulpit orator so 
 effective as Eobert Hall ; yet his eloquence flowed with- 
 out effort, and was totally devoid of ostentation. He 
 impressed on all who heard him the conviction that he 
 spoke for his Master and not for himself. 
 
 Eev. Adam Clarke, the distinguished Biblical Com- 
 mentator, whom I knew in Cork so far back as the year 
 1819, was of another type of physique. He conveyed 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 194 REV. ADAM CLARKE. 
 
 little idea of a man who laboured by lamp-light ; but 
 rather that of one whose work was done, at all seasons, 
 in the open air. In the pulpit he had only the eloquence 
 that proceeds from perseverance and convincing zeal. It 
 is something to have known a man who was the associate 
 and friend as well as one of the chosen Missionaries of 
 John "Wesley. Dr. Clarke loved much to speak of his 
 knowledge of that great man, who, in 1782, had laid his 
 hand on the head of the young neophyte, and dedicated 
 him to the ministry ; and when the subject of this brief 
 notice died, his mortal remains were interred in the 
 burial-ground of the Methodists in the City Eoad, close 
 beside those of the Gamaliel at whose feet he had sat. 
 
 In those days the Wesleyan Methodists considered 
 simplicity in all things the outward and visible sign of 
 inward and spiritual grace ; and would have shrunk as 
 much from wearing, at worship, a flower or a feather in 
 the bonnet as from appearing in theatrical gauze and 
 spangles in the street at mid-day ; moreover, their 
 " houses of God " were plain even to rudeness, rigidly 
 destitute of aught that could tempt to the sin of adoring the 
 creature. Now they are not unfrequently unsatisfactory 
 imitations of a cathedral ; the organ pours its full diapa- 
 son over the pew in which are ladies who are patterns — 
 not of the grave simplicity of the primitive Methodists, 
 but of whatever absurdity of dress may be the fashion 
 of the hour. I heard not long ago in a Wesleyan 
 " church " one of the most eloquent speakers and power- 
 ful preachers it has ever been my lot to hear, whose every 
 sentence seemed to have been written and rewritten, 
 considered and revised, again and again — so perfect was
 
 MOllLEY PUNSHOX. 195 
 
 it in construction and composition : yet the Eev. Morley 
 PcNSHONwas, in the strictest sense, an extempore preacher. 
 He called back to memory some of the able and gifted 
 men T had heard more than half a century ago ; men 
 who appeared as thoroughly inspired as were the 
 Apostles, who did the Master's work because they loved 
 to do it, and sought to plant the seed only that they 
 might see the harvest. I was, moreover, reminded of 
 the Methodism of my young days ; the preacher was 
 entirely free from canonicals, and appeared in the plain 
 dress of every- day wear. 
 
 I cannot tell if vital religion has gained or lost by the 
 concessions to the world to which I have referred ; more 
 cheerfulness there may be, in the stead of unseemly 
 dolour, when offering the heart to God, and many may 
 be led, who must of old have been driven, to salvation : 
 but possibly the aspirations of the soul are less heaven- 
 ward in presence of so much of the world's pomps and 
 vanities, than they would be in an atmosphere of greater 
 simplicity. 
 
 Gerald Griffin, the author of " The Collegians," — 
 that remarkable novel, on which the play of The Colleen 
 Bcmn is founded — lies in the little burying-ground at 
 Shandon Hill, Cork, within sound of — 
 
 " The bells of Shandon 
 That sound so grand on 
 The pleasant waters of the river Lee." 
 
 He died just as he was about to leave the world for a 
 religious life, and his broken spirit passed away from 
 earth, instead of taking refuge in the monastery he 
 
 2
 
 196 GERALD GRIFFIN. 
 
 contemplated entering. " Lie lightly on him, earth" — 
 on the dust of one who found the struggle for fame so 
 bitter that he resigned it in very weariness of heart when 
 victory was well-nigh within his grasp. 
 
 I knew Griffin when I was like him — a young man 
 toiling hard for a future. John Banira — who had, between 
 sickness, disappointment, and poverty, something like 
 the lot of a literary martyr to endure himself — was his 
 useful adviser and steadfast friend ; and at Banim's 
 house I met him more than once. He was then a deli- 
 cate, or, rather, a refined-looking young man, tall and 
 handsome, but with mournful eyes, and that unmis- 
 takeable something which prognosticates a sad life and 
 an early death. 
 
 He had come to London at the age of nineteen, with 
 some poems in his pocket and an unfinished tragedy. 
 For a long time he continued to pick up a precarious 
 living by literature, struggling with absolute poverty, 
 without friends, without prospects — almost without hope. 
 Sickened by numberless disappointments, brought face 
 to face with actual starvation — for it had come to that, 
 when a friend once discovered him, and ascertained that 
 he had been three days without food — his pride yet held 
 him back from seeking the aid that relatives he had 
 left in Limerick would certainly have tendered, could he 
 have prevailed on himself to make known to them 
 his extremity of distress. Banim — himself hardly in 
 better circumstances — proffered help, and it was 
 rejected. At last — too late — "The Collegians" and 
 "The Munster Festivals" found their way into print, 
 and to success; then their author's dreary path was
 
 WALSH. 197 
 
 lighted up witli the first dawning of fame. Too late — 
 for, though the struggle was at an end, it had crushed 
 him. He determined to burn his manuscripts and write 
 no more, but withdraw himself from the world. Alas ! 
 even while he was j)reparing for long years of penance 
 and prayer, Death came and removed him to Heaven. 
 
 I saw him for the last time in Cork in 1840, shortly 
 before his death. He was then preparing to take orders 
 as a priest, and had joined the " Society of Christian 
 Brothers " (he was " brother Joseph " there), an Order 
 that, "besides fulfilling all the pious exercises of the 
 monastic state, devotes its best energies to the religious 
 and moral instruction of the children of the poor." In 
 this new vocation he might have been useful, but the 
 oil in the lamp had run too low — the wasted flame 
 soon afterwards flickered out. He died in 1840.* 
 
 Walsh. — There are three persons, renowned Irish- 
 men, who have conferred honour on the name of Walsh. 
 First, Dr. Edward Walsh, Physician to the Forces; 
 secondly, his blather, the Eev. Eobert Walsh, Chaplain 
 to the Embassies in Constantinople and Brazil; and 
 thirdly, his son, John Edward Walsh, some time Master 
 of the Eolls in Ireland. They were of our dear and 
 long-loved friends. To one of the sons of the latter I 
 am godfather. 
 
 Dr. Edward Walsh was a native of Waterford, of a 
 family of early English settlers. Having served as an 
 
 * Macready, after the death of Griffin, brought out at Covent Garden his 
 tragedy of Gisippus, with entire success.
 
 198 TTALSH. 
 
 army surgeon during the Irish Eebellion — and his 
 memory was rivid as to the incidents and terrors of that 
 time — he accompanied the troops to Holland, and sub- 
 sequently published an account of the ill-fated AYal- 
 cheren Expedition. He saw service in many countries 
 of Europe, and was in Eussia when the Emperor Paul 
 was assassinated. While quartered in Canada he made 
 the acquaintance of Thomas Moore, and was with him 
 in the boat in which Moore penned the lines — 
 
 " Jxow, brothers, row, tlie stream runs fast, 
 The rapids are near, and the dayhght's past." 
 
 His military career terminated with the battle of 
 Waterloo, and the latter days of his life were passed in 
 tranquil happiness in his own country up to 1832, when 
 he died. How much I regret having made no notes of 
 his anecdotes and conversation. He was a most kindly, 
 generous, and thoroughly upright man — of the best 
 school of Irish gentlemen. 
 
 If Edward Walsh was distinguished, his brother 
 Eobert was even more so. He became early known in 
 Letters by a large work, which he did i^t originate, but 
 continued — a history of Dublin. He was chaplain to 
 Lord Strangford while the " melodious " peer, whose 
 poetry is now quite forgotten, was ambassador at Con- 
 stantinople and in Brazil, and published two valuable 
 books relative to the Porte and the Brazilian Empire — 
 books that must have been of great value to subsequent 
 travellers. He was at Constantinople when the memor- 
 able slaughter of the Mamelukes took place, and 
 describes the massacre in his " Eecords of a Eesidence "
 
 WALSH. 199 
 
 ttere, mth all the terrible minuteness of an eye-witness. 
 Dr. "Walsh closed a long life of useful work in compa- 
 rative quiet as Eector of Finglas, near Dublin — honoured 
 and belored. I knew him intimately so far back as 
 1826, soon after his return from the East. I hare 
 known few with whom intercourse was in all ways so 
 profitable. His only son, John Edwai'd, was our dear 
 friend. As an author, the work of Johx Edwaed Walsh 
 was chiefly limited to contributions to the DuUin Uni- 
 versity Magazine^ for which he wrote the series of papers, 
 "Ireland Sixty Years Ago,'' subsequently collected and 
 issued in a volume that has obtained high repute and 
 large circulation. He held office as Attorney-General 
 for Ireland from July to October, 1SG6. I heard him 
 make his maiden speech in Parliament as representative 
 of Dublin University. He was afterwai'ds Master of 
 the Eolls, and had he lived would have been Lord 
 Chancellor of Ireland ; for he was not only a sound and 
 able lawyer, but a most accomplished gentleman and 
 most estimable and upright man, respected and honoured 
 by men of all creeds and of all political opinions. 
 
 Thus four generations of the family of "VTalsh have 
 been our friends. The son of the Master of the EoUs 
 is the Eector of Malahide, and another son (my godson) 
 a barrister, and I have lived to see their children. 
 Their fathers, ''gone before," were of high intellectual 
 power, and of the purest moral, social, and religious 
 intecrritv. So mav their successors be I The er^at srand- 
 children of Dr. Eobert Walsh have a loftv, unstained, 
 and honoui'ed name to transmit to their posterity.
 
 200 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Longfellow. — So much has been written and pub- 
 lished during the past year concerning Henry Wads- 
 worth Longfellow, and I could add to it so little of 
 value, that I prefer to say very little indeed. Ample 
 justice has been rendered to his memory, not only in his 
 own country, but in this — wherever, indeed, the Anglo- 
 Saxon tongue is spoken or read. I give him very high 
 rank among the poets of the century, placing him, 
 perhaps, next to Wordsworth ; while of the modern poets 
 — those of to-day — assuredly he is as a Triton among the 
 minnows. I except only Tennyson ; but the Poet- 
 Laureate must not be named with the poets of to-day. 
 His place is with his contemporaries, Byron, Words- 
 worth, Shelley, Moore, South^y, Campbell, Coleridge, 
 and other "giants." * 
 
 I not only honoured Longfellow as a poet, I loved him 
 
 as a man. I did not see much of him when he was in 
 
 London ; he was my guest but twice. The' evenings I 
 
 refer to are of my most cherished memories, ^hat nothing 
 
 but death will remove from me — nay, death cannot do 
 
 that evil work, t 
 
 ' ' There is no death. : what seems so is transition ; 
 This life of mortal breath 
 Is but a suburb of the life Elysian, 
 Whose portal" we call Death ! " 
 
 * So far back as 1838, it was my high privilege to include Tennyson in 
 "The Book of Gems of British Poets and British Artists." For that brief 
 biography, Leigh Hunt gave me some excellent remarks, which I introduced 
 into my memoir — foretelling the future fame of him who has since established 
 it. Of the fifty poets, specimens of whom are given in that book, only two 
 now live — Alfred Tennyson and Mary Howitt. 
 
 t I Lave elsewhere recorded that I presented to Longfellow the inkstand 
 of the poet Coleridge, given to me by Mrs. Gillman. Several years afterwards, 
 as I have also lecorded, I presented to him Crabbe's inkstand, which had 
 become the inkstand of Thomas Moore. In acknowledgment, I received the
 
 FENIMORE COOPER. 201 
 
 In addition to Longfellow, I have had the happiness 
 to number among my acquaintance various distinguished 
 Transatlantic men and women of letters — notably 
 Nathaniel Hawthorne, Washington Irving, Fenimore 
 Cooper, Mrs. Sigourney, and N. P. Willis. 
 
 I met Cooper often during my residence at Paris in 
 1831. I have referred to him elsewhere. He seemed 
 to me the heau ideal — let the term be translated at will 
 — of an American citizen, and gave me, more than any 
 
 fallowing letter; it is dated December 7th, 1881, barely three months before 
 his death— March 24th, 1882. 
 
 " Cambridge, 
 
 "■December Ith, 1881. 
 " Dear Mr. Hall, 
 
 " I have this morning had the pleasure of receiving your letter of the 
 21st IJ^ovember. 
 
 " On my return from my summer rambles, I found the beautiful oaken 
 casket, containing the bronze inkstand of Crabbe, safely deposited in my study. 
 " How shall I sufficiently thank you, dear Mr. Hall, for these precious 
 relics, and for the kind and generous feeling which prompted your sending 
 them to me. I can only do so by telling you how highly I value them, and 
 with what care I shall keep them. 
 
 " I should have written sooner to say this, but immediately on my return 
 home I had an attack of nervous prostration, from which I have not yet 
 fully recovered : as you see by my not wriiing with my own hand. Recovery 
 is a slow process. 
 
 " I rejoice to see, by the firmness of your handwriting and by your own 
 assurance, that your health is so good. 
 
 " I am looking forward with eager interest to your ' Recollections of a 
 Long Life.' 
 
 '* Believe.me always, dear Mr. Hall, 
 
 *' Yours faithfuUy-and sincerely, 
 
 "Henry W. Longfellow." 
 
 I need not say I joined "heart and soul " in the movement that will result 
 in placing a bust of Longfellow in Westminster Abbey : he has been a great 
 teacher in England and all its dependencies, as much so as in the United States — 
 extending the power and influence of the Anglo-Saxon tongue, that will be — 
 perhaps, ore another generation has come and gone — spoken and read by the 
 halt of human kind. Longfellow is no more the poet of America than he is of 
 Great Britain. The record that preserves his memory in the venerable abbey 
 will give delight here as well as there : for he is the pride of the millions here 
 as he is the glory of the millions there. The sentiment that accords honour to 
 Longfellow is as universal in the one country as it is in the other,
 
 202 HAWTHORNE ; IHVING. 
 
 other man I have ever seen, the idea of a Puritan 
 of our own Commonwealth days, with a bearing that 
 might perhaps be termed stern, and certainly was 
 not cordial: a firm step, a massive head and figure, and 
 commanding look. He was not a man to whom one 
 would readily apply the adjective "lovable;" but he 
 seemed eminently calculated to extort respect, or even 
 — if circumstances should make it his object to do so — 
 to inspire fear. 
 
 Hawthorne was his very opposite. That most lovable 
 of writers was also — to those who knew him intimately — 
 one of the most lovable of men. My acquaintance with 
 him was slight ; but it has left on my mind a vivid impres- 
 sion of his painful shyness in general society, and the 
 retiring — nay, morbid delicacy — with which he shrank 
 from notice, instead of courting, or rather commanding, 
 it, as was the manner of his brother-novelist.* 
 
 Washington Irving, when I knew him, was past the 
 zenith both of his life and his fame. He was inclined 
 to rest and be thankful, to wear placidly the crown of 
 bays that his intellectual activity had woven for him in 
 earlier years ; and so I found him, as others had found 
 
 * I once sat next to Hawthorne at a lord mayor's dinner. He was then the 
 United States Consul at Liverpool : and knew that his name was included in the 
 list of toasts. The prospect gave him, what it is no exaggeration to call, intense 
 agony. His hands shook, his lips quivered. I said to him, " Now, if you attend 
 to me, you may be safe from all apprehension : and he sure to make a good 
 speech. When you hear your name, and I take the glass in my hand and drink 
 the toast, look only at me : do not turn your eyes towards the lord mayor, or on 
 any of the magnates. Consider you are thanking only me for the honour done 
 you." He acted on the suggestion : saw jwe alone : and as I nodded approval of 
 every sentence he uttered, bowed to me in acknowledgment, seeing and con- 
 sequently acknowledging my nods and compliments, of "Yes, yes," and "Good, 
 good." And so he made an excellent speech — which certainly he would not 
 have done had he not accepted and acted on my advice. I give that advice to all 
 nervous speakers at public meetings.
 
 MRS. SIGOURNEY. 203 
 
 him, sleepy in a double sense — physically and men- 
 tally. 
 
 N. P. Willis was introduced to me by Lady Blessing- 
 ton, with a view to his contributing to the Nciv Monthly ; 
 and in the result, several of his most spirited prose 
 sketches were published in that magazine. He had then 
 but newly arrived in London after a lengthened tour in 
 the East, and was not long in making his way into the 
 best English circles ; his person being in his favour and 
 his manners essentially those of a gentleman, though 
 somewhat overlaid with what was then called "dandyism." 
 Willis had seen much, read much, and was a keen 
 observer of men and manners. 
 
 I may add to these brief tributes of remembrance one 
 concerning that most estimable lady and writer, Mrs. 
 SiGOURNEY. Our personal acquaintance with her was 
 short ; but we maintained with her a frequent corres- 
 pondence extending over many years. She was a mild, 
 sweet, and gentle woman, of an essentially feminine 
 nature, and gifted with a high order of mind. Those 
 who knew her well bear testimony to her many noble 
 and lovable qualities. She has left works that the 
 young especially may study with great profit ; for the 
 writer trod faithfully in the steps of those teachers who 
 inculcate much that is right and nothing that is wrong. 
 
 The list of authors I have known is not exhausted : 
 but my space is. I must resist the temptation to treat 
 at greater length a very seductive theme.
 
 EECOLLECTIONS 
 OF AETISTS I HAVE KNOWN. 
 
 It is unnecessary for me to say that all the artists of the 
 earlier half of the century have been my personal ac- 
 quaintances ; I have known them all, and it seems to me 
 that I might wiite something of each that could not fail 
 to interest a reader. But exigencies 'of space demand 
 that my memories must be comparatively few — those 
 only of professional Leaders. I commence with " the 
 greatest, yet the meanest " of them all. 
 
 J. M. W. Turner, E.A. — Maiden Lane, Covent 
 Garden, in the latter half of the last century, numbered 
 among its unpretentious dwellings the abode of a barber 
 in no very fashionable way of business. The lane is a 
 narrow, crowded way, through which carriages cannot 
 pass. At that period, the neighbourhood was a dense 
 labyrinth of courts and alleys, from St. Martin's Lane to 
 Covent Garden. Here was crowded together an abun- 
 dant population ; each of the stories, or even rooms, of the 
 houses held separate families ; it was therefore a fitting
 
 TURNEE. 205 
 
 locality for a busy hairdresser. His name was Turner, 
 and his parti-coloured pole hung beside the archway 
 leading into Hand Cornet ; the house is a small one, 
 with only one window in front ; it is now added as a 
 storehouse to adjoining premises, but is unaltered in its 
 general features. Here the painter was born in the 
 year 1775 : he was christened in the adjoining church 
 of St. Paul's, Covent Garden.* 
 
 Millions have admired his works, but none loved the 
 great landscape painter. Perhaps a meaner soul was 
 never linked to so lofty a genius. His was not a happy 
 life ; far from it. He seems to have had no measure of 
 enjoyment except art, unless he obtained it from nature 
 — physical nature, that is to say, for he could see no inner 
 beauty in other of God's many beautiful works. He 
 amassed an enormous fortune "f — for heirs to wrangle 
 over, much as curs would snarl over a banquet of bones. 
 An ungenial, uncheered, unhopeful life, resulted in a dis- 
 creditable death, amid associations that can be only 
 termed loathsome. While living, he never sought to 
 help or benefit any of his fellow-creatures, and when he 
 died it was sorely against his will that he conferred on 
 others advantages for which he was to receive nothing 
 in return. There are not many now who, pausing 
 before Turner's masterpieces at the National Gallery, 
 can recall the man who created them. A short, thick, 
 
 * C}TUS Redding, in his *' Forty Years' Recollections," states that Turner told 
 him — when Redding -was enumerating the number of artists to ■whom Devon- 
 shire had given birth — "You may add my name to the list: I am a native of 
 Devonshire." 
 
 t It was said by Lord Erskine when told of a person who had died wrth 
 £200,000 — " Well, that's a pretty fair capital to begin life with in the next 
 wcild ! "
 
 206 TURNER. 
 
 stubbed, ungainly and ungraceful form, bair grey, strag- 
 gling over a big bead overladen witb flesb, a keen pene- 
 trating eye, a broad but not bigb brow, deficient of tbe 
 organs of benevolence and veneration. Sucb, tbose who 
 remember Turner, will recall him as they have seen him 
 at the private views of the Eoyal Academy (he was not 
 often seen elsewhere), with gloves that had been thrice 
 cleaned,* and a blue coat with brass buttons, creases in 
 which made patent its recent removal from the drawer 
 where it had probably been in confinement since the 
 private view of the year preceding. It is a miserable 
 character I thus describe, and I have pleasure in quitting 
 a theme on which I might enlarge greatly. Of a surety 
 I might apply to him the line of the poet — 
 
 " The wisest, brigMest, meanest of mankind : " 
 
 for Turner was essentially selfish — in youth, in man- 
 hood, in old age. 
 
 The illness which led to Turner's death required him 
 to seek change of aii-; but he dreaded expense, and 
 found, by chance, a small lodging to let in a little house 
 fronting the Thames near Cremorne Gardens, Chelsea. 
 Eetaining his dislike of visitors, he never gave his name 
 to the mistress of the house, nor did she know it until 
 after his death, which happened there on the 19th of 
 December, 1851. One bright winter's day, a short time 
 before he died, the painter was carried to the first-floor 
 window to see the sun set — with a calm glow over the 
 Thames. 
 
 * I well remember an audible wbisper running round the great room at 
 Somerset House : " Do look at Turner, he's got a new pair of gloves !"
 
 WILKIE. 207 
 
 He was buried in the crypt of St. Paul's Cathedral, 
 by the side of Sir Joshua Eeynolds. 
 
 Prout told me a story, that illustrates his character. 
 Turner, Prout, and Varley had been together on a sketch- 
 ing tour in Devonshii'e. They had to cross a ferry; 
 Yarley had not at the moment a sixpence in his pocket, 
 so he borrowed one from Turner. The next morning 
 Prout and Yarley left Exeter to retiu-n to London. 
 Although the coach started at six o'clock on a very cold 
 morning, to their surprise, but greatly to their satisfac- 
 tion, they saw Turner at the coach-office waiting to see 
 them off. '^Ah!" cried Yarley, "this is really very 
 kind of you, Turner, to be up so early to bid us good- 
 bye !" " Oh," said Turner, " it isn't that ; but you for- 
 got to pay me back the sixpence you borrowed from me 
 yesterday ! " 
 
 I can well believe what Prout told me, that, when 
 travelling together on the top of a Diligence, Turner 
 sketched, on the back of a letter, Heidelberg, the theme 
 of one of his greatest pictures, where they arrived late 
 at night to leave it at early morning. It was material 
 enough. 
 
 David "Wilkie passed the later years of his life in 
 comparative prosperity in a large house in Church 
 Street, Kensington, and obtained better prices for his 
 pictures than in the days when a peer of the realm 
 bought his Village Politicians for <£30, and grumbled at 
 the exorbitant price. 
 
 My visits to the great painter were pleasant to me.
 
 208 WILKIE. 
 
 and, I believe, also to him. He was purely an artist, 
 indisposed to talk on any subject other than art, and, 
 although a Scotchman, his education must have been 
 niggardly. Yet he came of an intellectual race, his 
 father being a Scottish clergyman, his grandfather the 
 author of poems that might be beneficially taken from 
 the grave to which they were long ago consigned ; while 
 he himself had not been without advantages derived 
 from travel. 
 
 I remember Wilkie asking me to call upon him and 
 see his picture of An Irish Whiskey Still. I made sundry 
 objections to his treatment of a subject entirely unsuited 
 to his handling, — since an Irish " private still " was a 
 thing he could never have seen. The illegal distillery 
 of the picture presented various features that betrayed to 
 anyone acquainted with the reality the artist's ignorance 
 of his theme. One of the rough brewers of the moun- 
 tain dew wore red breeches ! Another was handing to a 
 friend a " sup of the crathur" in a glass {!) instead of 
 the invariable goblet, an egg-shell (often that of a 
 goose). Yain was my protest against such incon- 
 gruities, so thoroughly out of place, so utterly opposed 
 to truth. 
 
 I remember a valuable criticism being passed on 
 Wilkie by an old Irish servant of ours. She knew 
 nothing of art; but she knew her business — as a house- 
 maid. An engraving of The Recruit was pinned against 
 a bookcase, that I might study it to write about it. In 
 came old Alice, looked at it, exclaimed, ''Dirty house- 
 maid ! " and retired. I called her back, to ascertain 
 what she meant. In the corner of a neat and tidy
 
 SIR M. A. SHEE. 209 
 
 Scottish cottage had been placed a mop, from which 
 water was trickling along the floor. None but a dirty 
 housemaid would have placed it there without first 
 wringing it out. 
 
 But although these two anecdotes would seem to 
 indicate that in his pictures he was careless of exactness 
 in details, it was really far otherwise. No painter, as a 
 rule, gave more heed to truth, or more closely studied 
 the objects he desired to introduce into a picture. Hart 
 tells us that "he had a model for everything he did." 
 
 The life of Wilkie was on the whole a happy, and, 
 certainly, an honoured life. He laboured for feme, and 
 won it. His death took place on board ship as he was 
 returning from the East, and one of the most charac- 
 teristic of the later pictures of Turner depicts Wilkie's 
 burial at sea. 
 
 Sir Martin Archer Shee, who succeeded Lawrence 
 as President of the Eoyal Academy, if not holding the 
 highest rank as a portrait painter, was a most estimable 
 gentleman, of large acquirements, goodly presence, re- 
 fined manners, generous, sympathizing, good. He died 
 so long ago as 1850 — an Irishman of whom his country 
 has a right to be proud. His poems are forgotten, although 
 probably he was indebted for fame more to his pen than 
 to his pencil. It was no light praise that which Byron 
 gave to his " Ehymes on Art " : — 
 
 " Whose pen and pencil yield an equal grace." 
 
 Shee carries me a very long way back in my art- 
 memories. His first picture was exhibited in 1789; in 
 
 VOL. II. p
 
 210 EASTLAKE. 
 
 1798 he was elected an Associate of the Eoyal Academy, 
 and invested with the full honours two years after. He 
 survived the thirty-nine members by whom he had been 
 elected. 
 
 Sir Charles Locke Eastlake, P.E.A., D.C.L., LL.D., 
 F.E.S., &c. — It must be admitted that the high position 
 Sir Charles Eastlake obtained in the art history of his 
 country was due far less to his talent as a painter than 
 to his knowledge of art — and to the general qualifications 
 he possessed for presiding over the academic body. His 
 pictures in no single instance show remarkable genius, 
 but they are distinguished by great delicacy of feeling, 
 by pure taste, and by a pervading grace that rarely fails 
 to win attention, though never forcing it. As a colourist 
 they show him to have had no ideas in common with 
 the best painters of the English school ; and though he 
 studied in the chief schools of Italy he acquired none of 
 the glowing tints of Titian or Giorgione ; his life-size 
 female heads, however, have, in elegance of composition 
 and sweetness of expression, — some afiinity to those of 
 Titian. It may be that the knowledge of how much 
 more developed was his ideal of perfection than his 
 power to attain to it, inspired a humility of character, a 
 distrust of himself, that impeded his justification of the 
 choice that made him President of the Eoyal Academy.* 
 
 He was a thorough gentleman, of calm and refined 
 manners ; so over-cautious that he would risk nothing 
 
 *I may note, en passant, that Eastlake was of a good and highly respected 
 family at Plymouth. Some members of it, much esteemed, still reside in the 
 vicinity ; and a younger brother is now keeper of the National Gallery, an office 
 which Sir Charles long held.
 
 PROUT. 211 
 
 to work out a purpose. If he was not greatly loved lie 
 was greatly respected ; if witli power to do much he did 
 little to advance the interests of British art, he, at all 
 events, added largely to its litei'ature ; and has educated 
 by his pen much more effectually than he did by his pencil. 
 A little more of the self-esteem of Hay don would not 
 have ill become him, and would surely have made him a 
 greater man than he was. He seemed so perpetually 
 afraid of doing wrong that he omitted many opportu- 
 nities of doing right. The most commonplace letter he 
 usually prefaced with the word ^' Private," as if he 
 dreaded the publicity that was^ after all, the breath of 
 his life. Among the worthiest of Devonshire worthies 
 let his name be classed, for he was in all ways an honour 
 to his native county. 
 
 His person was much in his favour ; he had fine 
 though not expressive features, tinged — tainted, I might 
 say — by what, I think, was constitutional timidity ; his 
 manners were the very opposite of presuming or over- 
 bearing ; and if the younger members of his profession 
 did not owe him much gratitude, they could bring 
 against his memory no well-founded reproach on the 
 score of arrogance or harshness.* 
 
 Samuel Prout. — In the autumn of 1882, I visited at 
 Plymouth the street in which he was born in 1783. 
 
 * One of the most valuable of his pictures is a portrait of the first Napoleon, as 
 the deposed Emperor stood on the gangway of the Bcllerophon, when the vessel 
 destined to convey him to St. Helena was anchored in Plymouth Harbour. The 
 artist had seen him thus more than once, and pictures him with singular fidelity. 
 Many years afterwards I obtained a loan of that picture, and an engraving from 
 it is one of the illustraiions of the Art Jourual. 
 
 p2
 
 212 PEOUT. 
 
 The house itself has been pulled down ; in it his father 
 carried on the trade of a bookseller. It is fully fifty 
 years ago since I first knew the artist. No member of 
 his profession ever lived to be more thoroughly respected 
 — beloved indeed — by his brother artists ; no man ever 
 gave more unquestionable evidence of a gentle and 
 generous spirit, or more truly deserved the esteem in 
 which he was so universally held. His always delicate 
 health, instead of souring liis temper, made him more 
 considerate and thoughtful of the troubles and trials of 
 others ; ever ready to assist the young with the counsels 
 of experience. He was a fine example of upright per- 
 severance and indefatigable industry combined with 
 suavity of manners, and those endearing attributes of 
 character which invariably blend with admiration of the 
 artist aftection for the man. During the last six or seven 
 years of his life I sometimes (not often, for I knew that 
 conversation was frequently burdensome to him) found my 
 way into his quiet studio at Camberwell, where, like a 
 delicate exotic, requiring the most careful treatment to 
 retain life in it, he would, to use his own expression, 
 keep himself "warm and snug." There he might be 
 seen at his easel throwing his rich and beautiful colour- 
 ing over a sketch of some old palace of Venice or time- 
 worn cathedral of Flanders ; and, though sufi*ering mucli 
 from pain and weakness, ever cheerful, ever thankful 
 that he had strength sufficient to carry on his work. It 
 was rarely that he could begin his labours before the 
 middle of the day, when, if tolerably free from pain, he 
 would continue to paint until the night was advanced. 
 A finer example of meekness, gentleness, and patience I
 
 HATDON. 213 
 
 never knew, nor one to whom the epithet of '' a sincere 
 Christian," in its manifokl acceptations, might Avith 
 greater truth be applied. The profession lost in him a 
 member of whom brother artists might be proud, and 
 who was in every way worthy of their veneration as of 
 their love. He died at his residence in Denmark Hill, 
 on the 9th February, 1852, aged sixty-eight. ISTotwith- 
 standing the lingering nature of his illness, death came 
 to him suddenly at last, a fit of apoplexy terminating 
 the valuable life of one to whom the poet's line has 
 rarely been applied with greater truth and force : — 
 
 " Death, never conies amiss to liiin prepared." 
 
 Prout was born at Plymouth in 1783, and died, as I 
 have said, in 18-52, at Denmark Hill, where he had been, 
 in the latter years of his life, the neighbour as well as 
 the friend of John Ruskin. The great writer has done 
 justice to the memory of the great painter, whom he 
 honoured as an artist and loved as a man. 
 
 Benjamin Egbert Haydon. — I have written else- 
 where sufficient concerning Haydon. His was a sad life 
 with a very sad ending. The theme, therefore, is not a 
 pleasant one. I once said to him, " Haydon, if 
 you had more pride and less vanity you would be the 
 great man you aim to be." The evil of failure must be 
 attributed all to himself. Yet let his name be honoured 
 without scruple in his native county of Devon. The 
 house at Plymouth, in which his father was a bookseller 
 and he was born, is no longer there ; but I stood on the
 
 214 MACLISE. 
 
 site not long ago, and removed my hat as a tribute of 
 homage to one of the greatest artists and the most 
 remarkable men of my time. 
 
 Daniel Maclise, K.A. — In the year 1820, I was 
 living in Cork. Entering one day the hall of the Society 
 of Arts, the few models in which had been recently 
 augmented by gifts from George IV., I noticed a hand- 
 some and intelligent-looking boy drawing from one of 
 the casts. I entered into conversation with him, exa- 
 mined his copy, and remarked, "My little friend, if you 
 work hard and think^ you will be a great man one of 
 these days." In the year 1828 I again encountered 
 him ; then in London, with a portfolio under his arm. 
 He was about eighteen years old ; he had become an 
 artist, and was drawing portraits for any who would com- 
 mission them, and at such prices as content young men, 
 distrustful of their own powers, and who have merely 
 dreamed of fame. 
 
 A rich faculty of invention — combined with great 
 power — marks almost every work that proceeded from 
 the hand of Maclise ; yet vigour of concej)tion, and 
 a wonderfid boldness of handling, were united with 
 the utmost attention to detail — even to pre-Eaffaelism. 
 It is said he was no colourist ; in one sense that may be 
 true, for his pictures, although brilliant with colour, are 
 often deficient in the harmony that satisfies the eye ; 
 hence a certain harshness far from agreeable, and a want 
 of that repose which, even amidst a blaze of splendour, 
 is not beyond tlie reach of the painter's art. Vigour of
 
 MACLISE. 215 
 
 composition and force of realisation seem to have been 
 the aim of the painter, and in working to these ends he 
 appears to have cared little for aught else ; but whether 
 his canvas showed only a single figure or was crowded 
 with stirring incident, it manifested the mind and hand 
 of a master. 
 
 I could say much, from long experience, of the genial 
 nature, the high mind and generous heart of Maclise, 
 but I could not say it half so well as it was said by 
 his friend Charles Dickens at one of the annual dinners 
 of the Eoyal Academy : — 
 
 '' Of Ms genius in liis chosen art I will venture to say nothing 
 here, but of his prodigious fertility of mind and wonderful wealth of 
 intellect I may confidently assert that they would have made him 
 if he had been so minded, at least as great a writer as he was a 
 painter. The gentlest and most modest of men, the freest as to his 
 generous appreciation of young aspirants, and the frankest and 
 largest-hearted as to his peers, incapable of a sordid or ignoble 
 thought, gallantly sustaining the true dignity of his vocation, with- 
 out one grain of self-assertion, wholesomely natural at the last as 
 at the first, ' in wit a man, in simplicity a child,' no artist of what- 
 soever denomination, I make bold to say, ever went to his rest 
 leaving a golden memory more pure from dross, or having devoted 
 himself with a truer chivahy to the art-goddess he worshipped." 
 
 A more eloquent tribute to the memory of man was 
 never uttered. I can endorse every word of it. That 
 is nearly all I need say of one I honoured and regarded 
 with sentiments of respect and affection. 
 
 Between the years 1830 and 1838 there appeared in 
 Fraser^s Magazine^ written by Magiim, a series of bio- 
 graphical sketches accompanying ^^ortraits of living cele- 
 brities from the facile pencil of Maclise. The series 
 consisted of eighty-three portraits, characteristic and
 
 216 . MACLISE. 
 
 capital as likenesses. They were collected into a volume 
 and published, with all the original letterpress, in 1873 
 by Chatto and Windus, the successors of John Camden 
 Hotten, who had communicated with me on the sub- 
 ject, and had asked my advice. They were fortunate in 
 obtaining the co-operation of Mr. William Bates, B.A., 
 Professor of Classics in Queen's College, Birmingham, 
 by whom the book is edited. He has done his part (and 
 a large part it is) not only with great industry and 
 pains-taking research, but in a spirit of kindliness, 
 generosity, and sound judgment. As a record of so many 
 heroes and heroines of the pen, of the past generation, 
 the book is invaluable. How many of the eighty-three 
 are now living — living, that is to say, on earth, for 
 nearly all of them live in their works, and can never die ? 
 Not one ! I knew Maclise intimately when he was making 
 these sketches ; there was an affectation of secrecy about 
 the procedure, and certainly few or none of the " sit- 
 ters " sat for a portrait ; they were all done from 
 memory, possibly aided by a few stolen memoranda ; but 
 he had a wonderful faculty for " catching " a likeness — a 
 keenness of eye from which, it is said, the phrenologist 
 Spurzheim augured his after success in art. Indeed, the 
 first impression he made was by an outline likeness of 
 Sir Walter Scott, whom he had seen for a few minutes 
 in a bookseller's shop in Cork, while the Great Magician 
 was with Maria Edgeworth in that city, en route to 
 Killarney. It was lithographed, and brought the embryo 
 artist repute and what he then needed — money. 
 
 In 1829 he made the drawing of Mrs. S. C. Hall, 
 engraved by Lumb Stocks, E.A., published with this
 
 MULREADY. 217 
 
 book. It was, I think, in the following year, 1830, that 
 Segur, then Keeper of the National Gallery, and one 
 of the Committee of the Gallery in Pall Mall, called upon 
 me to inquire if I knew anything of a young Irish artist, 
 whom he named Maccles. I soon corrected liim. Segur 
 told me the directors had been astonished at the mar- 
 vellous merit of a picture, " Mokanna raising the Yeil," 
 from " Lalla Eookh." Thenceforward his rise was rapid 
 and sure ; and, although he died when hardly beyond 
 his prime, he has left to the world a vast amount of art 
 treasure, evidencing not only genius, but indefatigable 
 industry. 
 
 MuLEEADY. — I have said elsewhere that my recollec- 
 tions go back to a time when British Art had little 
 encouragement, and British Artists few "patrons." 
 Houses held at moderate rents were then inhabited by 
 even our best-known painters, the freehold of which 
 might be purchased by the sum that a single one of their 
 pictures would fetch now. Mulready's house, in Linden 
 Grove, he rented at perhaps sixty pounds a year, and did 
 not find it easy to pay that ; he, however, gave lessons in 
 painting, and so obtained a sufficient income. 
 
 I recall Mulready in his prime as a tall, handsome 
 man. He died very aged in 1865. His first picture, 
 exhibited at the Eoyal Academy, dates so far back as 
 the year 1806. Full of years and honours he departed — 
 enjoying all his faculties and much of his power to the 
 last ; for his most recent productions may be pronounced 
 marvels of Art. A very few days before his death, I 
 saw him in apparent vigour after a walk of two or three
 
 218 MULREADY. 
 
 miles ; and that same evening he passed in social enjoy- 
 ment at the house of his friend, E. M. "Ward, K.A. 
 Even on the evening immediately prcccnling his death, 
 he was, it has been stated, in the life school of the 
 Academy at work with the students. The obituary 
 announcement in the Times mentioned his age as seventy- 
 eight, but he must have been older, for I have elsewhere 
 stated he showed me a small picture of a gravel pit, and 
 said he had painted it on the site of Eussell Square. 
 That could not have been long after the year 1800.* 
 
 He was born at Ennis, in the County Ckire, Ireland, 
 where his father carried on the business of a breeches- 
 maker — a lucrative trade at that time, when almost 
 every man who owned a horse of any kind " sported the 
 buckskin." 
 
 In person, Mulready was tall, manly in form, and 
 even in his old age presented an appearance scarcely 
 less vigorous and handsome than it had been in his 
 prime of manhood. His features were finely cut, his 
 eye bright and clear to the last, his mouth severe but 
 by no means sensual ; his face had, when circumstances 
 called it forth, a sarcastic expression, and his frown, as I 
 have sometimes seen it, was positively terrible. Though 
 unhappy in his domestic relations, he was generally 
 beloved by those who knew him intimately, and es- 
 pecially by the younger members of the profession, to 
 whom he was ever ready to tender serviceable advice. 
 
 * A picture of a similar subject was exhibited at the Academy in 1848 : it was 
 called in the catalogue "A Gravel Pit, painted in 1807 or 1808," but that was a 
 different work.
 
 ■ - ELMORE. 219 
 
 Alfred Elmore. — In the year 181-5, I chanced to be 
 at Clonakiltj, in the county of Cork. A friend of my 
 father's, Dr. Elmore, who had resided there, was the 
 surgeon to a regiment with which he was then serving 
 abroad. He had taken part in the Battle of Waterloo, and 
 on that memorable day a son was born to him far away in 
 that small Irish town. Dr. Elmore was not an Irishman, 
 but his wife was an Irish lady. I^aturally I paid my 
 respects to her on visiting Clonakilty ; and of course the 
 infant " hope of the family " was exhibited to me. 
 
 Some twelve years afterwards, Dr. Elmore was settled 
 in London, and became our family doctor. One day he 
 consulted me as to what he should do with his eldest son 
 who wanted to be an artist, while the father destined 
 him for his o"«ti profession. lie showed me some 
 sketches, early efforts of the lad. I was startled by 
 their merit and promise, and said, " You will try in 
 vain to prevent Alfred from being anything but an 
 artist, and you ought to shrink from so doing, if you 
 could." I have reason to think that opinion greatly 
 influenced the destiny of the painter, who ultimately took 
 foremost rank in his profession. He died on the 24th 
 of January, 1881, leaving one child, a daughter, to whom 
 he bequeathed a large fortune (mainly if not entirely the 
 produce of his pictures), no part of which I regret to say 
 was shared by his brethren in art — such of them as are 
 in distress — or by any one of the many benevolent institu- 
 tions which he could have helped so easily by a small 
 offering of his wealth. For example, the Artists' General 
 Benevolent Institution, an admirable society that has 
 for many years brought gladness to many suffering
 
 220 JOHN LINNELL. 
 
 hearts and needy homes — but the income of which has 
 always been sadly restricted — might well have figured 
 in the will of a jDrosperous artist. 
 
 I grieve to make this note of one I had known in 
 infancy, and in watching whose career I received much 
 gratification — from his honourable progress in achieving 
 fame and fortune. 
 
 Dr. Elmore had over his chimney-piece a small paint- 
 ing of the Crucifixion, by Vandyke, presented to him by 
 one of his patients ; it is a work of wonderful power. I 
 have no doubt that to that grand picture young Elmore 
 was largely indebted for his early attraction to Art, and 
 for much of his subsequent greatness in his profession. 
 
 John Linnell I visited in 1850, at his house in Por- 
 chester Terrace, Bayswater. His large painting room was 
 hung with his pictures : there were no buyers. He com- 
 plained to me — it is not disrespectful to his memory to say 
 — in a justifiable wail — that nobody bought a picture of 
 his painting ; and I verily believe if at that time he had 
 received an off'er of a thousand pounds for the whole 
 "lot" that was scattered around him, that off'er he would 
 have accepted. " I cannot," he said to me, " live by my 
 profession. I have tried portrait painting and cannot get 
 a commission." (I remember a wonderful small portrait of 
 Mulready, and another of, I think, Collins, were hanging 
 in the room.) " I have tried engraving but with no 
 result " (there are some etchings of his in the hands 
 of collectors : I have one) and he wound up by repeat- 
 ing more than once the melancholy complaint, ^^ Nobody
 
 JOHN LINNELL. 221 
 
 ivill huy a picture of mine / " It touched me as it would 
 have touched any hearer. A few months afterwards he 
 exhibited two pictures at " the British Institution," in 
 Pall Mall ; one, " The Storm," was himg on the screen, 
 which, many will remember, usually contained gems. 
 Mr. Yernon was living two doors off. He was in bed, 
 the bed he never afterwards left. I went to him and 
 said, " Sii', there is a picture at the Institution which I 
 wish you woukl let me buy for you. It is a work of great 
 merit by John Linnell." He said, " You know I cannot 
 see it ! " "No," I answered, "but you may take my 
 judgment; its price is but forty guineas." He directed 
 me to purchase it and I did so. He also bought, by my 
 advice, for one hundred guineas, the picture of the 
 " Wood- Cutters : " both are now among the priceless 
 gems of the Yernon Gallery. The sale to Mr. Yernon of 
 these paintings was soon known : and from that day Mr. 
 Linnell had no moan to make concerning lack of pur- 
 chasers : he sold his pictures as fast as he could produce 
 them, and has been known to produce in a fortnight a 
 work that he sold for a thousand guineas. He died 
 possessed of very large wealth ; yet wealth of which he 
 made little use to obtain happiness for himself or others. 
 I regret to add another passage to this somewhat singu- 
 lar story. A few years ago, at a private view of the 
 Eoyal Academy, I was conversing with him on the topic 
 of the Yernon purchase. We were in accord in the 
 matter, except that he said it was fifty, and not forty, 
 guineas that Mr. Yernon had paid him for " The Storm." 
 But I am quite sure it was priced forty guineas when I 
 bought it. He said, "Mr. Hall, I have never given
 
 222 JOHN LINNELL. 
 
 away a sketch ; for when one gives away sketches, there 
 is no end to it. But I must make an exception in your 
 favour : come and see me at Reigate." A few months 
 later I responded to the invitation. In his studio I 
 saw a hirge number of sketches ; and audibly admired 
 two or three of them ; taking care not to admire such as 
 were of size and seemed commercially valuable ; but I 
 left his house without the jiromised sketch. He could 
 not find it in his heart to give. 
 
 I will not apologize for the introduction of this anec- 
 dote. K'o doubt the change that was taking place as 
 regarded national estimates of British Artists must soon 
 have brought ample '' custom " to the atelier of John 
 Linnell — one among the chiefs of the profession ; it 
 would not have come to him so soon as it did, but for 
 the accident of my visit to Porchester Terrace followed 
 by my subsequent visit to Mr. Vernon. 
 
 John Linnell died in 1882. He had been born in 
 1792, and was consequently a very aged man: but he 
 painted up to the last; although his later works are, 
 by comparison, little more than washed out copies of his 
 earlier productions. His first picture was exhibited in 
 1807. 
 
 He died a wealthy man; but his wealth was all 
 obtained by the sale of his works after the year 1850, 
 when I saw him first. He was not a charitable man. I 
 know of no institution, artistic or otherwise, that was 
 the better because he had lived. He grudged himself 
 reasonable and rational enjoyments ; and if not an 
 absolute miser, did not understand the line— 
 " More blessed 'tis to give than to receive."
 
 MtJLLER. 223 
 
 W. J. MuLLER. — He was a man in whom genius was 
 associated with modesty, independence Avith courtesy, 
 and generosity with prudence ; his highly educated mind 
 and refined sentiments never unfitted liim for mingling 
 with the rough and rugged, where was to be found the 
 recommendation of talent or character ; his naturally 
 sound and upright principles had been strengthened by 
 practised judgment ; he, in every way, ranked foremost 
 among those whose destiny it is to exhibit the advan- 
 tage to the individual himself and to the world 
 of blending high intellect with moral and social 
 virtues. 
 
 Midler's primary instructions in Art were received 
 from J. B. Pyne ; but he soon quitted other instructors for 
 that great guide Nature, and in the years 1833 and 1834 
 made a tour through Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, 
 returning to Bristol and pursuing his profession (but 
 with only partial success) in that city. Some interesting 
 letters furnished to the Art Union by Midler during his 
 journeyings, supply evidence of his great ability as a 
 thinker and writer, as well as an artist. 
 
 I have alluded to the treatment he received at the 
 hands of the Royal Academy in 1845. It caused the 
 illness from which he died ; the shock was so great that 
 it ajffected his heart — from disease of which he had 
 previously suffered. 
 
 Indignation is a weak word to express the feeling of 
 Miiller's friends when they saw that the whole of his 
 noble contributions were placed so as to induce a belief 
 that there existed a conspiracy to ruin him. Accident 
 might have led to the injurious hanging of one, or even
 
 224 MiJLLER. 
 
 two; but when they saw six of his pictures* huu^; either 
 close to the ceiling or along the floor, it was difficult to 
 arrive at any other conclusion than that there was a 
 deliberate design to crush and destroy a man of genius. 
 Deliberate or not, the effects on Miillcr were mortal, and 
 I do not hesitate to say that the Koyal Academy as cer- 
 tainly killed William Midler as if they had stabbed him 
 to the heart with a more material weapon. The bar thus 
 sought to be placed in the path of his professional ad- 
 vancement i^roduced results that could scarcely have 
 entered into the imaginations of those who set it up. 
 
 Miillcr lived in lodgings — in the Charlotte Street that 
 neighbours Oxford Street — and so moderate were the 
 prices paid him for his works that he never but once in 
 his life received for a picture so large a sum as £100. 
 I knew him when he was a lad in Bristol (his father 
 was Curator of the Institution in that city), and he 
 then made a drawing for me. I knew him afterwards 
 intimately, and loved him much ; a truer gentleman 
 never lived — perfect in his art, yet as modest and un- 
 assuming as man could be. I was by when he sold for 
 £80 his picture of the Chcss-Plajjers. I saw it not long 
 ago on the walls of Mr. Bolckow, and that gentleman had 
 paid for it more than four thousand guineas. 
 
 Miiller also wrote for me some valuable letters, which I 
 published in the Art Union. They were sent to me 
 during his travels in the East — where he had gone in 
 company with the Government expedition to Lycia, but 
 entirely at his ovm expense. He died in the September 
 following that mournful 1st of May. A month before 
 
 * I have seen one of these very pictures sold at Christie's for nearly £2,000.
 
 JOHN MARTIN. 225 
 
 his death he wrote to me ; "I have," he said, " much 
 reliance on medical aid ; I place my reliance on it next 
 to the Almighty, and then, fully believing it to be under 
 His loving aid, I leave the issue in His hands." I 
 rejoice to make this record of my friend ; a purer spirit 
 never passed from earth to Heaven ; his nature was un- 
 sullied by a single blot ; it Avas entirely felicitous for 
 good ; he left us nothing to regret concerning him but 
 his loss. 
 
 John Martin.— Between the years 1825 and 1835 
 the painter John Martin, then residing at Alsop Terrace, 
 Marylebone, gave weekly parties, at which many men 
 of celebrity, and others who were commencing lives that 
 afterwards became celebrated, were guests.* The artist 
 was a small and delicately formed man, with gentle yet 
 handsome features, and bland and courteous manners. 
 His gatherings are remembered with gratitude by the 
 few who still live to recall them. I am one of the few 
 who acknowledge the debt. One evening, when I was 
 present, there came to Martin's house a young man who 
 greatly amused the party by making a doll dance upon 
 a grand piano, and excited a laugh when he said, "You 
 will be surprised if I tell you that is done by lightning !" 
 It was Mr. Charles Wheatstoue, then a music-publisher 
 in Conduit Street, afterwards Sir Charles Wheatstone, 
 F.E.S. In that doll, perhaps, the first suggestion of 
 the electric telegraph lay hidden — the germ of an inven- 
 
 * The social intercourse of artists with men of letters is now carried on at the 
 clubs. Unhappily there has been no successor to John Martin in bringing 
 them together for mutual pleasure and mutual instruction. 
 
 VOL. II. Q
 
 226 JOHN MARTIN. 
 
 tion by wMch every day the British people learn what 
 was doing yesterday in every part of the Avorld, a dis- 
 covery that has belted the globe with an electric zone of 
 a thousandfold more marvellous character than that 
 which Puck promised Oberon to put about the earth in 
 forty minutes.* 
 
 Among the most constant of Martin's guests was Allan 
 Cunningham, and always with him his admirable wife. 
 
 I remember Martin, Cunningham, and myself chatting 
 over early experiences, more especially our struggles to 
 attain positions of independence, as the reward of labour : 
 such struggles as most men go thi'ough en route to dis- 
 tinction. In the course of our talk Martin told the 
 following story of himself: — "I had a shilling, and it 
 was needful to take care of it ; but getting very hungry 
 I went into a baker's shop to buy a penny loaf. To my 
 horror, my shilling proved to be a bad one. So, for a 
 long time afterwards, when I had a shilling, I took care 
 to get it changed into penny-pieces as soon as possible, 
 that I might not have another disappointment." 
 
 Martin " scraped " in mezzo-tinto the major part of 
 the many engraved plates he produced. He was always 
 at work. Sometimes he had before him a bare idea of 
 the design to be engraved ; he composed it as he 
 
 * I heard Faraday say at a lecture at the London Institution — " If you were 
 to place a wire three times round the globe and touch it at one end, you would 
 receive a response at the other, while I can do that ! " — waving his hand with a 
 motion that occupied two seconds. 
 
 I more than once, in after times, reminded Wheatstone of the circumstance to 
 which I have alluded ; and urged him to consider — that indulgence to those who 
 held beliefs to which he was decidedly hostile was a lesson inculcated by his own 
 experience. For the wildest flight of imagination could not on the night of that 
 gathering at Martin's, have grasped the idea of its being made possible to send a 
 message to New York while at dinner, and to receive an answer before the cloth 
 was removed.
 
 HART. 2'27 
 
 worked. It ^Yas certainly so in the case of his illus- 
 trations to Milton. It is folly to deny to him the 
 attributes of high genius ; yet they were, and perhaps 
 still are, denied. He was cried down as a quack in art, 
 and never had a chance of admission into the Eoyal 
 Academy. Yet he who has a fine copy of the Belshaz- 
 zarh Feast has an art treasure that may be classed 
 among the choicest productions of the century and the 
 school. 
 
 I met once, at Martin's, his brother Jonathan — the 
 maniac who set fire to York Cathedral. It would not 
 have been hard to fancy that John possessed the genius 
 that to madness nearly is allied. 
 
 Solomon Alex. Hart, of the race of the ancient people, 
 was born at Plymouth in 1806. "When I knew him, 
 about 1830, he was living with his father in Gerrard 
 Street, Soho, and had already achieved some fame. He 
 was cheered by selling a picture for twelve guineas, 
 but soon afterwards received .£70 from Mr. Yernon for a 
 pictiu'e now in the Yernon Gallery : that led to success. 
 The struggle had been so hard that at one time he often 
 wanted a loaf of bread ; but his life as a whole was 
 fairly prosperous, and we may account him one of the 
 lights the Jews haA^e given to a modern world. 
 
 Hart left some reminiscences of his contemporaries, 
 and a brief memoir of himself. They are printed in a 
 neat volume by his friend, Mr. Alexander Brodie ; they 
 are of little value, yet interesting as records of an " eye- 
 witness." Hart was a scholar as well as a painter, 
 
 Q 2
 
 22S E. M. WARD. 
 
 and might have gathered togetlier and handed to 
 successors a vast amount of useful information. It is to 
 be lamented he neglected that duty — imperative on 
 one who was for some time Librarian to the Eoyal 
 Academy. 
 
 Not long ago I had the gratification to see in the 
 Town Hall at Plymouth the best of Hart's pictures, a 
 work of large size, and of merit so great as to rank it 
 among the very best productions of the English school — 
 The Execution of Lady Jane Grey^ presented by the artist, 
 in 1879, to his native town, is an art-treasui-e of which 
 the citizens may well be proud. Unfortunately he per- 
 sisted in exhibiting at the Eoyal Academy (which, as a 
 member, he had the right to do), pictures painted in his 
 decadence — so sadly bad that when spectators read the 
 letters E. A. after his name, they marvelled how they came 
 there. None will so wonder who see this masterpiece. 
 It may place Hart beside Opie, Briggs, Brockedon, East- 
 lake, and Haydon — also Devonshire worthies — and justify 
 his claim to rank high among the foremost artists of the 
 nineteenth century. 
 
 Edwaed Mathew Ward, E.A., born at Belgrave 
 Place, Pimlico, in 1816, was the son of a gentleman who 
 held a responsible and lucrative post in the banking 
 house of Messrs. Coutts. Ward entered upon his pro- 
 fessional course under more than ordinary advantages : 
 he had Chantrey and Wilkie to encourage him ; the 
 latter stood sponsor for him when admitted as a pro- 
 bationer to the schools of the Eoyal Academy, whose
 
 E. M. WARD. 229 
 
 walls were in after years so brilliantly ornamented with 
 the results of his genius, skill, artistic knowledge, and 
 patient industry. It has been too much the fashion of 
 late years among some art-critics and assumed art- 
 patrons to decry the school of painting of which Ward 
 was so distinguished a disciple ; but so long as the 
 public can have access to such pictures as the " Last 
 Sleep of Argyle," " The Execution of Montrose," "The 
 South-Sea Bubble," "The Disgrace of Clarendon," 
 " The Family of Louis XYI. in the Prison of the 
 Temple," "Dr. Johnson perusing the Manuscript of 
 'The Yicar of Wakefield,'" and "Alice Lisle," there 
 will be few to deny that his works are such as any 
 nation might be proud of. The future will do him 
 more justice than he met with from his own genera- 
 tion — classing him among the very foremost painters 
 of the century. There is always a consummate know- 
 ledge of his subject in his compositions, whether taken 
 from English or French history. 
 
 Ward was elected Associate of the Eoyal Academy in 
 1846,- and Eoyal Academician in 1855. He was a man 
 held in great respect, independently of his art, by all 
 who knew him ; of a kindly disposition, though some- 
 what rough in manner; a true and sincere friend, and a 
 ready helper where aid was needed. The large troop of 
 artists and friends who gathered round his grave in Ilpton 
 Old Church, on that bleak wintry morning of January 
 21st, 1879, testified to his private and social worth. 
 
 I do not write at length concerning my long- valued 
 friend Ward. The mournful close of his life forbids my 
 doing so. To account for that awfully sad event is
 
 230 E. M. WARD. 
 
 impossible — otherwise than on the certainty of temporary 
 insanity. I am as sure that insanity prompted the fatal 
 act, as I am that I write these words. T^o man was 
 happier in all the associations of home : united to a 
 devoted woman, with tastes and occupations entirely in 
 harmony with his, who also was respected and honoured 
 in art, and especially as an art teacher. A faithful wife, 
 a tender and careful mother, a true friend; she had 
 earned the affectionate respect of all with whom she 
 came into contact. All who knew her loved her, as 
 surely did her husband.* All his children were doing 
 well. In that household there was no extravagance, 
 not a shadow of recklessness characterized the hospitality 
 always exercised there. Of few men who have ever 
 lived can it be said that their past had been less clouded, 
 or that Providence had given them a future freer from 
 gloom. At no time of his life had there been any 
 struggle with adversity. From his youth upward there 
 had been no unpropitious circumstances in his surround- 
 ings tending to origir ate mental disease; and assuredly 
 in the period of his ri] e manhood if I had been called 
 upon to write a single word that could better than 
 another characterize his career, it would have been the 
 word "prosperity." Yet such is the inscrutable mys- 
 tery of our lives that of a mind diseased — suddenly and 
 momentarily diseased, it may be — Ward assuredly 
 died. 
 
 A better man in all the relations of life — as son, 
 
 * I had seen Henrietta Ward (his namesake, but not a relative) when an 
 infant in arms : she is the daughter of G. E. Ward, an artist of eminence who, 
 in early life, was a miniature painter, and the grand-daughter of James Wardj 
 R.A., the best animal painter of his time.
 
 STANFIELD. 231 
 
 husband, father, friend — I never knew. I think of 
 him often — never without affection, and alwaj's with 
 respect. 
 
 Clarkson Stanfield. — Some of my readers will re- 
 member that when Stanfield had reached the highest 
 point of his renown, he painted scenery for his friend 
 Macready ; it is a treat even to call to mind its marvel- 
 lous beauty. The last time I saw Stanfield was at a 
 private view of the Eoyal Academy ; he was breaking 
 fast. I recall his words as he leaned on my arm while 
 descending the staircase at Trafalgar Square. In answer 
 to mj observation that we should meet there again next 
 year, if we did not meet before : — " You will never see 
 me here again," he answered. He lived over the next 
 private view, but did not attend it, and before the month 
 of May was out, he passed away. A good, as well as a 
 great, man was called from earth when he died. 
 
 His father, James Field Stanfield, was an Irishman 
 and a Roman Catholic, and had been educated in France 
 for the priesthood of his church ; but he never took 
 orders, and in the end went to sea, where — strange 
 contrast to his original destination — he was for some 
 time employed in the slave-trade, and learned, fi'om what 
 he saw, to loathe its horrors. He was afterwards asso- 
 ciated with Thomas Clarkson and Wilberforce in their 
 efi'orts for the abolition of slavery. After the philan- 
 thropist, Clarkson, his son was named. James Field 
 Stanfield was a man of ability, cultivated by education, 
 and published several works of interest. Clarkson 
 Stanfield had the misfortune to lose his mother in 1801,
 
 2b2 CRUIKSHANK. 
 
 and in the same year his father married again. Shortly 
 afterwards Clarkson was sent to Edinburgh, where he 
 was apprenticed to a herald painter, and in that occupa- 
 tion gained much useful knowledge for his after career, 
 
 as he had inherited from his mother a considerable 
 talent for drawing. 
 
 In 1808, Clarkson went to sea and was employed in 
 the merchant service until 1813, when he entered a 
 king's ship. While on board the Namur^ he was sent 
 ashore to do a painting for the admiral's ball-room, 
 which gave so much satisfaction that Stanfield was 
 promised his discharge from the navy. He became an 
 A.E.A. in 1832, and a E.A. in 1835. 
 
 The effects of his boyhood afloat are traceable in 
 nearly every work that came from his brush. He 
 retained, from those early years, vivid impressions of the 
 sea, and a love of it that clung to him through his whole 
 life. Some of his happiest hours in after times were 
 passed on or near the ocean. His home life, like his 
 public life, was a happy one : his genial manners and 
 warm heart endeared him to a large circle of friends, 
 numbering among them some of his most distinguished 
 contemporaries in art, science, politics, and literature. 
 
 He died on the 18th May, 1867, and was buried in 
 the Eoman Catholic cemetery at Ivensal Green, where a 
 handsome marble cross is erected to his memory. 
 
 George Cruikshank was born before the nineteenth 
 century commenced, and was an art professor almost from 
 his cradle — a boy doing the work of a man. Second to
 
 cruikshank:. 233 
 
 none as a humourist, and a master in his own depart- 
 ment of art, he stands also in the front rank of philan- 
 thropists. His faithful, earnest, and unselfish labours 
 in the great cause of Temperance, as opposed to reckless 
 indulgence in the terrible vice of drinking, would alone 
 have secured for hira a niche of honour among the 
 worthies of his generation and his countrj^ His claim 
 to loving admiration and remembrance rests not upon 
 a single isolated quality, however high its character ; 
 but upon a rare combination of qualities, all of them 
 great and excellent ; and the man joined with the artist 
 to render Cruikshank' s claim to the homage of posterity 
 indisputable. 
 
 Of his subtle perception of character, of his keen 
 sense of the humorous and ridiculous, of the masterly 
 ability with which he imparted a natural air to the gro- 
 tesque and the extravagant, and of the life and vigour 
 and movement of his figures and groups, it would 
 be superfluous for me here to speak. That is all 
 known as widely and familiarly as his name ; and 
 wherever art has extended her benign influence, there 
 the name of George Cruikshank is happily associated 
 with the ever-welcome productions of his delightful and 
 essentially instructive pencil — truly a great teacher was 
 my friend George Cruikshank. 
 
 Craikshank's death occurred in 1878. Born in 
 Bloomsbury in 1792, son of an artist, who was himself 
 skilled in caricature designs, the boy at a very early 
 age helped his father in the work of drawing. When he 
 was but seven years old he made drawings — which were 
 exhibited, with a very large number of others of later
 
 2''J4 CltinKHIIANIC. 
 
 (liitd, ;it l^xc-ter Tlall in 1S03. Cniiksliauk, during tho 
 lilr ol'liis lUtlK!!-, Iroiii wliorn Ik; HO(>Tns to hnvo. liad very 
 JiMlc, (iiicoiiriiocmciit - iiiid Klill 1(!HH oriidlp in tli(? inuttor 
 (»r inslriiclion ;il (cniplcd lo *^('i udniiHsion info the 
 Sclionis ofllic li'oyjil A('.;i(l('niy when ImiscH was Keeper; 
 l)iil. wliellier lie w MS adiiiiHcd as a, slinhnit is a dispiitod 
 j)()inl. 'I'lie eldei- ( Viiiksliaidv (lie(! wliile liis sou was 
 Hiill young, and Hie laKer look up and eoinplel(!d Homo 
 blocikH file loi-iner had lel'l uiiliiiisluHl ; tlumoerortli liis 
 voeaiion in lil'e was lixed. 
 
 'I'w(» !iioii(lil\' pol ideal salir'es of Mie day, ilu^ ^('<nry(/e 
 and llie Mrh-or, lie illiislraied willi (^ai'ieal ui'es ; and for 
 llie polilieiaii and |)ul)l!sliei-, William Hone, he did a 
 considerable amoniit of work of a satirical <diaract(!r 
 relleeling on the government ol" that tinn^, and espe(;ially 
 on Hie snhject ol' tli(^ trial of (iucu^u (Iarolin(>, tluMiii- 
 ha|)|>y consoi'l (»r ( »eorg(> IV. 
 
 To eiiiimerali^ e\(ii a. Iiundredlh pail ol" ( Viiiksliank's 
 lahoiirs N\ illi Hie pencil would he siiHicicnl lo demon- 
 slraie not only Ilu5 vcu'sal ility, hut the unw(^ari(Hl industry 
 of Hie arlisi. In tlu^ " Universal ('alaloguc^ of Hooks on 
 All," puhlished hy Hie Scien(^(Miud Art Departuuuit in 
 iS70, we liiid Hie name of (jleorg(^ Cruiksliauk usso- 
 ciated willi no fewer lliaii one hundred and seventeeu 
 distinel piihlieaiions (he majorily having " nunuM'ous 
 plates." 
 
 As i\\\ oil paint(M*, (Vniksliauk (»xliil)it(>d pictures oc- 
 casionally — not till towards th(> middle of liis lil'o — at 
 tlu^ Ivoyal Acad(>my, and al Hi(> Hritish Institution; but 
 liis works ol" (hat d(\se!ip( i(»n a(lrae((Ml litlh^ attention. 
 His mos( famous product ion of (his kind is '' The Wor-
 
 (IM'IKMIIANK. 
 
 2ar) 
 
 slii|t (tf I >:i('cliiis/' ;i, rciiiMik.iMi' ('(tm|>(»sil imi in :ill \v;i\'s, 
 ol' very l;iri;"(' diiiKMisioiis, mikI (((IiImiiiiiii;' iiIxhiI ci^lil 
 Imiidicd li^uicM, iiicliidiiii;' :ill cliisscs and coiidil ions. Il 
 was |)ain((Ml ((» aid Ww 'r(Mii|)<'raJi('(i MovcmihmiI, as also 
 \Vfi(> (lie series of d«'siii;ns known as ''The UoKle'^and 
 "■ Tlie I )riinl\ar(rs IIomm';^' (Iieardsl IxMni;' in liis Ial<'r 
 y(>arM a, /ealons advoeale of '' leelolalism/' \sitli wlinli 
 Ins name is very closely ideiiliHed, ami in aid ol wliieli 
 mo\('meii( lie worked dilii;(>iil ly in every wa\ wlieii lt\ 
 lie could I'lirllier Hie llileresis ol" Hie cause. 
 
 Alm<»sl lo Hie \('ry da\' (»!' Ins dtalli, (Vniksliank 
 relaiiied Hial elas(ici(\' ol' S|tiril, \i<.;onr of mind, and 
 coinpaiat I ve acli\i(\' <d" lio<|\., wliicli lie had eiijo\cd 
 HiroiiLdi a, hrelime e\(cnded lar l)e\(Hid Hie alloMcd Icrm 
 id' lliairs cMslellce. lie li\ed (o a, ^(lod :iiid nseriil 
 |mr|iose, and his memory will loiii;' he eiisliiiiie(| in \\\i^ 
 liearls(d'all who knew hiiii, and valued his ;i,ciiiiis ami 
 Hie <.;()od ohjecis lo which il. was S(» oCleii dcdicalcd. 
 
 I should ill discharge iii\ <liil\ il I omilled lo render 
 honour ami lioinaL'o lo one w h'> has heeii so |ii'oiiiiiieii( 
 and ;:,real a heiKTaclor lo his ai^c and coiinlry. 
 
 So mmli has of la(e hecn wriHeii conceinini'; "'!'(•<•- 
 (olal ( ile(»r^'e,'' llial I iiia\ he |iai(|oiied for having' coin 
 pressed my skelch cd' him iiil(» slender liiiiifs. My 
 lalest memory (d" ( 'riiii\sliank is connecled wiHi his 
 rnneral. I was one (d' Hie pall hearers when his hod\ 
 was interred ;il K'eiisal (Ireeii. lie had |ias.sc(| on e:iilh 
 eij^hl y-li V(! years of a, sini^iilarly ac(i\c liCe: he;.' iiiiiin;;- 
 work as i liav*- said alinosl in inrancy, ;iiid cnflin^ il, 
 only nil his deal h-hed.
 
 236 FLAXMAX. 
 
 John Flaxman. — To the leading sculptors of my time 
 I can devote but a few pages. I saw great Flaxman 
 once at the Eoyal Academy, and once at his house ; a 
 small, delicate man with a lofty forehead, in appearance 
 just such as he is pictured by his friend Jackson, who as 
 a portrait-painter almost takes rank with Vandyke ; but 
 he was too poor to produce works that demanded time 
 and labour, and the productions that gave him such high 
 rank are few. For several years Jackson painted portraits 
 that are engraved in early numbers of the Evangelical 
 Magazine^ usually having one sitting only, and producing 
 one portrait in a day — heads that were seldom favour- 
 able examples of nature, and could hardly furnish mate- 
 rial to the painter for splendid results in art. More 
 than once I have been with him during the hour the 
 sitting occupied, and easily comprehended the current 
 of undergrowl with which the work was accompanied. 
 Jackson's portrait of Flaxman, I think, is the greatest 
 and best of modern portraits. It conveys a perfect idea 
 of the almost divine expression of the great artist and 
 good man. 
 
 I quote a passage from the inscription in the church 
 of St. Giles's "in the Fields," that district of St. 
 Giles's where still exist the remnants of a rookery that 
 not many years back was a disgrace to the metropolis. 
 Here rest the ashes of the great artist, and on his tomb- 
 stone it is recorded that beneath lies the body of — 
 
 " John Flaxman, 
 '' Whose mortal life was a preparation for a blessed immortality. 
 His angelic spirit returned to the Divine Giver on the 7 th of 
 December, 1826 ; in the seventy-second year of his age."
 
 GIBSON. 237 
 
 John Gibson. — During many years prior to his death, 
 in 1866, Gibson was a resident in Eome, only visiting 
 England occasionally. On the occasion of such visits he 
 usually gave an evening to us. Throughout his lono- 
 life he was honoured as an artist of the very foremost 
 type, and greatly esteemed and regarded as a man. In 
 Eome his ateliers were freely opened to students, who 
 might there study what he worked on and how he 
 worked. They were, at least, as free to the American as 
 they were to the British, and among those who availed 
 themselves of the facilities he granted were Miss Hosmer 
 and Miss Foley. Dear Peggy Foley died young, and 
 so an artist of great ability and an estimable woman 
 was lost to the world ; not, however, until she had been 
 a grand contributor to the art-sculpture of America. 
 Indeed, in more recent times the sculptors of the United 
 States have been carrying off the laurels from Europe. 
 In the long list of American sculptors I might give 
 would surely stand foremost the name of Hiram Powers, 
 whose " Greek Slave " (engraved for the Art Journal) 
 has perhaps borne off the palm from all modern competi- 
 tors. I must pass rapidly over the names and works of 
 Bailey, Westmacott, Macdowell, and other sculptors of 
 an epoch now closed. The best productions of all of 
 them may be seen at the Crystal Palace, and if the 
 grand remainder and reminder of the fairy building in 
 Hyde Park, in 1851, had only that source of attraction 
 to recommend it, there would be a debt owing to it for 
 sood work done.
 
 238 BEHNES. 
 
 William Behnes. — Henry, who took the name of 
 Burlowe, avowedly because he would not seek to attract 
 to himself a share of the professional honours of his elder 
 brother, but really because ah'eady there was a tarnish 
 on the name, was in all ways steady, upright, con- 
 scientious, just; and he would certainly have attained 
 distinction, but that almost on the threshold of his career 
 that career was suddenly stopped by his death of cholera 
 at Eome. He is known as Henry Behnes Burlowe. 
 
 William Behnes had many commissions, especially for 
 busts, in the production of which he greatly excelled. 
 I have his bust of the Queen when a child of nine or 
 ten years old. It is a charming work, and gives assur- 
 ance of the goodness, virtue, and lofty mental qualities 
 by which the Sovereign has been distinguished diuing a 
 long, auspicious, and prosperous reign. It is the portrait 
 of a good child destined to be a good woman. It was 
 given to me by the artist. The original, from which it 
 is a cast, is, I believe, at Windsor. Poor, unhappy 
 William Behnes ! he fell into evil habits early, and, 
 after indulging in them so long as to sap the constitution, 
 impair the mind, and disease the soul, he became a con- 
 firmed drunkard, and one night was found literally in 
 the gutter, with threepence in his pocket, somewhere 
 close to the Middlesex Hospital, to which he was taken, 
 and where a few days afterwards he died, January 7, 
 1864. So passed from earth another victim to the pest 
 of drink — another sad addition to the long list of men 
 of genius who have outraged lofty gifts, and blighted 
 careers that were meant to be, and capable of being, 
 useful to all humankind : not indeed by actual suicide,
 
 JOHN HENRY FOLEY. 239 
 
 but by acts that as surely lead to wilful and self-inflicted 
 death as if the hand had deliberately sent by a pistol- 
 shot the body to the grave. 
 
 Behnes was generally considered a native of Ireland ; 
 he was born in London about 1794. His father was 
 a Hanoverian, the son of a physician, but his mother 
 was an Englishwoman. He might have died ripe in 
 honours and laden with riches honourably won. For- 
 tune became at last weary of lavishing her bounties on 
 one who constantly perverted them ; but had the pro- 
 digal even late in life made any effort to amend his 
 shortcomings, he might yet have acquired a competence : 
 as it was he died in penury. The story of the latter 
 part of his career is indeed melancholy. He had begun 
 life as a miniature-painter. I have a small drawing by 
 him — a likeness of Mrs. Hall, taken in 1818. He rose 
 somewhat rapidly to fame as a sculptor, to terminate his 
 career in the miserable way I have described. 
 
 John Henry Foley, E.A., was born in Dublin on 
 the 24th of May, 1818, and died at Hampstead on the 
 27th of August, 1874. At the age of thirteen, he com- 
 menced to draw and model in the schools of the Eoyal 
 Dublin Society, where he gained several prizes. In 1834 
 he came to London, and attended the schools of the 
 Eoyal Academy, where he rapidly achieved distinction. 
 AYlien I first knew Foley, more than forty years ago, 
 he was living in one of the streets leading out of the 
 Hampstead Eoad (Eobert Street), and in the small 
 parlour was his model of Ino and Bacchus, afterwards
 
 240 JOHN HENRY FOLEY. 
 
 destined to become famous : but then nobody had made a 
 bid for it. It was ultimately commissioned in marble 
 by the Earl of Ellesmere, and is now one of the boasts of 
 the country. 
 
 Foley equalled, if he did not surpass, the best of his 
 contemporaries in every department of the art — in his 
 busts, his monumental bas-reliefs, his groups, his single 
 statues, and especially in his equestrian statues. No 
 sculptor living or dead has produced works more grand 
 than his Lord Hardinge and Sir James Outram. There 
 exists no statue more perfect than that of Oliver Gold- 
 smith, in which he had untoward materials to deal with, 
 and which is beyond question such a triumph of genius 
 over difficulties as, I think, is unparalleled in art. 
 
 Eoley was not only a great artist, he was emphatically 
 a good man, ever ready to help a struggling brother, 
 and foremost in any work of charity. He lived simply 
 and without ostentation, was happily married, and was 
 always at home — always in his studio, indeed, when 
 in health, and only absent when active labour was 
 impossible. For the two or three years preceding his 
 death it was obvious that his upright, honourable, and 
 prosperous career was drawing to a close. He dated his 
 illness from one fatal day of frost and keen east wind, 
 when striving to arrange on its pedestal the statue of 
 the Prince Consort in Hyde Park. From the attack 
 that followed he never recovered, and it was a grief to 
 his many friends to perceive the increasing bodily decay 
 that heralded a comparatively early death. 
 
 I recall him as I knew him in the long-ago — slight, 
 but well formed, the face long and sallow, pensive almost
 
 LOUGH. 241 
 
 to melancholy ; I do not think he was outwardly of 
 what is called a genial nature. He was not "robust" 
 either in body or mind ; all his sentiments and sensa- 
 tions were graceful ; so in truth were his manners. His 
 leisure was "consumed by thought ;" he seemed to me 
 to be at work when apparently doing nothing ; he was 
 never idle, although his hands were at rest. So com- 
 pletely had early neglect been exchanged for fame and 
 recognition, that when he died he had more " commis- 
 sions " on hand than he could — notwithstanding some 
 very efficient aids — have executed during ten years of 
 active and energetic life. Yet he died poor ; he 7nust 
 have died poor, for he was perpetually giving away — 
 ever liberal in helping others. He was buried in St. 
 Paul's Cathedral. It was the period of the year when 
 most people are away from London, and the attendance 
 at his funeral was not large. A dozen members of the 
 Eoyal Academy and a few men of letters only were 
 present, when the earthly form of a great genius was 
 laid beside many workers of the past who yet live, as 
 Foley will live, as long as brass and marble endure. 
 
 •John Graham Lough.— The career of this sculptor, 
 who died on the 8th of April, 1876, after a few days' 
 illness, is one of no very unusual ocoiu'rence in the 
 annals of art. Born at the beginning of the century of 
 humble parents, and with little aid in achieving success 
 — beyond his own perseverance, energy, and ability — he 
 raised himself to a very honoui'able position as a sculptor, 
 
 VOL. II. R
 
 242 OTHER SCULPTOi;S. 
 
 though he may not have quite realised the expectations 
 the painter Haydon formed and recorded of his genius. 
 
 In private life no artist has been more largely esteemed 
 and respected. His personal friends were numerous, 
 including many of the most famous men and women of 
 the age in science, art, and letters. There frequently 
 assembled at his house persons not only high in rank, 
 but renowned for intellectual and social worth ; their 
 regard for the man was great as was their admiration of 
 his genius as an artist. He was estimable in all the 
 relations of life, was essentially, in manner as well as 
 in mind, a gentleman. He had the qualities that con- 
 vert acquaintances into personal friends, and few men 
 have died more regretted by a very large circle. His 
 widow, a sister of the distinguished surgeon, Sir James 
 Paget, survives him ; but he leaves no son to inherit his 
 name and honours.* 
 
 There are three sculptors, my personal friends, who 
 have died recently — Joseph Durham, A.R.A., Edward 
 Bowring Stephens, A.E.A., and Joseph Edwards. Each 
 had well earned the fame he had attained ; each has left to 
 us works that will be classed among the best produc- 
 tions of the nineteenth century. 
 
 I knew the sculptor Joseph Durham intimately. He 
 takes a foremost place among the greater artists of the 
 period. Abundant proofs of his poetic taste and fancy 
 may be found in the Art Journal^ where as many as 
 
 • His widow presented his sketches and unpublished works to his native town 
 — Newcastle-on-Tyne ; they weighed many tons. The corporation erected a 
 structure in which to "house " and exhibit them.
 
 OTHER SCULPTORS. 243 
 
 seven of his works are engraved, while the testimonial 
 monument in the South Kensington Horticultural Gar- 
 dens must be ranked among the best adornments of 
 the metropolis. I saw Durham first at the dwelling of 
 Jenny Lind, in Old Brompton. He had asked and 
 obtained permission to make a bust of her. The result 
 was a production of considerable merit. It was easy 
 thence to prophesy success for the young artist. He 
 found patrons, obtained commissions, was elected an 
 Associate of the Eoyal Academy, and after the death of 
 Foley was advancing to the head of his profession, 
 when so recently as 1877 he died ; it would be wrong to 
 conceal the fact, he has left no relations to be shamed 
 by recording it — another victim to the curse that has 
 consigned so many men of genius to graves before they 
 had done half the work they might have done. 
 
 The theme is sad to me, as I think it will be to many 
 others of his friends, and I will abridge a memory that 
 yields me pain rather than pleasure, for I regarded him 
 with much affection. 
 
 Joseph Edwards was altogether different. He was a 
 native of South Wales : pure and upright and essentially 
 good in all the relations of life — a character amply sus- 
 tained by the refined delicacy and purity of his works, 
 the principal of which were sepulchral. A small 
 production of his graces the memorial tablet to Mrs. 
 S. C. Hall, in the church at Addlestone. His many 
 friends subscribed to erect a monument to his memory 
 at Kensal Green. 
 
 Stephens I knew even better than I knew Edwards. 
 He, too, was a man of large worth in private life — a 
 
 r2
 
 244 OTHER SCULPTORS. 
 
 sculptor of the highest genius. There are in his native 
 city of Exeter four statues unsurpassed in British art. 
 Devonshire lost one of its truest '' worthies " when 
 Edward Bowring Stephens died at a comparatively early 
 age, but not until he had established high fame. 
 
 If in treating of the authors I have known I had to 
 apologise for very many omissions, surely I must do so 
 as regards artists — repeating that although the list is 
 not exhausted, my space is.
 
 EECOLLECTIOXS 
 OF SOME ACTOES I HAVE KNOW^. 
 
 My intimacy with, actors has been limited ; bnt I have 
 known some whose names are famous, and may devote 
 to recollections of them some pages of this book. 
 
 I saw John Kemble act in 1815 ; he sustained with 
 marvellous power the character of Coriolanus, and trod 
 the stage with apparently youthful vigour — " the noblest 
 Koman of them all." The next day, I waited, for some 
 time, beside his door in Great Eussell Strefet, to see him 
 in " his habit as he lived," and was not a little astonished 
 and shocked when I saw an old and decrepit man totter 
 out, leaning on the arm of two servants to be helped into 
 his carriage. For several years before his death he was 
 a sad sufferer from a complaint peculiarly terrible to an 
 actor — asthma. In 1817, on his retirement from the 
 stage, there was heaped on him his full share of honours. 
 At a dinner given to him in Freemason's Hall he 
 listened to the stanzas written by Thomas Campbell : — 
 
 " Pride of the British stage, 
 A long', a last adieu." 
 
 While he yet trod that stage he had reformed it in 
 many ways — notably as regarded costame. Until his 
 advent, Greek and Eoman were usually represented in
 
 246 EDMUND KEAN. 
 
 knee-breeches and flowing wigs. In 1817 Mrs. Siddons, 
 for her brother's benefit, played the part of Lady Mac- 
 beth. If we are to credit Macready, the acting of both 
 supplied proof of "occupation gone;" the time had 
 come for repose on laurels won. 
 
 Edmund Kean's last appearance was at Covent Garden 
 on the 25th of March, 1833, as Othello ; he could not 
 go through the part, broke down after uttering the 
 
 words — 
 
 ' ' For ever 
 Farewell the tranquil mind," 
 
 and was removed from the boards which he was to tread 
 no more. Probably he was intoxicated. He certainly 
 was so when, a very few evenings before, I saw him play 
 Lear. I have not forgotten the shock sustained by the 
 audience when Kean fell flat on the boards, and brought 
 the play to a close — as melancholy as it was abrupt. 
 
 He had been, if not the greatest actor on the British 
 stage, certainly the greatest favourite of the British 
 public, since the days of Garrick. He may, as Macready 
 says, " have been too eager a student of startling 
 effects ; " but he produced them at will ; his insignifi- 
 cant form, so singularly contrasting with that of Kemble, 
 was lost sight of in his terrible " earnestness." I have 
 heard actors say they had often felt disposed to run away 
 from the terrible light of Kean's coal-black eyes. 
 
 He was comparatively young when laid in his grave 
 in the churchyard at Eichmond. His public life had 
 not quite reached twenty years. In 1814 he first ap-
 
 EDMUND KEAX. 247 
 
 peared at Drury Lane, and Death called him from the 
 boards in 1833. His drawback was that he was great 
 only by fits and starts, that he seemed to care only for 
 sudden eifects, and rarely showed a character as a whole, 
 preferring the noisy plaudits of the pit and gallery to the 
 silent but expressive approval of the cultivated few. 
 He would do little for a character, seeming not to enter 
 into it at all until the opportunity came for making " a 
 point," when it would be made with terrific effect, and 
 his reward was measured by the extent to which his 
 audience "rose at him." I have seen him absolutely 
 frighten a whole circle by a look, and it was common 
 enough for him to receive an outburst of enthusiastic 
 cheers before he had uttered a word. 
 
 He was not a bad man ; he had generous sympathies, 
 would give with a liberal hand; he was only a drunkard ; 
 but that "only" implies habits disastrous — duties un- 
 discharged, low and debasing associations, reckless 
 occupations, degrading pursuits, always unworthy, and 
 often infamous, companionships, brutalizing even a nature 
 originally high and good. 
 
 Alas ! in the prime of manhood he wilfully blighted 
 the tree of life at its root, and while he was still young 
 the expressive, if not handsome, features, even \h.Q dark, 
 sparkling, and powerfully eloquent eyes, gave sad indi- 
 cations that he was«paying the rigidly-exacted penalty 
 for indulgence in vice. His frame, once so energetic, 
 buoyant, and at times dignified, had become weak and 
 tottering. It was lamentable to note, as I did more than 
 once, when conversing with him, that he was wilfully 
 destroying his physical and intellectual povv'ers, and
 
 248 MRS. XEELEY. 
 
 insuring an early as well as a degraded death. Xo doubt 
 lie had many warnings — added to his own thorough con- 
 viction that he was bringing his triumphant career to a 
 premature close. 
 
 The name of Edmund Kean is included in the fear- 
 fully long list of illustrious men who have been guilty 
 of deliberate suicide — wantonly, wilfully and of " malice 
 aforethought " abridging lives that might have been 
 extended into old age, honourably and usefully.* 
 
 Very different was the character, and very opposite 
 were the habits, of his son Charles ; in all ways he was 
 respectable — the word, perhaps, describes the actor as 
 well as the man : although in some parts he rose very far 
 above mediocrity, and in a few characters might have 
 taken rank with his famous father. Charles was estim- 
 able in all the relations of life ; a good husband, father 
 and friend; married to an admirable wife, who, as an 
 actress, took a professional status amongst the highest. 
 He left but one child, a daughter, who is happily married, 
 and still lives. 
 
 I knew Mrs. Keeley before she married the excellent 
 actor of that name. She was introduced to us so long 
 ago as 1828 (as she still lives she will, I hope, pardon me 
 for recording the date), when, as Miss Go ward, she was 
 commencing the dramatic career in which she afterwards 
 
 * Solomon Hart tells a story that when he was painting a portrait of Kean, 
 the actor seemed in a downcast mood ; the painter complained. " Sir," mur- 
 mured Kean, " I damned a tragedy last night." He had been drunk ; and had 
 forgotten the text of the part.
 
 MRS. GERMAN REED. 249 
 
 achieved such success, attaiuing and long maintaining a 
 well-earned renown. She was introduced to us by a 
 musical composer, Alexander Eoche, who set the songs 
 in Mrs. Hall's play of the Grooves of Blarney. There 
 has been no actress who identified herself more com- 
 pletely with the character she represented ; there are 
 some, no doubt, who recollect how thoroughly in the 
 3faid of All Work she looked the part of a ragged, 
 slatternly, dirty slut. Mrs. Keeley did not hesitate to 
 look as well as act the character she was impersonating, 
 even when in so doing she sacrificed for a time all the 
 personnel that women hold dear. 
 
 I may ask leave to say a word concerning " Miss P. 
 Horton " — Mrs. German Eeed — a grandmother now — 
 who has won, or rather earned, " golden opinions " in 
 public and in private life — for a time approaching half a 
 century. When a young, delicate, and very pretty girl 
 she was one of the protecting outworks of Macready's 
 citadel ; he may have taught her much ; no doubt he 
 did; but her dramatic genius was inherent. As Ophelia, 
 as Ariel, and especially as the Fool in Lear, no acting 
 ever surpassed hers in natural grace and refined subtlety ; 
 her voice, if not of large compass, was singularly melo- 
 dious ; it was like the warbling of a bird, attuned to 
 perfect and comprehensive harmony, so "discoursing" 
 as to " enchant the ear." I must certainly rank her 
 among the most exquisitely accomplished performers I 
 have ever seen — enchanting at once the eye and the 
 ear, while thoroughly satisfying the mind.
 
 250 JOHN BRAHAM. 
 
 I ask pardon of these two ladies for introducing tlieir 
 names between those of men who might have been their 
 grandfathers, for they are both living — of matronly- 
 years now, I suppose I may say; but if women are 
 never old until they cease to be charming, Mrs. Keeley 
 and Mrs. German Eeed must be reckoned as young as 
 were Mary GoAvard and Priscilla Horton. 
 
 The last time I saw John Braham was at Brussels ; 
 but I knew him well when he was residing at the 
 Grange, Brompton, when "little Fanny Braham," after- 
 ward Countess Waldegrave, was a singularly pretty and 
 fascinating child. John Braham was a short, " pudgy " 
 man, with unmistakable evidence of his descent from 
 "the ancient people;" his wife was a remarkably 
 handsome woman, tall and stately, and presenting the 
 appearance of one who, had she been born a duchess, 
 would have borne her dueal coronet right well. 
 
 In his old age, Braham committed the fatal error of 
 building and becoming the proprietor and manager of a 
 theatre — " the St. James's." All his life he had shrunk 
 from speculations of that kind ; and when he entered on 
 this he was advanced in years, his energies had much 
 decayed, and he required, and might have been expected 
 to covet, repose rather than exertion. Yet not long 
 before he took the perilous step, when asked, during an 
 examination before a Committee of the House of Lords, 
 whether he was the owner of any theatre, he emphatic- 
 ally answered, "IS'o, thank God!" He embarked all 
 his savings in this venture, and, as if that were not
 
 JOHN BRAHAM. 251 
 
 enough, added to his encumbrance by purchasing the 
 Coliseum in Regent's Park ; the inevitable consequence 
 ensued — he lost all he had gained. Happily the 
 remainder of his journey was made comparatively easy 
 by the sustaining hand of his daughter, who had 
 become wealthy, and, though his wife was dead, he had 
 the constant care and companionship of her sister, so 
 that the downhill of life was smoothed for him into a 
 gentle and easy descent to the grave at Brompton 
 Churchyard, where he is buried, and where the remains 
 of his excellent wife also lie. 
 
 In 1836 Mrs. Braham, with whom the management 
 of her husband's theatre chiefly rested, applied to Mrs. 
 Hall to write a play. At that time an actor, Morris 
 Barnett, had made a great " hit " in a piece entitled 
 Mo7isieiir Jaques^ the chief character in which, sustained 
 by him with much ability, was that of a Frenchman ; he 
 required a new part, and Mrs. Hall wrote, mainly for 
 him, a play — The French Refugee. It was a " success," 
 running through the remainder of the season of ninety 
 nights. One of the parts was played by Madam Sala 
 (mother of the eminent author — a very charming lady), 
 who sang with much sweetness and skill ; I well 
 remember the little boy, who was destined to be a great 
 man, frequently accompanying her to the theatre, and 
 once to our house. 
 
 Mrs. Hall wrote for the theatre another play, MaheVs 
 Curse ^ in which the actor Harley sustained the leading 
 part. That also was successful.
 
 252 TYRONE POWER. 
 
 Mrs. Hall also produced a play at the request of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Frederick Yates. I recall the day when the 
 estimable and admirable lady brought her boy to see us 
 — ^the boy who is now one of the men of mark of the 
 century. The play was the Groves of Blarney^ drama- 
 tized from one of her own stories in "Lights and Shadows 
 of Irish Life," and the main purpose in writing it was 
 to supply a character for the renowned actor, Tyrone 
 Power, subsequently " lost " in the President^ the ship 
 in which he was returning to England from a prosperous 
 tour in the United States (and by the way he had with 
 him a one-act piece of Mrs. Hall's, of which she neglected 
 to keep a copy. It was called, I think, WJio^s Who ? 
 I cannot say if he had brought it out in America). 
 
 In the Groves of Blarney^ Power sustained three parts 
 — an Irish gentleman, an Irish "natural" (half-idiot), 
 and an Irish yeoman — for either of which impersona- 
 tions he was eminently fitted, and all of which he sus- 
 tained with marvellous fidelity. No one within my 
 memory has represented an Irishman so well ; there was 
 inimitable " oiliness " in his rich brogue, seldom exag- 
 gerated, and certainly never vulgar. He rather elevated 
 than sunk the stage idea of a native of the Green Isle, 
 although preserving the main features of the long- 
 accepted stage-type — a conventional creation that was 
 very rarely flattering to the country. We saw much of 
 Power during the periods of rehearsal ; he carved and 
 cut, struck out and inserted sentences, with the despotic 
 freedom of an autocrat : but assuredly improved the piece. 
 It ran through a whole season at the Adelphi, but died 
 with the actor to whom it owed so much ; at least it has
 
 CHARLES MATHEWS. 253 
 
 never been represented since his death. Power was 
 a somewhat short and slight man ; his features were 
 poor, and he was pitted with the small-pox ; but there 
 was a singular sparkle in his eye that told of latent 
 humour, although oif the stage he was as little of an 
 actor as could well be imagined. He was quiet of de- 
 meanour and gentlemanly in manners, and bad in no 
 way lent force to the then popular notion that an actor 
 could not well live an orderly life nor an Irishman be 
 free from habits of dissipation. He has left with those 
 who knew him a very agreeable memory, although he 
 was by no means " a society man." There has been no 
 Irishman to succeed him on the stage, in the characters 
 he made thoroughly his own.* 
 
 I call to memory Charles Mathews, the elder, and his 
 inimitable "At Homes;" compared to which those of 
 modern times are as a basin of skimmed milk to a dish 
 of clotted cream. In private life, Mathews was full of 
 
 * I copy the following from Webb's " Cyelopa3dia of Irish Biography." 
 " Tyrone Power, an eminent actor, born about 1795, according to one account 
 in the county of Waterford, according to another at Swansea, of Irish parents. 
 His real name ivas Thomas Powell. He served his time as a compositor, but ulti- 
 mately abandoned printing and went on the stage, where he soon obtained a high 
 position. After some experience in tragedy he took up Irish comedy, to suit 
 which he " manufactured ' ' an admirable brogue. In 1818 he retired from the 
 boards, but returned in 1821 and became manager of the Olympic Theatre in 
 1823. He appeared at Drury Lane in the same year. In 1824 he achieved a 
 triumph as Paddy O'Halloran, and thenceforward devoted himself to Irish 
 character. Mr. Power travelled in America in 1833-4-5, and published his 
 Impressmis of America \n 1836. In 1840 he made a second tour in the States, 
 and sailed from New York on his return in the steamship Fresident on 1 1th March, 
 1841. Nothing was ever heard of the ill-fated vessel, and it was supposed to 
 have foundered in a storm or come in collision with floating ice. Mr. Power 
 was the author of some novels. An interesting note of his last appearance in 
 Dublin, 20th June, 1 840, will be found in Holes and Queries, Second Series. His 
 son, Sir W. Tyx'oue Power, has written several books of ti'avel."
 
 254 CHARLES MATHEWS. 
 
 wit and fun, and rich racy humour. I met him often in 
 divers places. As an actor he had great and original 
 merit. But it was in monologues that he surpassed all 
 competitors. Yates attempted to follow him, and was 
 but a diluted copy. The rapidity and dexterity with 
 which he effected changes in dress were marvellous ; 
 seldom leaving the stage ; for he could slip under a table, 
 sometimes talking all the while, and rise the next instant 
 a new man — going down perhaps a corpulent Welshman, 
 and rising up a sleek " Monsieur." He was not only 
 perfection in lively comedy — now a clown, now an 
 elderly beau, and presently an antiquated spinster. He 
 was as wonderful in pathos as in humour. Who of 
 those who have seen it can have forgotten his picture 
 of " Monsieur Malet," an aged French emigre, in some 
 town of America, who haunts the Post Office in the 
 vain hope of finding there a letter from his daughter. 
 " Any lettere from my chtre daughter to-day ? Any 
 letter for Monsieur Malet?" being regularly answered 
 by the Post Master with, " No, there ain't no letter for 
 Muster Malley," on which the disappointed sire com- 
 plains : " Day after day I come, no letter. Ze child 
 forget her old fazere ! " 
 
 But when suddenly the poor exile sees one in the 
 window, directed to him in his daughter's well-known 
 hand, the change from deep despondency to frantic rage 
 was marvellous, as he seizes the Post Master by the 
 throat and exclaims, " Here is a letter for Monsieur 
 Malet ; sceUrat, you lie ! " " That," says the Post 
 Master, "that's been here a month; it ain't for Muster 
 Malley, it's for Mr. Ma/^^."
 
 CHARLES MATHEWS. 255 
 
 In these '' At Homes " Mathews sometimes sang 
 with great effect, in addition to representing seven or 
 eight different, and very varied, characters in an evening 
 — each to perfection. Irish, Scotch, French, Welsh, 
 American, no nationality came amiss to him, and in each 
 he seemed a genuine son of the soil. His followers of 
 to-day would hide their diminished heads, if they could 
 form anything like a correct idea of what their great 
 predecessor was. Whether he chose to convulse his 
 audience with laughter, or move them to tears, he was 
 alike unrivalled. 
 
 Mathews was not a mimic ; he was a great imitator ; 
 the best, perhaps, that has ever lived. Julian Young 
 remarks on his " quickness of observation, flexibility of 
 voice, mobility of feature, and suppleness of muscle," 
 and tells us that often, when dining with the Duke of 
 Eichmond, his Grace would drink his health, not as Mr. 
 Mathews, but as Mr. Sheridan, Lord Erskine, Mr. 
 Curran — as the case might be ; and was invariably re- 
 sponded to in a speech, after the manner of the person 
 indicated, so as to electrify the hearers. Coleridge said 
 of him, "You call him a mimic, I define him as a 
 comic poet acting his own poems.* A satirist, his 
 arrows were only aimed at vice ; a taker-off of pecu- 
 liarities, he never sought to make a mock of deformity. 
 In short, nothing can be written of his theatrical career 
 that would not be to his honour. Add, again, that he 
 was estimable in every relation of private life. Julian 
 
 * Caroline Fox relates of the elder Mathews : " When very near death, he 
 drank by mistake for his medicine, a bottle of ink : the doctor, when told, ex- 
 claimed, ' Why, it is enough to kill him.' ' No, no,' answered the dying man, ' I'd 
 only to swallow a sheet of blotting paper.' "
 
 256 FEEDERICK YATES. 
 
 Young bears hearty testimony to the intrinsic worth of 
 his character, his untarnished integrity, his love for his 
 wife (by whom a biography of her husband was written), 
 and for his son, his fidelity to his friends, and other 
 admirable traits. 
 
 Of the younger Mathews I knew little. He was 
 what is understood by the term " a loose fish;" a 
 key to his character is furnished by the anecdote told of 
 his preferring to hire a fly to travelling in an omnibus, 
 and assigning as his reason that he could not afford 
 to journey in the latter — they ahvaijs wanted ready 
 money. He must, however, have had qualities that 
 endeared him to many ; for he had troops of friends, and 
 was popular both on and off the stage. 
 
 Frederick Yates, the sometime associate of Mathews, 
 I knew long and somewhat intimately, and also his 
 estimable and admirable wife. Mrs. Yates was one of 
 the many women who have conferred honour on the 
 profession ; an excellent actress she was ; in parts that 
 demanded delicacy and pathos, she did not fall far short 
 of being great. Yates was a pleasant, agreeable, and 
 lively " society man," * cursed with an irritable temper. 
 
 * I remember Yates telling me an anecdote of himself that I may here repro- 
 duce. "A Welsh clergyman who had been attentive and hospitable to Mr. and 
 Mrs. Yates during one of their provincial tours, had promised to visit them 
 ■whenever he came to London, and before long duly kept his word. Of course 
 he received an invitation to dinner and to the theatre afterwards. It happened, 
 however, that Yates had quite forgotten his name ; so had his wife when ap- 
 pealed to on the subject ; and their visitor had left no card. Mathews, who 
 was to be of the dinner party, was made acquainted with the dilemma, and 
 during dinner led the way to a discussion on the various modes in which peopl
 
 MISS o'neill. 257 
 
 It was not uncommon for him to vent his indignation 
 against his audience at the Aclelphi in audible words ; 
 and I once saw him, in an impulse of wrath, fling his 
 wig at a person in the pit. I have elsewhere stated that 
 Mr. and Mrs. Yates played in a piece written by Mrs. 
 Hall for the theatre of which he was manager, the 
 Adelphi. One of the leading parts was filled by Harley, 
 an actor somewhat famous at the time ; one of the good 
 old school of players, an agreeable gentleman as well ; 
 with a varied stock of information, and full of anec- 
 dotes of his calling in times past, when the barn was the 
 actor's college. 
 
 I had seen Miss O'K'eill in 1815 in London, and in 1819 
 in Cork ; seen her in her best parts. She was very lovely 
 when young ; had a sweet gentleness of expression and 
 manner; that probably supplied half her charm. But 
 those who have seen " Helen Faucit " have seen abetter 
 actress, one of higher mind, more educated intelligence, 
 more thoroughly comprehending the character depicted, 
 and certainly more graceful in the eloquence of motion, 
 
 spelt their names : then, suddenly turning to the great unnamed, ' By-the-bye,' 
 said Charles, ' how do you spell yours, sir ? ' ' Oh,' said the other, ' I s])ell it with 
 two p's.' Mathews and Yates looked at each other, and no fuither attempt to 
 solve the riddle was made. But to Yates's horror the stranger at parting had a 
 peculiarly embarrassing request to make. Said he, ' I have left my watch at 
 Dent's to be cleaned : I wish, Y'ates, you would be kind enough to get it and 
 forward it to me.' Y'ates promised ; and felt as he did so that there was small 
 chance of the promise being redeemed. How was he to get the watch from 
 Dent's without knowing the owner's name ? However, Mathews came again 
 to the rescue. By his advice Y^ates went to Dent's, and explaining the case, 
 asked to have the names of all persons who had left watches during the week to 
 be cleaned, read to him. Presently came that of Philips. ' How is it spelt ? ' 
 asked Y'ates. ' Philips,' was the answer. * Put in another p,' said Yates, ' that's 
 the man.' Luckily it was ; and the watch duly reached its owner, and Y'ates's 
 mind was set at rest." 
 
 VOL. II. S
 
 258 CHARLES YOUNG. 
 
 that does so mucli for personations on the stage. I met 
 Lady Beecher (Miss O'Neill) so recently as 1870, and 
 conversed with her freely of her younger days ; though 
 their date went back half a century and more ; she did 
 not shirk the reminder — as women too often do when age 
 has taken the place of youth. If she was old, she 
 was beautiful, there was the same gentle sweetness that 
 gave her attraction when a girl ; the same gracious 
 manner ; evidence of a happy and loving nature. 
 
 The only other actor, excepting one, of whom I need 
 speak is Charles Young ; if not among the first in his 
 art, he held a rank more than respectable; he would 
 have been great in these days when mediocrity comes to 
 the front. Happily for our existing dramatic lights, the 
 mighty men of the past are in their graves. Young was 
 essentially a gentleman, on and off the stage ; of easy and 
 self-possessed deportment ; he acted as if he could not 
 over-do his part; it was neither to the gods nor the 
 groundlings, but to true and discerning critics, he 
 looked for applause. Largely informed—" much had he 
 read, much more had seen"— his mind was of a high 
 order ; respectable is a weak word to apply to him, but 
 it is perhaps the best suited to describe his character. 
 He seemed what he was — an admirable gentleman in all 
 the relations of life. 
 
 I spent a most pleasant week with him at the house of 
 a mutual friend near Tring, and many hours with him 
 at his residence, the north-east-corner house of the Old 
 Steyne at Brighton. I esteemed him highly, and honour
 
 WILLIAM CHARLES MACREADY. 259 
 
 his memory as that of a largely accomplished and 
 thoroughly estimable man. 
 
 I knew more of Macready than I did of any other 
 actor ; indeed, Mrs. Hall was the godmother of one of 
 his sons ; yet with Macready it was very difficult to be 
 always on good terms. He was overbearing and exact- 
 ing, a despot in the theatre and a '^ master " at home. 
 Yet no one was more revered and beloved by his own 
 household ; none more respected for the blameless tenor 
 of his life ; the high example he gave to all who came 
 within the sphere of his influence, the untarnished 
 honour that marked all his dealings with his fellow-men, 
 and his strict performance of the duties of husband, 
 father, and friend. The shadow on this bright picture 
 was his temper ; it was terrible.* Mrs. Macready has 
 told us that every night he prayed to be protected from 
 its perilous power, a power that so often marred his 
 prospects — negatived his good intentions, and rendered 
 wretched those it was his dearest wish to make happy. 
 "We saw sad proofs of this while spending a week with 
 him at his residence at Elstree, in or about the year 
 1835, when among the guests were Eobert Browning, 
 then beginning his career, and John Forster, who cer- 
 
 * Its outbreaks were always bitterly repented of. After thrashing the 
 manager Bunn — a very natural if not strictly justifiable proceeding, for Bunn 
 had repeatedly and grossly insulted him — he makes allusion to his violence in 
 the following somewhat exaggerated strain : — 
 
 "My shame has been endured with agony of heart, and wept with bitter 
 tears. The fair fame of a life has been sullied by a moment's want of self-com- 
 mand." There occur frequent references in his Diaries to this "untoward 
 event," as he terms it. It deserved no harsher name, considering the provoca- 
 tiou he had received. 
 
 s2
 
 260 MACEEADY. 
 
 tainly tried him often by needless contradictions — an 
 assumed right to dictate even as to how a Shakespere 
 sentence should be emphasised, and a manner doubly 
 irritating because at the same time that it seemed his 
 aim to humble the great man, his language, intonation, 
 and bearing were all modelled in foolish imitation of 
 Macready's, until John Forster seemed only a bad copy 
 of the actor. 
 
 It was a pleasanter week I spent with Macready when 
 he resided at Sherborne. He had retired from the stage, 
 and his family were all with him — all excepting his 
 admirable wife, who had then left earth. She was one 
 of the best women, as wife and mother, I have ever 
 known, gentle, conciliatory, utterly unlike the idea one 
 forms of a lady who had been an actress in her youth. 
 But in fact it can hardly be said that Mrs. Macready 
 had ever been so. It is a generally accepted story, that 
 acting at Dublin, in Knowles's Play of Yirginius, the 
 lady who was to be the Virginia was taken suddenly ill ; 
 it was too late for the manager, without dangerous incon- 
 venience, to substitute another piece. Some one said 
 that a young girl, "Kitty Atkins," could play the part; 
 she was called up, scrutinised by Macready, and did 
 play the part ; but once only ; Macready having so 
 arranged with the needy actor, her father, sent her to 
 school ; inducing his admirable sister to reside there with 
 her ; and after a lapse of two years they were married. 
 
 That is the usual story ; but, in fact, there was no 
 peculiar romance about the attachment ; he had seen 
 her when a mere child, and she had impressed him 
 then ; at the age of fifteen she was introduced to him as
 
 MACREADY. 261 
 
 his Virginia of the next night. He ''recognised her as 
 the same little girl he had rebuked at Glasgow for sup- 
 posed inattention." *' There was," he says, "a native 
 grace in her deportment and every movement, and never 
 were innocence and sensibility more sweetly personified 
 than in her mild look, and sparkling eyes streaming 
 with unbidden tears." That was at Aberdeen (in 1820); 
 and he found that, though still such a very juvenile 
 actress, she was the support of her family. The devoted 
 attachment, thus commenced, led to marriage on the 24th 
 June, 1824. A better wife — one who fell more entirely 
 into his " ways," he who was ever the god of her idolatry 
 — no man ever had. Her educated mind and graceful 
 manners well supported him in his claim to that status 
 of gentleman to which he more aspired than he did to 
 be hailed the foremost actor of his time. She brought 
 up her children tenderly and wisely, discharging faith- 
 fully and systematically all her duties as wife, mother, 
 companion, and helpmate. Whatever brawls, perplexi- 
 ties, and vexations (and there were plenty of them) 
 Macready found outside his house-door, none passed his 
 threshold. She and her children, it may be feared, had 
 to bear much at times from the outbreaks of his un- 
 governable temper ; but all was borne meekly ; for they 
 truly and devotedly loved him ; and if his will was law, 
 it was happily the exception for it to be other than a 
 law of kindness to them. He was beyond all doubt a 
 devoted husband and father, an elevated gentleman in 
 all his thoughts and habits; pure of life, scorning 
 debasing pleasures ; and carrying, indeed, this loftiness 
 of mind so far that he was rather ashamed than proud of
 
 262 MACEEADY. 
 
 the profession of wliich lie was so illustrious a member. 
 It is said that, except in his personation of one or two 
 truly heroic characters, his children had never seen him 
 act. I know it was so until within a short period 
 of the close of his jDrofessional career. He dreaded 
 danger of their respect for him being lessened if they 
 witnessed his personation of some of the characters 
 of Shakespere, such as lago and Eichard III., the parts 
 in which he most deeply studied to seem the villain he 
 represented. 
 
 As a manager, if a despot, he was prudent, liberal, 
 and honourable ; he greatly advanced the art of the 
 stage ; the pieces he brought out were perfect, as regards 
 scenery and costume. He resolved (greatly to his 
 pecuniary loss) to revise the " free list," by excluding 
 from it questionable women ; and in all ways purified 
 the theatres over which he ruled. 
 
 I think I see him now in the domestic circle at Sher- 
 borne. He had well earned the repose on his theatrical 
 laurels which he was there enjoying ; but idleness was 
 distasteful, perhaps impossible, to his nature. He 
 became the teacher of his children.* His eldest 
 daughter, Kate, had much natural talent, indeed none 
 of them were without ability, and more than one had 
 hereditary dramatic power, which it may be noted he 
 
 * And not only of his own children : he had an evening school for the youths 
 of the A-illage. It was amusing to see him playing the pedagogue there, to an 
 audience of country louts. 
 
 "What is the capital of Italy?" he would ask of one of them, "Paris," 
 would he the answer. Then Macready, in a voice sepulchral enough for the 
 gloomiest soliloquies of Werner, would slowly assure the hopeful listener ; " No, 
 sir— Paris is not— the capital of Italy: the capital— of Italy— is Eome." Per- 
 haps his manner impressed on hearers the desired information, but the per- 
 formance was something like using a steam hammer to drive in a nail.
 
 MACREADY. 263 
 
 studiously sought to repress. On the whole it was a 
 happy family. But, one by one, the golden links were 
 broken. His admirable wife died in 1852, and Macready 
 went to live at Cheltenham. I visited him there. 
 
 Sir Frederick Pollock has given to the world Mac- 
 ready's Diary, and in a measure his Life. Like most 
 books of the kind, it is defective ; lowering and not 
 elevating its subject; and would largely benefit by 
 abridgment. 
 
 'No man can thoroughly succeed in a profession of 
 which he is ashamed; in any pursuit, the nature of 
 which he despises : that is clear. The story told of the 
 dancer, Yestris, is the key to all success. " Eh, la 
 Philosophic est quelque chose — mais la danse!" Per- 
 haps, however, Macready assumed more than he felt, 
 when expressing scorn of the career of an actor. 
 
 Of the vast number of men and women of mark who 
 were his friends and acquaintances he names hundreds ; 
 but merely names them. There are very few concerning 
 whom he records a passage worth recording; yet to 
 some of them we know he was attached, while to others 
 he was under weighty obligations ; in a word, his sins 
 were not of commission but of omission ; for it is, 
 alas, too apparent that all who came in the way of 
 William Charles Macready were nothings — or less than 
 nothings. I have made some reference to Miss Helen 
 Faucit, who acted with Macready through many London 
 seasons, and was his main support in all his leading 
 parts. What would Shylock have been without Portia, 
 Romeo without Juliet ? In short, is there one of Shakes- 
 pere's plays that could have borne revival without a
 
 264 MACREADY. 
 
 lady competent to satisfy the audience in the part of at 
 least equal importance to that of the hero? Helen 
 Faucit was more than that : she was at least as good, as 
 pure, as true an actress as Macready was an actor, as 
 high in favour with the critic and the public ; and for 
 much of his prosperity as well as his fame Macready was 
 indebted to her. Yet (it is difficult to believe) she is 
 not recognised in any 23assage of the Diary beyond the 
 faintest possible praise, such as might have been 
 accorded to one of Lady Macbeth' s gentlewomen. 
 Clearly, professional jealousy was Macready' s bane, and 
 probably originated much of the morbid sensibility that 
 in a measure poisoned his life. 
 
 We have, however, to consider Macready in the light 
 in which the volumes of Sir Frederick Pollock place 
 him. They are not satisfactory ; indeed they leave us 
 little for gratification ; much for regret ; undoubtedly, 
 his place will be higher in the estimation of those who 
 do not, than of those who do, read them, 
 
 Macready was essentially, I would almost say instinc- 
 tively, a pious man ; his faith in revealed religion was 
 deeply rooted. Eeligious, rational, consistent, Christian, 
 in the best sense. Faith was a part of his nature ; his 
 continual prayer to God was for strength to master his 
 dangerous temper and for aid in bringing up his children 
 in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.* 
 
 * I copy a passage in illustration. There are many such passages in his auto- 
 biography. " March 3rcl, my biithday ; Lifting up my heart in grateful prayer 
 to God for a continuance of His mercies vouchsafed to me, I begin this day the 
 43rd anniversary of my birth. Humbly and earnestly do I supplicate His good- 
 ness for the health, and peace, and virtue of my beloved family, and that He 
 will be graciously pleased to sustain me in all righteous intentions, and to piu-ify 
 my mind from all low and debasing thoughts and inclinations, that by His
 
 MACEEADY. 265 
 
 There are tliose who think the life of an actor incom- 
 patible with a religious life. They are much mistaken ; 
 the story of William Charles Macready may set them 
 right. But the number of such persons has greatly 
 lessened since the century was young ; and the public 
 in general is ready, not only to acknowledge the great 
 and peculiar temptations to which actors are exposed, 
 but to admit that by a majority of the profession those 
 perils are triumphantly surmounted. 
 
 Macready died at Cheltenham on the 27th April, 1873, 
 and was buried at Kensal Green, where lie so many 
 who were his friends as well as his contemporaries. Of 
 his family, very few are living ; his brother, the excel- 
 lent major, who had served at Waterloo, died in 1848; 
 his sister Isabella, who had been his mainstay during 
 nearly the whole of his career, followed ; and his first 
 wife died in 1852 — a death that "took," as he wrote, 
 " the sunshine from his remaining life " ; six of his chil- 
 dren had preceded him to the grave ; one of them, dear, 
 sweet, kindly, and good Kate, the very apple of his eye, 
 was buried at sea ! 
 
 Death had levied a heavy toll on his home before he 
 was himself summoned, and finding his age lonely he 
 took another wife. She was in all ways an excellent 
 helpmeet, and an accomplished lady; an estimable 
 woman; of good descent also, for her grandfather was 
 the artist Sir William Beechey, E.A. 
 
 gracious help I may live through what He allots to me of further life, in peace 
 of heart and increasing wisdom, educating my dear, dear family in His faith, 
 fear, and pure love, and being myself a blessing in my affection and assistance, 
 to my dearest wife, and also my dear family. Amen."
 
 266 KITTY STEPHENS COUNTESS OF ESSEX. 
 
 In February, 1882, died, at the age of eighty-eight, 
 the Dowager Countess of Essex, famous sixty years ago 
 as " Kitty Stephens." There are not many now living 
 who can, as I can, recall her in the zenith of her 
 beauty and popularity. She quitted the stage in 1838 
 to marry George Capel Coningsby, fifth Earl of Essex ; 
 and, although left a widow, just a year after her marriage, 
 she resisted all inducements to a second union. Amply 
 dowered, and retaining, even in middle age, a consider- 
 able portion of her early attractions, her suitors were 
 doubtless many. 
 
 Lady Essex was respected as well as admired from the 
 earliest days of her theatrical career to the close of her 
 long life. I recall her as she was in 1824 or 1825, and 
 continued to be for several succeeding years — sweetly 
 beautiful (that is the best term I can use to describe 
 her), possessing a manner exceedingly graceful ; and, 
 though but slightly endowed with dramatic power, an 
 effective actress because of the delicious voice with which 
 God had gifted one of the most charming vocalists that 
 ever made music of English words. 
 
 In 1881 I had a lengthy conversation with her con- 
 cerning a long-departed past. I met her at a Bazaar 
 in the Town Hall at Kensington ; the day's business 
 being the sale of artificial flowers, the handiwork of 
 " The Elower Girl Brigade " — young girls who have 
 been rescued from poverty, and worse, by the efforts of 
 several benevolent ladies, the Baroness Burdett Coutts 
 being their president. We conversed of many people we 
 had known nearly sixty years ago,* no one of whom 
 
 * I am indebted to a friend for the following anecdote. "Lady Essex told 
 me that when very young she was taken to call on Mrs. Biddons, whom she re-
 
 KITTY STEPHENS — COUNTESS OF ESSEX. 267 
 
 was in 1881 surviving. She retained much of the gra- 
 cious expression that characterised her in girlhood and 
 womanhood : — 
 
 " Age has its loveliness no less than youth, 
 For kindness, gentleness, and love, and truth 
 Make beauty — beautiful at every stage : 
 Make beavity — beautiful at any age." 
 
 At parting I said, "Perhaps there have been grander 
 and greater singers, but a sweeter singer than you were 
 God never made!" The compliment gratified her, cer- 
 tainly. She shook my hand warmly, and said, "Ah ! it 
 is pleasant to live in a memory of the past !" I little 
 thought that within four months from that day she too 
 would be numbered with the departed. She invited me 
 to call on her. It is unfortunately one of the many 
 opportunities I have lost; I never saw her again. 
 
 It cannot be needful to say there were many other 
 actors famous in their day who were personally known to 
 me, but whom the present generation knows not. They 
 live to be forgotten when they are dead. It is the 
 actor's penalty for fame — that must be evanescent. Of 
 their successors I have nothing to say ; but I have 
 reason to believe they would shrivel up like perforated 
 bladders if they could compare themselves with the 
 great actors and actresses who preceded them in their 
 grand art. 
 
 garded with great awe. When addressed in the oracular tones of the English 
 tragic muse, her reply was inaudible through fright. ' Little girl ! little girl ! ' 
 said Mrs. Siddons, ' open your little mouth and let us hear your little voice,' a 
 command the child mustered up courage enough to obey." The same friend 
 adds: "Her kindness of heart was especially \'isible in her love of animals. 
 Every day in winter the street before her door was strewn with crumbs for 
 birds; and many a stray dog found a home under her hospitable roof."
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 In 1845 and 1846 Mrs. Hall and I made tonrs in 
 Scotland ; our intention was to write a work after the 
 manner of " Ireland : its Scenery and Character." We 
 found we could not do the subject justice, and although 
 several drawings had been made for us, and some of them 
 engraved, we abandoned the undertaking. Of Ireland 
 we had previously knoAvn much : it was therefore com- 
 paratively easy to write about that country. Of Scotland 
 we knew little : the difficulties appalled us, and nothing 
 came of our two Autumn visits to all the famous places 
 in that delightful and heroic country — nothing, that is 
 to say, in the shape of a book. Yet we had more than 
 common advantages : tenders of information were gene- 
 rously made to us, facilities of all kinds were furnished 
 to us, even to the placing at our disposal a steam-ship to 
 visit Staifa and lona, and the giving instructions that 
 coaches by which we travelled should wait our leisure at 
 show places en route. Some notes of our travels may be 
 interesting to my readers. 
 
 The artist who was commissioned to make the drawings, 
 and who " companioned " us to all the places we visited, 
 was Mr. E. E. Maclan, an artist of very great ability, 
 who had been an actor. He is since dead. His mind 
 was richly stored with legends, and he di'ew on its stores
 
 E. R. MAC IAN. 269 
 
 for our becefit wherever our steps were stayed. Mac- 
 Ian sang Scottish, ballads with inimitable point and 
 humour ; once, indeed, when at our house and singing 
 Burns' song, " We are na fou," he imitated the drunkard 
 so naturally that the man in waiting whispered a 
 hint that it would be wise " to call a cab." 
 
 He was full of clan prejudice, and I believe would 
 " have lifted a coo " right gladly, and without a scruj^le 
 of conscience, if the victim had been a Southron, or of a 
 clan whose far-away ancestors had been foes of the 
 Macdonalds. He would hardly let us stop an hour, and 
 permitted us to admire nothing, on the mountains or in 
 the glens, of any who bore the name of Campbell, and 
 was indignant when we spent a night in the house of 
 Macintosh, though the chief claimed to be captain of 
 the Clan Chattan ; but in the Pass of Glencoe he was, so 
 to say, ferociously wild with excitement and delight. 
 He asked me if I dared to follow him through the glen, 
 and I rashly accepted the invitation. It was nothing to 
 him to run, climb, and scramble in his kilt, but to me it 
 was a serious undertaking — embarrassed by the Saxon 
 trews. IN'evertheless it was done, and for three hours I 
 walked and ran, climbed ascents, and waded through 
 water-courses, until we reached the end of the glen, 
 where, according to my " authority," the massacre of 
 the Macdonalds had taken place. Here he grew abso- 
 lutely wild with excitement, and the curses he heaped 
 on the doomed heads of the murderers, were as earnest 
 and bitter as if they had been " in presence there." He 
 was a Eoraan Catholic, and I am sure he believed his 
 curses had effect on the souls of the assassins. It would
 
 270 ROBERT CARUTHERS. 
 
 have been difficult to have found a pleasanter companion, 
 one better informed on all that concerned the Highlands, 
 better read in the history of the clans, the traditions and 
 legends of the wild country thi'ough which he con- 
 tinually led us. The Pass of Xilliecrankie, where Dundee 
 was slain, and Glenfinnan, where the clans gathered to 
 greet the young Pretender, the Prince of so many hopes, 
 and of their crushing and terrible disappointment — were 
 to him as sacred as Thermopylae or the scene of the 
 defeat of Porsenna were to the Greeks and Romans. 
 With him, too, we visited the field of Culloden (Drum- 
 mossie Moor), but we had there a still better guide — the 
 estimable and accomplished author of many excellent 
 works — Eobert Caruthers. 
 
 It might be said of Maclan that the heather grew in 
 his heart. His experience of the footlights had not 
 chilled, in the faintest degree, his love of Nature — that is 
 to say, of Highland nature — and the scream of the bag- 
 pipes on the hill-side was sweeter music to him than any 
 orchestra that ever played. It would astonish some 
 people to learn that, though a keen lover of field sports, 
 one who had lived weeks among the hills in the shooting 
 season, and who could not pass a river without peering 
 and " speering" as to the chance of finding a ''saumon" 
 in its depths, Maclan's tenderness towards the brute 
 creation was remarkable — the tenderness of a girl, 
 indeed ; I have seen him shed tears over a sick dog. 
 
 He seemed to know every inch of the Highlands, 
 he accompanied us both by daylight and moonlight 
 through the Pass of Glencoe, through the wilds of 
 Arasaig, round and over the well-known Lakes, and to
 
 GLENFINNAN. 271 
 
 the renowned islands of Staffa and lona, paused and pon- 
 dered and conjectured with us beside Eob Eoy's grave, 
 and listened to the rush of the waters and the sough of 
 the wind in the island burying-ground of the MacNabs, 
 where the last of their graves has been dug — for the clan 
 has found a home in the New World. How we enjoyed 
 Blair Athol, and revelled in the Pass of Killiecrankie ! 
 Maclan's ready and rapid pencil caught the aspect of 
 every scene, and transferred it to his sketch-book ; and 
 then in the mountain inns he would tell us stories and 
 sing us songs — all in keeping with the time and place. 
 I can never forget the spirit with which he poured 
 forth, from the summit of the monument in Glenfinnan, 
 his friend Bennoch's song of "The Old Highland Gentle- 
 man," or how eloquently he described there the march, 
 in costume, of the clans to meet their Prince. The com- 
 memorative tower is reared in the centre of the glen. 
 Standing there, Maclan and I gazed around us, the one 
 to murmur over, the other, perhaps, to be thankful for, 
 the fruitlessness of the heroic eiforts that followed the 
 gathering of the clans in that valley at the call of the 
 Prince in " Forty-five." Schooled by my guide, it was 
 not difficult to realise the scene that had taken place 
 there as nearly as possible, nay, I believe it was the very 
 day, one hundred years before we stood there, and in 
 our own way commemorated the event. 
 
 From surrounding mountains there descend a number 
 of bridle-paths, and along each one of these strode a 
 band of sturdy Highlandmen to swell the slender army 
 of the Prince. Maclan, thoroughly versed in the topo- 
 graphy of the district, could point out the road by which
 
 272 SIR ALEXANDER CAMERON. 
 
 each clan had arrived. The task was nothing to him, for 
 he knew precisely where each clan had dwelt, from w^hat 
 direction it must come, and through which Pass it 
 would descend into the valley. Story, or history, goes, 
 that when the Prince reached the place of meeting, not 
 a soul was in the glen. Suddenly, from behind a distant 
 crag there sounded the pibroch of Clanranald, soon to 
 be joined by another, then by another, until the gather- 
 ing of the clans was complete, and threescore bagpipes 
 outdid each other in hailing bonnie Prince Charlie.* 
 
 One of the pleasantest days of our tour we spent in 
 the dwelling of Sir Alexander Cameron, at Inveroilart, 
 between Glenfinnan and Arasaig. The brave old soldier 
 had been through the whole of the Peninsular War, and 
 had fought in nearly every one of its battles. He had 
 commanded the Eifles, the regiment in which he had 
 served — as a cadet — in the ranks, and may be literally 
 said to have fought his way up to the highest honours 
 the service could confer upon him. It is not an ex- 
 aggeration to say that he was covered with wounds. 
 One day, when talking the subject over with him, he 
 stripped to show me the unobliterated marks these stabs 
 and shots had left. I think I am correct iij saying they 
 were near fifty. He was much crippled, yet he could 
 still make a good cast over the river close by, and aided 
 by his henchman land a salmon. 
 
 * No doubt the piper of every elan played his own pibroch — and all together. 
 I once heard a Scottish Highlandman declare that the greatest enjoyment he ever 
 had in his life was one night, when sheltered from a storm in a bothie some 
 twenty feet square, there were eight pipers shut up with him, and as each insisted 
 on playing his own pibroch all of them played together. " Oigh! " ejaculated 
 the Highlandman, " tat was music ! "
 
 THE MACINTOSH. 273 
 
 Honoured be liis memory. Proud of his name and 
 nation, he was — the glory of his clan and the pride of his 
 country I He had passed through innumerable perils and 
 seen thousands fall by his side — to enjoy in his venerated 
 age the repose he had so well earned, and to rest, crowned 
 with laurels, in the land that gave him birth. A noble 
 and heroic old man was General Sir Alexander Cameron : 
 it is a privilege to have been his guest. 
 
 I recall with much pleasure a visit we paid to Mac- 
 intosh (it would insult him in his grave to entitle him 
 Mister ), the Captain of the Clan Chattan, as well as the 
 chief of his own clan. A kind and courteous gentle- 
 man he was. He had been, I understood, a sea captain, 
 and had mixed much with the world. He honoured us 
 with peculiar honour — sending us to sleep in the bed in 
 which the " young Prince," the Pretender, had slept ; 
 the curtains were wrought with embroidered cats ram- 
 pant, with the well-known motto which Scott has 
 immortalised : " Touch not the cat without the glove." 
 
 It is "a life-long memory " that which I retain of 
 the view (what a weak word it is !) I witnessed from the 
 summit of " lofty Ben Lomond " — a sunset on a summer 
 evening. I shall not attempt to describe it : I do not 
 think that any pen could do it justice. We were above 
 the clouds that passed before or underneath — rolling, 
 as it were, and unfolding; clothed in most glorious 
 light, in beauty that imagination fails to convey, that 
 
 VOL. II. T
 
 274 BEN LOMOND. 
 
 language is not expressive enough to suggest. But it is 
 pictured on my mind to-day as vividly as on the day 
 when it was painted there by the delicate hand of 
 Nature. There — all around us, forming subordinate 
 features of that glorious panorama, were a score of lesser 
 mountains, while Loch Lomond was visible in its whole 
 expanse. 
 
 The silence was intense ; it seemed profanation to 
 break it. It was, however, broken — suddenly and 
 singularly. Maclan and I had, of course, taken care 
 to reach the mountain- summit in time to witness the 
 setting of the sun. The gloaming (that delicious 
 Scottish word) had scarcely commenced, when, to our 
 great surprise, we encountered a group of sappers and 
 miners, whose hut was hidden by an intervening rock. 
 They were employed in making " observations," and 
 had been "hutted" there during several days and 
 nights. We naturally fell into conversation with them, 
 and an incident occurred that surely I cannot help re- 
 cording. I asked how they contrived to amuse them- 
 selves in that utter solitude. Did they play cards? 
 "No, they had cards, but seldom used them. How then ? 
 "We read," said the corporal. "And what do you 
 read?" I asked. The reply certainly startled but 
 gratified me. " We read Mrs. Hall's ' Sketches of Irish 
 Character.' " "Will you let me see the book ? " It was 
 brought to me, and bore indubitable evidence of having 
 been much in use. I said, "It may please you to know 
 you are talking to the husband of the lady who wrote 
 that book." The soldier looked at me and smiled. I 
 repeated the words. " Oh, yes, I dare say," was his
 
 BEN NEVIS. 275 
 
 response, with a look of entire incredulity, not removed 
 when Maclan strove to confirm my statement. Fortu- 
 nately my card-case was in my pocket ; its production 
 was accepted as conclusive evidence, and the men seemed 
 as much gratified as I was by the occurrence. It ap- 
 peared that the corporal had been for some time quartered 
 in Wexford, where he acquii^ed the book, the scenes of 
 which are laid in that county. 
 
 Scarcely less interesting was the ascent of Ben Nevis, 
 then assumed to be the monarch of mountains in Great 
 Britain: "they crowned him long ago:" but science 
 meanly and cruelly robbed him of his glory, and 
 transferred it to his rival, Ben Wevis. It was a hard 
 day's work to ascend and descend Ben ^^iTevis ; but our 
 climb was well worth the labour it cost and the time it 
 consumed, from early morn to near midnight, for we 
 were continually pausing to rest and look, as every fresh 
 furlong of ground we traversed — nay, almost every yard, 
 gave us some new view to wonder at and admire. On the 
 summit of the mountain we drank — though the moutli 
 was July — the health of the Queen in snow water, twenty 
 feet above (as we then supposed) the highest point in 
 her British dominions. There chanced to be a cairn of 
 that height erected on the movmtain-top to facilitate 
 some observations of the sappers and miners, and on that 
 we stood ; the snow water having been obtained from a 
 crevice in a not- distant rock. 
 
 T 2
 
 276 ROB hoy's country. 
 
 At Oban the authorities placed a steamboat at onr 
 dis230sal to visit lona and Staffa, and surely the time 
 occupied in that journey was well spent. I need not say 
 more on a theme that has been copiously treated in so 
 many books. I may, however, here bring in an anecdote. 
 Among our few fellow-passengers, for it was an act of 
 grace to admit him, was a substantial Scottish grazier. 
 On our return, his friends met him on the quay, and in 
 reply to their natural question, " And what did ye think 
 of StafFa?" his answer was, " Weel, ye ken, they led me 
 to believe there was only grass for one coo, and I saw 
 three coos feeding on it." 
 
 Of Eob Eoy's country we trod every inch, supping at 
 the Clachan of Aberfoil. I will not say it was the 
 actual clachan where the "Dougal creature" defended 
 the good Bailie ; but of a surety we were shown at 
 Perth the veritable stone house of Simon Glover. It 
 may be as well to let imagination have free license on 
 such occasions : at all events, Natui-e was but little 
 changed, in that immortally-chronicled district, and we 
 followed in the footsteps of the "Wizard of the North," 
 trying to persuade ourselves that we saw and conversed 
 with the actual heroes and heroines of his immortal 
 fictions and verse. That enjoyable self-deception was 
 ours many times as we trod the streets of Perth, 
 loitered in old Stirling, looked over heroic Bannockburn, 
 paced the sand of the Lady's Isle, watched the mists 
 tliiekening round Ben Lomond — in short revived our 
 acquaintance with Scottish annals by recalling amid the
 
 EGBERT CHAMBERS. 277 
 
 scenery the magician had pictured, the incidents and 
 events he had narrated, for we gathered, as so many- 
 others have done, our knowledge of Scottish history 
 largely from the " Waverley Novels." 
 
 "Wherever we went, some source of enjoyment and 
 information opened up to us : we found everywhere 
 friends who were helpers, and in not a few cases peculiar 
 and exclusive means of obtaining information were 
 placed at our disposal. If we had produced our con- 
 templated book it would have been full of gratitude for 
 courtesies, attention, and services received; of high 
 appreciation (based on confirmation of that which had 
 previously been our theory) of the greatness of the 
 Scottish character, of delight procured from the study of 
 Scotland's heroic and romantic history, and of perpetual 
 admii-ation of the beauty and grandeur of its scenery. 
 
 Our guide in Edinburgh was Egbert Chambers, and 
 it is needless to say that with such a compunion there 
 was nothing left unexplored in and about "high Dun- 
 edin," that we revelled in Holyrood, laid siege to the 
 Castle, rambled among Salisbury Crags and the Pentland 
 and Corstorphine Hills. So guided, too, we visited 
 ]Melrose, Abbotsford, Drybm-gh, the Yarrow, the Clyde — 
 in short, the hundred romantic and famous scenes in the 
 Lowlands of which we had all our lives been reading. 
 
 For Scotland has, what unhappy Ireland has not — a 
 history : which all Scottish men may review with pride, 
 no matter whether their sympathies be with the winning 
 or the losing side. The defeats of a clan, and even some-
 
 278 KOBERT CHAMBERS. 
 
 times of a cause, do not compel the loser to be less proud 
 than the gainer— those, that is to say, who are the 
 descendants of either. Yes, the Scots have a history, 
 not enveloped in mists that give to it the dim obscurity 
 of fiction, but one that is everywhere suggestive of glory 
 — very rarely of shame. 
 
 One of the most interesting days of my life was 
 spent with Eobert Chambers, as our guide in going over 
 and about the memorable field of Preston Pans. He 
 knew the associations connected with every spot, could 
 show where he who, to some, was " the Prince," to 
 others the "Pretender," stood — where the brave and 
 generous Colonel Gardiner fell — every incident, in 
 short, that was memorably connected with that eventful 
 battle was referred by him to the scene of its occurrence, 
 his facts being taken from history, and illustrated by 
 the fiction of Scott in his story of " Waverley." 
 
 I may sum up in a few comprehensive sentences the 
 famous things we saw, while pursuing what has now so 
 long been-ij^he tourist's line of march, and that any 
 tourist may still see even more easily than we saw them 
 forty years ago. 
 
 Duly did we explore Loch Katrine and Loch Lomond, 
 exclaimed in the good city, " Let Glasgow flourish ! " 
 steamed up the Clyde in the track of the first ship that 
 ever ploughed the sea on wheels; heard " Dumbarton's 
 drums beat bonnie ! " saw the tombs of a hundred 
 chieftains around the ruins of Icolmkill ; beheld the 
 grand structure built by Mature in the little island of 
 Staffa, the cave of which it is scarcely an exaggeration 
 to say, as a renowned traveller has said, " I have seen
 
 SCOTTISH SCENES. 279 
 
 the ruins of Thebes, I have seen the Cave of Elephauta, 
 I have seen the Pj^ramids, but they are nothing to 
 this ! " We rowed, too, across Loch Gyle, where were 
 drowned the chief of Ulva's Isle and his winsome lady ; 
 bade " God bless the Duke of Argyle " in his own clan- 
 land — a heritage of which he may be, and no doubt is, 
 prouder than of his dukedom ; rambled about the "Laud 
 o' Burns," guided by the sons of the poet; were guests 
 " in the auld clay biggin " in which he was born ; heard 
 " Ye banks and braes o' Bonnie Doon " sung beside 
 that river ; saw the sad chamber in Dumfries Avhere the 
 Scottish poet died, and the church where, centuries 
 before, the Kirkpatrick had " made siccar." 
 
 We viewed Melrose "aright" by the light of a 
 harvest-moon ; * traced the line of fight at Killiecrankie ; 
 bowed the head in reverence when crossing the threshold 
 of Abbotsford ; pondered over the wonders of aucient 
 art at lona ; looked across Bannockburn from under thti 
 w^alls of old Stii'ling ; traced the devious course of Loch 
 Lomond from the mighty Ben that overlooks it, and 
 fancied it was almost as beautiful as all-beautiful Kil- 
 larney, and the Trossachs as lovely as the Long Eango at 
 Lough Lene ; ate coUops in the Clachan of Aberfoil ; 
 danced a reel with a "flower of Dunblane" ; mourned 
 the curse that will for ever rest as a blight upon J)rum- 
 mossie Moor ; saw a possible descendant of the stag that 
 
 * The story of Scott being asked by some friends to visit with them Melrose 
 by night, they at the same time quoting his lities — 
 
 " If you would view fair Melrose aright, 
 Go visit it by the pale moonlight." 
 
 And his prompt answer, " Yes, let us go by all means, for I have never so seen 
 it," has been often and variously told. Maria Edgewoith told us the circum- 
 stance actually occurred to her.
 
 280 SCOTTISH ARTISTS. 
 
 Fitzjames '' chased in vain " ; visited the glover's house 
 in the fair city of Perth ; marched with Waverley 
 through the Pass of Ballybrough — for in this district 
 veritable history is so interwoven with invented story 
 that it is diificult to separate the one from the other ; 
 saw the silver strand of Ellen's Isle, and murmured in 
 recitative, line after line of the " Lady of the Lake." 
 Alas ! there now plies a steamboat on Loch Katrine, 
 to the pollution of its waters, and in lieu of the eagle's 
 scream is heard the shrill whistle of the railway ! "We 
 talked with Kob Eoy — at all events with a red-headed 
 Highlandman who was christened "Robert" ; worshipped 
 in the venerable cathedral of Dunkeld, and breathed in 
 gloomy Glencoe a prayer for the Macdonalds, living and 
 dead ; saw Birnam Wood and the hill of Dunsinane — 
 names that will be familiar as long as our language 
 endures ; missed our way in the Pass of Killiecrankie, 
 searching for the spot where was slain the " bloody Dun- 
 dee " ; heard the " Birks o' Aberfeldy " sung by a bonnie 
 lassie in the glen and under the fall ; profitably ex- 
 pended hours in the " auld toon " of Edinburgh, and 
 revelled in its history that is romance, and in its romance 
 that is history. 
 
 It was of course a strong desire on the part of Robert 
 Chambers that we should make the acquaintance of 
 Scottish artists. There are not many I need to recall ; 
 but I may be content to make record here of a few. 
 The President of the Royal Scottish Academy then was 
 Sir "William Allan, a painter of much ability and repute, 
 who had to a great extent resided and Avorked abroad,
 
 SCOTTISH AUTHORS. 281 
 
 especially in Eiissia. Sir George Harvey, who succeeded 
 liim, was an excellent artist and a most intelligent and 
 agreeable gentleman. I may mention also D. 0. Hill, a 
 landscape painter of great ability, and Macnee (Sir 
 John Macnee, the late President of the Koyal Scottish 
 Academy), who continued to paint admirable portraits 
 up to the close of his life, and, I hope, to tell Scottish 
 stories, with the excellent zest, humour, and "nature" 
 I witnessed in him forty years ago.* 
 
 Of the men of letters we met, there are not many who 
 demand especial record ; the greatest of Scottish writers 
 were then dead or had made their way south. We did, 
 however, meet, and often, various of the contributors to 
 Blachvood, and other writers ; the historian Alison, 
 Glasford Bell, Hugh Miller, and especially and above 
 
 * I recall one of Macnee's stories. A woman, whose soul was in her farm, and 
 who had good knowledge of kine and crops, was listening to the arguments of a 
 band of artists concerning art and its varied and numerous productions — listen- 
 ing with utter astonishment that such childish things should so largely occupy 
 the thoughts of bearded men. At length, turning to the artist, she exclaimed in 
 broad Scottish phraseology, " Lord save us, Mr. Macnee, if they don't think as 
 much about picturs as if they were sheep ! " 
 
 The anecdote recalls another told me by the artist, J. D. Harding. As he was 
 sitting under a hedge sketching a distant view, a shadow suddenly came over his 
 paper, and a voice followed. " I could do that : first you make a scrat here, and 
 then you make a scrat there ; any fool could do that! " 
 
 Harding told me another story. During one of his sketching rambles he saw 
 a cottage exceedingly picturesque, made so by neglect, that had left Nature to 
 work her own sweet will. It was literally covered with brambles, wild roses, 
 and honeysuckle, lichens, and mosses. He resolved to paint it, and asked leave 
 of the owner, who was lounging at the door-post ; received a ready assent ; and 
 said he would return to accomplish his task next morning early. Well, with 
 early morning he was there. It is easy to picture his disappointment and 
 di.-gnst, when the landlord met him with a smile and a smirk, and with some 
 pride and much self-congratulation informed the painter that he had been up 
 since daybreak and had made (dl ready. The picturesque cottage had been 
 transformed into a neatly and carefully trimmed house : every loose branch had 
 been cut away, the wild roses, honeysuckles, and brambles were all ruthlessly 
 lopped ; and the whole had been made as neat as the tenant himself would have 
 been when " dressed in his Sunday best."
 
 282 SCOTTISH AUTHORS. 
 
 all, the eloquent and truly noble Dr. Chalmers, with 
 whom we had the honour to breakfast, and whom we 
 heard preach to the heart and understanding — which 
 no man ever reached by a surer path and with safer 
 assurance of convincing results. 
 
 Among the most pleasant memories I preserve is that 
 of David Moir, the "Delta" oi Blackivoocfs Magazine. 
 
 In the biography prefixed to Moir's works, Mr. Aird 
 has furnished a most interesting memorial of his friend. 
 Delta's life was singularly uneventful. It served, how- 
 ever, to illustrate the strength of the manly worth, 
 backed by perseverance, which made his character 
 respected by all who knew him. An earnest student, 
 a good husband, a wise and loving father, a true friend, 
 most active in a profession (M.D.) which he practised 
 with honour, and with an amount of unostentatious bene- 
 ficence towards those who, while they most needed, could 
 least have purchased, his help, an accomplished man of 
 letters, who contributed, much, both to the instruction 
 and the amusement of the public, by his works in prose 
 as well as verse, at the same time that he discharged all 
 the duties of a good citizen. David Macbeth Moir may 
 not take rank with the great poets of the world, but he 
 has left behind him the pattern of a life in which, 
 whatever powers he was endowed with, were used to 
 their fullest extent, and to the noblest ends. 
 
 It was at a slightly earlier date than I have been 
 referring to that our first visit to Scotland was paid. 
 Our tour was limited as to extent, and was made with-
 
 THE BURNS FESTIVAL. 283 
 
 out any special purpose, except to describe and report 
 "the Burns Festival" held at Ayr on the 6th of August, 
 1844. I had been engaged by Mr. Herbert Ingram, 
 of the Illustrated London JVetfJS, to write the descriptive 
 article, which was to be illustrated by wood engravings. 
 I was fortunate in obtaining the aid of a young Scottish 
 artist, then but commencing a career, in which he has 
 since advanced to the highest eminence, occupying now 
 one of the foremost positions in the profession. Sir ISToel 
 Paton is the Queen's Limner for Scotland, and ranks 
 among the great painters of the century. 
 
 In the "Book of Memories " I have given full details 
 concerning our visit to Ayr — a day remembered as 
 one of the brightest of our career.* 
 
 The Burns Festival ! I do not think, if we ransacked 
 the annals of the world from the earliest ages, they would 
 furnish the record of a ceremonial more truly glorious. 
 Was it a stretch of fancy to believe the poet was present 
 on that day, to receive part of his reward ? 
 
 * We had spent the evening preceding the day of the festival in the cottage 
 where Robert Burns was born. There were present beside ourselves and our 
 friend, young Noel Paton, the three sons of the poet, the daughter of Colonel 
 James Glencairn, McDiarmid, who wrote Burns' life, Mrs. Begg, the sister of the 
 poet, and her son and daughter, and a very aged man — a ploughman still — who 
 had worked at the plough with Robert Burns ; no others. 
 
 Mrs. Hall had her album with her ; Colonel James Glencairn had previously 
 written in it, his name being prefaced by the following : " This is confessedly 
 a collection of the autographs of ' Lions,' and as it is impossible Mi'S. Hall can 
 get that of my father, she probably thinks the next best thing to obtain is that 
 of one of his cubs. I therefore have much pleasure in transcribing at her request 
 the first verse of the ' Address to a Mountain Daisj'.' " When assembled in that 
 cottage at Ayr it was suggested by our friend the Colonel that on the page which 
 contained his name and the passage quoted, the names of the other members of 
 the family should follow, as they never had met all together before and probably 
 would never meet all together again. They all wrote their names accordingly ; 
 all but the ploughman, who could not write: and the page thus became one of 
 the most prized and remarkable in the album of Mrs. S. C. Hall.
 
 284 THE BURNS FESTIVAL. 
 
 It was not in " the Pavilion," when two thousand 
 guests drank in silence the toast, " The memory of 
 Eobert Burns," and with cheers that shook the canvas 
 of the tent, the healths of his three sons, seated at the 
 side of the chairman, the Earl of Eglinton, that the real 
 business of the day was, so to speak, transacted. The 
 glory and the triumph were for the prodigious crowd 
 of peasants and artisans who passed slowly and in order 
 before the platform, where the family of the poet had 
 their seats, bowing or curtseying as each passed on, 
 receiving in return a recognition, the memory of which, 
 no doubt, all of them carried to their graves. 
 
 It was the cheers in Gaelic, or " broad Scotch," and 
 the waving of Glengarry bonnets, tartan shawls and 
 shepherd plaids, that made the triumph and glory of 
 that marvellous day, when one continually asked, "Was 
 it only a man who had written verses, who was of no 
 account in the world's estimation during his earth-life, 
 who was born in the hovel within ken, lived in a con- 
 tinual struggle with poverty, and, to say the least, died 
 needy — was it really to commemorate such a man that 
 these plaudits went up from a Scottish field to a Scottish 
 sky?" Frequently afterwards I conversed with Colonel 
 Glencairn Burns, and also with the elder brother, 
 Colonel William ]N"icol Burns, as to their feelings on 
 that memorable day, and on the evening that preceded 
 it, when the whole family met in the very small house in 
 which the poet was born. 
 
 As I have said, the record of those two days is fully 
 given in my ''Book of Memories." I have been tempted 
 to enlarge upon the subject here to a greater extent than
 
 THE BURXS FESTIVAL. 285 
 
 I had intended. There are few of my ''Eecollections " 
 from Avhich I derive more happiness, augmented, as no 
 doubt it was then, and is now, by the fact that the 
 " Health of Mrs. Hall " was one of the toasts proposed — 
 by Glasford Bell,* and responded to with a warmth that 
 was — not Irish but Scottish. 
 
 At the Burns Festival we were associated with Mr. 
 and Mrs. Eobert Chambers, whose guests in Edinburgh 
 we were. There was a mournful lack of attendance on 
 the part of the English aristocracy of letters, indeed, 
 even that of Scotland but slenderly gathered. Professor 
 Wilson, Aytoun, Alison, Glasford Bell, William and 
 Eobert Chambers, were the chiefs of the Scottish group, 
 while England was represented, except our humble 
 selves, only by Douglas Jerrold and Charles Mackay, 
 who came in the train of Herbert Ingram. 
 
 However much I may desire to condense matter con- 
 cerning our visit to Scotland, I cannot, while treating the 
 theme, omit further mention of one who was present at 
 the Burns Festival — one of the greatest and most famous 
 of Scottish men of letters — Professor Wilsox. I saw 
 
 * " I have to-day seen that not the gifted sons alone, but also some of the gifted 
 daughters of Ireland, have come us pilgrims to the shrine of Burns — that one iu 
 particular — one of the most distinguished of that fair sisterhood who give by 
 their talents additional lustre to the genius of the present day, has paid her first 
 visit to Scotland that she might be present on this occasion, and whom I have 
 myself seen moved even to tears by the glory of the gathering. She is one who 
 has thrown additional light on the antiquities, manners, scenery, and traditions 
 of Ireland, and whose graceful and truly feminine works are known to us all, 
 and whom we are proud to see among us." — Eeport in ^'' Blackwood' s Magazine."
 
 286 PROFESSOR WILSON. 
 
 him often afterwards, and once in London, where he 
 honoured our house with a visit. But I prefer to retain 
 him in my memory as I saw him at " the Burns Fes- 
 tival." I thus described him in connection with that day : 
 
 ' ' On the platform, on tlie seat immediately beneath us, sat a man 
 of powerful frame, large-limbed and tall, who in youth was of a 
 surety " the best wi'estler on the green," and who in age seemed 
 one of the elder sons of Anak, of whose 'boisterous vigoiu*' many 
 pens and tongues had written and spoken. Look at his massive 
 head, his clear grey eye, his firm-set and finely- chiselled mouth, his 
 broad and intellectual brow, and you wUl be sui-e it is not physical 
 force alone that makes him greatest of the many great men by 
 whom he is surrounded. His hair, thin and grizzled and unusually 
 long, was moved by the breeze as he rose to speak, in a voice 
 manly as his form, richly and truly eloquent. He was master of 
 his theme and loved it; but then and there, a stoic would have been 
 an enthusiast with the cheers of such a multitude booming in his 
 ears. While he was speaking, and his long thin locks waved about 
 in the wind, I thought I might steal, unpereeived at such a moment, 
 a single hair. I saw one that I believed had been accidentally 
 detached, and I ran the hazard of taking it. The professor felt 
 the touch, and turning instantly round, flashed upon me one of 
 those fierce looks of which I had heard so much from those who 
 had seen the "lurking devU in his keen grey eye;" but at once per- 
 ceiving that no insult was meant, and perhaps appreciating the 
 motive of the theft as I murmured out something like ' It is but one 
 to keep for ever,' his lips as suddenly assumed a smile of such love- 
 able grace as might have won the heart of an enemy." 
 
 At a good old age Professor Wilson died, robust of 
 mind and body all his life ; its close was tranquil and 
 consoling. There are monuments to his memory in 
 Scotland, but none more enduring than are his many 
 and glorious works. He was not reluctant to receive 
 the call when it came. On the coverlet of his bed was 
 the Bible ; and, as his good, devoted, and accomplished 
 daughter, Mrs. Gordon (his biograjDher) wrote, "He 
 humbly looked in the coming days of darkness for the
 
 JAMES HOGG. 287 
 
 light that rises for the upright, and hopefully awaited 
 the summons that should call him to rest from his 
 labours and enter into the joy of his Lord." 
 
 James Hogg. — Among the few of many Scottish 
 worthies of whom I give memories in these pages, surely 
 I must not omit "The Ettrick Shepherd." How I should 
 have enjoyed a day with him on the Braes of Yarrow. 
 Even now, across all the years that have passed, I can 
 hear his hearty voice and his jovial laugh, and see 
 his sun-burnt face not yet paled by a month of " merrie 
 companie " in London. " I like to talk about myself; " 
 so begins his autobiography. No doubt he was an 
 egotist, but so is every shepherd when he talks of sheep ; 
 so is the mariner when he speaks of perils in sailing a 
 ship ; so are all men who dwell on matters which constitute 
 their "personality," and which they understand better 
 than others do. In short, so are all teachers. The accu- 
 sation of egotism, and also that of plagiarism, are easily 
 made, but are not so easy of proof. Few men have so 
 thoroughly triumphed over difficulties ; none came more 
 triumphantly out of them. James Hogg was a more 
 marvellous man than Eobert Burns ; far less great as a 
 poet certainly ; but marvellous in the dauntless energy 
 with which he struggled against circumstances, yet more 
 adverse than those of Burns, and reached — not an un- 
 timely grave, but a secure position in the world of 
 letters. Hogg was, as much as Southey, "a man of letters 
 by profession ; " and surely one of the most remarkable 
 men of the century passed away, when 
 
 " Ettrick mourned her shepherd dead."
 
 288 JAMES HOGG. 
 
 A wrestle witli fortune, indeed, was his : chequered yet 
 successful, and marked during the whole of his fairly long 
 life by good spirits, that were partly the result of a 
 good constitution, and greatly perhaps derived from his 
 sanguine self-esteem. 
 
 I remember one of the evenings he passed with 
 us : he had dined with Sir George Warrender, whom 
 some wag suggested must have been Sir George 
 ^' Provender ^^ to Hogg, for the shepherd had evidently 
 enjoyed the good fare provided for him before he came 
 to us. He sang some of his own Jacobite songs with 
 great gusto ; and as many then present saw him for the 
 first and last time, they did not quickly forget him of 
 whom they had heard and read so much. 
 
 The visit of the Ettrick Shepherd to London took 
 place in the year 1832. It is scarcely too much to say 
 that the sensation he produced in literary circles may be 
 likened to that which might have been created by the 
 temporary presence of Ben Nevis on Blackheath. A 
 striking sight it was to see the Shei^herd feted in aristo- 
 cratic salons, mingling with the learned and polite of all 
 grades — clumsily, but not rudely. He was rustic with- 
 out being coarse ; not attempting to ape the refinement 
 to which he was unused ; but seeming perfectly aware 
 that all eyes were upon him, and accepting admiration 
 as a right. 
 
 He was my guest several times during that visit ; and 
 at my house he met many of his literary contemporaries, 
 whom he might not otherwise have known. Among 
 them was Miss Landon, then in the zenith of her fame. 
 When the one poet was presented to the other, the tall
 
 THE BEOTHERS CHAMBERS. 289 
 
 Shepherd looked earnestly doivn for perhaps half a 
 minute at the petite L. E. L. " Eh ! " he exclaimed, in 
 a rich manly " Scottish " voice, " I didna think ye'd been 
 sae bonnie ! I've said many hard things aboot ye. I'll 
 do sae nae mair. I didna think ye'd been sae bonnie ! " 
 At the dinner at the Freemasons' Tavern on January 
 25th, 1832, given nominally to commemorate the birth- 
 day of Kobert Burns, but really to receive the Shepherd, 
 many men of note were present ; the Scottish element 
 naturally pi-edominating. When the usual toasts had 
 been given, the toast of the evening was announced, or, 
 rather, should have been. But the toast-master had no 
 idea that the guest thus honoured was originally a 
 simple shepherd ; and consequently conceived that he 
 was satisfactorily fulfilling his duty when he called on 
 the assembled company for "A bumper toast to the 
 health of Mister Shepherd ^ A roar of laughter through- 
 out the hall was the result, and the hero of the evening 
 joined in it as heartily as the rest. 
 
 It is needless to say, that I cannot write my " Ee- 
 collections " of Scotland without making grateful record 
 of a Scotchman to whom we owed much, not alone for 
 hospitality, but for gratification and information. 
 
 We had known William and Eobert Chambers pre- 
 viously to our visit. Mrs. Hall had contributed to their 
 Journal a series of Irish Stories, and an acquaintance had 
 been commenced that, I think I am justified in saying, 
 ripened into friendship.* 
 
 * It is pleasant to record an anecdote of that series — subsequently collected and 
 published in a volume, — "Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry." Messrs, 
 
 VOL. II. U
 
 290 THE BROTHERS CHAMBERS. 
 
 Eobert Chambers, in association with his elder brother 
 "William, has conferred a weight of obligation on his 
 country ; not only as examples to cheer, to stimu- 
 late, and encourage all who would build up fortune 
 on foundations of perseverance, industry, integrity, and 
 righteousness, but as laborious collectors of useful and 
 instructive legendary and traditionary lore, principally 
 found in by-paths, seldom trodden by the many who are 
 averse to anything like a troublesome search. Especially 
 however is a large debt due to Eobert, and to his brother 
 William even more than to him — nor are their debtors 
 confined to those of their own country — for the publica- 
 tion of the weekly periodical, Chambers's Edinburgh 
 Journal^ and a score of educational works that have 
 largely strengthened the progressive powers of the age. 
 
 They were " self-educated" : but the term has widely 
 different meanings in England and in Scotland. In 
 England it infers, or did infer, in times gone by, a total 
 leaving to chance of the method of preparation for " the 
 battle of life." In Scotland it was rarely that any youth 
 went out into the world without having to some extent fitly 
 armed himself for a struggle with fortune. Self-educated 
 in the main Eobert Chambers was, but a mind naturally 
 discriminating as well as eager had not failed to make a 
 sound choice of the intellectual aliment it fed on. Years, 
 as they passed, were marked by successive steps in the 
 ascent from an humble position to an honoured station ; 
 
 Chambers had agreed to pay a fixed sum for each story ; ■when the third or fourth 
 appeared they doubled the amount. It is one — but I fear it is the only one of 
 the kind — of the gratifying incidents connected with her or my career. I have 
 good reason to know that, notwithstanding this liberality, the book has been 
 a profitable one to IMessrs. Chambers during the forty years they have enjoyed 
 the copyright, for it is among the most popular of Mrs. Hall's productions.
 
 ROBERT CHAMBERS. 291 
 
 and while William rose to be Lord Provost of his native 
 city, Eobert received the affectionate homage of leaders 
 and guides of thought in every part of the world. He 
 never passed beyond the rank of a plain citizen, and was 
 unable to amass the fortune his brother acquired. The 
 reason was plain : he had eleven children, ten of whom 
 were girls, while William, though married, had none. 
 
 A better man in all the relations of private life than 
 Eobert Chambers never lived. Devoted and faithful 
 as husband, thoughtful and affectionate as father, true 
 as friend, useful as citizen, among Scottish worthies 
 (and they are many) Eobert Chambers holds a very 
 prominent place. He would, no doubt, have obtained 
 any public position he had sought for ; but, excepting 
 the degree of LL.D. conferred on him by the University 
 of St. Andrews, he had nothing resembling rank or title. 
 I remember his telling me the great drawback to his 
 success in this respect was his lack of the organ of self- 
 esteem ; it was remarkably deficient in his head. 
 
 Eobert Chambers had that inestimable blessing, a 
 devoted wife, who was also an accomplished woman, 
 skilled in m.ost of the accomplishments that are sup- 
 posed to enhance feminine charms. It was a treat to 
 hear her play on the harp, and a still greater treat to 
 hear her sing an old Scottish ballad or a touching melody, 
 to which she could give a wonderfully moving effect. 
 During our stay in their house at Musselburgh, it was 
 a beautiful sight to see her surrounded by, I think, as 
 many as seven daughters, the eldest of whom may have 
 been twelve years old, the youngest not as many months. 
 Three of the ten daughters born to Mr. and Mrs. 
 
 VOL. II. u 2*
 
 292 ROBERT CHAMBERS. 
 
 Cliambers died young, but the others married happily 
 and well, and the descendants are numerous, although 
 few of them bear the honoured name of Chambers. 
 
 His admirable wife died before him, his children had 
 gone out into the world, and when he retired from active 
 life, companioned only by one of his daughters and two 
 grandchildren, he was alone, or comparatively so, and 
 committed the error of a second marriage. 
 
 When I saw him last, not long before his death, he 
 exhibited unmistakable evidence of a mind that was giving 
 way. He was not unconscious of that gloomy fact, and 
 he told me it was so. But he was a Spiritualist, and had 
 full faith in a life to begin when this life is ended. I 
 am by no means sure that he always entertained such 
 faith ; indeed, his views had probably in earlier years 
 been widely different. I cannot of my own knowledge 
 affirm that he wrote the " Free-thinking " book (which 
 I never read), the '' Yestiges of Creation." * I believe 
 he wrote a part and "superintended the publication, but 
 that the major portion was written by Leitch Eitchic, 
 sometime editor of the " Journal." Whether he did 
 or did not write it, certain I am that he would not 
 have written it, after he received the convictions of 
 spiritualism and admitted the truths he had long resisted. 
 Eeturning, one night, after a spiritual sitting with Mr. 
 and Mrs. Newton Crosland, at Blackheath, he told me 
 
 * It was said that the following plan was hit upon to lend, a mystery to the 
 authorship of the book. Proof-sheets were transmitted through the post to half-a- 
 dozcn persons to whom such authorship was likely to be attributed. The recipient, 
 ignorant of the trap, left them heedlessly on library or drawing-room tables, 
 where they were seen by visitors. There consequently existed no doubt as to the 
 identity of the author in tho minds of persons who had actually examined the 
 unrevised proofs of the work in the dwellings of those who would have been most 
 readily suspected of producing it.
 
 ROBEET CHAMBERS. 293 
 
 that so entirely changed were his opinions and views 
 concerning Immortality and Hereafter, he had burned a 
 manuscript on which he had been some years occupied, 
 "A History of Superstition." I could much more largely 
 illustrate this phase in the life of Eobert Chambers. 
 
 His brother William, in his interesting " Memoir," 
 only admits that Eobert " considered the phenomena of 
 spiritualism worthy of patient investigation." That is 
 not much : I affirm that he was as thorough a believer 
 in the verity of these manifestations as I am ; that it was 
 impossible for any just, reasonable, and thinking man to 
 resist the evidence supplied to him — several times in my 
 presence and at my house — that out of patient inquiry and 
 thorough conviction came the belief of Eobert Chambers ; 
 and that the " prayers and graces to be said at meals all 
 breathing the purest religious spirit " we read of in con- 
 nection with his later years were the fruit of that belief, 
 as well as his work on the " Life and Preachings of Jesus 
 Christ, from the Evangelists." I cannot doubt William 
 Chambers will admit that Eobert Chambers would 
 have written nothing of the kind before he became en- 
 lightened and instructed by Christian spiritualism ; and 
 if his brother is able to describe him when this life was 
 closing, and the higher life about to be entered, as 
 " uniting the piety of the Christian with the philosophy 
 of an ancient sage," William very well knows that of 
 Eobert nothing of the kind could have been said before 
 he reached the sixtieth year of his age. 
 
 We travelled together to Paris when that city was not 
 quite so accessible as it is now. It was his first visit. 
 I determined he should see and partake of a French
 
 2.^4 WILLIAM CHAMBERS. 
 
 dinner in all its perfection. In the morning I gave my 
 order to a renowned restaurateur in the Palais Royal. 
 When we two went to partake of the feast, petit dishes 
 came up one after another, and at length as to one of 
 which, with apparent indifference, I asked his opinion. He 
 seemed really to be pleased ; another of the same material 
 came next : but there the disguise was insufficient, and 
 Eobert Chambers at once detected the tender limbs of 
 frogs. Of that dish he declined to partake, but wrapped 
 a portion of his share in paper, and no doubt showed it 
 when he was at home in Scotland. 
 
 When William was — as for three years he was — Lord 
 Provost of Edinburgh he lost an opportunity of making 
 himself, or at least his official career, famous, and of 
 linking his name with the great names in Letters and in 
 Art of the century. He might have invited to the 
 "Modern Athens" all the men and women of renown, 
 who would have accepted the invitation — a " call" would 
 have been received as a "command." The list would 
 not have been limited to those of England, Scotland, 
 L'eland and Wales — foreign realms would have sent 
 their intellectual celebrities, and there might have been 
 such a gathering of the truly great as no city has 
 ever witnessed, and as probably no city ever will 
 witness.* 
 
 * A project of the kind had been successfully carried out by Alderman 
 Spiers while he was Mayor of Oxford. He invited to be his guests at a feast 
 in the grand old city, to every part of which he was on subsequent days 
 their guide, about fifty persons eminent in Science, Letters, and Art. It was 
 a great day even for stately and learned Oxford, marking an honourable 
 epoch in its grand history and doing honour to the citizen who, if not him- 
 self a man of letters, was the personal friend and largely esteemed correspon- 
 dent of many men and women who have thus made mankind their debtors.
 
 ROBERT CHAMBERS. 295 
 
 "William will die rich, leaving a fortune honourably 
 acquired by the industry, energy, and rectitude of more 
 than half a century.* Eobert could have left to his suc- 
 cessor and only son (another Eobert) little beyond the 
 incalculable wealth of a name of which he may be more 
 proud than if it had been that of a baron of seven 
 descents. But Eobert the Second is now, I rejoice to 
 know, one of the long-honoured and prosperous firm. 
 It is still the firm of W. and E. Chambers — in 1883, as 
 it was in 1823, sixty years ago. 
 
 In 1871 the valuable and valued career of Eobert 
 Chambers terminated, in so far as earth is concerned. 
 Of such a man we may truly write that " his works do 
 follow him." All who knew him will endorse this pas- 
 sage from the funeral sermon preached by a minister of 
 the Episcopal Church of Scotland. 
 
 " He was a man of high endowments, great and varied knowledge, 
 deep philosophy, sound judgment, and refined taste. He was also 
 what is far better than all this — a man of upright and unosten- 
 tatiously religious life. Noble and kind in his nature, gentle and 
 modest in his manner, genial and warm in his sympathies, f aith'f ul 
 in his friendships, and generous in his dealings." f 
 
 * Mr. William Chambers has published an interesting account of his early life 
 •with some particulars concerning his later life, entitled, "Story of a long and 
 busy life." I much wish it had been written from his notes by another hand ; 
 but that will be done when he has left earth. He could not praise himself ; 
 that duty also must be the work of another hand. He was born at Peebles on 
 the 13th April, 1800; and is thus just a month older than I am. 1882 was 
 the jubilee year of Chambers' s Ed'mhurgk Journal, 
 
 t Among the anecdotes (and there are not many) that illustrate the cha- 
 racter of Robert, in William's Life of him, there is one that touches me, as it 
 must have touched all readers, deeply. In early youth he loved a maiden 
 who became the wife, and the unhappy wife, of another. Robert was then poor 
 and obscure — he afterwards rose to be prosperous and honoured. Many j-ears 
 passed, and the object of his early aflfections became indebted to his considerately
 
 296 SCOTTISH MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 There is, no doubt, much concerning our interesting 
 tours in Scotland that I have left unsaid : and many 
 persons who are remembered by me with respect and 
 affection : men and women who, while adding to the 
 fame of their country, have made all humanity their 
 debtors for all time. 
 
 administered bountj' for her relief when in deep poverty. They were both aged 
 when he paid her a farewell visit. What memories it must have stirred in each ! 
 She dropped a tear on the hand he held out to her, and they parted. Again on 
 this side of the grave they never met ; but by his will he left her an annual sum 
 " sufficient for her moderate wants." She needed it but for a short while, dying 
 within three months after him who had been her lover and was her benefactor. 
 Surely that pure and holy friendship was not dissolved by death. 
 
 Scotland has not yet sufficiently discharged its large debt to Robert Chambers; 
 perhaps next to Walter Scott he is its greatest benefactor. For he has largely 
 contributed to make Scotland known, and the boast that he is " a Scottish man," 
 to be as high a one as a man can make in any part of the civilised world.
 
 BECOLLECTIONS OF lEELAKD. 
 
 TWENTY FORTY SIXTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 My task in this chapter is to picture Ireland and the 
 Irish as I knew the country and its people before the 
 enacting of laws that abolished distinctions of race and 
 religion : so unreservedly and effectually that the 
 Englishman and Protestant has now no privilege either 
 of birth or creed, in which the Irishman and Eoman 
 Catholic does not participate — and as fully enjoy. 
 
 I shall show also that prodigious changes have been 
 wrought in Ireland, during half a century, in matters of 
 domestic interest; and that numerous minor improvements 
 have been progressing, side by side with the mighty revo- 
 lution in the policy of England towards the sister island. 
 Ceasing to regard Catholic Ireland either with appre- 
 hension or distrust, Protestant England has removed 
 as far as was possible — or in one ^qt^ entirely — the blots 
 that for many centuries defaced the statute-book of these 
 realms, and has studied the policy of justice : while 
 striving to give to Ireland every advantage that could 
 be derived from close union with the '' Kingdoms " of 
 Scotland, Wales, and England, each of which kingdoms, 
 be it noted, continued to be ruled by a separate sove-
 
 298 QUALIFICATIONS. 
 
 reign long after the English Henry II. had established 
 his authority over Ireland. 
 
 With this brief introduction I proceed to my task of 
 comparing the present with the past. 
 
 These are my qualifications for the duty I undertake. 
 Between the years 1815 and 1820, my father, Colonel 
 Hall (of whom I shall have more to say hereafter) was 
 engaged in working copper mines in the South of Ire- 
 land, principally in Kerry County, and in the west of 
 the county of Cork. I was much about the country 
 then ; and, later in life I paid to Ireland almost annual 
 visits. Between the years 1839 and 1844 I posted on 
 the common car — the time-honoured but nearly obsolete 
 "jaunting-car" — six thousand miles according to a pretty 
 accurate calculation I made at the time. There is hardly 
 a corner of the country, between the Giant's Causeway 
 and Cape Clear, or Clew Bay and the Saltees, into which 
 I have not penetrated : seeking and obtaining the informa- 
 tion I had undertaken to communicate to the public : in 
 volumes which are not yet forgotten.* 
 
 * " Ireland, its Scenery and Character," by Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall.. 3 vols. 
 Illustrated. 1840, 1841, 1842. 
 
 The work was successful, receiving much encouraging aid from the Press. 
 I extract some passages from many reviews. 
 
 " Written professedly to induce the English to see Ireland and to judge for 
 themselves ; and both their verbal descriptions and their graphic illustrations are 
 very likely to have that effect, which we too are willing to assist by our com- 
 mendation of the general spirit and execution of the work We may say, 
 
 on the whole, that the literary, legendary, and antiquarian portions of the work 
 are compiled with laudable diligence ; the illustrations, for the most part, clear 
 and interesting ; and the statements and opinions are in general as sensible, 
 candid, and trustworthj^ as could be expected from writers who fairly confess 
 their ' unwillingness to say anything discreditable to the country and the 
 majority of its people.' " — Quarterly lievieiv. 
 
 " The book presents us with a body of facts relating to the sister kingdom, 
 which, being the result of personal observation and investigation, ought to com-
 
 TOURS IN IRELAND. 299 
 
 The work was dedicated to H.E.H. the Prince Con- 
 sort : the first number, when it commenced, and the 
 last number, when it was concluded. It was issued in 
 twenty-seven monthly parts. 
 
 In 1879 my last visit to Ireland was paid, and that 
 tour was the final opportunity of the many that in the 
 course of a long life I have enjoyed of witnessing 
 the changes that have resulted from time, education, 
 numerous legal enactments, a larger and more generous 
 and enlightened policy, more intimate intercourse be- 
 tween the two nations, augmented facilities for travel, 
 and, above all, considerate thought and indulgent 
 sympathy.* 
 
 mand the attentive consideration of all who are interested in. its welfare and 
 prosperity.' ' — Times. 
 
 " For its impartiality and truthfulness the two editors have been more than 
 once complimented by persons of everj' party; partisans mayj^dififer from the 
 conclusions at which Mr. and Mrs. Hall have arrived, but no one will venture to 
 say that either the lady or her husband have misstated or misrepresented any- 
 thing." — Horning Chronicle. 
 
 " This undertaking has all the elements of the useful, informing, and agree- 
 able. Useful, as tending to make the sister country better known to the British 
 public, and so dissipating prejudice, attracting the tourist to Ireland, and, what 
 is of much more importance, the capitalist." — Spectator. 
 
 * Forty or fifty years ago, " No Irish need apply " was a common addition to 
 advertisements for servants, in newspapers — indicating a very general sentiment of 
 aversion on the part of the English towards the Irish, when the one knew little 
 of the other, receiving impressions almost exclusively from bad examples : 
 judging, according to Churchill, 
 
 " The many by the rascal few," 
 
 and having their prejudices strengthened by Irish authors, paintei'S, and actors, 
 some of whom did their " best" to picture the Irish gentleman as a blackguard and 
 the Irish peasant as a ruffian. At the outset of these details, I do not hesitate to 
 say that this prejudice was continually and effecttialUj combated in several of the 
 works of fiction written by Mrs. S. C. Hall, in her " Sketches of Irish Cha- 
 racter," "Stories of the Irish Peasantry," several of her novels, and not;ably in 
 our joint work, " Ireland, its Scenery and Character."
 
 300 THE VOYAGE ACROSS. 
 
 The voyage across St. George's Channel, at the time 
 of which I write, and long afterwards, was a far more 
 serious matter than it is now. Sometimes, weeks were 
 consumed in covering what we now regard as the brief 
 distance between port and port. The packet could not 
 sail in the teeth of a foul wind, or, after starting, had to 
 " give in " and put back to wait for a change. In 1815, 
 on my embarking at Bristol, six weeks had passed before 
 I landed at Cork. The accommodation on board was 
 wretched : there was no woman-steward ; the berths for 
 women were never separated from those of men — even 
 by a screen. Often the "sea-stores" ran short before 
 half the voyage was over ; and between contrary winds, 
 miserable accommodation, and the scarcity and bad 
 quality of provisions, a passage to Ireland was often 
 a more serious and expensive undertaking than is now 
 a voyage to New York. On landing, the traveller was 
 conducted to the Custom House — to have his luggage 
 examined, and pay duty on articles taxed ; and then he 
 had to change his English money for Irish money, the 
 coinage of one country not being current coin in the 
 other. Ireland had her "tenpennies" and "fivepen- 
 nies : " now found only in the cabinets of collectors. 
 
 Sometimes, to shorten the journey by sea, the traveller 
 lengthened his journey by land ; and instead of sailing 
 from Bristol, started, as now, from Holyhead. In that 
 case the period of discomfort afloat and sea-sickness was 
 likely to be a brief one ; but what a wearisome journey 
 it was by coach, especially Irom the metropolis. If 
 Bristol was twenty hours from London, Holyhead was 
 more than forty.
 
 PERILS OF THE PASSAGE. 301 
 
 But the road to Holyhead had one special peril and 
 annoyance. Between the port and Chester City is the 
 Menai Strait, which the traveller now crosses in a few 
 seconds, over, or rather through, a bridge. A marvel- 
 lous work it is, one of the glories of modern science — a 
 grand victory of engineering skill, which our forefathers 
 would have as little expected could be achieved as the 
 construction of a turnpike road between the earth and 
 the moon.* But at the time of which I write, the coach 
 stopped on one side of the estuary to discharge its cargo 
 of passengers and luggage into boats, in which they were 
 ferried across and consigned to the coach that waited for 
 them on the other side f — in the island of Anglesea. 
 
 * In March, 1850, "the first railwaj^ train rushed over the Menai Straits hy 
 means of the tuhular bridge." 
 
 t It would he difficult to exaggerate the annoyance to which passengers by this 
 route were subjected. Fancy removal from the inside of a coach — bad as it was — 
 to the ferry-boat, in any weather, often while rain poured in torrents and 
 frequently when snow was a foot deep on the ground. These were not the only 
 evils. The ferrymen were inconceivable savages — Welshmen who spoke no En- 
 glish — cared nothing for the guard, and exacted what they pleased from passen- 
 gers. Once I nearly lost my life in passing. The men had grossly insulted a lady, 
 a stranger to me, who had resolutely refused — right or wrong — to pay for a 
 little dog she carried in a basket on her arm, and which they seemed inclined to 
 destroy. I natui-ally interfered for her protection, pushing her assailant away 
 and holding him back, thus giving her free passage to the shore. In an instant 
 I was attacked by half a score of ruffians, who were dragging me to the side of 
 the quay in order to push me over. I had presence of mind enough to fling 
 myself on the ground and kick out. One fellow seemed more resolute 
 than the rest, when luckily my hand lighted on a large flat stone : with 
 that I struck my assailant full in the face, and while he ran screaming to 
 his comrades, I was up, running " for dear life" to the coach, and mounted "in 
 a jiify ; " Mrs. Hall being inside. The coachman, who had been waiting for me, 
 whipped up the horses, and before the gang could rally, we had left them behind. 
 On returning by the same route I succeeded in avoiding recognition, and although 
 I had received a lesson anent 
 
 *' Those who in quarrels interpose," 
 
 I did not, I fear me, profit by the teaching ; although a pair of black eyes 
 made me a recluse during some days in Dublin. I hope, however, that what 
 I did in 1825 I should do, or try to do, in 1883.
 
 302 THE JOURNEY TO-DAY. 
 
 The coach conveyed the passengers to the wretched 
 inn at Holyhead, where they were ''refreshed" before 
 embarking on board the miserable packet-boat that lay 
 alongside the quay, prepared — "wind permitting" — to 
 make the voyage across, or waiting till the wind did 
 permit, to the great joy of the innkeeper, whose beds and 
 " shakedowns" were all engaged — and paid for, for one 
 night at all events, in anticipation of the necessary 
 endurance of purgatory from Welsh fare and Welsh 
 fleas. The voyage was shorter, but not better than that 
 made from Bristol, or Liverpool, or Milford. Haven. 
 
 Few went from England to Ireland, or from Ireland 
 to England, except those who were compelled by neces- 
 sity or duty. I have often thought that among other 
 patriotic impediments to the honour of M.P. — in 1800, 
 among the especial " curses of the Union," — was this, 
 that Irish representatives would be forced to cross the 
 channel in a sailing- packet, and make the journey to 
 London in a mail-coach.* 
 
 It is needless to contrast these enormous drawbacks 
 with the comforts of the voyage now ; less than twelve 
 hours takes the traveller from London to Dublin ; he 
 will not encounter a single annoyance en route ; and may 
 from any part of Ireland make an engagement, at any 
 hour, in any part of the kingdom, with a certainty of 
 keeping it; while two posts daily convey letters from 
 
 * Before the advent of the steamship upon the Irish Channel, it was not 
 an unusual thing for six English mails to be due in Dublin, and upon many 
 occasions two or three weeks passed without any delivery of English letters. 
 .... How, with better accommodation and the spread of knowledge, the 
 correspondence entrusted to the Post-office Department has increased, may be 
 inferred from the fact that whereas half a century ago a couple of small 
 sacks held the English mail, now the mails u'cigh about cight-and-a-half tons daily.
 
 TRAVELLING IN IRELAND. 303 
 
 places hundreds of miles distant ; the London newspapers 
 of the morning are in Dublin in the evening ; and the 
 telegraph communicates a message within an hour. 
 
 Irish journals that bear the date of fifty or sixty 
 years ago, are full of passages like this — '' Iso news 
 from England for a week." 
 
 Travelling in Ireland was on a par with travelling to 
 Ireland as regarded delays and discomforts. Fifty j^ears 
 ago, journeys in the Green Isle were ordinarily made at 
 the rate of twelve hours to fifty miles. Somewhere 
 about that time I journeyed from Cork to Skibbereen 
 by a mail-coach on its Jirst journey ; I can recall now 
 the rush from every cabin, and the crowds in every town 
 it passed by and through ; some astonished, others terri- 
 fied at the new wonder.* In general there was no way 
 of travelling except by the old jaunting-car. [The Irish 
 car has been compared to Irish reciprocity, which lets 
 you see only one side of a subject, and to Irish character, 
 that limits the vision to a one-sided view of every- 
 thing.] 
 
 The old roads in Ireland were solicitous only of taking 
 
 * Derrick, so late as 1760, wrote that he set out from Cork to Killarney 
 "on horseback, the city of Cork not affording at this time any sort of car- 
 riage for hire." I remember a popular caricature that had for its subject 
 Irish travelling. The chaise let in the rain at the roof, while the traveller's 
 legs were protruding through the floor ; a girl was advancing with a red-hot 
 poker, "just to give the baste a bum, yer honour, to make him start." 
 
 "From the inn-yard came a hackney-chaise, in a most deplorable state; 
 the body mounted up to a prodigious height, on unbending springs ; one door 
 swinging open, the blinds up, because they could not be let down, the perch 
 tied in two places, the iron of the wheels half off, half loose, wooden pegs for 
 linch-pins, and ropes for harness." — Maria Edgeworth.
 
 304 OLD IRISH ROADS. 
 
 the straiglitest line of approach; and that was indeed 
 a formidable obstacle which could prevent them from 
 being laid down as the crow flies. Eegardless of 
 acclivity or declivity, of cliff or rock, of stream or 
 torrent : few mountain elevations, however bristling 
 with crags, or formidable the aspect of their precipitous 
 sides, deterred the engineer who planned an Irish road. 
 He carried it over the loftiest summits, the wildest moors, 
 to the bottoms of the deepest glens, and along the most 
 dizzy steeps, overlooking the most precipitous descents. 
 Before railways made journeys easy and comfortable, the 
 roads had been greatly imj^roved ; but I can remember 
 when many of them that led from town to town were 
 barely passable to wheel-carriages. So lately as 1840, 
 going fi*om Glengariff to Kenmare, we had to leave the 
 car and walk some distance, while peasants helped it over 
 the ruts. Irish roads are now foremost among the best 
 in the kingdom. 
 
 Turnpikes are now all gone; but in 1843, "Bian- 
 coni's " charge for passengers from Clonmel to "Water- 
 ford was three shillings and sixpence ; from Clonmel to 
 Kilkenny (about the same distance) it was four shillings 
 and sixpence — in consequence of heavy turnpike tolls. 
 The roads are now kept in order by Grand Jury pre- 
 sentments. 
 
 Bianconi, a native of Milan (he was one of the 
 '' alien " mercies given to Ireland) ran his first car from 
 Clonmel to Cahir, some six or seven miles, on the 5th 
 July, 1815 (it should be kept as a day for public remem- 
 brance in Ireland). In spite of much discouragement 
 he persevered ; when I saw and conversed with him — one
 
 BIANCONI'S CARS. 305 
 
 of the best friends Ireland has ever had — in 1841-42, 
 his cars travelled 3,600 miles daily, visiting 128 cities 
 and towns, and he had horses more than enough to mount 
 a regiment of cavalry. Talking with him one day at 
 the door of his office in Clonmel, while his car, always 
 punctual, was about to start, and there was just five 
 minutes to spare, ''Come this way," he said, "it's a 
 short cut, and will save two minutes." It was the key 
 to his success : he knew the value of time ; a knowledge 
 denied almost entirely to the country of his adoption.* 
 Bianconi's drivers carried no weapons, even in the more 
 disturbed districts, in perilous times. His cars were 
 never injured ; never even once stopped ; well might 
 he say, as he did say to me, " that fact gives me more 
 pleasure than all the other rewards of my life." 
 
 It will be readily imagined that in the days before 
 railways the small Irish farmer had difficulty in finding 
 a market for his produce. There were itinerant dealers 
 who travelled the country, buying from the peasantry to 
 sell in the towns ; but the farm produce, to be disposed 
 of, so far exceeded the means available for bringing it 
 to market that it was frequently left a dead weight on 
 the farmer's hands. Another difficulty was the ex- 
 treme scarcity of money, causing barter to be a far more 
 common mode of dealing than sale. In the locality 
 
 * " Sure, it's only my time," was a sort of Irish aphorism. It is the title of 
 one of Mrs. Hall's most characteristic stories. I once sent a man on a message 
 from Skihbereen to Cork — thirty miles : it took him two days going and coming. 
 He had no idea of demanding more than his two days' wages. Sure, 'twas only 
 his time ! 
 
 VOL. II. X
 
 306 WAGES FOR LABOUR. 
 
 where I lived, as a boy, it was easy to obtain eight eggs 
 for a penny, and a couple of chickens for eightpence, 
 while a " weight " (a stone and a half) of potatoes seldom 
 cost more than twopence. 
 
 And the wages of labouring men, what were they? 
 Sixpence a day was a liberal wage. My father at 
 one time employed, at one of his mines, three to four 
 hundred men, and fivepence was the sum each earned 
 daily. No doubt it was above rather than below 
 the average rate of pay. In fact, the earning of 
 wages was uncommon; fortunate were they who could 
 sell their labour. As a rule, each man dug his patch 
 of ground, planted it; the fruits just supplied him 
 with food enough to prevent hunger becoming famine, 
 and enabled him and his family to drag on in a state of 
 semi- starvation from the cradle to the grave.* 
 
 To English rural districts, as well as to Irish, the iron 
 road has opened up markets that were not before avail- 
 able. In England, too, the tillers of the soil were, fifty 
 years ago, wretchedly housed ; but the hovel of the Irish 
 peasant was by far the more miserable of the two, and 
 the changes in his dwelling have been proportionately 
 greater. I found the "cabins," as they used to be 
 called, and perhaps are called now, bad enough in 1879, 
 yet greatly improved from what they were in 1820. It 
 may not be the best, but certainly not the worst of those 
 cabins that I picture, as I recall their wretched aspect 
 to memory. This is the sight I see : a growth of 
 
 * The " garden" was the quarter or half-acre usually attached to the cahin in 
 ■which the potatoes were planted, always, of course, by spade labour, and from 
 whence they were dug to be eaten. Cabbages were seldom planted, carrots and 
 turnips never — nothing but potatoes !
 
 IRISH CABINS. 307 
 
 » 
 
 diseased vegetation covers the thatched roof (a roof of 
 slate distinguished the houses of the doctor, the land- 
 lord, and the priest) ; a cesspool of stagnant water oozes 
 from the dungheap, at either side of the door ; a big 
 slab or flat stone forms a sort of bridge across it ; the 
 mud walls have given way in parts, and there is a 
 gradual sinking of the fabric ; the door is hanging by 
 broken hinges ; two holes indicate windows, into one of 
 them, if the weather be damp, the tenant's top-coat is 
 thrust to keep out the cold, the other is partially boarded. 
 The inevitable consequence is, that within, when the 
 turf-fii'e is lit, there is an atmosphere of smoke. Go in ! 
 In one corner is a heap of turf, crowned by the kisli. 
 In another corner is the potato heap, kept somewhat in 
 order by a strip of board. Generally the rain finds its 
 way thi'ough some part of the roof, and there is a con- 
 sequent puddle on the floor. The pig goes in and out 
 as he pleases; there is a perpetual "hui'rish " to diive 
 him from the " pratee " corner. Of course there is no 
 grate (often no chimney) ; and, although the hut may be 
 at times divided into two rooms, as a rule there is but 
 one, in which a whole family live and sleep. The bed 
 is a mass of damp straw with a single blanket or quilt, 
 and there is a straw shakedown for the children. 
 Heather, though a hundred times better than straw, and 
 always at hand, is a luxury seldom resorted to. To 
 complete the bedding there are the extra coats and 
 gowns of the household. When the family retire to 
 rest at night it is likely that as many as eight or ten 
 human beings of all ages, and both sexes, will be 
 crowded into this one miserable room. Water is seldom 
 
 x2
 
 308 IRISH CABINS. 
 
 used for any purpose, personal or domestic ; * indeed, 
 there is nothing about the place in which to collect and 
 keep it. The food is potatoes — eaten twice a day. But- 
 termilk sometimes ekes out the feast : now and then 
 there is the luxury of a salt herring, over which boiling 
 water is poured to make a sort of sauce, into which the 
 potato is dipped. "Butchers' mate" is never thought 
 of, and bread but seldom [I have known old men who 
 had never tasted the former, and young men who had 
 never eaten the latter] ; fish is a rarity, although shoals 
 are to be met with all along the coasts, and the rivers and 
 lakes abound in trout — ready to be caught and eaten. 
 
 The furniture consists of the kish, a table, two chairs, 
 a three-legged stool, a dresser, seldom absent, but usually 
 empty, or containing two broken plates ; a wooden pipkin, 
 an iron pot, which rarely leaves its place over the turf 
 fire, and the bedding, such as I have described — some- 
 times raised by blocks of bog-oak from the floor :f 
 
 " An Irish cabin, architecturally described, is a shed about 
 eighteen feet by fourteen, or perhaps less, built of sod (mud) or 
 
 * I do not know how it is now, but in my younger days it was rarely an 
 Irish peasant used water — except to drink it. A sea-bath was a rarity and 
 never a luxury. To "take a dip" was seldom thought of. I have known many 
 grown-up young men who had not taken one in a year : women never bathed, 
 except their feet, which they washed often in running brooks. I am reminded of 
 an anecdote told me by the sculi^tor, Margaret Foley. A friend of hers at 
 Florence had a pretty waiting-maid ; the Florentine valet was "sweet on her." He 
 was asked if he meant to marry her. This was his answer : " Marrj^ her ? Oh 
 no ! S/ie is English, mid she would wash me, and I should die !" I am also reminded 
 of an anecdote told me by Ugo Foscolo — who meant it to illustrate Irish 
 character. Two lazy Irishmen were stretched on the sward of a fig-garden 
 in Italy. They were hungry, but had not energy enough to rise and pluck and 
 eat. At last a fig feU from a tree right into the mouth of one of them. " Ah," 
 said the other, " you are lucky, Pat ! It didn't fall into my mouth." " Yes," 
 was Pat's comment, " but it didn't come cheiv'd, though .'" 
 
 t " There was just room, with care, to ride my horse on the crooked pathway 
 between the dunghills and cesspools. I went into one of these cottages. It had
 
 IRISH CABINS. 309 
 
 rough stone, perhaps with a window or a hole to represent one, it 
 is thatched with sods, with a basket for a chimney. It generally 
 admits the wet and does not pretend to keep out the cold. A hole 
 in the ground in front of the door, or just on the side, is the recep- 
 tacle for slops, manure, and other abominations. This one room, 
 wretched as it is, is generally all the shelter that is afforded for the 
 father and mother, with the children, and perhaps the grandmother, 
 and certainly the pig."' — Titers ^^ Report to the Irish Society, ^^ 1836. 
 
 The house of the well-to-do yeoman farmer (the posi- 
 tion such a man as I describe would have held in Eng- 
 land) was not much better than that of the peasant. 
 In the year 1840 I visited such a man in Wicklow 
 County, near to Glendalough, and noticing the air of 
 penury and misery that pervaded the dwelling, I left a 
 shilling on the dirty dresser. The guide who was with 
 me said, when we had left the cabin, "May I make so 
 bould as to ask what yer honour left the shilling for ? " 
 " Well," I said, " though but a trifle I thought it might 
 help them in their poverty." " Poverty 1 " exclaimed 
 my guide. '' Yah ! Poverty ! He has ten cows and 
 fifty sheep upon the mountain, and is, may be, richer 
 than yer honour." And such I found, upon inquiry, 
 to be fact; yet for squalor, dirt, discomfort — all that 
 makes home wretched — there were not many worse 
 hovels. That was by no means an isolated case.* 
 
 I rejoice to believe there has been in this respect a 
 
 one room, no chimney, and a turf fire on the mud floor. Its furniture consisted 
 of a bedstead with some hay on it, and one blanket, a deal box and an iron pot. 
 There were five children in it, so ragged that they were nearly naked, and two 
 pigs begrimed with the soil from the cesspool at the door. The mother was 
 scarcely clad and barefooted. Cottage, children, pigs, and mother were all 
 equally dirty." — Foster's ^^ Ireland." Description of a cabin in Mayo. 
 
 * In Mayo, in 1845, I measured a cabin in which a family lired, and had 
 lived for two years ; it was exactly ten feet long by seven feet broad and five 
 feet high ; it was built on the edge of a turf bog ; within, a raised embankment 
 of di'ied turf formed a bed : a solitary ragged blanket was the only covering.
 
 310 THE IRISH COTTER. 
 
 great change. Thus spoke Lord O'Hagan at the Social 
 
 Science Congress in 1881 : 
 
 ' ' I may confidently say that, in a department so deeply affecting 
 the comfort and the happiness of a people, Ireland need not be 
 ashamed of the progress she is making and has made. And for her 
 that progress is especially important. Health and social morals run 
 closely together. Cleanliness and godliness are in alliance ; and 
 wholesome and commodious dwellings are important instruments of 
 civiEsation. The squalidness of his home drives the artisan for 
 light and solace to the public-house. The mud cabin, with its 
 single room and crowded foulness, is not very compatible with the 
 formation of habits of ordered industry; and, save in a country 
 still marvellously pure, its inmates would be subjected to many 
 dangers." 
 
 Picture the Irish cotter of fifty or sixty years ago. 
 The " caubeen " that covered his head was a fragment — 
 the brim in nine cases out of ten gone; shirts were 
 rarities; his coat was always torn, and never mended, 
 or, if patched, was a coat of many colours ; his breeches 
 were usually of corduroy, never buttoned at the knee, 
 for the buttons had departed, but sometimes tied by 
 shreds of twine. His stockings, when he wore any, were 
 loose and hanging about his heels; and through his 
 brogues, when he had them on, his toes protruded. 
 Often he wore a large cloak-coat with a cape, descend- 
 ing from the neck to the heels, and as worn and ragged 
 as other portions of his attire. His clothes, such as 
 they were, served him, as I have said, in lieu of blankets 
 at night. The clothing of the " childer " consisted of 
 one ragged covering of discoloured stuff, called a frock. 
 The peasant's wife or mother (a cabin was seldom found 
 without both) might have compressed her whole ward- 
 robe into a bandbox — had such a thing been known.
 
 THE EEXT-PAYER. 311-- 
 
 Sucli was the figure the Irish peasant everywhere 
 presented in my boyhood. Three or four years ago 
 I saw about four hundred men and women — belong- 
 ing to the peasant class of to-day — assembled at Kil- 
 larney. There ivas not among them a man in rags or a 
 woman harefooted. Sixty years ago it would have been 
 difficult to find in a similar group a man with a decent 
 coat or a woman who wore shoes. 
 
 '^ The pig paid the rent," and when sold a '' boneen " 
 was obtained to be reared for another year. A litter of 
 pigs was rarely seen about a cabin, and to bring any 
 part of one "to table" was a thing never looked for. 
 Of course a sty was out of the question ; never was such 
 a thing seen in any village or town of moderate extent. 
 
 And what sort of a pig was he ? A long-legged 
 and sharp-snouted creature that no amount of food or 
 training could ever fatten. The breed was called "the 
 Connaught pig." You could count its ribs without 
 feeling them. Fat was never found anywhere about the 
 animal, living or dead. He was fed on offal, with some- 
 times the luxuiy of potato-skins, and was the general, 
 the only, scavenger of a town or village, where he 
 roamed at large without let or hindrance. Like the 
 dogs of Pera, he averted the evils that arise from 
 impurities. When converted into bacon his flesh was 
 so thin and coarse as to be marketable only amongst the 
 poorest classes; those who could afford better food 
 imported it from Yorkshire or Wiltshire. Even the 
 wealthiest farmers failed to make saleable material out
 
 312 THE CONN AUGHT PIG. 
 
 of the Connaiight pig — the only pig that up to a com- 
 paratively recent period was to be seen in the streets 
 and roads of Ireland. 
 
 How is it now ? Every cabin has a pigsty. That 
 was the result of a legal enactment making the erection 
 of sties compulsory. Although now, as heretofore, he 
 often enters the parlour, it is only as a visitor — no 
 longer as an inmate. The Connaught pig is now com- 
 pletely gone. The pigs of to-day are short in the legs, 
 broad in the flank, rich in lard ; in a word, the dittos of 
 those you meet in Wiltshire. Irish hams that, half a 
 century ago, were rejected with scorn in all decent shops 
 of England are now in high favour with dealers, and 
 bring prices equal to those of York.* Every cabin has 
 such a pig, and it "pays " to give him food, often better 
 than that upon which his owner feeds. Eussell of 
 Limerick (another "alien" mercy) was, I believe, the 
 first to perceive the benefit that might be wrought by 
 this wholesome innovation — to show that there was no 
 good cause why pigs born and bred in Ireland should 
 be a whit inferior to those grown in any other country 
 in the world, "j" 
 
 I have intimated that poverty — despairing poverty — 
 was the almost invariable lot of the Irish peasant fifty 
 
 * This statement will be confirmed by any dealer in hams and bacon. I have 
 consulted several. 
 
 t A pleasant anecdote was told to me by Chief Justice Doherty. He was 
 visiting at the house of a country gentleman ; the steward was showing him the 
 improvements, when they approached to examine a series of recently-erected 
 pigsties, his lordship much commended their neatness and order, saying, ' ' My 
 friend, the pig is well provided for here." " Yes, yer honour," was the reply, 
 " he has every convanience that a pig can ax."
 
 SHOES FOR WOMEN. 313 
 
 years ago. The men wore shoes, for work could not be 
 done without them ; the women were always barefooted. 
 I have been told by shoemakers in country places that 
 shoes for tvomen formed no portion of their stocJc-in- 
 trade. A shawl was usually the common property of 
 the females in a household ; a needle and thread were 
 frequently not to be found in a whole town-land — 
 sufficient reason why the proverbial rags were seldom 
 mended. When means of mending were obtainable, a 
 black or grey coat would generally be patched with a 
 bit of red or blue cloth. Men and women looked on 
 rags as matters of course. It was not a libel when the 
 English traveller declared that he never knew what the 
 English beggars did with their cast-off clothes until he 
 went to Ireland ; while the story, told by either Lover 
 or Carleton, of an Irish haymaker gleefully changing his 
 habiliments with a scarecrow in an English field, is 
 scarcely an exaggeration. 
 
 When a lad, I was present at a dance, and had to 
 make my bow to a merry lass, who was sitting in a 
 corner. To my surprise, she declined to be my partner, 
 declaring she could not dance. There was a loud pro- 
 test in the assembly, and an assurance that she was the 
 best dancer in the barony. Upon her still objecting, a 
 stout fellow pulled her from her seat, exclaiming she 
 should not balk the young gentleman. The cause of 
 her coyness was then obvious — she had on neither shoes 
 nor stockings. It was the work of a moment for me to 
 take off mine ; and we footed it bravely, in bare feet, 
 on the clay floor of the cabin. 
 
 On such occasions the piper had invariably a strong
 
 314 "squireens" and ''half-sirs." 
 
 tumbler of whisky by his side, from which he often 
 imbibed till he could play no longer ; and it was also 
 the custom that a hat went round to receive the pennies 
 that were to pay him for his night's work. The whisky 
 (for him, ad libitum) was generally the contribution of 
 mine host of the shebeen-shop, and its distiller was a 
 " boy " from the mountains, who had made it where 
 " kings dinna ken :" and who was among the dancers. 
 
 In country parts the houses of the smaller gentry were 
 not very much better than the cabins around them. 
 What of the people who inhabited them ? 
 
 The "half-sirs" or "squireens," a class peculiar to 
 Ireland, are, I believe, unknown now.* Each was usually 
 blessed with a houseful of sons and daughters, who con- 
 sidered idleness a sign of gentility, and scorned to do 
 any useful work. Trade of any kind, except in horses 
 and smuggling, was a degradation to which they could 
 not condescend. The young men were rambling vaga- 
 bonds, who roamed the country with a dog and gun, 
 while the young girls were tawdry slatterns, ill-dressed, 
 flaunting creatures, to whom poverty never seemed to 
 teach any useful lesson. Though their only chances of 
 marriage were with men as poor and improvident as 
 
 * Thus wrote Arthur Young, about a century ago. " I must now come," he 
 says, " to a class of persons to whose conduct it is almost entirely owing, that 
 the character of that nation has not that lustre abroad which it will soon merit. 
 This is the class of little country gentlemen, tenants who drink their claret by 
 means of profit rents, jobbers in farms, bucks, your fellows with round hats 
 edged with gold, who hunt in the day, get drunk in the evening, and fight the 
 next morning. These are the men among whom drinking, wrangling, quarrel- 
 ling, fighting, ravishing, &c., are found as in their native soil." 
 
 Sixty years back the evil was but in a small degi-ee diminished.
 
 "master jacks" AXD ''miss BIDDYS." 315 
 
 themselves, they could neither order a household thi-iftily 
 nor cut out a gown, and were content to drag on lives of 
 slatternly monotony, varied only by occasional visits to 
 rich relations, or rather relations a degree or two farther 
 removed from poverty. 
 
 We must turn to the novels of the period for the 
 Master Jacks and Miss Biddys of this class : such social 
 phenomena are now things of the past. In the works of 
 all Irish wi'iters are to be found portraits of the reckless 
 Irish gentlemen of sixty jeavs ago. I may instance the 
 " Castle Eackrent " of Maria Edgeworth as containing a 
 well- drawn example of this improvident order. The 
 hero in question is a true type of the gentry of the 
 period, who were always in need of money, and whose 
 fixed idea was that it must be had '' anyhow " — the any- 
 how implying that tenants were to be racked to the 
 utmost and loans raised as long as there was a scrap of 
 security left to borrow on. The household was sup- 
 plied in a hugger-mugger fashion ; as long as powder 
 and shot could be obtained, there was generally some sort 
 of flesh or fowl to help out the meal, while for the horses 
 there was at any rate grass to be had. 
 
 Are there many who recollect the taxes levied on 
 tenants by the ladies of the landlords when a new lease 
 or the renewal of an old lease was to be signed — taxes 
 in the form of " duty fowls," " sealing money," and 
 other names, were exacted ? The custom of proj)itiating 
 the dames was not so limited ; their claims were put in 
 whenever any transaction took place ; the choicest pro- 
 duce of the farm was generally considered their perqui- 
 site. The practice is now only a tradition.
 
 316 THE WOMEN OF IRELAND. 
 
 It is no fancy picture I draw of the gentry, and the 
 families of the gentry, in old times — the class just above 
 the squireens to whom I have been referring. They 
 were in a great measure destroyed by the Encumbered 
 Estates Bill,* and of the ''old Irish gentleman" there 
 are few specimens now remaining to recall a dismal 
 picture in Irish history. 
 
 In the above remarks, I have been referring exclu- 
 sively to the families of " half-sirs " and " squireens," 
 whose hereditary "rights" were poverty and pride, 
 and considered any efforts at labour for self- maintenance 
 only a degradation or a disgrace. It will be, I hope, 
 sufficiently obvious that I in no degree refer to the 
 Irish GENTRY, who command everywhere respect and 
 admiration. 
 
 And of the women of Ireland, who can say in praise 
 too much ? I quote a passage I wrote in 1840; time 
 has confirmed, rather than lessened, my conviction of 
 its truth. 
 
 " The women of Ireland — from the highest to the lowest — repre- 
 sent the national character better than the other sex. In the men, 
 very often, energy degenerates into fierceness, generosity into reck- 
 less extravagance, social habits into dissipation, courage into 
 profitless daring, confiding faith into slavish dependence, honour 
 into captiousness, and religion into bigotry : for in no country in the 
 world is the path so narrow that marks the boundary between virtue 
 
 * The Encumbered Estates Act was not in actual operation until 1850. Its 
 effect has been to create a class which Ireland sadly wants — a middle class — a 
 class between the aristocracy and the peasantry — by dividing large insolvent 
 properties into comparatively small properties, the buyers and owners of which 
 are in many cases Koman Catholics.
 
 lEISH WOMEN. 317 
 
 and vice. But the Irishwomen have — taken in the mass — the lights 
 without the shadows, the good without the bad : to use a familiar 
 expression, ' the wheat without the chaff.' Most faithful, most 
 devoted, most pure, the best mothers, the best children, the best 
 wives ; possessing pre-eminently the beauty and holiness of virtue 
 in the limited or the extensive meaning of the phrase : they have 
 been rightly described as ' holding an intermediate space between 
 the French and the English,' mingling the vivacity of the one with 
 the stability of the other — with hearts more naturally toned than 
 either. Never sacrificing delicacy, but entirely free from embarrass- 
 ing reserve ; their gaiety never inclining to levity ; their frankness 
 never approaching to freedom ; with reputations not the less 
 seciu-ely protected because of the absence of suspicion, and that the - 
 natural guardians of honour though present are imseen. Their 
 information is without assiunption ; their cultivation without parade ; 
 their influence is never ostentatiously exhibited ; in no position of 
 life do they assume an imgracefid or unbecoming independence. 
 The character is, indeed, essentially and emphatically feminine ; the 
 Irishwoman is ' a very woman,' with high intellect and sound 
 heart. 
 
 " In writing of Irishwomen, I refer to no particular class or 
 grade. From the most elevated to the most humble, they possess 
 innate purity of thought-word, and deed ; and are certainly imsur- 
 passed, if they are ec^ualled, for the qualities of heart, mind, and 
 temper which make the best companions, the safest counsellors, 
 the truest friends, and afford the surest securities for sweet and 
 upright discharge of duties in all the relations of life." 
 
 Such testimony is not due to Irishmen. I would, on 
 this topic, rather than my own, give the testimony 
 of Sir Emerson Tennent, M.P., an Irishman, who 
 writes : — 
 
 " Thus it will be observed that the character of the Irishman is 
 made up of extremes, and that his most conspicuous virtues border 
 upon their neighbouring vices. His patriotism is asserted by fits 
 of riotous and extravagant fanaticism, his generosity runs into 
 profusion, the brilliancy of his wit is occasionally tarnished by his 
 devoting it to flattery, and the ardour of his friendship is too often 
 the result of the influence of impulse."
 
 318 EARLY MARRIAGES. 
 
 Akin to this topic — as being another proof of thrift- 
 lessness — is that of Early Marriages. They were 
 fertile source of over-population and its attendant 
 miseries, of household discomfort and terribly restricted 
 means. I refer more especially to the humbler 
 classes.* 
 
 It was no uncommon thing for the bachelor to borrow 
 a friend's " dacent clothes " for use on the wedding-day, 
 to be returned the next morning ; and when the priest's 
 dues were paid, and the whisky laid in for all comers 
 (for that night at any rate), not a single shilling was left 
 for housekeeping to begin the world with. 
 
 I was present at a wedding where the bride, the bride- 
 groom, the parents of both, and their neighbours, could 
 not together make up the priest's fee of ten shillings ; 
 he refused to marry them until it was paid ; f there 
 was much " colloguing," and evidence of grave disap- 
 pointment ; I went forward and made up the deficiency. 
 
 * " a Killarney car driver told me he married at sixteen : two pounds were 
 collected for the priest, neither he nor his wife having a shilling beforehand. A 
 waiter at the hotel at Kilkenny where I stayed, I was told, had a collection of 
 £18 made at his wedding for the priest : and I have heard of instances among 
 respectable farmers of much more extravagant sums being thus given. Now is it 
 human nature to suppose that any priest, depending for his livelihood on fees — 
 the marriage fee amongst others — will not promote marriages ? I have heard of 
 many instances of their doing so. I do not blame the priests, I blame the 
 system. The priests must live ; they live by fees, for the State gives them 
 nothing, and the best fee they get is at a wedding. Depend upon it, that as long 
 as the priests are thus paid, early marriages, with all their attendant evils and 
 mischiefs and miseries, will continue." — Campbell Foster, 1846. 
 
 t Not long ago I heard a whimsical anecdote of a young couple similarly 
 placed; the refusal of the priest was to this effect: "Ye must beg, borrow, or 
 steal the money before I marry you." So they retired. But passing through 
 the chapel yard, the young man chanced to see the priest's unmentionables 
 drying on a hedge : he took them, pawned them, and returned to the chapel, 
 paid the required amount, was married, and when the ceremony was over, 
 handed the priest the pawn-ticket, reminding his reverence he had told him he 
 must either " beg, borrow, or steal " the required amount.
 
 ABDUCTIONS. 319 
 
 Imprudent marriages are now comparatively rare ; 
 yet I do not hear that there is any increase in the 
 number of unwed ded mothers. 
 
 Although sixty years ago '' abductions " were no 
 longer carried out on the systematic and daring scale of 
 half a century earlier, cases were by no means unfre- 
 quent, and were still barely regarded as crimes. Though 
 every assizes contained records of trials for such offences, 
 and though the usual result was the handing over to 
 the hangman of the leading culprit and one or two of 
 his abettors, these Sabine weddings could not be wholly 
 put down. Again and again, young girls would be torn 
 from their homes and hurried up into the mountains, 
 where some degraded hedge priest was always in wait- 
 ing to make '' the twain one." The unhappy bride had 
 no choice but to submit, and when brought back to her 
 parents generally thought it better to consent to the 
 marriage that had been forced on her than to lose caste 
 and character. 
 
 Savings Banks. — So long ago as fifty years, the 
 Savings Bank was the cabin thatch — the inside of 
 the thatch of course — and the purse that held the 
 ''Banker's Book" was usually an old stocking. The 
 study of the tenant was to "make-believe" that he 
 had no money at all ; his rent being always in arrear, 
 outer manifestations of poverty were essential to 
 security. Now and then, when a lease was to be re- 
 newed, there were drawn from odd hiding-places numbers 
 of old guineas ; but as to savings that bore interest and 
 so fructified, such investments were never thought of.
 
 320 SAVINGS BANKS. 
 
 Concerning the change that has come over the spirit of 
 Irish thrift since those days, it will suffice to quote a 
 brief extract from Ilancock's report for 1875-76 as made 
 public in the newspapers : — 
 
 " Last year the dejDosits increased to the extent of 
 £980,000, and in ten years the increase has amounted to 
 £12,067,000. The aggregate of savings in the Joint 
 Stock Banks, deposits in Savings Banks, and Indian 
 Eunds is now £70,180,000. In the Joint Stock Banks 
 there was an increase last year of £1,785,000 and of 
 £14,900,000 in ten years. In Post Office Savings 
 Banks the deposits increased £70,000." 
 
 Private banks were frightful evils in Ireland in the 
 old days.* Sometimes, pound and thii'ty-shilling notes 
 accumiilated in the old stocking for years, to be drawn 
 out at last and to prove of no value whatever — the 
 bank having " broke." Few now living can recall the 
 terrible sight of a wrathful and mournful crowd round a 
 bank on some morning when the shutters were not 
 taken down and the door remained unopened at mid-day. 
 One such scene is in my mind's eye at this moment — 
 that attending the stoppage of the Eoches, in Cork, I 
 think in 1818. I can see now the enraged men and 
 moaning women who battered at the closed doors of the 
 bank, holding in their hands bits of soiled paper ; and, 
 with vain fury and horror-stricken looks, protesting 
 against the robbery for which there was neither remedy 
 nor relief. But Savings Banks ! — many years ago the Irish 
 
 * It was not uncommon for men who had saved money to pawn it and pay- 
 pawnbrokers' interest on the sum pledged. It was considered safer in the pawn- 
 broker's hands than in their own, or in the keeping of frequently failing 
 banks.
 
 NEGLECTED LAND. 321 
 
 peasant would as much have thought of crossing a river 
 by making a bridge of a rainbow. 
 
 Neglected Land. — Sixty years ago, you might have 
 walked a score of miles in some parts of the country, 
 and over a hundred farms, such as they were, without 
 encountering a plough or harrow : all the work of 
 husbandry was done with the spade. And in what state 
 was the land ? The dung-heap at the hall door supplied 
 manure for the " garden " ; but to get it for the fields 
 was out of the question, except near the sea-side, where 
 sand and sea- weed were easily obtained. There was no 
 desire to reclaim and improve — the fatal characteristic 
 of the Irishman at home. A disposition to let things 
 remain as they were, illustrated by the comm.on expres- 
 sions, '' Sure, it 'ill do," " Sure, it was always so," 
 was in nothing more fatal than in the management of the 
 land: every writer concerning Ireland has commented 
 on that disastrous fact. The certainty of obtaining 
 offers for any bit of land that was to be let, a score of 
 applicants being always not only ready but eager to 
 outbid each other ; the fatal proneness of landlords 
 to close with the biggest offers, heedless as to the sort of 
 tenants they were procuring, was the main source of 
 evil. Once the land was secured, the single study of 
 the tenant was to get the most he could out of it, without 
 expending aught to enrich it.* 
 
 * Many years ago I was standing beside Grogan Morgan, of Johnstown, Castle 
 Wexford, when a man addressed him and asked for the lease of a certain farm. 
 " I have no objection to you," was the answer, " if you offer me a fair rent for 
 it." A few days afterwards, I was walking with Grogan Morgan, when the 
 
 VOL. II. T
 
 322 LAND IN IRELAND. 
 
 Ireland, that more tlian any other country of the 
 world depends on tillage, has more than any other 
 country of the world neglected to practise it scientifically. 
 No doubt agriculture has made great strides there of 
 late years ; but even now, according to indisputable 
 authorities, one-half of the soil is left uncultivated ; while 
 the other moiety does not produce half the crops that, 
 by skill, capital, industry, and science, it might be made to 
 yield. For the land is still divided into what have been 
 called " microscopic farms," and we find a score of acres 
 often cut up into nearly as many lots, each portion being 
 a separate holding ; so divided,* sometimes by leases 
 often at will, partially planted; a third of it perhaps 
 covered with the pest of the Irish farmer, ''the yalla 
 boucklaun," while a cow picked up a scanty living from 
 such grass as grew between these huge weeds that a boy 
 
 same man came up and protested he had been ill used, another person having got 
 the farm, although " his honour had given him (the man then present) a promise 
 of it." " I made you no promise of the kind," said the landlord ; " I told you I 
 should have no objection to you if you offered me a fair rent for the farm. Your 
 offer was considerably more than the offer of the person to whom I have given 
 the lease. You did not offer me a fair rent, for you offered me more than the 
 land was worth. Too much is as unfair a rent as too little. If you paid it and I 
 took it, I should be a rogue and you would be a fool. Go home and think over 
 this matter, there will be another farm vacant soon. If you become a tenant of 
 mine, you must make enough by your industry to live comfortably, have a suffi- 
 ciency of good food, bring up your children respectably, and keep your land well 
 manured and stocked, instead of draining it of all it is worth in a couple of years." 
 I give this one example of a just landlord. 
 
 * " Their farms," wrote a schoolmaster, addressing the Lord Lieutenant con- 
 cerning poverty in Donegal, " are so small, that from four to ten of them can be 
 harrowed in a day with one rake." And in the same county, when (in 1837) 
 Lord George Hill bought an estate there, among eighty tenants on one of the 
 properties, ten shillings annual rent was the highest rent paid by any one of 
 them. It was by no mfans uncommon for a tenant to pay five pounds for that 
 for which the head landlord received five shillings. There were whole districts 
 in which the rents were so small as not to be worth the trouble and hazard of 
 collecting.
 
 LAND IN IRELAND. 323 
 
 would, in the spring, have eradicated for twopence.* 
 Well might an English grazier, travelling in Ireland, 
 exclaim: "Did you ever see a country so brutally 
 used? " 
 
 On this subject I may subjoin another extract : — 
 
 "Let any one look at the armies of docks and tliistles, enough to 
 seed a parish in every field he passes — even in the beloved potato 
 gardens — and the matting of couch besides — which the farmer and 
 wife and children look at with idle hands because such weeds are 
 supposed to keep the crop warm." — Bence Jones on Ireland. 
 
 Where were the sheep ? — nowhere. Yet there was 
 fodder running to waste on the slopes of every moun- 
 tain on which flocks might have fed luxuriously. I 
 travelled thirty miles through Connemara, the then 
 recently alienated estate of Dick Martin, where the grass 
 was sometimes up to my knees, and saw not only no flocks 
 and herds, but not a solitary sheep or bullock turning 
 into beef and mutton the wealth of food that nature had 
 supplied. Let that most excellent landlord and estim- 
 able gentleman, Mr. Mitchell Henry, draw a picture 
 of Kylemore as it is now. As for domestic fowls, what 
 was the method pursued to prepare them for market ? 
 It was a universal practice periodically to pluck the 
 geese and send them, bare of feathers, to the common, 
 
 * It would seem that this evil still flourishes. I copy part of a letter published 
 in The Times of a recent date. The writer makes mention of "the pest of the 
 land called ragweed," which, like a cancer in the human breast, sucks the vital 
 principle out of the land wherever it grows, and at maturity sends forth 
 broadcast its millions of seeds. Every one I speak to on the subject acknow- 
 ledges what a pest this weed is, but no one puts forth a hand to eradicate it. 
 " What's the use," say they, " when the neighbours will let it grow thickly in 
 hedge, ditch, and field, and seed our land again ?" " The other day I drove over 
 some forty miles of road, and had the best opportunity of witnessing the enemy 
 of the farmer, flaunting in immense abundance its rich golden-hued head of 
 flowers right and left." 
 
 y2
 
 324 IRISH FARMING. 
 
 to roam over it and live as they could. The fowls 
 were left to peck up anything they might find ; as to 
 systematic feeding, that was never attempted. The 
 ducks were better ofi"; they had always the manure- 
 heap — the filthy pool at the cabin door. 
 
 As with the land so with the sea : fish were there in 
 plenty ; but the fisherman waited until they ' came to 
 him instead of putting to sea in search of them. Some- 
 times a shoal would appear ; but before the nets were 
 ready they were oflP, "bad luck to them " ; and it was 
 seldom that it entered into the fisherman's mind to follow. 
 Even when they were taken in large quantities there 
 was no market at which they could be sold ; and, as to 
 household preservation for household consumption, that 
 was only one more of the many things in Ireland that 
 might have been done but never were done. I have 
 seen mackerel exposed for sale at a penny a score, and 
 herrings for sixpence a hundred — there was no means of 
 curing and preserving them. More than once I have 
 seen the land manui-ed with sprats. Fishermen, English 
 or Scotch, came across the Channel, loaded their boats, 
 returned home, salted their catch, and exported to 
 Ireland the very fish they had taken out of its own 
 bays. I tested that fact in Galway — the finest fishing 
 bay in the world, perhaps. I had ordered fish for 
 dinner : two salt haddocks were brought to me. On in- 
 quiry, I ascertained where they were bought, and learned 
 from the seller that he was the agent of a Scotch firm, 
 whose boats were at that moment loading in the Bay.
 
 " MIDDLEMEN." 325 
 
 " Middlemen." — It is with almost a shudder I write 
 of the Middlemen of sixty years ago, so keenly do I recall 
 the misery of which they were the cause. The term is 
 hardly known to this generation, except as it occurs in 
 Irish novels that deal with life in the Sister Isle as it 
 was half-a- century back : as a system, the system itself 
 being no longer a curse to Ireland. 
 
 My father had leased from Lord Audley some lands in 
 which were veins of copper ore. His lease, however, 
 only made him lord of the estate underground : all the 
 soil above was in the hands of a man named Swanton. 
 This Swanton was what was termed a " squireen " 
 (another name now obsolete) ; and, though he had him- 
 self sprung from the people, was totally without bowels 
 of compassion for them. He let and underlet the estate 
 in acres or half-acres, as might be ; and usually for 
 twice or thrice the fair rent. It was impossible for the 
 tenant to pay it and live comfortably or even decently. 
 There were always "arrears; " they were neither asked 
 for nor expected to be paid ; they could not be paid ; 
 but their effect was to make the tenant the bond-slave of 
 the middleman. His landlord the poor wretch had 
 never seen. '' My Lord " was an absentee whose interest 
 in his Irish estate was confined to the regular receipt 
 of a sum the middleman had agreed regularly to 
 furnish to him ; so that the amount was raised the 
 noble owner never inquired how. He left his repre- 
 sentative to wring that sum, and as much over as might 
 satisfy himself, out of the sweat and sinews of the 
 tenants, and contented himself with regularly forestal- 
 ling the time of payment by requests for "advances."
 
 326 "middlemen." 
 
 Swanton had but one un changeable excuse for grinding 
 down the wretched peasantry : " His lordship must have 
 supplies. See his letter." I do not think Lord Audley 
 had ever seen the barren tract of country he inherited 
 from his ancestors — "forfeited estates," of course. 
 
 No expenditure of a nature that might incur the 
 hazard of his appearing to be in prosperous circumstances 
 was ever thought of. Woe to the man who appeared in 
 a new hat or coat, or whose wife boasted a decent gown ! 
 It was as much a sign for the middleman to swoop down 
 on him as the sight of a well-filled purse to a robber. 
 True, the next instalment of rent might not be due for 
 months ; but there were always the " arrears." The 
 money spent in buying gown or coat ought to have gone 
 to lessening them. To my certain knowledge it has often 
 occurred that, when a farmer contributed a respectable 
 sum towards the repairs of a chapel, the dangerous fact 
 was kept a profound secret by the priest. 
 
 I was once present when Swanton distrained for a 
 very small sum. The "sticks" of furniture had been 
 removed ; but there lay in a corner a little heap of 
 potatoes. When the poor man saw these about to be 
 taken away, he fell on his knees, held up his hands, and 
 exclaimed, "Oh! Mr. Swanton, for God's sake don't 
 take the bit from the mouths of the childer ! " It was, 
 however, taken, and in my presence. I could tell other 
 tales of the kind. Swanton ultimately died in his bed ; 
 but he was seldom seen out of doors unaccompanied by 
 two armed men. Though but a boy then, I used to feel 
 that I could scarcely have sought to turn aside the hand 
 that aimed a mui'derous blow at him.
 
 TITHES. 327 
 
 I am not giving an exceptional instance. This man 
 was the representative of a class — a large class. A great 
 proportion of the landed property of Ireland was in the 
 hands of middlemen — not a whit better or worse than the 
 one I have pictured. 
 
 Tithes. — I have elsewhere treated this subject, yet 
 recur to it. There were always circumstances attending 
 the collection of tithes that made the debt, the distraint, 
 and the ruin, that frequently accompanied the latter, 
 exceptionally odious. The farmer or cotter knew that 
 his own priest needed the money ; that he was living, 
 at best, with restricted means, and sometimes in posi- 
 tive poverty. He knew, on the other hand, that the 
 Protestant clergyman whose legal dues the tithes were, 
 and in whose name they were collected, was rich in this 
 world's goods ; sometimes a pluralist, and not unfre- 
 quently an absentee, who lived comfortably in Chelten- 
 ham or Bath on money wrung from poverty-stricken 
 creatures of another faith than his own. Even if he 
 were resident, what did he give in return for the tithes 
 so mercilessly extorted ? His flock might be counted 
 by units, while the priest's numbered hundreds. Yet 
 the peasant saw him dwelling in a mansion that was a 
 palace in comparison with the wretched shelter that fell 
 to the lot of the Catholic priest; and riding a good 
 horse while the priest, when summoned to a distance to 
 administer the rites of his Church, had either to borrow 
 a steed or trudge a-foot. Eut bitterer than all to the 
 Irish peasant was the thought that the law did him the
 
 328 TITHES. 
 
 double injustice of forcing him to pay for the good 
 things that fell to the share of the Protestant clergyman, 
 and of hindering him from ameliorating the lot of his 
 own priest. No wonder that the collection of tithes in 
 Ireland was a work of difficulty and danger. 
 
 In the Ireland of to-day, the tithe-proctor is as much 
 a memory of the past as is the Pillory. 
 
 Under the rule of the middlemen it was worse than 
 labour wasted for the holders of the miserable little 
 farms to reclaim land. When some poor wretch had, 
 with incredible toil, converted a waste piece of ground 
 into soil that made an approach to fertility, all he 
 had to look for, on the expiration of his lease, was to be 
 charged with a largely increased rent in consideration of 
 the land he had literally made, or else to be evicted 
 from it and replaced by some stranger who had out- 
 bidden him. It is scarcely astonishing that ignorant 
 and passionate men, when goaded by such cruel wrongs, 
 often dipped their hands in the blood of the middlemen 
 who turned them out of their holdings, or of the new 
 tenants who leased their farms over their heads. 
 
 Similar wrongs are now almost impossible, for not 
 only has recent legislation laboured to make them so, 
 but public opinion is instantly and fiercely stirred up 
 against any act of the kind — sometimes too easily and 
 too hotly — and its power is greater than that of any 
 Act of Parliament to excite sympathy for the oppressed 
 and detestation of the oppressor. 
 
 I am justified in classing evictions of the sort I have 
 just described among the things that have all but passed 
 away in Ireland.
 
 ABSENTEES. 329 
 
 The cry is often raised that Ireland is over-populated. 
 Under-cultivated would be a more fitting term. It was 
 so even when the population was eight millions instead of 
 five.* If the country had its millions of acres either not 
 cultivated at all, or only half cultivated, in every 
 direction there were "lands wanting hands and hands 
 wanting lands." On this vast farm, the peasantry, as 
 it were, squatted, the bond-slaves of landlords and 
 middlemen, and tilled in a makeshift way the acres their 
 fathers had tilled before them, winning from the land 
 the half or third of the harvest that skilfully-applied 
 industry would have made it yield. " Over-populated " 
 meant, in the case of Ireland, that for every three 
 human beings the land ought to have supported, it was 
 barely made to furnish food for one. 
 
 Absentees. — This famous Irish grievance is of such 
 old standing that it was sought to provide a remedy for 
 it five centuries ago. In the reign of Eichard II. legis- 
 lative enactments were made "to prevent gentlemen of 
 estate and ofiice from living abroad." I have seen a 
 book — printed in 1729 — enumerating the " lords, gentle- 
 men, and others who, having estates, employments, and 
 pensions in Ireland, spend the same abroad ; " and 
 making also an estimate of the yearly sum thus drawn 
 from Ireland as computed from data obtained in the 
 
 * In 1841 the population of Ireland exceeded eight millions, by the Parlia- 
 mentary census it was 8,175,12-1. In 1851, it had fallen to 6,515,794 ; in 1861 
 it was 5,764,543 ; in 1871 it was 5,402,755; and in 1881 it was 5,159,839. In 
 1882 it barely exceeds 5,000,000. In 1841 the population of Great Britain and 
 Ireland was 26,707,065 ; and the public expenditure was £49,285,396. In 1881 
 the }>opulatiun of Great Britain and Ireland was 34,852,495 ; and the public 
 expenditure was £83,108,000.
 
 330 ABSENTEES. 
 
 montlis of May, June, and July of that year. But many 
 Irish landowners may urge the plea that, if they lived 
 on their Irish estates, they would be absentees from 
 their English estates ; nay, there are " absentees " who 
 actually dwell in Ireland ; I have known persons living 
 in Kerry County who owned in Donegal land they had 
 never seen.* 
 
 But the absentees were not always persons of wealth 
 or rank ; the aristocracy of Irish intellect has also gene- 
 rally avoided the land of their nativity. Even Swift, in 
 the zenith of the popularity his "Draper's Letters " had 
 given him in Dublin, looked longingly towards a 
 deanery in England, and vainly sought to obtain one. 
 "Ireland gave me birth," exclaimed the painter Barry, 
 "but she would never have given me bread." The 
 visits of Moore to Ireland were short and far between ; 
 and Lady Morgan, though the brilliant central star amid 
 a host of satellites in Dublin, had no sooner obtained a 
 pension than she transferred herself for the remainder of 
 her life to London. The list might be enlarged ! 
 
 Absenteeism is still an evil ; but it is by no means 
 now the evil it was sixty years ago, and for centuries 
 before. During the reign of the first Edward, and 
 later, during that of the eighth Harry, absenteeism be- 
 
 * The writer of a quaint book published in 1729 divides them into three 
 classes. First, " those who live constantly abroad, and are seldom or never seen 
 in Ireland." Second, " those who live generally abroad, and visit Ireland now 
 and then for a month or two." And third, " those who are occasionally absent, 
 their numbers being commonly the same, for if some come home others go abroad 
 and supply their places." 
 
 He adds, "'tis melancholy to observe that now we are labouring under great 
 disadvantages of trade and struggling with penury and want, the humour of 
 living and spending abroad still increases among our men of quality and 
 station."
 
 ABSENTEES. 331 
 
 came a ground for such complaint that the defaulting 
 landowners were thi'eatened with forfeitui-e. For the 
 most part Anglo-Saxons and Anglo-l^ormans, these lords 
 of lands, which they had usually won by the sword, 
 and held by the same title, got what they could out of 
 their Irish estates, and were utterly indiiferent to the 
 means employed in getting it. All their desire was to 
 spend in England the fruits of the toil of their miserable 
 serfs, whose "four bones" created the wealth their 
 conquerors squandered. I forget which of the "Ladies 
 Lieutenant" it was who said there was but one good 
 prospect in Ireland — the west wind, for it usually 
 blew towards England. Some of these very serfs were 
 lineal descendants of former lords of the district, and 
 might look from the summit of any adjacent mountain 
 over lands spreading in all directions, east, south, north, 
 and west, that had been the hereditary estates of their 
 ancestors.* 
 
 * During one of my journeys in wild Kerry, I spent a day at a poor shebeen- 
 shop among the Carra mountains ; it was kept by a fine handsome young man 
 named O'SuUivan. He could see, from the mountain-top, a hundred thousand 
 acres, of which his forefathers had been the owners ; he was as truly, legiti- 
 mately, and lineally their descendant as Lord Salisbury is a scion of the Norman 
 Cecils. He knew it well, and all the" neighbours" knew it well. I forget 
 who it is that tells a story of driving towards Macroon, when he heard " the 
 keen," and asked what the cry was for. This was the answer of the car-driver. 
 " Sir, the Prixee 18 iea.ii [ We heard the Banshee last night, and knew what it 
 was for." The travellers found a large assembly of mourners gathered around 
 a cabin door. It was '* The O'Leary " who lay dead within. 
 
 Walking in the neighbourhood of Cork with a gentleman named Parker, he 
 pointed out to me an aged labouring man hoeing a potato garden, and told me 
 he was the lineal descendant of a family that had owned all the land between 
 Monkstown and "the beautiful city," much of which had been to his ;(my 
 informant's) family "assigned." 
 
 I knew a domestic servant who would cheerfully do any amount of indoor 
 drudgery, but nothing could induce her to wash the hall-door steps. It was her 
 habit to say i/iat would be a degradation to the blood of the O'Briens. I found 
 her boast that it flowed in her veins not unwarranted. 
 
 I might midtiply cases. There is no county, nor any barony of any county,
 
 332 THE ANCIENT OWNERS. 
 
 Very few of the old families hold estates, and some of 
 them long ago accepted the religion of " the oppressor " ; 
 for examples, the O'Kavanaghs of Carlow, the O'Neals 
 of Antrim, and the O'Briens of Cork and Limerick. 
 Not even for these " Irish" will Ireland be "re-con- 
 quered and re-gained " : and, surely, not for the Bodkins 
 and Blakes of Galway, the Herberts of Mucross, the 
 Blackwoods of Clandeboye, the Whites of Bantry, the 
 Chichesters of Donegal, the Browns of Kenmare, the 
 Devereux and Percivals of Wexford, the Howards of 
 Wicklow, and the Forbes of Granard.* 
 
 It is recorded of a famous Irish chieftain who, riding 
 by a castle and asking who lived there, was answered 
 by a name that denoted English origin, and was told 
 his family had been settled there for two centuries : 
 "No matter," was his comment, "I hate the Saxon 
 churl as if he came over but yesterday." As it was 
 with the Norman conquerors, so it continued to be with 
 the native chieftains, while any independent septs 
 remained. So it had been from the earliest times. 
 All tliat chronicle or fable preserves in connection with 
 the ancient Irish kings is the record of the wars they 
 made on one another.f 
 
 in which there is not a peasant who expects to enter on possession of his fore- 
 fathers' estates, when they are wrested, by treaty or by force, from " the Saxon 
 oppressor." 
 
 * " Out and out the best, the cleanliest, the most improved and improving of 
 the people of Ireland are the people of Wexford ; there is seldom a cabin without 
 a pigsty attached to it, and if you meet a woman without shoes and stockings 
 you may be sure she is a stranger. The people of Wexford are the descendants 
 of the Anglo-Norman settlers ; in customs and in language they preserve traits 
 of their ancestors of six centuries ago." — ^'Ireland : its Scenery and Character." 
 
 t In the list of one hundred and seventy monarchs of the Milesian line, 
 enumerated by Irish historians, only forty-seven died natural deaths ; seventy- 
 one were slain in battle, and sixty murdered." — Cooke Taylor.
 
 ABSENTEES. 333 
 
 The Irish are, perhaps, the most " homogeneous " 
 people on the face of the globe ; no traveller can fail to 
 observe the remarkable varieties that indicate descent 
 through many channels — the Celt, the Dane, the Saxon, 
 the K'orwegian, the German, the Spaniard, the Norman, 
 the Frenchman (after the repeal of the Edict of Nantes), 
 the Scotchman, and the mere Englishman. Perhaps it 
 would be difficult to find in all Ireland a score of pure- 
 blooded Milesians. 
 
 A Parliamentary return of 1870 supplies evidence 
 that the evil of absenteeism is by no means what it was. 
 More landowners reside on their properties than of old ; 
 and even in the instances where landlord and tenant 
 seldom or never see each other's faces, the fact is often 
 productive of a blessing instead of a curse ; for the 
 representatives appointed are of a far other type than 
 the middlemen of old days ; and the Irish estates of 
 many great absentee landlords — as, for instance, the 
 Duke of Devonshire and the Marquis of Lansdowne — 
 are among the most liberally, and at the same time 
 judiciously, managed in the island. 
 
 But the fact must not be passed too lightly over, that 
 many of those landlords who are still absentees are so 
 because they dare not incur the hazards attendant 
 upon residence. To seek one's own is still in Ireland a 
 crime on the part of a landlord; to prefer Donald to 
 Patrick as a tenant, though Donald may be an honest, 
 industrious man, and Patrick a lazy scoundrel, is a 
 deadly crime. He who presses for overdue rent, or 
 evicts a worthless tenant, is often forced to do so 
 through an agent, simply because he knows that if he
 
 334 ABSENTEES. 
 
 were on the spot, action in defence of his rights would 
 be taken at the peril of his life. 
 
 Before closing this division, let me once more repeat 
 that the Irish agent of to-day is almost invariably a very 
 different type of man from the middleman of the past. 
 Where he is determined as well as far-sighted, and 
 courageous as well as enterprising, he frequently 
 accomplishes wonders, both for his employer and the 
 tenantry — though the benefits done to the latter have, 
 as a rule, to be forced on them in spite of themselves : 
 often at risk of the benefactor's life. I may illustrate 
 these remarks by quoting a passage from the " Eealities 
 of Irish Life," by Mr. Stuart Trench — a gentleman who 
 for years literally carried his life in his hand, and, under 
 Providence, preserved it only by the exercise of iron 
 determination joined with sleepless vigilance. The writer 
 is referring to the estate of an absentee — Lord Digby — 
 for which he was the agent : — 
 
 " "When I recollect," says Mr. Trench, " the miserable condition 
 of this estate not qiiite ten years ago, the tenants disaffected, 
 industry paralyzed, Ribbonisni rampant, and conspiracies to murder 
 those who were most anxious for their welfare, filling the minds of 
 many of the peasantry, it is some consolation to find that steady 
 and persevering determination, combined with kind and liberal 
 treatment, will, even in much-abused Ireland, produce the most 
 satisfactory results." 
 
 I could from my own knowledge adduce many 
 instances of estates similarly improved, and by similar 
 means. In our work on Ireland we described at length 
 a visit paid in 1842 to an estate in Donegal, managed 
 for an absentee landlord by Colonel Pitt Kennedy. He 
 had literally made the desert to blossom like a rose.
 
 ABSENTEES. 335 
 
 The same happy results have since been achieved on 
 numerous estates in Ireland, where the tenantry hardly 
 know the actual owner of the land even by sight. 
 
 What resident landlords are better landlords than the 
 London Companies who purchased estates in the "bleak 
 north" in 1613 (which in 1883 they continue to hold) — 
 when four "wise, grave, and discreet citizens" went to 
 view the country they were to colonise, and reported that 
 " it yielded store of all necessary for man's sustenance," 
 — as it does to-day ? 
 
 The houses of the gentry in country parts exhibited 
 the same carelessness of appearance as did the cabins 
 and dwellings of the " squireens." Nor did they, as in 
 some countries, atone by elegance for the absence of the 
 qualities that give ease and pleasantness to life. Gardens 
 they had, through which you drove to the hall door; 
 but they were pota'to-gardens. Flower-gardens were 
 seldom seen; fruit-trees were scarce, and ornamental 
 trees and shrubs scarcer. Verandahs, or any exterior 
 decoration, one never saw. Naturally the prevailing aspect 
 of the Irish gentleman's mansion was that of bleak and 
 bare discomfort. I regret to add that in some parts of 
 Ireland these attributes of the old days linger still. 
 
 I have given some gloomy pictures of the realities of 
 Irish life in the early years of the century; but I appeal 
 to all who knew Ireland sixty years ago to say if the 
 picture is overdrawn. Indeed, the most highly-coloured 
 " pictures " would hardly exaggerate the deplorable 
 aspect presented by the hovels and small houses of the 
 couutr}' in the days of which I am writing.
 
 336 ABSENTEES. 
 
 Certainly attempts were even then being made to 
 effect a change, and introduce a better order of things, 
 but for a long time with little or no effect. 
 
 I could give many illustrations, but may content 
 myself with one or two. In 1842, while a guest at 
 Johnstown Castle in Wexford County, the seat of Grogan 
 Morgan, I found his lady had built not only a healthful 
 and well-lit school for the children of the tenants, but a 
 row of comfortable cottages for the tenants themselves, in 
 place of the miserable cabins they had previously in- 
 habited. I was walking with her one day when a woman 
 addi'essed her, asking some favour, which was refused. 
 Out came instantly the woman's indignant comment: 
 " And shure, my lady, is that the thanks I'm to get for 
 making the children go to school and wear shoes to 
 plaze ye ? " On another occasion I entered with her 
 one of the neat slated cottages. We actually found a man 
 threshing corn in the parlour, and as the ceiling was not 
 lofty enough for him to use his flail, he had dug a hole 
 in the floor, in which he was standing, and so was busy 
 at work. I knew a gentleman who imported a number 
 of smock-frocks, as at once cheap, convenient, cleanly, 
 and pleasant to wear. Not a peasant could be tempted 
 to put on one of them, and they were converted into 
 dusters, but even then enjoyed pretty much of a sinecure. 
 There was a village in which a considerate builder had 
 appended to each cottage a small but convenient out- 
 building. So universal was the ridicule to which he 
 was subjected, in consequence, that he found it expedient 
 to take all the conveniences down. It was nearly the 
 same with those landlords who erected pigsties ; the
 
 IRISH INNS. 337 
 
 tenant could not be persuaded to submit his pig to 
 durance vile within four walls. It would be easy to 
 enlarge upon this topic. There is no person who has 
 had experience of Ireland of the long ago who will not 
 testify to the exceeding difficulty, almost impossibility, 
 of effecting beneficial changes in the habits of the Irish 
 " people." 
 
 I rejoice to record a recent testimony, that of the 
 estimable (late) Knight of Kerry, to the effect that, at all 
 events things are very far from being what they were,* 
 and that, if legal compulsion was found the only means 
 of providing accommodation for the pig, of whitewashing 
 the cabin, and removing the dung-heap from the hall 
 door, other degradations, ''sanctified by time," have 
 been voluntarily done away with. Though there remains 
 much to grieve the philanthropist, and make the political 
 economist angry, there is much to gladden and render 
 hopeful those who can compare the Ireland of the present 
 with the Ireland of the past. 
 
 Of THE Inns of Ireland fifty years ago, what shall I 
 say ? In country places even now they may not be all 
 the English traveller desires and expects ; but in fre- 
 
 * I rejoice to have this opportunity of testifying to their wonderful general 
 advance, within the last few years, in material prosperity, in practical intelli- 
 gence, and above all, in independence of mind. That independence often exhibits 
 itself in ways very little agreeable to the landlord. It even occasionally runs full 
 tilt against the clergy of their own faith. Such ebullitions are almost inevitable 
 in the exercise of a newly-acquired faculty, but he must be a very sorry and 
 short-sighted patriot who would wish for a retrograde action on this account, or 
 desire to see a return to the miserable state of subserviency in which they once 
 were, whether in relation to the priest or to the landlord. 
 
 VOL. II. Z
 
 338 IRISH INNS. 
 
 qnented parts, and especially along the lines of railways, 
 they are quite as good as they are in England. All 
 through the country, even the humblest of existing 
 Irish inns are great improvements on the wretched 
 accommodation of days long past. 
 
 I slept in Connemara, at an "hotel" where some boards, 
 placed across, from wall to wall, separated the ground- 
 floor from the first-floor; that was in 1843. Imme- 
 diately underneath me were a cow, a litter of pigs, and 
 a number of fowls. About daybreak, when weariness 
 had at last induced sleep, a rattle at the door aroused 
 me, and, on inquiring what was the matter, I was in- 
 formed that the priest, having been summoned in haste, 
 wanted his vestments, which were locked up in a closet 
 in my chamber.* 
 
 And the Irish inn-waiters of old times, they exist no 
 longer; the inns are hotels; the waiter is at least as 
 well dressed as the landlord, wears a white " choker," 
 receives your orders and executes them, but with no 
 word of greeting, no smile of welcome, no sentence of 
 advice asked or unasked : no joke, no fun, no question ; 
 you come and go; he takes no note; "service" is 
 charged for in the bill. The most original of the race 
 
 * *' The look of the inn was most unpromising. A pile of lime and sand for 
 building a wall adjoining blocked up the doorway, but a bright peat fire and a 
 boarded and sanded floor — a luxury not to be met with everywhere in Ireland — 
 made me hope for a comfortable rest. The brightness of the fire gilded over the 
 discomfort of the room. It was perfectly Irish. Two large and apparently 
 much-frequented rat-holes showed no want of company of that kind. The table 
 was propped ; its cover torn and dirty ; one of the windows had before it a 
 broken looking-glass to dress by, a corner of which still remained in the frame ; 
 the whitewashed walls were marked round with candle-smokes, where candles 
 had been stuck with their own tallow, and two beds at one side of the room had 
 a most unpromising appearance. — Foster's " Ireland."
 
 IRISH CAR-DRIVERS. 339 
 
 I ever knew was Charley, at the Victoria Hotel, Kil- 
 larney. He was a natiu'al wit, and had always some- 
 thing to say that raised a laugh ; but he was prompt and 
 ready at call, and his bow might have been studied at 
 Court during the Eegency. 
 
 How altered are the ways of the Irish car-driver of 
 to-day from those of his father and grandfather ! They 
 were pleasant fellows, the drivers of forty and fifty years 
 ago — always pleasant in the country, and commonly so 
 in the towns — full of wit, attentive and obliging, and 
 though poor to the extent of raggedness, ever rich in 
 repartee. Eags are no longer the badges of the car- 
 driving fraternity ; but in putting on decent clothes 
 they have put off much of their humour, and more of 
 their courtesy, and I cannot say that in these respects 
 the race has improved, although in all other ways it has. 
 Perhaps I could sele«t nothing that to me so strongly 
 indicates the improved condition of Ireland as the con- 
 trast of the neat and well-kept cars of to-day with the 
 jaunting-car of the past. Years ago, whenever a lady 
 was compelled to use one of them, the precaution was 
 seldom omitted of spreading her pocket-handkerchief on 
 the seat, which was invariably dirty, and often greasy. 
 To wash the wheels and body was considered a work of 
 supererogation. The horse was generally a used-up 
 animal that it was cruelty to drive ; the driver was 
 alwaj^s in rags ; his caubeen was proverbial as an 
 illustration of Irish head-gear, and the harness was 
 generally a mixtui'e of rope and leather straps. Such 
 
 z2
 
 340 IRISH CAR-DRIVERS. 
 
 was the Irish car-driver fifty, forty — even thirty years 
 ago.* 
 
 The honesty of the race was proverbial ; indeed, 
 honesty was everywhere, at all times, one of the admir- 
 able features of Irish character. [I may note here that 
 during all my travelling in Ireland — sometimes in very 
 queer places indeed — I never lost by theft the value of 
 a shilling, though I rarely locked my portmanteau, and 
 never my chamber door."]*] 
 
 Will any one, whose acquaintance with Ireland dates 
 a quarter of a century back, imagine such things as 
 *' cabmen's shelters " in Dublin streets ? and not in that 
 city only. If he desires to realise a still wilder dream, 
 will he fancy Street Fountains, at which any passer-by 
 may take " a sup " that costs nothing ? These and their 
 like may be minor matters : but they are sui'e and cer- 
 tain indications of progress — of the " march of intellect " 
 that has brought Ireland nearer to England than even 
 the huge steam-ships that make the voyage from one 
 
 * But the old race of car-drivers is nearly gone now. It went out with the 
 whisky, and has not come back with its return. The drivers are now short in 
 their answers, and seem as if they thought the person who seeks to stimulate con- 
 versation has some ofifensive motive for what he is doing. I doubt if a traveller 
 who journeys from the Giant's Causeway to Cape Clear will pick up a dozen 
 anecdotes from that source worth telling again ; while half a century ago it would 
 have been a barren harvest that did not yield a dozen in a day. I may give two 
 samples of the yield of former times. A driver was wrapping himself in a thick 
 greatcoat because the heavens gave some threat of a storm. " You seem to take 
 good care of yourself, my friend," said his fare. " To be sure I do, yer honour ; 
 what's all the world to a man ivhen Jiis tcijVs a tviddy ?" " I'll not yive you 
 anything," said a gentleman to a driver, "but I'll lend you a shilling." "Ah, 
 thin, may yer honour live till I pay ye," was the answer. 
 
 t It is not out of place here to state that I was never but once injured or 
 insulted: that once was when I was seated on a "low-backed car," with Mr. 
 Isaac Butt, M.P., who in the midst of a mob refused to shout for O'Connell and 
 Repeal, I was in his company and shared the beating that followed on his 
 refusal, from the effects of which I did not recover for a week.
 
 "the bit of land." 341 
 
 island to the other a mere pleasure-trip — easier than, 
 and almost as quick as, used to be the car-drive from 
 Merrion Square to Dunleary. 
 
 " The Bit of Land." — One of the most important 
 and valuable of the results of increased means of 
 obtaining employment, created by the opening-up of the 
 natural resources of the country, is that land is not so 
 eagerly coveted and competed for as it was in days gone 
 by. It would be difficult for an Englishman to under- 
 stand the eagerness with which the Irishman of fifty 
 years ago coveted ''the bit of land." It was to him a 
 necessary of life ; for without it how was he to obtain 
 the scanty supply of potatoes — his only food, and the 
 food of his family. 
 
 I have described how '' the land was let and underlet, 
 and underlet again, till six rents had sometimes to be 
 provided by the actual cultivator before he was allowed 
 to feed himself and family." 
 
 Thomas Campbell Foster, Q.C., the Times Commis- 
 sioner in 1845, gives a list of alleged causes of Irish 
 '' degradation, misery, and consequent outrages." He 
 adds one to which he attributes all, or nearly all, the 
 evils of Ireland — "want of employment." That was, 
 indeed, a national ciu'se in 1845 ; it is no longer so in 
 1883. There are now in Ireland as few persons able and 
 willing to work who have little or no work to do as 
 there are in England.* 
 
 *o' 
 
 * In 1845, when the Times Commissioner ■wrote, the average wage, except 
 during harvest-time, was eightpence a day, and it was rarely that employment
 
 342 "the bit of land.*' 
 
 In considering the melancholy history of Irish crime, 
 all, or nearly all, agrarian outrages are found to be 
 traceable to disputes concerning ''the bit of land." 
 Forty or sixty years ago the retention of his little 
 holding was a life-and-death matter to the occupier. 
 In England a tenant who was unable or unwilling to 
 pay his rent could, at least, become a day-labourer ; in 
 Ireland labour was so little sought for and so wretchedly 
 paid that eviction meant in general to the wretched 
 tenant the exchange of insufficient food for absolute 
 starvation. "Death by hunger" — such was the sen- 
 tence he saw pronounced on his family and himself, and 
 in madness he turned to seek revenge on all who had 
 been concerned in uttering it. 
 
 ' ' You take his life, 
 When you do take the means whereby he lives," 
 
 reasoned Mr. Blackburne, Attorney-General for Ireland 
 about 1840, in discussing this subject. He added, 
 " Land is to the Irish peasant a necessary of life, the 
 alternative being starvation." 
 
 Turned out on the world to starve, the evicted tenant 
 readily lent an ear to the suggestion that " the State 
 was not his friend, nor the State's law," and that, as he 
 had nothing to hope for in that direction, to take 
 vengeance on those who had reduced him to utter 
 misery would be but an act of wild justice. It is well 
 known that the form such revenge commonly assumed, 
 and continues to assume, was the murder of the man 
 
 at that rate was obtained for more than six months of the twelve. I have 
 elsewhere staced that at Ballydehob, early in tbe century, my father employed in 
 working one of his mines between four and five hundred men, women, and 
 children ; the wage of a man was fivepence a day.
 
 "the bit of land.*' 343 
 
 who dared to take a holding from which the previous 
 occupier had been evicted. 
 
 Out of this dark phase of Irish character has grown 
 much of the prejudice that still, to some extent, pre- 
 vails in England against the Irish people. Unhappily, 
 in spite of the disappearance of the race of middlemen, 
 the immense extension of means of obtainino; a livins; 
 apart from the cultivation of the land, and the most 
 sweeping reforms of the land laws, agrarian crime is 
 still the darkest blot on the fair fame of Ireland. Why 
 it should be so, let those pests and cui'ses of the 
 country — secret societies — answer. The Irish peasant 
 is no longer the crushed serf of sixty years ago. Evic- 
 tion and starvation are no longer synonymous terms in 
 Ireland. Yet the hand of the assassin is still as readily 
 lifted as in the days when an impartial observer, while 
 lamenting and abhorring the deed, could not but lament 
 and abhor also the cruel provocation that had led to it. 
 Bad though the excuse may have been for the agrarian 
 crimes of 1822, it is wholly wanting in the case of the 
 horrible and dastardly murders of 1882. One is inclined 
 to take a gloomy view of the future of Ireland when 
 the fact is made so terribly apparent that, although 
 almost every provocation that could goad the Irish 
 peasant into crime has been removed, the old readiness 
 to shed blood is still so prominent and hideous a feature 
 of his character. 
 
 The most hopeful direction in which efforts for the 
 benefit of Ireland can be made is that of the develop- 
 ment of her natural resources and advantages. With
 
 344 IRISH MATERIAL. 
 
 seas swarming with, fish, harbours that are among the 
 safest and most capacious of the world, water-power 
 everywhere abundant, and the mineral riches of the 
 country at once varied and extensive, the wonder is 
 that, instead of being one of the poorest, Ireland is not 
 the richest country on earth. 
 
 The failure of schemes for working mines in Ireland 
 to repay their projectors has generally been traceable to 
 one of two causes^ — bad management or insufiiciency of 
 capital, and sometimes to the two combined. Of the 
 more precious metals, Ireland will probably never again 
 yield enough to repay the expenses of obtaining them, 
 though her ancient legends, confirmed by the abundance 
 of ornaments that have been dug up at various times, 
 would seem to point to a period when the yield of native 
 gold and silver was considerable ; * but in copj)er, lead, 
 sulphur, and marble various districts are rich, and 
 greater rewards than have already been obtained pro- 
 bably await those who shall in the future bring capital, 
 skill, and energy to the working of these deposits, j* 
 
 * In our work " Ireland," &c., we fully described our \'isit to the Wicklow 
 gold mines, where we saw the bits of native gold taken from the gravel and sub- 
 soil. The mine was worked, indeed, but did not pay for the labour of working 
 it: yet that gold, native gold, is there is certain; although the lines of Moore 
 are verified : — 
 
 " Has love to that soul, so tender, 
 Been like our Lagenian mine. 
 Where sparkles of golden splendour 
 
 All over the surface shine ; 
 But if in pursuit we go deeper, 
 
 Allured by the gleam that shone, 
 Ah I false as the dream of the sleeper, 
 Like Love, the bright ore is gone." 
 
 t The estuaries of several Irish rivers have long been celebrated for yielding 
 pearls. These are sometimes of great purity and very respectable size. So far 
 back as 1688, Sir Robert Reading reported to the Rojal Society that he had seen
 
 IRISH MANUFACTURES. 345 
 
 Surely the most casual looker-on, no less tlian those 
 who go deeply into the matter, cannot fail to see 
 that Ireland needs nothing but tranquillity, free- 
 dom from the fatal thrall of agitation, and the conse- 
 quent inflow of capital, to become a manufacturing 
 country as well as " a country of raw material." The 
 failures — and they have not been many — bring conviction 
 that failures they would not have been if they had not, 
 so to speak, been wilful failures. Certain "industries" 
 in the north have been successes. In Belfast several 
 flourish. Irish linen maintains its supremacy in all the 
 markets of the world. It may be a comparatively small 
 matter, but it is, at least, evidence of what may be 
 — that Marcus "Ward has established a trade in art 
 j)aper-work, perhaps more extensive, certainly more 
 meritorious, than that of any other country in Europe ; 
 and in Fermanagh County there is an art pottery that 
 long ago entered into competition with the best of either 
 Staffordshire or Worcester.* I am aware I write of com- 
 
 a pearl found in the Bann that weighed thirty-six carats ; and though the yield 
 is now much less considerable than formerly, pearls continue to be found. Mrs. 
 Hall had one of large size and much purity that came from the River Slaney. 
 Perhaps a reason for the decay of Irish pearl fisheries may be found in the fact 
 that the fishing has only been carried on in shallow water ; whereas, if the expe- 
 rience of pearl-collecting in other parts of the world may be taken as a guide, it 
 is in deep waters that the best pearls generally lie. 
 
 * It is some years ago since I visited the pottery at Belleek, in the County 
 of Fermanagh, not far from beautiful Lough Erne. I engraved many of its 
 art productions in the Art Journal. It was then, as it continues to be, a struggling 
 concern ; its main difficulty insufficient capital, but of its capabilities there was 
 not then, and there is not now, any doubt. The manager, and I believe princii)al 
 proprietor (but it is in the hands of a Company) is Mr. R. W. Armstrong, a gentle- 
 man of great intelligence, much judgment and taste, and sound practical know- 
 ledge and experience. The productions of the works are by no means limited to 
 art utilities — things for daily use : although these have been subjected to marked 
 improvement. The household pottery is certainly as well decorated and as good 
 as any made in Staffordshire. Its issues of high-class works are of admirable
 
 346 TITHES. 
 
 parative trifles, but the national produce of Ireland is a 
 powerful aid to make the small the great and to remove 
 that ever fatal bar to progress, the total and entire 
 dependence for employment of the people on labour of 
 the hands with which the brain has nothing to do. 
 
 Of this yitallv important subject I am merely skim- 
 ming the surface ; it is for those who are better able 
 than I am to bring it fully before a willingly-listening 
 public. 
 
 Tithes. — ^'ith this subject, always odious and unbear- 
 able, I have sufficiently dealt as one of the promi- 
 nent evils of the older time, but which came continually 
 under the consideration of all who gave thought to 
 Ireland fifty years ago. Tithes are now as thoroughly 
 forgotten as any other relics of the penal laws. The 
 long dominant Church was disestablished in 1869, but 
 several years previously, tithe payments had ceased to 
 exist in the old oppressive form. It is. however, 
 impossible to treat of Ireland toward the close of the 
 nineteenth century without adverting to the impost 
 by which the Chui'ch clergyman was sustained, when 
 the Eoman Catholic priest of the parish was living 
 in miserable and degraded poverty in the midst of 
 the flock, the fatness of whose land fed the clergy- 
 man bv law established. I believe the Protestant 
 
 character, exhibiting originality of conception, refined manipulation, beautiful in 
 form and in colour. Is there in Ireland no patriotic capitalist who wiU invest capital 
 there, so that while promoting and extending the interests of his country, he 
 may enrich himself ? For sure I am that a few judicious changes at Belleek 
 •would make that manufactory of pottery one of the most flourishing establish- 
 mentd in the kingdom.
 
 THE IRISH CHURCH. 347 
 
 clergy at least as tliorouglilT rejoiced as did the Eoman 
 C'atholic priests when that evil impost was removed from 
 Ireland, and ceased to be a sign of serfdom.* 
 
 I for one do not consider the abolition of the Irish 
 Chiu'ch by any means entirely a good for Ireland. "WTiat- 
 ever they may have been in long ago times, of late 
 years the clergyman was often, I will say almost uni- 
 versally, a boon and blessing to the parish in which he 
 was located. His wife was generally its '^ Lady Boun- 
 tiful," to whom the peasant ajjplied in all ailments with 
 a certainty of obtaining gratuitous relief, the neai'est 
 dispensary being perhaps a dozen miles off. His few 
 school childi'en were models of well-clad cleanliness that 
 became examples ; of his little he was ever ready to give 
 a little ; the beggar seldom shunned his door ; he was, in 
 a word, the only ''respectability" in his neighbourhood, 
 the only person in whose integrity the people had con- 
 fidence. It was notorious that whenever remittances came 
 from emiq-rants — srifts to relatives at home — it was to 
 the clergyman, and not to the priest, they were sent. 
 It was known and felt that with the one they would be 
 safe and sui-e, while if transmitted through the other a 
 host of accumulated '' dues " would have to be deducted 
 before delivery. For aught I know, the practice may be 
 in operation a.d. 1SS3, as it certainly was during the 
 earlier half of the century. 
 
 * • ' At the Quarter Sessions at Grort one tithe proctor processed eleven hundred 
 persons at Gort for tithe. They were all of the lovrer order of fanner or peasant. 
 The expense of each process was about 8s." — From th-e " Gahcay Advertiser,'^ 
 Oct. ISth, 1822.
 
 348 THE OLD SCHOOLS. 
 
 Duels. — With the subject of duelling I have dealt 
 elsewhere. I refer to it here as exemplifying one of the 
 many changes wrought by time in Ireland. Many years 
 have passed since a duel was fought on Irish ground. 
 He who sent or accepted a challenge now would not be 
 the pride and glory, but the shame and scorn, of his 
 countrymen and countrywomen of all grades, from the 
 highest to the lowest. 
 
 The Old Schools and their Teachees. — Sixty years 
 ago, in " country parts " the only schools for educating 
 the children of the peasant were "Hedge Schools." 
 Whether the locality and the name were due to the fact 
 that, not very long before, it had been penal in Eoman 
 Catholic priests to teach at all — and so they taught out of 
 doors " on the sly," — or whether, because inconsequence 
 of the dense atmosphere of the cabin that was the school- 
 house, the lessons were for the most part learned under a 
 hedge, I cannot say, but certainly the whereabouts of a 
 dominie was always indicated by groups with their slates 
 or worn " Goughs " (arithmetics) gathered under the 
 shelter of hedges, or, as they were generally called, 
 " ditches." 
 
 The humbler Irish have been always eager in the 
 pursuit of knowledge, and a peasant must have been 
 brought very low indeed if he failed to send his children 
 to a school, although often it was distant four or five 
 miles from his dwelling. 
 
 The master was usually a low, pretentious, ignorant, 
 and evil man, not unfrequently the leading member of a
 
 THE HEDGE-SCHOOLS. 349 
 
 secret society, and under his roof most of the seditious 
 plots were concocted. He was paid usually in " kind," 
 money being rarely at command. Sods of turf, pieces of 
 bacon, occasionally a fowl, and when a pig was killed, 
 part of him, were the coin in which decenter farmers 
 paid the school bills. The master was almost invariably 
 a drunkard, the presiding spirit of the shebeen-shop 
 (the pot-house), and exercised merciless and brutal sway 
 over the girls and boys he " taught." Books for study 
 there were few or none ; those for entertainment and 
 consequent '^ instruction" were the lives of rogues and 
 rapparees— " Eedmond the Horse-stealer," "Freney the 
 Eobber," and so forth: with books even more pernicious, 
 such as not only made vice appear laudable, but incul- 
 cated bigotry, intolerance, and hatred of neighbours as 
 sacred duties. The Protestant was execrated as at once 
 the personal and national enemy of the Catholic. I can 
 write nothing concerning hedge-schools so strong as 
 that which was written by an Irishman, Carleton, who 
 knew such schools well, and had been educated in 
 them.'"* 
 
 Other educational influences were at work, but they 
 were Protestant in character, and equally tainted by 
 bigotry and intolerance with the Catholic hedge-schools. 
 Consequently the peasantry looked on them with aver- 
 
 * " Their (the pupils') education, indeed, was truly barbarous : they were 
 trained and matriculated to cruelty, revenge, and personal hatred in these 
 schools : knowledge was directed to evil purposes, disloyal principles were 
 industriously insinuated into their minds by their teachers, most of whom were 
 leaders of illegal associations. The matter placed in their hands was of a most 
 inflammatory and pernicious nature, as regarded politics ; and as far as religion 
 and morality were concerned, nothing could be more gross and superstitious thau 
 the books which cii'culated among them." — " The Hedge School" ; Carleton.
 
 350 THE HEDGE-SCHOOLS. 
 
 sion : few would consent to send their children to 
 schools where they were reared in an alien faith. 
 Mr. Froude writes : — 
 
 "From the beginning of the eighteenth century, and perhaps 
 earlier, charity day-schools had been scattered about by the exer- 
 tions of individuals, where the children of the peasantry had been 
 taught the catechism, and had received some kind of industrial 
 training. In 1710 there were thirty of these schools, where seven 
 hundred boys and girls who would consent to become Protestants 
 were being taught to read and write, to cultivate the ground, to 
 grow hemp and flax, and spin, and knit, and sew. In 1719 an 
 educational association had been formed, one hundred and thirty 
 of these day-schools had been established, and the number of children 
 receiving education was 3,000." 
 
 I can picture the hedge-school from personal know- 
 ledge. I was a "pupil" in one of them. During our 
 residence at Glandore, a village distant a few miles 
 from Eoss-Carberry, my father was anxious that we 
 should be learning something, or, at least, should not 
 quite forget what we had learned ; and sent my younger 
 brother and myself to a famous " philomath " in the 
 neighbourhood. As young gentlemen, we were of course 
 subjected to no rough treatment, did exactly what we 
 pleased, taking a "spell" at the Latin Grammar now 
 and then, but usually rambling the fields or "mitch- 
 ing " altogether, and had more often a rude fishing-rod 
 than a "Gough" in our young hands. The evil 
 influences of the "scholastic establishment" we could 
 not then perceive. I may, on that head, safely accept 
 the testimony of Carleton; but I well remember the 
 miserable cabin, the atmosphere of smoke, the ragged 
 boys under the hedges, and the dissipated master who 
 was preparing them for the battle of life. The darkest
 
 POOR SCHOLARS. 351 
 
 picture I could di-aw of the scene, and its several acces- 
 sories, would not be overdrawn.* 
 
 There were, however, some happy exceptions to the 
 general character of the hedge-schoolmaster — such 
 exceptions as Mrs. Hall has drawn in her sketch of 
 "Master Ben," the schoolmaster at Bannow, in Wexford 
 County. 
 
 At all periods of the history of the Irish peasant there 
 was a desire amounting to craving for the acquisition of 
 knowledge. The poor scholar is not a fancy sketch ; I 
 remember him in the West, when we resided in West 
 Cork, almost a daily passer-by, sometimes a visitor, and 
 not unfrequently an invited guest, from whom it was 
 pleasant to hear news of the world he was traversing, 
 the world being to him the high road from one end of 
 the county to the other. The poor scholar was always 
 a Latin and sometimes a Greek scholar ; but of useful 
 knowledge he had only a bare smattering, and it was 
 rarely with any result he was consulted on any subject. 
 I do not know how it is now, when a "boy" of this 
 calibre can find his way into the Eoman Catholic 
 University. I believe it was a very rare thing indeed 
 to find that a " poor scholar " had become a mechanic 
 or settled down to any reputable trade. 
 
 You may journey far and wide through Ireland with- 
 out finding a hedge-school now ; but you will scarcely 
 travel a dozen miles in any party of the country without 
 
 * I quote another passage from Carleton : " When we consider the total 
 absence of all moral and religious principles in those establishments, and the 
 positive presence of all that was wicked and immoral, need we be surprised that 
 occasional crimes of a dark and cruel character should be perpetrated ?" The 
 truth is, that it is difficult to determine whether unlettered ignorance itself were 
 not preferable to the kind of education which the people there received.
 
 352 THE NATIONAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 coming upon one of the National schools that have replaced 
 them. When the enlightened policy that permitted the 
 children of Eoman Catholic parents to be taught in 
 State-supported schools without seeking to make prose- 
 lytes was first inaugurated, the Protestant population 
 of Ireland raised a great outcry against the scheme. 
 " Better," said one clergyman, who did but express 
 the sentiments of many others, both lay and clerical, 
 "better that the Government should leave the Irish 
 children ignorant than bring them up papists." 
 
 Although the IS'ational Schools of Ireland have been 
 brought more completely under the control of the priest- 
 hood than was the intention of the Legislature, great 
 good has resulted from their establishment. Only in 
 the wildest parts of the country is it at all common now 
 to find a peasant who cannot both read and write. Sixty 
 years ago the X mark was affixed to nineteen out of 
 twenty of the leases or other documents that required 
 the signatures of peasants. 
 
 In those days, English was a language as foreign to 
 the majority of the peasantry as French or German. 
 When you landed in Ireland it was by no means un- 
 likely that the porter who came to take your luggage 
 from the boat to the inn could speak no word of English. 
 If you chanced to land at any out-of-the-way port, that 
 difficulty was almost sure to be in your way. When a 
 lad, the ship in which I was a passenger struck on a 
 rock in the harbour of Kinsale. I can well remember 
 the despair of the captain when he ascertained that 
 among the boat's crew that came alongside to render 
 assistance there was not one man who could understand
 
 THE NATIONAL SCHOOLS. 353 
 
 a word of Englisli. Now, probably, there are not two 
 in a hnndred " natives " wlio are entirely ignorant of the 
 Anglo-Saxon tongue. In fact, Irish is rarely heard, 
 even in the cabins in remote districts.* 
 
 We have the authority of Mr. Sullivan for the asser- 
 tion, that there is now scarcely a farm-house or working- 
 man's home in all the land in which the boy or girl of 
 fifteen, or the young man or woman of twenty and 
 upwards, cannot read the newspaper to the old people 
 and transact their correspondence. 
 
 There are now in Ireland more than seven thousand 
 national schools, with above a million of enrolled pupils. 
 " The coming race " will very rarely have to make their 
 marks instead of writing their names. t 
 
 * At the Social Science Congress in 1881, Lord O'Hagan thus said, " I cannot 
 refrain from giving a few figures which tell a marvellous tale of twenty years' 
 endeavour and success. In 1860, the schools of the Board were 5,632 ; in 1880, 
 they were 7,590; in 1860, the pupils on its rolls were 804,000; in 1880, they 
 were 1,083,020; in 1860, the children in average attendance were 262,823 ; in' 
 1880, they were 468,557; and the Parliamentary grant, -which in 1860 'was 
 £284,468, was in 1880 £722,366. These figures exhibit the information obtained 
 in 1861 as to 1860, and the information obtained in 1881 as to 1880. They need 
 no comment, and are, in themselves, happily demonstrative of a great increase 
 in the means of primary public instruction and the number of those availing 
 themselves of it; notwithstanding that, in the meantime, there has been no 
 corresponding advance in the amount of the population of Ireland. The appa- 
 ratus of teaching has been ample and effective." 
 
 In the year 1840, the total number of persons over fifty years old in Ireland 
 unable to read or write was over three millions, or fifty-three per cent, of the 
 entire population ; but in ten years the percentage had fallen to forty-seven. 
 In 1861 it was only thirty-nine per cent., and in another ten years it had been 
 reduced to thirty-three per cent. There was an increase of over twenty per 
 cent, between 1841 and 1871 in the number of those who could both read and 
 ■write, a similar large increase in the number of those who could read only or 
 write only. 
 
 The Irish-speaking population numbered in 1861 over 1,100,000, over 940,000 
 being able to speak both English and Irish ; but in ten years afterwards the 
 number had fallen to 817,875 and 714,313, so that in 1871 only 103,562 people 
 in the country spoke Irish only, a decrease of 60,000 in the ten years. 
 
 t To buy a book, or stationery, except in the larger towns, was an impossi- 
 bility a few years ago; now at every railway station there is a book-stall, where 
 
 VOL. II. A A
 
 354 THE CHARTER SCHOOLS. 
 
 How very very different it was fifty or sixty years 
 ago, when, excepting the priest and the schoolmaster, 
 when there happened to be one, it was hard to find in a 
 whole parish a single person who conld write a letter, or 
 even read a printed book. 
 
 I have referred to the schools scattered through the 
 country in old days, where the chief object pursued was 
 to bring up as Protestants the children who attended 
 them. These were the Charter Schools, incorporated 
 by Act of the Irish Parliament in 1733. So avowedly 
 were these establishments machines for the manufacture 
 of proselytes, that not only were they described at the 
 time of their incorporation as' designed to teach " the 
 poor Irish" the English language and Protestant religion, 
 but at a later date it was resolved, while the scholars 
 continued to be brought up in the Protestant faith, 
 " not to admit any but the children of Papists into the 
 schools." 
 
 Language can hardly do justice to the intensity of 
 the abhorrence with which the charter schools were 
 regarded by the mass of the Irish people. "Few 
 Catholics," said a writer on Ireland early in this cen- 
 tury, "pass by these schools without looking on them 
 with a jealous eye, and venting their feelings by curses 
 and execrations, with gestures and emphasis which 
 bespeak their heartfelt anguish." Protestant landlords 
 refused to allot ground for the erection of schools, and 
 from this refusal, and the exertions of the priesthood, it 
 
 there is an ample supply of both ; a most beneficial system, introduced and sus- 
 tained by one ■who has been in that way a public benefactor — William Henry 
 Smith.
 
 DOMESTIC QUARRELS. 355 
 
 ensued that in most parts of Ireland the IsTational School- 
 house was made an appendage to the Eoman Catholic 
 chapel — the chapel-yard being the only ground that 
 could be readily obtained. Still, with all their internal 
 evils, and the detestation in which they were held by 
 the Catholic Irish, the charter schools continued to the 
 last to obtain pupils, for they held out powerful tempta- 
 tions to the baser feelings of human natm^e in the fact 
 that they took both day-pupils and boarders, educated 
 them all gratis, and lodged, fed, clothed, and apprenticed 
 the boarders at a similar easy rate. 
 
 The children were, for the most part, either the off- 
 spring of vice, or of parents too degraded to care for the 
 reproach that the fact of having attended these schools 
 would attach to their children's names. Commonly, 
 indeed, such immature " renegades " returned, as soon 
 as they quitted the school, to the creed they were sup- 
 posed to be converted from ; or, if they continued 
 Protestants, afforded examples by their lives at which 
 Catholic fingers might point with scorn and loathing. 
 
 Domestic Quarrels. — It is a very fertile theme I 
 hav€ to deal with here. Mr. A. M. Sullivan hit the nail 
 on the head when he wrote concerning the earlier Irish 
 contests — " The Irish chiefs may be said to have fought 
 each other with one hand, while they fought the English 
 with the other." What the Irish chiefs did so lono: aijo 
 is precisely what the leaders of the Home Eule party are 
 doing now. 
 
 Let us go back so long ago as the year 1661 : when the 
 
 aa2
 
 356 DOMESTIC QUARRELS. 
 
 then Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, the Duke of Ormond, was 
 accused of favouring Papists by permitting them to hold 
 a public meeting in Dublin, he indignantly repelled as 
 a calumny the accusation that he in any way favoured 
 them; but admitted that he gave them leave to meet, 
 " because,'^'' said he, " / know hij experience that Irish 
 Papists never meet without dividing and degrading them- 
 selves P 
 
 Yes, division has been the curse of Irish counsels, and 
 "divide to reign" was for century after century the 
 golden rule of the English conquerors in their dealings 
 with the native tribes. From the day when Strongbow 
 and his Korman knights landed to assist one of the petty 
 kings of Ireland against another, down to the day when 
 the disgraceful squabble took place at the banquet that 
 commemorated the centenary of the Liberator, Daniel 
 O'Connell, the Goddess of Discord has never ceased to 
 be adored in Ireland. So recently as October, 1882, we 
 find two Home Rule Members of Parliament quarrelling 
 fiercely at a public meeting in Dublin, the one "thrust- 
 ing back in his teeth " the assertions of the other, and 
 entreating indulgence for the Irish faction in Parliament, 
 as having " to face not onlij the enemy in front ^ hut the more 
 hitter enemies hehind .^ " 
 
 There is an Irish saying that is given as the invariable 
 excuse for all short-comings, wrong-doings — all sins of 
 omission, if not commission — 
 
 " Sure 'twas always so ! " 
 The words apply with peculiar force to the domestic 
 quarrels of Irishmen with Irishmen. 
 
 The whole story of the agitation for Eepeal may be
 
 DOMESTIC QUARRELS. 357 
 
 summed up in some words that I borrow from Mr. A. M. 
 Sullivan: "Dissension and doubt among the leaders." 
 In the same words is told the history of the periods of 
 veiled rebellion or of Fenian outbreaks that have fol- 
 lowed the death of the Liberator.* As it has been in 
 the past so will it surely be in the future, and "'twas 
 always so ! " will remain to the end an appropriate 
 comment on the disputes of Irish agitators with one 
 another, t 
 
 As well might a number of spiders be expected to 
 combine for the pur^^ose of spinning a single web as a 
 band of Irish "patriots" to pursue one and the same 
 policy. Every man of them has invariably his own 
 threads of intrigue, and labours to combine them for 
 his personal advantage. When, in j)^n'suing his own 
 ends, one Irish politician happens to get in the way of 
 another, the Saxon world has long since learned to 
 expect that there will follow what Sir Lucius O'Trigger 
 terms " a very pretty quarrel." 
 
 There needs very little, either of evidence or argu- 
 ment, to show what a restored Parliament in Ireland 
 would be, and how little it would differ (except in 
 religion) from that which the Union abolished. The 
 revived Parliament in Stephen's Green would retain all 
 its ancient, odious features and evil principles — except 
 that from being, like that which existed up to 1800, 
 
 * One is reminded by the history of Irish agitation against England, of 
 Curran's story concerning a new lodging in which he had passed a single night 
 — finding the " fleas so numerous and so ferocious that if they had but been 
 unanimous they would have pulled him out of bed." 
 
 t I once heard these words uttered by an indignant patriot. " I'd let every 
 man bo free to hold his own opinions ; and if he wouldn't, be jabers, Fd make 
 him."
 
 358 THE OLD PAKLIAMENT. 
 
 exclusively Protestant — it would become, from the 
 Speaker to the door-keejDer, entirely Eoman Catholic — 
 or, at all events, a senate in which Eoman Catholic 
 members would so largely predominate that Protestants 
 would be nonentities. It is to-day, as it was eighty years 
 ago, impossible for the two j)arties to act together for 
 the common good of their common country. While the 
 Parliament for the three kingdoms meets at Westminster 
 there is little scope for the display of religious ani- 
 mosities ; but let a so-called National Parliament be set 
 up in Dublin, and everywhere throughout Ireland the 
 Catholic and the Protestant would soon be at "daggers- 
 drawn.'' 
 
 If Ireland was a kingdom before the arrival of Strong- 
 bow, it had many kings. To restore to his throne a chief- 
 tain whom four others had combined to expel was the 
 assigned motive of Strongbow's invasion ; secretly, it was 
 from the first intended to attach Ireland to the English 
 crown. But for internal dissensions, one ruler striving 
 against the invaders, another assisting them, a mere 
 handful of English knights and their followers could 
 never have subjected the country. At first the English 
 rule had at least the recommendation that, wherever it 
 extended, it to a great extent substituted order for 
 anarchy, and law for savage license. Among the Irish, 
 things were then pretty much as Sir John Davies de- 
 scribed the state of Ireland to be, at a later period: 
 "No man could enjoy his life, wife, land, or goods in 
 safety." I3ut the spirit of the conquered race began, in 
 process of time, to make its influence felt among the 
 conquerors. " Imbibing the genius of the Irish soil,"
 
 COURTS OF JUSTICE. 359 
 
 writes the author of "Ireland and its Hulers," 'Hhe 
 Angio-I^ormans and the Anglo-Saxons quarrelled among 
 themselves, as the 'mere Irish' had done. The Fitz- 
 geralds of Desmond and the Butlers of Ormond, each 
 with their hundred castles and tens of thousands of 
 followers, having vanquished the O's and Mac's, fought 
 it out between themselves. ' Where is now the proud 
 Earl of Desmond ? ' was tauntiogly asked of the 
 wounded chieftain by a band of Ormond's adherents 
 as he was borne on their shoulders from the field. 
 * Where he ought to be,' was the answer ; ' still on the 
 necks of the Butlers.' '-' 
 
 It is a long stride from the days of the O'Briens and 
 O'Haras, or even from those of the Desmonds and Ormonds, 
 to Napoleon at St. Helena. But the genius of the Irish 
 for squabbling among themselves had remained as marked 
 as ever, and the keen eye of Bonaparte had noted the 
 fact. " If," he said to O'Meara at St. Helena, " the 
 Irish had sent honest men to me, I would have cer- 
 tainly made an attempt on Ireland. But I had no con- 
 fidence cither in the integrity or the talents of the Irish 
 leaders that were in France. They were divided in 
 opinion, and were constantly quarrelling with one 
 another!''' 
 
 Courts of Justice, sixty years ago, were rotten to 
 the core : from the High Court of Chancery down to the 
 " Courts of Conscience," as they were called, over which 
 generally presided a citizen-tradesman (Protestant, of
 
 360 COURTS OF JUSTICE. 
 
 course) whose decision was " Law," who administered 
 " Justice," and whose knowledge of the one was on a par 
 with the amount that he dealt out of the other. The 
 decisions of these Solomons of the bench — their 
 " Honours " — were frequently matters for laughter : 
 being indeed, as a rule, more merry than wise, for they 
 were often wits, and always "jolly companions every one." 
 
 Higher up in the world of law, matters were very little 
 better. An Irish judge of those days did not so much 
 hold his dignified office during good conduct as by virtue 
 of being a ready hand with the pistol. That was always 
 the final arbiter both with the Bar and the Bench. In 
 1821 I knew Lord Norbury, of whom it was said — and 
 correctly said — he h.Sid fought his way to the judicial seat. 
 
 Sixty years ago the declaration that a Eoman Catholic 
 might be an impartial judge would have been hooted 
 down. The thought of a Eoman Catholic Chancellor on 
 the woolsack would have been sufficient to stir the whole 
 Protestant population of Ireland to frenzy. But ever 
 since the Catholic was admitted to full civic rights, a 
 gradual but mighty revolution has been in progress, 
 I, who knew Ireland in days when there was not, 
 and could not be, a single Eoman Catholic on the bench, 
 have lived to see a time when the majority of Irish judges 
 are of that religion ; and a Catholic, in the person of 
 Lord O'Hagan, has worthily upheld the dignity of the 
 woolsack. Yet the Bench and the Bar in Ireland are 
 now, to say the least, impartial and upright as regards the 
 former, and irreproachable in conduct in the case of the 
 latter. That could not have been said at the beginning 
 of the century. Lord O'Hagan, during his occupation
 
 GRAND JUEIES. 
 
 361 
 
 of the woolsack, was never once suspected of bias towards 
 a plaintiff or defendant because he was of his own 
 religion. 
 
 Murmurs are still heard sometimes against Irish 
 juries, but how seldom can they be justified by any- 
 thing deserving the name of evidence. It was not 
 so sixty years ago. The Grand Juries especially — 
 always exclusively Protestant — were notoriously given 
 to preferring party interests to the claims of justice. 
 Their presentments were invariably one-sided — often 
 shamefully, or rather shamelessly, so. I cannot find 
 space to sustain this assertion by the quotation of 
 facts ; but who that knows what Ireland was early 
 in the century will question it ? Another fertile source 
 of grievance was the packing of juries. Perhaps 
 the evil was sometimes exaggerated; for the limited 
 choice exercised in the matter of juries resulted in a class 
 of men being available for the pannel who were intel- 
 lectually much superior to the Irish juries of to-day ; 
 but still to set twelve " good men and true " who were 
 all Protestants to try a Eoman Catholic was utterly 
 unjust. In such cases, especially when the offence was 
 political, the verdict was generally a foregone conclusion. 
 
 I once saw at Castlebar a slip of paper, jperhaps sixty 
 years old, that some curiosity-monger had preserved. It 
 contained simply this sentence — " The Eight Honourable 
 expects you'll acquit the prisoner." I learned its origin ; 
 it was as follows : While a man was on trial for his 
 life, " the Right Honourable " — in other words the High 
 Sheriff, a brother of the Marquis of Sligo, who ruled 
 with a rod of iron the counties of Mayo and Sligo — had
 
 362 THE LAW COURTS. 
 
 handed to the crier the slip, in open court ; and the crier 
 in turn handed it to the foreman of the jury. The 
 accused was, of course, acquitted ; but the result would 
 have been quite as certain if the Eight Honourable had 
 informed the fearless and independent jury that he 
 expected them to convict the prisoner. 
 
 If any thoughtful reader of these pages will look into 
 the records of the Irish Courts of Law and Equity early 
 in the present century, he will find the tale told to be one 
 of systematic oppression. From the highest in the State 
 downwards, tyrannous injustice prevailed, and venality 
 was its common accompaniment. How is the govern- 
 ment of Ireland conducted now ? No matter what may 
 be his religious or political creed, an impartial observer 
 will answer that it is based on rectitude, and animated 
 by the conviction that even-handed justice is politically 
 wise as well as morally right. Yet Mr. Parnell did not 
 shrink from describing this altered state of things as the 
 subjection of Ireland " by the power of a perfidious, 
 cruel, and unrelenting English enemy." 
 
 What would Lord Palmerston have said had he lived 
 to read su<3h a comment as that on the Eoman Catholic 
 Eelief Bill, such a response to the words I quote, ad- 
 dressed by him to the House of Commons more than 
 half a century ago ? 
 
 "I caunot sit down," said Lord Palmerston, " without expressing 
 tlie satisfaction I feel, in common with the nation at large, at the 
 determination which the Grovernment has at last adopted to give 
 peace to Ireland. The measure now before us will open a career of 
 happiness to that country which for centuries it has been forbidden 
 to taste, and to England a prospect of commercial prosperity and 
 national strength which has never yet been recorded in our annals.
 
 THE JEWS. 363 
 
 The labours of the present session will link together two classes of 
 the community which have long been dissevered ; they will form in 
 history the true mark which is to divide the shadow of morning 
 twilight from the brilliant effulgence of the risen sun : they will 
 form a monument, not of the crime or ambition of man, not of the 
 misfortunes or convulsions of society, but of the calm and deliberate 
 oj)eration of benevolent wisdom watching the good of the human race 
 — an act which will pass down to the latest posterity as an object 
 of their respect, gratitude and admiration." — " Lord Balling's Life 
 of Palmerston," p. 34L 
 
 It was long after the passing of the "Relief" Bill, 
 that placed the Roman Catholic on a level with the 
 Protestant without any qualifying clause — for, as the 
 Duke of Wellington said in the House, on the 2nd of 
 April, 1830, " He had so framed the measure as to 
 concede everything, and ask nothing " — that attempts 
 were made to obtain civil rights and freedom of con- 
 science for THE Jews. 
 
 In 1830 an effort was made to relieve them of their 
 disabilities. Mr. R. Grant moved in the House for leave 
 to bring in a bill to that effect, and although supported 
 by Macaulay and Mackintosh, no issue at that time 
 followed. It was stated by the mover that in Great 
 Britain the Jews were excluded from holding any office, 
 civil or military, under the Government ; that they 
 were excluded from practising law or physic ; from 
 holding any corporate office, and from being members of 
 Parliament ; and they might be prevented from voting 
 for members of Parliament if the oath were tendered 
 to them ; that in the metropolitan city they could not 
 obtain the freedom of the Companies, nor exercise any 
 retail trade. Mr. R. Grant little foresaw the time when
 
 364 THE JEWS. 
 
 an estimable and honoured Jew was Lord Mayor of 
 London, another Jew was Master of the Bolls, and 
 several Jews had become members of the Imperial Par- 
 liament. 
 
 It was but natural that supporters of the motion 
 should refer to the rights so recently accorded to the 
 Koman Catholics. Here, it was argued, there was no 
 foreign head ; no divided allegiance ; no bulls ; no 
 indulgences; no priests exercising a despotic influence 
 over their flocks ; no agitations ; no violent addresses ; 
 no mobs disciplined with almost the regularity of men- 
 at-arms ; no attempts at proselytising. The Jews "were 
 proud not to make proselytes." It could not be said, as 
 it had been said in the other case, the Government was 
 showing its weakness by yielding to clamour. The 
 Jews asked for relief in a calm and temperate tone. 
 
 Among the leading opponents was Sir Eobert Peel — 
 mainly on the ground, that if Chi'istianity was not the 
 basis of representation in Parliament, atheists and infidels 
 would not be refused admittance. He asked why 
 Quakers were excluded. They were not long so. The 
 Jews were within a very few years afterwards placed 
 politically and socially on a par with Christians of all 
 denominations. 
 
 It has surely proved a wise as well as a just decision. 
 There are no more loyal subjects, no better citizens, no 
 abler or more willing constitutional helps. They have 
 not taken advantage of the power given them to excite 
 hostility and hatred to England, making it a foreboding 
 boast that England's extremity is Ireland's opportunity, 
 thi-eatening to shackle the right arm of England in the
 
 JEWS AND CATHOLICS. 365 
 
 event of any perilous dispute with any foreign nations ; 
 exciting, in time of domestic difficulty, to shake public 
 credit by a run upon the banks ; counselling domestic 
 discord as evidence of wisdom. 
 
 The Jews were thus made thoroughly English, and it 
 is well for England that so powerful, so wise, and so 
 loyal a body became '' part and parcel of the State." A 
 people who were a great people centuries before 
 
 " Great was Diana of the Ej)hesians," 
 
 and had historians and poets long before the wolf suckled 
 two brothers on the barren plain where after ages saw 
 the Coliseum. 
 
 These notes concerning the admission of Jews to the 
 benefits of the Constitution — more recent than that of 
 the Eoman Catholics — will not be considered needless or 
 out of place by those who think what " Catholic 
 Ireland " might have been had Ireland received the 
 boon in the same spirit — in grateful remembrance of con- 
 ceded rights. What, by this time, might not Ireland 
 have been if her patriots had directed their energies 
 into channels at least as favourable for progress to 
 tranquillity, happiness, and prosperity ! 
 
 Alas ! it was the vain hope of Eichard Lalor Shiel, 
 when all he asked for, in addressing the famous meeting 
 on Penenden Heath — nay, far more than he asked for — 
 had been accorded to Irishmen by Englishmen : "You 
 will make a permanent acquisition of the ajffections of 
 Irishmen, and make our hearts your own."
 
 366 THE ENCUMBERED ESTATES COURT. 
 
 In fact, sixty years ago, the Irish peasant had right 
 good reason for believing there was law enough in 
 Ireland ; but he had almost equal reason for refusing to 
 believe that the Irishman by nationality and Catholic by 
 religion could anywhere find justice. What confidence 
 could a Eoman Catholic have in the justice dealt out by 
 courts where the judge, the jury, the leading members 
 of the Bar — nay, the very officials of the court, down to 
 the jailer and the tipstaff — were all of them zealous 
 Protestants. 
 
 Whilst dealing with the subject of Irish Courts of 
 Justice I may take occasion to revert to one that did not 
 exist sixty years ago, but was the creation of com- 
 paratively recent times. I refer to the Encumbered 
 Estates Coui't. In 1848, the Bill that called it into 
 being became law ; and the court set to work to deal 
 with numerous Irish estates that were in the hands of 
 broken bankrupts, impoverished spendthrifts, or (as was 
 often the case) of men whose fathers' excesses had left 
 them the nominal owners of large properties, while their 
 actual incomes were so small that they sometimes failed 
 to keep the wolf from the door. 
 
 To comment on the immense changes effected by the 
 passing of that Bill would require much more space than 
 I have at my command ; but some idea of them may be 
 formed from the words of John Francis Maguire, M.P. : — 
 
 " From October, 1849, to August, 1859, tlie gross amount realised 
 by the property sold in the Court of Encumbered Estates reached 
 to the prodigious sum of £25,190,839. The sacrifice of property 
 during the first years of the operation of this Court was sad to con- 
 template. It ruined many and enriched others. It annihilated the 
 owner, robbed the later encumbrancers, and conferred estates for
 
 PACKING JURIES. 367 
 
 lialf their real value on purchasers lucky or daring enough to specu- 
 late in land at such a period of general depression and alarm." 
 
 Nevertheless, the operation of the Act was eventually 
 productive of the extensive and material benefit to 
 Ireland that its framers had in view. It took a large 
 portion of the land out of the hands of owners too ex- 
 travagant and too deeply in debt to expend capital in the 
 improvement of the soil, and transferred that soil to men 
 who were possessed of both the will and the means to 
 develop its resources. All over Ireland prosperous land- 
 lords replaced poverty-stricken predecessors, and by this 
 change the tenantry largely benefited. 
 
 Yery recently a crowning improvement has been 
 effected in the administration of Irish justice. I refer to 
 the reform of the jury system due to the Act of 1871. 
 That Act, in the words of Lord O'Hagan, " took away 
 the possibility of any malversation on the part of the 
 sheriff by depriving him of his power of arbitrary choice, 
 and for the first time since the introduction of English 
 law to Ireland, gave the people an absolute assurance 
 that, for no purj^ose and under no circumstances, should 
 a sheriff thereafter select a jury to perpetrate injustice." 
 
 " Packing " juries in Ireland was the regular thing ; 
 and it was certain that sheriffs were often bribed. Mr. 
 Brougham, speaking in the House in 1823, " would not 
 say that the man who would pack one jury to acquit a 
 prisoner of felony might not readily pack another to con- 
 vict a man of high treason." 
 
 In many cases the sheriffs received regular fees not 
 to call to serve on juries the persons who paid them. 
 Thus the wealthier and better-educated classes were
 
 368 CITIES AND TOWNS. 
 
 exempt, while those who were less able to discharge the 
 duty, and more easily influenced for or against, were 
 " to well and truly try and true issue make." 
 
 Moreover, the proof is not left to novelists that money 
 was regularly paid to the sheriffs, by persons who anti- 
 cipated writs, to give due notice in time to keep out of 
 the way of them. 
 
 Cities and Towns. — I have pictured the cabins, and 
 the men, wornxn, and children who lived in them, fifty 
 or sixty years ago — the one miserable, the other 
 wretched, if judged by the standard of rural life in 
 England. The peasantry born and reared in these 
 hovels were — and are — the men, examples of fine 
 physical manhood, the women, unsurpassed in any 
 country of the world for the purity that hallows the sex. 
 It was not so in the cities and towns. While the 
 rural atmosphere was healthful, that of the congre- 
 gated houses, many or few, was poisonous to body and 
 mind. Let us picture the capital, Dublin, as it was 
 sixty years ago, and continued to be up to a much later 
 period. I borrow details from Whitelaw's "History of 
 Dublin," left incomplete by him in 1817, and finished 
 by my friend the Eev. Eobert Walsh, LL.D. The 
 statements found therein may be relied upon. 
 
 Speaking of the district called " The Liberty," White- 
 law says, " The greater portion of the streets was occupied 
 by petty shopkeepers, the labouring poor, and beggars, 
 crowded together to a degree distressing to humanity." 
 
 Three or four families inhabited a single apartment,
 
 DUBLIN SIXTY YEARS AGO. 369 
 
 SO as to ligliten the rent two sliillings to one shilling 
 per week. " Hence we may find ten to sixteen persons of 
 all ages and sexes in a room not fifteen feet square, 
 stretched on a wad of filthy straw swarming with vermin, 
 and without any covering save the wi'etched rags that 
 
 constitute their wearing apparel Thirty-two 
 
 contiguous houses contained nine hundred and seventeen 
 inhabitants. There was not one covered sewer in the 
 district, the filth from each house being flung out of the 
 window into the back-yard, where it accumulated until 
 sometimes it reached the level of the first-floor before 
 it would be removed. Some houses were without back- 
 yards, the inhabitants being obliged to throw all filth 
 into the street, into uncovered sewers." 
 
 Mr. O'Connell in 1824 stated that ''within ten miles 
 of Dublin, out of fourteen or fifteen families there were 
 only two found in which there was a blanket ;" that in 
 many parts they "slept in their clothes ;" seldom having 
 bedsteads, and "no covering for their beds." 
 
 Whitelaw further says, " On the subject of dram-shops, 
 the most alarming of all nuisances," one street, Thomas 
 Street, had one hundred and ninety houses ; of those 
 fifty-two were licensed to sell raw spirits, " a poison 
 productive of vice, riot, and disease, hostile to all habits 
 of decency, honesty, and industry, and, in short, 
 destructive to the souls and bodies of our fellow-crea- 
 tures. They are open day and night, causing scenes of 
 unceasing profanity, which even the sanctity of the 
 Sabbath cannot suspend." 
 
 Notwithstanding the naturally salubrious position of 
 Dublin, he complains of nineteen churchyards and nine 
 
 VOL. II. B B
 
 370 DUBLIN SIXTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 slaughterhouses tainting the air, the death-rate being 
 about one in forty-one. Small-pox was very prevalent, 
 one person in three dying, the prejudice against vaccina- 
 tion being very strong.* 
 
 In twenty years the coal consumption of Dublin has 
 been doubled. This is largely attributable to the 
 greatly increased consumption of the article in manufac- 
 turing and other purposes quite apart from domestic 
 duties. The Alliance and Gas Consumers' Company 
 used, during the last twelve months, about 100,000 tons, 
 and the various railways having their termini in Dublin 
 use probably another 100,000 tons. The harbour-dues 
 in Dublin increased in the three years ending 1879 by 
 nearly £14,000. There was an increase in the period 
 1841 to 1871 of over 18 per cent, in the number of 
 inhabited houses, and of 5 per cent, in the population. 
 
 I append to this retrospect of the past of Dublin the 
 warning of Mr. Justice O'Brien, uttered in November, 
 1882, and leave the case to speak for itself. It is a 
 warning of what the fair city may be hereafter. "It 
 was," he said, referring to Dublin, " only too evident 
 that decay was silently, but speedily, invading every 
 interest which depends upon the prosperity of the city. 
 Trade was languishing, if it was not entirely extinct. 
 Houses — he might almost say streets — are deserted. 
 Every person who could carry his fortune elsewhere was 
 fleeing from it as from a place infested with the plague, 
 
 • Thomas Eeid, F.R.C. 8., writing in 1822, says, "I invariably found the 
 increase of children in Ireland to be in an inverse proportion to the means 
 possessed by their parents to support them. I have often seen nine, ten, or 
 eleven childien all of one family — some ragged, others quite naked — existing, 
 rather than living, in places that woiild shock the humanity of an English gentle- 
 man to see his dogs or swine driven into."
 
 ASSASSINATIONS. 371 
 
 and destitution was settling down steadily but surely 
 upon the humbler classes of the population — upon all 
 those who depended upon employment for their daily 
 living." Truly the agitators of to-day are to be — con- 
 gratulated : but not by Ireland or the Irish. 
 
 It would be a curious and an interesting calculation 
 to estimate the loss to the country by the forced absence 
 of the Empress of Austria from Ireland during the 
 hunting season of 1882 ; adding to it that which has 
 been caused by expressed, and, in some places, exe- 
 cuted, threats against the gentry of the country who 
 keep hounds — mainly for the enjoyment of their neigh- 
 bours, and who dare not venture on the almost national 
 custom of following them to cover. These are but minor 
 results of the war — peasants against gentry — stirred up 
 by the evil men who have been worse than evil advisers 
 of the people. 
 
 The Assassinations of 1882 gave a shock to humanity. 
 Fifty years ago such crimes were more numerous — and 
 worse. That assertion will hardly be received as truth ; 
 but it is capable of proof. The murder of a household 
 at Cong — the Maamtrasna tragedy — has a frightful 
 parallel in the butchery of the Sheas. If it were my 
 design to excite horror I could supply a very long list 
 of appalling atrocities perpetrated in Ireland forty, fifty, 
 or sixty years ago.* 
 
 * In 1831 Mrs. Hemans thus described a visit to Kilkenny, the residence of 
 her brother, Colonel Browne. "We paid a visit to a clergyman's house .... 
 and found a guard of eight armed policemen stationed at the gate : the window- 
 ledges were all provided with great stones for the convenience of hurling down 
 upon assailants, and the master of the house had not for a fortnight taken a 
 ■walk without loaded pistols." 
 
 bb2
 
 372 ASSASSINATIONS. 
 
 Yes, things may be bad in Ireland now, but they 
 have been worse. Let any one turn to the hundred 
 and fifty volumes of the Annual Register^ and he will 
 find, year after year, nay, month by month, startling and 
 gloomy records of its condition during a century before 
 the present time. " Fearful state of that country, and 
 increase of homicide and outrages," seems to be a stereo- 
 typed sentence in every Eeport. Landlords were shot by 
 scores every year, and arms were stolen from every 
 respectable house. 
 
 I well remember the horror excited by the burning 
 and butchery of the Sheas in 182L Their off'ence had 
 been only the dismissal of an obnoxious tenant. Their 
 thatched cottage was set on fire by a gang of miscreants, 
 and its inmates, to the number of seventeen, were either 
 burnt to death or slaughtered as they sought escape. 
 Seventeen bodies in all were found in the yet burning 
 embers, when the police arrived at the terrible scene. 
 Among them was a young woman, who, during the burn- 
 ing, gave premature birth to a child. She strove to con- 
 ceal it in a tub in which was some water ; the bodies of 
 both were found among the dead. The number of the 
 murderers was about forty. All of them were known 
 to the neighbours — some were "friends " of the Sheas, 
 and several persons were actually looking down on them 
 from an adjacent height, and therefore well able to 
 identify the miscreants. These were examined by the 
 magistrates, but denied all knowledge. The eager, 
 anxious, and busy police failed to procure a tittle of 
 evidence; a year and a half passed before any was 
 obtained. Large rewards were offered in vain. At
 
 MUEDERS OF THE POLICE. 373 
 
 length the remorse of one of the witnesses prevailed ; 
 her priest had urged her to confess publicly, and the 
 awful story at length came out. For the murders of the 
 Sheas a number of people, I forget how many^ — -eight, I 
 think — were hanged close to the blackened ruins of the 
 cottage, that for a long time afterwards continued to 
 appal those who visited the Golden Yale of Tip- 
 perary. 
 
 I reluctantly recall this awful event — describing it 
 thus briefly. The murder of the four victims at Maam- 
 trasna — bad enough, truly — was as nothing compared 
 with the butchery of the Sheas sixty years ago. 
 
 The murder of the policeman, Kavanagh, in 1882, 
 excited general abhorrence. The victim was doing 
 only his duty, he was as much the guardian of the 
 poor as the rich, of the tenant as the landlord. In the 
 churchyard of Kilmogany (Kilkenny County) were, in 
 December, 1831, laid the bodies of fourteen policemen 
 and their commanding officer, butchered at a place 
 called Carrickshock. The police had been lured into a 
 narrow defile ; the ascents on either side were thronged 
 by more than two thousand men, armed with scythes, 
 pitchforks, and reaping-hooks ; but their most efl'ective 
 weapons were stones. Of the party of thirty-six, fifteen 
 were slain, others being wounded, of whom two died, 
 while but two of the peasants were shot.* 
 
 * The historian of this traged_y must state, however, that -when the police 
 were in the defile, and foimd themselves surrounded by more than fifty to one — 
 ■with the almost certainty of death — the peasantry ofi"ered to retire and do them 
 no harm, on condition of their giving up to "wild justice" the person of the 
 tithe process-server they were protecting in his perilous business of serving writs. 
 The demand was, without a moment's demur, refused ; to the honour of the con- 
 stabulary be it recorded. The process-server was mortally wounded.
 
 374 INFORMERS. 
 
 On the 14tli of December, 1831, that frightful massacre 
 took place. Although the worst, it was but one of many 
 fatal fights that arose out of tithes — fifty years ago the 
 most detested and loathsome of all the tax-oppressions 
 to which the Irish had to submit. 
 
 True, we have the Fenians now ; but are the White- 
 boys, the Peep o' Day Boys, the Carders, the Steelboys, 
 the Oakboys, the Eibbonmen, the Thrashers, the 
 Caravets, and Shamavests, — are they and their doings 
 forgotten, not to go so far back as the times of the 
 Eapparees, and a score of rebel — utterly lawless — 
 associations under other names, that have infested 
 Ireland in the past ? 
 
 [In 1838 or 1839 Government offered a reward of 
 £5,000, and a hundred acres of land in any of the colonies, 
 for information that would lead to conviction of the 
 murderers of Lord Norbury, and about the same period 
 £3,000 in the case of the murder of Mr. Butler Bryan. 
 They are undiscovered to this day.] 
 
 Informers. — There is nothing in the Irish character 
 so fruitful of evil as the "crime" of being an "in- 
 former ; " " crimes " — at least some of them — that applied 
 to other people, and under other circumstances, would 
 be characterized as heroic. There are few brighter scenes 
 in Scottish history than that which shows to us "bonnie 
 Prince Charlie " hiding in the caves at Arasaig, sleeping 
 every night in the hovel of a peasant, to whom a single 
 guinea would have been wealth ; yet none betrayed him. 
 There are hundreds now in Ireland, and there have been
 
 INFORMERS. 375 
 
 during every period of its history, to whom treachery 
 would have brought riches. 
 
 I dare not pursue a topic that would lead me upon 
 dangerous ground ; but while I know the principle to 
 be most calamitous and fruitful of evil, I cannot admit it 
 to be altogether evidence of the darker, and not the 
 brighter, side of Irish character. I might give many 
 cases to prove it is often the one and not the other.* 
 
 Yes, the name of ^' informer " was always incon- 
 ceivably odious in Ireland, and the people almost uni- 
 versally joined in execrating that which they believed 
 to be the blackest of all crimes. Unhappily the principle 
 remains when the excuse for it has ceased ; but I could 
 tell stories, and not of a very far-off period, that would 
 make the Law, as it operated in Ireland, almost as de- 
 testable in the sight of the readers of these pages as it 
 was in the view of those who suffered from it. 
 
 In Tipperary, some forty years ago — a county, by the 
 way, in which I spent a week, distant from any town, 
 and in the house of a wealthy holder of laud, where not 
 a single har or holt was ever drawn tipon door or tvindow — 
 I remember making the acquaintance of one of a singular 
 
 * While at Limerick, ia 1840, I heard this anecdote. The incident had just 
 occurred. A man named BvTne was well known to be in possession of full know- 
 ledge as to who had committed a murder for which some "suspects" were in jail. 
 A shrewd attorney induced him, on some pretence concerning his lease, to visit 
 him at his office. It was market day : many persons were passing by his window, 
 and the window was open. Byrne suspected nothing. But while he was in con- 
 sultation ^idth the attorney, several witnesses of the audience were sent about with 
 rumoiu's that BjTne had become an informer. The rumours obtained ready 
 credence, two men actually being arrested while he was the attorney's guest ; it 
 was more than intimated such arrests resulted from his visit. And when the 
 attorney told him of the "mess" he was in, out of which there was no escaping — 
 that in fact he was caught in a trap — the man saw and knew there was but one 
 way out of it: that he wan forced to become an informer. He did so become, and 
 on his evidence three men were hanged.
 
 376 TROCESS-SERVERS. 
 
 class — a man who had been a process-server there for a 
 quarter of a century, and was still alive ! It is needless 
 to say that his escapes had been many ; some of them, 
 indeed, were so extraordinary as almost to exceed belief. 
 He was a tall, powerfully made fellow, known by the 
 sobriquet of " Long Jim," and as he lived in the good 
 old times, and in a locality where the law seldom ven- 
 tured to touch gentle or simple, both his daring and his 
 cunning were often exercised. I contrived to obtain 
 his confidence, and the stories he related to me of his 
 perils and escapes might fill a goodly volume. I have 
 only space here for one or two of them. 
 
 There was one gentleman who had long set at de- 
 fiance all legal missives. He lived in the midst of his 
 tenantry in a very secluded part of the country, where 
 a sheriff''s ofiicer Avould as soon have ventured as into 
 a den of hungry lions. Jim at length undertook to 
 serve him with a writ. How to deliver it, and get 
 off with a sound skin, was, of course, the dilemma. 
 In this perplexity, Jim happened to learn that his 
 intended victim was very partial to a goose-egg for his 
 breakfast. That was cue enough. Jim set out at mid- 
 night, arrived at the mansion before daybreak, and 
 climbed a tree that directly fronted the hall door — 
 having first taken care to place a goose-egg on the steps, 
 and under it a narrow strip of paper. All turned out 
 as he expected ; the gentleman issued forth early to 
 breathe the morning air, and at once perceived the egg 
 that had been deposited at his threshold. "Ah, ah!" 
 said he, "that's the grey goose, I'll go bail, that always 
 has such consideration for my breakfast," and seeing a
 
 PROCESS-SERVERS. 377 
 
 piece of paper on the ground he very naturally took it 
 up to examine it. On the instant a voice from the tree 
 bellowed out, "That's the copy, and here's the original ;" 
 and, added Jim, when he told me the story, " while he 
 ran in for his pistols, didn't I show him the heels of my 
 brogues ! " 
 
 I remember the story of another fellow who had to 
 serve a writ on a fire-eating magistrate. He so managed 
 as to be caught cutting sticks in the gentleman's de- 
 mesne, was brought before him by the policeman, 
 charged with the offence, and committed to prison. Im- 
 mediately upon which he served the writ, and, turning 
 to the policeman, said, "I'm under your protection," 
 and was marched off safe and sound. 
 
 Though I might fill several of these pages with anec- 
 dotes of " Long Jim's" shrewdness, I prefer to close my 
 brief notices of the race of process-servers with a story 
 related to me by another of the proscribed tribe. 
 
 A man who turned from his wicked ways and had 
 become a car-driver, once drove me some twenty 
 miles through a very disturbed and dangerous county. 
 Dick, who was, unlike Jim, a small and delicately formed 
 man, was " out " one day with a comrade serving writs. 
 They had but one horse between them, and as evening 
 was drawing on, their duty being done, they were about 
 to commence their homeward journey, when they saw 
 the peasants gathering on the hills about them. They 
 well knew what was meant, and his comrade, who was 
 on the horse, called to Dick to mount instantly ; but in 
 the attempt he fell. His companion galloped off, and 
 Dick, thus deserted, made a rush into the nearest cabiuj
 
 378 THE CONSTABULARY. 
 
 which happened to be empty. His enemies were soon 
 after him. Dick fixed himself in the farthest corner of 
 the cottage, and took out his solitary pistol. Now Dick 
 squinted terribly, and as his foes gathered about the 
 door he presented his weapon, his eyes rolling frightfully 
 as he exclaimed, " I can only shoot one of ye, and / 
 have my eye on the man I'll shoot." The obliquity of 
 his vision made each of the party think himself the man 
 doomed; they shrank back and retired to deliberate, 
 and had actually proceeded to remove the roof, in order 
 to stone him to death in comparative security, when 
 Dick's comrade, with a party of police, hove in sight, 
 and Dick's life was saved. 
 
 And what of the Police ? Sixty years ago they were 
 few in number, and worse than useless. When not 
 objects of hatred, they were of indifference ; never liked, 
 and seldom feared. Powerless to prevent or detect 
 crime, evil-doers rarely took them into account at all ; 
 and, generally, they were better away than at hand, 
 when any outbreak threatened or any private conspiracy 
 against a landlord was on the point of breaking out. 
 
 Anthony Trollope, in describing them in one of his 
 novels, divides the force into two parts. The one body, 
 he tells us, was employed to prevent the distillation of 
 potheen — illicit spiiits brewed in the mountains, "where 
 kings dinna ken " — or to seize it when made ; the other 
 was intended to quell the riots created by its consump- 
 tion.'" Early in the century it was with the Irish 
 
 * Dr. Walsh states that the first appointment of a night-watch in Dublin 
 was so late as 1723, when an Act was passed under which the different parishes
 
 THE CONSTABULARY. 279 
 
 police literally a case of ''their hands against every 
 man, and every man's hand against them." It was 
 almost the same with the Coast Guard — the " preventive 
 service" organized to suppress smuggling. A large 
 proportion of the gain made by seizure was given to 
 the officers and men ; consequently, notwithstanding the 
 unpopularity of the force, which inferred continual 
 danger, there was no difficulty in obtaining recruits 
 amongst either the gentry or the commonalty of the 
 country. 
 
 The first introduction of an armed police force into 
 Ireland was in 1787 ; prior to that time constables were 
 appointed by Courts Leet and by magistrates at Quarter 
 Sessions. By the 27 Geo. III. some improvements were 
 made. Powers were given to grand juries (all, without 
 exception, being Protestants) to appoint sub-constables, 
 " being Protestants," and payments were ordered to be 
 made to "armed Protestants" who assisted them in con- 
 veying prisoners, &c. In 1792, 32 Geo. III., there were 
 other alterations made ; but no Papist was admitted into 
 the force. The constables wore no uniform, and gene- 
 rally continued to follow their customary avocations. In 
 1814 Sir Eobert Peel, then Chief Secretary, introduced 
 some salutary changes. The force, as a term of scorn, 
 and in evidence of hatred, were thence called "Peelers." 
 It became so obnoxious to the peasantry, and conse- 
 quently the service so perilous, that few men of good 
 habits joined it. The appointments were generally 
 given to " followers " of gentlemen of influence — in 
 
 were required to appoint "honest men and good Protestants" to be night-watch- 
 men. Sixty years ago, if there was a Roman Catholic in the force he kept the 
 secret of his religion to himself.
 
 380 THE CONSTABULARY. 
 
 many instances the men were their gamekeepers, and in 
 some cases their domestic servants. It was not until 1836 
 (6 Will. IV.) that the force, as it is now constituted, 
 was introduced into Ireland. Thenceforward all dis- 
 tinctions of religion ceased; and it is of very rare 
 occurrence that the mixing of Catholics with Pro- 
 testants has led to disputes in the force — certainly not 
 more frequently than happens in any marching regi- 
 ment. The change has been a blessed change. The old 
 idea that all persons in the service of the law were to 
 protect the rich from the encroachments of the poor has 
 been abrogated ; in a word, the police force has the 
 confidence of the people, and by degrees, from being a 
 most unpopular body, it has become almost universally 
 popular. Not only in the detection, but in the preven- 
 tion of crime, it works well. The knowledge that it is 
 invariably on the alert to detect crime has naturally 
 been efficacious in preventing it. 
 
 " The constabulary force has been of the greatest 
 advantage to Ireland, whether considered socially or 
 morally." That was my view in 1842,* and succeeding 
 years have confirmed it. I may add to it the declara- 
 tion — concerDing these men — of the historian Froude : 
 " They are at once the most sorely tempted and the 
 most nobly faithful of all subjects of the British 
 race ; " and Dr. Forbes, a physician of rare intelligence 
 
 * The Eoyal Irish Constahulnry force consists of an eifective strength of ahout 
 11,000 men and 230 officers, costing- about £1,100,000 per annum; but the 
 Exchequer collected from counties and proclaimed districts for extra police force 
 in 1878—9, nearly £27,000, nearly £28,000 in 1879—80, and £19,000 in 1880—81. 
 The Dublin MetropoKtan force, established by Act of Parliament in 1836, con- 
 sists now of 158 officers and 978 men, the service, with that of the Courts, costing 
 in 1880 £138,938, the Treasury contributing £88,000 of the amount.
 
 THE CONSTABULARY. 381 
 
 and keen habits of observation, after spending '' a Holi- 
 day in Ireland," thus wrote of them in 1852 : '' They 
 are the picked men of Ireland, and being so, I verily 
 believe it is scarcely an exaggeration to say are also the 
 picked men of mankind." This passage is from Dr. 
 Macaulay : " The more I saw of the force, the more I 
 was impressed with its efficiency and its peculiar 
 ada^itation to the requirements of the country." 
 
 Testimony equally strong has been supplied by every 
 writer concerning Ireland. That which I gave in 1842, 
 when the force, if not in its infancy, was in its youth, 
 is the testimony of all who have since had opportunities 
 of testing and estimating its worth. Courteous, obliging, 
 always ready and willing to communicate information 
 and render aid, every traveller has found them ; loyal 
 to their oaths ; trusted, and invariably to be trusted ; 
 patient under the severest tests of temper; faithful 
 found when avoidance of duty might have seemed 
 excusable ; shirking no personal peril, never counting 
 the odds, though often half a score have been surrounded 
 by hundreds of infuriated enemies — it would be diffi- 
 cult to praise overmuch the police of to-day, when con- 
 trasting them with the force of the times to which I 
 have taken my readers back. 
 
 Surely it ought to be added, even at the risk of 
 repetition, that though the major part of the force is 
 Eoman Catholic, cases of quarrels between the members 
 of that faith and their Protestant brethren have been so 
 rare as not to have been taken into account at all. They 
 live together in harmony, each, no doubt, preferring his 
 own, but neither considering creed a subject for acri-
 
 382 drunkenness: faction fights. 
 
 mony — even for discussion — as interrupting or disturb- 
 ing discharge of duty. 
 
 Drunkenness. — On this subject I have written so 
 fully elsewhere, that reference to it only is necessary 
 here — as manifesting the changes wrought by time in 
 Ireland. I have said that a drunkard in an Irish 
 drawing-room now is as rare as a pickpocket ; while 
 the peasant, when drunk, skulks to his home from the 
 public-house through by-ways, ashamed to let the 
 *' neighbours " see him. These blessings remain — the 
 bequests of the good Franciscan friar, the Eev. Theobald 
 Mathew. " God be wid ye ! " — you who earned the 
 Sunday Closing Bill, and will coax or force through 
 Parliament even greater and more important measures 
 for averting from Ireland the national curse. 
 
 So it is of Faction Fights. IS'ow and then the ghost 
 of one is seen — to terrify, instead of gratify, a parish, 
 and magistrates are called upon to inflict nominal fines 
 for breaches of the peace. But those who would study 
 them, in association with the calamities they brought 
 and wrought, must go a long way back into the history 
 of things that have been. 
 
 The Eoman Catholic Belief Bill. — The passing of 
 the Bill for emancipating the Eoman Catholics is, of all 
 the debates to which I have been a listener and have
 
 EOMAN CATHOLIC RELIEF BILL. 383 
 
 reported, that which has the strongest hold upon my 
 memory. The great advocate of their claims — Canning 
 — was dead ; so was Macintosh ; so was Tierney ; while 
 their great opponent — Peel — and he who had opposed 
 them with equal bitterness — Wellington — were still 
 living. But it had been for some time known that both of 
 these famous leaders of the Tory party had changed their 
 opinions and had become what some termed " converts" 
 and others "renegades." When the Iron Duke felt that 
 the time had come to bow to the force of cii'cumstances 
 and of public opinion, no man could longer doubt what 
 the end would be. It was not long deferred, in spite of 
 the weak King's reluctance to the proposed measure and 
 feeble attempts to defer it. In his speech of the 5th 
 February, 1829, George IV. published to all his subjects 
 the fact that his Ministers had persuaded him against 
 his will, by directing Parliament to "review the laws 
 which imposed civil disabilities on his Majesty's Eoman 
 Catholic subjects." The main battle was preceded by a 
 skirmish, or rather by a mere parade of forces ; for the 
 Bill that provided for the suppression of the " Catholic 
 Association," as dangerous to the public peace, incon- 
 sistent with the spirit of the Constitution, and "effectually 
 obstructing every effort permanently to iny^rove the 
 condition of Ireland," passed through both Houses with 
 little difficulty — the friends of the Catholics regarding it 
 as the stepping-stone to emancipation. On the day the 
 Eoyal Message was read, Mr. Peel, who sat for West- 
 bury (Oxford University, which he had previously 
 represented, having rejected his appeal for re-election to 
 the seat he had voluntarily resigned on declaring his
 
 384 ROMAN CATHOLIC RELIEF BILL. 
 
 change of opinion, with, a view to taking the opinion 
 of his constituents on such a change of front), rose 
 on the 5th of March and moved that "the House 
 resolve itself into a Committee of the whole House, 
 to consider the laws imposing civil disabilities on 
 his Majesty's Eoman Catholic subjects," and began 
 by stating that the advice given to the King was 
 the advice of "an united Cabinet." In a long argu- 
 mentative speech, full of facts and clear in reasoning, he 
 gave his reasons for believing that " the time had come ; " 
 that the necessity for yielding to the claims was irre- 
 sistible ; but, as may readily be imagined, there was 
 lacking in his long speech the tone of earnestness ; for 
 Peel was not speaking with the vigorous convictions of 
 a man who saw the cause he had long battled for about 
 to triumph, but as a statesman conquered by the force of 
 circumstances and convinced against his will. 
 
 He was supported by the old advocates of the claims 
 and by the converts, Huskisson, Goulburn, Charles 
 Grant, North, Sir George Murray, and Sir Thomas 
 Lethbridge. 
 
 The majority was much larger than w^as expected : 
 348 voted for the motion and 160 against it. 
 
 The cQjmtry was " agitated ; " and the protesting 
 voices of those who foreboded in Catholic Emancipation 
 disaster to Church and State were everywhere heard ; 
 but their demands that the constituencies should be 
 appealed to were negatived; and Peel triumphantly 
 carried his Bill into the House of Peers, where it was 
 also passed by a large majority, 213 voting for the third 
 reading, and 109 against; that was on the 10th day of
 
 EOITAN CATHOLIC RELIEF BILL. 385 
 
 April, 1829 ; and the Bill received the Eoyal Assent on 
 the 13th April, 1829. 
 
 Up to that time, or very nearly so, the thi-ee estates of 
 the realm had opposed Emancipation earnestly and with 
 resolute determination. And not only was the majority 
 in either House hostile, but George III., by his stubborn 
 declaration that he would never consent to Emancipa- 
 tion, had made the full enfranchisement of the Catholics 
 impossible while he lived.* JSTor had George IV. been 
 sparing of similar declarations ; but his will, less obstinate 
 than that of his father, yielded when the King found 
 himself hard pressed by Wellington and Peel. 
 
 Great as was the boon of Catholic Emancipation, its 
 good effects to Ireland were largely neutralised by the 
 unhappy agitation for Eepeal. What might not O'Connell 
 have done for his country if, instead of leading millions 
 after him in the chase of a Will-o'-the-wisp, he had 
 directed his energies and theirs to turning to practical 
 account the freedom obtained in 1829 ? 
 
 "Let us," said Macaulay, long ago, "let us consider 
 what by this time the condition of Ireland would have 
 been if, after the passing of the Bill, a system of conci- 
 liation had been inaugurated in Ireland; if its great 
 leader, at that time more powerful to sway and dii-ect 
 its people than any sovereign who ruled over any com- 
 
 * The opposition of George III. was based on his interpretation of the Corona- 
 tion Oath. His speech on the occasion is on record. "I can give up my 
 crown," said the King, " and retire from power ; I can quit my palace and live 
 in a cottage ; I can lay my head on a block and lose my life ; but I cannot break 
 my oath." 
 
 The words of the Duke of York, spoken many years afterwards, when the 
 speaker was heir to the throne, were, as I have elsewhere stated, equally emphatic 
 in refusing the claims of the Eoman Catholics to he admitted within the pale of 
 the Constitution. 
 
 V^OL. II. C C
 
 386 POOR LAWS. 
 
 munity, had set his mind and heart to the work of — in 
 a single word — improvement." 
 
 PooE Laws — "Workhouses. — I need not go over the Act 
 intituled, " An Act for the more effectual Eelief of the 
 destitute Poor of Ireland," that received the Eoyal assent 
 on the 31st July, 1838.* The words "more effectual" 
 were inserted as showing that some kind of relief had 
 been given in Ireland, though it had not proved 
 effectual, e.g.^ hospitals, dispensaries, &c., supported 
 principally by County Cess : but no State provision 
 previously existed. The halt, the maimed, the blind, 
 and the afflicted of all diseases, the destitute, the 
 aged, and the forsaken infant, were left entirely to 
 private charity. Those who know Ireland, know that 
 charity is there a fountain that is never dry. Among 
 the poor this duty of man to man is considered as the 
 most solemn and sacred of all ; next to man's duty to 
 God ! To render the appeal of the hungry and naked 
 more forcible, superstition came to the aid of nature ; 
 and to turn away the starving, or refuse shelter to the 
 houseless wanderer was considered to evoke a curse 
 under which none could thrive. No worse a character 
 could be given to any man than that " he was a hard 
 man to the poor." But in spite of these generous 
 features of the Irish character, it was none the less a 
 disgrace to civilisation that the highways and byways 
 were crowded with the destitute of all ages, of whom 
 the State took no charge, and to whom the legislature 
 
 * The Poor Law for Ireland, when introduced into the House of Commons, 
 WHS strongly opposed hy O'Connell; but so it was by ilr. Shaw, a prominent 
 representatiTe on the other side.
 
 WORKHOUSES. 387 
 
 had giyen no thought. That evil exists no longer. 
 It is by no means my intention to canvass this subject, 
 a subject in England, as in Ireland, very difficult, in- 
 tricate, and upon which opinions are much divided. I 
 must consider the change as fruitful of benefits in- 
 calculable to the Irish people. In the workhouses 
 cleanliness is not only inculcated as a duty, but rendered 
 imperative ; and out of this must arise immense benefit, 
 if not to the present, certainly to the after generation. 
 Yentilation is made to contribute to health, and to give 
 the valuable influence of example. Decent beds in 
 place of miserable heaps of wet and filthy straw, not 
 only contribute to existing comforts, but they become 
 necessaries — necessaries that will be procured thereafter 
 by those who have had experience of their advantages. 
 Wholesome food — poor as it would be considered by the 
 English pauper — and in sufificient quantities, instead of 
 food insufficient in amount and of bad quality ; shelter 
 from the weather ; warm and comfortable apartments, 
 both by day and night ; good and ample clothing ; habits 
 of cleanliness, decency, and order ; — such are, in brief, 
 the advantages which the workhouse presents ; if they 
 are advantages to be described and treated as the eights 
 of the English poor, they are, in truth, " novelties " 
 with which the Irish poor had been theretofore utterly 
 unacquainted. The love of liberty — or, to speak more 
 correctly, the hatred of restraint — that has ever charac- 
 terised the Irish peasant, will always prevent the work- 
 house from being over-full. In truth, the marvel is not 
 that so many resort to ''the house," but that it is avoided 
 by any who are in penury and want. The natural love 
 
 c c 2
 
 388 IRISH BEGGARS. 
 
 of liberty and abhorrence of restraint, added to the 
 force of family attachments, keep many back from the 
 refuge provided, until the extreme of destitution compels 
 application for relief. 
 
 As a consequence of the establishment of a Poor-law 
 system in Ireland, the beggars are all gone, or very 
 nearly so. Those who remember Ireland fifty years 
 ago will recall the terrible scenes of wretchedness they 
 encountered whenever the coach stopped to change horses 
 at a way-side inn, or when they were walking abroad to 
 take the air. Frequently, when travelling, our car was 
 surrounded by beggars, numbering from a score to a 
 hundred. One evening I remember (it was at Macroom) 
 I had promised, in order to induce the beggars to leave 
 us alone while we visited the castle in quiet, that I 
 would give them nothing then, but would give to each a 
 penny the next morning. I had actually to produce 
 twelve shillings to redeem my promise. 
 
 The wit of the beggars in Ireland, supplied, perhaps, 
 the rarest and best examples of its natural growth. It 
 was of course ever mixed with blarney — that particular 
 mode of speech which the Americans term " soft 
 sawder," but which the Irish only know how to use to 
 perfection — flattering so speciously and so delicately 
 that offence is out of the question. 
 
 The most remarkable assemblage of beggars I ever 
 encountered was during a visit I paid to Maria Edgeworth, 
 at Edgeworthstown. Driving with her one day into 
 the neighbouring tovm of Longford, the carriage was
 
 IRISH BEGGARS. 389 
 
 soon surrounded. She said to one of them, "You know 
 I never give you anything." Quick and ready was the 
 answer: "Oh, the Lord forgive ye, Miss Edgeworth, 
 that's the first lie ye ever told." 
 
 I am not inventing or drawing on imagination when T 
 repeat the sentences I caught, to remember and record, 
 from that very group. " Good luck to your ladyship's 
 happy face this morning, sure you'll lave the light 
 heart in my bosom before ye go." " Oh, then look at 
 the poor who can't look at you, my lady ; the dark man 
 that can't see if your beauty is like your sweet voice." 
 " Darlin' gintleman, the heavens be your bed, and give 
 us something." " Oh, the blessing of the widdy and 
 five small children that's waiting for your honour's 
 bounty be wid you on the road." " Oh, help the poor 
 craythur that's got no children to show yer honour; 
 they're down in the sickness, and the man that owns 
 them at sea." " They're keeping me back from the 
 penny you're going to give me, lady dear, because I'm 
 wake in myself, and my heart's broke wid the hunger." 
 "Oh, then won't your ladyship buy a dying woman's 
 prayers — chape." 
 
 At the time of which I write, the poor, if they would 
 live, were compelled to beg. The destitute condition of 
 the very poor in Ireland had been for centuries a 
 reproach to the legislature ; but although the State made 
 no provision for the aged and incapable of labour, the 
 tax of their maintenance had been always a grevious 
 tax on the country — pressing not the less heavily 
 because it was voluntary — for it fell upon the generous 
 and released the mercenary — being levied to a con-
 
 390 IRISH BEGGARS. 
 
 siderable extent on the classes only a degree removed 
 from the destitution they relieved. 
 
 Although beggars are still encountered, as they will 
 be everywhere, they are not the frightful nuisances they 
 used to be, when towns and villages swarmed with them. 
 What else but beg could the poverty-stricken do ? The 
 most attractive scenes in Ireland were usually the most 
 infested with the plague. At Killarney, the evil was 
 frightful: beggars swarmed at every point where tourists 
 were expected to stop. The moment the car halted, it 
 was surrounded by what might be termed an animated 
 mass of disease, infirmity, and dirt, that disgusted the 
 fastidious, and filled nervous people with fears of infec- 
 tion. In fact, the Irish beggar had been, time out of 
 mind, one of the chief impediments to intercourse between 
 England and Ireland; presenting sights that made 
 humanity shudder. The misery witnessed, and the dis- 
 comfort endured, were but partially compensated by the 
 often touching eloquence of the appeals made, and the 
 genuine bursts of wit that would have elicited applause 
 and laughter had they come from other soui'ces. That 
 sort of beggar is entirely gone. The police would soon 
 put in durance him or her who plied such a trade now. 
 They must be searched for in the pages of Carleton and 
 other writers. There are not many now living old 
 enough to have met them at Lough Dearg and the 
 other Holy Wells of which they were the pests and the 
 oracles. 
 
 I must again remind the reader that my anecdotes of 
 this description are mainly derived from the past. He 
 will travel through the country now without meeting a
 
 IRISH BEGGARS. 391 
 
 score of professional beggars. Be sure, then, that those 
 who beg will be in sore need. 
 
 The language in which they framed their petitions 
 was always pointed, forcible, and generally highly poetic. 
 I remember a woman with a huge mass of red hair ; 
 some one called out to her, " Foxy head, foxy head." 
 '' Yah ! " said she, ^' that ye may never see the dyer I " 
 I was travelling outside a stage-coach, and while we 
 were changing horses at ^^Taas, where, it was said, the 
 ^'native beggars exceeded the population," a persevering 
 beggar was asking for pennies ; one irate inside pas- 
 senger hastily drew up the window, telling her to go 
 
 to . I shall never forget the inimitable humour of 
 
 her look and manner as she said, '' Ah, then, it's a 
 long journey yer honour is sending us ; may be ye're 
 going to give us something to pay our expenses on the 
 road." 
 
 To beg was in truth a business : there was first the 
 beggar by profession, often a strong and sturdy fellow, 
 able, but not willing, to work, having pride rather than 
 shame in the calling he had taken up. Such sturdy 
 mendicants were to be counted, not by hundreds, but 
 thousands, and were of both sexes ; the occupation was 
 chiefly that of men. This kind of beggar was usually a 
 wit, full of sly, and even wicked, humour ; pandering to 
 vice ; the running medium of scandal ; the worker of 
 mischief in families ; a gross flatterer where he expected 
 alms ; a pretender to religion ; a devotee and a canting 
 upholder of his Church ; a quack, who pretended to cure 
 ailments; often a seller of '''■hades ;''"' a haunter of the 
 chapel door ; and generally, though less for love than
 
 392 IRISH BEGGARS. 
 
 fear, a welcomed guest at the tables of well-to-do 
 farmers, as well as at the hearth of the peasant. 
 
 It was a common course, when harvest time ap- 
 proached, for a man to make his way to England, and 
 send his wife and children out " on the road," that is, to 
 beg, until he returned with the money he had gathered 
 by his labour, paid the rent, and so ensured shelter for 
 another year. He had worked and lived miserably ; 
 saving all he could ; remembering the home claims, he 
 grudged himself a single luxury ; often resorting to 
 mean and discreditable shifts to earn, or rather to 
 prevent the spending of, a penny.* 
 
 It is not tradition of a very remote past, that which 
 relates how, at the pass between Cork and Kerry 
 counties, the agents of the landlords, at certain seasons, 
 awaited the home-coming of beggars and took from them 
 the moneys they had gathered — thus securing the pay- 
 ment of their rents ; I can credit a story I was told 
 of an agent who received so many rents in pennies and 
 halfpennies, that the horse he rode was unable to carry 
 the load. 
 
 Yes, the Irish beggars are far-off memories ; a part 
 of old Ireland, that the remodelled Ireland of these days 
 has forgotten. The Poor Law provides for the very 
 
 * In illustration of thia custom I recall an incident. On board u packet from 
 Bristol to Cork there were a number of Irish labourers homeward bound. When 
 the captain was gathering his fares, one fellow protested he bad not the money, 
 or any money. He was searched, but none was found. The captain said he 
 would have his coat, a bundle of rags that had been taken from his back ; looking 
 at it with loathing he suddenly jerked it overboard. The deck rang with the 
 scream that followed the act. The agony of the man was so great that one of 
 the passengers said he should have another coat." It was then discovered that 
 sewn up in his wretched jacket were sundry pound notes which he was taking 
 home to the " grawls." The man was rightly punished for his duplicity ; but 
 his utter misery was a sight I have not forgotten, though it was sixty years ago.
 
 IRISH WIT. 393 
 
 poor ; and although it was at first bitterly and indig- 
 nantly opposed, the immense benefits wrought to the 
 country by the introduction of the system have gradually 
 made themselves felt and silenced clamour, while the 
 improvement of such portions of it as were found to work 
 badly, removed objections that had ground in reason.* 
 
 * When last I was in Ireland I heard hut one new story. It illustrates the 
 old characteristic of the ready wit of the Irish. Two boys were sleeping together ; 
 one was Catholic, the other Protestant. When they woke in the morning tLe 
 latter thought to get a rise of the foiiner. " Oh ! " said the one, " I had a horrid 
 drame last night." "Well, tell it to us," said the other. " Well, I will," said 
 the Protestant boy. " Ye see, I dramed that I saw Purgathory opened, and all 
 the Papists fell down into Hell." " Och, murder ! " exclaimed the Catholic boy, 
 "the poor Protestants — won't they be crushed !" 
 
 This story was told me by Mr. Ratfles, the stipendiary magistrate at Liver- 
 pool : — Paddy Mallowney was brought before him and ordered to pay five shillings 
 for being drunk and disorderly. " Pay five shillings for being drunk!" he ex- 
 claimed. " Och ! the divil a five shillings ye'll git out of me." "Very well," 
 said the magistrate; "take him to prison for seven days." "Is it take me to 
 prison — barring I pay the five shillings ? " deliberately counting them one by one, 
 and he said, " there they are, yer worship, and now I'll trouble ye for mee resate." 
 "Oh, we never give receipts here." "Och! the divil a bit o' me 'ill pay the 
 money without a resate," he answered, as he gathered the shillings together. But 
 as he was about to be removed by the tipstaff, he took wit in his anger, restored 
 them, and was about to withdraw, when the magistrate, tickled, said, "Now, my 
 man, tell me what you want of a receipt — what's your motive for seeking one P " 
 " Well, I'll tell yer worship," answered Paddy. " Ye see, ye worship, when I go 
 up to take mee trial there'll be St. Peter there, and he'll say to me, ' Paddy 
 Mallowney,' he'll saj', 'we're glad to see ye, and we're going to let ye in ; but 
 before we do, we must ax ye a few questions : first, while ye were on earth, did 
 ye pay all yer debts ?' and I'll say, ' Every one of 'em, yer holiness, every one.' 
 And he'll say, * Well, if ye paid them all, where are your resates ? ' and I'll say, 'I 
 have 'em all here, yer holiness, in mee big coat pocket, every one, barring one.' 
 And he'll say to me, ' Paddy Mallowney, ye must go and get us that one, for we 
 can't let ye in widout it ; ' and a mighty inconvenient thing it 'ud be to me, your 
 worship, to be going down belotv, looking for yer worship to get mee resate." 
 
 Not long ago this incident took place in Kensington, where the " pro- 
 Cathedral " was in process of erection. A man was busily making mortar ; a 
 gentleman passed by and addressed him : "What are you building there?" 
 " A church, yer honour." " Oh, a church; of what denomination ? " " Of no 
 denomination at all, yer honour; it's a holy Roman Catholic church." "I'm 
 very sorry to hear it." " Yes, sir, that's ivhat the devil says," said Paddy as he 
 resumed his work. 
 
 I doubt if a traveller who journeyed from the Giant's Causeway to Cape Clear 
 would pick up a dozen new anecdotes ; while half a century ago, it would have 
 been a barren harvest that did not yield a hundred.
 
 394 DISPENSARIES — REPEAL THE UNION ! 
 
 There are now no towns, and few villages, that are 
 without DISPENSARIES, and not many districts without 
 a diploma' d doctor. Sixty years ago medical and surgical 
 practitioners in out-of-the-way quarters were " fancy 
 men" and "bone-setters;" — man, or horse, or cow 
 were patients alike. The class is now extinct in 
 Ireland ; but half a century back such was the medical 
 administrator and surgical operator for a score of miles 
 round. 
 
 Eepeal of the Union. — " Eepeal the Union — Eestore 
 the Heptarchy ! " The sentence was uttered by George 
 Canning more than half a century ago. "It is mad- 
 ness," said Sir Robert Peel, in 1830, " to attempt to sever 
 the Union." These are the words of Lord Althorp : " I 
 sincerely hope that the object of those who are in favour 
 of the Eepeal of the Union will not succeed ; and knowing 
 that they cannot succeed, except by successful war, I 
 must say that though no man is more averse from war, 
 and particularly a civil war, than I am, yet I must 
 confess, that to me even civil war would be preferable 
 to the disembodiment and destruction of the empire." 
 And this passage is quoted from a speech by Macaulay ; 
 commenting on O'Connell's demand for Eepeal in 1833. 
 " Copious as his vocabulary is, he will not easily find in 
 it any foul name that has not been many times applied 
 to those who sit around me, on account of the zeal and 
 steadiness with which they supported the emancipation of 
 the Eoman Catholics. His reproaches are not more 
 stinging than the reproaches which, in times not very 
 remote, were endured unflinchingly in his cause. Those
 
 REPEAL THE UNION ! 395 
 
 who faced the cry of ' No Popery ' are not here to be 
 scared by the cry of ' Eepeal.' " 
 
 There has not been a statesman in England since the 
 year 1800 who has not declared Eepeal of the Union to 
 be as utterly out of consideration as would be a solemn 
 proj)osal to erase from the statute book the Habeas 
 Corpus Act. 
 
 Sordid as were the means by which the consent of the 
 Irish Parliament to its own extinction was secured, the 
 measure has been productive of incalculable benefit — 
 not to England alone, but in a still greater degree to 
 Ireland. 
 
 The Bill for the Union was read a third time and 
 passed on the 10th of June, 1800, and received the 
 Eoyal assent on the 1st of August in that year. Nobody 
 questioned that Ireland had been bought and sold ; but 
 if those who bought it were English, those who sold 
 it were Irish. That outspoken member of the Hibernian 
 Parliament who " thanked God he had a country to sell," 
 only gave expression to the secret sentiments of a 
 majority of his colleagues. Lord Castlereagh, the 
 English '^ Commissioner," came to Dublin on his mission 
 of " Union," armed with golden weapons that proved 
 irresistible to the patriots of the Parliament House. 
 
 It was Grattan's proj^hecy that Ireland would be 
 revenged on England for the Union by sending eighty 
 '^ rapscallions " to the Imperial Parliament. How many 
 instalments of the debt have been paid between the year 
 1800 and the year 1883? 
 
 There is abundant evidence that the Union was, from 
 the first, to Ireland a gain and not a loss. Put what "is
 
 396 THE IRISH PARLIAMENT. 
 
 the worth of evidence to those who will not hear it or 
 are predetermined to reject it ? But the Irish Parlia- 
 ment was no more a national Parliament, than the Irish 
 Church was a national Church. Both were exclusively- 
 Protestant. 
 
 In 1831 a ''declaration" was issued, signed by a 
 very large number of the leading noblemen and gentle- 
 men of Ireland, concerning the political discussions upon 
 the question of a Eepeal of the Legislative Union of 
 Great Britain and Ireland ; it contained this compre- 
 hensive passage : — 
 
 " We are of opinion tiiat such repeal is a measure totally imprac- 
 ticable, and we are convinced that the agitation of it is peculiarly 
 injurious to the prosperity of Ireland by diminishing that public 
 confidence in her tranquillity without which it is vain to expect that 
 capital or enterprise can largely or beneficially be directed to the 
 cultivation of her resources and the profitable employment of her 
 people." 
 
 It was signed by Eoman Catholics as well as Pro- 
 testants : indeed the document was prepared by one of 
 the then most prominent of the Eoman Catholic leaders 
 — Pearce Mahony. The Orange Society di'ew up a 
 document to the same effect. 
 
 It was true in 1831, it is true in 1883 that the agi- 
 tation for Eepeal has frightfully retarded the progress of 
 the country. The vain pursuit of a shadow, while the 
 substance of national prosperity is neglected, has been a 
 blight to Ireland even more disastrous than the potato 
 famine of 1847. 
 
 Although, as I have shown, the present agitation for 
 Home Eule is by no means parallel with that of the last
 
 THE IRISH PARLIAMENT. 397 
 
 century, it will not come amiss to inquire here what sort 
 of Parliament Ireland had previous to the Union. 
 
 Lord Eussell said that the Irish Parliament was 
 " chiefly remarkable for intolerance and corruption." 
 
 Of three hundred members of the Irish House of 
 Commons two hundred were the nominees of jDrivate 
 persons — peers or commoners — and forty of these mem- 
 bers represented constituencies varying in number from 
 one to twelve '' voters." * 
 
 Both Houses of Parliament were hotbeds of cor- 
 ruption. The few really sincere and honest politicians 
 in them were lost among a crowd of venal upholders of 
 the Government of the day, and of equally venal 
 opponents to it, whose noisy pretences of patriotism 
 could always be silenced when necessary by similar 
 arguments to those that converted so many patriots on 
 the occasion of the Union. 
 
 When, on the 5th of June, 1800, Grattan's motion for 
 an addi'ess to the King protesting against the Union was 
 negatived by 135 votes to 77, the majority of the sup- 
 porters of the Government had sold their votes as dis- 
 tinctly and directly as the electors for theii' respective 
 boroughs sold theirs. 
 
 Such was the Irish Protestant Parliament of last 
 century. Who can doubt that a Dublin Parliament of 
 
 * One example will suflBce. Bannow sent two members to Parliament. There 
 was no dwelling better than a hovel in the "borough." A dilapidated chim- 
 ney in the churchyard indicates where a house had been ; seated upon its bricks 
 and stones the " representatives " were returned. The chimney yet remains. 
 I have stood upon it often. It is one of the few relics of the Irish Herculaneum : 
 a town swallowed up by sea-sand ; but there is not even tradition to describe 
 it ; all the evidence of its existence is a list of some streets, with theii- inhabitants, 
 preserved among old records in the city of AVaterford.
 
 398 THE IRISH PARLIAMENT. 
 
 to-day would speedily present a spectacle of even more 
 hopeless anarchy ? Two hundred years ago, the appeal 
 of James II. to the native Irish called, for a short time, 
 an assembly of Irish Catholics into power. That "senate " 
 was speedily scattered by the crushing overthrow of 
 James, but it had sat long enough to give evidence of 
 its total incapacity to govern. The edicts it issued were 
 alternately calculated to provoke the rage of the Pro- 
 testants and their derision. Who can doubt that in 
 these particulars, history would repeat itself — that a 
 Home Eule Parliament would combine insult to England 
 with incapacity for domestic legislation ? And what 
 would be the end of the perilous experiment ? Either 
 that Ireland would have to be bribed into surrendering 
 the privilege of making laws for herself, as in 1800, or 
 conquered again as in 1649 and 1689 — some would add, 
 as in 1798. If ever Irish clamour should succeed (but 
 that is incredible) in obtaining Eepeal of the Union, 
 those who have laboured to that end will have called 
 down on their country, not a blessing, but a curse. 
 
 In November, 1843, I published a letter on the subject 
 of Eepeal addressed to Irish Temperance Societies, 
 included in which societies were at that time two-thirds 
 of the Irish people.* ^ 
 
 * The letter had the fate of all attempts to steer a middle course between 
 parties in Ireland. It gave offence to both the Liberal Catholic party I desired 
 to conciliate, and the Protestant Conservative party with which surely I was 
 allied. It led to a hostile message to me from Charles Lever, the then editor of 
 the Dublin University Magazine, who had assailed me as a person " hired'' to do 
 the work. I was indignant, and replied— certainly with bitterness. We were 
 both soldiers of the pen, and it was the only weapon with which we ought to 
 have fought ; Mr. Lever did not think so, but came over to London, and in the 
 parlance of the time, " called me out." Fortunately we had sensible " friends " 
 who saw the absurdity of a duel between two men of letters. While they dis-
 
 REPEAL THE UNION ! 399 
 
 What I wrote thirty-five years ago is as directly ap- 
 i:>licable now as it was then. Eepeal is as much an 
 impossibility now as then. Mr. Butt knew it, as did 
 O'Connell ; Mr. Parnell knows it as well as did either 
 of his predecessors. 
 
 It could be obtained only at the cost of a civil war ; 
 the most powerful nation in the world opposed to a 
 people ill-supplied with the means of making war, 
 divided and subdivided in interests, in affinities, in 
 race, in blood, with a strong and determined adversary 
 in their very midst — the Protestant — who cannot forget 
 the warnings he received in 1798. 
 
 Yes, " Eepealers " know Eepeal to be an impos- 
 sibility,* that England would "rise as one man" to 
 prevent it — to prevent Ireland from being given over to 
 one j)art of the Irish, — the part infinitely the least 
 capable of self-government. They know well that 
 Eepeal, however much it might injure England, would 
 utterly ruin Ireland ; they know more than that : they 
 know that civil war would be the inevitable result of 
 Eepeal, that — as in 1641, in 1688, and in 1798 — there 
 would be frightful massacres ; but they know also, that 
 even if England were to look calmly and indifferently 
 
 cussed the affair at Chalk Farm, Mr. Lever was in one house and I in another 
 close at hand waiting their decision. 
 
 The marvellous peacemaker, if, settled the affair. If the offensive term had 
 not been applied to me I should not have written the offensive letter. The one 
 was "withdrawn" and the other was "withdrawn." Mr. Lever and I never 
 met, either metaphorically or literally. I went home, he returned to Dublin, 
 and so the affair ended : the present Lord Ranelagh saying pleasantly to my 
 friend Colonel Clarke, as they two were homeward bound, " he believed it was 
 the first time three Irishmen had met to kill one Englishman — and didn't do it." 
 
 * O'Connell, in 1843, declared that the Eepeal of the Fniofl "could not be 
 delayed longer than eight or ten months, when your country shall be a nation 
 once more," and added, " believe me who never deceived you ! "
 
 400 CIVIL WAR. 
 
 on the struggle, not sending a single soldier to aid " its 
 own " in a war between the Protestants and Eoman 
 Catholics, the Protestants would triumph ; the numbers 
 would be, indeed, one against four (not as it was in 
 '98, one against seven), but the one would be well fed, 
 well armed, well clothed, well disciplined, well led, 
 while the four would be a rabble destitute of all these 
 guarantees of victory.* 
 
 I cannot close this chapter better than by quoting the 
 words of Macaulay, uttered in the House of Commons in 
 1833. Having stated he was prepared to show that 
 Repeal of the Union would not remove the political and 
 social evils that afflict Ireland, but that it would aggra- 
 vate every one of those evils ; he added, " for my part 
 / should prefer the total separation which the honourable 
 and learned gentleman (^O^Connell) professes to consider a 
 calamity to partial separation, which he has taught his 
 countrymen to consider as a blessing.'''' 
 
 * Milo McCaskey, one of the generals of the Pope, said in a warning letter to 
 O'Donovan Rossa, " If it ever came to a fight, four thousand regular troops in 
 Ireland will rout fifty thousand of your undisciplined rabble. In all that you 
 see strength, I see weakness ; and where you read power, force, resource, and 
 victory, I only infer debility, dissension, and defeat. Out of such miserable 
 materials you think to make an army — you might as well stock a jeweller's shop 
 with paving-stones, and tell him to make rings and bracelets of them. Tell me, 
 if you can, what popular rising ever made even a decent stand where the men of 
 station held aloof and refused their assistance to it ? Irish Republicanism ! Do 
 you not know that respect of rank, and especially for the rank that is associated 
 with ancient blood, is amongst the most cherished feelings of all Irishmen ? You 
 want to put in the place of your priests a gin-juleper from New York, or a tailor 
 from Dame Street. The gallows or the hulks is a smart price to pay for a drill 
 in the dark, or the possession of a Federal uniform and a six-shooter. I have no 
 desire to grace the dock of Cashel or Tralee, and I decliae the command of an 
 army that does not exist, and which wiU only muster to be hanged or trans- 
 ported." The letter from Milo McCaskey is dated from Rome in October, 1865, 
 and was found by the police in searching the lodgings of O'Donovan Rossa.
 
 EMIGRATION. 401 
 
 Emigration. — In the twenty-two years prior to 1871, 
 2,GT0,f)64 Irish people emigrated from Ireland, and in 
 1880, 95,800. Possibly, however, the famine period, 
 which began in 1845, may have had something to do with 
 the large exodus of the earlier years. For in 1851 there 
 were over 250,000 paupers in the workhouses through- 
 out the country, whereas in 1861 the number was but 
 50,010, and in 1871 only 48,000. Of the emigrants in 
 1880 75 per cent, were between fifteen and thirty-five, 
 14 per cent, under fifteen, and only 10 per cent, over 
 thirty-five years of age. How greatly emigration has 
 affected the population is shown by the fact that in 
 1821 the number of people in Ireland was, roughly 
 speaking, 6,800,000, whereas in 1881 it was but 
 5,160,000, there having been a decrease of over 4 per 
 cent, during the past ten years. Between 1841 and 
 1851, however, nineteen persons in every hundred, or 
 nearly one-fifth, left the country.* 
 
 On this important subject I offer no remarks ; satis- 
 fied with merely giving " Eeturns," excejDt that I 
 fully coincide with the view taken by " An Ulster 
 
 * The number of emigrants who left Irish ports in 1881 was 78,719, the 
 number of males being 40,317, and of females, 38,402. Of the 78,719 emigrants 
 in 1881, 78,417 were natives of Ireland, and 302 were persons belonging to other 
 countries. Of the 78,417 persons — natives of Ireland — who left in 1881, 16,232 
 were from Leinster; 21,752 from ]\Iunster ; 24,101 from Ulster; and 16,332 I'rom 
 Cormaught, the total number being equal to 15-2 per 1,000 of the population of 
 Ireland in 1881. 
 
 The total number of emigrants, natives of Ireland, who left the Irish ports 
 from the 1st of May, 1851 (the date at which the collection of these returns com- 
 menced), to the 31st of December, 1881, is 2,715,604—1,446,582 males, and 
 1,269,022 females. Munster contributed 939,092 persons ; Ulster 802,649 ; Con- 
 naught 352,792; and Leinster 510,403. It appears that 76-0 per cent, of the 
 persons who left Ireland in 1881 were between the ages of fifteen and thirty -five 
 years, the percentage over that age being 9"3, and of children imder fifteen 
 years 14'7. 
 
 VOL. II. D D
 
 402 RAILWAYS. 
 
 Farmer," writing to the Times in 1881: "There is 
 but one escape for the Irish peasant, and that is to 
 carry him where land is a drug and labour at a pre- 
 mium." The subject must, ere long, find its way to 
 the front. Emigration and immigration (the infusion of 
 new and healthy blood into the body politic) would do 
 that which I believe may be done — place Ireland on a 
 par with England in all that produces contentment, 
 prosperity, and happiness. 
 
 Railways. — One of the earliest passages in our work 
 — "Ireland, its Scenery and Character," 1840 — is this : 
 " In Ireland there are no railways." It is needless 
 to dwell on the disadvantages that hence arose. How 
 is it now ? Let us compare the present with the past 
 as regards this immense power over all the ramifi- 
 cations of life. 
 
 The first railway in Ireland, that from Dublin to 
 Kingstown (six miles), was opened in December, 1834, 
 and it was for some years the only one in the country. 
 In 1849, however, several others had been made, there 
 being then 428 miles open, and the receipts that year 
 for goods and passengers being £418,066, the pas- 
 sengers having numbered six millions. Ten years after- 
 wards, 1,265 miles had been opened, and in 1859 the 
 receipts were £1,296,063. In 1869 the receipts had 
 increased to £2,260,000, and the length open was 1,975 
 miles. In 1880 the mileage was 2,370, the revenue was 
 £2,262,619, and the number of passengers carried in 
 the year was over sixteen millions, with twenty- one
 
 THE PRINTING PRESS. 403 
 
 tliousand season-ticket holders. The average cost of these 
 lines in Ireland has been £16,000 per mile, and it is 
 stated that the capital held by resident proprietors is 
 about seventeen millions. Several new lines have recently 
 been finished and opened, and others are in course of 
 formation.* 
 
 The PRINTING PRESS, with its enormous increase of 
 power during the last forty or fifty years, has done 
 literally nothing to aid and advance progress in Ireland. 
 Forty or fifty years ago, so few of the "common people" 
 could read — according to Mr. A. M. Sullivan, there 
 are now as few who cannot read — that efi'orts to pro- 
 duce suitable literature for them would have been futile. 
 But, even then, such publications as those of " Martin 
 Doyle " (my friend the late Eev. William Hickey), on 
 agriculture and kindred topics, had a large circulation, 
 and by no means exclusively among cultivated classes. 
 
 It is true, we have now the railway bookstalls of " W. H. 
 Smith & Son " in towns where formerly there was not a 
 book to be had "for love or money; " but the Stations 
 are not often visited by men or women of the peasant class, 
 nor are the books found there such as are likely to be 
 appreciated and valued by them. Moreover, there is 
 sometimes the certainty, and always the dread, that the 
 cheap sheets they might purchase will contain some- 
 thing hostile to their faith, and prejudicial to what 
 
 * The usual lack of business habits in Ireland is, I fear, the curse of the rail- 
 road, as in more important matters. I send generally thi'ice a year a large 
 package to " Kenmare, rid Cork or Waterford." It rarely arrives at its destina- 
 tion under ten days — as long a time as it would take to transmit it to Xew York. 
 The last package I sent — in 1883 — had not arrived at the end of twelve days. 
 
 DD 2
 
 404 PRINTED BOOKS. 
 
 they consider their interests ; while, as importations 
 from England, they are met, on the threshold, by a 
 greeting of — nnwelcome. 
 
 While it is nndoubtedly true that some well-meaning 
 and, it may be, well-intentioned, societies, work solely 
 with this view — making instruction subordinate to prose- 
 lytising ; ostentatiously caring more for the "souls" 
 than they do for the bodies and minds of those to whose 
 " needs " they profess to minister. Such was always the 
 curse that crept into literature intended for the Irish 
 people — the production of pamphlets and books that 
 never were read, never could have been read, by one out 
 of a thousand who were desired to be readers. 
 
 I am strongly of opinion that if cheap and good books, 
 pointing out many of the changes that have taken place, 
 explaining others that may be made or are in progress, 
 manifesting the blessings of tranquillity, and exhibiting 
 the virtues of social life, were circulated among the 
 peasantry, they would be accepted and read. They 
 might be subtle, but by no means delusive — there is no 
 human being so hard to deceive as an Irishman. Espe- 
 cially they must touch upon no points calculated to 
 excite alarm, on the ground of either religion, politics, 
 or rights, real or presumed. Surely there are prudent, 
 wise, and good men who might devise such a series as — 
 while risking no offence, stirring up no suspicion, dis- 
 turbing no rational prejudice — might work its way 
 among the people as antidotes to the fatal poison they 
 now greedily take — most of it foul and evil, thoroughly 
 atrocious importations from the United States of 
 America.
 
 CORPORATE BODIES. 405 
 
 I have no doubt whatever that sucli a series might be 
 devised as would obtain the sanction of the Cardinal- 
 Archbishop, several of the bishops, and a large propor- 
 tion of the clergy of the Catholic Church — while receiving 
 the approval of those of the Protestant Church. It would 
 not be easy to produce such a series — I am fully aware of 
 that ; but it may be done, taking especial care that every 
 questionable topic is carefully excluded, that the sub- 
 jects treated be, as far as possible, interesting as well as 
 instructive — and involving no fear that the writers and 
 editors have given thought, directly or indirectly, to 
 *" conversion." I repeat, it would be a task of much 
 delicacy and some difficulty ; but it may be done, and 
 national money, spent to do it, would be wisely and 
 profitably spent.* 
 
 Will any person obtain information — not difficult to 
 obtain — as to how many mayors and how many town 
 councillors, being Eoman Catholics, represent in corpo- 
 rate bodies the several cities and towns of Ireland ? 
 To contrast the returns of the present with those of the 
 past, when — some forty years ago — the seven millions of 
 Irish Eoman Catholics were represented by one person- 
 Major Bryan, of Kilkenny, a popular gentleman, well 
 known and largely appreciated — not as a politician, but 
 as a performer in amateur plays ! I leave others to 
 comment on the change from then to now. 
 
 * Some years ago Mrs. Hall published a little book (Partridge & Co.) 
 entitled " God save the Green!" It was a kindly and aflectionate address to
 
 406 IRISH PATRIOTS. 
 
 Does it ever occur to Irish '' patriots " that if '' Boy- 
 cotting" is found to answer in Ireland, it may be 
 resorted to in England; that — to the million of Irishmen 
 employed in that part of the Queen's dominions, Irish 
 emigrants to the sister country, where they receive good 
 wages, good food, good raiment, good treatment, as truly 
 and as fully as English workmen of their grade do, or 
 can, obtain, the same measure of liberty being accorded 
 to the one as can be enjoyed by the other — there may 
 come a day when the master-builders, the merchants, 
 and mill-owners of England may restore to newspapers 
 the long rejected and condemned paragraph — " No 
 Irish need apply I " 
 
 I have said before, and I repeat, that the teaching 
 is infamously wicked which tells the people of Ireland 
 to rejoice at any evil or misfortune that may befall 
 England, on the ground that "England's extremity is 
 Ireland's opportunity " — that the English and the Irish 
 cannot, and ought not, to mingle any more than oil with 
 water. The propagators of such doctrines are not only the 
 foes of England : they are the worst enemies of Ireland. 
 Their teaching, while pregnant with incalculable evils 
 to both nations, has brought down in the past, and 
 must again bring down in the future, if listened to, 
 infinitely more terrible mischiefs on the weaker than 
 on the stronger country. 
 
 It is one way of serving Ireland — the way counselled 
 
 the men and women of her country : full of anecdote, and valuable as presenting 
 a contrast between the present and the past ; but not such as I should advise in 
 a series I contemplate and presume to i-ecouunend.
 
 EYIL TEACHING. 407 
 
 at Wiclvlow in December, 1882 — that ''patriots" should 
 1)0 surrounded (?) by "fighting men," "serried phalanxes," 
 Avhose properties were taken from them " seven hundred 
 3^ears ago" (I quote the speaker, one of the "rapscallions" 
 sent to the Imperial Tarliament in revenge for the Union 
 of eighty-three years back — with whom Grattan threat- 
 ened us in 1800). But the " fighting men" would not 
 be all on one side; there are those — not in the "Black 
 l^orth " only, but in all parts of Ireland, who protest 
 against such teaching — none the less wicked because 
 it infers insanity. (I quote from the Times, Jan. 1, 
 1883):— 
 
 " They proclaim hatred of English rule and law, to brand with 
 infamy and hold up to execration the loyalists who are true to the 
 Crown and union of the two countries, and to preach a crusade 
 against property, inflaming the passions and exciting the cupidity 
 of tlie popidaee." 
 
 Evil men they are who teach to a credulous people the 
 evil doctrine of what they term " felonious landlordism " 
 — which in so many instances means persons buying land 
 and paying for it, using it not for their own benefit 
 alone, but for the interest of all, of every class — 
 that it is to be "eradicated" by teachings and bowie- 
 Ivuives imported from the United States of America, 
 openly advocated by men who are no more Irish than 
 are the existing leaders, a large proportion of whom 
 are merely "Ilibernes ipsis Iliberniores," which a high 
 authority pronounces to designate "Anglo-Xormans and 
 Anglo-Saxons sunk into savages." There are plenty of 
 Anglo-Normans and Anglo-Saxons now, who, if not
 
 408 LORD o'hagan's view. 
 
 themselves '' sunk into savages," patronise, comfort, 
 encourage, and aid those who are. 
 
 These memorable words are the words of Lord Aber- 
 dare : — 
 
 ' ' I have striven to show, not with, the poor aim of exalting the 
 present over the past, but with the jnst object of inspiring hope 
 and courage and perseverance by pointing to victories ah-eady won 
 
 and conquests which may yet be made We have received 
 
 from those who immediately preceded us a world much better thau 
 they found it. Let it not be our fault if we do not transmit it to 
 our successors improved, purified, and invigorated." 
 
 On the subject of the changes that have given good 
 government to Ireland in the place of bad, let me, 
 before I close this chapter, cite the evidence of Lord 
 O'Hagan, an Irish Eoman Catholic, who has been — to 
 his own honour, and greatly to the content of the 
 British people of all religions, all parties, and all grades 
 — Lord High Chancellor of Ireland. 
 
 At the Social Science Congress in Dublin (1881) the 
 noble lord delivered an address dealing with a period of 
 Irish history much less remote and infinitely less oppres- 
 sive than that to which I have taken my readers back. 
 He contrasted the present with that comparatively recent 
 past, and drew from the reforms of abuses he enumerated 
 a cheering augury for the futm^e. I copy from the Times 
 a portion of an article commenting on his speech : — 
 
 " Lord O'Hagan's claim for his countrymen is of having made 
 ' steps of real and cheering progress, improvements permanently 
 conquered from the past, and auspicious, as they will be fruitful, 
 of a happier future.' Twenty-one years back the judicial bench 
 was crowded, and suitors waited long years before they could gain
 
 LORD o'hagan's tiew. 409 
 
 a hearing. In criminal cases juries were ostentatious^ packed. 
 Towns large and small were abandoned to untempered squalor and 
 filth. The stranger wondered as much in Dublin and Cork as in 
 the poorest village how pestilence could fail to be chronic. 
 
 Jobbery and waste and xiniversal recklessness, which 
 
 once distinguished everything Irish, have been retrenched, if not 
 abolished. The materials for resting national life on a sound 
 basis hardly existed in Irish institutions at the date from which 
 Lord O'Hagan commences his reminiscences. At present the 
 structure for securing public order is practically as complete in 
 Ireland as it is in England. 
 
 "Lord O'Hagan can quote chapter and verse for his catalogue of 
 ' amended laws, cheap and facile justice, education liberal, uncon- 
 ditioned, and available to all ; the enforcement of the crowning 
 virtue of a Chi'istian civilisation by sheltering the friendless child, 
 and watching over the unhappy lunatic, free and equal exercise of 
 the rights of conscience, increased provision for the national health 
 and comfort, and security in his possessions and eneoiu^agement to 
 the tiller of the soil.' Ireland, within a short generation, has 
 advanced along all these lines of national amelioration." 
 
 It was an Irish Member of Parliament, Mr. Mulhol- 
 land, who said this : — 
 
 '' The fact is that the spring forward which Ireland made when 
 she was admitted to a free partnership with England was surprising. 
 The people in their habits, their di-ess, and their food, had since 
 that period shown the most extraordinary advance ever made by 
 any country in the world." 
 
 I quote the yet more forcible language of another 
 member, Mr. A. M. Sullivan. Eeferring to hereditary 
 and instinctive '' hatred and aversion," he describes 
 liimself as one who had been nurtured under the influ- 
 ence of that feeling, but he adds, "as he approached 
 manhood and had opportunities of becoming acquainted 
 with the great and noble cliaractcristics of the English 
 character, he looked back with intense regret upon the 
 unreasoning hatred in which he had grown up from the 
 days of his youth."
 
 410 TESTIMONIES TO CHANGES. 
 
 I again quote Lord O'Hagan : — 
 
 "There is no reason wliy the North and the South shooild not 
 emulate each other in doing homage to the magnanimous endurance 
 of Limerick and Derry, and associate in honour the gallant clergy- 
 man who held the maiden city against all comers, and the noble 
 exile who caught up the life-blood welling from his heart, in a 
 foreign quarrel on a foreign field, and miu-mured with his latest 
 breath, ' Would that this were for Ireland.' " 
 
 Thus far Irish testimony. Let me, in quitting the 
 subject, subjoin the words in which, on the 30th June, 
 1876, a distinguished Englishman, Sir Michael Hicks- 
 Beach, then Irish Secretary, summed up the changes 
 that had placed the Ireland of to-day in a very different 
 position from the Ireland of half a century ago : — 
 
 " Seventy-six years ago, when Dublin was a week or more distant 
 from Holyhead, when railways and telegraphs were unknown, 
 when communication from Dublin with the South or North of 
 Ireland took as long as it does now with Egypt, when as far as re- 
 garded facilities of communication with the Government, Ireland 
 was as far from London as Calcutta is now, then Parliament and 
 the country abolished the separate parliament of Ireland. What 
 had those seventy-six years produced? Increased prosperity in 
 Ireland, all those facilities of communication of which he had 
 spoken, common interests in banking, railways,* and every kind of 
 trade and commerce between England, Scotland, and Ireland, and 
 more than that, an emigration of more than three-quarters of a 
 million of Irishmen noiv resident in England; and yet in the face 
 of those facts honourable gentlemen propose to us to accept an 
 anachronism." 
 
 I quote the passages that follow from Dr. Macaulay's 
 
 * Sir M. Hicks-Beach might have added that railways have not only united 
 distant localities, but they have liberalized the people, invading and scatterinj» 
 the narrow prejudices of provincialism, infusing in every direction new blood 
 and social health and vigour, encouraging commercial relations, opening new 
 markets and sources of industry to remote districts, and inculcating the neces- 
 sity of a strict observance of " law and order," better than a whole centxiry of 
 unintelligible legislation.
 
 SCOTLAND AS IT WAS. 411 
 
 "Ireland in 1872," a small book written by an en- 
 lightened and liberal Scotchman, who has viewed the 
 intricate subject in all its bearings with sound discretion, 
 great wisdom, and generous sympathy. 
 
 " If half a century ago Ireland would have not only been willing 
 to accept, but proud to assume the title of ' West Britain, ' as Scot- 
 land has tliat of ' North Britain,' in addition to an ancient title, 
 what a country of prosperity Ireland would ere this have become ? 
 
 " The Highlanders of Scotland are as purely Celtic as the Irish : 
 and were at no distant period in chronic rebellion against the 
 Southerners. They are now the most loyal and orderly and ex- 
 emplary^ of all the people under her Majesty's rule. 
 
 "The same revolution has taken place in North Wales, where 
 the hatred of England was as intense as in any part of Ireland." 
 
 I quote also this passage from an article in the Dally 
 Telegraphy November, 1882 : — 
 
 "All the causes that have for centuries tended to keep Irishmen 
 apart from Englishmen were originally at work in Scotland itself. 
 The measure of 1700 was as much hated in the north as the statute 
 of 1800 by the Irish Catholics of the time. The Scottish Presby- 
 terian detested Episcopacy and all its works quite as fiercelj' as the 
 Catholic Irishman did the Protestantism of the English Church. . . , 
 Central Scotland during this period was as poor and as lawless as 
 the Ireland beyond the pale at any period of its history. A de- 
 scri]3tion of the country and the people quoted by Sir Walter Scott 
 has many points that make it resemble an account of the worst 
 parts of Ireland. The writer says of the Highlands : ' There is no 
 culture of ground, no improvement of pastures, and, from the same 
 reason, no manufactures, no trade — in short, no industry. The 
 people are extremely prolitic, and therefore so numerous that there 
 is not business in that country according to its present order and 
 economy for the one-half of them. Every place is full of idle 
 people, accustomed to arms, and lazy in everything but rapines and 
 depredations. Here the laws have never been executed, nor the 
 authority of the magistrate ever established. Here the officer of 
 the law neither dare nor can execute his duty, and several places 
 are about thirty miles from lawful persons. In short, here is no 
 order, no authority, no government.' .... By what magic has the 
 country emerged from that condition to its present state ? Why is
 
 412 SCOTLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 it now enabled to support a population probably six-fold what it 
 maintained two eentm-ies ago? Why has Scottish prejudice against 
 England and the Union died down ? Why have Englishmen ceased 
 to treat Scotchmen with the rancorous contempt shown faintly and 
 half in jest in Johnson's constant gibes against Boswell? The ex- 
 planation is that Scotland has lifted itself from a condition as low 
 as any in which Ireland has ever been placed by the exhibition of 
 qualities we have yet to desire on Irish soil." — Daily Telegraph, 
 SOth JVovemier, 1882. 
 
 What does the awfully sad story of the Scottish 
 *' Covenanters " tell ns ? Consult history, or the 
 scarcely less reliable evidence of Scott and other 
 writers of fiction — of their struggles for freedom of 
 faith. They endured and suffered far more than the 
 Irish had to endure and suffer in the very worst days of 
 their persecution. They were hunted to death by 
 ruthless destroyers ; butchered whenever they were 
 "caught praying" to the God of love and mercy; 
 worshipping in caves and in mountain crevices, always 
 with outwatchers — warning when to disperse. Whole 
 counties were given up to be "harried" by a profli- 
 gate soldiery; infant children, child-bearing women, 
 and white-headed men were victims of a cruel oppression, 
 defended only upon the principle that it was crime to 
 w^orship God contrary to rules laid down by a British 
 Parliament, ratified by a Scottish Parliament. 
 
 What w^ere the slaughters of Oliver Cromwell at 
 Drogheda and Wexford compared with those of " bloody 
 Claverhouse " and his trained bands of butchers, of 
 which we read with a shudder to-day, though perpe- 
 trated just two hundred years back? Persecution " for 
 righteousness' sake " was the curse of a long time ago ; 
 it no more exists at the close of the nineteenth centmy
 
 WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 413 
 
 tlian do the burnings of witches or the hangings for 
 passing base coin. 
 
 I have stated that in 1843 I printed a pamphlet 
 concerning "Eepeal," which I addressed to the Temper- 
 ance Societies of Ireland. It contained this passage, 
 which, in 1883 — ^just forty years afterwards — I repeat. 
 It applies as forcibly now as it did then to the "patriots" 
 who are crushing and, for the time, ruining their 
 country : — 
 
 " But when the obstacles to the on-progress of Ireland 
 were removed, what — I humbly ask — was the duty of 
 your patriots? What, in especial, was that of your 
 great leader ? How much are you — the Irish people — 
 the better for the removal of all civil and political dis- 
 qualifications ? How much the better might you not 
 have been if your leader had expended these thirteen 
 years — since the great triumph to which alone he will be 
 indebted for a place in history — these thirteen years in 
 counselling, inducing, or compelling practical improve- 
 ment of his country, instead of wasting his mighty 
 energies, his wonderful talents, his indomitable perse- 
 verance, and his abundant resources, in agitating topics 
 worse than useless, in striving after objects unattainable, 
 or mischievous if attained. Alas ! the history of the 
 world supplies scarcely a stronger example of a man 
 endowed with almost unlimited power to do good effect- 
 ing so very little. Where is the agricultural society of 
 which he is a foremost and active member? What 
 scheme for draining bogs, fertilising mountains, and
 
 414 INJUSTICE TO IRELAND. 
 
 reclaiming "slobs," has had the aid of his convincing 
 eloquence ? Which of your thousand harboui's has he 
 converted into a profitable fishery ? Where are the 
 mines he has explored ? What railway has been created 
 under his fosterage ? Into what salutary channel has he 
 directed the tide of emigration ? What factories have 
 created trade, employment, and wealth — having the sanc- 
 tion of his name ? Where are the vessels his voice has 
 chartered? Which of your institutions for promoting 
 the arts of peace owes a debt to him ? In how many of 
 your public charities has his name been heard ? Alas ! 
 his course has been like that of one of the many rivers 
 that run in all directions — east, west, north, and south 
 — through the Evergreen Isle : angry and brawling, not 
 producing and fertilising ; possessing strength — any one 
 of them — greater than that of the whole steam-force of 
 Manchester, yet expending it all in wrangling with 
 mountain stones. We see what it is and what it does 
 — and know what it might be made to do. Ah ! if your 
 great leader were to fall asleep — continue sleeping for 
 the next ten years, and then awaken to become a living 
 witness of the changes these ten years might produce — • 
 contrasting them with the ten years of misery, want, 
 and agitation by which they had been preceded, I can 
 conceive no repentance so bitter as his." 
 
 Injustice to Ireland !— The latest grievance is that 
 an English company undertakes to carry to Dublin the 
 mails for £40,000 a year less than the sum paid to an 
 Irish company for that service.
 
 IRISH GRIEVANCES. 415 
 
 I was, a few years ago, standing at a railway station 
 in Liverpool when up ran a person saying, " I'm going 
 to London ! " " Too late," said the station-master, 
 " train's gone." " Why," exclaimed the person, looking 
 at his watch, "it's not nine o'clock." " Ah, you've 
 forgotten that our time is twenty-five minutes before 
 yours !" " Twenty-five minutes before ours ! Do you 
 call that justice to Ireland ?" 
 
 Once a gentleman bitterly complained to me of English 
 maltreatment of Ireland. " They send us their coals 
 and make us buy them — when we've plenty of our own 
 in Kilkenny ! " 
 
 " Bad luck to 'em, the Scottish nagurs," said the 
 waiter at Galway when he served for dinner two salt 
 haddocks, " they catch our fish and send 'em back to 
 us — and make us pay for 'em ! " 
 
 I was in court one day, when a stalwart fellow entered 
 the witness-box to prosecute for an assault another stal- 
 wart fellow who was in the dock. The lawyer saw he 
 had a "character" to deal with, and thus addressed 
 him: "Now, my fine fellow, what are you going to 
 swear to ? " This was the answer : " Anything at all, 
 be J — s — for satisfaction I " 
 
 We had an Irish cook. Two Irish dealers supplied 
 us with potatoes; one of them was jealous of the other, 
 and tried to blarney Kitty into giving him a preference. 
 Upon her protesting that his rival gave as good potatoes 
 as he did, "Ah, Katty dear," said he, " canH ye spile 
 ''em in the hiling I "
 
 416 WHAT lEELAXD WAS. 
 
 I have thus shown what Ireland was within my 
 memory — what it continued, to a great extent, to be 
 within the memories of many who are much younger 
 than I am. While pictming the imhappy condition of 
 the country and people forty, fifty, or sixty years ago I 
 have endeavoured to show that England has been for 
 many years striving to make amends to Ireland for 
 centuries of mismanagement and misrule; and I have 
 pointed out that up to a comparatively recent period the 
 odious and evil principle of religious tyranny was every- 
 where the guide of nations, and that, as far as British 
 subjects were concerned, KonconfoiTaists and Jews had 
 to endure persecutions similar to those that oppressed 
 and enthi'alled the Eoman Catholics of Great Britain 
 and all its dependencies,* but especially of Ireland, 
 where the persecuted faith was that of the majority of 
 the "IN'ation." 
 
 If I needed evidence to sustain my assertions that the 
 nineteenth century has witnessed an entire change in 
 England's policy towards Ireland, I could produce it in 
 abundance ; evidence to prove that for many years 
 connection with England has been an advantage to 
 Ireland and the Irish people — to show that the old 
 unwise and wicked policy of governing Ireland as 
 
 * O'Connell, in one of his documents, gives a list of places in Ireland, " offices 
 of trust, honour, and emolument," from -svhich Eoman Catholics were excluded 
 previous to the granting of Catholic Emancipation . The list, amounting to 
 30,400, includes the Lord Chancellor, Master of the Rolls, Judges, Law Serjeants* 
 King's Counsel, Mayors and aU Corporate officials, all Ministers of State and 
 their officials, and, of course, seats ia the Houses of Parliament. 
 
 It would he interesting to know how many of the 30,400 places are now filled 
 hy Roman Catholics. Prohably much more than the half ; and let it be remem- 
 bered that beside the late Lord Chancellor O'Hagan, eight out of twelve judges 
 are Roman Catholics.
 
 EXGLISH FEELING. 417 
 
 an alien country has been entirely abrogated; that 
 the ^dle motto — "divide and conquer" — wiitten in 
 blood under the quarterings of the arms of the 
 wedded countries, is at length worn out, and has 
 been displaced by that of " conciliate and unite ; " 
 that the atrocious principles which distinguished a 
 dark age and bad Governments, and treated Ireland 
 only as a conquered country, are now as intolerable 
 to Englishmen as they ever were to Irishmen. 
 
 Let me solemnly record my conviction that I may 
 say for nine-tenths of the English people — there are 
 no rights, no privileges, no advantages to which Pro- 
 testants and Englishmen are entitled, that they would not 
 strive to obtain for Irishmen and Roman Catholics — 
 if they have them not. That is mere, simple, rational 
 Justice — which, infinitely more than Mercy, 
 
 " Blesseth him tliat gives and liim that takes." 
 
 I may fittingly append to the above some striking 
 words from one of many letters published in the English 
 press, written by the excellent and estimable Duchess 
 of Marlborough, to whom Ireland owes a large debt 
 for valuable services during a hea^-y visitation of misery, 
 and a yet larger debt for sympathy and afl'ection : — 
 
 ^' I mrite in order that you should know that England loves Ireland, and 
 is ever ready to help her in her hour of need ^ 
 
 These evil mex — the veritable foes of frelaxd — kn o"w 
 
 THAT rx NO COUXTRy OF THE VORLD, DATCy'G FROM THE REMOTEST 
 -PERIODS OF RECORDED TIME, HAVE THERE BEEN SO MAJSTT PRIVILEGES 
 GTVES^, SO MAXY RIGHTS RESTORED, SO MANY BOONS GRANTED, AS 
 HAVE BEEN, DURING THE LAST FIFTY YEARS, ACCORDED TO IRELAND 
 BY THE RULING COUNTRY. 
 
 VOL. II. E E
 
 418 lEELAND AS IT HAS BEEN. 
 
 Who despairs of Ireland ? Not I for one ! And I 
 have known the country and its people well — for much 
 more than sixty years. 
 
 I do not apologize for the length to which I have 
 carried these details. They may serve as records and 
 guides when Ireland is in arts and manufactures, as well 
 as civil and religious freedom, on a par with England — 
 when she is competing with her in the race for the glory 
 that is practical and useful — perhaps to arrive first at the 
 goal. And that will be when the present accursed agita- 
 tion has ceased ; it will not be long afterwards, for many 
 things are tending to a consummation so devoutly to be 
 wished — when, in addition to their high natural qualities, 
 the Irish will have acquired forethought, prudence, 
 patience, charity, and continuous industry. 
 
 Thus Edmund Spenser wrote in the sixteenth century : 
 
 " And sure Ireland is a most sweet and beautifiil country as any 
 is under heaven, besides the soil itself most fertile, and fit to yield 
 all kind of fruit that shall be committed thereunto." 
 
 And thus, in the middle of the nineteenth century, 
 wrote one of the wisest, kindliest, and best of the many 
 travellers who have made Ireland the subject of close 
 observation, continuous inquiry and generous report — 
 Campbell Eoster. 
 
 "I have been over every part of Great Britain; I have had 
 occasion to direct my attention to the natural capabilities, to the 
 mode of cultivation, and to the produce of many parts of it. This 
 very year I have traversed the country from the Land's End in
 
 IRELAND — AS IT MAY BE. 419 
 
 Cornwall, to John o' Groats in Caithness ; but in no part of it have 
 I seen the natural capabilities of the soil and climate surpass those 
 of Ireland, and in no part of it have I seen those natural capa- 
 bilities more neglected, more uncultivated, more wasted than in 
 Ireland." 
 
 Am I indulging in a vision — if I hazard this pro- 
 phecy — as one that will be reality to the generation 
 that succeeds the present ? I see in the prospect 
 advantages to which those already obtained are but 
 as dust in the balance ; bigotry losing its hold ; the 
 undue or baneful influence of one mind over another 
 mind ceasing ; habits of thrift and forethought becom- 
 ing constitutional; industry receiving its full recom- 
 pense ; cultivation passing over the bogs and up the 
 mountains; the law recognised as a guardian and 
 a protector ; the rights and duties of property fully 
 understood and acknowledged ; the rich trusting the 
 poor, and the poor confiding in the rich; absenteeism 
 no longer a weighty evil ; and Capital circulating freely 
 and securely, so as to render the great natural resources 
 of Ireland available to the commercial, the agricultural, 
 and the manufacturing interests of the United Kingdoms 
 of England, Ireland, Wales, and Scotland ? 
 
 It will be when the all-powerful arm of constitutional 
 Law arrests in their course, and justly punishes, the evil 
 and wicked men (it is with intense sorrow I add, and 
 women also) who are curses of the country — moral and 
 social pests, that bliglit the moral and social harvest. 
 
 E E 2
 
 420 *' GENTLEMEN " CULPRITS. 
 
 According to the evidence of the '' Informer," Eobert 
 Farrell, the "Society" of which he has been a member 
 is "a complete delusion, that enables designing men to 
 live on the people." He cannot have referred to those 
 who fatten on weekly "four-pennies "and "twopence-half- 
 pennies ; " or rather, the residue of such " subscriptions," 
 after "bowie-knives, revolvers, and breech-loaders" 
 have been paid for. The commonest comprehension 
 must understand him to mean their " Eepresentatives ; " 
 among them being, certainly, some who flourish and 
 have seats, not only in the Town Council of Dublin city 
 — mayors, aldermen, and town councillors — but in the 
 Imperial Parliament; men who, in the sight of God, are 
 as guilty of the murders that disgrace, degrade, and 
 despoil Ireland, as are the acting assassins who stab with 
 the steel and shoot down with the revolver. They are as 
 much of the "Inner Circle" as are the miscreants who 
 do the actual work of assassination. 
 
 While such men dictate to the Irish what they shall 
 think, say, and do, we may as well expect to sow the 
 wind and reap the whirlwind, and gather the fruitage 
 into garners, as to see Ireland " great, glorious, and 
 free," while the hell-broth is brewed by those who are 
 stirring the cauldron.
 
 EECOLLECTIOXS OF MES. S. C. HALL. 
 
 I MUST treat this subject briefly — briefly, that is to say, 
 as compared with the space I might devote to it : 
 for a thousand memories crowd upon me as I take up 
 my pen — all of them happy, and suggestive of so much 
 that was sweet, and bright, and good in her whose 
 name consecrates these pages, that I may describe 
 them as holy. Had I a volume to devote to the theme, 
 I could fill it, with delight to myself, and, I think, with 
 interest to my readers. But there is not space enough 
 at my command to treat it otherwise than briefly and 
 imperfectly. Perhaps, when I am gone from earth, 
 better justice may be done to it by the loving pen of 
 some dear friend ; a biographer will have no difliculty in 
 finding abundant materials. 
 
 It is not easy for me to separate that which concerns her 
 from that which belongs to me. We were so thoroughly 
 one in all our pursuits, occupations, pleasures, and labours, 
 never having been separated for more than a month 
 at a time, visiting together places either for enjoyment 
 or business — to write about them ; producing our books 
 not in the same room, but always under the same roof, 
 communicating one with the other as to what should 
 be or should not be done; our friends the same, our
 
 422 BIRTH IN DUBLIN. 
 
 habits the same — as nearly as they could be. It is no 
 wonder that I find it difficult to separate her from me or 
 me from her. I shall not try to do so. If I tried and 
 succeeded, it would be for the first time during our 
 " mingled" life of more than fifty-six years. 
 
 I pass over, with but slight reference, the birth of 
 Anna Maria Fielding, in Anne Street, Dublin, on the 
 6th of January, 1800 ; her removal, when but a few 
 weeks old, with her mother, to the seat of her mother's 
 step-father, George Carr, Esq., of Graige, in the county 
 of Wexford, in whose house she remained until her 
 fifteenth year — his adopted daughter, who was looked 
 upon as his heiress.* 
 
 From infancy to childhood she lived at Graige, under 
 the watchful and loving care of her mother — one of the 
 best women God ever made. I ought to know : for she 
 lived with me for more than thirty years. I never saw 
 evidence of wrong thought in her, or even of erring 
 judgment. As to all that makes woman loving and 
 beloved, the inscription I caused to be placed on the 
 gravestone over her remains in Addlestone chui'chyard 
 sufficiently indicates my estimate of her character : — 
 
 "Mrs. Sarah Elizabeth Fielding-, the good and beloved mother 
 of Mrs. S. C. Hall, died on the 20th of January, 1856, in the 83rd 
 
 * He died suddeuly and left no will ; consequently, not being of his blood, 
 Maria inherited nothing. His nephew was his heir, but a very few years suf- 
 ficed for him to squander an already involved property. No part of the estate 
 is now owned by any one of his descendants ; yet the name of " Carr " is not 
 obliterated in Wexford county. It is the name of several estimable men and 
 women in New Ross, the descendants of a brother of George Carr.
 
 HER MOTHER. 423 
 
 year of ter age. Her life was a long and clieerful preparation for 
 death, and her whole pilgrimage a practical illustration of the text 
 that was her frequent precept and continual guide, ' Keep innocency 
 and take heed unto the thing that is right, for that shall bring a 
 man peace at the last.' " 
 
 She must have been very handsome when young ; she 
 was so when old — beautiful with the beauty proper to 
 age. Judged by women of her time, Mrs. Fielding was 
 highly accomplished. She sang sweetly, drew prettily, 
 wrote verse with more than grace, and French may be 
 said to have been her native tongue. Very proud she 
 was of her Huguenot descent, though dating back two 
 generations. Her mother and herself were of English 
 birth ; but her grandfather had been one of the refugees 
 from France after the Eevocation of the Edict of Nantes, 
 and established a silk manufactory at Spitalfields, He 
 was of illustrious birth and descent, of the family He 
 Jaout (I am not sure that I spell the name correctly), 
 in Eenz en Champagne. Mrs. Fielding's grandfather 
 was killed in the " Lord George Gordon riots." She has 
 more than once described to me her sensations of horror 
 when his body was brought to his home. 
 
 Graige is on the sea-side, at Bannow, Wexford County, 
 
 opposite to — 
 
 ''Bag and Bun, 
 Where Ireland was lost and won ; " 
 
 in other words, where Strongbow landed with his 
 knights. Bannow, a peninsula that runs out into the 
 sea, is the scene of nearly all Mrs. Hall's early sketches. 
 She loved the district very dearly; every association 
 connected with it was vivid, and continued to be as 
 truly a source of happiness up to her extreme old
 
 424 EA.RLY LIFE AT BANNOW. 
 
 age as it had been in her early childhood. To the last, 
 she dearly loved the sea. 
 
 She drew this portrait of her childhood, in some 
 introductory matter to her " Sketches of Irish Character," 
 published in 1828 : — 
 
 " In the early morning*, returning- from my sea-bath, up the ' long 
 walk, ' lingering- amid the old trees, or reading beside the stream in 
 the domain, which encircled an ornamental cottage that was covered 
 with ivy, and formed a very city of refuge for small birds, from 
 the golden- crested wren to the overbearing starling, that cottage 
 with its gable, its rustling ivy, its low dark windows, its mossy 
 seats and grassy banks, and pure limpid stream creeping over the 
 smooth pebbles after escaping from a cascade, which for years was 
 my ideal of a waterfall, its mysterious arch, composed of the jaw- 
 bone of a whale, which I used to gaze upon with such grave 
 astonishment — that cottage was my paradise ! I could hear the 
 ocean rolling in the distance ; the refreshing sea-breeze, passing 
 over fields of clover and banks of roses, was freighted with per- 
 fume. The parent birds would fearlessly pick up criunbs at my 
 feet." 
 
 A petted yet singularly unspoiled child she was in those 
 days, loving all beautiful things even then, and making 
 pets of all living objects that came in her way, from the 
 dog to a spider.* A more admirable and valuable 
 teacher than her mother, no child ever had. I loved 
 that mother very dearly : and she as dearly loved me. I 
 think if the angel of death had said to her, "I am 
 coming for one of your children. Which shall it be ? " 
 she would have paused to consider before answering. 
 
 * " She was a light-hearted, merry little maid as ever lived, and had learned 
 the happy art of manufacturing her own pleasures, and doing much in her un- 
 finished way to contribute to the pleasures of the few around her. In summer 
 she walked, and ran, and bathed, and gathered sheila and samphire, and sang 
 with the birds, and galloped old Sorrel ; and on Sundays always went, in the old 
 carriage, driven by the old coachman, drawn by the old horses, and escorted by 
 tho old footman, to the very old church." — '■'Grandmamma's Fockets :" Mrs. 
 S. C. Hall, published bi/ W. and E. Chambers.
 
 HER SECOXD MARRIAGE. 425 
 
 In 1815, some years before the death of Mr. Carr, the 
 thi-ee — he, his step -daughter, and his adopted daughter — 
 came to London to Kve. Mr. Carr died not long after 
 my introduction to them in 1823, and in 1824 we were 
 married. Easy to foretell was it that the happiness of 
 my life was then secured ; for beautiful, accomplished, 
 good, was the wife that, on the 20th of September, 1824, 
 God gave me, to be that life's chiefest blessing and most 
 precious boon.* Perhaps — 
 
 " We married too young, and it may be too poor," 
 
 but of the thousands who knew my wife there is no one 
 of them will doubt that the fifty-six years that followed 
 were — in so far as she was concerned — " blessed in very 
 deed." 
 
 In 1825 Mrs. Hall had written nothing. There had 
 been no token of her power given to her or to me ; the 
 rich vein of ore was, as yet, undiscovered. Her first 
 essay was brought about thus. One evening she was 
 telling me some anecdotes of her old Irish schoolmaster, 
 
 * On the 23rd of September, 1824, I received from a publisher, James Duncan, 
 in Paternoster Row, a sura of £40 for a book, one of the series of •' The Modern 
 Traveller: Brazil," the editor of which was Josiah Conder. The volumes were 
 merely condensations, skilfully and "readably" put together. The £40 sufficed 
 for the church-fees and the wedding-trip to Petersham, near Richmond. I was 
 then a reporter with a fair salary, and so we began life together. 
 
 It is worth recording that the anniversary of our fiftieth wedding-day was on 
 a Sunday. We went to our parish church at Kensington, It chanced to be 
 Sacrament Sunday. We knelt at the altar. Our good and much-loved friend, 
 Archdeacon Sinclair, was astonished and displeased to hear me whispering, and 
 looked so as he shook his head ; but when a word or two conveyed to him the 
 purport of my words, he smiled and held up his hands in token of a blessing, for 
 the words that caught his ear were these, " W^ith this ring I thee wed," as I 
 slipped another ring on the third finger of her left hand. The two rings she 
 wore during the after years of her life, and they were buried with her in her 
 grave at Addlestone.
 
 426 ORIGIN or HER IRISH SKETCHES. 
 
 " Master Ben." Said I, " I wish you would write about 
 that just as you tell it." She did so. I printed her story 
 in The Spirit and Manners of the Age^ a monthly periodical 
 I then edited, and from that day dates her career as an 
 author. Other tales of the friends and acquaintances of 
 her childhood and girlhood followed. Eventually they 
 were collected into a volume, entitled, " Sketches of 
 Irish Character," and she became " an author by profes- 
 sion." * 
 
 It is a voluminous subject — that of her sketches 
 and stories of Irish character : my limited space forbids 
 any attempt to do justice to it here. Generally they 
 were taken from life, for the most part being memories 
 of childhood and early girlhood. A very small incident 
 often sufficed to form a long story. Her mode of 
 working may perhaps be best illustrated by the follow- 
 ing words of her own : — 
 
 " I remember having a conversation on tMs topic -witli my friend 
 Maria Eclgeworth. She did not see, so clearly as I saw, the value 
 of the imaginative in literature for the young, and was almost 
 angry when she discovered that a sketch I had written of a sup- 
 posititious scene at Killarney was pure invention. She told me, 
 
 * Her sketches and tales of that order are numerous ; yet, even when their 
 number is kept in view, the reader may find it difficult to credit the accuracy 
 of the following anecdote. Somewhere about 1860 we were travelling from 
 Liverpool to London. I had bought for amusement on the way some of the 
 serial publications of that time. I saw her reading one of them with great 
 attention. She put it into my hand, saying, "■Bead that ; it's a capital Irish 
 storij." I looked at it and said, " Well, that's modest, at any rate ; for it's your 
 oivn." She had read it through, and had evidently pondered over it without 
 the slightest idea that she had written it. The story may be comprehended 
 when I add that whatever she wrote she rarely read after it was written, leav- 
 ing it entirely for me to prepare it for the printer and revise proofs, never 
 thinking to question my judgment as to any erasure or addition I might make. 
 Several of her Irish sketches— one I particularly remember being " W;e'll see 
 about It "—she wrote between the morning and evening of a summer day. I 
 remember seeing her reading " The Whiteboy," pondering and wondering how 
 " the author would manage to dispose of the hero of the tale."
 
 HER ESTIMATE OF THE PEIESTS. 427 
 
 indeed, that she had been so deceived by my picture as actually to 
 have inqxiired for, and tried to find out, the hero of it ; and argued 
 strongly for truth in fiction. I ventured, notwithstanding my 
 homage for that most estimable woman, to ask her if her portrait 
 of Sir Condy, in " Castle Eackrent," was a veritable likeness, and 
 endeavoured to convince her that to call imagination to the aid of 
 reason — to mingle the ideal with the real — was not only permissible 
 but laudable as a means of impressing truth. 
 
 " I think so still. I believe the author who does what I suggest 
 may be, and ought to be, done, is no more guilty of wrong than 
 was He who ' spake in Parables.' " 
 
 Of the reciprocity that, in Ireland, means all on one 
 side, she knew nothing. Reading some of her books 
 lately I am astonished at her "liberality" (according 
 to the loftier reading of the term) towards Eoman 
 Catholics. I could quote a hundred passages in point : 
 but as many to prove how with all her heart, mind, 
 and soul, she preferred the Reformed Faith as better, 
 happier, and far more in accordance with the teachings 
 and example of the Master Christ. 
 
 I will quote only one extract from " The "Whiteboy," 
 a novel published in 1835 : — 
 
 " There are few things in the world so touchingly beautiful as 
 the respect and affection that subsist between the Eoman Catholic 
 priest and his flock ; those who study the people cannot wonder at 
 their strength and endurance. From the cradle to the grave, the 
 priest is the peasant's adviser and his friend ; who knows all his 
 concerns — not only the great business of his life, but its minutice ; 
 his private cares and sorrows, his faults, and his crimes, are all in 
 the priest's keeping. His judge, his advocate, his punisher, he is 
 also his protector — very, very rarely his tyrant. The sympathy and 
 kindness of the priest win and keep his heart." 
 
 I am very sui-e that no one can road her stories with- 
 out feeling symj)athy — I will add, affection — for the 
 Irish people ; their faults are recorded, or exhibited, with
 
 428 HER ESTIMATE OF THE PEASANTRY. 
 
 SO much considerate and generous allowance; their virtues 
 are detailed with such evident delight ! 
 
 Her books were never popular in Ireland, though 
 very popular in every other country. She tried — as she 
 did by her bonnet-ribbons — to blend the orange and the 
 green. She saw in each party much to praise and much 
 to blame ; but what one party approved the other con- 
 demned, and " between two stools " — the adage is trite. 
 Yet her stories are fertile of sympathy, generous, con- 
 siderate, loving, and kind ; pregnant with true wisdom, 
 and indulgent as to faults on both sides — perhaps to 
 excess. To pursue this topic would require greater 
 space than I can give to it. It must suffice to say she 
 loved her country and its people very dearly. 
 
 Her freedom in writing of her old friends of the hum- 
 bler classes gave them dire offence ; they "never thought 
 Miss Maria would have done it ! " I remember one 
 incident in point. We had an Irish cook, who, far from 
 possessing the loquacious qualities of her countrywomen 
 in general, was extremely taciturn, giving her mistress 
 the shortest possible answers to all questions. A 
 ''yes" or "no" seemed the most that could be ex- 
 tracted from her. Finally she gave warning. When 
 asked her reasons, she admitted she had no fault to find 
 with the place; but on being still pressed to declare 
 why she left it, she turned suddenly round and quitted 
 the room, exclaiming, as she reached the door, " Arrah, 
 ma'am, lave me alone ! Ye know ye' re going to put me into 
 a hoolc ! " 
 
 I cannot here write at any length of the numerous
 
 CONVALESCENCE OF THE PRINCE. 429 
 
 books Mrs. Hall produced from time to time ; they 
 uumbor, perhaps, two hundred and fifty volumes, in- 
 cluding edited volumes, and small tracts that often may 
 liave done more vital service to humanity than her illus- 
 tralinl (j^uartos. Of that long, varied, and admirable 
 list there was, I think, none on which she looked 
 back with greater joy than a little book entitled 
 '' Thanksgiving," an attempt to record the expression of 
 a nation's gratitude (on the 27th of February, 1872) for 
 the recovery of the Prince of Wales, when the prayers 
 of a whole people ascended to — and, as she believed, were 
 heard at — the Throne of Grace. That was a prize essay, 
 for which £100 was awarded to her by the Beaumont 
 Institution. I quote the concluding passage of the 
 little book, concerning the universal joy for the con- 
 valescence of the Prince : — 
 
 **It is impossible to over-estimate the blessing it will take to 
 every laud on which the sun rises and sets. It will powerfully 
 strengthen any government that may direct the destinies of this 
 kingdom, its colonies, and dependencies ; it will convey a sense of 
 security to hundreds of thousands of British homes ; it will remove 
 all pretence that tlie sympathies of the counti-y are with the band 
 of treason-agitators who are speaking and doing evil against all 
 that are in authoriti/. It will be an example — at once an encourage- 
 ment and a warning — to the well-affected and the disaffected, of 
 every other kingdom and state ; it will carry conviction everywhere 
 that the Queen and her family are very dear to the hearts of the 
 people ; it will greatly advance and spread the principle of Chris- 
 tian loyalty under which Great Britain has prospered, and will, by 
 God's help and blessing, continue to prosper. 
 
 " The nations not so blest as thee, 
 May in their turn to tyrants fall. 
 But thou shalt flourish great and free, 
 The dread and envy of them all ! "
 
 430 THE TEMPERANCE CAUSE. 
 
 In all our joint books her pen was ever ready to 
 labour side by side with mine. Usually she gave me for 
 every chapter or monthly part a sketch or short tale 
 intended to vary and lighten descriptions of travel, 
 details, or traditionary facts. The tale or sketch was 
 humorous or pathetic as her fancy and the theme 
 might suggest; but, whatever the locality we had in 
 hand, it was sure to furnish her with a subject. The 
 slightest groundwork was enough ; any incident, how- 
 ever simple, supplied her genius with materials to work 
 upon. I have shown as much in the anecdote of Maria 
 Edgeworth recorded just above. 
 
 When I was editing the New Monthly and other 
 works, she reviewed many books for me ; but it was her 
 stipulation that I was to hand to her none that were 
 either to be abused or condemned. Such tasks were to 
 be assigned to others. Many a time she has said to me, 
 " That is a book I cannot like ; you must get somebody 
 else to review it." I doubt whether she ever wrote a 
 review that was disagreeable to the author of the work 
 reviewed. Yet I have no doubt I might affix her signa- 
 ture to at least a thousand reviews of published books. 
 
 Her work for the sacred cause of Temperance lives 
 after her, and will continue to have mighty influence as 
 long as that cause needs to be advocated, and the curse 
 of intemperance remains to afflict and disgrace humanity. 
 
 I have made reference to Mrs. Hall's first published 
 work. Her last, written after an interval (that was by 
 no means one of rest) of nearly fifty years, was '' Boons
 
 TEiTPERA^TE BOOKS. 431 
 
 and Blessings," published in 1875, and dedicated to the 
 good Earl of Shaftesbury. The book is a collection of 
 temperance tales, most of "^hich had, in the form of 
 tracts, done previous duty in many ways. They are 
 here brought together in a volume, illustrated by 
 several of the best artists — ITr. and ATrs. E. !M. "Ward, P. R. 
 Morris, A.E.A., Fredk. Goodall, E.A., George Cruik- 
 shank, Alfred Elmore, E.A., G. H. Boughton, A.E.A., 
 !K. Chevalier, &c, &c. Some of the stories, however, 
 were original. The engravings were costly ; the book 
 was published at a low price, and the result was, of 
 course, a loss to the author. So, also, it was with two 
 books written by me, and issued about the same time — 
 " The Trial of Sir Jasper " and " An Old Story "—Tem- 
 perance tales in verse. "We did not look for gain ; far 
 from it ; but we did not anticipate the somewhat serious 
 loss in which these pubKcations involved us. Subse- 
 quently I disposed of the stock and copyrights to the 
 Temperance League, and thus my main purpose was 
 achieved. The sales had been extensive ; but under no 
 circumstances could the expenditure have been de- 
 frayed by the receipts.* The "presentation copies" 
 numbered nearly a thousand. " Sir .Jasper " was trans- 
 
 * In fact, the books were " too good for the money ; " for in issuing them it 
 had not been my object to make the publications remrmeratiTe. Mv main pnr- 
 pose was to introduce into Temperance Literature a higher class of pictorial Art 
 than was usually found there, and that object I achieved, with the assistance of 
 the distinguished artists I have referred to. To the poems I added notes, em- 
 bodying c-opious evidence of the terrible evils of intemperance, showing what a 
 social plague-spot is the public -house, and how rapid and easy is the descent 
 from "moderate drinking" to habitual drunkenness; and furnishing, in the 
 shape of the emphatic declarations of judges, magistrates, coroners, doctors, 
 clergymen, and so forth, a body of testimony conclusive and convincing. I have 
 reason to believe the books continue to be effective in disseminating the prin- 
 ciples of temperance, and I humbly thank God for that belief.
 
 432 THE WOMEN ADVOCATES. 
 
 latecl into French, Dutch, and Welsh, and cliches were 
 supplied by me, without charge, to all periodicals from 
 which applications came for them. At least, if our 
 pecuniary loss was somewhat serious, we had the reward 
 we most prized — in the belief that by our labour in 
 writing, and our sacrifices in publishing, these works we 
 had advanced and strengthened the sacred cause of 
 Temperance. 
 
 I may fitly append to the above a brief reference to that 
 portion of Mrs. Hall's and my own literary labours in 
 which temperance principles were more distinctly advo- 
 cated, the following copy of a memorial drawn up by her 
 at the request of the Eev. Canon Ellison, one of the 
 most indefatigable and most estimable of the many 
 clergymen of the Church of England who are engaged in 
 combating the evils of the liquor traffic : — 
 
 "Memorial from the Women of England to Her Gracious 
 Majesty Queen Victoria (issued by the Ladies' Committee of the 
 Church of England Temperance Society). 
 
 " The women subjects of your Majesty presume to address your 
 Majesty concerning a matter of vital interest and importance to 
 them, as mothers, daughters, sisters, or wives. 
 
 "They learn, with deep sorrow and alarm, that it is proposed, 
 by measiires now before Parliament, to lessen the restrictions which, 
 by law, are placed on the sale of intoxicating drinks. 
 
 " They believe that to do this, especially as regards the hours of 
 closing public-houses, could only be to bring heavy discouragement 
 on the labours of the many societies, of the many clergymen and 
 ministers of all denominations, and the other earnest worlkers, who 
 have been for years endeavouring to arrest the progress of the 
 ' national vice,' and thus to augment an evil that is threatening 
 more and more to undermine the prosperity of the country. They 
 see, in this widely spreading intemperance, that which is adding 
 greatly to their own sorrows and troubles, destroying the capacity 
 for work on the morrow, trenching upon their home requirements, 
 diminishing their home comforts, promoting discord, making them
 
 BANDS OF HOPE. 433 
 
 the victims of numberless outrages, visiting their chiklren with the 
 curse of hereditary disease and of neglected education, crowding 
 with husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers, the jails, poorhouses, 
 and lunatic asylums maintained at the public cost, throughout your 
 Majesty's dominions. 
 
 "It is as a woman's question, therefore, they respectfully 
 claim to view it : and the}^ humbly approach your Majesty with the 
 confiding hope that the same gracious influence which has alwa3's 
 ranged itself on the side of suffering of every description, may be 
 exerted to shield them in the j)resent instance, and further, by all 
 legitimate and constitutional means, to promote the growth of those 
 temperate habits on which their own happiness, no less than the 
 well-being of your Majesty's dominions, so largely dejDends." 
 
 We always considered — and, as far as we could, pro- 
 claimed — that to plant the seeds of Temperance in the 
 hearts and minds of the Little Ones, was the first, 
 the highest, the holiest duty, of its advocates and up- 
 holders. It often gave us great delight when a 
 Band of Hope (honoured and glorified be the title), 
 headed by their pastors and teachers, marched by our 
 house at Kensington, stopped for a few minutes at the 
 door, and gave a cheer of grateful recognition. We used 
 to contrast their outer condition with that of the poor 
 pariahs of oiu* streets ; clean in person, and neatly clad ; 
 healthy in aspect ; orderly as if they had been regi- 
 mentally trained ; amenable to discipline ; armed cap-a- 
 pie for the battle of life, with the armour of righteous- 
 ness newly put on, to be never laid aside ; the}^ gave 
 hostages to the future — to be thereafter good in all 
 the relations of life : as fathers, mothers, wives, sons, 
 daughters, subjects, citizens ; in fact, to do the work of 
 God for the benefit, temporal and eternal, of all humanity. 
 
 Much of Mrs. Hall's writing was addressed to these 
 bands. They are at the commencement of a journey, long 
 
 VOL. II. F F
 
 434 REFORMED DRUNKARDS. 
 
 or short, for which due preparation is being made. Xo 
 self-denial is required here; no abandonment of a perilous 
 habit that demands sacrifice — always difficult to make. 
 They begin at the beginning, with almost assured 
 security of endurance to the end : " happy and glorious," 
 and by consequence "victorious" — victorious over sin and 
 death. Their bodies made healthful, their minds invigo- 
 rated and strengthened to learn any good lesson ; their 
 souls enlightened for the Hereafter in this world and the 
 next. The little soldiers, from infancy to girlhood and 
 boyhood, thus paraded, frequently cheered our hearts 
 and set us thinking what we could do, and how we could 
 do, that which might give them vigour for their work. 
 
 I think I never saw my beloved wife made so happy 
 as she was often made by such a procession as that I 
 have thus weakly endeavoured to describe. I well 
 remember her arresting such a group, kissing several of 
 the tiny ones, and breathing a blessing with the im- 
 printed kiss, 
 
 I will give with these brief and comparatively in- 
 efficient remarks, an anecdote. It is one of the earliest 
 on the subject we heard, and there is no saying how 
 much it influenced Mrs. Hall in urging her ever-active 
 pen to advocacy of Temperance in all its bearings and 
 relations, but more especially as regarded the young. 
 
 A drunkard went to the public -house for his glass. 
 While drinking at the bar he heard the flashy landlady 
 angrily exclaim, "■ There are those nasty children again 
 —turn them out ! " He chanced to peer through the 
 window, and saw they were his children at play with the 
 children of the publican. They certainly were ragged
 
 LAST VISIT TO THE GIN-PALACE. 435 
 
 and dirty — quite unfit to be the companions of the boys 
 and girls, well fed and well dressed, of the public-house 
 where he spent money that they might be so. 
 
 Seized with a sudden terror of remorseful shame, he 
 put down the half- emptied glass on the counter and passed 
 out. From that hour he resolved that ere long his 
 children should be as clean, as duly fed, and better 
 dressed, than the children of the publican's wife, and 
 that they should become playmates of little ones in a 
 higher social grade than theirs. And, God aiding him, 
 he kept his word. It was his last visit to the gin-palace : 
 the first and only good lesson he had learned there. And 
 long afterwards, when he told this story to Mrs. Hall, it 
 was with thanksgiving prayer — for his children then 
 occupied positions much higher than those the children 
 of the publican filled — when the incident happened 
 that changed the whole current of his life. 
 
 Yet another story I am tempted to tell. Some five or 
 six years ago, while at Bath, we were called upon by 
 Mr. Gray the temperance missionary in that city. He 
 told us that, a short time previously, he had visited a 
 widow who lived with her children in her own house. 
 All about indicated respectability, order, and comfort. 
 She informed him that her husband had been a drunkard, 
 and that her home was then the usual drunkard's home — 
 miserable, filthy, degraded ; she and her little ones in 
 rags, often hungry. One memorable day a stranger left 
 at the door a tract-story. The man read it ; from that 
 time he deserted the public house, never took a drop, 
 and as a result restored his family to happiness, saw them 
 well clad and comfortable, and after a time succeeded in 
 
 F F 2
 
 436 HER TEMPERANCE WORK. 
 
 saving money enough to purchase the house in which 
 the widow and her children were then living. She told 
 Mr. Gray she still had the tract, and would keep it 
 as long as she lived. Mr. Gray asked to see it : there 
 were brought to him some leaves of a soiled and 
 evidently well-read pamphlet. It was "the Drunkard's 
 Bible," by Mrs. Hall. Some of my readers may know 
 it. It was originally published about forty years ago in 
 the Edinburgh Journal of Messrs. Chambers, reprinted 
 with their consent by (I believe) the temperance pub- 
 lishers at Norwich, and subsequently several times by 
 other workers for the cause. It was republished in 
 " Boons and Blessings." 
 
 I think there must have been more than half a milKon 
 of that tract circulated. 
 
 I leave my readers to guess the feelings of Mrs. Hall 
 when this anecdote was communicated to her by Mr. 
 Gray. They may be sure there was sent to the widow 
 a book that was then " in good condition," but which I 
 fervently hope is now also soiled sufficiently to indicate 
 that it has been put to frequent use. 
 
 In taking leave of this portion of Mrs. Hall's long 
 literary career, I may repeat my conviction that, as a 
 writer on Temperance, she was, and is, a power. Her 
 appeals came from the heart: their persuasive and 
 womanly eloquence was powerfully aided by the magic 
 of the tales she had to tell of the evils of drink, and 
 knew how to tell with such unpretending simplicity, and 
 yet with such admirable mingling of humom- and pathos.
 
 woman's rights. 437 
 
 There was another subject in which she was almost as 
 deeply interested as in that of Temperance ; but in this 
 instance the cause was not one she laboured to extend. 
 On the contrary, she viewed the spread of the move- 
 ment with aversion and apprehension, and earnestly 
 desii-ed to see its progress checked. I allude to the 
 agitation for so-called "Woman's Eights." * 
 
 As regards the evils to which it was her earnest 
 conviction that the sweeping changes clamoured for by 
 a few of her sex would lead — though it must occupy 
 much space — I think I cannot better express her views 
 than by reprinting here her own words : — 
 
 " It is matter for deep regret, for intense sorrow indeed — ' be it 
 spoken, to their shame ' — that women have recently inaugurated a 
 ' movement ' for the creation of what they call ' Woman''s Eights,' 
 and that among its zealoiis but unthinking advocates are a few — 
 very few — Women of Letters. I do not find manj-, if an}^, whose 
 views are entitled to much attention, or whose claims to be heard 
 are indisputable ; but those who push and clamour will force aside 
 the judicious and just : the foolish are proverbially bolder than the 
 wise. Some will ' rush in ' where others ' fear to tread ; ' and it may 
 seem that those who are silent give consent. 
 
 "I believe the 'movement' to be pregnant with incalculable 
 danger to men, but especially to women ; and that, if the ' claims ' 
 be conceded and women be displaced from their proj)er sphere, 
 societj', high and low, will receive a shock such as must not only 
 convulse, but shatter the fabric — which no after-conviction and re- 
 pentance can restore to its natural form. 
 
 * " I have given ' Memories ' of seven remarkable women. Each was a bene- 
 factor by ber %vr!tings ; these wiitings were specially designed and calculated to 
 uphold the position of women in the several relations of mother, wife, daughter, 
 friend, teacher, and companion ; but neither Hannah IMore, nor Maria Edge- 
 woilh, nor Barbara Holland, nor Jane nor Anna Maria Porter, nor Grace 
 Aguilar, nor, later, Catherine Sinclaii-, foresaw a period when a wrangle for 
 what is MTonglj' called ' Women's Rights ' would not only be forced on public 
 attention, but be pressed, with unseemly comjiulsion, on the Legislature. These 
 truly great and essentially good women would have ' entered their protest ' if 
 they had lived to see the peril in which certain foolish brawlers are striving to 
 place theii- sex." — " The Book of Memories : " S- C. Hall.
 
 438 woman's rights. 
 
 " I address this warning to my sex, from the vantage-ground of 
 ' Old Experience/ that — 
 
 ' doth attain 
 To something of prophetic strain,' 
 
 and I earnestly entreat women to beware of lures that in the name 
 of ' Electoral Rights ' — the beginning of the end — would deprive 
 them of their power and lower their position under a pretence of 
 raising it. 
 
 "I warn women of all countries, all ages, all conditions, all 
 classes ! 
 
 ' ' And I humbly urge upon the Legislature to resist demands 
 that are o^Dposed to Wisdom, Mercy, and Religion. 
 
 "When women cease to be women, as regards all that makes 
 them most attractive — and that must inevitably be the result of 
 concessions which are asked for as "rights," which are, indeed, 
 daringly demanded on the principle that the Constitution shall 
 recognise no distinction between women and men ; that whatever 
 men are required to do, women shall be, at the least, entitled to 
 do — it is surely a mental blindness — that cannot foresee the misery 
 that must follow the altered relations and changed conditions of 
 both. 
 
 " I do not consider it a degi-adation ; but whether it be so or not, 
 I am quite sure the leading, guiding, and controlling impulse of 
 women is to render themselves agreeable and helpful to men — 
 whether by beauty, gentleness, forethought, energy, intelligence, 
 domestic cares, home-virtues, toil-assistance, in ' hours of ease,' in 
 sickness, or amid the perplexities, anxieties, disappointments, and 
 labours that environ life. It is so, and it ever will be so, in spite of 
 the ' strong-minded ' who consider and describe as humiliation that 
 which is woman's glory, and shuuld be her boast. 
 
 " That custom and law press heavily and unjustly on women can- 
 not be doubted. They will be benefactors who succeed in guarding 
 her against oppression, in obtaining for her protection, and in 
 securing to her those ' rights ' which are based on policy and 
 justice ;* but the rights that are calculated to make women happier 
 
 * It is easy to fancy women doing men's work — with a smile and a sob. We 
 have some sad examples of so revolting an evil ; a few such cases in England, 
 many more in Continental countries. I have seen, in Bavaria, a woman har- 
 nessed with a cow to the plough, the men and horses being away drilling for 
 war ; and in the " black country " there are women bending all day long under 
 shameful burdens from the coal-pit to the barge. Agitation to limit women's 
 work to work for which they are designed by nature— work, physical and
 
 woman's rights. 439 
 
 and better are very different from those that are designed to give 
 
 to them equality with men — as regards pursuits, avocations, and 
 
 duties, from which the minds of all right-thinking women will 
 
 tui-n with instinctive dread, 
 
 * 5.- * * * 
 
 *' I beheve the originators, and a large majority of the sustainers, 
 of this monstrous project are not members of any Christian church. 
 I hope it is so ; for those who accept the New Testament as their 
 guide can have no fellowship with those who put aside the first 
 principles of its inspired teaching, and utterly ignore the precepts 
 and example of oiu- Lord and his Apostles. It is Christianity that 
 places woman in her true position ; and those who would remove 
 her from it, repudiate the faith by which she is elevated, purified, 
 and upheld. A woman without an Altar is even more degraded 
 tlian a woman without a hearth. 
 
 " Those who might be expected to make their way to high j)laces 
 in professions, or as merchants or bankers, or even manufacturers 
 or traders, must, admittedly, be the best of the sex. With men it is 
 so ; the intellectually weak seldom succeed in gaining the winning- 
 post. But is it not the best who are most needed to rock the 
 eradle, and, in the higher sense of the phrase, to sweep the hearth, 
 ministering to the needs and comforts of man, and so promoting his 
 interest and happiness as well as her own ? Are the feeblest and 
 the worst to be put aside for the duties of wifehood and maternity? 
 or are all ' emanc-ipated women ' to ignore the sacred influences of 
 Home ? 
 
 " Woman has immense power; of a surety, it will be lessened, 
 and not increased, by public manifestation of it — by a proclamation 
 that ' she rules ' — by an independence that destroys all trust — by a 
 spirit of rivahy and a struggle ^for pre-eminence which, in fact, 
 imply moral and social death ! 
 
 " Yes ; woman has immense power. It is the mother who makes 
 the man. Long before he can lisp her name, her task of education 
 is commenced ; and, to be effective, it must be continuous. Alas 
 for those who can teach but occasionally — by fits and starts — at 
 wide intervals, between which there must be blanks, or worse ! 
 There are many to whom that destiny is inevitable ; but what 
 woman so utterly sins against nature as to wish for it and seek 
 for it ? 
 
 "It is no exaggeration to say that ' those who rock the cradle 
 
 intellectual — would be, indeed, a duty and a glory. But that is not what the 
 •'strong-minded" want.
 
 440 woman's rights. 
 
 rule the world.' The future rests mainly with the mother; foolish 
 are all, and wicked are some, who strive for the enactment of laws 
 that would deprive her of her first, her greatest, her holiest ' rights,' 
 to try a wild experiment by which, imder the senseless cry of 
 ' equality,' women would he displaced from the position in which 
 God has placed them since the beginning of the world, for all 
 Time — and for Eternity. 
 
 '" In these our times, unfortunately, women have in many instances 
 been so busied about their rights as to ignore or forget their duties ; 
 striving to set aside the laws of God and Nature ; untuning the 
 sweet and gentle voice, given for the expression of prayer, of sup- 
 plication, or mercy, charity, patience, hope, and faith — in screaming 
 for more liberty. Proving their unfitness by the very temper of 
 their demand for an impossible equality, they lose sight of the 
 beautiful balance that constitutes society. Even in savage life it is 
 the man who seeks the hunting-ground while the wonaan remains 
 in the wigwam to nurse the infant and prepare the food, which the 
 man seeks for and obtains. In every condition of humanity it is 
 the universal law. That is indeed the great lesson taught by the 
 teacher we call Nature. It is solely by the softening influence of 
 the Christian faith that women are elevated to the position they 
 hold in Christian lands ; and the only course beneficial to them is 
 that of strengthening and augmenting the qualities that will enable 
 them still more to cheer and enlighten the social system, which 
 it is their peculiar province to guide and adorn. A weU-organized 
 and properly harmonized woman has so much occupation in the 
 sphere so clearly defined in the Book of Life, that she appreciates 
 the high privileges of womanhood, in the several relations of 
 daughter, friend, wife, and a 'joyful mother of children,' too highly 
 to exchange them for 'advantages,' unseemly, out of keeping, and 
 out of character. She values the power of forming the minds of 
 those who are to be the great acting principles, the mental 
 mechanists, the heroes, statesmen, rulers of the land, hereafter. Her 
 proper sphere is so extensive, that she only fears her Hfe may be 
 too short, her power too limited, to fulfil its duties. What a spirit 
 of harmony pervades her dwelling ! Be her means large or small, 
 she has stiU something to bestow. Her humanity extends to all 
 around her ; she never keeps the seamstress waiting for her work 
 or her pay, and is too just to beat down the value of a necessary to 
 (obtain a luxury. A knowledge of her own defects instructs her to 
 ])e merciful to those of others ; and though her servants at first are 
 not better than those of her neighbours, her patience and good
 
 RIGHTS. 441 
 
 management render them so at last. She has so early taught the 
 infant at her bosom the duty of obedience, that his pliant will bends 
 without distortion ; and instead of rebellious brawls racking his 
 father's heart, the well-trained child already imparts the conscious- 
 ness of future happiness to the parents. Woman, in the quiet 
 noiseless circle of her domestic duties, has even more to do with the 
 future characters of empires than man, whose bolder brain and 
 stronger muscle must fight life's battle till life is done. For after 
 all it is not an exaggeration to say — 
 
 " ' Those who rock the cradle rule the world.' 
 
 '' If woman but ' knows herself,' she can work miracles ; be she 
 high or low, rich or poor, her influence is unbounded — if it be 
 properly exercised. It is possible to combine a perfect fulfilment of 
 arduous literary or other labour with the devout and fitting atten- 
 tion to the more pleasing duties of a home-cherishing life. Those 
 women are certainly the happiest whose occupations and pleasures 
 are strictly of a domestic nature ; but no woman pursues a safe 
 course who calculates her happiness to consist in any but the path 
 of duty, while she remembers that the road to real renown lies, not 
 through mental endowments, however brilliant, or intellectual 
 achievements, however great." * 
 
 Mrs. Hall wrote also some other words that I think 
 may be fitly appended to her view of Woman's Eights. 
 They take the form of a letter to a young wife ; and 
 express " a woman's view of woman's duty." 
 
 * I venture to add in a note copied from " Rhymes in Council," some lines 
 that may strengthen Mrs. Hall's views of woman's duties. 
 
 " Contrast ! Friend, counsellor, companion, wife, 
 Cherished for love, in this, and after life ; 
 Reflective, prudent, wise, and sweetly kind ; 
 A generous heart, a liberal hand and mind. 
 
 Giving a ready help to each who needs ; 
 Though to her 'household ' first, as wise and just ; 
 Yielding with grace, and not because she must; 
 While she of greater troubles takes her share, 
 
 She treats the lesser as the garden weeds, 
 To be removed, and yet with gentle care. 
 That flowers as well are not uprooted there. 
 Thus love endures through all a chequered life. 
 
 In calm, in sunshine, or when tempest-tost, 
 
 The husband found, a lover is not lost, 
 The sweetheart still remains — a sweetheart- wife ! "
 
 442 THE wipe's duty. 
 
 " I have no words," she says, " to express the bitterness of my 
 contempt for any woman who gives voice to her husband's faults. 
 It is her duty to woo him from them within the sacred sanctuary of 
 home — to entreat, to reason, to struggle against them heart and 
 soul ; but never to betray. Never — never put faith in a woman 
 who, having knelt at God's altar, would go free of her bond, or 
 abate her duty to the head and heart of her existence. I tell you, 
 Mary — Mary dearest, believe me — this new seeking of womanly 
 independence among married women is an outrage against God 
 and nature ; it is one of the works of Anti-Christ ; it is what no 
 Christian woman can dare to countenance. She can never remove 
 the seal from the bond. Let her beware of signing it. If she find 
 she cannot bend, let her not enter into the covenant ; but having 
 entered, no human law can unbind — no word of man can unloose 
 — what God has joined. Man was created to protect and cherish — 
 woman lovingly to serve ; there is no reasoning, no arguing, ' If 
 you cherish, /will serve.' If the man forget his duty let the woman 
 be protected ; but under all circumstances keep the bond inviolate. 
 The one great poet, in a world of prose, has happily expressed the 
 nature of this holy union. 
 
 " * As unto the bow the cord is, 
 So unto the man is woman. 
 Though she bends him, she obeys him. 
 Though she leads him, still she follows — 
 Useless one without the other.' 
 
 Marriage, in my eyes, is no more a civil contract than baptism or 
 the most holy Sacrament of our Lord ; it is in every sense of the 
 word sacred, only to be dissolved by death — ifhy that /" 
 
 In passing ffom the subject, I venture to aj^pend some 
 other lines of my own extracted from " Ehymes in 
 Council." 
 
 " Away with women of new-fangled schools — 
 God pardon them — who would unsex the sex : 
 Of all their natural rights make ghastly wrecks ; 
 And let none rule who does not show she rules ! 
 Shadow for substance giving — where they bring 
 A taint more deadly than an adder's sting."
 
 FRIE]SDLESS AND FALLEN. 443 
 
 There is another subject in which she took deep inte- 
 rest. In 1878 one of God's good women established, at 
 4 and 6, Kerbey Street, Popkr, a house of safety and 
 shelter for the "friendless and fallen" — to be either 
 would be bad enough : "in London there are tens of 
 thousands who are both ! " 
 
 The locality is about the worst of metropolitan outlets 
 — in the neighbourhood of the " London Docks," where 
 sailors are often trapped by women specially unsexed, 
 inconceivably odious ; where the brawls, the blows, 
 the curses, are continuous by day as well as by 
 night. Yet here these God's good women live and do 
 His work. 
 
 "Among the drunken and the dissohite, 
 The rag-clad Circe, and the human brute, 
 With fiends that slay by foetid atmospheres — 
 They walk, and breathe, and toil ; yet have no fears. 
 Strong in Grod-given streng-th, what should they dread ? 
 Guarded, and armed, and guided as they go. 
 By Angels, passing with them, to and fro : 
 Alone these peril-paths they js'ever tre.\d." 
 
 "There are sacred places in England to which pilgrimages are 
 made, places in which battles have been fought for fi-eedom, where 
 gi-and and holy work has been done for God and man. Only ruined 
 walls are some of them, yet often the wayfarer is tempted to cast 
 the shoes from off his feet, for he is treading on holy grovmd ! 
 
 ' ' Coarse and common houses are these houses in Kerbey Street, 
 but many Magdalens wiU visit them in grateful homage, and date 
 their salvation from the day they saw them first. Shi-ines the}^ may 
 be to which rescued sinners converted into good mothers and good 
 wives will make pilgrimages hereafter. 
 
 ' ' The visitor to Kerbey Street will see two shops. No. 4 and 
 No. 6. It was, I believe, an original thought — certainly it was a 
 happy one — to devise that arrangement. A woman who has 
 ' fallen ' hesitates to knock at a hall-door ; she must stand in the 
 street before it is opened, and she may be watched. But into the 
 shop she glides unnoticed, to buy it may be, or seem to buy, a half-
 
 444 FRIENDLESS AND FALLEN. 
 
 pennywortli of pins or a cotton-ball ; thence the passage into the 
 parlour is brief and easy. There one of the good ladies meets her, 
 with loving look, a cordial handgrip, a hopeful smile, a cheering 
 word, a word of welcome, and a gently-breathed prayer — and 
 together they enter the inner room. 
 
 ''Yes, it teas a happy thought; the thought has borne seed. 
 The friendless and fallen find their way to home, to rejientance, to 
 virtue, to happiness ; and thank Grod (as I did) for the wise thought 
 — a very small thing, yet, I verily believe, inspired. 
 
 " A front-door, shame-lowered women will not enter ; a back-door 
 infers a sense of degradation : but a shop is a place as free as the 
 causeway of the street. 
 
 "Let the hint be taken, let the example be acted upon by all 
 such Institutions in all parts of the world. 
 
 " The door is never closed — all day it is open ; and at any hour 
 of the night a ring of the bell is sure to have a response. It is often 
 that, at midnight, the summons of a forlorn and outcast sister is 
 answered by one of these grand almoners of Christ — a woman, God- 
 taught, God-inspired, and God- blessed ! " 
 
 I have quoted these passages from an appeal by Mrs. 
 Hall in Social Notes ^ December, 1878. It was responded 
 to, I know, by several persons who, having read it, 
 desii'ed to be helpers of the women who did the work ; 
 but there were results even more cheering than theirs. 
 One of them reached the eyes and ears of the writer. 
 Verily, we do not often plant good seed and enjoy 
 nothing of the fruitage. It will be suiBcient if I print a 
 letter received from Mrs. Wilkes, dated May 27th, 1881, 
 addressed to me. 
 
 " The Elms, Coppeemill Lane, 
 
 " Walthamstow, Essex, 
 
 ''May 27, 1881. 
 ''My dear Sir, — 
 
 " At our last general committee, the Hon. Mrs. Stuart Wortley 
 in the chair, a vote of sympathy to you for the loss you have 
 sustained was passed, and I am requested to write you by the 
 ladies of that committee, of which Mrs. Hall was a member. 
 
 ' ' I shall not ever forget the sympathy she felt and expressed iu
 
 HOUSEHOLD SERVANTS. 445 
 
 my work when I came to her, or the words she wrote in Social 
 Notes. 
 
 " There is another who will never forget her words either — a poor 
 girl of nineteen, betrayed by a man who had known her from 
 childhood. He took her to Brighton, left her there enceinte without a 
 shilling ; she pawned her clothes, came to London, and walked up 
 and down the Tottenham Court Eoad, trying the di-eadful life upon 
 the street. Some one took her into a coffee-house, and there she 
 picked up the number of Social Notes in which Mrs. Hall spoke of 
 us. She walked over to Poplar, and was taken in at once. Her 
 baby was born in course of time ; we kept her twelve months, and 
 she is now in a good situation, earning her own living and pajdng 
 for her little girl. I often get a grateful, cheery letter from her ; 
 in my mind she is always associated with Mrs. Hall. 
 
 " We are full in Kerbey Street : full here. I wish you could see 
 this lovely home ; it is quite beautiful. 
 
 "I am, dear Sir, 
 
 ' ' Very faithfully yours, 
 
 " Ax:>fA Wilkes," 
 
 Household Servants. — Mrs. Hall left some wise — 
 and useful — observations, the birth and growth of expe- 
 rience, on this important subject. I think a page or two 
 may be well occupied in printing them as one of the 
 Memories of her : — 
 
 " Servants are, generally, not what they were when I first endea- 
 voured to put in practice the training I had received in home duties 
 from a mother whose varied accomplishments rendered her the 
 admiration of those who knew her ; neither are mistresses what 
 they were in those days. 
 
 " But much can be done by judicious management to obtain and 
 keep good domestics. 
 
 ** For many years my servants, as a general rule, have only left 
 me to get married. \\Tien obliged to replace them, I make the closest 
 investigation, not only as to theii- characters, but the characters of 
 those with whom they have lived. I explain what is to be done 
 and must be done ; and either in health or sickness they find their 
 mistress their friend. As long as they perform their duty I can
 
 446 HOUSEHOLD SERVANTS. 
 
 honestly say I discliarge mine ; and if tliey stiimble, and I can no 
 longer retain them in my service, I do not forsake them, and have 
 more than once had the happiness of knowing that my efforts have 
 been rewarded, and the sheep that might have been lost has been 
 saved — and happy in another land. 
 
 " I wish I could influence my fellow-mistresses to superintend 
 their households, and to deal more patiently and kindly, yet firmly, 
 with their servants. I wish thej* could see the happy result that, in 
 my home, is produced by mingled firmness and kindness. "We leave 
 home with the knowledge that when we return we shall find every- 
 thing in as perfect order as when we left it — for all our household 
 gods are as much cared for by our servants as by otu'selves. 
 
 " lam quite ready to admit that there are many " black sheep " 
 among servants, but I fear it is so in all orders and classes. Ser- 
 vants have much for which to be grateful : few anxieties, few 
 expenses, few wants that are not supplied to them without efforts 
 of their own — reasonable time for rest, and not often a doctor's 
 bill to be settled out of their wages. No doubt there will be 
 'draws' upon their purses, needy relatives requiring help. But 
 these are seldom numerous. 
 
 " It will be the fault of the mistress if the}' squander too much on 
 dress ; and her fault if there is not a nest-egg in the savings-bank. 
 
 "After all, perhaps the simple secret is this: Let your servants 
 be treated as part of your family ; see to their comforts as they see 
 to yours ; lessen their wants, and be siu'e your wants will be less 
 and less. There is a "familiarity that breeds contempt." But 
 if we can be "familiar, yet by no means vulgar," we can be so 
 without sacrificing an iota of dignity. The servant who presumes 
 upon it is one to get rid of as certainly as she would be if you knew 
 her to be a thief. 
 
 "As in all cases that concern humanity, the door through which 
 happiness enters a household should have above it the words, "Bear 
 and forbear." He or she who would strive to get much and give 
 little is as foolish as was the dog of fable, who by grasping at the 
 shadow lost the substance.* 
 
 " ' Labours of love ' is not a sentence of mere sound. They are 
 so numerous and so palpable that to detail them is needless. Like 
 
 * " His is a miserable soul who tries 
 
 How little he may give for much he gets : 
 To gifts the truth more specially applies. 
 All obligations arc but honest debts — 
 Debts which the houest debtor gladly meets : 
 Those who would try to shirk them are but cheats."
 
 rORCED BLOOMS. 447 
 
 all other works, to he really, practically, and continuously service- 
 able, the heart must be in the work. 
 
 " Those who expect to get good servants must be good masters 
 and mistresses; if they are so, I have not so utter a disbelief in 
 human goodness as to think they will be often disappointed."* 
 
 FoECED Blooms. — To this comprehensive subject Mrs. 
 Hall devoted much thought. One of the most valuable 
 of her stories in "Tales of Woman's Trials" has that 
 title. I hope it may be read by parents who think 
 children cannot learn too much ; who rear them as they 
 do flowers in a hot-house — to bring out " forced blooms," 
 and die early, or, at all events, fade to premature decay. 
 She had a strong belief that children's books were by no 
 means always books for children, and in that view was 
 powerfully sustained by her honoured friends William 
 and Mary Howitt. William wrote to her thus : — 
 
 ' ' I am convinced that, with half the work and a proper amount 
 of play and relaxation, our youth would ultimately acquire far more 
 knowledge, and possess far more of the inventive and creative 
 faculty. I am confident that from the free and ample exercise I 
 enjoyed as a boy, I have not only passed throiigh life free from all 
 kinds of ailments, have been able to do an immense amount of 
 literary work, and now, in my eighty-sixth year, feel all the fresh- 
 ness of my faculties and possess an amount of physical energy that 
 amazes all who witness it. I think nothing of rambling away into 
 the mountains, up steep and rugged roads, for three or foiu- hours 
 together, and without any sensible fatigue. Will this generation, 
 driven relentlessly through the factories of knowledge, with no 
 eight or ten hours' bill, compelled to anticipate the energies of their 
 
 * " I think we do not, in England, sufficiently appreciate the repose and 
 support we derive from — if I may be permitted to combine two words that, 
 according to popular opinion, have very diflerent significations — I think we do 
 not sufficiently value our servant-friends. AVe feel sensibly the annoyance and 
 injury wc sometimes endure from bad servants, but we are seldom grateful enough 
 for comforts we derive from good servants." — "A Woman's Hiory" (1857)> 
 Mrs. S. C. Hall.
 
 448 BOOKS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 manhood in their growing and unripe years, be able to do the 
 
 same ? In a word, is our superabundance of knowledge, are the 
 
 mountains of facts that we accumulate, wisely purchased by the 
 
 sacrifice of a large amount of those years of confirmed manhood, 
 
 when our early efforts should naturally produce their fruits and 
 
 yield us their rewards ? 
 
 ***** 
 
 "Nature demands for all young and growing creatures relaxa- 
 tion, unbending of mind, sport in the fresh aii', and, in fact, the 
 means of vigorous health, in order to enable them to bear the wear 
 and tear of mental tension. But this is totally disregarded in modern 
 
 education. All is work, work, force, force, and no play. 
 ***** 
 
 " A boy we knew in England who was thus drilled into premature 
 knowledge by a very clever mother of the mathematical school, used 
 to startle us by such remarks as seemed to come not from himself, 
 but from some familiar that possessed him. Mrs. Howitt gave him 
 a book that was a great favourite with those of his own age — about 
 eight — but he found it infinitely too juvenile, and informed her that 
 for his occasional light reading he had just finished Boccaccio's 
 * Decameron,' and was beginning ' Don Quixote ' ! " 
 
 These pregnant words of our venerable friend were 
 comments on some articles written by Mrs. Hall and 
 printed in Social Notes. I do not think my readers will 
 complain if I reprint some passages from them. They 
 cannot, I humbly think, be without effect on the future 
 of children who are to be men and women : — 
 
 "There are plenty of children's books, but few books for 
 children. The ' cause why ' is easy of explanation. The little ones 
 are to be treated as men and women before they have entered their 
 teens. With not many exceptions, the volumes prepared expressly 
 for them — in art as well as in literature — should be prefaced by a 
 motto-line from the ' Night Thoughts ' — 
 
 " ' Imagination's airy wing repress ! ' 
 
 and, perhaps, there are more boys and girls, under ten, who could 
 take respectable rank at a competitive examination than there are 
 who could tell us ' all about ' Puss in Boots and Red Hiding Hood. 
 I had a little gii-l on my knee, not long ago, who, desiring to
 
 TEACHINGS FOR CHILDREN. 449 
 
 inform me as to the distance of the planet Jupiter from the moon, 
 or some such calculation, too abstruse for me, looked at me with 
 astonishment when I hummed for her a bit of the old rhyme — 
 
 " 'Three little kittens had lost their mittens,' 
 
 and wanted to convince me that ' Jack and the Bean-stalk ' could 
 not be true ! Man 3' of the little men and women of tender age would 
 join in the reproof administered to one of their 'order,' who was 
 caught leaping over chairs and tables in the drawing-room, and, 
 singing to her own tune the old nursery rhyme — 
 
 '"Hey diddle diddle. 
 The cat and the fiddle. 
 The cow jumped over the moon ; 
 
 The little dog laughed to see the sport, 
 And the dish ran away with the spoon ' — 
 
 a reproof, instead of a blessing, on the merry heart that had not 
 forestalled a weight of care and a burthen of troubled thought. 
 
 " I believe it is Dr. Johnson who says he would rather see a toy 
 throwing stones at an apple-tree than doing nothing ; but there is 
 a worse state than even that of listless idleness : it is when the 
 mind is crammed with food it cannot digest. I consider the per- 
 petual inculcation of facts to be not only detrimental to a child's 
 present but pernicious to its future ; and that to leave imagination 
 entirely barren is a crime against nature. It is against this evil — 
 sjieaking from the vantage-ground of ' old experience,' that 
 
 " ' Doth attain 
 To something of prophetic strain ' 
 
 I enter nrj protest — against a principle that seeuis to guide and 
 govern those who are to ' rear up ' the men and women of Here- 
 after — against a system — for it is a system — which excludes imagina- 
 tion from its curriculum, and so depresses sympathy and jmts 
 charity out of doors, contracting and depressing judgment — harden- 
 ing nature by limiting its exercise to granite facts. 
 
 ' ' My convictions on this head are so strongty supported by a 
 physician who has conferred immense benefit on humanity, Dr. B. W. 
 Eichardson, that my duty may be limited to endorsing his — as 
 resulting from experience during a long life of intercourse with the 
 young, and of large happiness derived fi-om such intercourse. These 
 are his ' burning words ' : — 
 
 VOL. II. G G
 
 450 STREET MUSIC. 
 
 " ' The present modes of education are not compatible with healthy 
 Kfe. The first serious and increasing evil, bearing on education and 
 its relation to health, lies in the too early subjection of pupils to 
 study. Children are often taught lessons from books before they 
 are properly taught to walk, and long before they are properly 
 taught to play. Play is held out to them not as a natural thing, 
 as something which the parent should feel it a duty to encourage, 
 but as a reward for so much work done and as a rest from work 
 done, as though play were not itself a form of work, a form of work 
 which a child likes while he dislikes another form because it is 
 unfitted to his powers. For children under seven years of age all 
 teaching should be through play.' 
 
 ' ' An authority more immediately suited to my piirpose is the 
 Eight Hon. G. J. Goschen, who, when distributing prizes to pupils 
 at the Liverpool Institute, spoke on the subject of fostering and 
 strengthening imaginative power. 
 
 " ' He wanted the heart to be stirred as well as the intellect, the 
 better to neutralise the dwarfing effects of necessarily narrow careers 
 
 and necessarily stunted lives It was not good for a man or 
 
 woman to be always breathing the atmosphere of business ; they 
 should sometimes inhale the bracing ozone of the imagination, .... 
 and he pitied childi'en whose imaginations were not stimulated by 
 fairy tales, and carried far away from the world in which their lot was 
 
 cast It was not only for the individual but for the national 
 
 advantage that imagination should be cultivated.' " 
 
 Street Music. — There is another topic — comparatively 
 insignificant — on which the heart of Mrs. Hall was 
 much " set." She witnessed with sorrow the crusade 
 against street musicians — placing it in the list of 
 cruelties. A neighbour at Kensington had written to 
 the newspapers, complaining of the ''organ-boys" as 
 "intolerable nuisances," complaining that while he was 
 " thinking," one of them was " grinding under his 
 window," and another "working away in the mews at 
 the back." The grievance was — that the wandering
 
 STREET MUSIC. 451 
 
 musicians " disturbed his thoughts." I select the 
 
 following passages from some comments on that letter. 
 # ■» * * * * 
 
 " From his door there will be a threatening order to ' move on.' 
 Not so from mine ; altliough I too am a ' thinker,' and the sounds 
 make me put aside my pen — for three minutes, at least. 
 
 " ' Disturb my thoughts ! ' Yes. So would the coo of the cushat 
 dove, so woidd the song of the up- springing lark, so would the hum 
 of the honey-laden bee, so would the laughter of merry children ; so 
 would any of the Grod-given sounds that greet me where there is 
 green grass, leaf-clad trees, and healthy breezes all around. 
 
 " ' Disturb my thoughts ! ' Yes ; for I am thinking in a suburb 
 of a vast city where all sounds are noises — excepting, perhaps, that 
 solitary one. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " Music has ever been to me the chief est joy of life — 
 
 " ' What know we of the Saints above. 
 But that they sing and that they love ? ' 
 
 •'If 'the meanest flower that blows' could delight the poet, the 
 simplest or the rudest melody can give to me intense enjoyment, 
 and make me almost fancy the sense of hearing is a happier gift 
 than that of sight. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " ' In the mews ! ' Did you see that lonely sempstress put aside 
 her work, open her window, and listen with intense delight ? Did 
 you mark the glow that made homely features beautiful, as she 
 leant over the sill and with thin fingers beat time ? For her it was 
 a rare treat, a source — perhaps her only source — of happiness, as 
 full of joy as a chorus would be to you, when a thousand mingled 
 voices glorify the sublime creations of Handel or Mozart. She can 
 give the poor organ-grinder only her blessing. 
 
 "But she does give him that. 
 
 " Is she too refined to say of the coarse strain — 
 
 " ' 0, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
 Stealing and giving odour ! ' 
 
 " And in the street, too — even while you write and ' think ' — 
 there is — another ! Up starts Mary Jane from her den of pots and 
 pans, runs up the area-steps, and has a feast of music, such as you 
 
 GG 2
 
 452 ORGAN GRINDERS. 
 
 will have when you visit the Albert Hall. She -will miss the penny 
 she gives him ; but she has had her penny's worth ; and to make 
 her entertainer ' move on ' is to rob her of a pleasure that lightens 
 toil and is a huge recompense for labour. 
 
 " Wait a minute longer, and what will you see? Out creep, or 
 iiish, the tiny little ones from the alleys near at hand ; they are 
 striving to sing and trying to dance. At all events, they jump up 
 and down with unshackled glee, pull one another about, rudely it 
 may seem to those who are in training of some professor, and 
 imgracefully, no doubt, according to the judg-ment of practised 
 waltzers, but with thankful joy in all their little hearts. 
 
 " Surely it must be a selfish nature that would deprive so many 
 of so much happiness ; and all because for a few minutes of the 
 day he must put aside his pen and cease from ' thinking.' "We do 
 not laud the dog of fable who denied the ox the hay on which he 
 lay, and which he himself could not eat. The lares and penates of 
 a hovel may be the coarse bits of broken pottery a connoisseur 
 despises ; the coarse meal of unmentionable dishes may be to some 
 the luxury the epicure abhors. 
 
 "Even so the music of the hurdy-gurdy, that 'disturbs' my 
 neighbour and rouses him to unseemly wrath, may be — nay, of a 
 surety is — the sole treat of music that a major part of his neighboui'S 
 can, by any possibility, enjoy. 
 
 # *- * *- * :Sf 
 
 "I appeal for considerate mercy on behalf of these 'nuisances 
 intolerable ' — the organ-grinders that ' distiu-b ' our streets. Who 
 knows how much they may teach by their coarse editions of 
 melodies — unforgotten through life ? Who knows how much of 
 good seed, early planted but long unwatered — to all seeming, dead 
 — they may revive and strengthen to bear fruit ? 
 
 ' ' I heard a story of a rude and rough sailor who had long warred 
 with foes and storms. He was dying in one of our hospitals, heed- 
 less of Hereafter. Suddenly he started up — a note of street music 
 had entered through an open window. The physician was startled 
 by a sudden return of voice and strength : ' Mother, mother ! ' he 
 exclaimed, raising his right hand and gazing intently at the bed- 
 foot ; ' Mother, mother ! I have it ; I have it — 
 
 " ' Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, 
 Look upon a little child.' 
 
 Calmly, and with a smile that lit up his weather-beaten featui*es, he 
 lay back on his pillow and died."
 
 MRS. hall's work. 453 
 
 And surely I may not forget the aid The Art Journal 
 received in actual work as well as in sweet and wise 
 counsel to me, its editor. Here were published the 
 major part of her ^'Pilgrimages to English Shrines," 
 and here the most beautiful of all her books, " Mid- 
 summer Eve." Here she gave to my dry details con- 
 cerning " The Thames " and " South Wales," the spark- 
 ling episodes from which they derived great value. 
 
 There is a sun-dial somewhere with the inscription — 
 
 *'Horas non numero, nisi serenes." 
 (I record only hours of sunshine. ) 
 
 I do not know whence I borrow this passage — 
 
 '^ Let it be remembered that her wit was never employed to scolf 
 at goodness, nor her reason to dispute against truth. In this age 
 of wild opinions she was as free from scepticism as the cloistered 
 virgin ; she never wished to signalise herself by the singularity of 
 paradox. Her practice was such as her thoughts naturally pro- 
 duced. She was charitable in her judgment and opinions, grateful 
 for every kindness she received, and willing to impart assistance of 
 every kind to all Avhom her power enabled her to benefit." 
 
 I have preferred to give as memories of my wife these 
 teachings of her love and wisdom, to filling my pages 
 with anecdotes, that might more directly exhibit and 
 illustrate her personal character. I cannot have space 
 for both. I believe her thoughts on some essential 
 matters may be accepted as seed that will bear fruit. 
 She did not live in vain : and verily " her works do 
 follow her." 
 
 Mrs. Hall has written nine novels, while her sketches 
 and shorter stories number hundreds. Her novels
 
 454 MRS. hall's woek. 
 
 are— 1, "The Buccaneer"; 2, "The Outlaw"; 3, 
 " Uncle Horace" ; 4, " Marian" ; 5, "Lights and Shadows 
 of Irish Life " ; 6, " The Whiteboy " ; 7, " A Woman's 
 Story " ; 8, " Can Wrong be Eight " ; 9, " The Fight of 
 Faith." 
 
 I hope before I leave earth to issue these nine 
 volumes as a series — revised, annotated, and prefaced by 
 me. I shall add to them much that is interesting. 
 
 Most of them have long been out of print. I can 
 seldom find one of them in a catalogue of old books for 
 sale, and I have laid the flattering unction to my soul 
 that those who possess them are not desirous to part 
 with them. Although I have eagerly sought for copies, 
 at present I do not possess them all. Most of them may 
 certainly be classed among " scarce books." 
 
 In recalling to memory the actors I have known, I 
 made some note of three successful dramas written by 
 Mrs. Hall. I have always regretted that she did not 
 produce other and more ambitious productions for the 
 stage, believing that she might have achieved great 
 things in that class of literature. I am not singular in 
 that opinion. I will add to my own the opinion of 
 Lytton Bulwer (Lord Lytton), who in 1832 made this 
 record on that subject (" Asmodeus at Large," in the New 
 Monthly). Speaking of "The Buccaneer," he says: 
 
 "An admirable historical romance, full of interest and with many" 
 new views of character. It is an historial romance, and yet, un- 
 borrowed from Scott, it is sui generis, which is saying a great deal. 
 The author has introduced Cromwell in the foregroxmd as the 
 principal character, and done justice to the genius of the man." 
 
 " Mrs. Hall has a considerable mastery of style. Her Irish 
 
 i
 
 DRESS. 455 
 
 sketclies possess great beauty of composition, and there is a little 
 tale of hers in 'The Amulet,' ' Grrace Huntley,' which is written 
 and conceived with extraordinary skill — the idea is even grand. I 
 esteem the conception of that story to be one of the most dread and 
 tragic in modern composition. Mrs. Hall evinces in it, as in ' The 
 Buccaneer,' very marked talents for the stage, and if she would 
 devote her time and skill to a village tragedy that should conta n 
 the simplicity and power of ' Grrace Huntley,' I feel confident that 
 it would have a startling success." 
 
 Her Children's books are numerous : three of them 
 were published in the series issued by the Brothers 
 Chambers. The others are, I think, all out of print; they 
 would certainly bear republication. I know of no one 
 who understood children better than she did, catered for 
 them with greater ardour, or loved them more truly. 
 She was never so happy as when a little maid was 
 sitting and listening at her knee. 
 
 In one of her letters I find this passage : — " I would 
 not give much for a man, and less for a woman, who 
 cares nothing for dress. 
 
 " Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 
 But not express'd in fancy : rich, not gaudy." 
 
 The counsel of Polonius specially applies to the sex : 
 the woman, who is heedless in that way will be careless 
 of her household, and, figuratively speaking, seldom 
 " sweep the hearth." I think I may safely say that no 
 visitor ever saw Mrs. Hall en deshabille. She thus refuted 
 the idea that literary women need be slovens.* Perhaps 
 
 * " I hope tlie reproach of slovenliness is passing away from literature, or 
 rather, I should say, from its professors. A well-organized mind cannot fail of 
 being orderly in all things, and a mind that is not well organized can rarely
 
 456 SENSITIVENESS. 
 
 they are too often so. I remember seeing Miss Benger, 
 the author of several important historical books — famous 
 at the time — at one of Campbell's parties in a sort of 
 flannel dressing-gown. 
 
 As are all persons of refined minds, she was very- 
 sensitive, and could be easily ''■ put out." It was not 
 often, however, she was in the way of being so, as 
 regarded either things or people. Courage she regarded 
 as wholly a masculine quality, and the peril of giving 
 ofience she had very rarely to encounter. I have one or 
 two anecdotes to tell as illustrations. In 1845 she com- 
 menced, in The Art Journal, a story entitled "The Artist" 
 — four chapters of which were there printed. Some one 
 sent her, anonymously, a caricature of her hero — an old 
 French drawing-master. It eff'ectually paralyzed her 
 hand : I could never induce her to finish the tale. 
 
 An anecdote of a difierent order I am pleased to relate. 
 One day she received an anonymous letter ; it contained 
 merely these words — 
 
 "Psalm xci., verses 4, 5, 6, 10, 11." 
 
 ]S"o more ; while the post-mark on the letter told her 
 nothing. On turning to the Psalm she read these 
 verses : — 
 
 inform or even amuse, except by its absurdities. I never could fancy why a 
 gentleman wrote best unshaven and in slippers, or how a lady improved her 
 genius by neglecting that neatness of attire which is the outward and visible 
 sign of a well-regulated mind and a comfortable home. I would earnestly 
 entreat the young of my own sex, who possess, or imagine they are possessed of, 
 literary talent, carefully to avoid contracting slovenly or even peculiar habits. 
 Sir Walter Scott (blessings and honour to his name for ever !) set a glorious 
 example of simplicity and propriety in all things, that we ought to follow in 
 gratitude and humility." — Lights and Shadows of Irish Life.
 
 ENCOUEAGEMENT. 457 
 
 •' He shall cover thee with, his feathers, and under his wings shalt 
 thou trust ; his truth shall be thy shield and buckler. 
 
 "Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the 
 arrow that ilieth by day ; 
 
 " Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness ; nor for the 
 destruction that wasteth at noonday. 
 
 " There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come 
 nigh thy dwelling. 
 
 " For He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in 
 all thy ways." 
 
 I tliink that letter gave her more veritable joy than 
 did any secondary letter she ever in her life received. 
 1 believe it to have influenced her thoughts and pen 
 during the many after years of her career. It must 
 have emanated from some one to whom she had rendered 
 a service that could be repaid only in that way — by 
 a blessing that is so often a large recompense ; the pay- 
 ment of a debt, perhaps — recorded by Him who " seeth 
 in secret," and often rewards " openly." It gave scope 
 to her imagination ; how, when, where, to whom had 
 she done the service there acknowledged? I believe 
 the speculative thought, thus excited, often brought 
 sleep to the head wearied by labour and the mind over- 
 burthened with toil — acting as an anodyne when care 
 and anxiety pressed upon both.* 
 
 She would speculate as to which of her good works 
 brought this acknowledgment and reward : came it from 
 a fallen sister rescued from sin ? some half- famished, 
 relieved, supplicant ? some reformed drunkard ? the 
 
 * The Irish have a sajdng, "The prayers of the poor are in Heaven before 
 ye ! " I have recorded that when Humanity Martin was reported to have 
 been drowned, his old housekeeper was observed to receive the news with indif- 
 ference. On being questioned, she said, " The master is nut drowned — not he ; 
 if he were drowning, there are souls enough about him to keep his head above 
 water."
 
 458 BLESSINGS AND COMFORTS. 
 
 mother of some child to health restored ? some widowed 
 wife whose husband had died on a borrowed pillow? 
 some consumption-stricken patient, who had exchanged 
 a damp straw bed in a foetid alley for wholesome air 
 and food at Old Brompton ? some " worn out " governess, 
 some home-nurse, or some broken soldier who shouldered 
 his crutch as he issued from a convalescent home ? some 
 ''incurable" who thanked God for a death-bed un- 
 appalled ? some sempstress who sang, though not in the 
 actual words of the poet, "The Song of the Shirt"? some 
 overworked labourer at the counter whose hours of 
 overtoil had been lessened? some sceptic groping in 
 soul- darkness, to whom her words had brought light ? 
 
 Such speculations as to whence came the prayers 
 breathed, into her mind, heart, and soul, by the prayers 
 and prophetic blessings of the ninety-first Psalm — are 
 not mine : they were hers. Whoever the sender may 
 have been, the object was fully answered. T believe 
 nothing in her long life was to her so fertile of happiness. 
 The words were as sunshine over a bed of flowers on 
 which the dew had plentifully fallen. 
 
 They cheered her in her work ; they stimulated, 
 encouraged, and — recompensed ; and I am very sure 
 much of the good she did may be traced to that simple 
 source. We no more know where we give or get a 
 blessing than we know the course that will be taken by 
 Him who — 
 
 ' ' Moves in a mysterious way, 
 His wonders to perform ! "
 
 HER MEMORY. 459 
 
 Her memory was marvellous. When I first visited, 
 with her, her native Bannow in 1825, there was hardly 
 a stick or stone, and certainly not a person, she did not 
 recognise. I remember an old easy-chair in the dining- 
 room: she said there nsed to be a large hole in the 
 back. I turned it round, and there, sure enough, was 
 the hole. Every step she took was a reminder. What 
 a day it was— that I recall, when we visited the grave 
 of her grandmother in old Bannow church ; and the 
 days we rambled together about the scenes and among 
 the people she recorded in her " Sketches of Irish 
 Character." 
 
 I think she could have described the dress of every lady 
 she had met at any party twenty years after it occurred. 
 She was ever silently observant ; taking mental notes 
 of all that was said and each thing that was done, 
 whether at a stately reception or in the cabin of the 
 humblest peasant. Nothing, however trivial, escaped 
 her notice. Happily her nature — generous, considerate, 
 and sympathising nature — enabled her to transmute the 
 baser metals into gold. She saw only what it was wise 
 and good to preserve in memory, never that which was 
 ugly, or mean, or evil. What might have been revolting 
 she never saw at all. Even disagreeable things seemed 
 without power to enter through the eye or the ear 
 into her mind : while her spirit never, never, wandered 
 from gratitude to God for blessings — to be acknowledged 
 by sharing them with all things beautiful and good that 
 God has made. So it was through her life up to the 
 very day of her death. 
 
 The precepts she practised and taught are set forth,
 
 460 LADY MARTIN. 
 
 with a view to impress them, in all her many books. 
 There is no one of the teachings of God's word that has 
 not received augmented force from her pen. The maxim, 
 "Order is Heaven's first law," she strove to impress not 
 only in its loftier view, but in the smaller matters that 
 influence life : there is no principle of religion, loyalty, 
 duty to God, neighbourly love, she has not in some way 
 illustrated and sustained. None came to her for sym- 
 pathy, counsel, and aid, who went " empty away." 
 Surely the blessing of God was over all she thought, 
 wrote, and did. 
 
 I had meant to leave her character in the hands of 
 some loving friend — to whom, perhaj)s, it would have 
 been better to have left it — but as I draw nearer to the 
 grave, the conviction is more and more forced upon me 
 that I should neglect a solemn duty if I left it altogether 
 to the future. 
 
 Lady Martin — Helen Faucit. — Happily, she is yet 
 with us, though the stage she so brilliantly adorned 
 knows her no more. It would be apart from my plan to 
 say much concerning her ; but I cannot write of my 
 Avife without mentioning one who was her esteemed, 
 respected, and much -loved friend — from the time of Miss 
 Faucit' s first appearance when a very young girl at the 
 Eichmond Theatre. In those days Mrs. Hall's pet name 
 for her young friend was " Ladybird," and I called her 
 " Lady Helen," little thinking the title would one day be 
 veritably hers. We lived to see her as much honoured 
 in private as in public life : valued for herself — for her
 
 LADY MARTIN. 461 
 
 high qualities of mind and heart : the wife of a most 
 accomplished and most estimable gentleman, 
 
 Lady Martin recently published — originally in Black- 
 woocVs Magazine — a series of papers on the " Female 
 Characters of Shakespeare." One of them she thus dedi- 
 cated to my wife — or rather to her memory, for she had 
 left earth when the essay was published. 
 
 " The second of these letters was not completed when tidings of 
 the death, after a very brief illness, of the dear friend for whom it 
 was intended, reached me. She was present to my mind when I 
 wrote it, and I dedicate it to her memory. The world knew her 
 great talents and her worth ; but only her friends could estimate 
 her goodness, her charity in thought as well as in deed. Her 
 kindness, like her sympathy, knew no limit. It was as constant 
 and loyal as it was encouraging and judicious. In loving, grateful 
 memory she lives, I doubt not, in many hearts, as she does in 
 mine." 
 
 I think — could she have read Lady Martin's words — no 
 tribute she ever received would have given Mrs. Hall 
 more intense happiness than this — from a lady she had 
 known from her very dawn of womanhood, loving her 
 and respecting her more and more as years rolled on 
 and developed her intellectual power, and with it her 
 purity and goodness of mind and heart. I am sure 
 there is no woman whom, in her early youth, and in 
 matured womanhood, Mrs. Hall more truly loved than 
 she did Helen Faucit — Lady Martin ; and I feel how 
 gratified by the compliment she would have been if she 
 had lived to read it. I gratefully thank that dear and 
 good lady in the name of my wife and in my own. 
 
 I received from many friends, and several " strangers," 
 tributes to the memory of Mrs. Hall. They form for
 
 462 TRIBUTES TO HER MEMORY. 
 
 me a very precious volume. I should like to print a 
 number of them : I must be content to copy here but 
 one. I find it in a little unpretending book, " Songs 
 of Humanity and Progress," written by my esteemed 
 and valued friend, John T. Markley, of the Sussex 
 Daily News^ who has long been the able, earnest, and 
 zealous advocate of the highest principles of order, social 
 good, temperance, loyalty, morality, and religion. 
 
 " Amid the tumult, tempest-tongued, of State — 
 Her own wild, wondrous land in throes of pain, 
 She leaves to God earth's sorrow — but to gain 
 
 A home of holy rest : there to await 
 
 And meet her lover at the golden gate. 
 'Tis not a parting, 'tis a soul's first pace, 
 Smile-welcom'd by fond spirits into grace, 
 
 That life which glory may but consummate ! 
 
 Could April's laughing sweetness break through snow, 
 And yield soft rainbow hues to frost-stung skies, 
 
 The pictiu"'d clouds and air, all winterless, 
 Would typify the gifted mind, aglow 
 
 "With passion, eloquence, and mysteries — 
 A summer, changing not, but quick to bless. 
 
 Although a shift of thrones, she reigneth stiU 
 In hearts unlimited by clime or caste. 
 With all her charmed sway : a sway to last. 
 
 As conquerors gain new power from heights and hill. 
 
 The magic of her soul could but fulfil 
 Warm mission of a consecrated pen. 
 To picture scenic whims, and joys, of men, 
 
 And fancy ran obedient to her will. 
 
 What lofty love ! What beaming tenderness ! 
 Sad Ireland's better self redeemed with smiles ; 
 
 New worlds in cottages awoke to sing, 
 
 Chaste music of her muse will ne'er grow less, 
 
 Nor pall upon the crowd which it beguiles, 
 'Till remnant voices meet in fijial Spring."
 
 TRIBUTES TO HER MEMORY. 463 
 
 Mrs. S. C. Hall died at Devon Lodge, East Molesey, 
 on Sunday, the 30th January, 1881. It was on the 
 Sabbath-day — " the day of rest " — she was called from 
 earth to Heaven. Her illness was so slight, up to that 
 time, as to give no warning of departure "nigh at hand." 
 I was leaning over her pillow when she said one word, 
 " Darling," breathed into my lips, and was with the 
 Master — to hear His greeting, " Enter thou into the joy 
 of thy Lord." On her birth-day, but twenty-four days 
 before her death-day, she had welcomed a large number 
 of friends and neighbours, had sung for them, and 
 was in her usual health and spirits. It had long been 
 my custom to wi'ite to her a letter on her birthday. I 
 did so on that day, sending it into her room before she 
 had risen. I print the letter. I need not say it was not 
 meant to have been printed. Little thought had I, on the 
 6th January, 1881, of seeing it in type. 
 
 All Scriptui-e "written for our learning" confirms 
 the natural — so to speak, instinctive — faith that when 
 the body perishes the Soul does not die. Such faith is 
 sustained by proofs so numerous, convincing, and con- 
 clusive, as to leave no shadow of doubt on the mind of 
 any just and rational inquirer concerning the matter — 
 all-important as regards destiny here and hereafter. 
 
 I am but one of a host of witnesses — beyond suspicion 
 of fraud, delusion, or want of capacity for judging rightly 
 and righteously — of firmly based religious belief — who 
 supply indubitable evidence, from repeated experience, 
 during many years of constant and minute inquiry, that 
 the Soul, when removed from earth, can, and does, com- 
 municate with Souls that yet continue in the "natural
 
 464 THE SOUL IMPERISHABLE. 
 
 body," which the Apostle so markedly distinguishes from 
 the " spiritual body." 
 
 I am grateful for the knowledge thus accorded to me 
 by God. While I know that when another good man or 
 woman is gone from earth, and another saint is added to 
 the Hierarchy of Heaven, I know also that God permits 
 the beatified saint to watch and guard, as well as pray 
 for, the beloved who remain on earth yet a while longer. 
 
 If I did not so believe, I could not trust in a God 
 just as Avell as merciful : a God who is Love : a God 
 whose Eevealed Word is given to us for "our learning" 
 — to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest — that the 
 Soul, thus enlightened, may embrace and ever hold fast 
 the blessed hope of everlasting life. 
 
 I know well that she is in Heaven ; but, with rever- 
 ence I say it, Heaven could not be Heaven to her — a state 
 of bliss — if, retaining conscioustiess and memory^ she knew 
 that God would not permit her to comfort me when I 
 most need comfort, and guide me where I most need 
 guidance. That is not the way in which God rewards 
 his "good and faithful servants." 
 
 In a word, I know that those who are called " the 
 dead " do not die ; that they are merely removed from 
 the earth sphere into some other sphere — to one of the 
 "many mansions" of which our Lord emphatically 
 speaks — the first, but not the only, removal ; and that 
 under certain conditions which, at present, we cannot 
 comprehend, much less control, the Soul that has left 
 earth can, and does, communicate with the Soul that 
 remains on earth.
 
 IMMORTALITY OF LIFE. 465 
 
 I add these lines from a small poem — '' Hereafter." 
 
 " Change there will be : as flowers from branches burst ; 
 But I shall see thee — as I see thee now : 
 Yet more resembling what thou wert, when first 
 I kissed thy smooth cheek and unwrinkled brow : 
 
 ' As in the glory of thine early prime : 
 
 Through all thy earth life : bright at every stage : 
 The Soul is never old : and knows not Time ; 
 
 G00Dl>rESS IS BEAUTIFUL AT ANY AGE. 
 
 * Together still : if one have earlier birth 
 
 In Paradise : divided : and yet near : 
 Though one in Heaven may wait for one on earth : 
 
 A guiding, guarding spirit : there as here ! ' " 
 
 How any thinking and rational person, who believes 
 in God and the immortality of the Soul,* can for a 
 
 * I quote these passages from " Bishop Pearson on the Creed : " — "If I have 
 communion with a saint of God, as such, while he liveth here, I must still have 
 communion with him when he is departed hence, because the foundation of that 
 communion cannot be removed by death." " First, therefore, this must be laid 
 down as a certain and necessarj' truth, that the soul of man when he dieth, dieth 
 not, but returneth unto Him that gave it, to be disposed of at His will and 
 pleasure — according to the ground of our Saviour's counsel, ' Fear not them that 
 kill the body, but cannot kill the soul.' That better part of us, therefore, in 
 and after death, doth exist and live, either l)y virtue of its spiritual and immortal 
 nature, as we believe, or, at least, by the will of God, and His power upholding 
 and preserving it from dissolution, as many of the fathers thought. This soul 
 thus existing after death, and separated from the body, though of a nature 
 
 spiritual, is really and truly in some place Again, the soul of man in 
 
 that separate existence after death, must not be conceived to sleep, or be bereft 
 and stripped of all its vital powers, but still to exercise the powers of under- 
 standing, and willing, and to be subject to the affections of joy and sorrow." 
 
 I give these quotations only, but I might add many other " authorities " equally 
 entitled to the confidence of Christians — all, indeed, who believe that the 
 Soul has continued existence, after what is called "Death." 
 
 " Spiritualism teaches, on the authority of Scripture, and of all spirit life, that 
 there is no such thing as Death ; it is but a name given to the issue of the Soul 
 from the body." — William Howitt. 
 
 " There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body." — St. Paul. 
 
 " Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 
 Was not spoken of the Soul." 
 
 VOL. II. H H
 
 466 LAST BIRTHDAY LETTER. 
 
 moment doubt this, I have diflBculty in imagining. Yet 
 surely I may not forget that I myself had such doubt 
 before the beneficent Master, knowing that Scripture 
 light had not sujficed for my guidance, sent to me, in 
 His mercy, an additional light that did suffice — a 
 light that enables me to read rightly Divine revelation, 
 and to see how best and safest to walk in the footsteps 
 of the Lord and Master, Christ. 
 
 It is the teaching by which my wife was taught — 
 and taught during the whole of her long and useful 
 life. It is "peace and good will " based on His precepts 
 and example. Call it by what name we may, who will 
 question that such Faith is an inexhaustible blessing ? 
 
 Here is the letter to which I have referred : — 
 " This is the 6th of January, 1881. Surely, surely, I 
 may thank God for the blessing He gave to me, and to 
 hundreds of thousands, eighty- one years ago ; and bless 
 the memory of your dear mother, on whose portrait I 
 look while I write. 
 
 "It was indeed a vast, incalculable blessing God 
 gave me fifty-six years ago. Gratitude from me to Him 
 has been increasing year by year, and day by day, since 
 the ever memorable day I saw you first. You have been 
 to me a guide, a counsellor, a comforter, a companion, a 
 friend, a wife, from that day to this ; ever true, faithful, 
 fond, devoted ; my helper in many ways, my encourager 
 and stimulator in all that was right : the same consoler 
 in sunshine and in storm ; lessening every trouble ; aug- 
 menting every pleasure. "Wisely upright yourself, you
 
 HER FIFTIETH WEDDING DAY. 467 
 
 have been mainly instrumental in making me wisely 
 upright. I should have shrunk from wrong-doing if 
 from no better motive than that of dread to sink in your 
 good opinion ; you have given me a far better motive — 
 that which arises from faith in the Redeemer, and faith 
 and trust in God. 
 
 '' Well I know we shall be together — inseparable — 
 for ever and ever ! that you will be to me in Heaven what 
 you have been to me on earth. 
 
 '' God bless you, my soul's darling : the love of my 
 youth, the love of my age : more beautiful in my sight 
 to-day than you were fifty-six years ago. Such adoration 
 as I may rightly render to a fellow-mortal who will be 
 immortal, I render to you : praying God to bless us 
 both : blessing me in blessing you, and blessing you in 
 blessing me." 
 
 And this is a poem I addressed to her on the fiftieth 
 anniversary of our wedding — in 1874 : — 
 
 " Yes ! fifty years of troubles — come and gone — 
 I count, since first I gave tliee hand and heart ! 
 But none have come from thee, dear Wife — not one ! 
 In griefs that sadden' d me thou hadst no part — 
 
 Save when, accepting more than woman's share 
 
 Of paiif and toil, despondency and care. 
 My comforter thou wert, my hope, my trust ; 
 Ever suggesting holy thoughts and deeds : 
 Guiding my steps on earth, through blinding dust, 
 Into the Heaven-lit path that Heaven-ward leads. 
 
 So has it been, from manhood unto age, 
 
 In every shifting scene of Life's sad stage, 
 
 Since — ^fifty years ago — an humble name 
 
 I gave to thee — which thou hast given to fame — 
 
 Rejoicing in the wife and friend to find 
 
 hh2
 
 468 HER TWENTIETH WEDDING DAT. 
 
 The woman's lesser duties — all — combined 
 With holiest efforts of creative mind. 
 
 And if the world has found some good in me, 
 The prompting and the teaching came from thee ! 
 
 God so guide both that so it ever be ! 
 
 So may the full fount of affection flow ; 
 Each loving each as — fifty years ago ! 
 
 "We are going down the rugged hill of life, 
 
 Into the tranquil valley at its base ; 
 
 But, hand in hand, and heart in heart, dear Wife : 
 
 With less of outer care and inner strife, 
 
 I look into thy mind and in thy face, 
 
 And only see the Angel coming nearer. 
 
 To make thee still more beautiful and dearer, 
 
 Wlien from the tlirall and soil of earth made free, 
 
 Th}^ prayer is heard for me, and mine for thee ! " 
 
 On our twentieth wedding-day (in 1844) I had 
 addressed to her a poem of some length — of which I 
 print a few passages : — 
 
 " Yes — beauty in that happy face 
 The husband-lover still can trace ; 
 Goodness, and gentleness, and truth, 
 
 May live to mock at change and time ; 
 They were the graces of thy youth — 
 They are the graces of thy prime. 
 
 We've toiled together side by side. 
 Proud — yet it was no selfish pride — 
 That toil brought honour, if no wealth ; 
 
 Our hearts have gathered little rust ; 
 But ours are peace, and hope, and health, 
 
 And mutual love and mutual trust ! 
 
 Companion, counsel, friend, and wife, 
 Through twenty years of wedded life ! 
 Dear love, sweetheart — why not address 
 
 Warm words to thee — my hope and pride ? 
 I have not lived to love thee less, 
 
 Than when I hailed a fair young bride.
 
 HER FIFTY-SIXTH WEDDING DAY. 469 
 
 Ah ! let me think liow deep a debt, 
 Sweet friend, dear wife, I owe tliee yet : 
 In toU, in trouble, weak and ill, 
 
 Thj- zealous care, thy active thought, 
 Th}' sjjirit — meekly trusting still — 
 
 Calmed the hot pulse and brain o'erwrought. 
 
 I gave to thee an humble name. 
 
 Which thou, dear wife, hast given to fame : 
 
 And surely 'tis no idle boast 
 
 That many laud and flatter thee ; 
 But when the world hath praised thee most. 
 
 Thy woman's heart was most with me ! 
 
 'Tis thine to prove that strength of mind 
 May work, with woman's grace combined ; 
 To show how Nature's debts are paid 
 
 In studies small that sweeten life ; 
 And how the loftiest thoughts may aid 
 
 The duties of a loving wife." 
 
 I print also some lines we both signed on our fifty- 
 sixth Anniversary — its last commemoration on earth : — 
 
 ' ' Yes ! we go gently down the hill of life, 
 
 And thank our Grod at every step we go : 
 The husband-lover and the sweetheart-wife. 
 
 Of creeping age what do we care or know ? 
 Each says to each, ' Oui' fourscore years, thrice told, 
 Would leave us young ; ' the Soul is never old ! 
 
 What is the Grave to us ? can it divide 
 
 The destiny of two by God made one ? 
 We step across, and reach the other side, 
 
 To know our blended Life is but begun. 
 These fading faculties are sent to say 
 Heaven is more near to-day than yesterday." 
 
 Twenty-four days after my letter was written she 
 was removed from me, from the many dear friends who 
 loved her, and from a " public " by whom she had been
 
 470 SPIRITUALISM. 
 
 largely appreciated since the publication of her first book 
 in the far-off year 1828. 
 
 From what I have said concerning, so-called, 
 " Spiritualism," in recalling memories of Lord Lytton, 
 Serjeant Cox, Eobert Chambers, William Howitt, and 
 others, the reader will have no doubt that I am a 
 believer in the reality of the phenomena known as 
 spiritualism. So was Mrs. Hall; as thoroughly and 
 entirely as I am. 
 
 It is a very long list I might print of persons, 
 entitled to all trust, who believe as I do in the phe- 
 nomena. It has been well said by an eminent Eoman 
 Catholic divine, "It is quite impossible that about such 
 facts such a cloud of witnesses should be all deceived ; " 
 and by a Protestant clergyman of high rank : " Testi- 
 mony has been so abundant and consentaneous, that 
 either the facts must be such as they are reported, or 
 the possibility of certifying facts by human testimony 
 must be given up." 
 
 I do not intend to give any details as to the evidence 
 by which belief in spiritualism is sustained ; it would 
 demand treatment at some length, for which I have no 
 space : moreover, it would be distasteful to many of 
 those who I expect will be my readers. Such testimony 
 may be easily obtained by those who require it ; there 
 are six periodical representative publications, and some
 
 OPPOSED TO MATERIALlSil. 471 
 
 hundreds of printed books that give it fully. In treating 
 the subject here, I shall merely strive to answer the 
 question why should there be any doubt that the spu'its 
 of those who have been in the " natural body " can and 
 do communicate, when in the " spiritual body," with 
 the beloved of earth who are yet remaining on earth, to 
 be removed thence to another state when what is called 
 ^' Death " releases them from earth-bonds ? 
 
 I make no appeal, no effort at conviction, no attempt 
 at inducing enquiry on the part of those who have no 
 belief in Hereafter — " the immortality of the Soul." 
 But to those who believe in both I put a simple question. 
 Where is the soul when it has ceased to be linked with 
 a perishable body — a body that is not the same to-day 
 as it was yesterday, and will ultimately be restored to 
 the elements that composed it ? 
 
 It is not enough for me to say I have had palpable, 
 convincing, and conclusive evidence that those we call 
 the "dead" are "living," and can and do communicate 
 with us — those who are yet living. I have had such 
 evidence, not once, but many hundred times, in various 
 places and countries, in the presence of persons who had 
 never before met, and were totally unknown each to the 
 other, under cu'cumstances that rendered collusion out of 
 the question and fraud an impossibility — such inter- 
 course with "spirits" continuing to be repeated year 
 after year for more than thirty years. 
 
 "We speak what we do know, and testify what we 
 have seen ; " and if we are answered by him who will 
 "answer a matter before he heareth it," I can but say, 
 as the wise king said, " It is folly and shame unto him."
 
 472 APPEAL TO BE HEARD. 
 
 Spiritualists, then, demand to be heard on the ground 
 that their antecedents are such as to justify confidence — 
 confidence in their integrity and in their capacity for 
 arriving at correct conclusions based on the evidence of 
 their senses, sustained by their intelligence ; because 
 they have subjected Spiritualism to such tests as the 
 Almighty has given them by which to detect error and 
 discover truth ; because these things are not done in 
 a corner ; because alleged facts are attested by tens — 
 nay, by hundreds — of thousands, who have witnessed 
 them at various times, in several places, now in one 
 company, now in another ; testified to, not by " ignorant 
 and unlearned men," but by men and women of capacious 
 minds, and of great experience in all the aflairs of 
 life — sound and practical thinkers ; who affirm that if 
 their testimony on this subject is not to be accepted by 
 just and intelligent judges, it must be considered worth- 
 less for any purpose by any public or private tribunal — 
 that they are unfitted for the discharge of any of the 
 duties of citizens, because of either cupidity, deliberate 
 imposture, mental incapacity, or continuous self-delusion. 
 
 The highest authorities in the Church of England, 
 and the oracles of the Dissenters from that Church, con- 
 tend that " miracles " have not ceased, but that they 
 continue to be wrought, not only by good angels, but by 
 evil spirits. Thus wrote Bishop Hall — " So sure as we 
 see men, so sure we are that holy men have seen angels." 
 And thus Archbishop Tillotson — " The angels are no 
 more dead or idle than they were in Jacob's time or in
 
 AUTHORITIES FOE THE FAITH. 473 
 
 our Saviour's, and both good and bad spirits are each in 
 their way busy about tisJ^ Bishop Beveridge contends 
 that "though we cannot see spirits with our bodily eyes, 
 we may do so when they assume, as the?/ sometimes do, 
 a bodily shape." I have already quoted Bishop Pearson. 
 Among Nonconformists there are many authorities 
 equally convincing and conclusive. Baxter, in reference 
 to apparitions, says — " I have received undoubted testi- 
 mony of the truth of such." Isaac Watts reasons that 
 "the appearance of apparitions is a strong proof of an 
 intermediate state, whence they can return for special 
 divine purposes." The venerable founder of Methodism 
 contends not only that good and evil spirits worked in 
 the apostolic times, but that they are as busy now as 
 they were then, — to lead and to mislead, to enlist 
 soldiers under the banner of Christ, and to augment the 
 armies of Satan ! 
 
 " Millions of spiritual beings walk the earth, 
 Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep." 
 
 Such was the faith of John Milton. I might fill many 
 pages with " authorities." 
 
 " Progress " is the universal law of both worlds. 
 Eesponsibility never ceases — here or Hereafter. Where 
 Progress ends who will dare to say, or guess or specu- 
 late as to the " many mansions " into which there may 
 be many removals ? 
 
 If there be not annihilation of all we associate with 
 the Soul, there must outlive this life, affection, memory,
 
 474 THE FUTURE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 reflection, comparison, intelligence — to use a familiar 
 word, Reason : surely these faculties are not lost or les- 
 sened, but vastly strengthened in the Soul after its 
 removal from the body. They must be exercised : there 
 must be a continual recurrence to the events of this life : 
 there must be meaning in the words, '' Well done, good 
 and faithful servant," and in these — " Depart from me, ye 
 wicked." Only by the unlimited exercise of these 
 powers could there be reward and punishment : without 
 them ''Hereafter" would be a sound "signifying no- 
 thing ! " 
 
 " For MEMORY lives — of what thou wert and art — 
 In ' many mansions' where the Soul may dwell : 
 And to REMEMBER is of Heaven a part, 
 As to REMEMBER is a part of Hell." 
 
 If the Soul, on its departure from the body, its some- 
 time tabernacle — the house in which it has dwelt — loses 
 all consciousness of a past, what can be its future ? If 
 it cease to take any interest in things of earth, if the 
 affections are to die when the body dies, and although 
 parents, children, friends, while " living," enjoy the bliss 
 that memory brings, the Souls removed are denied all 
 such sources of happiness, — surely, to maintain such a 
 doctrine would go very far to destroy all honour and 
 glory to God, all faith and trust in Him, in His justice 
 and His mercy, and all the hope that sustains more or 
 less every human being born into the world, and what 
 is, so especially, the blessing of the Christian. 
 
 Yes: Spiritualism progresses, and will continue to 
 progress. There are now millions where, twenty-five
 
 A BLESSED FAITH. 475 
 
 years ago, there were scores. To " stop it " is impos- 
 sible : as easy would it be to stay the inflow of Ocean by 
 a wall of shingles. Our pastors and teachers leave the 
 mighty power for good — or for evil, in the hands of 
 those who will use, to abuse, it — who do use, and do 
 abuse, it. I solemnly warn such as are enquirers, neo- 
 phytes, or acolytes, to avoid, as they would contact with 
 a plague-sjDot, fellowship and communing with '' me- 
 diums " who, under the sway, influence, and dictation 
 of spirits, low, or base, or evil, inculcate principles 
 repugnant to natures that are good — and sometimes teach 
 " Doctrines of Devils." 
 
 It is a blessed Faith ! that keeps us ever watchful, 
 knowing ourselves to be perpetually watched : that gives 
 us conclusive and continual evidence how very thin are 
 the partitions that separate this world from " the next " 
 • — the next, where ingratitude is a crime, and " sins of 
 omission " exact penalties as do " sins of commission : " 
 where those who, having neglected their "talent," are 
 guilty as those who misuse it. " Inasmuch as ye did 
 it not to one of these, ye did it not unto me," implies 
 condemnation for opportunities neglected, as well as 
 
 abused. 
 
 " For Tvhat we will, yet lack the power to do, 
 Be it for good or ill, God counts as done." 
 
 It is a blessed Faith ! that brings closer and nearer 
 those whom death has not — even for a time — separated 
 from us: that makes " certain sure " the actual presence 
 of those we love; sharing our daily walks, our hourly
 
 476 A BLESSED FAITH. 
 
 talks ; watching us with hopeful love ; participating in 
 all our anxieties, in all our joys ; guiding us, helping 
 us, averting from us evil and the influence of evil ; 
 bringing around and about us the holy and the good ; 
 giving us a foretaste of that " overpowering of delight " 
 of which the poet speaks; bringing palpably to our 
 hearts and minds " the substance of things hoped for, 
 the evidence of things not seen ; " and prompting to 
 continual prayer, that when our Lord cometh He may 
 find our lamps bright and burning in the Household 
 of Faith. 
 
 It is a blessed Faith ! that enhances a thousand-fold 
 the joy that is given by the Christian dispensation ; that 
 removes all doubts of Hereafter — answering the prayer 
 (I quote the most beautiful of our Church Collects) : 
 " everlasting God, who hast ordained and constituted 
 the services of angels and men in a wonderful order ; 
 mercifully grant that as Thy holy angels always do Thee 
 service in heaven, so by Thy appointment they may 
 succour and defend us on earth, through Jesus Christ 
 our Lord." 
 
 I conclude this brief summary of my views concerning 
 Spiritualism with fervent thankfulness to God for the 
 blessing it has been — and is — to me. I do not touch on 
 kindred themes that cannot be approached with suf- 
 ficient reverence — even here. It must suffice to say I 
 knotv that the souls of those who loved us, while with 
 us on earth, can, and do, hold communication with us 
 now that they are in Heaven. I hioiv it as well as I 
 know the plainest and simplest truths — as well as I
 
 HER BURIAL. 477 
 
 know there are four fingers and a thumb on my right 
 hand. I know also that such faith is not only consistent 
 with the Christian religion — sustained — nay, inculcated 
 — by the Divine word — but that without it there can be 
 no vital Christianity. 
 
 The " natural body " of Mrs. S. C. Hall was laid in 
 the churchyard at Addlestone on February 5th. It is a 
 village in Surrey, where the happiest years of our life 
 were spent.* The cofiin was of oak, grown in her native 
 Bannow — the scene of her early Irish " Sketches." It 
 was an old chest, brought by her family to England in 
 1815. She had often expressed a wish to be buried in 
 it — and was, in its altered character. 
 
 At the grave-side a group of little children sang a 
 hymn ; they came from the school close by, which 
 school she, in 1855, built. It is an infant school. 
 
 The church is clothed with ivy almost to the summit. 
 That ivy we planted with our own hands, bringing it (in 
 1856), for the purpose, from all-beautiful Killarney. 
 
 Among the few friends, honoured and beloved, 
 present, was Sir Theodore Martin, who brought me a 
 
 * In our grounds, if so I may term a somewhat extensive lawn at Addlestone, 
 it was our custom, whenever a distinguished visitor was our guest, to get him, or 
 her, to plant a tree. The place was named Firfield, so a small tree-shrub of that 
 kind was always ready to be transferred from a flower-pot to the ground. Trees 
 were thus planted by Bulwer, Dickens, Lady Morgan, Mrs. Jameson, Frederika 
 Bremer, Thomas Moore, Samuel Lover, Jenny Lind, William Macready, Mary 
 Howitt, Mrs. Beecher Stowe, and others. The trees are now as high as the 
 house. Moreover, I built a conservator}^, seventy feet long. It contained some 
 twenty statues by eminent British sculptors, a,nd some by sculptors of Germany 
 and France ; while the wall was covered with the best bas-reliefs of the period. 
 I rejoice to know that my successor, a man of taste, estimated them as I did ; 
 and that it is still one of the most charming residences in the richly beautiful 
 county of Surrey.
 
 478 THE ''plea for the flowers." 
 
 gracious message of condolence from the Queen. — God 
 bless her ! — and also a chaplet to place upon the grave. 
 
 There was an abundance of flowers and wreaths sent 
 by loving friends : but I did not suff'er them to be 
 crushed to premature death by heaping clay upon them 
 in a grave that was not theirs. Before the coffin was 
 '' lowered " they were removed, and conveyed to the 
 children's school-room, to give a little more healthful 
 joy before their natural death. 
 
 I quote two passages from a touching and beautiful 
 poem, "A Plea for the Flowers," written by our valued 
 and much-loved friend, Mrs. Newton Crosland : — 
 
 " How have we sinned, that we should be consigned 
 To the dank grave and sepulchre of stone, 
 In darkness doomed to wither, one by one. 
 Where sense is dulled and close-shut eyes are blind ? 
 
 Send us to homes where poverty has sway ; 
 Send us to schoolrooms, and to places where 
 The sick and suffering bear their load of care ; 
 
 Send us where eyes can see and hearts can pray."
 
 RECOLLECTIO]S"S— PEESONAL. 
 
 A FEW incidents of my life I shall give in this chapter : but 
 nothing like an autobiography. In fact, much of what I 
 might think I ought to say I have already said : my own 
 story is so closely interwoven with the stories I have had 
 to tell of things I have seen and people I have known, 
 that to give it here at length would be to incur the 
 charge of needlessly repeating myself. I shall be con- 
 tented, therefore, with detaching from my life's history 
 a few episodes, that mark various stages of the long path 
 I have trodden. I am mistaken if there be not a desire 
 in all readers of a book of Personal Eecollections to know 
 something of the Author. 
 
 I was born at Geneva Barracks, in the county of 
 Waterford * (where my father's regiment was then 
 quartered), about six miles from the '' urhs intacta manet 
 Water f or dia^'^'' on the 9th of May, 1800 : and if any 
 
 * I have in a commonplace book of my father's this entry : — " Eobert Hall, 
 a native of the city of Exeter, was born June 20th, 17-53. Ann Kent was born 
 at Ottery St. Mary, in the county of Devon, on the 30th of September, 1765. 
 Eobert Hall and Ann Kent were married at Topsham, in the coimty of Devon, 
 April 6th, 1790." Their issue was seven sons and five daughters, nine of whom 
 were born at Topsham : three in Ireland, while the regiment was quartered 
 there.
 
 480 MY BIRTH. 
 
 person is disposed to cast my horoscope, I can tell him 
 that my first breath on earth was drawn at daybreak. 
 My mother has told me that the reveille was sounding as 
 I was ushered into the world. I ought, therefore, to 
 have been a soldier : a fate from which I had a narrow 
 escape. 
 
 My father died at Chelsea on the 10 th of January, 
 1836. He entered the army as ensign, by purchase, in 
 the 72nd Regiment, in 1780, and shortly afterwards 
 joined his regiment at Gibraltar, where he continued to 
 serve during the remaining period of the memorable 
 siege. In 1794 he embodied a regiment for service 
 within the United Kingdom, and raised it in the 
 unprecedentedly short space of eleven weeks from the 
 date of receiving the order, displaying an activity of 
 mind and energy of character that have seldom been 
 surpassed.* Immediately upon the completion of the 
 regiment, thenceforth denominated the ^' Devon and 
 Cornwall Fencibles," it was ordered on active service to 
 Ireland, where it devolved upon its colonel to mould the 
 crude mass of heterogeneous materials into an effective 
 
 * The Exeter historian, Jenkins (1806), states that in Devonshire there were 
 two Fencible Regiments ordered to be raised. That for which Colonel Stribling 
 was commissioned was a failure, while that of Colonel Hall was a signal success. 
 I quote the historian : — " By vigorous and prudent exertions, he soon completed 
 his quota of men, and they were regimented under the name of Devon and Corn- 
 wall Fencibles. Just after they were embodied they were ordered to Ireland, 
 where they continued during the remainder of the war, and by strict discipline 
 and good behaviour they not only preserved the tranquillity of the south-western, 
 parts of that kingdom, but gained the esteem of the inhabitants in every station 
 they were quartered at." I learn, too, from a subsequent passage in Jenkins's 
 valuable book, that " Colonel Stribling (after spending a large sum of money) 
 failed in his endeavours to complete a regiment by the time agreed upon, and 
 those enlisted by him were drafted into, and incorporated with, other corps."
 
 THE DEVON AND CORNWALL FENCIBLES. 481 
 
 and disciplined regiment.* The regiment served in Ire- 
 land from the commencement of 1795 till the middle of 
 1802, with credit and efficiency, having frequently 
 received the marked commendations of the general 
 officers in command of districts. The Hon. W. M. Mait- 
 land was its lieutenant-colonel. The regiment returned 
 to England in 1802, when, on the reduction of the army, 
 consequent on the " Peace of Amiens," it was disbanded. 
 In raising his regiment, it was a first requirement 
 that it should be done quickly. He therefore enlisted 
 any one who ofi'ered ; no recruits were either too young 
 or too old. An aged father or uncle brought with him 
 his sons or nephews. The latter would not enlist unless 
 their elders did so. Gradually the old men obtained 
 their discharge, the youths grew into young men, and 
 ultimately the regiment was one of the best in the 
 service. A large proportion of it volunteered into the 
 Line, and no doubt became efficient, as they were well- 
 trained and well- taught soldiers. f 
 
 The Copper Mines. — As I have elsewhere stated, 
 Colonel Hall, while quartered in Ireland, was tempted, 
 chiefly by the circumstance of many of his soldiers 
 
 * It "was one of six Fencible Regiments ordered to be raised by the Duke of 
 York, to serve in any part of the British Islands. They differed from, the Militia, 
 who were at that time limited, in their service, to their native counties, and es- 
 sentially from the Volunteers, who were then, as they are now, only a force to 
 be called into operation — and to be " aye ready" — when needed. 
 
 t I remember seeing a quizzical caricatuie — two venerable women dressed 
 semi-military, with the cockade in their bonnets. A passer-by was addressing 
 them. On being told they belonged to the Devon and Cornwall Fencibles, he 
 asked the natural question, " What ! does Colonel Hall enlist women?" " No, 
 sir; only us two." " And what are you for? " " Oh, sir, we are to nurse the 
 old men and children ! " was the answer. But my father's object was effected. 
 
 VOL. 11. I I
 
 482 THE IRISH MINES. 
 
 being Cornish miners, to embark in mining speculations. 
 They were highly beneficial to the country, but in the 
 end ruinous to himself. Of thirteen mines he opened, 
 the most important was that on Eoss Island, Killamey, 
 from which ore to the value of nearly £100,000 was 
 obtained. After giving employment for a considerable 
 time to hundreds of men, women, and children, that mine 
 was eventually ruined by the bursting in of the water of 
 the Lakes.* It was not the only one he worked in the 
 neighbourhood of Killarney. 
 
 At Eoss Island was found unquestionable evidence of 
 previous workings by pre -historic races — many stone 
 hammers, and the remains of charcoal fires, obviously lit 
 to extract the veins of ore from the limestone in which 
 they were embedded. I recently gave one of the ham- 
 mers to the Exeter Museum. 
 
 The following incident is, I think, worth printing : 
 While walking in the neighboui-hood of his residence at 
 Glandore (I was with him at the time), my father noticed 
 some fish-bones of a green hue among turf-ashes. His 
 
 * An attempt was vainly made to drain the mine by a steam-engine. I believe 
 the engine was the fii'st that was introduced into Ireland. The chimney-shaft 
 may yet be seen in Eoss Island. Other mining speculators in the district were 
 equally unlucky. Chambers, in the "Book of Days," says that the author of 
 "Baron Munchausen" was "a learned and scientific German named Rodolph 
 Eric Raspe, and that he died in 1794 at Mucross, in the south of Ireland, while 
 conducting some mining operations there." I have never been able to obtain 
 any information on the subject, but have no reason to doubt the accuracy of the 
 statement. Easpe's sinking, I fancy, must have been a certain cobalt mine, 
 abandoned after being worked for a short period. I know my father long sought 
 to obtain a lease of that mine from Colonel Herbert, who strongly objected on 
 the ground that it was within sight of his house. But ultimately Colonel Hall 
 did obtain such lease. At that time cobalt was a costly mineral, and the produce 
 of the mine was likely to enrich all parties. Just, however, as his hopes were 
 most buoyant, a so much cheaper substitute was discovered that it, to a large 
 extent, displaced the cobalt, except for the finer and more costly pieces at the 
 Stafi'ordshire potteries, and the mine at Mucross ceased to be worth working.
 
 THE IRISH MINES. 483 
 
 curiosity was excited to discover by what means they 
 had become of so singular a colour, and, on analyzing 
 them, he found they contained copper. His next ob- 
 ject was to ascertain where the copper came from. He 
 speedily traced its source to the contact of the bones 
 with the ashes of turf cut in a neighbouring bog, and 
 known to the peasantry as "the stinking bog." He was 
 told that neither dog nor cat would live in the cabin in 
 which the turf was burned. Having gathered so much 
 information, his path was plain. He first collected from 
 the heaps adjoining the cottages as large a quantity as 
 he could of these copper-impregnated ashes, and shipped 
 it to Swansea, where it brought, if I remember rightly, £8 
 or £9 a ton — a remunerative price. His second step was 
 to take a lease of the bog, build kilns upon it, and bum 
 the turf. That plan he continued until the whole of the 
 bog was consumed, and sent, to the extent of several 
 hundreds of tons, to the Welsh smelting-houses, the ease 
 with which it was smelted greatly enhancing its value. 
 
 It was a curious sight, and one I recollect well, to see 
 scores of workmen cutting the turf, conveying it to 
 one kiln to dry, and then to another to be burnt, while 
 carts were bearing the ashes of that already burnt to the 
 riverside to be shipped for Wales. The particles con- 
 tained in the turf are supposed to have been conveyed 
 into the bog by a stream from one of the surrounding 
 hills, that, passing through a copper vein, took them 
 up in a state of sulphate, but meeting with some iron 
 ore in its progress, or in the bog, the copper became 
 deposited in the metallic state, though a large proportion 
 of the deposit was still in the form of sulphate, as was 
 
 ii2
 
 484 PIONEERS IN MINING. 
 
 proved by allowing a knife to remain in the bog a few 
 hours, when it became encrusted with a coat of copper. 
 The working of this singular mine repaid my father for 
 the capital and labour expended ; but, unfortunately for 
 him, when the bog was burnt out, he considered opera- 
 tions as only commenced, his object being to discover 
 the vein of ore by which the bog had been supplied with 
 copper. In a vain search for the source, technically 
 called the " lode," he expended all he had made by the 
 sale of the ashes. Shafts were sunk in several of the 
 surrounding hills, and he continued the pursuit until his 
 capital was exhausted. 
 
 I claim for my father the merit of having been a 
 pioneer in the development of a source of profitable 
 employment for Irishmen, and of immense wealth to 
 Ireland. "Mining speculations" ruined him, as they 
 have ruined many. The prosperity of the future, how- 
 ever, often dates from the misfortune of the past. 
 During the years in which he conducted mining explo- 
 rations, not only did he find employment for hundreds of 
 workers, and sell in Swansea vast quantities of ore, but 
 he showed what might be accomplished under more 
 auspicious circumstances, and his name should not be 
 omitted in the list of those who have been benefactors to 
 Ireland. 
 
 In 1794 Ireland was almost as much terra incognita to 
 the people of Devon as the Fiji Islands are to them now. 
 The order that the regiment raised by my father
 
 MY MOTHER. 485 
 
 should embark for the Green Isle was received with 
 terror by the mothers of recruits, and the women 
 generally : a greater display of feeling could scarcely have 
 been evoked by a sentence of transportation to Botany 
 Bay. My mother was perpetually waylaid by applicants 
 entreating " mercy " for a son, or brother, or for some 
 one dearer than either. After all, it was not the Irish- 
 men, but the Irishwomen, of whom the Devonshire 
 recruits had reason to be afraid ; not the Pats and 
 Jerrys who made havoc among them, but the dark eyes 
 of the Norahs and Biddys. Warnings, expostulations, and 
 punishments, were equally ineffectual to prevent the 
 Fencibles from surrendering wholesale to such "foes : " 
 within a few months after landing in Ireland nearly 
 two hundred youths of the regiment were married men.* 
 
 My most admirable mother — revered and honoured be 
 her memory, for truly she was a good and heroic woman 
 — conceived the idea of establishing a business in Cork, 
 That was some years after my father had, by his mining 
 speculations, lost all (and it was much) that he had to 
 lose. In the city, where her husband had long com- 
 manded the garrison, where she had many staunch and 
 powerful friends, she so conducted that business as to be 
 
 * Not very long ago, I met at Topsham an old man who told me his father 
 had been a soldier in my father's regiment. I asked him what was his mother's 
 maiden name. He answered, " Norah Mahoney." Clearly his father was one 
 of the "victims." The priest of the parish frequently came to my father with 
 such wox'ds as, " Colonel, you must let William So-and-so marry Biddy So- 
 and-so;" to which my father would angrily reply, "I will not let another 
 soldier in the regiment marry!" The good priest would hum and ha, and 
 murmur, "Well, if ye don't, Colonel, worse will come of it ! " Of course the 
 Colonel's consent was extorted — for " positively the last time."
 
 486 MY MOTHER. 
 
 enabled to bring up her large family of children. Those 
 who remember her — and they cannot be many — will 
 recall her as possessing personal advantages, in all senses 
 of the word : a lady (as much so in adversity as in pros- 
 perity) upright, generous, just, teaching by example as 
 well as precept the lessons that are received in youth to 
 fructify with increase of years.* I have reason to be 
 proud of my mother. So, indeed, I have of my good 
 father: a better or more conscientious man, I think 
 never lived. Though he spent his substance he did not 
 waste it: he enjoyed through a very long life the affec- 
 tion of his children and the respect of troops of friends. 
 He survived my mother many years, and his ashes rest in 
 Kensal Green cemetery, where there is a monument 
 to his memory, f He left me nothing but a name un- 
 stained : a better heritage than would have been a rich 
 estate without that blessing. 
 
 * My mother died in Cork of typhus fever, caught when visiting the stricken 
 house of a poor dependent. I extract two or three passages with reference to 
 that mournful event from a commonplace book of my father's : they illustrate 
 her character and his own. " For this happy union, and for my having met 
 with so good a woman, I can never be sufSciently grateful and thankful to God 
 Almighty. If my soul should be ' saved alive,' and I trust in the mercy of God 
 it will be, under God it will be owing to my union with her. As her life was 
 gentle and blameless, so her end was peaceful and quiet, and without doubt she 
 is now in Heaven, praising and glorifying her Maker and Redeemer, with saints 
 and angels and the spirits of just men made perfect. Oh, shall I meet her 
 there ? God grant that I may !....! cannot bat feel and mourn the loss of 
 so good a woman, so faithful a partner, and so true a friend ; a comforter and 
 consoler upon so many trying occasions,' a sharer with me of prosperity and 
 of adversity : neither proud, nor overbearing in the one, nor repining in the 
 other. Without her for many years past what a miserable man should I have 
 been ! Her resignation and mildness of temper often tempered mine, and recon- 
 ciled me to myself." 
 
 t The monument contains also the name "of " Hannah Davey," the faithful 
 and devoted servant of our family during upwards of fifty years. There also is 
 inscribed the name of Maria Louisa, the only child we had who lived : and her 
 life on earth was very brief. We buiied in 18G.5 another old servant, an Iiish- 
 woman, Alice Myers, who had been in our service over half a century.
 
 KILLED AT ALBUERA. 487 
 
 My eldest brother, Eevis, was killed at ttie battle of 
 Albuera, fought on the 16th of May, 1811. We heard 
 the particulars of his death from a brother officer. He 
 was a little fellow : indeed he was very young, not quite 
 eighteen ; and in the midst of the engagement he turned 
 round to a tall officer who stood behind him and said, 
 " Harris, the ball that goes over my head will kill you." 
 A few minutes after he received a musket ball in the 
 forehead, and fell. In 1845 I met at dinner the brother 
 of Mrs. Hemans, Major Browne, who then held a high 
 position in the Irish constabulary. He chanced to speak 
 of the 23rd. I said, '' If you were in the 23rd you may 
 have known my brother." He told me that when, after 
 the battle, they missed one who was " the pet of the 
 regiment," he headed a corporal's guard to search for 
 the body, and found him on the field — stripped of his 
 clothes by field-robbers. " I carried him in my arms to 
 the hospital," added Major Browne, " and in my arms 
 the next day he died." 
 
 In Cork, it was known that a great battle had been 
 fought, and the Gazette that gave the list of killed and 
 wounded was eagerly and tremblingly looked for. A 
 copy had been received at the post-office. My father 
 went there to learn the news. Pale as death he returned 
 to where we were all waiting together, and his words 
 as he entered were, " Let us pray." Even the youngest 
 of the group knew what the words meant. With prayers 
 that were sobs, we submitted to the will of God : my 
 father breathing something of the feeling of the old 
 French marshal, who, when the body of his eldest-born 
 was brought to him, murmured, thi'ough the tears that
 
 488 OTHER BROTHERS. 
 
 fell on the slain youth, '' I would not exchange my 
 dead son for any living son in Christendom." 
 
 I am indebted to the kindness and courtesy of the 
 Eev. Mr. Bartlett for a series of entries, copied from the 
 church registry, from which it appears my father had 
 nine children born at Topsham and three in Ireland, all 
 of whom lived to manhood or womanhood, excepting one. 
 Of my two elder brothers, William Sanford, born at 
 Cork in 1795 — having for some years prior to his death 
 dwelt at Topsham — died in 1877, at the ripe age of 82. 
 
 His life was not an idle life. On leaving the army (on 
 half-pay) he devoted his time and energies to forming 
 and establishing a Mechanics' Institute (a then new in- 
 vention) in Cork. He was also for many years assistant- 
 editor of "The United Service Magazine,'- and originated, 
 if he did not found, " The United Service Museum." 
 
 The third of my elder brothers, Eobert Eevis, was 
 born at Eoss Castle, on the romantic and ever beautiful 
 Lake of Killarney. The castle was then a barrack, and 
 not very long ago I ascertained, by convincing evidence, 
 the room in which he first saw the light. He was, although 
 a renowned swimmer, drowned on a calm moonlight 
 night, off the Cape of Good Hope, in 1822, I think. It 
 is supposed that he fell overboard, and was seized by a 
 shark before time was given him to make an alarm. 
 He had quitted the navy, in which he was a midship- 
 man, and was then chief mate of an East India trader. 
 His whole life was a romance. He was thrice ship- 
 wrecked, and once lived for three months on an unin-
 
 THE BATTLE OF TRAFALGAE. 489 
 
 habited island. He fought with the Greeks against the 
 Turks, and with the Turks against the Greeks : he was 
 a leader in the Mexican War for Independence. It is 
 deeply to be regretted that he left no details concerning 
 his career. I may, however, describe him as a man of the 
 highest sense of honour ; and, notwithstanding his reck- 
 lessness, always in high favour with his commanding 
 officers. 
 
 The farthest removed of my memories carries me back 
 to the period of the most glorious of Britannia's sea- 
 fights — immortal Trafalgar. I remember it distinctly, 
 partly because of the following incident. At Top- 
 sham, in Devonshire (where my father then resided), in 
 common with all the cities, towns, and villages, of the 
 United Kingdom, there was a general illumination. My 
 father's house was, of course, lit up from cellar to attic ; 
 in each pane of glass there was a candle — the holder 
 being a potato, in which a hollow had been scooped, to 
 sup2)ly the place of a candlestick. The universal joy 
 was blended with mourning : I^elson was dead, and in 
 losing him the nation had paid dearly for victory. 
 My father had, therefore, twisted a binding of black 
 crape round each candle — emblematic of the grief that 
 had saddened the triumph. Few are now living who 
 shared with me the sight of the rejoicings blended with 
 mourning that commemorated the 21st October, 1805. 
 
 In the September of 1881 I visited Topsham, the port 
 of Exeter, in Devonshire. Former acquaintance with
 
 490 THE REGIMENT IN IRELAND. 
 
 the town dated, as I have intimated, a very long way 
 Tjack : yet it was fresh in my memory as if barely a year 
 had passed since the last day I spent there, as a boy. I 
 visited first the house (it is the Manor House) that was 
 so long our home, and where nine of my brothers and 
 sisters were born between the years 1792 and 1807. I 
 entered every room ; each was as familiar to me as if I 
 had seen it yesterday — every path, step, porch, door, 
 " where once my careless childhood strayed," though I 
 had not seen them for upwards of seventy years. I re- 
 cognised in the flowers descendants of those that had 
 gladdened my childhood ; at least, I fancied they were 
 such. Once, there was in the yard a large chestnut tree, 
 which, in its fruit season, tempted the boys to " rob " : 
 without any very heavy penalty, I am sure ; but a poor 
 lad fell from one of its branches, and was killed. My 
 father then ordered the tree to be cut down. The school 
 I attended up to my eighth year is now a dwelling let 
 out in apartments ; the playground borders the church- 
 yard, and the latter has absorbed much of the former. 
 A mantle of venerable ivy still adorns the wall of the 
 old house : the ivies were old when I was young. 
 
 My main purpose in visiting my old home was one 
 that I think my readers will care to hear of: the 
 memories it revived wore such as to make me proud of 
 the name I bear. 
 
 When the Devon and Cornwall rencibles, commanded 
 by my father, was disbanded in 1802, he presented the 
 colours of the regiment to his parish church. They had
 
 THE COLOURS OF THE REGIMENT. 491 
 
 remained over the altar for just seventy years, when the 
 vicar sold them. Certainly the proceeds went to restore 
 the ancient and venerable structure ; but the act was 
 utterly inexcusable — to say the least. I resolved, if 
 possible, to discover what had become of those colours, 
 in the dim hope of replacing them in the church. I 
 found they had been purchased by a Major Keating, an 
 Irishman and a Eoman Catholic, whose hall they 
 then adorned, and by whom they were greatly prized. 
 He generously offered to present them to me. I 
 tendered to him the sum he had given for them ; but he 
 declined to receive it. I had the happiness to spend a 
 week with him and his estimable lady at their beautiful 
 dwelling, Westwood, near Teignmouth (her grandparents 
 were relatives of my mother), during which visit arrange- 
 ments wore made for the restoration of the colours to the 
 church, the present vicar of which — the Eev. John Bartlett 
 — was as anxious to receive as I was to restore them.* 
 
 It was a proud and happy day for me when such 
 presentation took place — on the 20th of September, 
 1881, the fifty-seventh anniversary of my wedding-day. 
 
 I walked from the old Salutation Inn (the inn that 
 was my father's head-quarters when recruiting the regi- 
 ment in 1794,t and which in all important features 
 remains unchanged), leaning on the arm of Major Keat- 
 ing, on either side a sergeant-major of the volunteer 
 artillery (each bearing one of the flags), followed by 
 
 * It is a somewhat singular fact that tho vicar of Topsham who consecrated 
 the flags in 1794 was also named Bartlett. 
 
 t I had to express much regret that Sir Stafford Noi'thcoto was unahle to 
 attend the ceremony. He had expressed a great desire to bo present on the 
 occasion, if at all pussible, and to bring with him his grandfather's commission 
 as a captain of yeomanry, granted in 1794.
 
 492 THEIR RESTORATION. 
 
 many of the present Devon volunteers and large nnmbers 
 of the townsfolk. We were received by the vicar ; the 
 church was full. Mr. Bartlett preached a sermon appro- 
 priate to the occasion ; I unrolled the colours and placed 
 them on the altar. Over that altar they now rest ; and 
 there, where they had reposed through so many years 
 that are gone, they will continue, I hope, to meet the 
 eyes of the men and women of Devonshire through 
 generations to come. They will remain, I trust (to 
 borrow the words of Mr. Bartlett to the congrega- 
 tion), " where their children's children may see them 
 — to hang there till they crumble into dust." 
 
 My share in the proceedings of that day will be, there 
 is very little 'doubt, the last public act of my life. Surely 
 the public life of any man could, not have been more 
 gracefully or more happily concluded. For with those 
 colours are connected associations of which the counties 
 of Devon and Cornwall may well be proud. There is 
 not the stain of a single drop of blood on those banners 
 of the Devon and Cornwall Fencibles. War is ever 
 a horror ; but no Christian man or woman can look at 
 those flags in the church at Topsham without the rever- 
 ence of love and honour. They dignify and grace the 
 temple in which peace and good will are preached. 
 
 During the Irish Eebellion of 1798 the regim_ent was 
 quartered in one of the most disaffected Irish counties — 
 Kerry. Under the considerate and humane sway of my 
 father, well seconded by the mingled forbearance and 
 firmness of his men, not a single life was taken in the 
 district over which he ruled with almost autocratic 
 power. Nor was any officer or man of the Fencibles so
 
 THE IRISH REBELLION. 493 
 
 miicli as ill-treated, I think, during the time the regi- 
 ment was quartered in ^' wild Kerry." To all who 
 have read of the horrors elsewhere perpetrated in Ire- 
 land — hoth by rebels and loyalists — during that un- 
 happy year, such a record will be eloquent.* The 
 colours presented by my father to Topsham church — 
 that I was the happy means of restoring to their resting- 
 place within the sacred walls — are more hallowed 
 by the memories connected with them than they would 
 have been if they had been carried in triumph over the 
 reddest fields of victory, f 
 
 My father, no doubt, had the feeling I have towards 
 
 * In Ireland, in 1798, there were two other Fencible regiments: the" Ancient 
 Britons" (Welsh) and the Caithness Fencibles (Scottish), r^t?!/ managed matters 
 very badly indeed ; were perpetually at feud with the people ; killed whenever 
 they were provoked ; and were slaughtered whenever they were met — singly or 
 in small bands. 
 
 t I may add here an anecdote that has a very direct bearing on the above 
 tribute to the memories of my father and his regiment. In 1816, while residing 
 at Ballydehob, where my father was carrying on his disastrous copper mines 
 — disastrous to him, but very beneficial to Ireland — a friend lent me a horse on 
 which I rode to Bantry. I remained three days at an inn there, and when I 
 thought my purse exhausted, called for my bill. " Sir," said the waiter, " there's 
 no bill." So I sent for the landlord to explain. He met my demand by a half- 
 angry rejoinder. " Sir," he said, " no son of your father shall ever pay a shilling 
 in my house, and I hope you will stay as long as j'ou can." He answered my 
 rcquebt for explanation, "I'll not tell you, but ask your father." Of coui'se I 
 did so, and, afier raking his memory, he told me that the landlord kept the inn 
 in 1798, and had been very kind, attentive, and serviceable to him. My father 
 had received secret intelligence that the man, a captain of rebels, had arranged 
 on a certain night to attack a certain house, into which several soldiers had there- 
 fore been introduced in private clothes. But on the afternoon of the day, the laud- 
 lord was arrested and conveyed to the barracks, no member of his family being 
 cognizant of the arrest. He was imprisoned in a room whence there could be no 
 communication with the outside. The rebels met, but where was their captain ? 
 None could tell. For that night they postponed the attack. The next night it 
 was the same ; the third night, finding their captain again absent, and not 
 knowing why, how, or where, they relinquished their project. The landlord was 
 released, returned to his house, and was made aware of the cause of his imprison- 
 ment, but for which he was certain to have been either shot or hung. Hence 
 his words — twenty years after the rebellion : " Sir, no son of your father shall 
 ever pay a shilling in my house! "
 
 494 THE FRENCH IN BANTRT BAT. 
 
 Ireland — that of sympathy with her people — and could 
 make allowance for their being goaded into rebellion by 
 the action, on excitable temperaments, of shameful and 
 oppressive laws. 
 
 He was, as Mr. Bartlett, on the day of the restoration 
 of the colours to Topsham church, in his address, de- 
 scribed him : " A good man, a religious man, a faithful 
 member of the Church of England, true to his God, 
 loyal to his sovereign, and loving to all human kind." 
 
 I know it was with him, all his life, a subject of 
 earnest thankfulness to God that, while he held military 
 command in disaffected Kerry, with the peasantry every- 
 where ready and willing to rebel, and with civil war 
 actually raging in other parts of Ireland, he had main- 
 tained order without spilling a drop of hlood. 
 
 The French in Bantrt Bay. — In 1796, when the 
 French attempted to land in Bantry Bay, my father's 
 regiment was quartered in Kerry and in the west of the 
 county of Cork — the head-quarters being at Killarney. 
 
 He received orders from the general commanding at 
 Cork to proceed to Bantry Bay, and ''prevent the 
 landing of the French." All the troops he could muster 
 numbered seven hundred men — principally raw recruits. 
 If the French had landed there would have been a 
 seasoned army of ten thousand to oppose these seven 
 hundred. I have heard my father say that no other 
 course was open to him than to have fired one volley, in 
 obedience to orders, and then have surrendered his small 
 force as prisoners of war. His own counsel was that his
 
 THE STOKM IN BANTRT BAY. 495 
 
 men should be employed to break up the roads between 
 
 Bantry and Cork, and so arrest the progress of the 
 
 invaders to that city. I have heard my mother describe 
 
 the state in which she was left in Eoss Castle, without a 
 
 single soldier for protection ; but I hope, and I think, 
 
 also, that the people, among whom her lot was at that 
 
 dismal period cast were far more inclined to protect than 
 
 to annoy her, and that she was as safe as she would have 
 
 been amid the garrison of Cork. 
 
 The result of the effort of France to obtain possession of 
 
 Ireland belongs to history. I have often heard my mother 
 
 describe the terrible storm of December the 23rd, 1796, 
 
 which scattered the French fleet, and destroyed several 
 
 of the ships. None of the invading troops landed, except, 
 
 I believe, thirteen, who were conveyed prisoners to Cork, 
 
 together with a carriage of singular construction, richly 
 
 gilt and decorated. That was the only trophy of victory ; 
 
 it became the subject of a song sung in the streets and 
 
 roads, the burthen of which was — 
 
 "And so they tuk the coach. 
 Intinded for General Hoche." 
 
 So ended danger from that source. It is hard to say 
 how the attempt would have terminated but for the 
 tempest that so thoroughly defeated it. 
 
 At that time, however, the Irish, it is certain, were 
 neither prepared nor willing to receive the French. Dr. 
 Moylan, the Eoman Catholic bishop of the diocese, in 
 a pastoral, urged the people to repel the invaders, en- 
 treating his flock to bear in mind " the sacred principles 
 of loyalty, allegiance, and good order." 
 
 " We have been now," wrote Wolfe Tone in his
 
 496 AN INCIDENT IN CORK. 
 
 diary, " six days in Bantry Bay, within five hundred 
 yards of the shore, without being able to efi'ectuate a 
 landing ; we have been dispersed four times in four 
 days, and out of forty-three sail we can muster but 
 fourteen." 
 
 Eepelled by the elements, and not by any force as- 
 sembled for the protection of the Irish coast, the baffled 
 invaders at length retired. Had the sailing of the 
 armament been delayed until two years later, the 
 results of such an attempt might have been very 
 different. In 1798 the French would have found the 
 peasantry friendly, whatever their reception from the 
 winds and waves might have been. 
 
 An Incident in a Life. — I extract the following from 
 a Cork newspaper, 1876 : — " On Sunday, July 9th, there 
 entered Christ Church, Cork, and took a seat where his 
 family (an English family, some time resident in that 
 city) a very long time ago worshipped — a white-headed 
 man, who held in his hand a Prayer Book, one of those 
 presented to the young of both sexes by an 'Asso- 
 ciation' formed at the beginning of the century 'for 
 Promoting the Knowledge and Practice of the Christian 
 Religion.' It contained his name and an engraved 
 tablet ; it was awarded to him as a prize at a com- 
 petitive examination in that church, and bore the date 
 1812. Sixty-four years have passed since then : he had 
 kept the Prayer Book all that time. He read from it 
 the service — substituting the name of Queen Victoria for 
 that of King George III. ; and gave thanks to God for
 
 LONELINESS OF CITIES. 497 
 
 the blessings of a long, a successful, a happy, and a very- 
 busy life : the fruit, these blessings may have been, of 
 seed planted by the book given to him — sixty -four years 
 before that memorable day in his life's history. The 
 white-headed man was Mr. S. C. Hall." 
 
 Yes : in that parish church, in that very pew, I received 
 that Prayer Book as a prize in a competition with nineteen 
 other boys in the year 1812. Who can say how much 
 of the seventy years of my after life has been ruled and 
 guided by the event of that memorable day ? I must 
 have read, and studied much, the Holy Scriptures to have 
 been the one who won in the race. The seed then 
 planted could not but have borne fruit. The bread cast 
 upon the waters must have returned to me after many 
 days. The Prayer Book 1 shall bequeath to the Society 
 in Dublin : for it still exists. 
 
 Not long ago, I was in Bristol, where, in the years 
 1814 and 1815, my happy holidays were spent, a guest 
 in the house of a dear friend, a famous surgeon of that 
 city. My old schoolfellows were all dead and gone. I 
 paced the streets striving to bring back the old familiar 
 faces — in vain. 
 
 There is no loneliness so utter as that of a populous 
 city, where every face you meet is that of a stranger : 
 no look of welcome, no word of greeting ! You are jostled 
 by those you have never seen before, and will never see 
 again. "With their business of life you have nothing to 
 do. If you dropped dead on the pavement, a thousand 
 — after a brief look — would pass heedlessly on without a 
 
 VOL. II. K K
 
 498 LONELINESS OF CITIES. 
 
 sigh. Talk of the lonesomeness of a desert ! It is by 
 comparison joyous and populous : that which you see all 
 about you ; if there are neither birds nor animals, there 
 is the pure fresh aii' : there are the clouds : every step 
 you take brings you nearer and nearer to some oasis : hope 
 supplies you with water and with trees : you can think 
 — and you can pray. In such solitudes angels and 
 spirits are ever at hand — God is felt in the works of 
 His creation. It cannot be all barren where they are 
 palpable and in sight : in sight either of eye or mind. 
 You seem to be, if not really and truly, " Out of 
 humanity's reach." Under the depressing influence of 
 a stroll through the lonely streets of a populous city, one 
 is perpetually forced to murmur the line of the poet 
 Cowper — 
 
 " Oh ! for a lodge in some vast wilderness ! " 
 
 During six years I had chambers on a second floor in 
 Lancaster Place, Strand. An architect of some eminence 
 occupied the first floor. Towards the close of that period 
 I met one morning a gentleman on the staircase, and 
 addressed him : " Pray, sir, may I ask if your name is 
 Curry?" The reply was in the affirmative. ''Then," 
 I said, " let us shake hands, for though we have for six 
 years been neighbours — dwellers in the same house — 
 the one has never seen the other until to-day." That 
 could only have happened in London, where men attend 
 to their own business. I might have been coining 
 base mon*?y in my rooms, and he forging bank-notes iu 
 his, for aught the one knew of the occupation of the 
 other.
 
 A TESTIMONIAL PRESENTED. 499 
 
 Among the memories of recent years most cherished 
 by Mrs. Hall and myself was one that has reference to 
 the year 1874. I am bound to ask my readers to allow 
 me some space in dealing with the gratifying episode in 
 our lives, to which I refer. I condense Avhat I wish to 
 say regarding it — from a small pamphlet to which the 
 occasion gave birth. 
 
 In 1874 it was arranged by some honoured private 
 and public friends to present to us a Testimonial com- 
 memorating our Golden Wedding, and a large assemblage 
 met with that view at the house of our friend, the 
 treasurer, Frederick Griffin, Esq., in Palace Gardens. 
 The good Earl of Shaftesbury presided, and the presence 
 of " one whose whole life had been employed in doing 
 good," a servant of God, whose public career is the 
 history of a series of benefits done to humanity — gave to 
 the occasion grace, dignity, and force. The " com- 
 mittee" of a hundred and forty members included men 
 and women of high rank and lofty social positions, lead- 
 ing men of letters, science, and art : and the list of sub- 
 scribers numbered six hundred. A sum of nearly 
 £1,600 had been collected, the greater part of which 
 was spent in the creation of an annuity for our joint 
 lives ; that annuity I continue to enjoy. Added to the 
 generous bounty of the Queen, it has averted from me a 
 calamity by which so many men of letters are overtaken 
 towards the close of their careers, and — in conjunction 
 with my retiring pension from the Journal of which I 
 was so long the conductor — has removed all dread of 
 poverty in an extreme old age. To one of the oldest 
 and most valued of our friends, George Godwin, F.E.S., 
 
 K k2
 
 500 THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 
 
 was delegated the duty of presenting to us this testi- 
 monial, the value of which was largely enhanced by the 
 accompaniment of a beautifully bound album — bound by 
 Marcus Ward, of Belfast — containing over five hundred 
 letters received, from time to time, by the hon. secretary, 
 Beauchamp Halswell, J.P., any one of which would have 
 been a reward to any public man who has ever lived. 
 
 I give this extract from Lord Shaftesbury's address 
 on the occasion : — 
 
 " Mr. Hall, fifty years ago, obeyed the great precept that "it is 
 not good for man to be alone. He sought and found one of whom 
 we know he is, and may well be, proud ; a helpmeet who has 
 helped him largely during the whole of his career ; who brought to 
 him a mine of good and refined taste, of healthy and invigorating 
 influence, and who has herself given to the world a long series of 
 publications, not only to amuse but to instruct, and greatly to 
 elevate the mind. Her works are known and valued wherever our 
 language is read. In my time I have witnessed three Jubilees : 
 the first was that of the reign of George III., the second was that 
 of the Bible Society. This is the third : I think I can see in it the 
 completion of the other two : the completion of loyalty — a comple- 
 tion secured by piety and religion ; honouring the wedded life ; 
 giving an example of that which is an undeniable truth — that 
 domestic life, especially in the early wedded, and by the all-merciful 
 Providence of God, is the refuge and stronghold of moraKty, the 
 honour, dignity, and mainstay of nations. To sum up all in one 
 very serioiis and solemn sentence, Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall, you 
 have been lovely and pleasing in your lives. If it shall please God 
 in His mercy, His wisdom, and His providence, that you shall be 
 divided in your deaths, we pray, and we believe, that you will be 
 again united in a blessed eternity." 
 
 I must copy some portion of my reply: — 
 
 " A story is told of the Prophet Mahomet that when his young 
 and beautiful wife. Ayesha, said to him, ' Surely you love me better 
 than you loved the aged Khadijah : ' he replied, ' No, by Allah ! 
 for she believed in me when nobody else did ! ' So I say of her who 
 stands by my side ; I say more ; she has faith in me after fifty
 
 THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 501 
 
 years. And this ma}' be, and shall be, my boast ; she who knows 
 me best loves me best, — whatever is good in me, whatever is bad 
 in me, no one but God can know so well. During all these years, 
 we have, no doubt, passed through many struggles, encountering 
 many difficulties, but overcoming them all by ' mutual love and 
 mutual trust,' at once our spear and shield in our contests with the 
 world. I would not laud her overmuch ; the praise she values 
 most is that which she receives when nobody is by ; but this I must 
 say, that though literature has been her profession, as it is mine, 
 and though she has to show as its produce more than two hundred 
 printed books, I know there is no one of the womanly duties she 
 has neglected — the very humblest of them has been at all times her 
 study and her care : she is, in truth, a ' very woman ' in all womanly 
 avocations, pleasures, and pursuits ; but she has been none the less 
 my companion, my friend, my counsellor, my guide, — I must say it 
 here as I have said it elsewhere, and in verse, — my comforter in all 
 trouble, my helper in all difficulties, by whom I was ever prompted 
 to think rightty and to act rightly ; by whose wise counsel, when I 
 followed it, I was ever led to right from wrong. 
 
 " I will not refer to the many books we have together produced, 
 on so many and varied subjects : there is no one of them that was 
 not intended to do good. Some of them have done good. Those that 
 relate to Ireland certainly have, hj diminishing or removing pre- 
 j udice and inducing the English to visit the country — beUeving that 
 
 for every new visitor Ireland obtained a new friend Dear 
 
 friends, we thank you fervently and earnestly for the honour you 
 this day accord to us. I will not be so mock-modest as to say we 
 have done nothing to deserve it. We have done our best to deserve 
 it. That you think we deserve it we have indubitable proof. It is 
 before us on that table, and is manifested by your presence here 
 this day. It has been the giiiding principle of my life (and surely 
 if it has been mine it has been hers), that there is no hajipiness 
 which does not make others haj)py : we cannot possess it unless we 
 share it. Well, I have my reward to-day, and so has she who 
 stands by my side ; a reward for herself, and — well I know it — a 
 double reward to her in the honour you accord to me ! " 
 
 There is a brief anecdote that will bear relatins: : 
 ougl 
 place. 
 
 though it might have '' come iu " better in another
 
 502 ROBERT VERNON. 
 
 In 1848 I was a guest at Ardington, the seat of 
 Eobert Yernon, Esq. He was at that time in failing 
 health, and died the following year. I knew him, and 
 his collection of pictures, when he lived in Halkiu 
 Street, Grosvenor Place, and was made aware of his 
 intention to bequeath his rich store to the nation. His 
 pictures had cost him a small sum in comparison with 
 their worth : he had bought them at the slender prices 
 artists then expected for them. [I had some hopes of 
 being able to supply a statement of what they actually 
 did cost, but I have been disappointed.] Yet Mr. Yernon 
 was anything but a haggler about the prices he paid. He 
 was a bachelor who had amassed great wealth by deal- 
 ings in horses, had held profitable " contracts," and 
 been fortunate in supplying Government wants in that 
 way. Probably he considered he thus contracted a 
 debt to the country — that his collection of pictures gave 
 him the power to repay. He had in aspect, form, and 
 manner much of the sternness and self-confidence of 
 those who are bred to control and subdue fierce animals, 
 and was a man whom few even of his human subordi- 
 nates would have cared to disobey.* 
 
 * I have fancied I could trace the immense boon I received when he accorded 
 to me the privilege of engraving for the Art Journal the whole of his collected 
 picluies, to a circumstance to which I, at the time, attached little importance. 
 Some years previously he had lent me a small picture by Bonington to engrave 
 for the "Book of Gems." I got it copied, and soon aftirrwards took it to him 
 with the copy. They were both the same size, and that fact displeased him. 
 He remarked that " one was so like the other, that the one might hereafter be 
 sold as the other." He said, " So long as it remains in your hands I shall have 
 no fear ; but hereafter it may go out of your hands." The truth and force of his 
 remark struck me. I at once said, " I will efl'ectually prevent that." I took my 
 penknife from my pocket, and sliced the canvas ol the copy thrice all across. To 
 that unpremeditated act 1 fully bdieve I owed the inlorest he subsequently took 
 in my welfare.
 
 SOCIETY OF NOVIOMAGUS. 503 
 
 The prosperity of the Art Journal is to be dated from 
 the day when Mr. Vernon gave to me the boon : it was 
 continued when Her Majesty and the Good Prince 
 bestowed upon me a boon of still greater magnitude. 
 For many years before and after that event I was 
 accorded the privilege of dedicating the Art Journal 
 annually to the Prince Consort ; and after his death I 
 was permitted to dedicate it to H.K.H. the Prince of 
 Wales. I should not have again referred to the subject, 
 but that it is my dutj'- to say I note with exceeding 
 regret that from the volume for 1882 the name of His 
 Eoyal Highness the Prince of Wales has been removed.* 
 
 The Society of Xoviomagus. — This society will be 
 remembered by many who have been its guests : but 
 nearl)^ all its old members are removed by death. Of 
 those whose names figure in the earlier lists, George 
 Godwin and I onl}" are left. 
 
 The Society of Noviomagus was founded in conse- 
 quence of a small party of Fellows of the Society of 
 Antiquaries having agreed to make an excavation at 
 Holwood, near Keston, in Kent, on the spot that is 
 supposed by Stillingfleet and other antiquaries to be the 
 
 * An impressive and comprehensive address has been recently delivered at 
 Nottingham by George Wallis, F.S.A., so long the able " Keeper of the Art 
 Collections at the South Kensington Museum," and during many years the Art 
 master-teacher in the schools of Birmingham and Manchester. Jlr. Wallis 
 takes precisely the view I take as regards the progress of Art and Art-manufac- 
 tures in Great Britain during the last thirty or forty years. He records one 
 singular fact that he has raked from the archives of the Koj'al Academy. In 
 1839, 14 works were sold, amounting in value to £1,118 r2s., and in 1840, \',i 
 works, returning £946 28. In 1872, 283 works were sold, the value of which 
 was £22,900 ; in 1882, 251 works, returning £22,335.
 
 504 SOCIETY OF NOTIOMAGUS. 
 
 Eoman station of Noviomagus — mentioned in the 
 itinerary of Antoninus. 
 
 About a quarter of a mile from the Eoman works 
 called " Csesar's Camp " is a tumulus known, even at the 
 present day, as the " Warbank," and here the party com- 
 menced operations. They discovered the foundations of 
 a temjDle, and several ancient stone coffins, Eoman 
 remains, &c. These were described in a paper read be- 
 fore the Society of Antiquaries on the 27th JSTovember, 
 1828, by Alfred J. Kempe, followed by another paper 
 by T. Crofton Croker. 
 
 After a meeting of the Society of Antiquaries on the 
 11th December, 1828, a small party interested in the 
 matter adjourned to Cork Street, Burlington Gardens, 
 and a society, to be called the " Society of Koviomagus," 
 was then and there instituted, T. Crofton Croker, F.S.A., 
 becoming its first president — "Lord High President," 
 as he is officially styled. Thus a social club was formed, 
 the only qualification for membership being, as it con- 
 tinues to be, that the candidate must be an F.S.A. 
 He is elected by ballot : but — the society being con- 
 stituted on the topsy-turvy principle — in order to admit 
 to its honours there must be in the voting a preponder- 
 ance of " Noes." 
 
 The society has ever since 1828 met six times in each 
 5^ear to dine together — originally at Wood's Hotel, 
 Portugal Street, now at the Freemasons' Tavern, Great 
 Queen Street.* 
 
 * Once a year — on the first Saturday in July — there is a " country onting," 
 when ladies as well as gentlemen are guests. Thus have been visited Oxford, 
 Camhridge, Canterbury, Winchester, Windsor, St. Albans, and a score of other 
 attractive cities and places. A brief historical and antiq[uarian paper is read on 
 such occasions by one of the members.
 
 SOCIETY OF NOVIOMAGUS. 505 
 
 On the death of Croker, William Wansey became 
 President; in 1855, I succeeded Wansey, and on my 
 retirement in 1881, B. W. Eichardson, M.D., F.E.S., 
 succeeded me. I had continued president, elected 
 annually, during nearly twenty-five years. It is but 
 natural that in writing of this social club in 1883, 
 I should lament that its past is now indeed the past — 
 rather than find food for cheerfulness in its present. 
 Its happier associations are for me connected with the 
 "long ago." 
 
 My later visits to the society were saddened — as I 
 marked the vacancies caused by the dej)arture of old 
 friends, and foreboded the time that was not far oft' when 
 I too should leave earth, and a time that has come 
 when I should leave a society with which I had been 
 associated during forty years, and during twenty-five of 
 the forty as its President. 
 
 The society has been always in high favour with its 
 guests, among whom have been included a large 
 number of the men of mark of the century — authors, 
 artists, professors of science, eminent travellers, inventors, 
 antiquaries, distinguished soldiers and sailors. To give 
 a list of them, if I had the means of doing so, would be 
 to occupy several pages of this book. My principal 
 duty was, at each meeting, to propose the health of the 
 visitors, and to do so in terms that painted each in 
 colours the very reverse of truth; for the governing 
 and peculiar rule of the society is that a speaker shall 
 say what he does not mean, and mean what he does 
 not say. This rule gave rise to much '' fun," as will be 
 readily credited when it is considered who the guests of
 
 506 SOCIETY OF NOVIOMAGTJS. 
 
 the society were, and often led to keen and liappy con- 
 tests of wit between assailant and assailed. As, how- 
 ever, the society duly remembers its origin, and does not 
 consider the sole object of its existence to be that its 
 members may make merry — it is a rule that each, at 
 every meeting, shall produce some object of antiquarian 
 interest, to be handed round, explained, and commented 
 upon, after the dinner. 
 
 The period of my fullest love and honour for the society 
 must therefore be dated back some years. For a long 
 period it was a fruitful source of enjoyment to me, and 
 in taking leave of the subject of my connection with it, 
 I can, at least, say this — that in resigning my seat to 
 Dr. Eichardson, I was succeeded in office by the man 
 of all others I would have selected for that honour. 
 May he hold it as long as I did — nearly a quarter of a 
 century.* 
 
 * If the Society of Noviomagus is to be called a club (which I do not consider 
 it), it is the only club of which I was a member — or very nearly that. I was 
 indeed elected a member of St. Stephen's Club, and paid the entrance-fee and 
 first j'ear's subscription. When the year had expired, I was applied to by the 
 secretary in the usual form for my second year's subscription, which I declined 
 to pay ; a decision, I told him, I did not think he would be surprised at when 
 I added that I had never once been inside the club doors. My home was my 
 club. I have followed the advice of Theodore Hook (how much happier would 
 it have been for him if he had himself followed it), that a married man should be 
 " like Hercules, who, when he wedded Omphale, laid aside his club." 
 
 "I have a truly feminine antipathy to clubs, Theonly women, I do believe, 
 who tolerate them are those who are on bad or indifferent terms with their 
 husbands, and are, consequently, very glad to be rid of them at all hours of the 
 day or night. If you want a man to indulge in luxuries to which he has no 
 right, because he could not afford them at home, let him go to his club ; if he 
 wishes to enjoy intercourse with a ' fast ' friend, without the healthy restraint 
 of domestic habits, let him go to his club ; if he desires to win or lose more 
 money at play than, as a prudent family man, he should do, let him go to his 
 club. It is the man's first home : where his family live is but his second. He 
 looks to the former for his enjoyments, to the latter for his duties. It is all very 
 well for pretty young wives to laugh and say the club keeps their husbands out 
 of the way in the morning ; if not wooed to their home, they will in due time
 
 SOCIETY OF NOVIOilAGUS. 507 
 
 Alas I in carrying back my thoughts to the days of 
 my earliest connection with the society, the mournful 
 exclamation that forces itself from me is — 
 
 "All, all are gone, the old familiar faces." 
 
 The present hon. secretary is Henry Stevens, F.S.A. 
 His predecessors were George Godwin, F.S.A., and 
 Frederick William Fairholt, F.S.A. The hon. treasurer 
 is Francis Bennoch, F.S.A. The principal duty of the 
 secretary is to read at a meeting the "minutes" of the 
 meeting preceding, to preserve a careful record of all the 
 "jokes" — to make note of the various "curios" ex- 
 hibited, and especially to misrepresent, as far as possible, 
 what any member or guest had said. 
 
 It is worth stating that four of the members are total 
 abstainers : the Lord High President being one of the 
 most powerful existing advocates of that "reform" — a 
 physician in large practice, universally respected, 
 having the regard as well as respect of patients, many 
 of whom are, in a Noviomagian sense — very profitable 
 customers. 
 
 On the 17th of January, 1883, it was my happy 
 privilege to dine with the Society as — then and now — 
 its " Grand Patriarch." 
 
 I quoted the lines of Moore — 
 
 " When I remember all 
 
 The friends long linked together, 
 I've seen around nic fall 
 
 Like leaves in wintry weather." 
 
 become * club men ' — going one way while their wives go another. I don't like 
 — I never shall like them : the club is the axe at the root of domestic happiness." 
 — " A Woman's Story : " Mrs. S. C. Mall.
 
 508 A MASONIC SIGN. 
 
 I did not add the lines — 
 
 " I feel like one who treads alone, 
 
 Some banquet-hall deserted, 
 Whose Kghts are fled, whose garlands dead, 
 And all but he departed." 
 
 The existing members — many of whom occupy high 
 positions in letters and art — gave me the cordial greeting 
 I anticipated, and was justified in anticipating. 
 
 Although the following incident might have been 
 more "in place" in the chapter that details our tour to 
 Germany, I must ask the reader's permission to relate it. 
 
 During our tour in Germany, we arrived late one 
 evening, much fatigued, at HofF, en route to I^uremberg. 
 The hotel was full : so was the only other inn of the 
 town. There was no possible chance of obtaining a sleep- 
 ing-room — hardly any of getting food and drink. German 
 landlords are proverbially rough and rude : mine host 
 here was no exception to the rule — manifesting a dis- 
 position to turn us over to the elements outside. He had 
 shown us, indeed, a huge apartment, in which there were 
 eight beds, and told us we might occupy two of them, 
 but laughed at the notion when I objected to the accom- 
 modation of the chamber being shared with six others — 
 considering it, no doubt, an English prejudice. I was in 
 despair ; saw that nothing was to be done except impro- 
 vising places of rest on sofas or chairs, fully persuaded 
 that such boons would be grudgingly granted. He pro- 
 tested against my indignant affirmation that cross his 
 threshold into the street — I would not. A happy
 
 '^ RHYMES IN COUNCIL." 509 
 
 thought inspired me : I gave him a Masonic sign. In- 
 stantly his face, attitude, and manner changed : he 
 rushed up to me and threw his arms round my neck, 
 eagerly exclaiming, " Ya ! Ya ! " kissed me on either 
 cheek ; pulled me along a passage ; pushed me into a 
 snug chamber, casting out the baggage of a guest who 
 had pre-engaged it ; handed me a key as a signal that I 
 was to adopt the motto of "No surrender," — which, as 
 Mrs. Hall was with me, I did not hesitate to do ; and not 
 long afterwards brought me with his own hands an ex- 
 quisite supper, with some of the choicest vintage in his 
 cellar. More than that : when I was leaving in the 
 morning, he smilingly informed me that I need be under 
 no anxiety on my arrival at Nuremberg, where I might 
 be assured of receiving another fraternal hug from the 
 landlord of the Eotter Eoss, the most famous of all the 
 inns of that renowned city. 
 
 In 1881 I published a small book, entitled " Eliymes 
 in Council : Aphorisms versified " (Griffith & Farrau), 
 a series of one hundred and eighty-five little poems, each 
 of which contains a rhymed maxim. I desired to dedi- 
 cate the volume to the grandchildren of the Queen. On 
 applying for sanction to do so, I received from Sir Henry 
 Ponsonby the gracious reply tliat "Her Majesty has 
 much pleasure in giving her approval to the dedication." 
 
 This was the preface to that — my latest if not my last 
 — ^book. 
 
 "Since these rliymes were wi-itten — wliile they were passing 
 through the press — the partner of my pilgrimage, the participator
 
 510 THE END. 
 
 in all my labours and cares, my companion, friend, counsellor, and 
 wife, during fifty-six years, has been removed from earth and from 
 me, from many friends who dearly loved her, and from a public by 
 whom she was largely appreciated since the publication of her first 
 book (followed by, I think, two hundred and fifty books) in 
 the far-off year 1828. These verses are hardly less hers than mine. 
 If I have striven — in humble, but fervent and prayerful, hope — to 
 inculcate rectitude, goodness, love, sympathy, gentle and generous 
 thinking, humanity, jDatience, virtue, and piety, Faith, Hope, and 
 Charity — my work was suggested, encouraged, sustained — I will 
 reverently add, inspired — by her. 
 
 " This book, therefore, although written by me, I hope may be 
 regarded as a Monument to her Memory." 
 
 I think the foregoing is all of my personal history I 
 need to give my readers : even so little is perhaps too 
 much.* Nearly sixty-three years have passed since 
 I began my career as a Man of Letters by profession. 
 In the spring of 1822 I came to London from Ireland, 
 with few resources, or aids in fighting on the battle-field 
 that lay before me, beyond those I might find in myself. 
 " The world was all before me," and I 
 
 " No revenue had 
 But my good spirits." 
 
 Were I to sit down deliberately to the task, and draw 
 on my memory for material, I could add one more to the 
 stories of early struggles endured by young men fight- 
 ing their way to independence — through difficulties such 
 as those over which Crabbe gloriously triumphed, to 
 which Chatterton ignominiously succumbed. 
 
 * I need not say I shall be grateful to any person who will enable me to 
 correct dates, or to remove any errors, of which, no doubt, there will be many 
 in these volumes.
 
 farewell! 511 
 
 I have written all through this book under a strong 
 impression — I might almost say conviction — that its 
 l^ublication would be postJmmous ; for I began it nearly 
 six years ago. By God's blessing, that foreboding 
 docs not seem likely to be realized when I close my task 
 in the January of 1883. I hope I need not apologize 
 for introducing here my solemn " farewell " to those 
 who are either my readers, or my friends — or both. 
 
 " Throiigli mist tliat hides the Light of God, I see 
 A shapeless form : Death comes and beckons me : 
 But gives me glimpses of the summer land ; 
 
 And, with commingled joy and dread, I hear 
 The far-off whisi^ers of a white-robed band. 
 
 Nearer they come — yet nearer — yet more near. 
 Is it rehearsal of a " welcome " song 
 That will be in my heart and ear — ere long ? 
 Do these bright spirits wait, till Death may give 
 The Soul its franchise — and I die to live ? 
 
 Does fancy send the breeze from yon green mountain ? 
 
 (I am not dreaming when it cools my brow). 
 Are tliey the sparkles of an actual fountain 
 
 That gladden and refresh my spirit now ? 
 How beautiful the burst of holy light ! 
 How beautiful the day that has no night ! 
 
 Hark to these Alleluias ! ' Hail ! all hail ! ' 
 
 Shall they be echoed by a sob and wail ? 
 
 Friends ' gone before : ' I hear your happy voices. 
 
 The old familiar soiinds ! my Soul rejoices ! 
 
 I know the words : they laud and thank The Giver, 
 
 On the Heaven side of the Celestial River. 
 
 Ua ! through the mist the gi*eat white throne I see : 
 And now a Saint in glory beckons me. 
 Is Death a foe to dread ? The Death who giveth 
 Life — the unburthened Life that ever liveth !
 
 512 FAEEWELL ! 
 
 Wliy shrink from Death ? Come when He will or may, 
 The night he brings will bring the risen day. 
 His call, his touch, I neither seek nor shun ; 
 His power is ended when his work is done. 
 My Shield of Faith no cloud of Death can dim : 
 Death cannot conquer me ! I conc^uer him ! 
 
 How long, Lord, how long ere I shall see 
 The myriad glories of a holier sphere ? 
 And worship in Thy presence ? not, as here, 
 
 In shackles that keep back the Soul from Thee ! 
 My God ! let that Eternal Home be near ! 
 
 Master ! I bring to Thee a Soul opprest, 
 ' Weary and heavy-laden,' seeking rest : 
 Strengthen my Faith, that, with my latest breath, 
 I greet Thy messenger of Mercy — Death ! "
 
 INDEX TO VOL. I. 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF THINGS THAT HATE BEEN. 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 Ancient London 9 
 
 Bartholome-w Tnir 34 
 
 Battersea Fields 11 
 
 Beards 91 
 
 Blood money 58 
 
 Body-snatching 43 
 
 Bow Street runners 5 
 
 Brrinks 40 
 
 Bribery at elections '2o 
 
 Brown Bess 81 
 
 CathoHo Relief Bill 26 
 
 Champions of England . . . .30 
 
 Chloroform 1-5 
 
 Clergymen 10 
 
 Coachmen 12 
 
 Coach-traTelliug- G 
 
 Cock-fighting 34 
 
 Colliery slaves 17 
 
 Contested elections 23 
 
 Conits of honour 40 
 
 Cribb, Tom 32 
 
 Criminal iirisons 'u 
 
 Cro.-s-road burials 4 4 
 
 Cruelty to animals 27 
 
 Debtors' prisons oO 
 
 Dibdin's songs 80 
 
 Dissenters out of Parliament . . 2G 
 
 Dog-fights 34 
 
 Domestic servants 89 
 
 Dress in old time 90 
 
 Draconic statutes 35 
 
 Drunkenness 73 
 
 Ducking-stool 42 
 
 Duelling 45 
 
 Elections 23 
 
 Executions 3G 
 
 YOL. II. L L 
 
 Factory slaves 17 
 
 Fleet marriages 51 
 
 Flogging at cart's tail .... 40 
 
 Footpads 9^ 
 
 French prisoners 87 
 
 Funerals 70 
 
 Graveyards 92' 
 
 Hackney coaches 12 
 
 Hair powder 82' 
 
 Hanging in chains 42 
 
 Hatred of the French 79 
 
 House of Commons 19 
 
 House-tax 78 
 
 Hustings 23 
 
 Impoited ice 1(> 
 
 Imported water IG 
 
 Imprisonment for debt . . . .50 
 
 India-rubber 15 
 
 Insolvent Debtors' Act .... 53 
 
 .Tuws out of Parliament 
 
 2G 
 
 Kensington Gardens 10 
 
 Iving's Bench Prison 50 
 
 I^ighting by gas 3 
 
 Ijink-boys 3 
 
 London,"old 9 
 
 Lunatic asylums, Old 59 
 
 IMail-coaches G 
 
 jMail-coach robberies G 
 
 jNIarshalsea 54 
 
 ^lodern Dress 91) 
 
 ilnsic-balls 65
 
 514 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGK 
 
 Newspapers 15 
 
 Oil lamps 4 
 
 Old admirals 87 
 
 Old age 95 
 
 Omnibuses 13 
 
 raiiiamcntaiy reporting ... 19 
 
 Pattens • • ■ 12 
 
 Penalties of insanity 60 
 
 Photography 4 
 
 Pigeon-shooting 35 
 
 Pillion 11 
 
 Pillory 37 
 
 Police guardians 5 
 
 Poor debtors 51 
 
 Press-gangs 84 
 
 Prince Consort on duelling ... 49 
 
 Printing 94 
 
 Prisons 58 
 
 Privateers 86 
 
 Prize-fights 27 
 
 Quakers 91 
 
 Queues 83 
 
 Railways 93 
 
 Reform Bill 23 
 
 Rotten boroughs 23 
 
 Rules of the Bench 56 
 
 PAOR 
 
 Sales of wives 43 
 
 tSamaritans 61 
 
 Scold's bridle 40 
 
 Sea captains 66 
 
 Sea voyages 13 
 
 Sedan chairs 14 
 
 Servants' clubs 89 
 
 Smuggling 75 
 
 Soldiers' dress 81 
 
 Spunging-houses 52 
 
 Stocks, The 39 
 
 Strangers' Friend Society . . .61 
 
 Strangers' gallery 21 
 
 Suburban cemeteries 92 
 
 Suicides 44 
 
 Swearing 65 
 
 Ta.xes 78 
 
 Tea-gardens 11 
 
 Telegrapli 94 
 
 Tinder-box 2 
 
 Turnpike gates ..... 08 
 
 Vauxhall 64 
 
 Vigoiu- in old agt 95 
 
 Wafers 15 
 
 Wesleyan Methodists .... 90 
 
 Young officers 97 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS : THE NEWSPAPER PEESS, 1823—1840. 
 
 Advertisement tax 132 
 
 "Age," The 116 
 
 Alexander, Robert 130 
 
 Anglo-Spanish Legion .... 105 
 
 Banim, John 99 
 
 Bate, Rev. Henry 116 
 
 Berkeley, Grantley 121 
 
 " British Press," The . . . .110 
 Butt, G. M., Q.C Ill 
 
 (Caroline, Queen .... 107, 123 
 
 Collier, J. Payne 133 
 
 <'ost of letter-postage . . . .137 
 
 Orowe, Eyre Evans 99 
 
 Cumberland, Duke of . . . .131 
 
 Dickens, Chai-les Ill 
 
 Disraeli 127 
 
 Dodd, Charles R 133 
 
 Donoughmore, Lord 107 
 
 Eldon, Lord 115 
 
 Father of the jiress, Tlie . . . 133 
 Foscolo, Ugo 99 
 
 Gregory, of the " Satirist " . .116 
 
 Hill, Rowland 140 
 
 Hook, Theodore . . . . 116,123 
 
 House of Lords 114 
 
 House of Commons 115 
 
 Hutchinson, Colonel 109 
 
 "John Bull," The 122 
 
 Lavalctte 107 
 
 Letters — 
 
 illicit conveyance . . . .138 
 
 franking 140 
 
 postages 137 
 
 statistics 142 
 
 Lockhart, J. G 127 
 
 Maginn,Wmiam, LL.D. . . .118
 
 IXDEX. 
 
 5lO 
 
 TAl.K 
 
 Mahou 110 
 
 *' ^lorning Jouinal " . .... 130 
 
 Newspapers, old and modern . .135 
 
 Newspaper statistics 134 
 
 „ tax 132 
 
 *'Xew Times" 129 
 
 "\o Popery!" 129 
 
 Parliamentary reporting . . .112 
 
 rccchio, Count 101 
 
 Peel, Sir Robert 114 
 
 Pigot, Chief Baron !)9 
 
 Porro, Count 104 
 
 PA OB 
 
 Postage, shifts to avoid . . . .138 
 
 Iveporters 112 
 
 " Representative," The . . . .12-5 
 Koehe, Eugcnius 129 
 
 "Satirist," The 110 
 
 Stoddart, Dr 129 
 
 Strangers' Gallery 112 
 
 Taxes on knowledge . . . 132, 13G 
 Transmission of news . . . .135 
 
 Westmacott, of the " Age " . .116 
 AVilson, Sir Eobcrt . '. . . .104 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF THE HOUSES 
 OF LORDS AND COIuMONS. 
 
 .\lhert, Prince, 11.11.11 .... 300 
 Althorp, Lord 208 
 
 Beaconsfield, Earl of 282 
 
 Brougham, Lord 182 
 
 Burdett, Sir Francis 211 
 
 Campbell, Lord .... 178,258 
 
 Canning, George 155 
 
 Carlisle, Earl of 224 
 
 (jastlereagh, Lord 150 
 
 Catholic Emancipation .... 167 
 
 Cobbett, WilHam 236 
 
 Croker, John AVilson . .211 
 
 Dalling, Lord 188 
 
 Dcuman, Chief Justice .... 257 
 
 Kldon, Earl of 163 
 
 E.Khibition of 1851 225 
 
 Lyttun, Lord 
 
 . 262 
 
 ilacaulay, Lord,' 233 
 
 jNLackintosh, Sir J 209 
 
 JIanners-Sutton 295 
 
 Martin,' Kichard 227 
 
 Melbourne, Lord ...... 202 
 
 Monteagle, Lord 210 
 
 0" Council, Daniel 242 
 
 Palmerston, Lord 188 
 
 Parliament, the Queen's first . . 295 
 Peel, Sir Kobcrt . . . . 172,194 
 
 Plunkctt, Lord 221 
 
 Pollock. Chief Baron .... 257 
 I'rime Ministers 205 
 
 liussell, Earl 
 
 231 
 
 George IV 153 
 
 Giants in both IIuu.scs . . .144 
 
 Goderich, Tiord 207 
 
 Grey, Earl 206 
 
 Grey, Sir George 234 
 
 Hampton, I>ord 226 
 
 II. ibcrt, Sidney 203 
 
 Ifdbhouse, John Cam .... 215 
 
 1 [oUand, Lord 217 
 
 Hume, Joseph 218 
 
 Lawyers in the House .... 254 
 
 Liverpool, Earl of 205 
 
 Lyndhurst, Lord 177 
 
 Scarlett, Sir J., Lord Abingiuv 
 Shicl, Kichard Lalor . 
 Stanley, Lord, Earl of D.rby 
 Stowcll, Lord 
 
 Test and Corporation Atts 
 Victoria, H.^r. Queen . 
 
 Wellington, Duke of . 
 "NVetherell, Sir Charles . 
 AVilberforce, William 
 AVilde, Serjeant (Lord Truro) 
 
 256 
 249 
 223 
 166 
 
 163 
 
 298 
 
 H4 
 255 
 194 
 258 
 
 York, Duke of 169 
 
 T- L '^
 
 516 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF EAELY EDITING. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 "Amulet, The" 306 
 
 Annuals, The 307 
 
 Bayly, Hayne.s 323 
 
 " Book of JBritish Ballads " . . 327 
 
 " Britannia," The 325 
 
 " British Magazine " .... 335 
 
 Bulwer Lytton 317 
 
 Campbell, Thomas 314 
 
 Colbum, Henry 316 
 
 Coulton 325 
 
 Crokcr, John Wilson .... 324 
 
 Dadd 328 
 
 Editors' duties 312 
 
 Forster, John 320 
 
 Fi-anklin, John 332 
 
 Gilbert, Sir John 331 
 
 Hall, Mrs. S. C 334 
 
 Hill, Tom 323 J 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " History of France " . . . .311 
 Hook, Theodore 31S 
 
 " John Bull," The 323 
 
 Jiivenile Annuals 308 
 
 " Literary Observer " 
 " Metropolitan," The 
 " New Monthly," The 
 
 OOi> 
 
 315 
 314 
 
 Paton, Noel 32» 
 
 "Press," The 325 
 
 Eedding, Cyrus 315 
 
 " St. James's Magazine " . . . 334 
 " Sharpe's London Magazine " . 334 
 " Social Notes " 33.> 
 
 "Town Newspaper," The . . . 324 
 Twiss, Horace 323 
 
 "Ward, E. M 32S 
 
 "Watchman," The 326 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 American art 3.56 
 
 "Art Journal " 347 
 
 „ „ origin of 338 
 
 Art Union of London .... 357 
 
 "AET JOUENAL:" ITS OEIOIN AND 
 PEOOEESS. 
 
 Hodgson, Mr 838 
 
 Imported pictures 347 
 
 Libel, trial for 350 
 
 British art, condition of . . . . 341 
 British sculpture 342 
 
 Crusade against frauds .... 353 
 
 Duffome, James 358 
 
 Modern artists 345 
 
 Murray, Henry 35i) 
 
 Old Masters 
 
 344 
 
 Fabrications 347 
 
 Fairholt, F. W 360 
 
 Farewell to the " Art Journal '" . 363 
 
 Forgeries of pictures 348 j 
 
 Fraudulent imitations .... 349 | Somerset Hou 
 
 Patronage of British art . . . 343 
 
 Picture sales 344, 354 
 
 Prices of pictures 344 
 
 Hart V. Hall (libel) 350 
 
 Rival publications 356 
 
 346 
 
 Vernon Gallery, The .... 357 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF EAELY AET MANUFACTUEE. 
 
 Albert, H.R.IL Prince .... 385 
 
 Art decadence 383 
 
 *' Art Journal " 365 
 
 Art manufactures 369 
 
 Art progTcss 371,384 
 
 Art Union of London . . . .369
 
 INDEX. 
 
 TAtiE 
 
 Borrowed art 365 
 
 Covent Gardca Bazaar . 
 
 374 
 
 Engravnngs 3G9 
 
 ExhiLiti(jii of 1S44 373 
 
 ., 1846 375 
 
 „ 1851 . . . 376, 381 
 Exhibition at Manchester . . . 375 
 
 Granville, Earl 367 
 
 Illustrated catalocues 
 
 PAGE 
 
 379 
 
 rattison, Rev. Hark 367 
 
 Paxton, Sir- Joseph 381 
 
 Poynter, E. J.,K.A., onart . .360 
 
 Science and Art Department . . 369 
 
 Testimonial from Birmingham . 386 
 
 Visits to manufacturing districts . 364 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF TAEIS AND GEEMANY IN 1831 
 AND 1850. 
 
 Arj- SchcSer 
 
 . 405 
 
 ]5eranger 307 
 
 Bles.sington, Lady, in exile . . 400 
 
 Bonheur, Ivosa 415 
 
 Coi-nelius 410 
 
 Cu%'ier, Baron 395 
 
 David D' Angers 396 
 
 De la Koehe, Paid 403 
 
 Dore, Gustavo 416 
 
 Exhibition of 1853 
 
 399 
 
 Exliibitiou of 1S67 .... 400 
 
 Fonimore Cooper 393 
 
 Hcidelofi", Profe.ssor 411 
 
 Kaulbach, William 409 
 
 Lafayette 391 
 
 Louis-Philippe . 407 
 
 Napoleon III 400 
 
 Pauch 411 
 
 lietzsch, Moritz 411 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF THE OEIGIN OF SOME EUBLIC 
 CHAEITIE8. 
 
 Bazaar at Chelsea 
 
 420 I Klugh, G. W 433 
 
 Chisclhurst 432 
 
 Concerts, The Goldschmidt's . . 457 
 Corps of Commissionaires . . . 446 
 Gumming, W. E. D 443 
 
 Dobbin, Henry .... 420, 451 
 Early closing 434 
 
 Goldschmidt, Otto 423 
 
 Governesses' Benevolent Institu- 
 tion 427 
 
 Hall, Mrs. S. C 420, 450 
 
 Herbert, i^idney 452 
 
 Home for Aged Governesses . . 433 
 Hospital for Consumption . . .417 
 
 Laing, Rev. David and ^Irs. . . 428 
 Lind, Jenny . 421 
 
 Nightingale, Florence .... 448 
 
 Nightingale Fund 447 
 
 Noel, Hon. and liev. Baptist . . 437 
 
 Jerdan, "William 
 
 Pensioners' Emplojincnt Society . 441 
 
 Rose, Sir Phihp 418 
 
 Shaftesbury, Earl of 437 
 
 Ycmey, Sir H. and Lady . . . 458 
 
 AValtcr, Capt 4 44 
 
 442 ; Wilberforce, Bishop 438
 
 518 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 EEOOLLECTIONS OF THE EEV. THEOBALD MATHEW. 
 
 Carr, Kev. George 497 
 
 Diminished crime 505 
 
 Drunkenness 485 
 
 Edgar, Eev. John 498 
 
 Faction fights 491 
 
 Father Mathew — 
 
 early labours 500 
 
 work 495 
 
 difficulties 509 
 
 distribution of medals . . .512 
 giving the pledge . . . .501 
 
 visit to America 516 
 
 visit to Scotland 507 
 
 death 516 
 
 Foreign priests 461 
 
 Gaugers 485 
 
 Hell-Fire Club 487 
 
 Horgan, Father Mat 463 
 
 Illicit stills 483 
 
 "Keens" 488 
 
 Laws against Papists 
 
 PAOB. 
 
 . 472 
 
 Manning, Cardinal 520 
 
 Martin, William 498 
 
 Maynooth College 465 
 
 Murphy, Father 464 
 
 O'Shea, Father 462. 
 
 Penal laws 470 
 
 Priests' dwellings 478 
 
 Protestant oppression . . . .475 
 
 Koman Catholic burials . . 
 „ „ cathedrals . 
 
 „ „ chapels 
 
 Social vice 
 
 48i 
 483. 
 
 477' 
 
 490- 
 
 Testimonials SOS". 
 
 Temperance reform 497 
 
 Tithes 479' 
 
 Tithe-proctors 480' 
 
 Wakes and funerals 
 
 488.
 
 INDEX TO VOL. II. 
 
 EECOLLECTIOXS OF AUTHOES I HAVE KNOWN, 
 
 PAOK 
 
 Agiiilar. Gracf 190 
 
 •Vinsworth, "W. II. ..... 179 
 
 Atherstone, Edwin 170 
 
 Balfour, Clara 15-5 
 
 Banim, John 169 
 
 Barrj- Comwall 25 
 
 Barton, Bernard 187 
 
 Bayly, Ilaynes 180 
 
 Bcntham, Jeremy lo3 
 
 Blanchard, Lamaii 1(52 
 
 Bles-sington, Lady 108 
 
 Book of ^Memories 1 
 
 Bowles, Kev. Lisle .... 17 
 
 Bowring, Sir Joliu 180 
 
 Bremer, Frederika 116 
 
 Britton, John 181 
 
 Broderij), Frances Freelinii; . . 67 
 lirowning, Robert o6 
 
 Carleton, "William 141 
 
 Carlyle, Thomas 102 
 
 Cary, Henry Francis .... 24 
 
 Clare, John 188 
 
 Clarke, Bcv. Adam 193 
 
 Coleridge, 8. T 2 
 
 Colton, Eev. C. C 118 
 
 Cooper, Fenimore 201 
 
 Cox, Serjeant 121 
 
 Crabbe, George 19 
 
 Croly, Eev. George 140 
 
 Cunningham, -Ulan 1G6 
 
 De Quincey, Thomas 7 
 
 Dickens, Charles 1.5.5 
 
 D'Orsay, Count 112 
 
 Fry, Elizabeth . 
 
 PACK. 
 
 47 
 
 Gillm.'tn, Mrs . . 4 
 
 Godwin, William IG 
 
 I Gritiin, Gerald 19.5 
 
 I 
 
 Hall, Rev. Robert 193 
 
 Hallam, Henry 96 
 
 ' Hawthorne, Nathaniel .... 202 
 
 Hazlitt, AViliiam 2-5 
 
 ■ Hemans, Felicia 56 
 
 Holland, Barbara 7'> 
 
 I Holman, James 121 
 
 . Hone, "William 28 
 
 j Hood, Thomas 62 
 
 I Hood, Thomas (the voungerj . . 66 
 I Howitt, William . ". . . . .126. 
 
 Howitt, Marv 128 
 
 Hunt, Leigh" 149 
 
 Irving, Rev. Edward 
 Irving, Washington . 
 
 202 
 
 Edgeworth, Maria 
 EUiott, Ebenezer . 
 Eyre, Governor 
 
 94 
 182 
 103 
 
 Jameson, Mrs 171 
 
 Jerdan, Williaiu 164 
 
 Jerrold, Douglas 163 
 
 Jewsbury, The Sisters . . .147 
 
 Kitto. John llS- 
 
 Knowles, Sheridan 146 
 
 Lamb, Charles 21 
 
 Landon, Letitia 157 
 
 Landor, Walter Savage .... .51 
 
 Le Fanii, Jo8ei)li 137 
 
 Longfellow, II. nry W 200. 
 
 Lover, Samuel 131 
 
 MacCarthy, D.F 81
 
 520 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 jMahoney, Frank 135 
 
 Marryat, Captain 169 
 
 jMartincau, Harri(it 42 
 
 Maturin, Rev. Charles . . . .138 
 
 Milman, Eev. H. H 96 
 
 Mitford, Mary Eussell . . . .174 
 
 jMontagu, Basil 27 
 
 Montgomery, James 188 
 
 Montgomery, Robert 190 
 
 Moore, Thomas 81 
 
 More, Hannah 172 
 
 Morgan, Lady 70 
 
 Norton, Hon. Mrs 142 
 
 Opie, Amelia 184 
 
 Palisser, ]Mrs. Rurv . 
 Phillips, Charles ". . 
 Porter, Jane 
 Porter, Anna jVIaria . 
 Porter, Sir Robert Ker 
 Procter, B. W. . . 
 
 169 
 140 
 143 
 144 
 145 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Procter, Adelaide 27 
 
 Punshon, Eev. Morley . . . .195 
 
 Rogers, Samuel 11. 5 
 
 Riiskin, John 1 
 
 Senior, ilrs. Nassau 74 
 
 Sigourney, Mrs 203 
 
 Sinclair, Catherine 78 
 
 Smith, Horace 114 
 
 Smith, James 114 
 
 Smith, Sydney 96 
 
 South ey, Robert 31 
 
 Talfourd, Serjeant 11 
 
 Tennyson, Alfred 200 
 
 AValsh, Dr. Edward 197 
 
 Walsh, Rev. Robert 197 
 
 Walsh, John Edward . . . .197 
 
 Watts, Alaric 127 
 
 Willis, N. p 203 
 
 Wordsworth, William .... 36 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF AETISTS I HAVE KNOWN. 
 
 Bates, M'illiam 216 
 
 Behnes, "William 238 
 
 Bui-lowe, Henry Behnes .... 238 
 
 Cruikshank, George 232 
 
 Cunningham, Allan 226 
 
 Dickens, Charles 215 
 
 Durham, Josex^h 242 
 
 Eastlakc, Sir C. L 210 
 
 Edwards, Josex)h 243 
 
 Elmore, Alfred 219 
 
 Faraday, Michael . . ... 226 
 
 Flaxman, John 236 
 
 Foley, Peggy 237 
 
 Foley, John Henry 239 
 
 •Gibson, John ....... 237 
 
 Hart, Solomon iUcx 227 
 
 Haydon, B. R 213 
 
 I-innell, John 220 
 
 Lough, Jolm Graham 
 
 . 241 
 
 Maclise, Daniel 214 
 
 Martin, John 225 
 
 Miiller, "W. J 223 
 
 Mulready, William . ... . .217 
 
 Powers, Hiram 237 
 
 Prout, Samuel 207, 211 
 
 Ruskin, John 213 
 
 Sculptors 236 
 
 Shee, Sir :\1. A 209 
 
 Stanfield, Clarkson 231 
 
 Stei^hens, E. B 243 
 
 Turner, J. M. W. 
 
 204 
 
 Varley 207 
 
 Vernon, Robert . . . . 221, 227 
 
 Ward, E. M 228 
 
 Ward, Mrs. E. M 230 
 
 Whcatstone, Sir Charles . . . 225 
 
 Wilkie, David . ...... 207
 
 INDEX. 
 
 521 
 
 EEC0LLECTI0N8 OF ACTOllS I HAVE KNOWN. 
 
 Eamctt, ^fonis -')1 
 
 Brahum, John 2-50 
 
 Braham, Mrs 251 
 
 Faucit, Helen 257 
 
 Forster, Julm 200 
 
 Koan, Eilmnnil 246 
 
 Kean, Charles 248 
 
 Kecley, Mrs. (^lary (toward} . . 248 
 
 Kemble, John 245 
 
 Macreadv/Williani 2.')9 
 
 MacreaJv, Mrs 2G1 
 
 Mathews, Charle.s 25-3 
 
 Mathews, Charles (the younger) . 2')G 
 
 (fXcill, Miss 2.)7 
 
 Power, Tyrone 
 
 . 252 
 
 Reed, Mrs. German (Miss P. 
 
 Horton) 24f> 
 
 lloehe, Alexander 249 
 
 Sala, :Madani 251 
 
 Siddons, Mrs 246 
 
 Stephens, Kitty (Countess of 
 
 Essex) 266 
 
 Waldegi'avr, Countess (Fanny 
 
 Braham) ' 250' 
 
 Yates, Frederick 256 
 
 YouDg, Charles 25 S 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Allan, Sir AViUIam 280 
 
 Ben Lomond 273 
 
 Ben Nevis 275 
 
 Bonnie Doon 279 
 
 Burns, Col. J. C 28.3 
 
 Burns, Col. W. N 28;J 
 
 Bums Festival. The 283 
 
 Burns family, The 283 
 
 Cameron, Sir'Alox 272 
 
 Caruthers, Robert 270 
 
 Chalmers, Dr 282 
 
 Chambers, Robert . . . . -.77,289 
 
 Chambers, AVilliam 289 
 
 Clachan of Aberfoil 279 
 
 Drummossic Mo>)r 279 
 
 Glenfinnan 2T1 
 
 Harvey, Sir George 
 Hogg, James . . 
 
 INIaeTan, R. It. . 
 ^laclntosh . 
 MaeXee, Sir John 
 Melrose . . . 
 Moir, D. :M. . 
 
 Pibroch, The . 
 Prestonx)ans 
 
 Rob Rov's country 
 
 Scottish authors 
 Scottish artists . 
 Scottish scenes . 
 
 "Wilson, Professor 
 
 281 
 287 
 
 268 
 273 
 281 
 279 
 282 
 
 272 
 278 
 
 2S1 
 280 
 279 
 
 28.5 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF ILELAND: TWENTY— FORTY- 
 SIXTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 Abductions . 
 Absentees 
 Agents . . . 
 Agrarian outraj. 
 .Vgi-iculture . 
 Assassinations . 
 
 Beggars 
 
 319 
 329 
 334 
 342 
 322 
 371 
 
 388 
 
 Bianeoni 304 
 
 "Bit of land" 341 
 
 Cabins 306 
 
 Car-drivers 339 
 
 Catholic Relief Bill . . . o63, 382 
 
 Charter schools 354 
 
 Cities and towns 36S
 
 o22 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Constabulary ;380 
 
 Corporate bodies 405 
 
 Cotters 310 
 
 Courts of justice 359 
 
 Crossing the Channel .... 300 
 Crossing the Menai Strait . . . 301 
 
 Dispensaries 394 
 
 Domestic quarrels 355 
 
 Drunkenness ;;G9, 382 
 
 Dublin in 1817 368 
 
 Early marriages 318 
 
 Emigration 401 
 
 Encumbered Estates Courts . . 366 
 Evictions 328 
 
 Faction fights 382 
 
 Foster, Thomas Campbell . 341,418 
 
 Grand juries 361 
 
 Hall, Colonel 298 
 
 Hatred of England inculcated . . 406 
 
 Hedge schools 349 
 
 Henrv, MitcheU, M.r 323 
 
 Holyhead 301 
 
 Houses of the gentry . . . .315 
 
 Informers 374 
 
 Injustice to Ireland 414 
 
 Inns, Irish 337 
 
 " Ireland, its Scenery and Cha- 
 racter" ...'.-.. 298 
 
 Irishmen 317 
 
 Irish women 316 
 
 Itinerant dealers 305 
 
 Judges 360 
 
 Kennedy, Col. Pitt 334 
 
 Macaulay, Dr 410 
 
 Mails . " 302 
 
 Massacre of the Sheas .... 372 
 
 Menai Bridge 301 
 
 Middlemen 325 
 
 National schools . . 
 National resoui-ces 
 Neglected fisheries 
 Neglected land . 
 ' ' No Irish need apply 
 
 352 
 343 
 324 
 321 
 299 
 
 O'Hagan, Lord . . . . 310, 408 
 
 Old schools 348 
 
 Over-population 329 
 
 Packing juries 361, 367 
 
 Parliament, the Irish .... 396 
 
 Peel, Sir E, 364 
 
 Pigs, Connaught 311 
 
 Police 378 
 
 Poor laws 386 
 
 Poor scholars 351 
 
 Poverty 313 
 
 Prices of provisions 306 
 
 Printing press 403 
 
 Private banks 320 
 
 Process-servers 376 
 
 Proselytizing 404 
 
 Prosperity in store 419 
 
 Railways 402 
 
 Repeal of the Union 394 
 
 Savings banks 319 
 
 Schools 353 
 
 Sealing money 315 
 
 Squireens 314 
 
 Sullivan, A. M 409 
 
 Tithes 327, 346 
 
 Travelling in IreLind . . . . 303 
 Trench, Stuart 334 
 
 AVagos 306 
 
 Workhouses 386 
 
 Writs 376 
 
 EECOLLECTIONS OF MES. S. C. HALL. 
 
 Addlestone 
 
 Anniversaries of wedding 
 
 477 i Children's books 455 
 
 467 ' Crosland, Mrs. Newton .... 478 
 
 • Drunkard's Bible 
 
 Bands of Hope 4.33 j .^ 
 
 Bannow .... 423 ^^^*'^' ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^ 
 
 Birth in Dublin 422 I " ^^-""1— '^'- «'>^1- " 
 
 Birthday letter, the last . . . 466 
 
 Books, her many 429 
 
 " Ijoons and blessings " .... 436 
 
 " Buccaneer, The " 454 
 
 Burial at Addlestone 477 
 
 455 
 436 
 
 Carr, George 422 
 
 Fielding, iirs 422 
 
 Forced blooms 447 
 
 " Friendleis and fallen " . . . 443 
 
 Graige 
 
 422
 
 INDEX. 
 
 523 
 
 ITugucnot descent 423 
 
 Immortality 465 
 
 :\Iarkloy, John T 462 
 
 Marriage 425 
 
 IMartin, Lady (Helen laiicit) . . 460 
 
 ^lemorial to the Queen .... 432 
 
 Memoriaiii, lu 462 
 
 Memory, Her 459 
 
 Xovcls, Her 453 
 
 " Old Story, An " 431 
 
 Pilgrimages to English Shrim s 
 I'recocious children .... 
 
 Reviews of books . . 
 " Rhymes in Council " 
 
 4.-) 3 
 448 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . . 480 
 . . 441 
 
 Sensitiveness 456 
 
 Servants, domcsti<- 445 
 
 " Sketches of Irish Character " . 126 
 
 Spiritualism 470 
 
 Street music 450 
 
 Temperance, labours for . . .430 
 
 Thanksg;iving ! 4 29 
 
 " Trial of Sir Jasper"' . . . .431 
 Tributes to her nremory . . .4(52 
 
 Wedding-day, twentieth . . . 468 
 ,, fiftieth . . . .467 
 
 ,, fifty-sixth . . . 469 
 
 Woman's rights 437 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS : PEESONAL. 
 
 Incident in a life 496 
 
 Keating, Major 491 
 
 Loneliness of a city 497 
 
 Bartlett, Rev. ]\Ir 492 
 
 Birth, My 479 
 
 Browne, Major 487 
 
 Colours, restoration of the . . . 491 
 Copper mines 481 
 
 Devon and Cornwall l-Vncibks 
 
 480 
 
 Farewell I 511 
 
 Freemasonry in Germany . . . 508 
 
 French in Bantry Bay .... 494 
 
 ■Geneva Barracks 479 
 
 Golden wedding 499 
 
 Hall, Colonel 480 
 
 Hall, Revis 487 
 
 Hall, Robert R 488 
 
 Hall, William Sanford . . . .488 
 
 Mining speculations 481 
 
 Mother, my 485 
 
 Noviomagus, Society of 
 
 503 
 
 Rebellion of 1798 492 
 
 " Rhymes in Council " . . . . 500 
 Richardson, B. W 505 
 
 Testimonial in 1S74 499 
 
 Topsham 489 
 
 Trafalgar 489 
 
 Vernon, Robert 502 
 
 THE END. 
 
 rRUTTKD BT J. C. VIBIVK AMD CO., LIMITED, CITV BOAD, LOKOOK.
 
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