THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 ROBERT CLEMENT SCONCE, 
 
 Formerly Secretary to Admiral Sir John Duckworth. 
 
 Coiupilfb for Ijis C^rnukbiliivfn, 
 
 BY HIS DAUGHTER, 
 
 SARAH SUSANNA BUNBURY. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 COX & WYMAN, PRINTERS, GREAT QUEEN STREET, 
 
 LINCOLN'S-INN FIELDS. 
 
 18G1.
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 [1836.] 
 
 BIT OF LETTER TO MADAME REB\^UL — TO MISS FANSHAWE— TO MU. SLEEMAN — 
 PRINCE AND PRINCESS OP CAPUA — REV. JOSEPH WOLFF —FAILURE OF SIGHT — 
 RULES FOR HEALTH — HONOURS — COMPOSITION — COMMISSIONERS — GOVERNOR 
 — PAHT OF LETTER TO MADAME REBOUL.— /"((r/e 1. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 [1837.] 
 
 EFFORT l)F THE MALTESE TO OBTAIN THE CHIEF SECRETARYSHIP FOR HIM — 
 THE PETITION — LETTER TO THE GOVERNOR — ADMIRAL BOUVERIE — EXTRACT 
 FROM MR. PORTELLI'S LETTER — EXTIIACT FROM M. MIEGE's BOOK — GREEK 
 NOTES — WORKING ON HORSEBACK— PART OF LETTER TO MADAME REBOUL — 
 PASSAGE FROM LUCAN — LAUGHING GAS — BOUNDARIES OF REHOBJAM's KING- 
 DOM — MARRIAGE OF HIS DAUGHTER FANNY — GOES TO SWITZERLAND WITH 
 HIS FAMILY — SISTERON — LABURNUMS — VISELLE — MONT ST. BERNARD — 
 SKETCHES — STRdMBOLI — FRENCH INCIVILITY — ON THE OBLIGATION OF THE 
 FOURTH COMMANDMENT— DRAWING. — Pctfje 16. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 [1838.] 
 
 PART OF LETTER TO MADAME REBOUL — FIFTH SON BORN — LATIN ESSAYS — 
 COMPOSITION — DOING GREEK CHORUSES WHILE WALKING— MORE UPON THE 
 FOURTH COMMANDMENT — HALE'S CHRONOLOGY — LADY BUNBUUY'S LETTER — 
 CHORUS IN BL.VNK VERSE — BIRTH OF GRANDSON— LADY GORE— COLLEGE 
 HONOURS — STUDY OF THE EPISTLES^MEDI.EVAL HISTORY — ST. JULIAN's — 
 SLIEMA— HOPES OF PROMOTION— KITTY'S ILLNESS— CHORUSES— HIS ILLNESS 

 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 — MR. AND MRS. JAMES EWART — REPLIES TO LETTERS ABOUT PROMOTION — 
 MENTION OP AUSTRALIA— HONOURS — HEALTH — SON COMES TO MALTA — 
 ELDEST DAUGHTER MARRIED — SON LEAVES HIM FOB THE LAST TIME. — 
 
 Page 50. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 [1839.] 
 
 CLEMENT SENT HOME — COLLEGE HONOURS — MR. DAVID ROBERTS, R.A. — ILLNESS 
 — APPLIES FOB A DOCKYARD APPOINTMENT — SIESTA — ADVICE TO HIS SON 
 — THE BAR — MEDICINE — AUSTRALIA — SON's ENGAGEMENT TO HIS COUSIN — 
 POVERTY — ELDEST DAUGHTER LEAVES HIM. — Page 69. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 [1840.J 
 
 LIZZY — SOLITUDE AT MALTA — CHEMISTRY — VARIOUS ADVICE AND EXPRESSIONS 
 OP LOVE — NOTES — LETTER OF CONDOLENCE TO MADAME REBOUL — FANNY 
 LEAVES HIM— ROME — LETTER TO HANMER — COBBETT'S BOOKS — SKETCHING 
 — HIS GARDEN — H. KING — CONNUBIAL HARMONY — FUTURE READING — 
 
 SHOOTING. — Page 83. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 [1840.] 
 
 ROBERT S MARRIAGE — CONGRATULATION ON IT — FLITCHES OF BACON — WEARY 
 OF CONFINEMENT AT MALTA — AUISTODEMO— BOOKS — FANCIED LIFE IN AUS- 
 TRALIA — PART OF LETTER TO MADAME REBOUL — PART OF LETTER TO MR. 
 SMITH— MULES — MEHEMET ALI — HEALTH— DRAWING ON WET GLASS — READ- 
 ING AT SEA — NEEDLEWORK — WAR IN THE EAST — FERVENT BLESSING TO 
 HIS CHILDREN ON SAILING FOR AUSTRALIA — WAR — METHOD OP TEACHING 
 CHILDREN LATIN — TACITUS — EXPRESSIONS OF LOVE, AND OF ANXIETY FOB 
 CUB SAFETY AT SEA — A DEATH-BED — NE SUTOR — EXTRACT OF LETTER TO 
 
 MB. SMITH. — Page 100. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 [1841.] 
 
 ATTACK IN A SCURRILOUS NEWSPAPER— ANXIETY ABOUT THE "aRGYLE" — 
 TKACHINO LITTLE ONES LATIN — ACRE— HEARS OF THE " ARGYLE'S " .'^AFETT
 
 CONTENTS, V 
 
 — AND fanny's safety— HEB PUEC.VUI0U3 STATE — THE CHURCH AT PORT 
 PHILLIP— PLAUTUS — HIS PORTRAIT— THE GALLEY PRISON — ENGLISH CHURCH 
 AT MALTA^LETTERS TO LITTLE CLEMENT — NURSERY RHYMES AND LATIN 
 FOR LITTLE CHILDREN — LETTER TO MR. SMITH ABOUT THEM — LETTER TO 
 
 ROBERT. — Page 121. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 [1841.] 
 
 WORKING IN BOAT — PLAUTUS'S PLOTS — CAPTAIN HENDERSON — TYTLER'S COL- 
 LECTION OF LETTERS — AMERICA— PLAUTUS AGAIN — MISS HAMILTON — HORACE 
 — ADVICE TO LITTLE CLEMENT ON DILIGENCE AT SCHOOL — COUP DE SOLEIL 
 — "answering" letters — OBSTINACY —HIS CHILDREN'S LETTERS — NOVELS 
 — BAPTISM — NEWMAN — CHEMISTRY — HESIOD —THE CHURCH .VT PORT PHILLIP 
 — AUSTRALIAN ABORIGINES — DONNA ROSA — OVID — FANNY — CHURCH AT 
 VALETTA — CAPTAIN BASIL HALL — NOTES. — Pac/e 144. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 [1842.] 
 
 ADDRESS TO MR. LE MESURIER — FANNY — THUCYDIDES — SHAKSPEARE -BRITISH 
 CRITIC — BIRTH OF LAST CHILD — SON ORDAINED — ON SERMONS AND PREACH- 
 ING — LADY Louis's note — claim of his brother's widow and children 
 
 — on my baby's death — SKETCHING FLOWERS — THUCYDIDES — READING 
 PRAYERS — THE FATHERS — BISHOP OF SYDNEY — DISTINCT READING — A PAR- 
 SON'S WIFE— COLOURING FROM NATURE— MOKE ON MY BABY's DEATH — COLOUR 
 FOR SKIES — GERMAN AND HEBREW — ECONOMY AND ALMSGIVING — TORTOISE 
 AND CAT — DRAWING — THE OXFORD WRITERS — DAILY SERVICE — A GOOD 
 VOICE — SERMONS — MEMORIAL OF SIR S. ROBERTS — DESULTORY PURSUITS — 
 SUBSCRIPTION FOR THE BISHOP — PRETTY WIVES — WILLY — CLEMENT. — 
 
 Page 164. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 [1842.] 
 
 MEETING ABOUT THE BISHOP'S FUND— PALMEr'S TREATISE ON "THE CHURCH " 
 — FASTING — NICKNAME "PUSEYITE" — THE CHURCH — ANTICHRIST — NEW- 
 MAN — SON TAKING PUPILS — WRITING LATIN FOR HIS CHILDREN — MALTESE 
 DOGS — LAY BAPTISM — WRITERS OF THE "TRACTS FOR THE TIMES" — 
 ROMANISTS AND PROTESTANTS — MICHAEL TOWEL— CONTROVERSY— BOSSUET
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 AND FENELON — LAY BAPTISM — PLAUTUS — FANNY — MUSHROOMS — CAUTION 
 ABOUT MONEY MATTERS — QUOTATION FROM MELANCTHON, ETC. — ZUINGLIUS'S 
 OPINION OF SENECA — SOCRATES — HOOKER— CATHOLIC ANTIQUITY — PRIVATE 
 JUDGMENT — WEARINESS OF MALTA — TRACT NINETY — DR. PUSEY, ETC. — 
 DAILY SERVICE — BISHOP OF GIBRALTAR. — Page 191. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 [1843.] 
 MRS. Duckworth's distress— my father's consolation to her — part of 
 
 HER LETTER TO HIM — TEACHING LITTLE ONES — BISHOP— CONSECRATION OF 
 ENGLISH BURIAL-GROUND AT MALTA — MALTESE MARRIAGES — THE OXFORD 
 WRITERS — MURDER OP DR. MARTIN — NEWMAN'S SERMONS — FASTING — PRE- 
 PARATION FOR ETERNITY — AGAINST THEOLOGICAL RANCOUR — EDITORS OF 
 CALVINISTIC NEWSPAPERS — PROSPECT OF GOING TO SWITZERLAND — HOW TO 
 CUT INDIA-RUBBER — GIVES UP SWITZERLAND, AND GOES TO HIS SICK CHILD 
 — VISIT TO THE ADMIRALTY — SIR T. ACLAND — HIS " BUSTLE" — MY FATHER 
 BUYS A "bustle" — CORREGGIO'S VENUS — HIS SISTER-IN-LAW — SIR W. 
 HOOKER — FANNY — • VISITS HIS ORPHAN NEPHEWS AND NIECES, AND 
 BROTHER-IN-LAW AT TUNBRIDGE— DEAR FANNY's ILLNESS — VISITS SIR H. 
 AND LADY BUNBURY AT BARTON HALL— HIS DARLING FANNY'S LAST DAYS 
 AND DEATH — GRAVE — MR. PORTELLI — EFFECTS OP COLOURING— ST. PAUL'S 
 EPISTLES— PASSAGE FROM THE ACTS — ST. PAUL's GREEK. — Page 225. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 [1844.] 
 
 APPLIES FOR APPOINTMENT AT GREENWICH HOSPITAL — LETTER TO LORD HAD- 
 DINGTON — HIS son's SERMONS— clergymen MEDDLING WITH POLITICS — 
 
 new governor — the dean — his drawings— maltese lilac — passage in 
 tacitus — penance — profligacy of the monks — the jesuits — dr. 
 Keith's lecture — loss of spirits — mr. newman — sermon-writing — 
 
 THE OXFORD "MOVEMENT" — HIS ANGEL FANNY — NEEDLE's EYES— CAIRO 
 MAGICIANS — LUMBAGO— LETTER TO LIZZY — NEW SOUTH WALES LEGISLATIVE 
 
 COUNCIL — PARTY SPIRIT — SERMON-WRITING — DERIVATION OF " CHURCH " 
 
 SICKNESS — LAYING STONE OF NEAV DOCK — VISIT OF KING AND QUEEN OF 
 NAPLES — LIVES OF THE SAINTS— PRINCE DE JOINVILLE — MIa's FORTITUDE 
 — MALTESE BEGGARS — MARINA SMELLS — SCHISM IN THE PAPACY — JESUITS 
 — PHCENICIAN REMAINS AT GOZo — PHCENICIAN LANGUAGE— LAW'S "SERIOUS 
 call" — ARNOLD AND BLOOMFIELD— RECIPE FOR BEEF-TEA — THOMAS PLATTER 
 — PLANS FOR THE FUTURE — ZABBAR GATE— CONSECRATION OF THE CHURCH 
 — DAILY SERVICE — TAYLOR AND BARROW — PAUSANIAS- MR. KITSON. — 
 
 Page 262.
 
 CON TK NTS. VII 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ^ [1845.] 
 
 •lUaT MENTION OF THE FATAL SORE THROAT — JUSTIFICATION — Mil. WHITMARSH 
 — ANCIENT WHEEL-TRACKS — CASAUBON'S DERIVATION OF " CHURCH " — 
 ARCHBISHOP OF TRIPOLI — BELFRY — POPULAR PREACHING — LETTER TO 
 LITTLE KITTY — NOVEL VIOLIN PERFORMANCE — DUOMO AT MILAN — TOMB OF 
 STILICHO— THE ARCH OF PEACE— AMPHITHEATRE — BRERA GALLERY — CER- 
 TO.SA — PASSAGE OF THE SPLUGEN — CATHEDRAL AT BASLE — GREEN STONE — 
 MONUMENT OF MARSHAL SAXE — CATHEDRAL AT STRASBURG — DUTCH WOMEN 
 — ARRIVES IN ENGLAND — THROAT — NORFOLK CRESCENT — WATERINGBURY — 
 TEACHING BOYS — MRS. DUCKWORTH — MR. LAWRENCE — WRITTLE — NEWMAN 
 — VEVAY — DOGGREL VERSES— MADAME DUEYER — LENK — VERNEX — RUSSIAN 
 LADIES — SALAMANDER — REASONS FOR STAYING AT MALTA — ST. JOHN's 
 CHURCH— LORD STANLEY— RIDING. — Page 315. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 [1846.] 
 
 HOME HAPPINESS — HON. MRS. STUART — ROMANIZING CLERGYMEN — PHOENICIAN 
 T<JWER AND INSCRIPTION — HIS HORSE — INCREASED ILLNESS— PREPARES TO 
 LEAVE MALTA — LETTER TO MR. PORTELLI— JOURNEY TO ENGLAND — ILLNESS 
 — SUFFERINGS — LAST LETTER TO HIS SON ROBERT— HIS WIFE's NARRATIVE 
 OF LAST DAYS AND DEATH — BURIAL -MY BROTHER'S LETTERS TO ME ON 
 OUK father's DEATH— MR. KITSON'S LETTER. — P«^e 375.
 
 iSJ
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 [1836.] 
 
 KIT OF LETTER TO MADAME REBODL — TO MISS FANSHAWE— TO MR. SLEEMAN — 
 PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF CAPUA — REV. JOSEPH WOLFF —FAILURE OF SIGHT — 
 RULES FOB HEALTH — HONOURS— COMPOSITION — COMMISSIONERS — GOVERNOR 
 — PART OF LETTER TO MADAME REBOUL. 
 
 My Father's chief clerk, Mr. Law, died early in this year ; 
 and my Father took the entire charge of his large orphan 
 family till arrangements could be made for sending them to 
 an uncle in England, which was not for several months. 
 To Madame Reboul, in May, he writes : — 
 
 I have not written since the return of my children. You 
 can fancy my joy in seeing ou?' good little Bob again after such a 
 long absence. He told you himself of his success in the object 
 we had so much at heart, and received a most kind letter 
 from you in return. I have loved to talk to him about you 
 all : one of these days you will see him again, and he will 
 tell you about me. I wish / had an equal chance of seeing 
 you. I am not at all sure that you would know me, for I 
 believe I have made more haste than most people do to 
 grow old ; but yet, except in looks, I don't know that you 
 would find in me any great change ; for when I am well, as I 
 am now at last, and mean to continue, I am as active as ever, 
 and addicted with us much ardour to all my old pursuits. 
 
 VOL. II. . B
 
 3 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 For a long time past I have been plunged deep in Bob's 
 Greek, and am still going on with him, and shall not only 
 continue to work for him while he is with me, but after he 
 goes to college ; since I can so save him a very large portion 
 of his time. 
 
 By reading his books before he reads them, and noting and 
 explaining all the difficulties, he reads and understands them 
 in a quarter of the time they would otherwise require. You 
 can fancy how much of this sort of work I have already done 
 for him, by the estimate we have made, that, if my manu- 
 scripts were printed, they would fill three or four octavo 
 volumes. In case I should one of these days print them, I 
 will send you a copy of my work, handsomely bound, to lie 
 as an ornament upon the marble tables, '^ — a pretty lady's 
 book, to be sure ! — but then I must try and find time to 
 illustrate it with some of the many sketches you know I have 
 of classic scenes. If I had but time to do all I should like 
 to do, I really might accomplish this ; but though I believe 
 nobody in all the world works harder, I never can find time 
 for half I ought to do. I never do anything for mere amuse- 
 ment, but ride for health's sake, and read and write all the 
 rest of the day. * * * ■^ You may 
 
 fancy the many questions I had to ask Mr. Miege, and how 
 glad I was to hear his exclamation, "Comme nous avons 
 parle de vous ! " You know it was quite natural for me to like 
 to hear that you were as curious to know all my concerns as I 
 am to know yours, and that you are fond of talking of your 
 old friend ; but how much gladder should I be to hear you 
 talk with my own cars ! -jf -Jf -k- ^ 
 
 If all my boys turn out like Bob, they may take care of 
 themselves ; but it is too much to hope that amongst a num- 
 ber, all will be remarkable for talent and industry. At all 
 events, I will do all I can, as long as I am alive and well, to 
 give them just what I have given him; and while they are 
 
 His <'ift.
 
 LETTER TO MISS FANSHAWE. 3 
 
 young, their good Mamma will give all her help ; for she is 
 just as ardent as I am in desiring, above all things, for them, 
 next to good principles, learning. 
 
 To Miss Fanshawe, about this time, he writes : — 
 
 It is a sad long time since I wrote to you or that dear 
 Sister Harriet, who, with yourself, always make but one 
 mingled impression in my memory, where you are both con- 
 stantly retained with an interest that will quite certainly 
 never diminish. Ten thousand thanks, my kind friend, for 
 that letter you wrote to Mr. Baker on Bob's account. The 
 answer, you know, you sent to me through my friend,^ that 
 oldest and dearest friend I have in the world, who is always 
 doing, and has always been doing, all the kindness she pos- 
 sibly can to me; but yet pray don't think that I consider 
 your part in this matter as done for her sake, because I know 
 it was done quite equally for my own. I am quite sure that 
 you had a sincere pleasure in interesting yom'self for my boy; 
 and I, too, was truly glad to see that a letter about my affairs 
 was addressed to you, as having occupied yourself with them 
 for my advantage. 
 
 One likes, you know, to be obliged by one's own real friends ; 
 for obligation then sits easily. You know how willingly I 
 would do as much for you. You remember how cordial and 
 unreserved our intercourse has been, and you are sure, that 
 among my hopes and wishes, is the hope and the earnest 
 wish, that the day may come when that intercourse will be 
 renewed. Thank you again and again, for bespeaking Mr. 
 Baker's good-will for ray Boy. You know, he says he will 
 make acquaintance with Bob when he goes to College, and I 
 am quite sensible of the advantage to Bob of such coun- 
 tenance. ****■?? 
 
 I can fancy you in your retirement amusing yourselves 
 
 ^ Mrs. Duckworth. 
 B 3
 
 4 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 many a winter's evening, in turning over your well-filled 
 journals of all your travels. What multitudes of interesting 
 materials you have accumulated to think and talk about all 
 the rest of your lives ! If I could do as I pleased, I would 
 travel as much as you have travelled. In the last eight years 
 I have spent one fortnight out of Malta — a week of it upon 
 the sea, and the other week in Sicily, in a tour from Syracuse 
 to Messina with my girls. How we enjoyed it no one can 
 tell who has not lived for eight years in a narrow boundary 
 like ours, with eternal rocks and stones in one unvarying 
 prospect. My horse carries me in a morning's ride first to 
 one extremity and then to another (not both, though, in the 
 same morning) of our tiny country, and one fancies that no 
 privilege would be more enviable than that of going a 
 hundred miles straight on end without stopping ! I believe if 
 I were in London and saw a stage-coach going out of town, I 
 should jump on the top of it (for I have been six months free 
 from rheumatism, and can jump), and be content to go in 
 whatever direction it happened to be going, just for the 
 pleasure of seeing the hedges run by — as you know they 
 seem to do, * ?:- -x- * 
 
 To Mr. Sleeman, August 8th, 1836, he writes : — 
 
 My dear Sir, — Heartily do I hope that since the last 
 letters passed between us, your home has been as happy a one 
 as mine; that it has been as little disturbed by sickness and 
 vexations from without, and so left to the unmixed enjoyment 
 of love and peace within. You have known, like me, the 
 comfort of a dear Son's return to your roof after a long 
 absence, and therefore you can imagine the comfort I have 
 had in my Boy's companionship for the last ten months. 
 
 It was natural for me to make the most of our time 
 together, and as his disposition in that respect is like my own, 
 we have been scarcely ever out of each other's sight, reading 
 together most of the day, and riding the rest of it; and 
 keeping each other always alert, whether in our arm-chairs or
 
 LETTER TO MK. SLEEMAN. 5 
 
 our saddles. It has been my habit all ray life, to open occa- 
 sionally my Greek books ; and long before he came, I had 
 tiiose that he would, I knew, require, constantly before me, 
 picking out all their difficulties, and hunting for all the means 
 that I could derive from Scholiasts and annotators to clear 
 them away. An ardent disposition, a powerful motive, abun- 
 dance of books, and an habitual liking for them, have thus 
 enabled me to serve my Boy for a pioneer. A professional 
 tutor would have made a much better road for him, but 
 would not equally have cheered him on. He and I have 
 poked our way, through brambles and over rocks, as rapidly 
 together as he could have travelled over bowling-greens and 
 gravel -walks with a Parr or a Person behind him. Yet, 
 even here, in Malta, we had these, or one of these worthies, 
 Porson, and others like him ; such as the good German 
 Hermann, whom Parr called " his hero ;" and they have 
 '' made our rough places plain. ^^ But, in another month, 
 I shall lose my fellow-student, for he must be at Oxford 
 in October, and I shall find a sad falling-off in the spirit 
 of the next great man that falls into my hands, be he Homer 
 or Shakspeare, Cobbett or Cervantes. Are you a Conserva- 
 tive ? I am sure you are ; for it seems the natural side for 
 your profession. What I am I don't the least in the world 
 know. I have always liked the Whig side best ; but as 
 things now are, there is no such party among the people. 
 However, pray don't think I like Cobbett a bit better than 
 you do, except that he seems to me the liveliest writer that 
 ever handled our language. * * -jf ^ 
 
 But where is Bedford?*" Among the many ships-of-war 
 that visit us, I should rejoice to see him come here with his 
 lieutenant's coat on. Promotion is difficult enough ; but if 
 your life is spared, you will, I have no doubt, see him a cap- 
 tain. You ought to have great interest in the navy ; for 
 your son should represent his uncle, who left no one of his 
 
 ile (lied ill 18J3.
 
 6 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 own in the profession, and who had innumerable friends 
 among its most distinguished members. He filled for many 
 years a post in which he was able to gratify his kindly nature 
 by doing kind offices to those who might now repay them to 
 his nephew. Perhaps you have heard that I was the Com- 
 mander-in-Chief's Secretary when he was Captain of the 
 Fleet in the North Sea. 
 
 We were shut up together for nine months in the Impreg- 
 nable, without once seeing the outside of the ship ; and you 
 can fancy the value of such a temper as his in such a society 
 
 as that in which we lived. Sir W. Y was the essence of 
 
 sourness ; he and the Captain and First Lieutenant were 
 not on speaking terms, though they dined daily at his table 
 with us. 
 
 The officers, who were invited in their turn, never spoke 
 but when the great man rarely addressed a few words to 
 them. This was our condition within, and without were 
 the billows buffeting us at our stormy anchorage in the open 
 sea, some twenty miles from the land. Never could one be 
 in a plight in which a good friend would be of more value than 
 good Admiral Bedford was to me. 
 
 You know my Sister came out to us lately. Since I wrote 
 last, another baby,'' too, has been added to our numbers ; so 
 that I have now four boys and as many girls, and all col- 
 lected under our roof. When will all be together again ? 
 Before Bob leaves college, Clement must go to school, and 
 in England ; for here there are several, but they are of such 
 a sort that any measure of mischief may be learned there, 
 but no good. 
 
 All of us, in cordial concert, salute you and yours. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Sir, yours, with great regard, 
 
 R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Among the visitors to Malta this year were the Prince 
 and Princess of Capua, of whom we saw a good deal. We 
 
 '' My FatLcr'ti fourth Son, William, w;i.s boru in the April of this year.
 
 LETTERS FROM DR. WOLFF. 7 
 
 first met them at the wedding of General Wood's daughter, 
 when the Prince talked a great deal to my Father, and told 
 him he remembered him at Naples some ten or twelve years 
 before. The Prince and Princess begged my Father and his 
 family to do them the favour to call on them, saying they 
 desired only to be visited as private gentlefolks. The Prince 
 spoke of his great liking for the English, which he said was 
 shown by his choosing an English wife; and the Princess, 
 on her part, said she could not form a better wish for the 
 bride than that she might be as happy in her marriage as 
 lierself. 
 
 Another remarkable person, whom we saw a good deal 
 of this year, was the Rev. Joseph WolflF, wliom we esteemed 
 much for his kindness of heart and remarkable simplicity of 
 character, united to his piety and learning. The following 
 quaint notes from him may cause a smile : — 
 
 " My dear Mr. Sconce, — I make quite free with you, 
 for you are such an excellent man; therefore I take the 
 liberty of asking, whether you have a ball^ after your dinner ; 
 for, if so, I am sure that you will not be displeased at our going 
 away after dinner, before the ball commences ; for I have a 
 decided dislike to balls, and had it, even when I was a Jew. 
 I am sure that you will not be displeased with me by asking 
 you this. I confess that I consider balls to be the Devil's 
 
 hoi-house. Yours most affectionately, 
 
 "JOSEPH WOLFF." 
 
 "Suez, Uth A2)rU, 1836. 
 " My dear old Sconce and Mrs. Sconce, — Many, many 
 thanks for your kindness towards my beloved wife; and I am 
 sure that you will continue so to do. 
 
 <^ Our dear Father did not give balls. He occasionally took my Sister and 
 me to balls and parties, and would have done so oftener, with the utmost 
 cheerfulness, had we pressed it ; but we could not but feel how much he was 
 out of his element in a ball-room (though he never showed weariness when 
 with Ms), and were reluctant to take him from his library table by his fireside. 
 We often had a share in an opera-box, and there also he accompanied us 
 whenever we had no other proper escort.
 
 8 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 '' I have had opportunity hitherto to proclaim the name of 
 Jesus Christ at Alexandria, Cairo, Suez, Tor, Mount Horeb, 
 and Mount Sinai ; and Boghos Youssuf Bey, as well as the 
 Viceroy, were particularly kind and attentive to me. 1 
 returned last week from Mount Sinai, to which place I 
 brought a number of Greek Bibles and Testaments, which 
 I gave to the monks there. 
 
 "I sent the history of the convent, written in Greek, to 
 Lady Georgiana, which she will be glad to lend to you for 
 your perusal, and, if you please, for translating it ; and if 
 you and Mrs. Sconce and Sally*^ and your Son call on Lady 
 Georgiana, she will give you, as well as to old Smith, of the 
 manna of Mount Sinai, and of the dates, to taste. I intend 
 to leave this for Jiddah, and go (D.V.) to Mosawah, Adwah, 
 and Gondar — in the latter place Jews are ; and from thence 
 I intend to go to Shoah, where I will find again Jews. Fare- 
 well ; I am most affectionately to your whole house, yours, 
 
 "JOSEPH WOLFF, i»/issrowar2^." 
 
 In September, my Brother left Malta to go to Oxford, 
 and on the 1st of October my Father begins writing to him 
 again : — 
 
 Much as we all miss you, and grieved as we are to lose you, 
 you can imagine that we think a great deal more of your pain 
 than our own. We have each other to love, and our quiet 
 home to shelter us; while you are surrounded by strangers, 
 and exposed first to the buffeting of the natural sea, and then 
 to the metaphorical storms of life, which are apt to inflict a 
 much greater suffering. As for the first trial, we have had 
 the great comfort of hearing, by your letter from Gibraltar, 
 that you passed happily through its first stage. 
 
 * •3f -x- * * -Jf 
 
 In every way in which it is possible for me to do anything 
 
 ' j\lr. Wolir liad Ijucii our ftlluvv-iia.SBCDgcr fiojii Falniuiitli to Miilla,
 
 LETTER TO IIIS SOX. 9 
 
 towards the fulfilment of any of j^our wishes, you will always 
 be quite certain that you can entirely depend upon your dear 
 Papa. You can fancy, dear Bob, the dulness of ray morning 
 rides when I lost my companion. They were made still 
 duller by the poor pony's dejection. He was immediately 
 separated from his old associate Tunis ; for we had no 
 longer any work for him, and I sold him ; and pony seems to 
 have missed him both in the stable and on the road ; for he 
 has lost all his spirit, and instead of trying to run away, as he 
 used, he crawls along most lazily. I believe I was almost as 
 sorry as he was to lose poor Tunis after eight years' friendship 
 with him. He was the surest-footed, best-tempered, spright- 
 liest-going creature of his kind. ■??*«• 
 
 Our darling Fanny is not either better or worse, I think, 
 than you left her. * ^^ * * •jc- 
 
 I had not myself any hopes from tlie leeches or blister, and 
 grieved for the pain inflicted upon my poor dear. However, 
 leeches, you know, create small annoyance, and blisters affect 
 some people more severely than others, and happily the suflPer- 
 ing in her case was not great, and was made still less by her 
 extraordinary fortitude and patience; for little quiet Fanny 
 has these virtues, dear Bob, in as great perfection as many a 
 big-boned blusterer in red or blue. * -Jf ^- 
 
 AU the rest of us are just as you left us, except that I have 
 advanced a long step further towards blindness. Not that I 
 expect total darkness while I am yet above ground, but that 
 I must be content to give my eyes ample rest, to seek occa- 
 sionally other amusements than reading and drawing, and so 
 endeavour to eke out my light to the last. I can't do better 
 than pursue the course in which you initiated me, and so 
 become a Philidor. 
 
 [He frequently played chess at this time, of an evening, 
 chiefly with General Wood and Mr. Smith.] 
 
 I wanted to read Apollonius Uhodius, and had only got 
 through the first book, when I found the small print
 
 10 LIFE or R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 unmanageable. I have now Hesiod in hand, a noble edition, 
 from the library, that seems to have been got up on purpose 
 for the purblind. 
 
 On Sundays I read Chrysostom's Homilies on St. Mat- 
 thew, a goodly Benedictine folio equally suited to me. Since 
 you got me again among the Greeks, I have not been inclined 
 to leave them, and I dare say you will find me two years 
 hence still in the same company. Read I must while I can, 
 though I may be obliged to shut my books when the sun sets ; 
 so that, if you think I can turn my reading to any account 
 for you, you have only to set me my task. Would versions 
 of choruses from Sophocles or Euripides be of any use ? or 
 would they, with all the able help you will receive from col- 
 lege tutors, be superfluous ? Hesiod, I suppose, you will not 
 read for some time. We may manage him together when 
 you come. I am reading his " Works and Days " a little bit 
 at a time ; for when my vocabulary is at fault, the small print 
 of my lexicons arrests me. 
 
 Thus the history of my Epya Kai iijiepai is soon given. 
 How I long, dear Bob, for an account of yours ! Remem- 
 ber, my good boy, how great a comfort it will be to me 
 to be enabled to trace all your steps. I shall be very anxious 
 to know always all that you are doing, so that I may be en- 
 abled to fancy myself looking over your shoulder, or sitting 
 opposite to you at your table, as we used to sit in our snug 
 library at the INIarina. 
 
 Tell me exactly how far you have advanced with Euclid 
 and Algebra, and what books you are reading. Tell me 
 always when you finish a book, and what you begin next ; 
 so that I may think sometimes of the things that are occupy- 
 ing your thoughts. 
 
 But remember. Bob, above all things, that, more than 
 anything else, I wish to hear of youi* confirmed health. I 
 am very far from urging you to work. It is as necessary for 
 you to relax, for your " stomach's sake," as it is for me to 
 relax for that of my eyes. You have hurt yourself by too 
 close confinement and the anxieties of competition. Take
 
 NECESSITY FOR EXERCISE. 11 
 
 more exercise^ then, and leave academic battles to be fought 
 by men of stronger bodies ; go quietly on, at no quicker pace 
 than your strength will easily afford, and you will still accom- 
 plish your purpose ; for you will gain scholarship and credit 
 enough ; but if, on the contrary, you overstrain your strength, 
 you will be compelled to shut your books altogether, and will 
 sow the seeds of disease that may last through your life. 
 
 Be sure that there is an absolute necessity for attending to 
 these rules. Take exercise for two or three hours every day, 
 and a large portion of it before dinner ; besides the exercise 
 in the open air, leave your books every now and then for five 
 minutes, and move about your room. Recline sometimes on a 
 sofa ; the more you vary your posture the better. By warm 
 clothing, exercise, and a good fire, you may keep yourself 
 warm. It is necessary that you should feel comfortably warm ; 
 for an abiding sensation of cold is sure to bring on some de- 
 rangement of health. Wear flannel, then, and woollen cuffs 
 round your wrists, and warm gloves while you are read- 
 ing. No academical honours are worth the sacrifice of 
 health ; read, then, no more than you can consistently with 
 your comfort, and don't set your heart upon the honours. I 
 shall not be disappointed if you don't reach a high mark, for 
 you will be unlike many who, at two-and-twenty, take a first- 
 class degree and then shut up their books. You will keep 
 yours still open, and will find many opportunities for bringing 
 your knowledge to account besides college or university ex- 
 aminations. Life does not end at Oxford. You will need 
 health and energy for further efforts ; and the reading of a 
 book or two more or less tliere is of little importance. 
 * -jf * -jt * * 
 
 Don't imagine. Bob, that you are without talent for com- 
 position. When a man can translate well, he can compose 
 well. Many of your class, I dare say, knew the sense of the 
 Thucydides as well as you did, though your version was better
 
 12 LIFE or R, C. SCONCE. 
 
 than theirs. You made your version better, because, besides 
 your accurate knowledge of the Greek, you had a just and a 
 refined taste for the composition of the Enghsh sentences into 
 which you converted it. Now, this is one of the two things 
 towards the composition of a good essay. The two things 
 necessary are thoughts and style. It is, at all events, some- 
 thing to be distinguished already for one of the two j and as 
 for the thoughts, a man who has his eyes open as you have, 
 is not likely to fail in heaping up a store of ideas, to be 
 brought out when occasion needs. A few thoughts well 
 dressed up tell far more than many thoughts in a slovenly 
 garb. * -sf •)? -^ * -jf 
 
 As soon as I had read your letter, I took down Thucydides, 
 and read the three chapters you translated. They afford 
 plenty of exercise for ingenuity in furnishing a good version. 
 
 I read the piece of St. Luke, too, that made you con- 
 strue. * * ^ -X -Jf -Sf 
 
 Nothing could be sweeter than that first news of yours 
 from Brasenose. The joy it gives me is not because your 
 triumph furnishes me with a proof of your scholarship, but 
 because I know it will gladden your own heart and relieve 
 the tension of your nerves, and operate beneficially on your 
 digestion. It was the sort of success, too, that I liked best, 
 — success in composition. The style of your English was 
 approved of. You can write English, you see; and I know 
 that your essays will be as much distinguished as your transla- 
 tions. Good thoughts are easier found than skill in arranging 
 them and good taste in dressing them. You see that you 
 have language at your command, and have succeeded emi- 
 nently, in spite of your want of practice. It is because you 
 have precisely the very thing you thought you had not ; 
 namely, in some sort, genius, or, in other words, a faculty, 
 and a rare one too, that nature has given you, enabling you 
 to feel what a good style is. It is analogous to an car for 
 music. Nature, you know, gave Fan hers ; and you know, 
 too, that Nature lias not given to certain worthy divines of
 
 LETTER TO HIS SON. 13 
 
 an ear for rliythmical sentences. You miglit stuff tliem 
 
 chock full of Greek, and still they could never write you a 
 decent version of Thucydides, any more than, stuffing thein 
 with Divinity, they could write you an eloquent sermon. As 
 for " orator fit" — yes, true enough ; but only out of the right 
 stuff. A silk purse, you know, is feasible, but not (as the 
 vulgar rhetoricians say) out of sows' ears. This my illustra- 
 tion is, I find, as ambiguous as it is elegant and new. The 
 ambiguity is in the parenthesis, the obliteration of which will 
 make all clear. 
 
 But, Bob, no wonder / can't write, for I have neither read 
 nor written for an age. I have done nothing but draw and 
 play chess, and ride and pay visits, and talk to visitors. 
 Never was my time so frittered away as it has been lately ; 
 partly because I submitted to the interruption with more or 
 less willingness, for the sake of my eyes, and partly because, 
 whether I would or would not submit, the interruptions 
 came, and are likely to come for some time. ■js- •5f * 
 
 We never called on the Commissioners and Mrs. Com- 
 missioner, Mrs. Austin,*^ who is said to be a learned lady, 
 and considers herself an equal member of the Commission. 
 At length she sent me a message, to tell me that she desired 
 the honour of my acquaintance. Captain Bouverie brought 
 me the message, and took me to the lady, and I have had two 
 long talks with her, and one with Mr. Lewis, one of the 
 Commissioners, and shall have many more. * -)f * 
 * * « -X- * « 
 
 The new Governor,'' too, has taken me up. Captain 
 Bouverie, his cousin, is an old friend of mine. He intro- 
 duced me to him, and the Governor asked me to dine with 
 him when he was alone, and we had several hours' unin- 
 terrupted discussion of all the interests of his Government. 
 He says he hopes to renew it, and has asked me to ride over 
 the country with him. * * -x- 
 
 «^he trf 
 
 he translator of Eaiike's "Lives of the Popes," &c. 
 Bouverie.
 
 14 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 His chief aide-de-camp^ Captain Bridges, was the most inti- 
 mate friend of my poor brother John. * * * 
 
 But, Bob, I like a Greek book better than a chess-board, ' 
 and shall be right glad to set to work again in earnest. 
 I like doing something that may be of some use ; and notes 
 and versions may turn to some account. I want a good 
 Pindar, and Hesiod, and Apollonius E-hodius. Will you 
 get the best for me and send me them. You will want some 
 Aristotle or Plato, or both. If you can foresee the treatises 
 you are likely to choose of Aristotle, I suppose there are 
 editions of them published separately, and you might send 
 them to me. * * •jt * * 
 
 To Madame Reboul he writes, the end of this year : — 
 
 Thank you ten thousand times for remembering me always 
 with the same unvarying interest. The longer our absence 
 from each other, the more firm will be our regard ; because, 
 if there were any caprice in it, it would not be proof against 
 time and separation ; and when we do meet, as one of these 
 days I trust we shall, we shall have that sort of confidence 
 in each other that nothing but time can create. You always 
 knew that I liked you very much and valued your friend- 
 ship ; but you might have imagined that a few years would 
 obliterate the recollection of all your kindness to me; and 
 now you will never have such misgivings, and I shall be 
 equally sure, when I have the comfort of seeing you again, 
 that you are, and always will be, all that you have been to 
 me since the day that good Sir Harry received, at Malta, 
 the orders to go and bombard Algiers. You and I became 
 friends that day. It is almost thirteen years ago, and I 
 remember, and see and hear you distinctly still, telling me to 
 have no anxiety for Bob. It was just half-way up the great 
 staircase at the Admiralty House. 
 
 Well, now, I will tell you something about him that I have 
 just heard by the last packet. He entered at Brasenose 
 College, Oxford, on the 14th of last month, and Was, at his
 
 bob's capital debut at college. 15 
 
 first outset^ distinguished among all his companions. He was 
 one of twenty-five young men, some of whom had been 
 already two years at college, who were desired to write a 
 translation of three chapters of Thucydides; and Bob's was 
 pronounced the best of all, and read aloud, and proposed 
 as a pattern for the imitation of the rest. The lecturer then 
 invited him to breakfast the next day, and told him he had 
 come to college so well prepared, that he could not fail of 
 taking an honourable degree. Now, isn't this very good 
 news of ray good boy ? 
 
 ***** ^-
 
 16 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 [1S37.J 
 
 EFFORT OF THE MALTESE TO OBTAIN THE CHIEF SECRETARYSHIP FOE HIM — 
 THE PETITION — LETTER TO THE GOVERNOR — ADMIRAL BOUVERIE— EXTRACT 
 FROM MR. PORTELLl'S LETTER — EXTRACT FROM M. MIEGE'S BOOK — GREEK 
 NOTES — WORKING ON HORSEBACK — PART OF LETTER TO MADAME REBOUL — 
 PASSAGE FROM LUCAN — LAUGHING GAS — BOUNDARIES OF REHOBOAM'S KING- 
 DOM—MARRIAGE OF HIS DAUGHTER FANNY — GOES TO SWITZERLAND WITH 
 HIS F.VMILY — SISTERON — LABURNUMS — VISELLE — MONT ST. BERNARD — 
 SKETCHES— STROMBOLI— FRENCH INCIVILITY — ON THE OBLIGATION OF THE 
 FOURTH COMMANDMENT— DRAWING. 
 
 This was an eventful year in my Father^s eventless and 
 monotonous life at Malta, for in it his second daughter's 
 marriage took place ; a great stir was made by the Maltese 
 people to get him appointed to the Chief Secretaryship of 
 the island ; and after nine years' residence at Malta, he spent 
 the summer in Switzerland with his family. However, he 
 shall describe these things himself in their order. 
 In January, 1837, he writes to his Boy : — 
 
 Never was my tranquil course of usual occupation more 
 broken in upon than during the last month. You know the 
 popularity I had among the Maltese ; it has broken out in a 
 great blaze, and ended in smoke. 
 
 Here is a det9.iled history of what has happened. On the 
 18th of last month, Pirotti" told mc that eight or ten mem- 
 bers of the Maltese "Central Committee'^ (consisting of ninety- 
 six persons, elected by the whole population of the island, to 
 conduct their case before the Commissioners) had, in a pri- 
 vate meeting, spoken of their wish to petition for my appoint- 
 ment to the office of Chief Secretary; that they had raen- 
 
 " His clerk.
 
 SECURES THE GOODWILL OF THE MALTESE. 17 
 
 tioned it to their great leader, C S , and obtained his 
 
 cordial concurrencCj and now desired to know whether the 
 appointment would be acceptable to me, and what measures 
 would, in my opinion, be most likely to obtain it. I received 
 this message with some surprise ; for although I had been 
 accustomed for the last three or four years to hear frequent 
 expression of such a wish among the INIaltese, yet no recent 
 mention of the matter had reached me. 
 
 My answer was, that I felt grateful to the Maltese people 
 for such a proof of their goodwill, and desired, above all 
 things, to be placed in a situation in which I might be useful 
 to them ; but that I could take no part in advising the 
 measures to be pursued on this occasion, and must leave 
 them entirely to their own discretion. On the 22nd Decem- 
 ber, Pirotti brought me a message, to inform me that it was 
 proposed to frame a petition to the King in my favour, and 
 to obtain the signature of the people at large ; but that the 
 Committee did not feel warranted in proceeding without my 
 sanction. They requested, therefore, that I would allow two 
 of their body to call upon me. I consented to their request ; 
 
 and accordingly received a visit from Drs. A and P . 
 
 The latter began by inveighing against H and the rest 
 
 of the Government people. I desired them both to under- 
 stand that I had no objection to their asking for me to suc- 
 ceed to the appointment on its becoming vacant, but that I 
 would not allow the expression of a wish in my favour to be 
 coupled with complaint against any one else. Nothing could 
 be more distinct and peremptory than the terms in which I 
 gave this reply ; and the two gentlemen left me, to report it 
 to the Committee. 
 
 26ih Decemher. 
 
 The son of C S came to me from his father and 
 
 others, to show me the draft of a petition proposed to be 
 brought forward. It was couched in the offensive terms 
 against which I had already protested, and of course I 
 refused to sanction it. S A afterwards came, and 
 
 VOL. II. c
 
 18 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 told me that he meant to move in the Committee for the 
 adoption of a petition containing none of the offensive lan- 
 guage to which I had objected, but simply praying for my 
 appointment to the office on its becoming vacant. 
 
 2'ith December. 
 
 A came to me again, and signified that he and others 
 
 had thought it best that the petition should not originate 
 with the Committee, but should at once be laid before the 
 people at large. 
 
 I read it for the first time, and was assured, not only by 
 him, but by many other persons likely to know the senti- 
 ments of the community, that what it expressed was the 
 general feeling throughout the country. 
 
 2?>th December. 
 
 The petition having been put into circulation, I waited 
 upon the Governor and told him unreservedly everything 
 that had passed. Short, I said, as his residence at Malta 
 had been, I trusted that he knew already enough of me to 
 be assured that I had not courted this expression of the 
 favour of the IMaltese. 
 
 Far from being connected with their agitators, or taking 
 any part in political intrigues, I had no personal acquaintance 
 with those called Radicals, nor with any of the members of the 
 Central Committee, excepting one individual ; and even to 
 that individual I had not had occasion to speak for the last 
 two years. Tliere may, indeed, be others of my acquaintance 
 among the Committee, but I do not know it; for, excepting 
 the well-known names of Mitrovich and Camillo Sceberras^ 
 I have not even heard by popular report of what persons the 
 Committee is composed. His Excellency might learn, I 
 added, from those who know me, that I lived more than most 
 people a life of privacy, occupying all my leisure among 
 books. 
 
 He received me with remarkable kindness, and when I had 
 done, put his hand to his heart, and Ijcgged me to be assured
 
 PETITION GOT UP IN HIS FAVOUR. 19 
 
 that he knew how to appreciate the frankness with which I 
 had spoken to him^ and was quite satisfied that I had used no 
 unworthy means to gain the popuLar favour, nor taken any 
 part in causing the petition to be put forth. Mamma and I 
 dined with him that day, and he picked me out of twenty-two 
 people to address nearly all his talk to me. I should have 
 said, that when I first told him of the petition, I gave him a 
 copy of it. 
 
 2nd January. 
 
 After repeated discussions in the Central Committee, 
 while nearly all concurred in the object of the petition, 
 
 some insisted on introducing complaints against H . 
 
 Others objected oii various grounds to its present form ; and 
 others thought that, as the Committee was appointed for 
 specific purposes, and as the petitioning for a Secretary 
 was not one of these purposes, they ought not to adopt it ; 
 and finally the majority decided against its adoption. 
 
 A called upon me to give me this information. The 
 
 petition had in the mean time been in general circulation, 
 and twelve or fourteen hundred signatures had been affixed 
 to it. The far greater number of people, however, of all 
 ranks, appear to be implicitly led by the Central Com- 
 mittee, and deferred signing till they knew the Committee's 
 decision. 
 
 The Committee having decided not to sign it, the people 
 
 will not. The H s, the N s, the G s, and all 
 
 the underlings of office have, in the mean time, moved heaven 
 and earth to deter all they could control from signing it. 
 Every one connected with their offices, directly or indirectl}' — 
 all who fear them — all who hope anything from them, have 
 been deterred. The petition would not therefore be, what I 
 was led to expect it would be, the expression of the general 
 wish of the community ; and therefore I desired that it might 
 be immediately withdrawn, and went to the Governor to tell 
 him so, and to explain my motive. I did not find him this 
 
 time in so friendly a mood. H , and the rest, had suc- 
 
 c 2
 
 20 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 ceeded in giving him the impression they desired. The whole 
 tribe are in a ferment. 
 
 Besides the petition, a number of the chief people here 
 wrote a letter to the Governor to be forwarded to the King 
 with the petition, praising me up to the skies. It was signed 
 by Sir Josias Rowley and Captain Bouverie, the Governor's 
 cousin, and Lord Radnor's brother, when the Governor heard 
 of it, and insisted on its not being sent to him. He told the 
 Admiral and the rest, that it would be considered, at home, 
 as an improper interference by persons who had no right to 
 interfere on such a subject ; and so the poor letter was dropped. 
 
 This too must have been the effect of H 's influence over 
 
 the Governor. There was no attempt at any interference at 
 all. It was merely a testimonial, quite natural for the heads 
 of the Naval service especially to offer, on such an occasion. 
 Besides those two, it would have been signed by Sir T. 
 Briggs, Sir W. Elliott, General Wood, the Chief Justice, the 
 Maltese Members of Council, the Dean and Chapter — and 
 the Bishop, too, would gladly have signed it, if he had not 
 been afraid. He is a grand friend of mine. 
 
 Besides all this, the two Maltese Councillors, P and 
 
 De P , volunteered to go to the Governor to testify that 
 
 the wish expressed in the petition had been long and was 
 universally felt among all classes; and Captain Bouverie 
 offered me, unasked, all his interest with Lord Glenelg, which, 
 through his brother, is great. 
 
 The Governor had taken me into high favour — I had dined 
 with him twice, and his cousin told me he had conceived a 
 very high opinion of me from the first, and all that he had 
 since seen and heard of me, had confirmed the impression. 
 But now all this is, of course, overturned. Nothing can be 
 done without the Governor's support, upon which Captain 
 Bouverie at first thought we might rely ; and now, instead of 
 his support, we should have his strenuous and, of course, 
 effectual opposition. Why, Bob, you will hear of me next as 
 
 the O'Connell of our (jern of an island ! But when H 
 
 and his companions describe me as a demayoyue, they will
 
 PETITION TO THE KING. 21 
 
 laugh themselves, and so shall T. A pretty demagogue ! 
 
 G , N , B , and S , are all candidates. If 
 
 any one of the present set is appointed, despair will drive 
 the people to resist, for tbey execrate all these names. You 
 know how all the civil servants here, as they call themselves, 
 are detested. My advantage will be, that I may ride through 
 the country in security, and they must limit their rambles 
 within the military works. Of course, this stir has made me 
 more known than ever. Several leading people have sent 
 messages to me, desiring to make personal acquaintance 
 with me. 
 
 Every man in Vittoriosa signed the petition. So did those 
 of Zabbar ; and when it was proposed to them, they said they 
 knew the good man, who had often ridden through the village 
 with his Son,'' Mr. Smith's Maltese clerk, to whom I have 
 never spoken in my life, said the petition showed the feeling 
 of the Maltese like a mirror. 
 
 Those at Burmola who did not sign, because they felt 
 bound to obey the Committee, said they were ready to sign 
 ivith their blood. Here is the petition : — you will see a Avord 
 or two in it that you or I would correct. It was written in 
 Maltese, translated by one hand, and retouched by another; 
 but of course not at all by me, 
 
 " To the King's Most Excellent Majesty. 
 
 " The Humble Petition of , humbly showeth : — 
 
 "That the undersigned loyal and faithful subjects of your 
 Majesty, having understood that your Majesty's Government 
 has for some time past had it under consideration to allow 
 the Chief Secretary to the Civil Government of these islands 
 to retire at a fit opportunity from his present office, humbly 
 pray permission to lay at the foot of your Majesty's throne 
 
 *> In riding through the distant villages of Malta with my Father, 1 fre- 
 quently heard the people exclaim to each other as he rode by: "Kemmou 
 ragel taiep," — Avglice, "What a good man that is ! "
 
 22 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 this their petition, relative to the filling up of that office, a 
 matter of vital importance to the inhabitants at large, and to 
 the substantial good of your Majesty's service. 
 
 " That in the executive branch of that high trust which 
 is confided to his Excellency the Governor, your Majesty's 
 immediate representative in these dominions, the Chief Secre- 
 tary is the person to whom your Majesty's subjects look, as 
 the official medium through which all that concerns them, 
 individually and politically, must be conveyed. 
 
 " That for the due discharge of this important office, many 
 and valuable virtues, talents, and other personal advantages 
 are required : — perfect integrity, perspicacity of intellect, a 
 cultivated mind, habits of business, firmness of character, 
 joined to suavity of manners, entire impartiality, an abhor- 
 rence of all secret and sinister intrigues, a personal and inti- 
 mate knowledge of the local interests of these islands, an 
 acquaintance with their literary language,'' a benevolent 
 regard for all classes of the inhabitants, and a zealous 
 desire to realize your Majesty's paternal wishes for the good 
 government, happiness, and prosperity of this part of your 
 dominions. 
 
 " That when all these qualifications do not co-exist in the 
 person invested with the office of Chief Secretary, it is im- 
 possible that the inhabitants should not feel their interests to 
 be more or less dependent on the character and conduct of 
 subordinate persons, to whose assistance that high officer 
 must resort, and by whose advice, though possibly given 
 from the most interested motives, and without the slightest 
 official responsibility, he must inevitably be guided. 
 
 " That an English gentleman, combining in himself the 
 estimable attainments before specified, more especially if he 
 were known to your Majesty's Government by a faithful 
 discharge of other important trusts, would not only prove an 
 invaluable auxiliary to the Governor in the various intricacies 
 
 Jtalia
 
 LETTER OF THE ADMIRALS AND OTHERS. 23 
 
 of the civil government, but would at the same time enjoy 
 the unreserved confidence and respect of the people. 
 
 " That your petitioners with great humility beg to be per- 
 mitted to present to your Most Gracious Majesty's notice a 
 character such as they have described, in the person of 
 Kobert Clement Sconce, Esquire, an officer in one of your 
 Majesty's civil naval establishments here, who, from the time 
 of his first coming amongst your petitioners (about nine 
 years ago), has, though perhaps imperceptibly to himself, 
 so gradually and universally obtained the admiration and 
 goodwill of all your Majesty's subjects in these islands (for all 
 know him either directly or indirectly) as to have been long 
 and generally regarded by them as at once the most efficient 
 and most acceptable individual to fill an office of such public 
 interest and concern. 
 
 " That should your Most Gracious Majesty be pleased, in 
 your benignant desire for the well-being of your loyal, 
 faithful, and attached subjects of Malta, indulgently to listen 
 to the unanimous solicitations of your humble petitioners 
 for the appointment of this gentleman to the office of Chief 
 Secretary to the Civil Government, whenever it may become 
 vacant, so distinguished a mark of your Majesty's royal 
 favour would be received, as your petitioners are fully per- 
 suaded, by the population of these islands in general, with 
 unalloyed feelings of gratitude and joy." 
 
 If this petition had not been withdrawn, by my desire, 
 it would have been signed by some 3,000 or 4,000 people, 
 notwithstanding the opposition of the Government people 
 and the Committee. The letter which the Admirals and 
 other leading people signed, or were to sign, was as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 " It having come to our knowledge that a very general 
 petition of the inhabitants of these islands to his jNIost 
 Gracious Majesty is preparing, or has already been laid 
 before your Excellency, couched in humble and respectful
 
 24 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 language, and having for its exclusive object the appoint- 
 ment of Robert Clement SconcCj Esquire, to the office of 
 Chief Secretary to this Government, whenever it shall please 
 his Most Gracious Majesty to allow the gentleman at present 
 holding that high station to retire, we embrace with pleasure 
 the favourable opportunity of bearing our unanimous testi- 
 mony to those rare endowments which qualify Mr. Sconce 
 faithfully to serve your Excellency's Government in that con- 
 fidential capacity. 
 
 " We further beg to assure your Excellency that we 
 are persuaded the petition in question does not originate 
 in the ebullition of a momentary impulse, but that the 
 opinion which has given birth to it has been for some years 
 past cherished by a large majority as well of the British as 
 native inhabitants, who concur in the estimate formed by us 
 of Mr. Sconce's fitness for so important a trust. 
 
 " Humbly hoping that your Excellency will take this 
 letter into your consideration, and will forward it, together 
 with the petition, and with your own powerful recommenda- 
 tion, to his Majesty's Government, we have the honour to 
 be,'' &c. &c. 
 
 ■3f ■)?*■»** 
 
 The Governor was buying a cow the other day of a Maltese 
 market-man, and by way of finding out, I suppose, what people 
 of his class thought, asked the man if he had signed the 
 petition. 
 
 " Yes," said the man ; " and it will be a blessing for us all 
 if Mr. Sconce is appointed." 
 
 This was repeated to me by a friend of the man to whom 
 he had related it. 
 
 B , the Adjutant of Police, tells me the Committee 
 
 would have adopted the petition, if many of them had not 
 resolved to resist the saddling of the island with a pension 
 
 for . They say that a petition so worded would tacitly 
 
 convey their assent to his retiring peaceably in the usual way, 
 iind thcv arc determined to stigmatize him. The Adjutant
 
 NOTE TO CAPTAIN BOUVERIE. Zb 
 
 adds, that if the Committee had taken it up, there would 
 
 have been 20,000 signatures. Even B tokl General 
 
 Wood and Captain Bouverie that neither the petition nor 
 the letter gave me a bit more praise than I deserved, and 
 he has since professed to me his readiness to say as much to 
 all the world. 
 
 The fuss has subsided ; and as soon as the packet is gone I 
 shall take up my usual pursuits, and forget all the agitations 
 of the last month. They have been many and complicated. 
 
 Sir F. H in his ire offended General W= . They 
 
 had a rough correspondence ; and if H had not made 
 
 the reparation required, there would have been a duel 
 between them. You can fancy the feeling with which we 
 looked on. It was exceedingly miserable; and of course I 
 should not quietly have allowed the matter to reach such a 
 termination. * * •^f * * 
 
 What a sheet-full I have written for you on this matter ! 
 But it has occupied me for a whole month, — and not only me 
 and us, but all Malta; and I know it is not a mere p7-ecis 
 that will satisfy you when I am engaged in doings so deeply 
 interesting to me. I have not told you enough of the warm 
 friendship that Captain Bouverie has shown me. He is said 
 to be cold and stiff and reserved in his manner. He is a man 
 of few words ; but to me he has been all warmth. I am quite 
 sure that if ever he can serve me in any way, he will. 
 ****** 
 
 On the 9th of February my Father wrote the following 
 note to Captain Bouverie •.'^ — 
 
 My valued Friend, — Pray let me say a word about the 
 paper I gave you. It contains a memorandum which I made 
 from day to day (just as I related them from day to day to 
 you while they were passing) of the various steps that led to 
 
 Soou afterwards Admiral Bouverie.
 
 26 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 the petition. My motive for giving it you was to recall to 
 your memory the facts with which you were originally 
 acquainted, in order that when you hear, as I dare say you 
 will, the assertion that I myself got up the petition after two 
 or three years of cogitation and machination, you may per- 
 ceive at once the grossness of the calumny. But I wish you 
 to make no other use of that paper. If it found its way into 
 the hands of my adversaries, they would, at least, not deal 
 candidly with it. 
 
 Above all, I should regret that your kindness to me should 
 induce you to make any attempt to change the Governor's 
 present impressions. My affairs have given you a great deal 
 too much vexation already. 
 
 I should, of course, have been proud of his favour, and 
 have valued it the more for owing it to your friendly offices ; 
 but in the consciousness of having not done, but suffered, 
 wrong in this matter, I shall wait patiently until time may, 
 perhaps, set it before him in its proper light, and show him 
 that what I did was no more than he himself, or Sir F. Hankey, 
 or you, or any other honourable man, would have done in the 
 same case. ***** 
 
 This was Admiral Bouverie's reply : — 
 
 "Vanguard," February 9th, 1837. 
 " My valued Friend, — For I cannot better express my 
 feelings of esteem and regard for you than by addressing you 
 in your own words, the full import of which I truly appre- 
 ciate, — as for the paper you were good enough to give me, 
 which I meant to appropriate to myself unless you desire me 
 to return it, I will attend to your wishes about it. I had in- 
 tended to have spoken to Sir Ilcnry on the subject, and still 
 may ; for 1 meant only to have assured him he was entirely 
 mistaken in supposing you had a hand in getting up the peti- 
 tion, and to express my hope that he may have a secretary 
 who may serve him with the same zeal and ability, and with
 
 LETTER FROM A MALTESE GENTLEMAN. 27 
 
 the advantages you possess on undertaking the office; but 
 this I know is impossible. 
 
 " The delay in the arrival of the Confiance makes me 
 doubtful how or when I may get away; but be assured I 
 shall be most happy to dine with you any day you may be 
 disposed to name except next Tuesday. 
 
 " I beg my kind regards to all your family circle, and am 
 
 most truly yours, 
 
 "J. PLEYDEL-BOUVERIE." 
 
 My Father's valued friend Signor M P , a Maltese 
 
 gentleman, lately writing to me, says, on this subject : — 
 
 " Your dear Father was deservedly esteemed by all my 
 countrymen; so much so, that during the governorship of 
 Sir H. Bouverie, on the retirement of Sir F. Hankey, they 
 wished him to succeed Sir Frederick to the Secretaryship. 
 A deputation waited on your Father, to ask whether he was 
 willing they should apply for his appointment ; and on their 
 being assured that he would not have been averse to the 
 appointment, but that he would not take any active part, a 
 petition was set up here to memorialize the Government in 
 England to select him as Chief Secretary for this place. 
 That petition had already received many signatures, and 
 
 would have been successful, if Sir H G had not 
 
 been in the way with all his party in the Civil Government 
 here. 
 
 " He had already used his influence with the Governor, 
 who was his friend; and Sir H. Bouverie and the local 
 Government clique threw cold water on the petition, and 
 influenced many people against the prosecution of the sig- 
 natures. Disunion was created amongst those concerned in 
 the matter ; and as we were not then experienced in the way 
 of petitioning, the memorial remained without its effect, to 
 the grief of those most attached to your Father ; and more 
 than one person had to suffer a kind of petty persecution for 
 having signed the petition.^'
 
 28 LIFE OP R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Three or four years after^ M. Miege^s*' "^^History of Malta/^ 
 in three volumes octavo, was published. The following is an 
 extract from it : — 
 
 " Le Chevalier H , Secretaire en chef du Gouverne- 
 
 ment, auquel Sir H. Bouverie s'en remit des son debut, 
 comme son predecesseur le General Ponsonby, n'avait pas 
 compris que les habitants de Malte composaient une faraille 
 qui devait etre conduite par I'affection, et que FAngleterre, 
 en agissant dans ce sens, pourrait se dispenser d'y tenir 
 garnison. Fidele au systeme de Maitland, et entoure 
 
 d'homraes interesses h, I'y maintenir, le Chevalier H en 
 
 etait arrive, par son langage pen mesure, et k force de 
 mesures fiscales, oppressives, dont il etait I'instrument, au 
 point de passer pour le principal auteur des souffrances du 
 peuple Maltais. Attaque de toutes parts, il n'eut pas la 
 force de resister a Panimadversion generale, et donna sa 
 
 demission. La retraite du Chevalier H ouvrit la lice 
 
 a tous les ambitieux, et a Malte, comme ailleurs, le nombre 
 en est considerable. Les Maltais n'eurent pas la pretension 
 de soUiciter I'emploi de Secretaire en chef pour I'un d'eux; 
 mais ils crurent pouvoir appeler Tattention du Roi sur celui 
 des Anglais residant a Malte qui possedait leur sympathie, 
 et dans une petition adressee a sa Majeste, ils designerent 
 M. Sconce, Commissaire des vivres de la Marine. L'emploi 
 de Secretaire general est peutetre plus important que celui 
 de Gouverneur ; il exige non seulement un homme capable, 
 actif, rompu aux affaires, mais encore des qualites, des dis- 
 positions particulieres; connaissance exacte du pays, bien- 
 veillance pour les habitans, circonspcction la plus scrupuleuse 
 dans les actes et dans les paroles. M. Sconce reunissait toutes 
 ces qualites ; mais I'intrigue s'en mela, et la petition nc fut 
 point envoyee a Londres." 
 
 Formerly French Consul at M.ilta.
 
 EXTRACTS OF LETTERS TO HIS SON. 29 
 
 111 my Father's January letter to his Boy he says : — 
 
 Your last letter is not merry '^ enough to satisfy me; but 
 yet we can't have everything quite as we wish, and we will 
 comfort ourselves in thinking that you are well in health, 
 and not dissatisfied with yourself in book affairs ; and now 
 that the new year has begun, we can say that next year' we 
 shall have you with us, please God, again. 
 
 ■3f * * -Jf -if * 
 
 As for the brackets, you will find as good a place as you 
 need desire. Don't fret yourself on that score. I am quite 
 indifferent on such subjects, except only as they affect your 
 own happiness; and if you are but well, I know you will 
 satisfy yourself. The way to keep well is rather to be con- 
 tent with bracket number 3, than to read when you ought to 
 be walking, or to make any excessive exertion for the sake of 
 mounting to number 2. * * * * 
 
 About your money concerns I need not say much. / know 
 you have not spent more than was necessary ; and you know 
 that to what you require for your comfort you are right 
 welcome, my dear Bob. Our common purse, then, is at 
 Stilvvell's, and into that you have only to put your hand. I 
 only wish it were deeper for all our sakes. The only use I 
 should make of it more than I do make, would be an im- 
 portant one. I would live in England, Bob, for your sake 
 now, and by-aud-by for Memmeck's and Bettoo's ,-^ ay, and 
 
 now, for our precious S and F 's sake, too ; for Malta 
 
 is not the best place in the w^orld for them. 
 
 In February he writes : — 
 
 You know quite well the joy with which we read your last 
 letter, telling us of your double-second.^' You have exceeded 
 
 f My brother at that time was subject to low spirits. 
 
 K Clement and Herbert. '' Double-second Bfticket.
 
 30 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 my hopes, and, what is better still, your own ; and the cudos 
 has had the good effect it ought to have upon your spirits, 
 and will have consequently upon your health. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 In March : — 
 
 Here is most of " Antigone '' for you. Examine it well. 
 Mend it where you can. Take your own sense, where you 
 don't agree with mine, unless you are thoroughly persuaded 
 that mine is best ; but where you agree with me, try and 
 get so familiar with my phrases as to make them your own 
 and at your fingers' ends ; for I am pretty sure that, in 
 many places, they are strikingly happy. There is no conceit 
 in my saying this to you. I can estimate my own work quite 
 fairly. Many people could do these choruses much better, if 
 they had as much time to spend upon them and were willing 
 so to spend it ; but that if is important. 
 
 I have twisted many and many a sentence about dozens 
 of different ways for the sake of a syllable. The result is, 
 that the English reads fluently, and is in general even closer 
 to the se7ise of the Greek than a boy's word-for-word constru- 
 ing would be ; because the idea intended to be conveyed by a 
 Greek sentence may be conveyed sometimes more exactly by 
 making allowance for the difference of character between the 
 two languages than by a servile translation of separate words. 
 I have complied with your injunction not to work too hard. 
 This sort of work is not at all fatiguing; for I have done 
 really the greater part of it on horseback. I write a chorus 
 or a piece of one on a strip of paper, and always have one in 
 my pocket. I know them nearly by heart, and, looking now 
 and then at my paper, as I canter along, it serves me for 
 amusement on the road to Sliema. Then comes a game at 
 chess with the good old general, and then more chorus on the 
 way home. At the rate in which I am going on, you will, at 
 all events, have yoxxx four plays in ample time for Little-rjo. 
 * -Jf * * •Jf -x-
 
 HIS LOVE OF LITERARY LABOUR. 31 
 
 To Madame Reboul, at this timc^ he writes : — 
 
 * * * * Bob works always from the com- 
 mentaries I have made for him^ and still continue to make 
 and send to him by every packet. He often ventures, on 
 ray authority, to differ from the hackneyed interpretations. 
 The tutors laugh at his impudence, and told him once he 
 was wrong. Little Bob proved that he was right ; the tutor 
 acknowledged it, and of course gave him great applause. 
 This is great encouragement to me to go on, and so I spend 
 all my time, as I have done for nearly three years, in writing 
 for him. It is a very interesting occupation, and great 
 amusement to me. I like the work for its own sake, and of 
 course feel great additional excitement in the motive that 
 engages me in it. Some of the things I am doing have 
 never been done in any published books, and others have 
 been done by people who had fifty times my scholarship; 
 but then they went too rapidly over the ground. They had 
 not the same object that I have, and did not give their hearts 
 to the work as I give mine. Perhaps they did ten pages in 
 the time I give to one ; and that makes a mighty difference, 
 you know. ^ •jf * -x- * 
 
 The beginning of April my Father writes to his Son : — 
 
 Your last letter is the one giving an account of your 
 contest for the university scholarship ; and it is, you may be 
 sure, deeply interesting to us. The utmost that could be 
 done by your age you did. To succeed against men so much 
 your seniors was impossible. No human industry or genius 
 could collect at eighteen years of age the mass of knowledge 
 that success would have required. •jf * -jf * 
 
 Your passage from Lucan was from the 8th book, v. 793. 
 Its difficulty to you was the greater because the sense of the 
 passage does not begin at — 
 
 " Hie situs est magnus." 
 
 If you had been allowed to read the lines preceding, you
 
 32 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 would have seen that those words were quoted as the inscrip- 
 tion upon Pompey's tomb ; and then the poet goes on to 
 scold the inscriber for his petty notion that that spot was the 
 hero's tomb. " Take away these saxa, which imply a censure 
 upon the gods for their behaviour to poor Pompey. All the 
 empire is his monument — all Egypt is his grave. Erremus — 
 let us quit the shores of Nile^ for all Egypt is his grave. 
 It has, therefore, become hallowed ground — a^arog, like the 
 temenus of the Eumenides." Why, it must have puzzled you 
 even to construe Magnus and Socer, for you could not have 
 known, without conjuring, that those are the terms by which 
 Lucan continually speaks of Pompey and Csesar. However, 
 I can easily fancy that even a small difficulty must be mag- 
 nified into an insuperability, when one has to work against 
 time, and a clock is ringing the lapse of that time every 
 quarter of an hour into a poor wight's ears ; and your diffi- 
 culties were anything but small. 
 
 One comfort to you is, that an examination of that sort 
 must be very improving. It sends you to the stores of your 
 memory, and calls up all your energies, and tells you your 
 deficiencies, and sends you to the right sources to supply 
 them for another occasion. 
 
 I don't know whence was taken your " Adfingens vicina 
 virtutibus vitia ; " but the sense of the words appears to be 
 similar to the following, in Cicero's " Partitiones Oratorice : " 
 — " Cernenda autem sunt diligenter, ne fallant ea nos vitia, 
 quae virtutem videntur imitari. Nam et . . . magnitudinem 
 animi superbia, et liberalitatem eff'usio, et fortitudinem 
 audacia imitatur, — et religionem superstitio." Of course I 
 can't know, without seeing the context, what the author of 
 your sentence intended ; but I should construe it, " God so 
 made the mind of man that his vices are near akin to vir- 
 tues." I should illustrate the proposition by a reference to 
 animal and vegetable vitalit3^ There is an uninterrupted 
 chain from man and monkey, through the zoophytes, to moss 
 and mushroom ; and the point where animal ends and vege- 
 table begins can only be seen by scientific eyes. Just so it
 
 DANGER OF CHEMICAL EXPERIMENTS, 33 
 
 is hard to pronounce upon the exact limits of liberality and 
 extravagance, &c. &c. 
 
 Seneca, too, epistle 120, has something of the same sort : 
 
 — '' Sunt enim virtutibus vitia confinia imitatur ne- 
 
 gligentia facilitatem, temeritas fortitudinem." Now surely this 
 sentence of Seneca's contains the very same proposition as 
 your Theme, and explains it too. 
 
 Take no more laughiiig gas. An eminent chemist has been 
 here — a Mr. Roberts, a man of fortune, who has correspond- 
 ence with all the scientific societies, has invented a mode of 
 keeping rust from iron under water, such as the wheels of 
 steam-vessels; and has received the thanks of some academy 
 for a treatise on electricity. I told him of your achievement, 
 and he said that it was exceedingly dangerous ; that any im- 
 purity in the gas would be sure to give its inhaler consump- 
 tion ; and that there is no arguing on the opposite side from 
 experience, because the injury may not show itself till long 
 after the inhaling of the gas. However, it is as well to be on 
 the safe side, and abstain from repeating the prank, especially 
 as one's reason tells one that for great excitement one must in 
 some shape pay. -sf •jf * * ^ 
 
 In case you should be asked again what were the boun- 
 daries of Rehoboam's kingdom at his accession (for he soon 
 lost ten-twelfths of it), look at the 4th chap. 1st book of 
 Kings, vv. 21, 24, 25, which describe the extent of Solomon's 
 dominions ; and I believe it is not said that they were either 
 enlarged or diminished afterwards until Rehoboam succeeded 
 to them. -jf ^ •» ^ * * 
 
 Now, Bob, for some news. If all goes as we hope, you 
 will spend your next long vacation with us all, — not at Malta, 
 but in Switzerland. Many and many a plan has been half- 
 made and abandoned ; and this is at last settled as far as 
 human things can be. Aunt suffered so much from the heat 
 of last summer, that she determined not to stay for next 
 summer; and her determination was formed the more posi- 
 tively on your account, that she might go to England and 
 take care of you in your vacations. -x- -^ * 
 
 VOL. II. D
 
 34 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 How can we manage it, then ? Why, the only way is, for us 
 all to go together, — not to England, but to the nearest place 
 where a good climate is to be had ; and that is just beyond 
 the Alps, ^ ^ ^ ^ ■» 
 
 In April of this year his beloved daughter Fanny was 
 married to Doctor, afterwards Sir John Liddell ; and in May 
 my Father left Malta for Switzerland with his Wife and 
 Sister, his eldest Daughter, and four of his little ones. 
 Willie, the baby, was left in charge of the Liddells, who 
 hoped to have followed us to Switzerland ; but the cholera 
 broke out at Malta, and Dr. Liddell, who took an active part 
 in the measures for keeping it under, would not leave his 
 post. 
 
 My brother Robert joined his Father at Bonigen, near 
 Interlachen, on the 20th of June, 1837, and remained with 
 him till the end of September ; when he returned to England 
 with his Aunt, to be at Oxford by Michaelmas. 
 
 We travelled in a great berline from Marseilles to Geneva ; 
 all the women and children inside, and my Father outside 
 with the coachman, and frequently walking. He writes to 
 Fanny from Gap : — 
 
 * * * * I please myself with hunting 
 the meadows and hedge-banks for Sally's old acquaintance 
 among the "wild flowers, and in finding new ones for her; 
 and great has been our success in finding them. There are 
 thousands of beauties. To-day we have passed many mea- 
 dows whitened with narcissuses and purpled with orchises. 
 
 -)f -jf a- * After leaving Aix, the mountains 
 begin; varied and very beautiful scenery, particularly some 
 winding roads among the uplands. Cross the Durance over 
 a new suspension-bridge, and keep close to the river all the 
 way to Manosque. The country here is full of nightingales, 
 who sang close to our windows all night at Manosque. This 
 town has nothing remarkable in its appearance. Manosque 
 to Sisteron ; scenery more and more beautiful. Ascend a
 
 GRANDEUR OF THE APPROACH TO VISELLE. 35 
 
 high mountain; and gradually down again to the Durance 
 at Sisteron, the approach to which place makes a very 
 striking picture. Though Sisteron is by the river-side, it 
 is yet on high ground, for the Durance makes in its descent 
 a rapid descent. Sisteron is built on the side of an abrupt 
 rock, confined between which and an opposite rocky moun- 
 tain rushes the Durance. * -k- ^f * I got 
 up at four this morning (I do every morning) to sketch 
 Sisteron. -Jt -jf ■>? -k- ^ * 
 
 From Grenoble he writes : — 
 
 But, Fan, think of this. As we left Viselle to-day, and 
 drove along towards Grenoble by the side of the river 
 Romanche, or some such name, — a large torrent that con- 
 tributes to the Isere, — a mountain sloped down to the river's 
 brink. That mountain-side was covered with trees and shrubs, 
 all as wild as the Alps themselves. No human hand ever 
 planted one of them ; and among them were Laburnums, with 
 their long branches bending with their load of beautiful flowers 
 over the river, and gilding occasionally the mountain-side from 
 top to bottom. Wasn't this a sight worth coming all the way 
 to see, even if there had been nothing else ? But the approach 
 to Viselle from La Mure opens one of the most gorgeous scenes 
 eyes ever looked upon. You come suddenly to a mountain's 
 brow, and thence look down upon the town of Viselle, the 
 river on which it stands, and a most richly-wooded and varied 
 plain ; and such is the steepness of the descent, that it seemed 
 to rae much such a view as one may suppose to present itself 
 from a balloon. -jf * * * -5^ 
 
 But, above all things, remember, if ever you pass this way, 
 to inquire at Gap and Grenoble, and before it and after it, for 
 Clairette. It is nectar. The cork flies out like a pistol-shot ; 
 and it costs from a dozen to a couple of dozen sous a bottle. 
 Then at Chapareillan — and sooner, I dare say, if you inquire 
 sooner, ask for Rosat • it is a sort of red Frontignan, spark- 
 ling like champagne. They call frothy wines moussu, you 
 know ; so mind there's no mistake. * * * 
 
 D 2
 
 36 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 To Fanny, later : — 
 
 I told you when I wrote last that Mamma and I were 
 going to set out upon our tour. We went first to Vevay^ 
 and arrived there from Yverdun in a day. At Yevay we 
 stayed five days, because we were at a very remarkably cheap 
 and comfortable inn, and surrounded with scenery for my 
 work. I did a good deal : the chief things being the Cathe- 
 dral at Lausanne and the Castle of Chillou, inside and out- 
 side of Chillon. From Vevay we came, on Sunday evening, 
 to St. Maurice, by diligence, slept at St. INIaurice, and came 
 on next morning to Martigny. Martigny is just twenty-four 
 miles from the top of Mont St. Bernard. Now, what do 
 you think, Fan ? We did actually. Mamma and I, dine 
 yesterday, at the hospice, on the mountain-top, with the 
 monks ! We stayed quietly here all Monday. Yesterday 
 morning, Tuesday, we set out, at six o'clock, in a little car- 
 riage drawn by one mule, which mule, besides drawing the 
 carriage, had on his back a saddle for ulterior use. In this 
 little carriage we drove twelve miles to a village, up the moun- 
 tain, which village is called Lido. There we took the mule out 
 of the carriage, and let him rest and eat, and then I mounted 
 him, having first put Mamma into a chair borne by two men, 
 with two others walking by their side to relieve them, and 
 off we set for the hospice. Before we left the carriage, 
 though, I had made two sketches. There is nothing in the 
 way up the mountain very striking to us who have seen so 
 much of mountain scenery. There is not, I mean, by the 
 road by which we went, though I hear there is another road 
 more picturesque. However it was too long round, and we 
 were satisfied with achieving the great object of getting up. 
 It is a very remarkable scene — that hospice. The latter 
 part of the road to it is very steep and rugged, and nothing 
 is to be seen but rock and snow. The chief part of the day 
 had been extraordinarily hot — pretty much like JNIalta — and 
 we had been exposed in that great heat to a broiling sun. 
 Great was the change we felt as we reached the hospice, just 
 as the sun went down.
 
 HOSPICE ON MONT ST. BERNARD, 37 
 
 But I must tell you ray story more in order. Wc saw, as 
 we approached the hospice, numbers of people about — guides 
 and travellers of various orders — though the gentlemen and 
 lady travellers who had preceded us were all housed. 
 
 Lying at the door was one of the great dogs so famous in 
 mountain story, and two or three others like him were near. 
 
 The prior came to the door to meet us, welcomed us cor- 
 dially in two words, took himself our sack out of my hand, 
 and showed us at once to a chamber, telling us that dinner 
 would soon be ready. ''Nous allous diner,'' he said; by 
 which we learned that we were to dine not by ourselves, but 
 with him and his monks. As soon as we had washed our 
 hands, we were shown not into the refectory of the convent, into 
 which, it appears, ladies are not admitted, but into a large 
 dining-room, in which a table was laid for twenty-two people, 
 and about as many were assembled at it : ladies and gentle- 
 men — some English, some French, some Russians — and the 
 prior and one other monk were entertaining them ; the prior 
 occasionally blowing the Jire, of which no one was gladder 
 than I ; for, after washing my hands in icy water, they were 
 thoroughly numbed. 
 
 Then in came dinner at eight in the evening; only the 
 prior and the one other monk sitting down with us, and 
 none of the other monks making their appearance. They 
 were all dining at the same time in the refectory, entertain- 
 ing there seventeen more gentlemen travellers. They gave 
 us the fare to which, we were told, they {ilways limited their 
 provision, — two dishes of meat, two of vegetables, and a 
 dessert, with good ordinary wine, — ample in quantity, and 
 all good. But what most surprised us, was the character of 
 our entertainers. I expected to see gray-headed, queer 
 codgers, very kind-hearted, but more like the monks of our 
 acquaintance at Malta than like men of the world in their 
 manners. But nothing could be more wrong than my guess. 
 Our two entertainers were both young men, probably under 
 thirty, very good-looking, dressed with perfect nicety, their 
 shirt-collars well cut and starched, hair well-cut and combed.
 
 38 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 chins smoothly shoriij and displaying in their address the 
 self-possession, tact, and urbanity of London men of fashion ; 
 good-natured, hospitable, obliging in the utmost degree, but 
 not a bit servile ; no cringing, but precisely the sort of easy 
 hospitality that one receives from a gentleman who knows 
 how to do in the best style the honours of his own house. 
 
 We soon made talking acquaintance with our neighbours 
 at table, and enjoyed our evening, as presenting a scene for 
 which there is no parallel. 
 
 But then the going to bed in such a climate ! As soon as 
 we got into our own room, after leaving the well-warmed 
 dining-room. Mamma's teeth began to chatter, and she was 
 sick with the cold. We covered ourselves with two duvets — 
 beds, you know, filled with down, that serve for blanket and 
 counterpane. 
 
 In the morning, at eight, we all breakfasted together, in 
 the simple style in which we had dined. Before each of us 
 was placed a white plate and a white mug. Coffee and milk 
 were handed round, and poured into our respective mugs, and 
 bread, cut in slices, was disposed along the table. In rambling 
 about, we saw and spoke to a few others of the monks (their 
 whole number is but twelve), and found them very inferior to 
 the two who had entertained us. I suppose those two are 
 picked out for the business of entertaining strangers, on 
 account of the superiority of their address. 
 
 I will tell you more about them another time. They kill a 
 bullock and three or four sheep every week ; and at the close 
 of autumn kill twenty-five bullocks and a quantity of sheep 
 (I believe a hundred), and salt the meat for their winter's 
 store; for in winter they give only salt meat to travellers. 
 They can get no otlier; for their communication with the 
 country is too difficult. I made two sketches of the convent. 
 We returned to Martigny by eight this evening. It is now 
 late, considering that we arc to be up very early to-morrow, 
 to begin our journey to the Siinp/on. 
 
 -)f * -X- •>f- x- -X-
 
 VISIT TO SWITZERLAND. 39 
 
 Many of the letters from Switzcrlanrl are missing. I find 
 none from Vernex, where a part of the summer was spent. 
 It was divided between Interlachen, the neighbourhood of 
 YverduUj and Vernex, near Chillon and Montreux; making 
 expeditions from all these places. At Vernex, we lived at the 
 same hotel with a most amiable Russian family/ who, though 
 strongly prejudiced against the English, and not, at first, in- 
 clined to cultivate any intimacy with us, became so strongly 
 attached to my Father, that they all gave him keepsakes of 
 their own work, and embraced him with tears at parting. 
 
 His pencil revelled in the glorious Swiss scenery, after his 
 long imprisonment at Malta; and he made an immense num- 
 ber of shetches, colouring a great many on the spot, and 
 making exquisitely-finished drawings from them on his return 
 to Malta. There was at Malta a little valley near Boschetto, 
 containing about half a dozen fine trees, — a species of ash ; 
 and of these my Father had made some dozens of finished 
 drawings, making portraits of them in every point of view. 
 These were the only trees worthy of the name in the island ; 
 so his enjoyment of the various and beautiful trees of Swit- 
 zerland, as well as of its mountains, lakes, and picturesque 
 cottages, may be imagined. 
 
 My Father I'eturned with his family to Malta the end of 
 October, and writes to his Son at Oxford:'' — 
 
 At midnight, came in sight of Stromboli, and found it 
 firing : Mamma, Sally, and Clement got up to watch it. The 
 show was not grand, — but two craters emitted occasional 
 flames ; but there was enough to interest people who had 
 never before seen Vulcan's workings. He was not forging 
 bolts for Jupiter, or even arms for Achilles ; but it was some- 
 thing even to see him blow his forge, -x- * * 
 
 ' Mesdames Feiiger, sen. and jun., and Mdlle. Yachnian. 
 '' Describing the voyage from Martieilles, tid Leghorn, Naples^ &c., to 
 Malta.
 
 40 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Speaking of the incivility we met with in the French 
 steamer, he says : — 
 
 The French have discarded their old character for polite- 
 ness, and affect the surly roughness of Americans. They 
 talk of nothing but liberty and equality, and assume the 
 liberty of being uncivil. Postilions and ostlers and cabin- 
 boys are all agreed to make no distinction in their address 
 to gentlemen and to each other ; nor do they allow anything 
 more to the ladies. As for liberty, it must have in their con- 
 ceptions a different sense from that in which we understand 
 the term ; for a French Count told me that they had it, and 
 we only talked about it. * ^f * * 
 
 Speaking of Fanny : — 
 
 The poor little soul suffered a sad trial during the cholera, 
 though she put a good face upon it. Her anxiety must have 
 been intense ; for Liddell exposed himself profusely to fatigue 
 and sun, and infection. * * * * 
 
 Every one has spoken to me of Liddell's devotion to the 
 general good. * * * •3fr * 
 
 As soon as we quitted the vessel, up I went, of course, to 
 find my dear Mrs. Duckworth' and Annie, at Morrell's Hotel 
 in Valetta. You can fancy the joy we had in meeting, after 
 nearly ten years' separation. In their affection for me, I found 
 them just the same as they always used to be. ^ ^ 
 
 Speaking of the reductions in the Civil Service at Malta, 
 in consequence of the Report of the Commissioners, — 
 
 The old plan, the multitude of counsellors, seems to have 
 been taken from Solomon ; the new one, from the cook's 
 oracle : —the broth ivas spoiled ; ergo, there were too many 
 cooks. * * * "^ ^ * 
 
 ' She came to Malta with her sister, Lady Stopford, Sir Robert Stopford 
 being appointed Coniiuaudei-iu-Ciiief.
 
 THE CHRISTIAN SAB15ATH. 41 
 
 In December, he writes to Bob : — 
 
 I am glad to find you agree with Paley in his opinions 
 concerning the Christian Sabbath. This acknowledgment of 
 mine will seem paradoxical to you ; as you know that Paley's 
 doctrines on that head are not those that I have myself 
 adopted. The fact is, that though I believe more than Paley 
 believes, I understood you to believe very much less.'" I 
 imagined your notion to be, that the ancient Sabbath was 
 ordained exclusively for the Jews : that neither our Saviour 
 nor his apostles enforced its observance : that, consequently, it 
 was not binding upon Christians : that the fourth command- 
 ment was therefore abrogated ; and that, as neither our 
 Saviour nor his apostles had commanded the keeping of the 
 first day of the week instead of the seventh. Christians were 
 not bound by any Divine law to keep any Sabbath at all. 
 Paley, however, has no doubt that the assembling upon the 
 first day of the week for the purpose of public worship 
 and religious instruction, is a law of Christianity of Divine 
 appointment. He acknowledges that law in the practice of 
 the Apostles. In agreeing, then, with Paley, you go much 
 further than I imagined your prior conviction to lead you. 
 But, in agreeing with Paley, you consider the resting on 
 Sunday from our ordinary labours, except for the purposes of 
 public worship, as an ordinance oi human institution ; whereas 
 I have always followed the vulgar track, in considering 
 myself as much bound by the fourth commandment as by 
 any of the others. I say the vulgar track, because I believe 
 that the great majority of Christians have thought and think 
 as I do. I believe, too, that among the learned men who 
 have recorded their opinions on the subject, and who think 
 diff*erently from Paley, there are some for whose authority 
 you will feel as much deference as for his. 
 
 '" At this early period of his life, my Brother's opinions on this subject were, 
 I believe, very much those of the late Mr. Robertson. See his Sermon on 
 "The Shadow and Substance of the Sabbath " (Col. ii. 16, 17).
 
 42 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 What do you think of Horsley ? '' He is acknowledged by 
 all parties to have been the ablest and most learned theologist 
 of the times/'" Read his sermon on the observance of the 
 Sabbath. It is in the " Family Lectures." He says it is a 
 gross mistake to consider the Sabbath as a mere festival of 
 the Jewish Church, deriving its whole sanctity from the 
 Levitical law. The contrary appears, he maintains, as well 
 from the evidence of the fact which sacred history affords, as 
 from the reason of the thing, which the same history declares. 
 " The religious observation of the seventh day'-" (he con- 
 tinues) " hath a place in the Decalogue among the very first 
 duties of natural religion. The reason assigned for the 
 injunction is general, and hath no relation or regard to the 
 particular circumstances of the Israelites, or to the particular 
 relation in which they stood to God, as his chosen people. 
 The creation of the world was an event equally interesting to 
 the whole human race, and the acknowledgment of God as 
 our Creator is a duty in all ages, and in all countries, equally 
 incumbent upon every individual of mankind. The terms in 
 which the reason of the ordinance is assigned, plainly describe 
 it as an institution of an earlier age. ' Therefore the Lord 
 blessed the seventh day, and set it apart' (that is the true 
 import of the word ' hallowed it ') . These words, you will 
 observe, express a past time. It is not said, ' Therefore the 
 Lord now blesses the seventh day, and sets it apart ;' but 
 therefore He did bless it and set it apart in time past ; and 
 He now requires that you, his chosen people, should be 
 observant of that ancient institution." 
 
 He then alludes to the two days' gathering of manna. In 
 Paley's opinion that transaction was the first actual institu- 
 tion of the Sabbath. Horsley, on the contrary, says that 
 Moses on that occasion mentions the Sabbath as a Divine 
 ordinance, with which he evidently supposes the people were 
 well acquainted ; for he alleges the well-known sanctity of 
 that day to account for the extraordinary quantity of manna 
 
 " J'refafe to the " ('onsidcialions on the Lord's Supiior," liy i)r. Knox.
 
 TIIK FOURTH COMMANDMENT. 43 
 
 wliicli was found upon tlie ground on the day preceding it. 
 " Indeed/' continues Ilorslcy, " th& antiquity of the Sabbath 
 was a thing so well understood among the Jews themselves, 
 that some of their Rabbin had the vanity to pretend that an 
 exact adherence to the observation of this day, under the 
 severities of the Egyptian servitude, was the merit by which 
 their ancestors procured a miraculous deliverance. The 
 deliverance of the Israelites from the Egyptian bondage was 
 surely an act of God's free mercy, in which their own merit 
 had no share; nor is it likely that their Egyptian lords left them 
 much at liberty to sanctify the Sabbath, if they were inclined 
 to do it. The tradition, therefore, is vain and groundless : 
 but it clearly speaks the opinion of those among whom it 
 passed, of the antiquity of the institution in question.'' 
 
 And then, the framers of the Liturgij. They surely did not 
 consider the fourth commandment as rescinded, or they would 
 not have retained it in the Church service. They would not 
 have appended to it a prayer, repeated every Sunday by 
 millions, that God would incline our hearts to keep this law ; 
 nor would those millions have concurred for ages in that 
 prayer, if the law had not in their opinions retained its force. 
 
 And which is the most natural way of understanding the 
 beginning of the second chapter of Genesis ? 
 
 " Thus the heavens and the earth were finished and all the 
 host of them. And on the seventh day God ended his work 
 which He had made ; and He rested on the seventh day from 
 all his work which He had made. And God blessed the 
 seventh day and sanctified it; because that in it He had 
 rested from all His work which God created and made." 
 
 I can only consider this (according to the note in Scott's 
 Bible) as historical, and not by anticipation. 
 
 " This," as Scott says, " is confirmed by the custom of 
 measuring time by weeks, which hath generally prevailed in 
 the world, and which is most reasonably accounted for by 
 supposing it to have arisen from an original tradition, handed 
 down from Adam and Noah to all their posterity." 
 
 He refers also to Genesis viii. 10, 12, and xxix. 27, to show
 
 44 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 that the patriarchs divided their time into weeks, and regarded 
 the seventh day. In the former place, Noah sent forth his 
 dove on three successive seventh days, and very probably 
 Sabbaths. In the latter Laban speaks of fulfilling her week 
 (the week of the marriage feast, as Scutt explains it). 
 
 That the general practice, among Gentile nations, of mea- 
 suring time by weeks, was handed down to them from their 
 own forefathers, is more likely than that they imitated it 
 from the Jews, with whom they had slight acquaintance, and 
 whose institutions they would have had no wish to copy. 
 As for the antiquity of this practice, I don't know Avhether 
 Homer may be cited as a witness; but it is remarkable how 
 often he speaks of the seventh day, and I see in one of the 
 notes at t^Sojuarrj — hpov r]fxap (Fragment, v. 191), that the 
 place is quoted by Eusebius and Clement of Alexandria. If 
 I had time, I would refer to them to see for what purpose. 
 
 Hesiod, too, calls the seventh an Upov rifiap, because Apollo 
 was born on that day — ry, yap ATroAAwva y^pvcraopa yeivaro 
 Arjrw. As for the argument that the mention of the Sabbath 
 in the beginning of Genesis is by anticipation, and not his- 
 torical, because the patriarchs are nowhere mentioned as 
 keeping the Sabbath, it is quite as easy to believe that in 
 this case the command was given and obeyed, although the 
 practice is not recorded, as it is to believe that Abel and 
 Noah offered animals in sacrifice, in obedience to God's 
 revealed will, although no record of that revelation is any- 
 where found in the sacred history. 
 
 Paley himself, however, affords two reasons for hesitating 
 to adopt his doctrine in this matter. 
 
 One is, where he says that it may be urged as an objection 
 to his argument, " tliat the command which enjoins the 
 observance of the Sabbath is inserted in the Decalogue, of 
 which all the other precepts and prohibitions are of moral 
 and universal obligation." Of course he answers his objec- 
 tions; but he does not even himself consider his answer as 
 conclusive; for the terms he uses are, that this argument will 
 have less weight when it is considered, &c. But, however
 
 THE FOURTH COMMANDMENT. 45 
 
 much the weight of the argument may be diminished by the 
 consideration he suggests, yet still it retains, in ray mind, 
 very great weight. It appears to me that the mere fact that 
 this command was placed in the Decalogue, separates it so 
 absolutely from the mere ceremonial law, that the abrogation 
 of that law should not be considered as affecting this com- 
 mand. 
 
 Indeed, the fourth commandment appears to be, strictly, 
 like the others, of moral and universal obligation. For 
 though the light of nature did not prescribe to us that we 
 should devote one day in seven to God's service, and the 
 commandment, in separating for that purpose the seventh 
 day, is so far a positive law ; yet, by natural and moral 
 right, some portion of our time is due to the service and 
 worship of God; and therefore the command to devote to 
 God's service a portion of our time is a moral command. 
 
 Burnet, therefore, calls this command moral-positive. See 
 his sermon, also in the " Family Lectures.^' In this sense, 
 too, Horsley considers it as a moral command ; for he says 
 the Gentile convert (to Christianity) would spontaneously 
 adopt the observation of the Sabbath as a natural duty — a 
 branch, indeed, of that most general commandment, " Thou 
 shalt love the Lord thy God.'' And, in answer to the argu- 
 ment that our Saviour and his Apostles were silent con- 
 cerning the observance of the Sabbath, Horsley insists that 
 idolatry and blasphemy may as well be justified by their 
 silence about the second or the third commandment. 
 
 The other argument that I derive from Paley on this side, 
 is where he says, that although the resting of the Sabbath is 
 an ordinance of human institution, it is nevertheless binding 
 upon the conscience of every individual of a country in which 
 a weekly Sabbath is established, for the sake of the beneficial 
 purposes which the public and regular observance of it pro- 
 motes, and recommended, perhaps, in some degree to the Divine 
 approbation by the resemblance it bears to what God was 
 pleased to make a solemn part of the law which He delivered 
 to the people of Israel.
 
 46 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE, 
 
 Here, Bob, two reflections suggest themselves : first, that 
 if it be only in a country where the Sabbath is established, 
 that our conscience is concerned to observe it, there can be 
 no reason why the peculiar circumstances of a country should 
 not be considered as affecting the question; whether the 
 law might not be with advantage modified, and whether by 
 act of Parliament the shops should not be shut once a month 
 instead of once a week ; whether Parliament should not sit 
 on Sunday after church hours, and so forth. But then, in the 
 second place, if a question of this sort should be proposed, 
 does not Paley furnish a suggestion to make a doubt whether 
 vve might not perhaps in some degree bring down upon us 
 God's wrath, by following a course at variance with what He 
 was pleased to make a solemn part of the law which He 
 delivered to Moses : a law nine-tenths of which are confessedly 
 binding to this day upon all mankind, and of which we cannot 
 possibly know that the remaining tenth is not equally bind- 
 ing ; though we do know, on the other hand, that it has not 
 been distinctly repealed. 
 
 Finally, then, Horsley's belief may be wrong, but it is 
 safe ; Paley's may be wrong, but it is unsafe. On this 
 account. Bob, I hope you will think that any pleasure you 
 may have had in finding that your preconceived opinions 
 tally with Paley's, and that your original thou_<i;hts were con- 
 sequently well conceived, is not a pleasure worth the cherish- 
 ing. Predilections influence opinions. But for this there 
 would be more conversions. Get rid of your bias then, and 
 allow due weight to what you read on the other side, and I 
 verily believe that, as Paley has done something for you, 
 Horsley, and men like Horsley, will do something more. 
 
 In the next letter my Father writes : — 
 
 I have poked into the Critici Sacri for your profit, and find 
 this : Genesis ii. 3. Cartwright says : " Rabbi Salomon vult 
 hoc per prolepsin, seu anticipationem, dictum esse." Whereas
 
 THE FOURTH COMMANDMENT. 47 
 
 Grotius (to Exodus xx. 8) says : " Moses in Deuteronomio, ad 
 verba ^uXosac tijv rifxepav twv o-aj3j3arwv ayiat^eiv aurrjv, addit 
 
 6v TfiOTTOV t^Vi^TilXaTO TOl 6 KvpiOQ O Q(OQ (TOV (siCUt pi'SJ- 
 
 cepit tibi Doraiuus Deus tuus), niinirum jam olim, ab orbis 
 initio." , 
 
 Thus Grotius is agreed with Horsley, and opposed to Paley, 
 in considering the Sabbath to be of primceval institution. 
 But nevertheless Grotius thinks that the rest of the Sabbath 
 was designed only for the Jews. You can easily find at 
 Oxford a Grotius to refer to, and may as well read what he 
 says ; but it appears to me that if Paley had been persuaded 
 (as Grotius was) that the words in Genesis were to be read 
 historically, and not proleptically, his conclusion regarding 
 rest from lab^r would have been different from that of 
 Grotius. 
 
 Paley's opinion, that we are bound to abstain from working 
 on Sunday, as inhabitants of a country in which Sunday is so 
 kept, is taken from Grotius, whose words are, that we 
 assemble for public worship, "non ex ultimo Dei aposto- 
 lorumve prsecepto, sed ex consensu voluntatis " (so far not at 
 all like Paley) . " Talem autem consensura, ubi in morem 
 abiit, violare non est socialiter viventium. Sed in suos" (here 
 again opposed to Paley) " otium non ultra indixit quam 
 quatenus ad coetus agendos erat necessarium." 
 
 Thomas Aquinas pronounces the fourth commandment 
 " partim esse morale, partim ceremoniale : morale quatenus 
 determinat aliquod tempus ad cultum divinum ; ceremoniale 
 quatenus diem Saturni ad hoc peculiariter destinat.^' 
 
 This I have already given you as adopted by Burnet. 
 
 As for Grotius, I can't understand how he comes to the 
 conclusion that we are only bound hy fashion to keep Sunday 
 at all ; for when he says that he understands the seventh day 
 to have been set apart at the very beginning of the world, he 
 adds, " Id fit laeta grataque recordationi mundi a Deo con- 
 diti. Verissima enim sententia est Rabbini JudaiBarbesalhalis, 
 et Rabbini Ephraini in Keli Jacur, aliud hoc aliud sequentibus 
 verbis prsecipi. Sanctus ille cultus causam habet mundum con-
 
 48 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 ditum; otium quod mox prsecipitur, ^gyptianam servitutem. 
 Illud ad genus humanum pertinet^ hoc ad Hebrseos solos/' 
 
 Make what you can of it. It appears to me that the 
 partim ceremoniale, partim morale, is the true character of 
 ^e precept ; that the Apostles made a change in the cere- 
 monial part, by changing Saturday to Sunday; that all 
 Christendom has received the practice of the Apostles for 
 their law; that the morale of the original law is still binding 
 upon us ; that the engaging on Sunday in the turmoil of the 
 world would unfit us for the special duties of that day, and 
 that, therefore, the shutting of our shops would be necessary ; 
 but that, even otherwise, there is as much reason why my ox 
 should rest one day in seven as Moses's ox. The charity of 
 the law is universal. =ji 
 
 With regard to the observance of the seventh day among 
 the Gentile nations of old, Grotius says : — " Cognitionera 
 aliquam venerationemque Sabbati ad alias etiam pervenisse 
 gentes, et per secula aliquot mansisse, ostendit Clemens 
 Alexandrinus, et in Prseparatione Eusebius, Hesiodi verbis, 
 in quibus e/BSo/xov Upov vf-iap dicitur. Suntque Josephi, 
 Philonis, Theophili, Antiochini ac Lucani eodem pertinentes 
 loci.'' 
 
 As Divinity is one main business that you have on hand, I 
 thought I should not mis-spend my paper in giving you these 
 scraps. Let your opinion or mine be what it may, it is still 
 desirable for you to know what eminent men have urged on 
 one side or the other. -sf -Jf •sf ■jf 
 
 At present I am doing nothing but drawing. Lady Gore 
 has asked me for one, and I have already done it : it is the 
 Grindelwald, and it turns out well ; very much better than 
 the original sketch, and somewhat larger. 
 
 I am now doing the Giesbach for Annie Duckworth; and 
 it will be, I think, far richer in colour, effect, and finish, than 
 the sketch. By adopting the mode I learned of the Swiss 
 artists, of keeping the paper sopping wet, not strained, but 
 laid upon a board covered with saturated flannel, I am able to 
 do, in a third of the time, three times better than I used
 
 HIS RAPIDITY IN COLOURING. 49 
 
 to do. All the vile mechanical difficulty of laying; on colour 
 is at an end ; and I could teach you to draw in a week as well 
 as I do^ if you could call up, as I can, Nature's forms and 
 colours, with which my memory is stored, from long habit of 
 dwelling on what I see, for the purpose of imitating it. After 
 the one in hand, I am going to copy the street of St. Ursola 
 from Mamma's album, for Mrs. Duckworth ; and then I shall 
 go on working up the Swiss sketches. 
 
 You can fancy the rapidity with which I now colour a 
 drawing, from this : that instead of getting strong shade 
 and deep colour, as before, by repeated washes, I can lay on 
 any tint I please at once ; I could not before, on the dry 
 paper, because there would have been on the surface the 
 opacity of undissolved colour ; but the thoroughly wet 
 paper drinks it all in, and the effect is all the better; for 
 with any degree of force there is always transparency. 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 50 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 [1888.] 
 
 PART OF LETTEB TO MADAME REBOUL— FIFTH SON BORN — LATIN ESSAYS — 
 COMPOSITION — DOING GREEK CHORUSES WHILE WALKING — MORE UPON THE 
 FOURTH COMMANDMENT — HALE's CHRONOLOGY — LADY BUNBURY'S LETTER — 
 CHORUS IN BLANK VERSE — BIRTH OF GRANDSON— LADY GORE— COLLEGE 
 HONOURS — STUDY OF THE EPISTLES — MEDIAEVAL HISTORY — ST. JULIAN's — 
 SLIEMA— HOPES OF PROMOTION — KITTY'S ILLNESS — CHORUSES — HIS ILLNESS 
 — MR. AND MRS. JAMES EWART — REPLIES TO LETTERS ABOUT PROMOTION — 
 MENTION OF AUSTRALIA — HONOURS— HEALTH — SON COMES TO MALTA — 
 ELDEST DAUGHTER MARRIED — SON LEAVES HIM FOR THE LAST TIME. 
 
 My Father writes to Madame Reboul in the beginning of 
 this year : — • 
 
 My dearest Friend, — In answering your kind letter 
 immediately, I do not comply with your desire more than 
 with my own cordial inclination ; for I am impatient to tell 
 you how deeply I value such a proof of your warm-hearted 
 recollection of your old friend, and how well I know how to 
 share every feeling you express. Time is apt to make sad 
 havoc with friendships when they are not refreshed by occa- 
 sional intercourse. New attachments and habits usually ob- 
 literate the old. I have lived long enough to experience the 
 truth of this, and have found it a very painful experience; 
 for my own nature is not changeable, and I have cherished 
 deep regard for those whose hearts I have not found to retain 
 an equally durable impression. Now in this your dear letter 
 there is nothing for which I thank you more heartily than for 
 the assurance it gives me of your entertaining no doubts of 
 my continuing feeling towards you. For two reasons I delight 
 in this your confidence in me. One is, that I like, of course, 
 to \i2iyc justice done to me, — and, indeed, this is no more than 
 justice ; and the other is, that it is an additional proof to me
 
 IMPORTANCE OF A GOOD EDUCATION. 51 
 
 that you are preserving all your old regard for your friend. 
 Be assured, I earnestly beg you, to the very last hour of your 
 life, that I shall never part with one jot of my well-founded 
 regard for you. What it was, it will be always. Your kind- 
 ness it was that used to take me out of my own miserable 
 thoughts, and that made for my little Bob such a home as 
 few children have found at such a distance from their own. 
 You cared for me because you thought I was worth caring 
 for ; and if I can do nothing else to prove that your estimate 
 was not altogether erroneous, I will try, at least, to convince 
 you that I am at this moment, and always shall be, as 
 earnestly solicitous to retain your friendship as I ever was 
 to win it. I value it now, after eleven years of separation 
 from you, and now that I am surrounded by dear affections, 
 as much, ay, quite as much, as I did in the days that would 
 have been so dreary to me without it. -jf % % 
 
 You know I have now nine children. Isn't it an awful 
 number ? You are right in saying that my life has been 
 spent in the business of education ; and great joy would it 
 be to me if I could make any skill that I have learned in the art 
 useful to your children. If I were happily near you, it would 
 be very interesting to me to give them all the help I could. 
 I always lamented that those fine boys were not placed at a 
 good first-rate boarding-school, where they might be subject 
 to classic discipline. It is not only a certain quantity of 
 knowledge that is requisite ; but the most important part of 
 education is that discipline of the mind that fits it for 
 greater efforts when the days of school are past. ^ ■» 
 You know how very important / consider a thorough good 
 education. It is a common blunder to suppose that a certain 
 quantity of education is enough for a certain station, and that 
 more would be superfluous or useless. Now the truth is, that 
 in my official place little or no education — really none at all — 
 is requisite for that official business ; and yet not a year has 
 ever passed over my head without bringing some occurrence 
 that has made me bless my stars for giving me a love of 
 books. I have either done, for myself or those dear to me, 
 
 E 2
 
 52 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 some good, or averted some evil, by the possession of a power 
 that nothing but classic discipline in early youth ever can 
 confer, — the power of building an argument solidly, and 
 putting it upon paper in the most intelligible shape; the 
 power of thinking correctly and expressing thoughts forcibly. 
 Do you think I am perpetrating a vanity in pretending to 
 possess this power ? Not you. I know who I am writing to, 
 and therefore, instead of minding my p's and q's, I put my 
 thoughts down carelessly as they arise. Everything, you know, 
 is measured by comparison. I am quite conscious that thou- 
 sands and thousands of men have more of this skill than I 
 have ; but I am equally conscious that I have more of it than 
 most of those with whom I have come in conflict : I ought 
 to have, because I have spent a thousand times more pains 
 upon it. -it ^ * ^ * * 
 
 In January, 1838, my Father's fifth and last son, Charles, 
 was born. To his son, at Oxford, he writes, on the 24th : — 
 
 That is one of the great comforts I have in you, my 
 good boy, that you tell me distinctly just what you think ; 
 and though there is warning, both in sacred and profane 
 writ, to mistrust our judgment of ourselves, yet the warn- 
 ing must have a qualified meaning. The yvojOi aeavTov is a 
 lesson in some parts difficult, but in others easy. You 
 may not yet have discovered its extreme difficulty in some 
 respects; but, I dare say, you have found out its easiness 
 in others. Most men know, in their own secret hearts, their 
 own strength or weakness in collision with others, however 
 shy they may be of confessing a disadvantage. But your 
 triumph in the Latin essays is right glorious. You would 
 not have been so distinguished if your compositions had 
 not been remarkable in two respects. First, they must have 
 been good specimens of Latin, in which you arc conscious 
 of being pretty strong ; and next, they must have contained 
 some thoughts remarkable either for originality of concep- 
 tion or ingenuity of application ; and in this you have not
 
 THE SABBATH A MOKAL OBLIGATION. 53 
 
 imagined your power to be as great as that of many of 
 your neighbours. Take courage, then, Bob. The thoughts 
 will come in proportion as your general reading and obser- 
 vation enlarges your store of materials. Read Byron, and 
 see if an immensity of reading was not necessary to the 
 furnishing of his thoughts. ^- * ^ I have 
 
 alieady set to work upon " Ajax," and written nearly a sheet- 
 full. It shall go by next packet. ^ •jf * 
 I do most chorus while I am fetching a walk ; and it is, 
 therefore, a salutary employment ; for I grudge the time of 
 walking when the walking stops my working; whereas a 
 chorus is a companion that allures me on, and I never do 
 one better than in the open air, either on foot or on horse- 
 back. 1 am rejoiced that you find them useful. They are 
 done with so much care that every word has been weighed. 
 To do them as I do, with scrupulous adherence to the Greek, 
 and yet to extract a good English, would be utterly im- 
 possible, without spending more time upon them than you 
 could spare from your other employments. 
 
 As for the Sabbath, you have written a capital defence of 
 your views upon it, and I dare say you will, at least for some 
 time, retain them. There are many varieties of opinion on 
 the subject, and all are supported by good arguments. One- 
 alone is sufficient to me, and that is, the consideration of the 
 nature of the fourth commandment. When it tells me that 
 I must devote a portion of my time to the service of God, I 
 can't consider such a command as merely ceremonial. I 
 receive it as a moral law ; and, whether a code of moral 
 laws, of God's own framing, were given to Moses or mc, 
 they seem to me, when once I have received them, as bind- 
 ing upon me us upon jMoses. 
 
 But whether your opinions be considered right or wrong 
 by those with whom you have, perhaps, at Oxford, occa- 
 sion to discuss them, it is desirable for you to know any 
 remarkable things that eminent men have written on either 
 side. I will give you, then, an extract or two from Hales's 
 Chronology. But you may have the book, or, if not, you
 
 54 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 ought to have it. Get it directly, Bob. It can certainly not 
 be superfluous in your library. He calls weeks the priraseval 
 measure of time, instituted as a memorial of the work of 
 creation in six days, and of the ensuing Sabbath : that it was 
 universally observed by Noah's descendants during the pre- 
 valence of the patriarchal religion : that the days of the 
 week were dedicated by the Egyptians Chaldean Syrians, 
 after their decline to idolatry, to the sun, moon, and planets : 
 tbat so it was in Egypt during the residence there of the 
 Israelites. Dio Cassius, lie says, tells us that the Egyptians 
 led the way in consecrating the days of the week to the seven 
 planets; and tliey were followed by the Greeks, Romans, 
 Hindoos, Goths, Germans, and Saxons. 
 
 A Pythian oracle is preserved by Eusebius, prescribing the 
 worship of these false gods on their respective days. That 
 the week, Hales says, was unquestionably derived from the 
 Divine institution at the creation, is evident from the word 
 Sabbat, or Sabbata, denoting a week among the Syrians, 
 Arabians, Christian Persians, and Ethiopians ; as in an 
 ancient Syriac calendar (which he gives) expressed in the 
 Chaldee alphabet. The high antiquity of this calendar is 
 evinced by the use of the words one, two, three, instead of 
 the ordinal numbers first, second, third ; following the Hebrew 
 idiom ; as in the account of the creation, where we read in 
 the original " one day," which the Septuagint retains, calling 
 it /j/xE/oa fxia. So in the Evangelists. It is remarkable, he 
 says, that from the earliest times sacrifices were offered by 
 sevens. " Seven bullocks and seven rams,'' by the Divine 
 command, in Job's days. The Chaldean diviner Balaam 
 built seven altars, and prepared seven bullocks and seven rams ; 
 and the Cumaian Sibyl, who came from Chaldea or Baby- 
 lonia, gives the same directions to ^Eneas that Balaam did to 
 Balak : — " Scptem mactarc juvencos — totidem bidentcs." 
 
 Then he quotes the t/SSo/xrj, hpov Y)jxap of Hesiod, to 
 show the peculiar sanctity of the seventh day among the 
 older heathen writers, even after the institution of the Sab- 
 bath fell into disuse, or was lost among thcin : and Thco-
 
 SUNDAY PROPERLY THE CHRISTIAN SABBATH. 00 
 
 philus. Bishop of Antiocli, who says of the seventh day, >;i; 
 rravTsg ovojuaZovai, — " which all name/' or distinguish ; " but 
 most/' he adds, " are ignorant of the reason why." " Instead 
 of Saturday (concludes Hales), the last day of the week, and 
 the patriarchal and Jewish Sabbath, the Christian world has 
 adopted Sunday, the first day of the week, in memory of the 
 new creation, or resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, which 
 was also the day on which he made his successive manifesta- 
 tions of himself to his disciples ; and the day of the first- 
 fruits of the Christian Church on Whitsunday; thence con- 
 secrated to religious worship, and called the Lord's day in the 
 Apostolic age. Consequently, the change must have been 
 sanctioned and authorized by Him who was ' Lord even of 
 the Sabbath.' " This, to show that a very great master of 
 chronology is of opinion that the division of time into weeks 
 was not derived by the Gentile nations from the Jews, but 
 from the Patriarchs. -k- -jf vf * w ^ 
 
 The 3rd of February he writes to Bob : — 
 
 Besides this letter to rae,'' there came to Sally the very 
 sweetest letter I ever read ; indeed, not one, but two of them, 
 for both are equally fit to make us love the writers. One is 
 from Lady Bunbury, and the other from Mrs. Napier,^ Bun- 
 bury's aunt. Lady Bunbury writes as if she desired earnestly 
 to love Sally, and to win her love ; and uses the warmest 
 expressions, put together in a dear woman's own sweetest way. 
 * * * ^ I must in honesty confess that I could 
 hardly help envying Sally the pleasure of answering such a 
 letter ; and that if ever a heart overflowing with kindness, 
 and a mind distinguished by delicacy and culture belonged to 
 a human being, they belong to the author of that letter. 
 "^ * ^- -jf We dined yesterday at the Governor' ^<, 
 and he did all he could to show his desire to make amends 
 for his past incivility. * -sf -» * He oflered us 
 
 * From Sir H. Bunbury. ^ Lady Williiini Napier.
 
 56 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 the use of his opera-box. « ^ ^ * I have just 
 beeu trying a bit of chorus in blank verse. It is the bit 
 following ^f here the enclosed sheet ends. 
 
 Ver. 362 — sv(pr}jna (pwvei. 
 
 Eash words repress ; nor, adding grief to grief, 
 Thus aggravate the measure of your ills. 
 
 Ver. 364 — opare tov Qpaaw. 
 
 Ajax. Behold ye me, the daring, the resolved, 
 Th' intrepid in the shock of arms ; and now. 
 Eight valiant butcher of the flucks and herds 
 Oh, deep derision ! oh, my insulted name ! 
 
 Tec. Ajax, my lord, I prythee speak not thus. 
 
 Aj. Begone ! wilt thou not hence ? Alas, alas ! 
 
 Chorus. 0, by the gods, give way to better thoughts ! 
 
 Aj. Ill-fated vengeance ! From my hands uuhann'd 
 I 1st the wretches part, and turn'd my rage 
 Upon the bleating flocks, and horned droves. 
 And bathed my falchion in their sable blood. 
 
 Is this close enough ? It seems the exact sense^ and every- 
 M here true either to the spirit or the letter. You know it is 
 possible to translate more closely by giving an equivalent 
 ■phrase than an equivalent word : that preserving the English 
 of each word separately, the sentence might not give the idea 
 intended. I am quite sure that some of my sentences, that 
 seem at first sight paraphrase, are in fact closer translation 
 than literal schoolboy English could make it. If you were to 
 try your hand occasionally at such work as this, I am pretty 
 sure you would find it profitable to your English. It calls 
 into play all the resources of one^s vocabulary, and accustoms 
 the ear to judge accurately. * -sf * « Then I 
 thought I should do well to dip again (after many years 
 since I was familiar with him) into Shakspeare, to mend my 
 blank verse ; for I think I shall go on with all my future 
 choruses in blank verse ; and for want of better occupation, 
 I may probably begin again, and re-do all my work in the 
 same way. -x- -x- * -x- -x- -jf -x- ^-
 
 CONGRATULATES HIS SON ON HIS " PASSING^' 57 
 
 In a letter to his Sister, of the 22ud of March, announcing 
 the birth of his first grandson, Johnny Liddell, he writes : — 
 
 I have written a letter to my poor Lady Gore, in answer 
 to one from her telling me of the death of another daughter 
 This dear friend of mine has thus announced to me with her 
 own hand, since I have been in Malta, the loss of her husband 
 and three children ; and she bears it all with a courage and 
 resignation that are admirable indeed \ ^ "^ * "^ 
 
 To Boh, in April : — 
 
 We have had the great joy of reading your letter announc- 
 ing the good news of the passing,'^ and the Fisher^s exhibi- 
 tion. Of course I could have no doubt of your passing, and 
 with honour too ; nor could you have had any well-defined 
 fears on such a subject; but you are a nervous rogue, and 
 can't enjoy yourself when anything is hanging over you, 
 however persuaded your reason is that its fall won't hurl you. 
 The smalls now over, you are already beginning to fret about 
 the bigs. But whi/, Bob ? If your success in life depended 
 upon your taking a first class, or if the missing of the very 
 highest aim were a disgrace, you might well be uneasy ; for 
 the chances are necessarily against you. I don't expect you 
 to win a first class. What right have I to presume that my 
 son should be more gifted than the sons of ten thousands of 
 my neighbours? But this I know, that you will leave college 
 with a high character for industry, and acquirement, and 
 good dispositions, and that you will not turn idler after you 
 have taken your degree, as many first-class men have done. 
 Henry Acland was here again the other day, and he remarked 
 that most of the best tutors at Oxford were not first-class men. 
 Don't fidget, then, on my account, my good boy. I feel su7'e 
 that you will not get the first, because you yourself are so, 
 and no one can judge of such a matter better than you can 
 
 ■^ The "Little Go."
 
 58 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 yourself. But I know the many combined advantages that 
 are necessary to such remarkable success, and I am not at 
 all mortified by the acknowledgment that many young men 
 have more imagination and memory than you have ; perhaps 
 
 has more of both. But you have good sense and 
 
 discretion, a clear and correct judgment, quick penetration, 
 and an accurate taste. 
 
 These qualities may not carry you to a particular point as 
 quickly as others may reach it with other additional advan- 
 tages ; but they are quite enough to bear you through a long- 
 sustained race ; at the end of which you may reap more 
 honour than all your present competitors. Remember, Bob, 
 that all this game of life is not to be played at Oxford, and 
 that, whether there or elsewhere, if you do your best, you are 
 bound to leave the rest to a Providence which will surely dis- 
 pose of it to a good end. But doing your best does not mean 
 working to the prejudice of your health. Amuse yourself 
 moderately, take exercise sufficiently, work bravely while 
 you are working, and let the class turn out as it may. 
 
 ■X- -X- ^f -x- * ^ 
 
 No one ever did engage in the stndy of the Epistles with- 
 out finding the difficulty that you find. Let a man's power 
 be what it may, the difficulty must be sufficiently formidable, 
 can never be wholly overcome, and is acknowledged still to 
 exist by men who have spent a long life in struggling with 
 it, like my old St. Julian's neighbour, Dr. Clarke, who does 
 nothing else. But, Bob, the few who succeed, at last, in 
 penetrating a certain way into these labyrinths, are those 
 who, like you, find the pursuit interesting. 
 
 And, then. Bob, I am quite sure that in this sort of work 
 more than most other sorts one gains strength as one goes. 
 No mental discipline can be more salutary than such an 
 exercise. It will invigorate your faculties analytical, syn- 
 thetical, mnemonical ; and, as you mean to use these faculties 
 after you leave college, don't be discouraged by the fear 
 you have of missing a " first class." Let that matter take its 
 chance. The sum of a man's viscfulness and happiness is not
 
 BOOKS TREATING ON THE MIDDLE AGES. 59 
 
 to be measured at the close of his college life. Many a man 
 has used his laurels for no better purpose than to sleep 
 under them. -i:- -a * -^s- * 
 
 You will want some knowledge of the affairs of the Middle 
 Ages. You would read Sismondi's " History of the Italian 
 Republics in tlie Middle Agcs^' with equal pleasure and 
 profit. It is all as romantic as one of Scott's novels : it 
 lured me on with quite as powerful a charm. You would 
 find it quite easy in the original French. After a few hun- 
 dred pageSj you would scarcely have a word to look out. 
 Then, immediately after that^ read Robertson's " Charles the 
 Fifth/' and '' Philip de Commine^s Memoirs." Read that, by 
 all means, in the original French. Then get the '' Life of 
 Ezzelin da Romano/' in Italian, and that will lead you to 
 other similar books — amusing all these in the richest possible 
 degree, and affording you a view of things all new to you. 
 You must have occasional light reading — and / never met 
 with books that afforded at once so much relaxation and 
 instruction. They will give you subjects to think and write 
 about — subjects that few people have much considered ; and 
 the knowledge of history that you get in this way fixes itself 
 much faster in the memory than anything you can get from 
 general historians. It gives you points, and from those 
 points you make ramifications that help you to collateral 
 matter, and to the overcoming of many of the difficulties 
 regarding dates. ^ * ^ ■)i ^ 
 
 At this time my Father gave up his house at St. Julian's, 
 and took one at Sliema for the summer months. St. Julian's 
 was considered unhealthy, on account of the mass of decayed 
 seaweed that then lodged in the bay; and the long rides 
 in hot weather seemed to bring on the attacks of English 
 cholera or diarrhoea, that now visited my Father more or less 
 severely every summer. Sliema was much less distant from 
 his office ; and, after spending seven summers at St. Julian s, 
 was agreeable as a variety. However, my Father had but 
 little enjoyment of it the first summer, for the new Admiral
 
 60 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Superintendent, being unwilling to sanction his sleeping out 
 of his official residence at the Marina, he and his wife 
 remained there, spending the evenings at Slieraa with their 
 children, and returning to the Marina, in a boat, at night. 
 
 In the summer of 1838, hearing of some changes likely 
 to take place at the Admiralty, and my Father hoping that 
 they might lead to his promotion and removal to England, 
 wrote to his friends Sir H. Neale, Admiral Bouverie, Lady 
 Gore, and Sir George Cockburn, to beg them to interest them- 
 selves in his behalf. 
 
 He says to Bob : — 
 
 All that I expect is that this step that I have taken may 
 ultimately lead to my getting an appointment of some sort in 
 England. It may, by reminding tliese friends of mine that 
 I have been languishing for ten years in this banishment, 
 and exercising the vile trade of a baker. -sf * * 
 
 To get a good place in England would suit me just now 
 gloriously; for so, I shall not have to look forward, as I 
 must otherwise, to more and more bereavements. Sally 
 will soon be leaving me. Liddell is looking for an appoint- 
 ment to one of the hospitals in England, and has such 
 powerful friends that he will probably succeed. 
 
 You will be fixed in England. Clement must soon go, and 
 then the little ones in their turn, -x- ■Jf •>r 
 
 In July of this year, my Father and his wife suffered great 
 anxiety about poor little Kitty, who was very dangerously 
 ill with dysentery. He says: — 
 
 Yesterday was a terrible day ; but Liddell has, under God's 
 blessing, dune wonders. He was here all night. His assi- 
 duity is unwearied and his resources inexhaustible. 
 
 -X- * -X- -X- -X- * 
 
 About this time, as Kitty was recovering, my Father's 
 house at Sliema was full of visitors. Mrs. M. Smith, a con-
 
 TRANSLATES SEVERAL GREEK PLAYS. 61 
 
 iiection of liis cousin Joseph Hciulerson's, was staying with 
 us, on her way from India to EngLand ; and our cousin 
 Georgiana Ewarf^ and her husband spent a month with us 
 on their way to India. 
 
 In August, my Father writes to Bob : — 
 
 Tlie two sheets I now send finish " Ajax ;" and as soon as tlie 
 packet is gone, I will begin " Philoctetes,^^ I am not sure that 
 the blank verse will answer your purpose as well as prose; 
 but, at all events, you will find no difficulty in modifying it. 
 The change of a word or a collocation here and there will be 
 enough. I am hardly conscious of having relaxed the severity 
 of literal version for the sake of the verse. Perhaps where, 
 at first sight, you may think my construing too remote from 
 the text, you may find it closer, upon nearer inspection ; for 
 you know that if these choruses were taken word for word, 
 the English would be pretty nearly nonsense : there would 
 certainly be little sense, little poetry, and no English idiom. 
 I have tried, then, to construe the words as nearly as I could ; 
 but when they have been utterly untractable, then I have 
 tried to express the clause, or the sentence, as Sophocles would 
 have expressed it if he had been writing English. Whatever 
 my success may have been, I am pretty sure you will find my 
 version worth your studying ; for though it might be much 
 better than it is, yet I know you will find in it some words 
 luckily translated, and here and there some curious felicity 
 in the sentences. 
 
 Much of it, too, is more consecutively smooth, — makes a 
 more naturally-connected sense than one easily gets in so 
 close a translation of such queer Greek. However, in point 
 of obscurity, " Ajax^' has little or none, in comparison with 
 some of his predecessors that we have dealt with ; " (Edipus 
 Col." for example. 
 
 I have copied out these sheets less neatly, if not less 
 
 •* The eldest daughter of the Rev. Ed. Repton, Cauon of Weslm luster.
 
 62 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 legibly than usual; for I have been writing in bed. I am 
 pretty well again, and by keeping quite still, hope to be erect 
 by to-morrow; but I have had another (the second this sum- 
 mer — in Switzerland, you know, I had nothing of the sort) 
 of those internal commotions that would soon establish cholera, 
 if my glorious ally, laudanum, did not quell them. ^ * 
 The primary disease is the only formidable one ; and once 
 checked, that is formidable no longer. All it can do is to 
 make me change, for a day or two, my beef and beer for 
 macaroni and rice-water. The worst of its doings is, to-day, 
 in hindering me and my good Mamma from helping my 
 cousins and nieces eat Fan's dinner at Bighi. To-morrow 
 will break up our merry re-union. Mrs. Smith, that very 
 sweet little niece of ours (Joseph's wife's son^s wife), will go 
 by the packet to England ; and next day Georgiana, dear 
 affectionate girl, and her first-rate prize of a husband, will 
 begin their voyage to Alexandria. May they both retain life^ 
 and health ; and never did a couple come together with 
 happier prospects of connubial harmony. Both of them 
 have an unusual share of the first of all requisites, good 
 temper ; neither, I am sure, is deficient in another requisite, 
 good principle ; and both have quite enough of good sense. 
 As for Georgiana, no one can be more amiable ; but her hus- 
 band is quite equal to her. We all like him with an unmixed 
 liking. I have not seen in him one thing that I should have 
 wished for her sake not to have seen ; and when does a man 
 spend a month in your sight without betraying some imper- 
 fection of temper, or at least of taste ? All of us, great and 
 small, love him ; and he will long remember us. 
 
 * ■» * -Jf * ■X- 
 
 For writing good Greek and good Latin you arc making a 
 preparation that must be effectual. For grammar and idiom, 
 and choice of diction, you will soon cope with the strongest ; 
 and if there be now some of your equals in age who excel you 
 in the matter of their essays, it is probable that you excel some 
 
 P.filli, nlns ! (lied many yeara ago, leaving a dauglite
 
 GREAT WRITERS MEN OF (JREAT KNOWLEDGE. 63 
 
 of them in scholarship. They may have spent more time than 
 you have in general reading, and you more than they have iu 
 mere Latin and Greek reading. They may^ therefore, be pro- 
 vided with more copious materials than you for their essays 
 on general subjects ; for you must take into your account, in 
 estimating what you call a man's power of ori(jinal thinking, 
 that he must depend for his thoughts upon his knowledge. 
 '' Poeta'nascitur." Yes; he was born to become a poet; 
 but always provided he took pains to lay in the necessary 
 stores to work upon. See what quantities of things Byron 
 and Milton knew; as well as Cicero, Brougham, Addison, 
 Knox, or any other eminent writer in verse or prose ; and 
 especially, considering the early age^ at which they were 
 written, see the wide range of varied reading displayed in 
 the Essays of your good Grandfather.^ Well, then, when 
 you have had leisure to read more on general subjects, be 
 sure, Bob, that you will feel your tliinking and inventing 
 powers grow to a grand expansion. You have, I know, the 
 groundwork of a good taste for composition. "Walter Scott 
 himself could not have imagined all his imaginings if he had 
 not devoured books without end. General reading, in its 
 turn, and among it light reading (of a good sort), must be 
 desirable for you on many accounts ; and your essay-writing 
 will gain by it beyond your expectation. ^ % ^- 
 
 My Father now received kind and civil answers from all 
 the friends he had written to'^bout his removal to England. 
 The particular appointment which he had had in view did 
 not become vacant, but they promised their good offices when 
 that or any other suitable one should be so ; at the same time 
 
 Mr. added : " There are so many hungry expectants, 
 
 who have no pretensions upon the only ground that ought to 
 be attended to in selection of individuals for permanent offices 
 of great trust and responsibility, i. e., peculiar fitness for the 
 duties required to be discharged, that I should not be sur- 
 
 ' Sixteen or eighteen. s Dr. Kno.x.
 
 64 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 prised to see that important office,*' where a thorough know- 
 ledge of the naval service, both ashore and afloat, is indis- 
 pensable, conferred upon some political hanger-on who never 
 serveji in the navy, and perhaps never even saw the sea. At 
 any rate, you may, as I have already said, depend upon my 
 best offices, if I have the opportunity.^' 
 
 In September my Father writes to his Son : — * 
 
 When the last packet went, I was sick from the effects of 
 the fourth this summer of those internal attacks to which you 
 know I am subject in the hot weather of this miserable 
 Malta. As usual, it soon passed off, and I have been since 
 as strong as ever. * -ijf •)f * I have said all 
 
 this,' because I thought it might by possibility enter your 
 head to try your fortune as a feeder of sheep in that new 
 world. I hope better things for you. I should like best of 
 all to see you in the Church, if you satisfy yourself, during 
 the time you have to think of it, that you are fit for the pro- 
 fession, and that it is likely to make you happy. You might 
 also do well at the bar. * -jf " -sf ^ However, 
 there is no hurry. You have two years more of Brasenose. 
 In the mean time think; and if you finally decline the 
 Church, Bunbury may be able two years hence to tell you 
 the result of his survey, and you will judge which will best 
 suit you — to fleece clients in England or sheep in Australia. 
 If I were beginning my course, I should wish to make it in 
 the Church. If I were free from the tie of my office, and 
 you went to Australia, I would try and go with you. 
 Wherever it be, I hope ray latter days may be spent near 
 you. * * -)f -jf ^- 
 
 I do not urge you to take orders, much as I wish to sec 
 you in the Church ; but I do entreat you, Bob, to pause 
 before you allow yourself to be deterred from thinking 
 further of the Church by such feelings as now possess 
 
 Secretaryship to tlie Atlmiralty. ' About Anstralian affairs.
 
 HONOURS MAY BE TOO DEARLY BOUGHT. 05 
 
 you. They are morbid. Your health has been probably 
 impaired by too sedentary a life. Your temperament is 
 naturally in some degree hypochondriacal. Your attention 
 has unhappily fixed itself on certain portions of Scripture, 
 which, isolated from the rest, may seem to convey a meaning 
 that you would not attribute to them if you took the only safe 
 course, of interpreting Scripture by Scripture. Abundance 
 there is, amply enough for our purpose, about which there 
 can be no doubt. Receiving and believing that, I am bound 
 to use that in aiding me to understand those parts which are 
 not equally clear. Where there are things hard to be under- 
 stood, I will not attribute to them a sense contradictory to 
 those declarations which have been made in plainer terms. 
 -»*«■» I am not drawing, but have spent 
 all ray little leisure upon your plays. My leisure has been 
 little, because I have had a good deal of sickness and semi- 
 sickness this summer; and, besides, the hawk-and-buzzard 
 life we lead, between the Marina and Sliema, has frittered 
 away my time. * * -5? « * ■?? 
 
 Take care. Bob, not to hurt your health by pursuing too 
 eagerly the trumpery honours, — for they are trumpery in com- 
 parison with the cost, if that cost is to be the sacrifice of 
 health. But be wise in time, and don't hesitate to take my 
 advice, and come and make a holiday with us at Malta, unless 
 you are quite sure that you may with perfect safety stay at 
 Oxford. At all events, put aside the Divinity. Many a poor 
 man is a better Christian than the most successful of your 
 divinity students. To take up and pursue such a study 
 merely for the sake of gaining honours at Oxford, is to engage 
 in it unworthily, and to incur the danger of punishment for 
 presumption. ^ ^ ^ ^ Yf '^ 
 
 In the two remaining years you will become unfailingly an 
 accurate scholar. Every step you take makes the next easier. 
 It is like learning botany. It was hard to me at first to make 
 familiar acquaintance with a genus, and puzzle out one or 
 two of its species. But when I grew intimate with a dozen 
 out of the twenty species the genus contained, I knew all the 
 
 VOL. II. F
 
 r.G LIFE OP R. C. SCOXCE. 
 
 remaining eight at first sight. In turning over the books for 
 the first twelve^ my eye lighted so often upon descriptions of 
 those I was not looking for, that the moment my eye glanced 
 on them in the fields, I knew all about them. So it is with 
 particles, with Matthise's rules, with historical and geo- 
 graphical facts, topographical, chronological — in short, there 
 can be no doubt of your having found it so, and that you will 
 find it more and more strikingly so as you go on. Then 
 your love for the " sciences " ought to be very consolatory to 
 you. It is a sign that there is good stufl" in your brain. 
 * * -JC- -Jf * * 
 
 I have been exceedingly uneasy about you. I am per- 
 suaded that Aristotle and St. Paul together are injuring your 
 mind and body; just as food and physic, out of season or 
 proportion, maybe converted into poison. Your digestion is, 
 perhaps, not naturally active, and you may have weakened 
 it still more by inattention to rules of health, which no man 
 ever yet broke without paying, sooner or later, the penalty. 
 Give your body plenty of exercise in the open air, and so 
 prepare for a good dinner; and remember that that dinner 
 will not digest if you think of Aristotle or St. Paul till at 
 least four hours have passed after you have eaten it. You 
 have now been at work twelve months since your holiday in 
 Switzerland, and you have had not only hard thinking, — in the 
 way of study I mean, but care on the subject of your future 
 profession, and fear of failure in your pursuit of honours. 
 All this has ofi'ended your liver, which is now avenging 
 itself by concocting bile of a bad hue. Your spirits are 
 injured by the eff'ort you have made to reach a given mark 
 by a given time. You must pause and take breath in time. 
 If you go on in the same way, you will soon break down 
 and lose your health and your race together. As for your 
 taking orders, or preferring the bar, or any other profes- 
 sion, don^t think about the matter now, but think only of 
 your health. Your case is not singular ; many a reading man 
 has incurred more or less mischief by the same mistake. Let
 
 HIS ANXIETY FOR HIS SON's HEALTH. 67 
 
 US hope that in your case we are ia time to cure it. Your 
 long vacation has been no holiday. Try and make a real 
 holiday, then, by coming as soon as you can to see us. 
 ■K- * • ■Sf -x- ^ * 
 
 Go and see my dear Madame Reboul at Paris. 
 
 ***** 4f 
 
 In October he writes : — 
 
 My dearest Bob, — We are all confirmed, by the tone of 
 your letter to Sally that came the day before yesterday, in 
 the opinion we formed some time ago, that you are wearing 
 yourself out by an over- anxiety about your college work, and 
 that it is abolutely necessary for you to shut up your books 
 and make a holiday to come and see us. Come, then, at 
 once. Never care one straw whether your coming do or do 
 not diminish your chance of honours. Honours have a 
 certain value, and no more. By forcing yourself to undergo, 
 in the pursuit of them, such a degree of irksome labour as 
 must impair both mental and corporeal stamina, you are bid- 
 ding too high for them, and the sooner you withdraw the 
 better. Don't be deterred for one instant by a notion that I 
 shall be mortified and disappointed. I shall have no such 
 feeling. I shall think only of your health and of your future 
 well-being, which are much more important considerations. 
 I have not the silly selfishness of desiring the reflected 
 honour of your Oxford triumphs. I wash you success of all 
 sorts for your own sake, and I am persuaded that your suc- 
 cess in the more important business of after-life will be 
 best promoted by your attaching less importance to the object 
 of your present pursuit. Rude health, buoyant spirits, and 
 strong nerves, are necessary qualities in a candidate of high 
 honours at Oxford; and Nature has given you none of 
 these. 
 
 But yet you may do well enough for a bishop or a judge, 
 and you may lead a comfortable and useful life even without 
 the ermine or the lawn. 
 
 F 3-
 
 68 LIFE OP K. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Come and talk nonsense, then, with Sally and Fanny and 
 Mamma, and help me make Swiss drawings and improve 
 our Sliema garden. ^ ^ -sf * 
 
 In December he writes, in a letter, which crossed my 
 Brother on his way to Malta : — 
 
 I have not seen the Queen.'' All the world went to a levee 
 yesterday to be presented to her. Of course I did not go. 
 The Maltese marquises and barons went in dresses of all 
 ages, from that of Louis XI. downwards ; gala suits hoarded 
 up, and now exhibited, to the great amusement of Queen 
 Adelaide and her ladies. ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 My Brother arrived at Malta on the 19th of December, 
 1838, my wedding-day, and remained with his Father till 
 the 15th of April following, when they parted, never to meet 
 again on earth.' 
 
 '' Queen Adelaide, who visited Malta this winter. 
 
 ' In a MS. volume of extracts from his Father's letters to him, beautifully 
 arranged by my dear Brother, with an index and a list of the subjects of each 
 letter, is written : — 
 
 " For nearly eight years afterwards he wrote to me every fortnight. The 
 first letter after our parting dated May 15th, 1839 ; the last, before he fell 
 asleep, July 30th, 1846, — seven years and two months."
 
 69 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 [1839.] 
 
 CLEMENT SENT HOME — COLLEGE HONOURS — MR. DAVID ROBERTS, R.A. — ILLNESS 
 — APPLIES FOR A DOCKYARD APPOINTMENT — SIESTA — ADVICE TO HIS SON 
 — THE BAR — MEDICINE — AUSTRALIA — SON's ENGAGEMENT TO HIS COUSIN — 
 POVERTY — ELDEST DAUGHTER LEAVES HIM. 
 
 I SHOULD have said in the last chapter that Clement, then 
 about nine years old, was sent home to school in charge of 
 his brother Robert ; and my Father wrote constantly to him 
 too. 
 
 To Robert he writes, in May, 1839 :— 
 
 * ^ .jf -» Do let me make haste to satisfy 
 
 you that sincerely and heartily I agree with you on the 
 honours question. I am glad you have relinquished the pur- 
 suit. You were not likely to win the first prize ; and minor 
 stakes were not worth playing for. But, according to my 
 view of the case, I should not have heard of your decision 
 with any regret, even if you had had a fair chance of a first 
 class ; because your health is not strong enough to bear either 
 the hard work you would have encountered for such an object, 
 or the anxiety you would have suffered during the doubt of 
 your success. Neither you nor I, nor the Brasenose tutors, 
 think the worse of your capacity for your declining to stand 
 for honours Avhich you would have been sure to win, if you 
 had had from the beginning fair play, and, latterly, a better 
 digestion. As it is, the first class would be clearly out of 
 the question. The chance of a second might be open to you ; 
 but why should you sacrifice health and comfort for the chance 
 of second-rate success, counterbalanced, as that chance is, by 
 the risk of mortification ?
 
 70 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 It is quite certain that an attorney, some ten years hence, 
 in doubt whether to give his brief to you or your next-door 
 neighbour, would care little about your second class. Well, 
 then, my dear good boy, you may be quite at rest regarding 
 7ny wishes in the matter. On any subject concerning you, I 
 can have no wish except for your happiness and your best 
 interests; and on this particular subject I am satisfied that 
 you have wisely consulted both. 
 
 It might be that I might be useful to you in such a case as 
 this. For example : you might be pretty well convinced that 
 the doing of a particular thing might prove of ultimate im- 
 portant advantage to you, and yet it might be, presently, 
 disagreeable, and you might shirk it. In that case, I would 
 urge you, by your filial allegiance, to swallow the pill ; just as 
 I would restrain you, if I could, from swalloAving the pottage 
 at the price of the birthright : but, in the present instance, 
 my persuasion is (taking health, which is the main thing, into 
 the account), that the course to which you are inclined is the 
 one most favourable to your happiness in the general stock. 
 By giving you present relief from the pressure of labour and 
 care, it will improve your chance of health in after-life. 
 ■3f * -Sf ^ * -:f 
 
 Mr. Roberts,* an A.R.A., came out of quarantine ten days 
 ago ; and he and his friend Mr. Cory have lived chiefly with 
 us. He and I have had some sketching together, to my great 
 advantage. He is a singularly clever fellow, and knows quan- 
 tities of things that I could never have found out in my seclu- 
 sion here, and that he has imparted to me. He is a frank, 
 warm-hearted fellow too. Roberts is now going in the packet 
 to England, and Cory to-morrow evening to Naples. We had 
 all a rare treat in seeing Roberts's drawings of Jerusalem, 
 Thebes, Balbeck, Pctra, &c. &c., most beautifully-pencilled 
 and beautifully-coloured drawings of the most magnificent 
 ruins in the world. He gives me credit for drawing and 
 
 • He brought my Father a letter of introduction from Mrs. Scott (now 
 Mrs. Ellis-Ellis).
 
 ROBERTS, THE ARTIST. 71 
 
 colouring from Nature faithfully, and I made my sketches 
 with him as accurately and nearly as fast as his own ; but 
 what he has in perfection, and I not at all, is a wonderful 
 knowledge of composition, and power of drawing things not 
 before his eyes. He can make a picture out of nothing, and 
 with the quickness of magic. He turned a bad drawing of 
 mine into a good one, by putting in some shadows, a cow, 
 two goats, a man, and some felled trees, dabbed down at 
 once over my colour without pencilling; and he gave me 
 reasons for what he did, to help me in my future work. He 
 afforded the Dean some such help in a drawing he is making 
 of St. Paul preaching to the Maltese. if * -k- 
 
 This summer my Father passed chiefly at Sliema, sleeping 
 occasionally at the Marina, to see that all went right there. 
 Towards the end of June he writes to Bob : — 
 
 It is broiling hot ; and though this is but the beginning 
 of summer, I have already been visited by the usual visceral 
 derangement. As usual, the laudanum happily prevented 
 immediate mischief; but it is now some time ago, and I am 
 even yet not cured, Tlie care I take to shun the three things 
 that hurt me — sun, tough meat, and acid, — is as great as it 
 ■well can be; but yet I never have, for the last five summers, 
 succeeded in keeping free from this complaint, except in 
 Switzerland. * -x ■?? -jf -» 
 
 His children leaving Malta one after the other, and his 
 health suffering more and more from the heat of the climate, 
 made my Father desire more ardently than ever to be removed 
 to England ; and giving up his long-deferred hope of promo- 
 tion, he applied at this time for an appointment at Chatham 
 Dockyard. The following touching letter will show his 
 feeling. 
 
 My DEAREST Bob, — 
 ^ * ^ -jt Before you receive this, you will 
 
 have heard through Aunt of the important step I took, and
 
 72 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 well I know how anxious you will be for its leading us all to 
 England. Of course there are many reasons why I desire 
 very ardently that my application may succeed. In all the 
 time that I have had my present appointment^ I never before 
 thought of exchanging it for one in an English dockyard. I 
 might have had a place in one when I came here ; but I 
 always abhorred a dockyard ; and the drudgery of its duties 
 is more unfit for me than ever, now that I am an old man ; 
 and so is the subordination. No one in a public office could 
 be more independent, you know, than I am here ; no one 
 could have his time more at his own command. In a dock- 
 yard all this will be very different ; but having weighed the 
 pros and the cons in a fair balance, I am entirely convinced 
 that the preponderance of happiness for all of us is on the 
 side of the dockyard in England ; and therefore I heartily 
 hope my present attempt will prove successful ; and if it does 
 not, I will take the first opportunity to try again. 
 
 What I shall lose will be my independence and my leisure. 
 I shall be confined for most part of the day to my office, 
 casting accounts, over which I shall fall asleep. My business 
 will be to ascertain from day to day the total sum of a hundred 
 lines of figures, recording the issues of fathoms of rope and 
 pounds of nails. It is not, as here, when I complete a ship 
 with provisions, the issuing of a dozen articles in big lump 
 by my clerks, and the examination of the accounts by myself 
 once a quarter ; but it is the continual issue of innumerable 
 small matters, which make long accounts, and cause great 
 trouble to the storekeeper as well as to his clerks. And then 
 the law is, in the dockyards in England, that no one can go 
 out of the yard without asking leave of the Captain or Admiral 
 Superintendent. At Chatham it is a Captain ; possibly 
 some absolute ass, who will be my master, and whose accom- 
 plishments would hardly qualify him, if brains instead of 
 luck gave preferment, to execute himself even such trumpery 
 duties as I should perform and he control. 
 
 But my gains, on the other hand, will be so considerable, 
 that I am content to take with them all the disadvantages.
 
 SEEKS AN APPOINTMENT IN ENGLAND. 73 
 
 The latter I shall;, I dare say, be able to make lighter than 
 most people. My frieud the Captain will probably like 
 keeping good terms with me; and business of any sort I 
 know how to dispose of and to shorten. I should make for 
 myself more leisure than most of my brother storekeepers, 
 and I should keep in my office other books besides ledgers. 
 And when my day's work is done, we shall often be all 
 assembled. 
 
 In Clement's holidays, and those the law allows you, you 
 will both be Avith us. When Herbert's turn comes^ and 
 Willie's and Charley's, they too will be twice a year at home. 
 Both Sally and Fanny will probably be in England too. 
 •3f * ^ -Jf * -Sf 
 
 Malta would be more and more dismal to us, and England 
 more and more inviting. It will be better for the health of 
 all the little ones, and for mine, which is important, you 
 know, considering what a tribe I have to take care of. I 
 have only once this year been ill enough to resort to the 
 laudanum ; not very ill then ; but have been almost con- 
 stantly out of order since the beginning of June. By living 
 on rice, avoiding the sun, and in every other respect taking 
 great care of myself, I may probably avoid danger; but I am 
 losing stamina. And as I suffered in this way for two or 
 three summers before I went to Switzerland, and have always 
 so suffered in summer since, and did not in Switzerland, and 
 never do here except in the hot weather, it is reasonable to 
 hope that change of climate will cure the mischief. 
 
 After the long imprisonment I have had in this narrow 
 cage, it will be refreshing, too, to see what is going on in the 
 world. I should be able to get six weeks' leave of absence 
 every year, and to move in any direction I chose, without the 
 difficulty and heavy cost of getting away from this ugly 
 island. Besides this, I might, not seldom, be absent for a 
 day, and I hope there will be steam wings for me, so that I 
 might see you sometimes in London. 
 
 But you would, I suppose, be able to spend all your long 
 vacations with us. This would be an unspeakable advantage
 
 74 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 to US, dear Bob. It would, in some degree, spare your 
 pocket, and diminish, therefore, perhaps, your difficulty in 
 contriving to make your narrow income answer your purpose ; 
 but at all events you would have great comfort in a home 
 that you might call your own, and where every face would 
 speak a glad welcome to you. You and Mamma suit each 
 other admirably ; the young fry remember you as their best 
 playfellow. Even little Charley remembers his use of the 
 monosyllable " Bob •" and as for me, I consider you as my 
 dear friend; and we have just such notions regarding each 
 other as may best qualify us to give each other help and 
 comfort. We can depend upon one another in all respects 
 thoroughly. You can fancy, then, what it will be to me to 
 see you habitually domiciled with us for some part of every 
 year, and at other times, in my trips to London to alight at 
 your door. ^ V: -^k % % % 
 
 Living in London, in a large society, respected for integ- 
 rity and ability, the chances of attaining something really 
 good in the course of a certain number of years must be in 
 your favour. You may follow Brougham's advice, and write 
 a law-book. He says that through that sort of channel 
 many a young lawyer has introduced himself to notice. 
 * •3f -sc- * * * 
 
 I dream of the comfort of living within your reach. A 
 railroad will run, of course, through Chatham, for the sake of 
 Dover. One hour, then, will bring you to us. If this time 
 we fail, I will try for the very next opening that offers. 
 ^ •» ^ * •?? * 
 
 There is in your case more than common difficulty ; for 
 the labours of law studies would probably be too severe for 
 your strength, and your spirits would be quite broken down 
 by waiting year after year, as most young lawyers do wait, 
 and wait in vain, for employment. If / had been a lawyer, 
 I could have borne it all ; and it would have been hard if, 
 at (itty-two years of age, I had not been better off than I am
 
 tJNSUCCESSfUL IN HIS APPLICATION. 75 
 
 • 
 
 with this petty appointment. It is true that Lord Eldon 
 waited so long without a brief that he was just going to quit 
 the profession ; but it is also true^ that, at last, the brief came 
 and the Chancellorship. It is also certain that many of those 
 who have had extensive practice have been men of very mo- 
 derate talent. And does it appear tliat there are frequent 
 cases of ultimate failure among men of competent ability, 
 who pursue patiently the right path ? If there are many such 
 cases of absolute failure, they may well make you pause. 
 How heartily glad on your account, dear Bob, I shall be if 
 they let me live in England. ^ •«■ * -5f 
 
 In September my Father writes to his Sister : — 
 
 You knew, as I supposed you would, before we did, the 
 fate of my application to Lord Minto. I have had a dry 
 letter from his secretary, simply to tell me that he had made 
 the appointment before he received my letter. 
 
 Mr. Meek tells me that I stand so high in point of 
 character at the Admiralty, and have so much of the esteem 
 and good-will of every member of the Board, that I should be 
 sure of getting some eligible appointment if political interest 
 did not interfere. He says the Tories are pretty sure to 
 come in before long, and that then my chance would be 
 mended. * * * -jf •«• -jf 
 
 I believe I have learned to treat myself more successfully, 
 and I really feel as if I Avas no longer subject to the evil that 
 used to beset me. Diet has a good deal to do with it ; but 
 the chief good has been done by adopting the Maltese habit 
 of going to bed in the daytime. Instead of working, as I 
 used to do, more or less, in the afternoon,'' I go to bed for 
 two hours, and sleep sound, just as if it was night. By this 
 practice, regularly observed, I have got the habit of sound 
 sleeping at that time ; and I suppose it has counteracted the 
 internal irritation which the heat used to create. The diflFer- 
 
 '' He rose between four and five in the moruinj.
 
 76 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 ence between my present sensations and those I used to have 
 is so remarkable, that I now quite expect to continue free 
 from any return of the disorder. * -jt * ^- 
 
 In September he writes to his Son : — 
 
 Ever since your letter came, four-and-twenty hours ago, I 
 have been pondering on your speculations ; and I only wish 
 it had been to a better purpose. You know how gladly I 
 would help you if I could. Why, Bob, if I were master of 
 my own motions, I should have energy enough to pack my 
 traps up, and go with you to Australia, to keep your spirits 
 up, and help set you a-going. But whether you would or 
 would not do the best thing in the world for the improvement 
 of your fortune by deciding upon emigration, I doubt with 
 precisely that measure of doubt that a man must feel upon a 
 subject on which he is utterly uninformed. Others have 
 made the experiment with success, and you might succeed ; 
 but many have failed, and you might fail. Success in the 
 long run may perhaps be insured to men who possess certain 
 combined advantages; but must we not reckon among the 
 requisites for sure success, a strong body, elastic spirits, know- 
 ledge of rural affairs, and especially of the treatment of sheep ? 
 Well, admitting this, you may not be unqualified ; for an 
 out-of-door life might harden your body and drive out the 
 blue devils. The knowledge you might of course gain by 
 applying to the right means, and spending in the pursuit of it 
 the necessary time. But it cannot be mastered in a day. 
 Books will not give it. Judging by analogy, I should imagine 
 that it can only be collected among the sheep-walks and the 
 shepherds. ^ -sf * -sf -x- * 
 
 I do think that emigration would probably afford you 
 earlier means of marrying than any profession you could choose 
 in England ; but I should not think that you could possibly 
 expose your happiness to greater peril than by marrying 
 before you are tolerably certain of being able to support your 
 wife and children. There is no suffering so bitter as that
 
 CHOICE OF A PROFESSION FOR HIS SON. 77 
 
 created by pecuniary embarrassment, the pressure of poverty 
 from day to day, affecting not oneself alone, but a wife and 
 children. Don't run that risk, Bob. See your road at least 
 a little way before you. Then marry. 
 
 But mind, all this is with the supposition that Australia is 
 to be your object; but whether it is the object which in 
 wisdom you ought to pursue, is another question. Is the bar 
 the only alternative ? I suppose it is. And in that case, is 
 it not worth while, before you choose between it and 
 Australia, to try and satisfy yourself whether there are not 
 some means of entering and pursuing the profession of the 
 law without any sacrifice of capital ? You know there are 
 eminent lawyers who began without any capital. How did 
 
 they manage ? When you talk to your friend again — 
 
 he who told you that if he had your money he would jump 
 at the bar, — see whether he knows, from any lawyer con- 
 nections he may have, by what means a man with so limited a 
 fortune may set to work. * * * -jf 
 
 Mamma wants you to go to the bar because she wishes you 
 to gain a great name in the world, which she is sure you will 
 if you turn lawyer. 
 
 But everybody is more positive than I am. Bob. I don't 
 think any one can see the exact state of your mind as clearly 
 as I can ; and no one can be quite as anxious about your 
 happiness. I have no ambition in my hopes for you. A man 
 may be applauded, and yet not happy. I had rather know 
 that you were enjoying health and content than hear you 
 cried up as a prodigy of learning and eloquence. If I were 
 in your place, I should certainly try the bar ; I should make 
 myself a sound lawyer, write law-books, work like a dragon, 
 do patiently all a man could do to put himself in fortune's 
 way ; and I should in the mean time feel quite sure that it 
 would come at last. Yet with this feeling, I hesitate to 
 advise you to decide upon this course, simply because I have 
 fears for your health. The confinement and hard reading, 
 and waiting year after year for the desired vision of a brief, 
 might be more than your constitution could bear. This is ray
 
 78 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 one great difficulty. I had rather know that you had a robust 
 frame and a light heart in Australia, than hear of your being a 
 Lord Chancellor with an aching head and a sick stomach, and 
 morbid spirits. The only decided advice I can give you is to 
 dismiss from your mind peremptorily the notion of taking a 
 wife, till you can secure the means of an adequate provision 
 for her and the brats. On this subject you can't judge for 
 yourself dispassionately enough. Just at first, the getting of 
 the wife would be such prodigious delight, that in speculating 
 upon it you would not allow due weight to the opposing 
 argument. Be sure. Bob, that if you marry upon the mere 
 chance of making money in Australia, the torture you would 
 suffer till the die turned up would be terrible ; and what if 
 you threw a blank ! Perhaps I am the only one among your 
 friends that would not say don't go to Australia. That I 
 won't say. In truth, I am by no means sure that between it 
 and the bar, I should not, in your particular case, and with 
 your constitution of mind and body, choose this branch of the 
 alternative; but I would not choose without collecting, first, 
 plenty of information. They say, all your dears here, and 
 most people would say, " What a pity to throw away the 
 fruits of Oxford upon Australia V But that, too, weighs 
 little with me. Wherever you are, or whatever your trade, 
 the learning will not be thrown away. At all events, it will 
 give you a better station in society, and larger means of varied 
 and satisfactory amusement; but, besides that, there is no 
 knowing what may turn up in the chances of life to bring all 
 your learning to more profitable account : you are by so 
 much the more in luck's way than you would be otherwise. 
 
 If you had decided ten years ago upon going to Australia, 
 I should still have been glad that a thorough good education 
 had been part of your preparation for it. Whatever you do. 
 Bob, take your degree first. Never mind the small remain- 
 ing time and cost. The degree is worth having, even if you 
 take it to Australia. ^ * '^ ^ *
 
 REASONS FOR WISHING TO RESIDE IN ENGLAND. 79 
 
 In September of this year my Father's fifth daughter, 
 Mary, was born. Soon after he writes to his Son : — 
 
 If I were my own master, I would seriously think about 
 our going with you to Australia. But, Bob, I have been so 
 remarkably well this summer that I could not possibly be 
 invalided ; and if I were to quit my post on any other terms, 
 I should forfeit my pension. Would that be prudent ? If I 
 might go away at once, and take my half-pay with me, I 
 verily believe that I should soon be in better circumstances 
 in Australia than I ever shall be in Malta j and there is no 
 country short of Cape Horn or Spitzbergen that would not 
 probably afford me a more agreeable residence than this 
 does. For the society of mere acquaintance you know I have 
 small desire : I should be quite satisfied with my dears about 
 me. But perhaps it is better that I should not have a choice 
 in this matter ; for if I had to weigh pros and cons, one chief 
 con would be a very formidable one. The little people must 
 be educated; and therefore they must be in England. On 
 this subject there would be difficulties without end. How- 
 ever, if ultimately you do decide upon seeking your fortune 
 in the antipodes, I shall wish that I could go with you ; and 
 if my health fails here, and I am allowed to retire, I will see 
 whether I can't join you. My own personal inclination would 
 certainly be that way. You and I might do wonders together. 
 ****** 
 
 In November he writes : — 
 
 I am always anxious to know what you are doing and 
 thinking about, and specially now that you are near the end 
 of one important stage of life, and preparing to start upon 
 another, where we know nothing of the road, and all sorts of 
 chances may await you, and I shall not be at hand to put my 
 shoulder to your wheel. O what a glorious thing money is. 
 Bob ! It is power. If I had it, I should be liberated from 
 my prison, and I would be with you ; and I should think 
 nothing of a trip to Australia with you to explore the land,
 
 80 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 and help you to decide upon the question of occupying it. 
 But, Bob, what occurs to me is, that though, upon mature 
 reflection, after you have collected the necessary knowledge 
 to reflect upon, it may be well to try your fortune in that 
 new country, yet it may be better to carry with you two 
 strings to your bow. Most of the people who go there are 
 qualified for nothing but graziers. Couldn't you make some 
 advantage of the superiority you probably have over all the 
 other colonists in point of education ? Men of all professions 
 will be wanted there. In no profession there can there be 
 the formidable competition there is in England. Therefore 
 will the chances of success in each be greater. And all the 
 members of all professions may be land-owners and sheep- 
 feeders. 
 
 If I went to a new colony, I would qualify myself to do 
 something that might turn to account in case my grazing did 
 not, or to add to my gains if it did. Whether law would be 
 the best commodity you could take with you (for you have 
 not a wide choice), is worth considering. Would it be worth 
 while to enter at the Temple, and read, and make other pre- 
 paration for being called to the bar, in case of trying Australia 
 and finding it fail ? Put all this together, and think in the 
 train to which it may further lead. 
 
 But another subject for your thoughts may be medicine. 
 I don't know whether you ever dreamt of being a doctor. 
 But for you there could not, as I conjecture, be a better 
 speculation. I verily believe that, with the preparation you 
 have, you might in a marvellously short time gain sufficient 
 skill to start with, and would improve it rapidly. Doctors 
 are wanted everywhere, and you might be the only one there 
 with a classical education. •jf * -sf * Why, 
 
 Bob, with your Greek and your Oxford degree, and the 
 chemistry, for which you have a taste, and which you might 
 turn to large account, and with your grave character, and 
 mellow voice, and quiet manner, and an understanding about 
 equal to the combined store of one thousand such young gentle- 
 men as I have named — your success would be quite sure.
 
 ADVISES Ills SON TO DELAY HIS MARRIAGE. 81 
 
 You might look after your flocks as zealously as the 
 mere graziers. But uhile sheep graze^ shepherds whistle ; 
 and while your sheep graze, you may read and think. 
 * * ^c- * -jf ^ 
 
 Later in November he writes : — 
 
 1 can do little more than assure you how deeply interested 
 I am in all your thinkings and doings, and how gladly I 
 would help you if I could. But, my good Boy/ your stars 
 have led you into a labyrinth, out of which I can see no 
 pleasant path. That you will, sooner or later, marry Lizzy 
 Repton, is, I know, if you both live, quite certain. The 
 opposition of her parents may create delay ; -k- % -Sf 
 but it will not prevail with Lizzy to give you up ; and as for 
 you, you always ivere (by your own confession, though / did 
 not find it out) "as obstinate as a mule ;" and therefore they 
 are not likely to argue you out of your love. / would not 
 if I could ; for — yes, I would if I could ; for if anything / 
 or any one else could say could make you change your mind, 
 it would be charity to the poor girl to show you up. But I 
 suppose all the Reptons know you well enough to be con- 
 vinced that you will persevere ; and that Lizzy will be true 
 to you as long as you are to her, they cannot long doubt. 
 They may think it worth wiiile to try for a time whether 
 they can influence her ; but they will soon see the hopeless- 
 ness of their experiment. When they are satisfied on this 
 point, I take for granted they will not, out of mere auger, 
 make their child more unhappy than they need. It would 
 be very unlike them, for Edward Repton is of a tender 
 nature, and I should not have loved his wife as I have loved 
 her all my life, if her disposition had had any perverseness in 
 it. Of course. Bob, you may take it for granted that it is 
 merely their love for Lizzy that makes them wish you had 
 
 ■^ He had at this time engaged himself to his fair cousin Elizabeth, third 
 daughter of the Kev. E. Repton, Canon of Westminster. 
 VOL. II. G
 
 82 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 been at Botany Bay a year ago. Could any one in their 
 circumstances feel cwt/thing but horror at their daughter's 
 engaging herself to a man without a competence, without a 
 profession, with the certainty of not being rich enough for 
 years to maintain a wife, without taking her to the world's 
 end, and there to toss up for the chance that may betide? 
 * •Jf -Sf ^ -Jf ■» 
 
 But, my dear Bob, be sure that you are wrong to wish to 
 set out at once with a wife. Remember that the children 
 would soon come; that the expenses would increase rapidly; 
 and that the most grievous of all cares are those of poverty. 
 There is nothing that gnaws the heart worse than such a 
 plague. Its occasional visitation is bad enough ; but when it 
 becomes chronical, hectical, sticking fast all day and every 
 day, what is there so hard to bear ? It will be much easier, 
 Bob, to bear for some time a separation from your dear Lizzy. 
 Work first by yourself. You are both very young. You will 
 be cheered while you are working, by the happy prospect 
 before you, and she will not be unhappy while she knows you 
 are working for her sake. * * * -sf 
 
 But, dear Bob, I have a sad sorrow hanging over me. My 
 own sweet Sally is just going to leave me, — and when shall I 
 see her again ! She is going with B anbury and my beautiful 
 grandson to Marseilles, on her way to England, and will sail 
 four hours after the arrival of the mail from Alexandria, 
 which is expected to-morrow. ^ -sf -st * 
 
 I parted from my beloved Father early in December, 1839, 
 for the last time !
 
 83 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 [1840.] 
 
 LIZZT — SOLITUDE AT MALTA — CHEMISTRY — VARIOUS ADVICE AND EXPRE3Sl0i>o 
 OP LOVE — NOTES — LETTER OF CONDOLENCE TO MAD.VME EEBOUL — FANNY 
 LEAVES HIM — ROME — LETTER TO HANMER — COBBETt'S BOOKS — SKETCHING 
 
 — HIS GARDEN — H. KING — CONNUBIAL HARMONY — FUTURE READING 
 
 SHOOTING. 
 
 In January my Father writes to Bob : — 
 
 The sheet containing Lizzy's letter and yours came a 
 fortnight ago ; just too late to be answered by the return of 
 the packet. But I have written to her now^ and, of course, 
 she will like my letter/ for nothing can be warmer than my 
 feeling towards her ; and I dare say it expresses that feeling, 
 I had, certainly, very great pleasure in receiving her letter, — 
 the first offering of the love she means to give me for your 
 sake ; and I need not say anything to convince you that she 
 will always be to me as my own dear child. * * 
 
 I have told my friends at the Admiralty to look out for me 
 for a vacancy at Greenwich, Woolwich, Deptford, or Chatham ; 
 but that I won't take a place in a remote dockyard. My object 
 is to be near London, to take care of the little boys at school ; 
 and still more, to be at hand to look out for promotion. * a 
 
 What a solitude Malta will be to us ! Sally gone ; Fan and 
 Liddell going; — then the only friends we had were the Abbate 
 and Smith, — and they gone too ! It is well for us that Mamma 
 and I are pretty constant in our companionship, and that we 
 suit each other as well as we do. We want our dear ones about 
 us for the sake of love; but we feel no want of society to 
 amuse us. * ^ ^ * * * 
 
 * This letter is missing. 
 G 2
 
 84 LIFE OF R, C. SCONCE. 
 
 Besides your welcome letter, tlie packet has brought me 
 one from Edward Repton and his wife, written in the only 
 spirit in which they could write, — full of kindness towards 
 you and me. ^ ^ % ^ % 
 
 To see you and your wife before you go, would be a great 
 comfort to me ; but you and I are both too poor to do as we 
 please. We must submit to the necessities that govern us, 
 and look forward. Old as I am,** I have a good constitution, 
 and may, not absurdly, indulge the hope of seeing you again 
 in Australia or in England. Meanwhile, you will not be lost 
 to me in your expatriation. We shall preserve a constant 
 intercourse of such letters as will prove very valuable conso- 
 lations to both of us. You would like me to see your works, 
 and your prosperity, and your happy domicile ; but I shall see 
 it all in your vivid descriptions ; and you will always know 
 that every step you take is interesting to me. Each of us 
 will know, while the other lives, that he has one friend in the 
 world worth all others put together. * ^ * 
 
 It is very important that you should have some resource or 
 other for amusing occupation besides books. A little appli- 
 cation to chemistry for a short time, with such assistance as 
 London or Oxford affords, might enable you to go on without 
 help in your Australian solitudes; and I would, if I were you, 
 go on till I overtook even Davy himself. It is a glorious thing 
 to have some special work in hand, — some object on which to 
 apply all one's leisure : it does more for a man's happiness than 
 any variety of desultory work. ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Then the power of sketching would be a pleasant possession 
 to you. If you could find time to take just twelve lessons of 
 a good master in London, it would set you up : I had just 
 that measure of teaching, and no more. * ^ * 
 
 While I remember, — before you go quite away, send me all 
 the papers I wrote for you. You shall have them all again ; 
 but I mean to copy and polish them, to serve the young ones. 
 They would not find elsewhere such help ; and it would be a 
 
 i* Not fiffy-tliree.
 
 FARM-KNOWLEDGE REQUISITE I'OIl AUSTRALIA. 85 
 
 pity they should not have it. It will be an amusement to me, 
 too, for many a winter's evening. * * * 
 
 In February he writes to Bob : — 
 
 The chief comfort I have in thinking of this is, that active 
 employment will strengthen your constitution. I really believe 
 you will be twice the man in Australia that you would have 
 been in Westminster Hall. I said just now I was only 
 sorry I could do nothing to make your way clearer for you. 
 But yet, Bob, it will be something for you to know, wiieu 
 you are on the world's other side, that you have one sure 
 friend ; and though I have no money now, I mean to have 
 some, for we are living so parsimoniously, that we shall save 
 in future a great piece of our income. If ever, then, you are 
 in want of money, I will give you all I can. If it should 
 happen to you to be in such want, it will, I am quite sure, 
 not be your fault, and we will gladly share with you our store. 
 
 ■Jf •^ ■?? ■5f ^ ■3f 
 
 If I were you, I would in the next six months dive deep 
 into the mysteries of digging, draining, dressing, fencing, 
 watering, grazing, sheep and cow doctoring, knowledge of 
 various sorts of soil, and all that a man ought to know who 
 has to depend in a wilderness upon his own hands and brains. 
 I would find leisure, too, for a little chemistry, and would 
 take one dozen drawing lessons of a good master ; and after 
 that I can write you lessons at leisure, and illustrate them 
 by examples. -jf -k- ■>:• * 
 
 To me, in March, he writes : — 
 
 I have not been able to draw viuch of late ; but I have 
 sent one little dab to Mrs. AVilles and one to Mr. Sleeman, 
 by his sou, who went home in the Vanguard ; and I have 
 one of the palm-trees in the Marsa ready for Sir Thomas 
 Acland, and a duplicate of it for Lizzy, and another in pro- 
 gress for Sir T. Acland, a repetition of the Acheron and the 
 Shears. I have nearly finished, too, Captain Iluun's house
 
 86 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 and tlie Custom-house, which I have put in as a background 
 to the Speronara that Bunbury copied. It is for Mrs. Duck- 
 worth, on her birthday, the 4th of this month. * * 
 * -jf From half-past six till eight I work every morn- 
 ing with Herbert, who is making rapid progress. He knows 
 all the Latin nouns, adjectives, pronouns, and verbs per- 
 fectly, and has mastered one Greek verb. Then Kitty takes 
 her Latin lesson too. Then I walk with Mamma, and often 
 go to see Mrs. Duckworth ; and, of course, I read. Bob is to 
 send me ray notes; and, when they come, I shall be em- 
 ployed in revising and copying them. He urges me to pub- 
 lish the Thucydides, and says that if he had stayed in 
 England he would have published my Sophocles. Whether 
 I shall ever venture to publish either, now that I shall be 
 without Bob's help, I don't know ; but I have motive enough 
 for preserving them and putting them into a good shape ; for 
 are there not already Clement and Herbert, and Willy and 
 Charlie, and Johnny and Henry, to whom they will be 
 useful ; and may there not be a dozen more Liddells and Bun- 
 burys, though of Sconces there are already enough, in con- 
 science — no, no, the grandson Sconces will be forthcoming. 
 In short, I may as well have a hundred copies privately 
 printed for the use of my posterity. * * * 
 
 On the death of Sir Harry Neale, in the beginning of 
 March, my Father wrote thus to Madame Reboul : — 
 
 My very dear Friend, — A letter from the Abbate '^ has 
 told me the sad news by which you have been so deeply 
 afflicted. That I should take part in your sorrow on any 
 subject, you know full well ; but you know, too, that the 
 friend who has been taken from you was my friend too, and 
 that I loved him dearly. No one either can understand the 
 measure of your loss more perfectly than I do, enjoying, as 
 
 "^ He had gone to Paris with his lirothcr Michulc, who studied lithography 
 there.
 
 LETTER OF CONDOLENCE TO MADAME REBOUL. 87 
 
 I once did, the privilege of living with you both, and sharing 
 your pursuits, and seeing that you were to each other all 
 that that good girl of mine, to whom you were lately so kind, 
 has been to me, and I to her. I see, at this moment, his most 
 benevolent face, and hear his joke and your merry laugh. 
 He made every one's heart about him expand. It was com- 
 fortable to me to be near the good man. It was delightful to 
 hear everybody agree in speaking of him as he deserved ; and 
 a multitude laments his loss with you. I wish that could 
 be any comfort to your dear heart ; but your love for him 
 was more than that of all the world put together. To 
 write to you on such an occasion as this is, of course, na- 
 tural to me. You knew that I would write. But the 
 Abbate says : " Prendete la vostra penna e dite a questa 
 buona creatura, quel die sapete ben dire in simili circo- 
 stanze per ajutarla, per quanto si puo, a portare la sua 
 afflizione." 
 
 This is the purpose for which I would fain write to you. 
 One does hope in such a case to do some little good. / feel 
 that hope at this moment, though I am conscious of knowing 
 no more than a child would know, what I ought to say to you. 
 I have no wisdom to help me. I can suggest no argument to 
 divert you from your grief or to lessen its pressure. If I were 
 with you, I would not attempt to do either ; but then you 
 could not help seeing that my whole heart was occupied with 
 you, and that I longed to comfort you ; and in your kindness 
 you would let my wishes count for something, and you would 
 answer them, if not with a smile, yet with tears perhaps, and 
 they would relieve you. But is there any case in which a 
 pen is so useless ? My head has nothing to do with the 
 guidance of it ; and as for ray heart, the fuller it is — and you 
 know it is full of affection for you, deep and sincere, and 
 warm as it ever was and ever will be, even if my ej'cs never 
 look upon you again, — the more it hates such a miserable 
 expedient as this is. I have been acquainted with grief; and 
 I know that it hates words. I will not vex you with them, 
 but I will beg you only to think all that I feel for you.
 
 OO LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 In March his darling Fanny left him to go to England, vid 
 Italy and France, with her husband and child. He writes to 
 her at Rome : — 
 
 The great things at Rome are the Coliseum, and St. 
 Peter's, and the Pantheon. If I were at Rome again, I should 
 go again and again to each of them a dozen times. The walls 
 are interesting all round the ruined aqueducts ; and the many 
 churches full of ancient columns. But I would disregard all 
 the modern artists except one painter, Overbeck, who is the 
 best historical painter now alive; and one sculptor, Thor- 
 waldsen, if he has returned to Rome. * * * -Jf 
 
 Dwell as much as you can upon the sculptures in the 
 Vatican and the Capitol ; and some of the great pictures in 
 the Vatican. You know the Transfiguration is the most 
 renowned of all the pictures in the world. You will be sadly 
 disappointed in it ; for its general effect is far less striking 
 and agreeable than you would expect from its great fame, as 
 the best work of the greatest master ; but the reason is, that 
 the colour is not Raphael's. It has been restored and spoiled ; 
 but you are to look at the composition, and the drawing, and 
 the separate heads, each of which is still Raphael's. 
 * * * * * * 
 
 To my husband he writes : — 
 
 Malta, 1 6th April, 1840. 
 
 My dear Bunbury, or, better, my dear Ilanmer, — for 
 though by old use the former prevailed with me, yet the other 
 seems so generally adopted among your new relations, that I 
 don't know why I should make an exception ; and if there be 
 more of affection in it, it will on that account suit me better, 
 as much as it suits them. 
 
 I am inclined, you know, to think of you and Sally as one; 
 and I know you arc inclined to adopt all her feeling towards 
 me. No one can have a deeper conviction than I have of the 
 great blessing of unbounded confidence and affection among 
 all the members of a familv ; and do let us all do our best to
 
 ANTICIPATIONS OF AUSTRALIAN LIFE. 89 
 
 secure it. You will all of you be far away from me ; but I 
 shall always think of you, and interest myself deeply in all 
 that concerns each and all of you. My nature, you know, is 
 ardent enough, and my memory quite good enough to pre- 
 serve all the feeling I have for you now, in spite of all the 
 leagues and all the years that are going to divide us. Bob 
 gave me very great pleasure in telling me of the warmth with 
 which you had proposed his joining fortunes with you. You 
 are quite right in thinking that it would be absurd for you to 
 go one way and him another. Your united power will have 
 twice the effect that it could have divided. Two men may, 
 in succession, slay a dozen lions, though each lion might 
 separately be more than a match for one of them. 
 
 But the wives ! What a blessing thei/ will be to each other ! 
 
 W TT TP TT TT "Jr 
 
 You can fancy that I shall have an eager curiosity to make 
 acquaintance with every tree and every stone about you ; 
 with every undulation of your ground, the species of your 
 grass, and all the very weeds; pools, wells, the colour of your 
 sky, the heat and cold, the sheep and the kangaroos, the 
 birds, the bipeds wwfledged. While you are watching the 
 sheep, you will sometimes be able to sketch a little. Ever so 
 rude a sketch speaks a plainer language than words ; and you 
 must describe your things to me with your pencils as well as 
 pens. Among the odds and ends I want to give you for 
 keepsakeSj I begged my sister to get four things in the shape 
 of camp-stools or sketching-stools; and I told her she had 
 better get you to choose them. -jf ^ -jf •» 
 
 If you find none that combine portability and comfort 
 in due degree, get them made on purpose. Umbrellas, too, 
 for fixing in the ground, would be very useful to you — 
 thorough good ones, well contrived. Will you order four 
 according to your own plan? and be sure and let my sister 
 pay for them. 
 
 There is nothing new here except the Neapolitan affair, 
 which seems a foolish one. The report is, that we are not to 
 make war upon the silly king, but only to seize his ships
 
 90 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 where we can find them at sea, and take peaceable possession 
 of them ; not to use any steel or gunpowder. In the mean 
 time the said king is calling himself a second Bonaparte ; and 
 his brother tells him it is very true, and that he really is equal 
 to Bonaparte in all points except only courage. The Bellero- 
 phon and Hydra, and a small sailing vessel, are gone to the 
 neighbourhood of Naples, I suppose to pick up a straggling 
 zebeck or so ; and much will the honour and interest of 
 England gain by their success. The French Ambassador at 
 Naples is said to have gone to the King, to advise him to 
 grant our demands, and to warn him that, if he persevered in 
 braving the power of England, he would neither have the aid 
 of France nor of any other power ; and the blockhead refused 
 to hear a word the Frenchman had to say, declaring that he 
 knew his own business, and had made up his mind to all 
 consequences. # * * -jf 
 
 Sir was actually going with his own three-decker, and 
 
 his own flag at the main, with the Bellerophon and Benbow, 
 on this fool's errand to Naples ; and well it is he thought 
 better of it ; for Neapolitans to laugh at us would really be 
 too bad. 
 
 I hear nothing about your state of health ; and I think I 
 may take for granted that you are going on gloriously. My 
 hope is, that so thorough a change of air and scene will 
 strengthen you all. «• *•}«•* ^ 
 
 Ever most affectionately yours, 
 
 K. C. S. 
 
 To Bob, in April : — 
 
 I have ordered one or two books that promise to be useful 
 to you. * ^ ^ Cobbett's " Cottage Economy " for 
 my precious Sally, and Anne Cobbett's "English House- 
 keeper," with my love to Lizzy; Cobbett's "English Spel- 
 ling Book " for ray Grandson, Henry Fox, with my love to 
 the good little man ; Cobbett's edition of "bull's Husbandry," 
 for you and Hanmcr to see if it is good for anything for your 
 purposes, but it is to be his jn'opcrty ; and Cobbett's "French
 
 ANTICIPATIONS OF AUSTRALIAN LIFE. 91 
 
 Grammar" is to be your property. So, such as they may happen 
 to be, there is one apiece for you all five ; but you may form a 
 bookclub, and so all five share together. Henry may help your 
 orthography; Hanraer straighten your furrows ; Sally set your 
 house in order; and Lizzy sweeten the dumpling, — and so 
 I well know you will, dear Lizzy. 
 
 To me, in May : — 
 
 Love is the best thing in this world ; and very sweet is the 
 comfort I find in hearing of kind hearts that love my dear 
 child.'^ I will treasure up a faithful recollection of them all, 
 that I may love them for your sake. Why, my chick, you 
 will be so well off in this respect in your southern wilderness, 
 that your days cannot fail to pass pleasurably with your hus- 
 band and your baby, and Bob and Lizzy : there won't be one 
 member of the colony as well off as you will be. I believe 
 you will all go on together just as Mamma and I do. You 
 know I have it all my own way, which is very agreeable; 
 but then she is equally persuaded that she has it all her way : 
 and both are right ; for the truth is, that my way is hers, and 
 hers mine. -jf * * * * 
 
 I heartily hope you will continue to like the good woman 
 you have got to replace your nurse. * * * But 
 remember that if she is moderately young, and not intolerably 
 ugly, she will be sure to leave you for a husband within six 
 months of her appearance in Adelaide. You had better 
 advertise for an ugly woman — though I am afraid there would 
 not be one in the wide circuit of England who would see in 
 her glas4 the required qualification. I suppose, in short, 
 there is no such thing, as Dr. Johnson denied the existence 
 of bad wine. -5t * -sf ^ * 
 
 Bob and you do, to be sure, bewilder me, in sending me 
 from Sydney to Port Phillip, and from Port Phillip to 
 Adelaide. Adelaide of course it will be if Hanmer likes it 
 
 '' In reply to letters from me telling liim of the kindness of all uiy busbaud'a 
 relations.
 
 92 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 best ; for the reasons that make him prefer it will of course 
 weigh equally with Bob, who can have had no leisure to 
 collect materials for any opinion of his own. I shall have an 
 intense interest in learning all I can about the country in 
 which you are to live ; and as for the letters you will write to 
 me from thence, only think, my dear child, of their interest ! 
 I shall feel the most eager curiosity to know all the minutest 
 circumstances that concern you, and everything about you. 
 It is then, too, that your sketching skill Avill be valuable to 
 me. / could make in an hour or two a coloured sketch of a 
 house, or a hill, or a tree, or anything else that would enable 
 you to fancy yourself looking at the very thing itself, and yet 
 it would be a mere rough sketch. It is very easy to make 
 sketches for such a purpose, when one is totally indifferent to 
 their effect as works of art. A finished drawing takes time, 
 and an artist-like sketch requires taste and knowledge of all 
 sorts; but the operation is quite different when one's object 
 is simply to convey a portrait of an object. You remember 
 some of my boats f Hanmer copied one or two. Well, they 
 are roughly done, and none of them took me more than an 
 hour or two; and yet they give as perfect an idea of the 
 reality as one can desire. "Well, then, you might quite 
 easily do anything in that way. The body-colour gives you 
 immense facility. Instead of leaving lights, or picking them 
 out, you have only to paint them in, which is done in no 
 time. ^ * * ^ * 
 
 Speaking of the long drought : — 
 
 All the great wells in the Victualling-yard will be empty 
 in two months. Everybody's wells will be empty in the 
 towns, and all those in the country must be kept for drink 
 instead of watering gardens, ami cotton and melon fields. 
 I believe I must pick out some few of the pretty things 
 that I can't let die, and give up all the rest. I must spare 
 
 '■ The liiglily picturesque Maltese and Sicilian sailing-boats and vessels of 
 various kiiidt--.
 
 HIS GARDEN AF MALTA. 93 
 
 a sprinkling of water now and then for the Hibiscuses, 
 the Pergularias, the great glorious double Oleanders)^ the 
 cut-leaved Bignonia, and for a few of the annuals, till 
 they ripen their seeds ; such as those beautiful Escholzias, 
 of which Captain Wilson gave me a plant last year, from 
 which I have now a dozen pots, and one of them had 
 thirty full-blown flowers at once, as big as the flowers of 
 the single Hibiscus ; and those equally beautiful pink CEno- 
 theras, the long spike, you know, that we had in the court-yard, 
 besides many in the garden. Sliema was full this spring of 
 magnificent ones, but I was forced to let them all die. The 
 Peruvian Nasturtiums I must save, and those dear English 
 sweet-pease. I have thousands of the pink ones they call 
 Painted Ladies. I have spared them a little water, and with 
 that little they have done wonders. I have quantities of all 
 sorts of coloured Rocket Larkspurs; and have immensely 
 multiplied my Ixias and Ranunculuses. The little Marina 
 garden has gained renown this year for its flowers. We have 
 had a hundred times more than ever we had. I have suc- 
 ceeded in getting immensely large and very double purple 
 gi'oundsel. Our chimney-piece has been every day for the 
 last four months a striking exhibition. -jf * ■sf 
 
 Our house is going to be thoroughly repaired ; and so this 
 year I shall have no difficulty about living at Sliema. 
 ^ ^ ^ * * '^ 
 
 To Bob, in May, ray Father writes : — 
 
 Your anxieties are now over, and so, I conclude, will be, 
 before you receive this, your residence at Oxford. You know 
 how impatient I shall be to hear that you have brought all 
 tliose labours to a happy close, and that you have entered 
 with a light heart and good courage upon the pursuits you 
 have next to take up. All is now, I trust, bright in your 
 prospect. If I were you, I should have no fears ; but the 
 excitement of such an enterprise would be all pleasurable. I 
 can conceive no way of entering upon the active business of life
 
 94 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 more interesting ; for you are going with Lizzy to realize an 
 Arcadia. Pastorals and poverty are combinations belonging 
 to our old overstocked western Europe ; but you are going 
 to shear golden fleeces. It must be impossible to feel 
 poverty in a country where you may buy wide lands for little 
 cost, where flocks find pasture, where gardens grow, and pigs 
 and poultry fatten ; where the tax and tithe collector never 
 show their ugly faces, and where you will not want the 
 superfluous fineries of more artificial life. / have nothing 
 but cheerful hope ; and I persuade myself that all four of you 
 are now equally in good spirits and good humour with the 
 lot before you. ^ * * * * 
 
 Bettoo's lesson in Selectee e Veteri describes to me the 
 sort of life you are going to lead. You will bid Lizzy com- 
 misce similam (which must be construed semola), and she 
 will tell you Afi'er vitulum ; and there will by the lac and 
 butyrum, and the panes sub cinere tosti. By the bye, the 
 best new cheese you or I ever encountered was that made by 
 the poor people in the Riviere di Geneva of sheep's milk; 
 though you will have no lack (and, therefore, lac enough) of 
 cows. * * -Jf * -Jf * 
 
 To me, in May, he writes : — 
 
 I have not been quite as robust of late as I am apt to be. 
 When Fan went away, I had a cold that aflFected my throat 
 and chest a good deal. * * •jf How- 
 
 ever it can't long hold out against the vigorous measures 
 I am now pursuing. What cold can resist cayenne and 
 mustard? One you know makes a plaster and the other 
 gargle ; and I hope I shall want no other pharmacy than the 
 cruets, taking care to avoid the mischief of walking in the 
 sun, and then crossing the harbour in the comparatively cold 
 wind. ThiSy I suppose, has kept up the malady ; for poor 
 little Annie ^ has been ill, and I have been to see her every 
 
 Miss DuckworUi.
 
 LETTER TO HIS DAUGHTER SALLY. 95 
 
 day. It may be true enough that charity begins at home, 
 but at any rate the maxim is not to my taste. 
 
 * * ^ * ^ ^ 
 
 We have visitors with us. Henry King and his wife are 
 here on their way to England from India. * * -jf 
 
 So we begged them to spend their few days at Malta with 
 us. I was glad to show them what kindness I could, be- 
 cause you know his mother was my very dear friend, and I 
 have more pleasure in paying a debt of love to a friend in 
 heaven than I should have if she were here to acknowledge it. 
 •3f * * Of all the people in whom I have been 
 
 interested in their youth, I have not found any retain, after 
 the lapse of long years, as much attachment as Henry King,^ 
 I am sure, feels towards me. ^ * * 
 
 To me, in June : — 
 
 Hanmer will take as 'much care of you as I should, and I 
 dare say he keeps you in much better order. Don't you 
 remember how indignant little Fan was when Liddell said I 
 must use my authority and make her ride ? The fact is, I 
 believe I cheated you both pretty much as I cheat Mamma. 
 She fancies she has always her own way, and yet it is always 
 
 my way. But " wisy wersy," as says, I suppose you 
 
 all think me cheated in the very same mode. I am pretty sure, 
 too, that you and Hanmer are going on in the same track. 
 One makes no sacrifice or self-denial for the other, simply 
 because one always inclines just as the other does. When I 
 hear that you both, and your mutual treasure, are all well, 
 that will always be enough for me; for I am quite sure 
 that in other respects all is quite right; and being right 
 now, it is sure to be so till the end. The longer people live 
 together in love, the more they love each other. You will 
 nurse him all the more tenderly when he needs nursing, from 
 remembering that his nursing you, when he was sick himself, 
 
 ^ A grandson of Admiral Sir J. Duckworth.
 
 96 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 gave him a bad illness. So with daily and hourly deeds of 
 kindness, they are things to remember, and are remembered, 
 and make bickerings impossible. People do bicker who have 
 once loved each other ; but not with the right sort of love, 
 and not people who have hearts or brains. 
 
 ^ ¥: ¥: "Xr * ¥r 
 
 Please to give my love to your cousin Emily,'' and tell her 
 that when she desired you to let her know how you found 
 " dear little Clement," she made for herself a passage right 
 into the middle of his Papa's heart. I rejoice, too, in 
 Pamela's recovery, and you may quite depend upon my com- 
 plying with your desire, by going to see them whenever / 
 can. You must always tell me of everybody that loves you 
 and that you love, that I may think of them as my friends. 
 
 * * * •jf « ^ 
 
 Have you seen poor Mrs. Knox ? Aunt tells us — what we 
 had before too accurately guessed — that she has a cancer ! 
 Poor soul ! I feel a most sincere grief for her, and for her 
 husband too. Mortality can know no anguish more appal- 
 ling. I wish to write to him to tell him how I feel for her, 
 and for his trial too ; but this is of all griefs the one that 
 mocks all sympathy. I do daily pray God to have mercy 
 upon her. Would that it were " the effectual fervent prayer 
 of a righteous man !" There is no better hope than that the 
 hideous death which is hanging over her may strike quickly. 
 
 * -jf ^ «^ * * 
 
 - To Bob and Lizzy in June : — 
 
 You will not shut up your Greek and Latin books, as most 
 people do, directly they leave college, and bid them a final 
 farewell. There is no knowing to what extent your scholar- 
 ship may, by lucky accident, be turned by-and-by to profit- 
 able account ; but there is perfect certainty that it will all 
 through life be more or less useful. Instead of letting my 
 
 '■ Miss Napier.
 
 LKTTEll TO Ills SON. 97 
 
 stores perish from disuse^ I would by degrees, and at con- 
 venient opportunities, add to tliera. I would now and then, 
 for my evening's amusement, even write Latin, and tliink of 
 Greek particles. You know I don't preach what I have not 
 practised, and with disadvantages, too, that would have 
 damped most men's courage ; for after my Latin and Greek 
 books were first shut, I was engaged for years in so much 
 business, that I had little or no time at my own disposal, and, 
 shut up in a ship's cabin, I had no access to any books beyond 
 my own narrow shelves. My library, too, was unlike yours. 
 Duker alone had then handled Thucydides, and for one 
 difficulty smoothed, left a dozen unnoticed. * * ^ 
 
 However, you have had, for the present at least, enough of 
 Aristotle and Eton grammar, and I can fancy well the glee 
 with which you are both applying to other subjl^cts. Gunnery 
 is certainly among the last to which I should have expected 
 you to turn. For defence you had better look into Robinson 
 Crusoe, and see how he built his castle; and as for kangaroos, 
 or furred or feathered game, you must tell me who bags the 
 first head, you or Bob ; for my notion at present is that you ' 
 will prove the better sportsman. I was a dead shot once. 
 Ranging the blue mountains of Jamaica with a practised 
 shooter, he aimed at a vulture high in the air, right over our 
 heads, and fired in vain, for the bird was apparently out of 
 reach. However, I fired too, and down came the big bird at our 
 feet. I could not very precisely aver that I ever stopped the 
 flight of another. But the Avunculus, as well as Pater, may 
 excite your emulation ; for it was reported all through Ton- 
 bridge in my school days that Tom Knox had shot a duck — a 
 tame one. -x- «- * ■» •)f -sf 
 
 To Fanny in June: — 
 
 But you see, dear Fan, the Commissioners have done a 
 great deal for me. I shall be indebted to them for twelve 
 
 ' Lizzy. 
 VOL. II. H
 
 98 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 shillings a day half-pay, in addition to my Agent Victualler's 
 retiring pension; and my belief is, that the secretaries owe 
 this to the correspondence I had with Sir George Cockburn. 
 I only wish the law had existed at the time when I had com- 
 pleted the twelve years ; for you see I gained no advantage 
 whatever from the ten additional years^ service. I was then 
 only thirty years old, and just then I had a magnificent offer 
 of help to induce me to try the bar, which, with my .£216 a 
 year half-pay, I certainly should have done; and it would 
 have been hard if I had not done something then. Or even if 
 at that time I had endeavoured to get such an appointment 
 as I have now, and which in those days I would not have 
 accepted, I should still have had a bigger pension in addition 
 to the half-pay ; in short, anything that I could have done 
 would have b6en better than going on for ten additional 
 years doing Secretary's work, which years were quite thrown 
 away. * -jf * -sf -sf 
 
 Mrs. Barnard and her two daughters are with us, and will 
 stay with us till Captain Barnard arrives. I don't know 
 whether his ship has yet left England, but Mrs. Barnard 
 expects him by the end of next month. * -Sf -sf 
 
 She was so amiable a neighbour to Aunt and you at Tothill, 
 that of course we must do all we can for her.'' 
 
 TT TT W vP 7P TT 
 
 To me in June : — 
 
 As the time draws near for your going farther from me, 
 my heart sinks at the thought of it ; but I will keep a good 
 courage, nevertheless, my darling, and so must you. I am 
 quite persuaded that you arc doing wisely, and that, as far as 
 our short sight can go, you are making the best provision for 
 permanent happiness by this present sacrifice. If God pleases, 
 I may, without a miracle, live long enough to see you again ; 
 and in the mean time I am very far indeed from considering 
 
 *■ She was with him ;il)ont tliroc niontlis.
 
 LETTER TO HIS DAUGHTER SALLV. 99 
 
 my far-distant children as being lost to me. Though I dou^t 
 see your sweet face and hear your dear voice, I have you 
 always pictured in my heart; and shall always interest my- 
 self in your interests just as much as if I could follow you 
 with my eyes. The love that prompts your beautiful letters 
 and tells me the detail of all your doings, enables me to un- 
 derstand all the circumstances that concern you, and to trace 
 you everywhere so accurately, that you will never be hidden 
 from ray mental sight ; and in this there is immense comfort. 
 Let us make the most of it, my chicken. If God blesses you 
 with health and tranquillity and prosperity, you will enjoy it 
 all the more for knowing that it will give joy to your dear 
 Papa. You know how very, very much I love you; and so it will 
 always be a pleasure to you to occupy yourself in telling me 
 all that happens to you. We can then be to each other a 
 great deal, in spite of all the thousands of leagues between us. 
 •x- * -x- ^«- * ^ 
 
 H 2
 
 100 
 
 CHAPTER yi. 
 
 [1840.J 
 
 ROBERT'S MARRIAGE — CONGRATULATION ON IT — FLITCHES OF BACON — WEARY 
 OP CONFINEMENT AT MALTA — ARISTODEMO — BOOKS — FANCIED LIFE IN AUS- 
 TRALIA — PART OF LETTER TO MADAME REBOUL — PART OF LETTER TO MB. 
 SMITH — MULES — MEHEMET ALI — HEALTH — DRAWING ON WET GLASS — READ- 
 ING AT SEA — NEEDLEWORK — WAR IN THE EAST — FERVENT BLESSING TO 
 HIS CHILDREN ON SAILING FOR AUSTRALIA — WAR — METHOD OF TEACHING 
 CHILDREN LATIN — TACITUS — EXPRESSIONS OF LOVE, AND OF ANXIETY FOR 
 OUR SAFETY AT SEA — A DEATH-BED — NE SUTOR — EXTRACT OF LETTER TO 
 MR. SMITH. 
 
 In June my Brother took his degree at Oxford^ and was 
 presented with an unsought-for "honour/' — a fourth class. In 
 the beginning of August he was married at Strathfieldsaye ; 
 
 Mr. Repton having taken the Hon. and Rev. Wellesley's 
 
 duties that summer. On the 9th my Father writes to him : — 
 
 Before you receive this letter of mine, your honeymoon will 
 be approaching its second quarter. But no^ Bob^ it won't; 
 for I foresee that it will be much such another as you know 
 ours has been, shining for the last ten years without a cloud. 
 Now, Lizzy, this is no flight of fancy, but a downright plain 
 matter of fact, and a very encouraging one for you too, if you 
 wanted any such encouragement after the experience of your 
 own paternal home, and your sufficient experience, too, of 
 your liusband's disposition. Flitches of bacon are not so hard 
 to win as the world fancies ; or, in other words, there would 
 be winners if the said flitches were but forthcoming. We 
 should claim one annually ; and rare prizes they would be, for 
 all Barbar's arc rancid. I do see strange goings on among 
 married people, and have lately in very young and rather 
 newly-married people too, and they married for love; but 
 then they are deficient in sense, and tliat is enough to account
 
 ENJOYS A GOOD STATE OF HEALTH. 101 
 
 for all sorts of miseries. Nine people out of ten, you know, 
 have no brains ; so out of twenty couples there is but one 
 with a set apiece. Good tempers are about as scarce; and 
 as for taste and sentiment, and sound principle, of course 
 they, too, are sometimes wanting. Plenty of establishments, 
 therefore, go on badly ; but the comfort is, that not only one 
 here and there begins well, but if it does, or only goes on 
 right for a few moons, there will be no change till the end of 
 the chapter. You know no exception to this maxim of mine ; 
 for though there have been, apparently, happy beginnings 
 with bad endings, yet, if the truth were known, those begin- 
 nings were not all right. You are both of you wise enough 
 not to expect to lead a life of undisturbed happiness ; but you 
 do expect, reasonably, to find in each other unfailing comfort 
 in all your trials. And isn't this a blessed benefit ? You 
 have done wisely, then, my good children ; and may God look 
 npon you with His most gracious favour! * 3f 
 
 To me, in July : — 
 
 The packet has behaved well this time, for it brought me 
 your dear letter last Monday, the 6th ; so I had a treat for 
 my birthday. I have now numbered fifty-three years, my 
 darling; and though the Malta summers have not, of late, 
 treated me well, I am pretty sure there are but few people of 
 my standing who retain more of their energies than I do, or 
 feel less in their limbs or spirits of the approach of old age. 
 * * ^ * -jj ^ 
 
 What a graphic account you gave me of your adventures 
 that ended in landing you at Harwich ! But whether you 
 describe gardens of roses, or what you call the wretched little 
 village of Walton, you make me think of the narrowness and 
 ugliness of my narrow cage. Why even Walton must be a 
 paradise in comparison with Malta ; for there, I suppose, one 
 might see a hedge, or a tree or two, and a jmnd, and a mea- 
 dow, — and one wouldn't be hemmed in l)y a wide sea ; — and 
 probably a stage-coach passes near, or there may be a railroad
 
 10.2 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 not far off. In shorty it is uot Malta^ nor the dungeon of 
 Chillon. I was never in all my life discontented with my 
 domicile before, be it where it might ; but, now you are all 
 gone, I am very, very sick of this dull scene. Can't you fancy 
 how continually I am reminded of you ? The going to Bighi is 
 sad work. From the house where the Bowmans lived we hear 
 Miss Giungo's bravuras, and she sings many of your songs; but 
 they were very difiFerent when you sang them, dear ; and when 
 will you sing to me again ? Sing to Lady Bunbury two or 
 three of those well-remembered scraps, without any music, 
 and tell her it is for Papa's sake, because I loved them and 
 love you, and I will think I hear them, my precious. 
 ^ -Sf * -Jf * ^ 
 
 Then I must look round my garden, or my exotics would 
 all perish from injudicious treatment or neglect. I have many 
 rare ones coming up ; among them Jumbee beads and Job's 
 tears, and the Gloriosa Lily, and the giant Orchis, and strange 
 Cassias and Bignonias from Bombay and St. Helena. 
 
 TT TT VT vT vr TT 
 
 To me, in August : — 
 
 My best of Children, — Best, I mean, in all the world, 
 except from Fan to Mary inclusive, but second to none since 
 children were invented by old Adam. * •» * 
 
 I took Mrs. King and her baby to the church to-day for 
 her service and his. We and the nurse and clerk were 
 all the congregation. Loving, as I do, the memory of the 
 poor child's grandmother, it was very interesting to me to 
 join in praying for a blessing upon it. If she had lived, she 
 woukl have been Bob's Godmother. -jf •jf * 
 
 No, dear, I never read Aristodemo ;" but I will for your 
 sake, though, of course, I hate the horrid man, — the old 
 Messeniun, I suppose, that killed his daughter. Those Greek 
 and Roman killers of themselves or their sons and daughters 
 
 » By Monti.
 
 CONGRATULATES HIS SON ON HIS MARRIAGE. 103 
 
 are small heroes in ray eyes ; for patriotism had less to do 
 with it than temper. They were angry with men and the 
 Almighty. * •sf * -sf -3^ 
 
 I delight to hear of all the kind doings of your friends. 
 Capital books they are that Edward Bunbury has given you. 
 Happily you can take pleasure in books of the right sort ; 
 and they will richly interest and embellish your rustic life. 
 
 You are wise in reading Italian while you have it fresh. 
 If you were to neglect it long, it would grow so rusty that 
 you might be discouraged from refurbishing it. Mental 
 stores are valuable enough to all their possessors ; but you, 
 who must depend so much upon your own resources, will 
 have more especial need of them, not only for your own use, 
 but little Henry's. •» ^f •?? -k- 
 
 The time may come when some rapid steamer may take 
 me to see you. If that time does come, there will be joy 
 in the farm ; won't there, my chicken? 
 
 ■K- •» -jf ^ Kiss my grandson for me, and 
 ask Mrs. Austin to mount " the sweet child " ^ on a " sun- 
 beam," and send him to see his Grandpapa. Aurora can take 
 care of him, and I will open my shutter at five to-morrow 
 morning to let him in. * ^ * * 
 
 To Bob, in August : — 
 
 We paid due honour to the llth,"^ for all our household, 
 with the good Abbate, the babies, the servants, and the boat- 
 men, drank your health in champagne. 
 
 * ^ * ^ -x- * 
 
 In a former letter he had said : — 
 
 There will be grand doings here on that day ; for, besides 
 our domestic rejoicings, it will be the eve of St. Lawrence, 
 
 "A Story without an End," translated from the German, by Mrs. Austin. 
 Bob's wedding-day.
 
 104 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 tLe great firework show at our town of Vittoriosa, and they 
 will give the saint more than his usual honours this time. 
 
 His Holiness the Pope has just sent over to our good 
 people some precious pieces of the Martyr's body. There is 
 a well-identified tooth, some roasted flesh, a small lump of 
 his unconsumed fat, and a link of the chain that bound him 
 to tlie fatal gridiron ; and there is, moreover, a parchment, 
 under the Pope's own hand, leaving no doubt among the 
 faithful (i fedeli) that all this is genuine and true. 
 
 * ■» -jf * * ^- 
 
 says an emigrant never prospers unless he can with 
 
 his own hands guide a plough and load a dung-cart. I say, 
 Bob, I would prosper, however. Make me an emigrant and 
 twenty-two years old, and see whether I won't apply my 
 labour to the most useful purpose, whether it be in handling 
 a pen or a pitchfork. The money I would make, however 
 unsavoury the means, be they only honest. The soil of Port 
 Phillip is, I hear, less ungrateful than that of Adelaide. 
 Where you are going, grass and corn and trees will grow. Pay 
 dear for good land rather than little for bad, that your labour 
 may be rewarded by the progressive increase of your crops 
 from year to year. No work can be more interesting than 
 the founding of an estate that promises to nourish your 
 children's children; the planting of oaks to furnish a broad 
 shade for them. Delighting as I do in a garden, what 
 intense pleasure it would be to me, in your circumstances, 
 to lay out my ground, and watch the first shoot of my 
 saplings ! 
 
 Tlie farm and its healthy business, the books to remind 
 you that you are something besides a farmer, and Lizzy and 
 a little nonsense for relaxation, you will lead a very happy 
 life, dear Bob ; and I will share your happiness when you 
 paint it to me, and hope for the day when I may be my own 
 master, when steam has ])rought Australia nearer, and may 
 take me there to see you! What a day that will be for us 
 both, dear bov, if wc live to sec it ! -x- -x- * -x-
 
 LETTER TO MADAME REBOUL. 105 
 
 To Madame Reboul, at tliis time: — 
 
 Never think of any private conveyances, but send me your 
 letter by the post. You know how Httle I am likely to mind 
 the paying of postage, and of you7' letters ! Why, you know 
 my daily dinner costs more, and you are equally sure that I 
 would give at least ten dinners for a letter from you. But, 
 happily, I can well afford both. All I desire to hear is of 
 yourself and your dear ones. When I hear nothing, I am 
 afraid that all may not be well. If you can tell me that you 
 are well and happy, and that you remember your friend, I 
 ask no more than that ; and to receive that assurance from 
 time to time Avould be very precious to me. * ^ * 
 If they '' do prosper, I shall contemplate the sending of all my 
 four young sons to join them. But if I live to accomplish 
 my wishes, they shall not go until each of them has had the 
 advantage of precisely the same sort of education as Bob's. 
 Each of them shall take a degree first at Oxford or Cam- 
 bridge. For the sake of this important object it is that we 
 are staying at Malta ; for we can't accomplish it by any other 
 means than by living here economically, and saving some of 
 our money. Until this year we were never able to put by 
 anything; but now that our numbers are so much reduced, 
 and dear Bob's expenses at Oxford are at an end, and we 
 have only the little ones at home, we can almost live upon 
 my pay, and put by our private income. The Malta summers 
 do me no good, but I must run some little risk for so impor- 
 tant an advantage; but if serious illness comes, then I won't 
 stay any longer, but get invalided, and retire upon my half- 
 pay. * * * -jf * ^ 
 
 You see how I tell you of all my affairs. If I were near you, 
 shouldn't I talk to you of everything ? It is a friend's privi- 
 lege, and very dear to me is the reflection that thirteen years 
 of separation have been far indeed from loosening our attach- 
 ment. All my impressions of my dear friend's value gain, 
 
 ■* Hannier and Bob, in Australia.
 
 106 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 instead of losing, strength by the time that passes. Shall I 
 ever have the unspeakable happiness of seeing you again ? 
 O yes, if we both live I shall ; and if I grow in the mean 
 time a tottering old man, you will still find that your old 
 friend has a heart, and that it has undergone no change. Sages 
 have said that the hardest of all knowledge is the knowledge 
 of one's self. Of many things regarding this self of mine, I 
 dare say I have the usual ignorance ; but I am quite sure 
 that in steadiness of attachment lies a characteristic that 
 honestly belongs to me. By the bye, Liddell, who has been 
 accustomed to speculate on the bumps on people's skulls, told 
 me I had a remarkable one just on the top of mine, and that 
 it meant firmness of purpose, or something of that sort, 
 though I forget the precise term ; and no one ever had a 
 more decided purpose than I have, — that of cherishing your 
 friendship as long as I live, and of repeating your dear name 
 in my daily prayer to God to be reunited in heaven with all 
 those who have been dear to me on earth. ■» * •» 
 Accept, dear soul, the warmest wishes I can express for your 
 happiness. Nothing, you know, can be deeper, or more what 
 you would wish it to be, than the affection of your truest 
 friend, 
 
 E. C. SCONCE. 
 
 To Mr. Smith :— 
 
 We got your letter from Bonigen, and really interesting to 
 us it was. Of course it was particularly satisfactory to me to 
 find tliat you had been able to do all I chalked out for you, 
 and that you agreed with us in thinking that all you saw was 
 worth seeing, and well worth the troiible and the cost. I was 
 very glad, too, to hear again of my old friends, and the poor 
 washerwoman among the rest. If Queen Victoria would but 
 give us both our emancipation, I should like nothing better 
 than making another trip to the Obcrland, and showing you 
 some of my pet recesses among the mountains beyond Chillon. 
 There is no spot I have ever known so full of sweet scenes 
 witliin a day's range. -x- -x- * -x- ^
 
 LETTER TO HIS DAUGHTER. 107 
 
 Bob took his degree without asking for honours ; but the 
 examiners made him a present, unasked, of a fourth class. 
 They never give a higher in such cases, and of course it is 
 nothing to boast of; but yet it is quite enough for a shep- 
 herd, and more than one could have expected, considering 
 the matrimonial and emigratorial speculations which have so 
 long filled his brain. Be sure and manage better for Charles 
 John and Percy. They are not likelyJfto fall in love at 
 Oxford ; and in the vacation time I should recommend for 
 them a couple of cages, all the better if fashioned like those 
 of the squirrels, to give them air and wholesome exercise apart 
 from the horrible danger of encountering pretty faces. 
 * ^ * * -jf * 
 
 To me, 3rd of September, he writes : — 
 
 Tell me that you are lords of a spacious pasture on the 
 river side, and then I shall know that your sheep will in four 
 years grow from hundreds into thousands. 
 
 The young Watsons are taking with them two JNIaltese 
 asses. Tell me, Hanmer, by-and-by, if I shall send you 
 some. Those of best blood and biggest bone are now sold 
 for about thirty pounds apiece. You know the value of mwZe^ 
 for steady work that requires power but not speed. I have 
 four that have gone round in the mills every day except 
 Sundays, eight hours a day for the last ten years. Horses 
 couldn't do that. Four others were worn out in nine years, 
 and the weakest four lasted eight years. The four that have 
 completed ten years are still in high condition. * -jf 
 
 * -Jf has a cadetship, and is going to India. How 
 
 he is to get there I cannot tell, for Mehemet Ali won't let 
 him pass. Said Mehemet defies us and our holy allies. The 
 only answer he gives to their summons is, " The Lord gives 
 and the Lord takes away, and blessed be the name of the 
 Lord." They told him he should have ten days to think of 
 the matter. " What," says he, " won't you take my answer 
 now ? You are like a merchant holding a bill at ten days'
 
 108 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 sight, who refuses the money till the days are expired." He 
 said of the proceedings of the Powers, that it was solemn 
 trifling committed to vulgar hands. The old man won't yield 
 one inch, and the means of making him are not in our hands. 
 An army is wanted, and we can't furnish it. The Austrians 
 won't, nor probably the Prussians. The Russians would be 
 too happy ; but when we introduce the Cossack hordes into 
 Egypt, what a lauglf there will be all over the world at our 
 cost. ^ * * * * •» 
 
 At the same date he writes to congratulate Fanny on the 
 birth of her second son, and adds : — 
 
 I mean some day, like Mr. Cory of Norfolk, to give a grand 
 dinner to my hundred sons and daughters and grandchildren. 
 Mr. Cory, the young clergyman who came here last year 
 with Roberts the painter, told me that he was one of the 
 hundred at his grandfather's table. It was not an exact 
 hundred, but something more than that. 
 
 We must found a Sconcetown in Australia. By the time 
 Clement and his three juniors take up their abode there, it 
 will be already pretty well peopled, and they may as well 
 take out their four wives, for the sake of saving time. When 
 I am a robust old gentleman of sixty-five. Queen Victoria 
 will give me my dismissal from the biscuit-baking, and 1 can 
 go and assume the reins of government. While I go on as I 
 have done this summer, there can be no mvaJiding , for I have 
 been as well all July and August as ever I was in my life, all 
 sound and free from a single ache from head to foot. Some 
 of the usual threatenings came in the beginning of the sum- 
 mer, but they were easily got rid of, and I have learned by 
 long experience to manage myself so well, that I have now 
 little to fear from the old enemy. 
 
 I couldn't bear sleeping in my flannel belt ; but I found it 
 very much more necessary to wear it at night than by day; 
 and by getting very fine flannel for the front only, with mere 
 cotton for the rest, the grievance was so much abated that I
 
 DRAWING ON GLASS. 109 
 
 bore it bettor, and now find it no grievance at all, but a most 
 marvellous safeguard. And then, the suiting of due diet to 
 the season and ray idiosyncrasies, was a work that only time 
 could bring to perfection. 
 
 It has taken me longer than the time usually allowed ; for 
 one ought, if not a fool, to be a physician at forty ; but it has 
 taken me thirteen years more. 
 
 To me :— 
 
 I have improved upon my plan of drawing upon glass. I 
 use two glasses, one smaller than the other ; so that the outer 
 edge of the frame of one fits inside of the inner edge of the 
 frame of the other. By wetting the paper and spreading it 
 upon one glass, and covering it with the other, the very heart 
 of the paper gets saturated, while the surface remains damp, 
 for the air is excluded, and is defended from dust. When I 
 leave off drawing, I cover up my work in the same way with 
 the second glass, and whenever I return to it, I find it in the 
 most beautiful possible state for taking colour. 
 
 The last thing I do before leaving off for the day, is to wet 
 the paper at the back, and lay it down upon the glass, and 
 then cover it with the other glass. Of course, the glass with 
 which I cover it does not touch the drawing. It is like put- 
 ting a smaller slate upon a larger, and just within its frame. 
 I put on any quantity of colour so at once, and it dissolves and 
 blends beautifully ; and I did a good sky all at once. By the 
 bye, try some trees with three colours only, — indigo, lake, and 
 gamboge. Put one wash with most of gamboge, and very 
 little of the others, so as to be a bright rich yellowish green } 
 then, when that is dry, put on the dark parts with the same 
 colour, but so thickened with lake and gamboge as to be 
 almost a paste. I have seen some trees done so, and have 
 tried it myself, and it answers admirably.
 
 110 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 On the 4tli, to Robert and Lizzy : — 
 
 My very dear Son and Daughter^ — At last I have had 
 the happiness of seeing under your own hands that you 
 belong to each other, and I have one child more — an excel- 
 lent child too ; and you may be quite sure, my pretty Lizzy, 
 that, give me as much love as you please, none of it will be 
 lost ; for it will be exceeding precious to me, and you will 
 share mine with Bob just as you will share all your other 
 properties. Long may you both feel all the happiness your 
 letter expresses ! -sf -sf -x- * -jf 
 
 To them later in September : — 
 
 You will have time for reading on the voyage, so don't 
 forget to keep out a few books. I say. Bob, all the young 
 ladies spend their time in working carpets. I see nothing 
 
 hut worsted-work going on. never opens a book, but 
 
 alwaj^s the work-bay. 
 
 Don't let Lizzy work. You have an understanding, dear 
 Lizzy ; but most ladies live as if they had only fingers. My 
 own dear wife works when work is necessary, as mothers of 
 families often find it to be ; but for her amusement she can 
 do something better. Music, drawing, reading, are all a 
 pretty deal better. 
 
 To me about this time : — 
 
 * * * * The war is begun in the East, 
 and the devil's game is likely to go on at a rare rate. Bey- 
 rout has been battered down ; marines have been landed ; 
 Commodore Napier is Generalissimo in Syria. Tlie Sultan 
 has named a new Pasha to supersede Mehemet Ali in the 
 government of Egypt ; and so, of course, the old man will 
 fight to the last, rather than lose his fortune and his life, as 
 he would, in Turkish fashion, if he now surrendered. I know 
 nothing but from reports, half of which arc siirc to be lies ; 
 but I believe it is quite true that the old Viceroy declared
 
 HIS LAST LETTER TO HIS CHILDREN IN ENGLAND. Ill 
 
 his liurable submission to the Sultanas will, adding, that he 
 hoped his good master would in his generosity allow him, in 
 consideration of all the services he had rendered to the 
 Porte, to retain Syria for his life. In answer to this submis- 
 sion, the Sultan and his advisers, the Ambassadors, with 
 
 Lord P at their head, cry. Fire away ! Lord P 
 
 hates Mehemet Ali with a passionate personal hatred. They 
 say the submission had a condition tacked to it, and was no 
 submission at all, and was only a trick to gain time. Most 
 likely ; but yet I should have reflected before I fired. 
 ****** 
 
 To " Bob and Lizzy,'' on the 30th of September, 1840, my 
 Father writes : — 
 
 I hope this last word of mine that may reach you in 
 England will not be too late, that so you may carry with 
 you the latest expression of the love I shall always feel for 
 you, and of our fervent wishes for a safe and quiet voyage for 
 you, and a happy landing in your new country, and for all 
 prosperity in all your doings there. "We shall wait with 
 intense anxiety for some account of the progress of your 
 voyage. Some of you will now and then be able to write a 
 line or two when the sea is smooth, to tell me how you fare 
 upon the wide ocean. If I were at liberty, I would go with 
 you, even if it were only to help take care of my dear Sally 
 and Lizzy and Henry on the voyage. I shall think of you 
 continually. 
 
 May the Almighty watch over you, and reunite us in 
 Heaven, and bless my aged eyes, if it be His good pleasure, 
 with a sight of you once more even upon earth. 
 
 ****** 
 
 In a joint letter to me, ray husband, and our babe, he 
 writes : — 
 
 You have made all your preparations, and bidden your dear 
 ones farewell, and have now only to look forward with hope
 
 112 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 and a good courage. May a fair wind and smooth sea 
 carry you quickly away from the treacherous region of the 
 Channel, and bring my sweet Sally by degrees to an ac- 
 quaintance with the life she is to lead for the next four 
 months. It is a tedious time, my pretty child, for you, 
 whom the sea is apt to treat so unkindly ; but if you are 
 blessed with quiet days at the outset, it is possible, I trust, 
 that you may grow accustomed to the ugly element, and 
 make good friends with it before you part. 
 
 ^ * -Jf * * -Sf 
 
 I am heartily glad, dear Hanmer, that no war has yet 
 inclined the Admiralty to abridge your liberty of disposing 
 of yourself your own way ; and I trust, that if war with 
 France does come, they will find people enough to command 
 the corvettes without disturbing you. But the French are 
 obviously on the alert, and their hot spirits impatient for a 
 fray, and subject for a good quarrel not likely to be long 
 wanting. There is a report here that the French Consul at 
 Beyrout has been rebuked by our officers for playing the spy. 
 Of course that would make his people sputter. It is said, too, 
 that the French have made some bargain with the King of 
 Naples, by virtue of which they are to possess either Syracuse 
 or Messina. This would, of course, make us sputter. Several 
 French war-steamers have gone to their fleet in the Levant. 
 Three more are expected immediately ; and the French 
 packets are all ordered to put themselves under the French 
 Admiral's orders, if he chooses to call for their services. It 
 is wretched work, this Beyrout — beginning of a war which it 
 would puzzle Palmerston or Ponsonby to prove to be "just 
 and necessary." 
 
 When the high constituted authorities, whoever they be, 
 gave the word to fire, I wonder if it ever did occur to them 
 that it is an awful word to give, and that they will be 
 accountable for the deaths on both sides. Passion, pique, 
 point of honour, or pelf, now and then perpetrates a homi- 
 cide ; but if passion has anything to do with a declaration, of 
 war, then the devil lias done his work thoroughly.
 
 METHOD OF TEACHING LATIN. 113 
 
 My sweet little Grandson, take with you your Grandpa{)a's 
 blessing. Be well and strong, and grow up to be a good and 
 wise and brave man, just as you promise to be. 
 
 Heaven guard and guide and prosper you all. 
 
 * * * * ^ * 
 
 To me in October he writes : — 
 
 Tiiank you, my darling, for sending me the seeds ; I shall 
 love to watch their growth for my sweet daughter's sake. 
 Mind, dear, I value a scrap of that sort for the sake of your 
 sending it, much more than I should value the most gorgeous 
 of flowers for their own — just as I value the little lavender 
 bag you made for me. I always put it carefully among a 
 heap of my pocket-handkerchiefs in my drawer, and think of 
 you every morning when I take one out. It retains all its 
 scent. * * * * Of all the many experiments 
 I have tried with little learners, my last has answered 
 best. I gave them a little Latin book, with short easy sen- 
 tences, and helped them to construe it. Then I extracted in 
 one manuscript list all the substantives, in another all the 
 adjectives, in another all the pronouns, in another all the 
 verbs. In this way they got up the declensions, and so forth, 
 synoptically, and very quickly; and when I put the book 
 into their hands again, they will have it at their fingers' ends, 
 and will be ready for something a step higher. They will run 
 through a hundred substantives or adjectives at a lesson, and 
 tell me their genitive cases all right. Pat this into your 
 memory-box for your little sweet. -sf ^^ * 
 
 To Bob, same date : — 
 
 At the outset you must be content to risk little and gain 
 little. Slow and sure; no (jumbling. I am sure, dearest 
 Bob, that you are in danger of being tempted to speculate 
 too deeply. Think of this for my sake. When you have 
 added something to your store by the multiplication of your 
 
 VOL. ir, 1
 
 114 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 sheep, then, with your gains, buy horses and mills, and what- 
 ever else your experience of the place suggests. 
 
 Excessive caution may be the vice of my age ; but head- 
 over-heelsness is just as much that of yours; and besides, old 
 as I am, I am conscious of having still a spirit of enterprise 
 that would carry me a fair length. I am not sure that I 
 should not myself rather err the other way. But you must 
 hold up to yourself, in terrorem, the frightful picture of an 
 utter failure ; and then you will go to work so cautiously that 
 you can't fail. 
 
 To Fanny at this time : — 
 
 But all is not quite well with you, my precious ; for you 
 have the pain of this sad parting, and a bitter pain it is. 
 Well for you, sweet Fan, that you have such dear interests at 
 home. Your husband and your smiling boys are your little 
 world, and you must be happy in it, as I am happy even here. 
 We must seek content from our present stores; but we will 
 shoot many a thought in the direction of our distant dears, 
 and derive sweet comfort from their well-being, and from 
 their love, however wide their separation from us. I believe 
 in my conscience that if I were untied I should make a 
 voyage every year between England and Australia, to see you 
 all in turn. * ^ ^ * ■jf 
 
 To Fanny, in November : — 
 
 It is much pleasanter to talk about one's children than 
 one's single child. Isn't it? One, you know, can hardly be 
 called a family, and one likes to have a family. My wishes 
 for you will be accomplished when the daughter comes to 
 complete the group. Three children (three cows on a lawn, 
 or three anythings) always do group much better than two. 
 Mr. Gilpin, the artist and clergyman, actually bought a third 
 cow for no other reason; and so you had better buy the other 
 baby. % * * -x- *
 
 LETTER TO HIS SON. 115 
 
 To Bob, in November : — 
 
 What an intense anxiety I shall feel till I know that you 
 have made your first footing good ; and before 1 can, know, 
 one whole year must pass away ! Many a packet must come 
 uncharged with its usual welcome freight for me ; but when 
 once the series of Australian reports does begin, my hope is 
 that it will not be materially interrupted. Utterly ignorant 
 as I shall be, until you inform me, of all the circumstances 
 of your new life, you must try if you can, by minute descrip- 
 tion, enable me to picture to myself every scene about you. 
 I am glad to have made acquaintance with Grigsby, and King 
 Charles, and the heavy Scotchman, and the carpenter® (wer- 
 geriensis), and the pretty maiden from Ealing, who is, in 
 process of time, I suppose, to be the said carpenter's wife. 
 
 Vr TT 7r Vr TT Vr 
 
 Have you left my manuscripts to be sent to me ? As you 
 are gone, and I have heai-d notliing about them, you can 
 fancy that I feel some little solicitude on the subject, seeing 
 the many hours of thought I spent upon them (for many a 
 day's work was sixteen hours long), and the natural hope 
 I have of making them useful to the small people, who will 
 soon be growing into Grecians. Suppose, my dear Bob, you 
 take up some pursuit of this sort ; you would find it interest- 
 ing as an amusement to fill up many an odd five minutes, 
 and it might afterwards find its way to the press, or would, 
 at all events, be a treasure for our own small fry. 
 
 Even at this distance we might interchange notices with 
 pleasure and profit. Greek choruses, or any other things 
 containing in small space subject for much thinking, furnish 
 excellent employment for odd minutes. I had always in my 
 pocket a Sophocles and a pencil and paper, and so did many 
 a bit on horseback, in my boat, or waiting for people at the 
 Lazaretto or elsewhere ; and if I were an Australian shepherd, 
 such pursuits would naturally be suggested to me by the 
 
 Son of the verger at Mr. Repton's cliapel. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 leisure of a pastoral life. If I couldn't sing like Menalcas 
 and Damoetas, I would meditate their muse. 
 
 By the bye, dear Bob, I have, among my odd readings of 
 late, taken Taeitus's "Agrieola," merely for the sake of recalling 
 the time when we conned together its few difficulties. Wasn't 
 there one at — " Nunc terminus Britanniee patet, atque omne 
 ignotum pro magnifico est. Sed nulla jam ultra gens " ? 
 The critics have made a puzzle of it. But from atque to est 
 ought to be connected with what follows, and not, according 
 to my Gronovius, with what goes before. " Our last recesses 
 are now laid open to the view of the Romans, And though, 
 while yet a large part of our island was unknown to them, 
 their progress might have been checked by the fear of 
 encountering a superior force, — the fear of the magnificum 
 ignotum, — yet now, on they will surely come, for they see 
 that we are the last — nulla jam ultra gens.'* 
 
 Small leisure will you have for many a day for such things 
 as these ; but you may look at your Tacitus a year hence, 
 and tell me what you think of this. ¥: * * 
 
 To Fanny, iu December : — 
 
 All will not be right anywhere. Everybody must have an 
 annoyance. Mine, you know, is my banishment. My sepa- 
 ration from so many of you. But you know, too, it has many 
 alleviations; and it is encouraging to find that its purpose is 
 likely to be answered in providing the means of educating 
 the little ones. We shall take your advice, and give our 
 friends no costly entertainments.^ A leg of mutton now and 
 then won't ruin us, and you know we can't turn mere misers. 
 * * * * -x -Jf 
 
 Precious daughter, it is good for me to write to you, 9,nd 
 to read your dear letters. This intercourse with my distant 
 dears is all I have to break the monotony of my days. Yet^ 
 
 ' He had always been in the habit of giving large champagne dinners (fre- 
 quently of eighteen) to his friends and acquaintance.
 
 LETTER TO HIS DAUGHTER. 117 
 
 thank God, there is very great happiness even in this mono- 
 tony; for, if it is not varied by agreeable events, it is not 
 disturbed by griefs and pains. My health is good, ray wife 
 good, and all my children good and healthy. Bless you all ! 
 
 To me, in the first letter addressed to Australia : — 
 
 Don't you know, my precious, M'hat delight it would be to 
 me to do anything for you ? And all I can do is to send you 
 a poor sheet of paper. I think of you continually, and I 
 feel as if you had just this moment parted from me. But, 
 besides all this, you know how impossible it is that I should 
 not feel more than common anxiety. I am as little apt as 
 most people to make misery. 
 
 We are in God's hands, and may well assure ourselves 
 that He will comfort us if we resign ourselves to His will 
 and trust in His mercy. But it is not His will that we 
 should always have light hearts, and mine cannot be light 
 until I am blessed with a certainty of your safety. In that 
 careful kindness of yours you meant me not to know you 
 were expecting another baby. 
 
 But we do know it, my precious child ; and you must not 
 be sorry that we do. My earnest wish is always to know 
 every thing. I am sincerely glad that I have this knowledge. 
 At least, it enables us to pray to God with all our hearts to 
 help you in your hour of need. 
 
 * ¥: * ¥r A. thousaud kindest thanks, too, 
 for your precious present of the books — Sir Samuel Romilly's 
 Memoirs. You knew it would exactly suit my taste. It is 
 intensely interesting to me, and I have already found time to 
 read two of the volumes. But there is nothing in all the 
 book that interests me quite as much as the few letters you 
 wrote with a pencil inside the covers, " S. S. B. to R. C. S." 
 In pencil though it is, it will never be rubbed out, and the 
 book shall never be bound, that I may not lose them. My 
 special delight in your little epigraph consists, I believe, in 
 the fancy I have, that it expresses the equal friendship that 
 subsists between us. ^ * ^- •jf
 
 118 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 To Bob :— 
 
 God grant that no evil has befallen you ! My pretty Lizzy^ 
 you have suffered sickness and terror. It has been an awful 
 outset of your voyage. And you^ my dearest Sally, what 
 have you suffered ? The newspapers from England are filled 
 with fi'ightful descriptions of the tempests that prevailed 
 within a very few days after your sailing ; and it is impos- 
 sible you could have gone far enough to have been beyond 
 their reach_, nor far enough from the land to have the good 
 sea-room that takes away from a storm its worst danger. A 
 good ship, I trust, you have, and a skilful captain, and that 
 Captain had Hanmer's active vigilance to aid him; but, above 
 all, we have God's merciful providence for our trust ; and I do 
 trust that He will bring you in safety to the haven where you 
 would be. * vf * You know well, dearest 
 
 children, how continually I am thinking of you, and wishing 
 that, whatever may be your troubles and dangers, I were with 
 you to share them. -» ^ * ^ 
 
 That poor Miss Pendrill is gone, and a grievous loss she is 
 to those that loved her. She was one of the most sensible, 
 graceful, and engaging people I ever knew. A few days 
 before her death they had all moved out to Sliema, to the 
 house where formerly the Smiths lived, and after them the 
 Stoddarts. Two days before she died, when her two sisters 
 and mamma were by her bedside, she sent for me, to bid me 
 farewell, and spoke to me with entire composure. She said, 
 " I have had very great pleasure in knowing you, and I wish 
 our acquaintance had been earlier. You must follow my 
 remains to the grave, and, by God's mercy, we shall meet 
 again in Heaven. God bless and preserve you and all your 
 dear family. Pray for me, and pray that I may be spared the 
 pain of a severe struggle at the last." And she did die a 
 most peaceful death, without any struggle whatever. The 
 effort she made in speaking to me was the last of which her 
 bodily strength was capable. * -se * * 
 
 The Greek notes are come safe, and I will set to work
 
 ORIGIN OF " NE SUTOR." 119 
 
 soon. I am glad to see some emendations of yours, and only 
 wish your pencillings had been more abundant. The chances 
 are, that you are right in every instance, and that I shall 
 take your sense rather than my own. Some of mine, I see, 
 are mere blunders, natural enough when victuallers turn 
 critics. "Ne sutor." Besides, you know the Thucydides 
 never had a revision of mine. I wrote it as you had it at 
 once, and not from a rough copy. By the bye, do you know 
 the origin of Ne sutor ? Apelles exposed his pictures (per- 
 gula — in the bazar) for the criticism of the vulgar, " atque 
 post ipsam tabulam latens, vilia quae notarentur auscultabat, 
 vulgum diligentiorera judicera quara se prseferens, Feruntque 
 a sutore reprehensura, quod in crepidis una intus pauciores 
 fecisset ansas : eodera postero die, superbo emendatione 
 pristinaj admonitionis, cavillante circa cms, indignatum pro- 
 spexisse, denunciantem, ne supra crepidam judicaret, quod et 
 ipsum in proverbium venit." This is in Pliny, Nat. Hist, 
 book 35, where there is a great deal of interesting matter for 
 us painters. ^f * ^ * ^ 
 
 To Mr. Charles Smith, the end of this year, he writes: — 
 
 That you would decide upon retiring, I had small doubt, so 
 I am not surprised ; but yet I had something like a hope the 
 other way ; and little as it was, I cannot part with it without 
 pain. Malta is bad enough under the best of circumstances, 
 but what will it be to us now ? We had one friend with 
 whom we could take counsel, or laugh, or grumble, without 
 reserve, and now we have not one. 
 
 Our friend had the habit of coming in to us, and old and 
 
 young always greeted him with an accclamation ; and now 
 
 our solitude will be unvaried. But yet I am heartily glad, 
 
 old fellow, for your sake, that you have escaped from slavery. 
 
 ^f ^ ■» * -Sf * 
 
 I have been in bonds all my whole life, from the nursery 
 to the school, and thence to the service of the King and 
 his Admirals, and a hard service it is. Give this to Percy —
 
 120 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 ^aXfTTov apx^aOai vtto \npovoq. I think it means, that 
 " drudgery at best is bad enough ; but the worst of all is 
 fagging for one's inferior" This looks, sure enough, as if I 
 fancied any Kings or Admirals could be my inferiors. Bless 
 their hearts, they are mammoths and I a mouse ; only, you 
 know, it does sometimes happen that these big beasts (the 
 mammoths) have no brains. I have seen one or two with 
 their skulls as empty as my pocket. I wish I could turn 
 gentleman too ; but I must first fill the pocket aforesaid. 
 
 * 
 
 * -x- ^ * * 
 
 I have nothing to tell you. Our life is unvaried. I want 
 my absent dears ; I want a wood, and a field, and a river ; I 
 want the Water-colour Exhibition and the British Museum, 
 and a railroad ; but I have health and spirits and energy to 
 amuse myself with the revisal of the work I did for Bob, and 
 with my drawings when I have leisure ; and I have a goodish 
 wife and half a dozen rather sweet little brats about me. If 
 agreeable novelties don't come, yet neither has pain nor 
 grief come to disturb us ; and with all my heart and soul I 
 can thank God for allowing me what I am sure upon the 
 whole an unusual measure of happiness. 
 
 I am using all diligence to grow rich, too ; and if I live, 
 there will be money enough to make scholars of all the boys, 
 as well as graziers. * * -jf * *
 
 121 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 [1841.] 
 
 ATTACK IN A SCURRILOUS NEWSPAPER— ANXIETY ABOUT THE " ARGTLE " — 
 TEACHING LITTLE ONES LATIN — ACRE — HEARS OF THE "ARGYLE's" SAFETY 
 — AND fanny's SAFETY — HER PRECARIOUS STATE — THE CHURCH AT PORT 
 PHILLIP— PLAUTU3 — HIS PORTRAIT — THE GALLEY PRISON — ENGLISH CHURCH 
 AT MALTA — LETTERS TO LITTLE CLEMENT — NURSERY RHYMES AND LATIN 
 FOR LITTLE CHILDREN — LETTER TO MR. SMITH ABOUT THEM — LETTER TO 
 KOBERT. 
 
 My dear Father writes in low spirits the beginning of this 
 year, for he was suffering great anxiety about the Argyle, 
 which encountered, in the Bay of Biscay, one of the most 
 terrific galeS^ that had been known for years, and in which 
 numerous vessels were wrecked. Of himself, however, he 
 says to Bob, — 
 
 I am as strong and sound, and almost as elastic as I was 
 ore Stov 'EptvBaiXiwva KariKTav : Anglice, when I shot the 
 vulture in the blue mountains of Jamaica; for that was, I 
 believe, my most signal feat of arms. * * -jf 
 
 Speaking of an attack on himself and his department in a 
 scurrilous newspaper, relating to the purchase of wheat, he 
 says : — 
 
 At the Chamber of Commerce in Valetta the writer has 
 been abused for attempting to assail " II piii degno degli 
 impiegati."'' -sf * * * 
 
 The niobt worthy of the Ciovernment ofiicers [cynploi/ds).
 
 132 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 To Fanny lie says : — 
 
 My precious, I am thinking of the Argyle night and 
 day. I do hope and trust that all is right. But I have, 
 somehow, a lump of lead upon my spirits that I can^t shake 
 off. -js- * * * * 
 
 In another letter : — 
 
 My heart is sick for longing for news of Sally and Bob, 
 and I fear there is but very little hope of our hearing from 
 them by any crossing ship. What a time, then, we must 
 wait ! And how I shall jump for joy when a happy letter 
 comes ! Don't you think it will be the happiest day you and 
 I have known for the last century, when we see their precious 
 handwriting to tell us they are all safe and sound at Mel- 
 bourne, and the little sea-born daughter all blooming and 
 promising to her dear Mamma's content ? ^ ^ ^ 
 
 To me in February he writes : — 
 
 To see a letter Avith your handwriting on the outside of it 
 once more will be such joy as comes but seldom in a long 
 life. You know men are not like you poor whimping petti- 
 coated people, and my nerves are as well strung as most 
 people's ; but yet when that letter comes, and common sense 
 would be in a hurry to read it, I am quite sure I shan't be 
 able, for I shall cry a great big flood of tears, like a great 
 baby. But before that letter comes, this, the last month of 
 winter, must pass away, and we must go to Sliema and wear 
 out the summer, and must return again to the Marina — and 
 then, after that return, I shall watch from day to day. Think 
 of the unspeakable interest with which every word you write 
 will be filled ! 
 
 All I can tell you is that your dear Papa is well, and that 
 he loves you. But what histories you will have to give me! 
 But the one word that tells me you are well, that will be 
 enou(/h. In unum vitam orarcm. If I had not some eighteen
 
 Method of teaching latin. 123 
 
 several motives for desiring life, it would be enough to look 
 forward to the reading once more of that word in your 
 writing. Don^t wonder at my writing Latin : I live among 
 the Romans. Bettoo and Kitty and Mamma all talk Latin. 
 The little things have a great fancy for this sort of work, and 
 are getting on at a great rate ; and Mamma not only learns 
 of course all she hears of it, but reads at a great rate too, for 
 the sake of being able to help Mia and Willy when their turn 
 comes. 
 
 I write quantities of baby-Latin, easier than the books 
 make it, and affording varieties of exercise, sometimes for 
 their puny understandings, sometimes for their rather stronger 
 memories. They know the English of about fifteen hundred 
 Latin words, and the Latin for as many English. I have 
 written tbem all in a little book, and they go over and over 
 them ; so that by constantly seeing them, they won't forget. 
 I pick out such as are like Italian, and that is a great help. 
 Of course, you know, Kitty soon learns that luna is Latin for 
 the moon, linrjua for the tongue, mare for the sea. In short, 
 knowing as much Italian as she does, she has a great piece of 
 her labour ready done. ^ •sf * * 
 
 As well as I can I picture you all in my fancy, and Argylina 
 takes her place in the group. May all your hearts be as 
 light, and your faces as bright as if (according to our Rev. 
 
 friend of ) they were painted by feathers plucked out of 
 
 angels' wings. My dearest, 1 love you with my whole soul. 
 Remember your Papa. He sends you his blessing from the 
 depth of his heart. 
 
 The same date he writes :- — 
 
 Sweetest Lizzy, — Your married life has had a rude 
 beginning. You have been very very sick in that horrid 
 ship ; and, do tell the truth, haven't you often wished Bob 
 among his books at Oxford, and yourself restored to your 
 own green bowers at Drayton ? To tell tjou the truth, pretty 
 Lizzy, no ; for you good women are no fair-weather friends.
 
 124 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 You have borne tlie worse bravely, in looking forward to the 
 better part of your bargain ; 
 
 And you and he have proved together 
 
 (except when you were vei'y seasick) 
 
 That love can make its own fair weather ; 
 
 And his own 
 
 Lizzy's laughing eyes 
 Have been his clear blue summer skies, — 
 
 if your eyes are blue, my dear; but neither he nor you 
 have told me that, and I don't remember. -jf * * 
 
 The having of a number of good children is, upon the whole, 
 an advantage, I dare say, and a blessing ; but yet the wonder 
 is that the havers of such blessings can ever sleep o' nights 
 or digest their dinners. Ambiguous cares for the absent, 
 and the impossibility of having all right among the many 
 present, would fret one insupportably, if human nature were 
 not itself a mere baby, and apt to be diverted every moment 
 from grave interests by utter trifles. So then it is good for 
 us in some things that we have this weakness. Yet we won't 
 rejoice in it, for it is lamentable enough in the main. 
 ****** 
 
 To Hanmer : — 
 
 What I should do, if one could ride post upon a wish, 
 would be to plant myself upon the Melbourne strand to meet 
 you all upon your landing. That would be something like 
 happiness, wouldn't it ? But I would be in time to get some 
 snug rooms ready first, and some prog, such as would tempt 
 poor sea- worn travellers; bread and butter for the grand- 
 children, oranges and mangoes, or whatever the Melbourne 
 gardens or orchards afford. I am quite sure that if my power 
 of moving had been like Colonel Graham's, I should have 
 posted through India, and should actually have been in time. 
 This is the way in which my speculations work. I think of 
 you all, waking and sleeping. * * *
 
 ADMIRALS NAPIER AND STOPFORD. 125 
 
 But I ought to send you what news there is worth your 
 having. You have heard of the rare luck of the navy people 
 here — promotions and decorations without end. Your friend 
 Napier seems to have carried off the great prize. All the 
 Acre captains have been C.B.dj and all the commanders pro- 
 moted ; Bashaw Walker Commander of the Bathed ; and 
 Stopford, the good old admiral, has been left precisely as he 
 was before. They have neither given him any honour, nor 
 hinted the intention of giving him any. The Emperor of 
 Russia has designed for him one of his grand orders; but 
 when it comes, through our Secretary of State (which is the 
 usual channel), the old admiral will refuse it. He thinks 
 rightly, that any honour he may have earned should be given 
 first by his own Government. You know the convention made 
 by Napier with Mehemet Ali ? It was not only made without 
 any authority, but Napier sent it straight home to the 
 Ministers in England, passing Stopford by, although he was 
 within two days^ distance of him. ^ ^ ^ 
 
 By the bye, Stopford is Governor of Greenwich Hospital ; but 
 that is no honour with which to requite a victory, and still 
 less so, as it was actually offered to some other admiral, and 
 not to Stopford till after that other had refused it. I have 
 not heard who that other was, but Stopford himself told me 
 the fact. I interest myself in the old man for the sake of his 
 kindness to Sally, in sending a line-of-battle ship to Naples 
 for her accommodation ; and to Fan, in getting a passage to 
 Naples for her and Liddell in Lord F. Egerton's yacht. The 
 truth is, he has always taken pleasure in doing good-natured 
 things to all sorts of people. ^ % ^ 
 
 Just as he had written these three little letters, my Father 
 suffered the terror and misery of hearing of the alarming 
 illness of his darling Fanny, — a spitting of blood which con- 
 fined her to bed ; and her husband thought of taking her 
 directly to Malta. The very next day my Father heard 
 together of her temporary safety and of us from St. Jago; 
 and then he writes to Bob on the 14tli Februarv : —
 
 136 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 My dearest Children, all of you, — I have not yet felt all 
 the joy I shall feel in knowing that you weathered the storm, 
 and were so far safe and well. I was so much terrified by 
 the imminent danger in which Fan was, that my nerves were 
 shaken thoroughly ; and though several hours have now 
 passed since the happy news of her safety and your safety 
 came, yet I feel a strange sort of bewilderment and shakiness, 
 a sort of lowspiritedness still, and much more inclination to 
 weep than to smile. 
 
 However, I am quite sensible of all the difference there is 
 between my condition to-day and that of yesterday. The 
 letters came just before we went to church, and glad I was to 
 go there. * -5^ # * ■» •» 
 
 To Fanny he writes : — 
 
 You have frightened me out of my wits; but it's all over 
 now, and all right, and I shall trusc that you are not a bit 
 the worse, and so / shall not be. If I didn't before know 
 how good for me it is that you should be well, I know it now. 
 Happily the Liverpool came quickly after the Phoenix. The 
 first letter arrived the evening of the 12th, and I got the one 
 by the Liverpool this morning at half-past nine. Don't you 
 know. Fan, this is always the way people write, about what 
 they themselves feel and suffer, just as if I was thinking only 
 of my part of the suffering, and not a bit about yours. But 
 are you soon going to be as well as ever again, my precious 
 child ? Won't you be fat and strong when warm weather 
 returns, if there ever is any warm weather in England. 
 
 Thank you very heartily, my dear Liddcll, for writing to 
 me the truth. Whatever be the pain or the terror it gives, 
 it is really right always to tell on such occasions the worst. 
 Your letter expressed your own alarm too plainly not to 
 awaken mine; but then, the account you have since given 
 has its full effect the other way, because I can depend upon 
 its sincerity. * * * * -sf 
 
 Now, only think, Fan, what a deal I have written, and
 
 ILLNESS OF HIS DAUGHTER FANNY. 127 
 
 have not said one word yet of that most precious, precious 
 news you sent me of the ArgyJe. I thought, before you were 
 sick, that I loved Sally and Bob quite twice as much as you ; 
 but then I found that I loved you quite as much as both of 
 them put together. -sf -Jf -jf * 
 
 1 believe I have not had time yet to quiet down into the 
 enjoyment of the real happiness that all this good news of to- 
 day must give me. There never was a more precious packet 
 than the Liverpool has been. I am sure I shall be quite glad 
 eiiough of the good news from St. Jago, and I hope I shall be 
 very grateful for it ; but just yet I have been thinking even 
 more about you. * •Jf * -sf * 
 
 In a joint letter to me and Bob, a little later, he says : — 
 
 I am not apt to write bits of letters to you, but this must 
 be only a mere bit, for the very truth is that I am a little 
 heartsick. Well it may be sick, if Fan is sick ; for you know 
 she is tied and twisted and knotted about my very soul. 
 Until I heard that you were all well at St. Jago, I loved you 
 better a thousand times than all the rest, and now you know 
 my affection is all centred in Fan. Only, my dears, don't 
 get sick; for I shall contrive to love you even if you are well. 
 
 * * ^ * -Jf -JC- 
 
 What you were to them all, good Hanmer, in the storm I 
 well knew ; and Sally's account of your doings was no more 
 than a repetition of the picture I had already formed to 
 myself. I can fancy you quietly cooking their arrowroot in 
 a hurricane, while every other passenger was too sick or too 
 frightened to help either himself or his neighbour. 
 
 7? w w TP TT TT 
 
 To Fanny :— '' 
 
 I know you have plenty of fortitude and patience, and 
 that God has blessed you with a disposition to resign your- 
 
 ^ She had had a relapse, and the cough, which never again left her, was 
 troublesome.
 
 128 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 self to His good pleasure. May He enable us to cast all 
 our cares upon Him, and our care for you, which is now 
 our chief c&re. * ^ * * * 
 
 To me, in April : — 
 
 My precious Sally, — There is cause for anxiety, for danger 
 is hanging over a head beyond all expression dear to us. We 
 must all pray to God, fervently and faithfully, to avert it ; but 
 we must pray, too, to be enabled to submit with resignation 
 to His divine will, whatever it may be. To us her removal 
 would be a fearful calamity; but think what a gain to her! 
 But though there is ground for fear, there is, I am per- 
 suading myself, more ground for hope. * -)C- * 
 
 What provision has been made for the church at Port 
 Phillip? At Melbourne, there is, of course, a chaplain; but 
 in the country, wide apart as your settlements probably are, 
 how can you assemble at any church ? 
 
 There should be a Bishop of Melbourne, and he should 
 have under him clergymen to be sent by him round the 
 country, just as in the first times of Christianity in England, 
 and as, I believe, the practice now is in some parts of 
 America. 
 
 Mind and exert the infiuence you will soon possess in your 
 community to have this important subject cared for as it 
 ought to be. -Jf •?f ^ * * * 
 
 To Bob :— 
 
 I have not had leisure for taking up books or drawings, 
 except in odd intervals ; but of those I am apt to make the 
 most. For example, I always keep a book in my boat, and 
 the one I have had lately is Plautus. 
 
 In the twenty scraps of time I find in the course of a day, I 
 can read as many scenes; and right pleasant reading it is. I 
 have read seven of the plays, and am going straight through the 
 whole. Most schoolboys have read" Aulularia^' and " Rudens.'^ 
 I don't know that you ever opened the book. It will amuse 
 you exceedingly. There is fifty times more spirit in the
 
 HAS HIS PORTRAIT TAKEN. 129 
 
 dialogue than in Terence, and there is, to a Grecian, small 
 difficulty in the palseology. Barring his obsolete or coined 
 words, the Latin in general is simple enough for Herbert and 
 Kitty, I suppose you have a Plautus ? — if not, I will send 
 you one. I don't know when I have enjoyed a book more 
 thoroughly. With the Variorum notes to help you here and 
 there, you will want little of a dictionary. I never take one 
 in my boat, and I suppose I get as much of the humour of 
 his jokes and allusions as a foreigner would be likely to get 
 of Sheridan's. Few Frenchmen would make as much of the 
 " School for Scandal " as you and I would of " Amphitryon." 
 •Jf * * -Sf * * 
 
 When you were three years old. Fan, and had a burning 
 
 fever. Dr. T told me he could do nothing more, and that 
 
 you would die. But I got a good man, called Dr. White, 
 who was surgeon of Chatham Dockyard, and he did a great 
 deal, and watched you all the night, and at last you looked 
 up, and said, " Kiss me, Papa." I dare say I cried like a big 
 baby ; and, to say the truth, I must wipe my eyes now while 
 I think of it. -x- * * ^ ^ 
 
 Speaking of his portrait, which Mr. Alingham was paint- 
 ing, he says : — 
 
 He seems to be extra anxious to do it extra well ; and on 
 that very account is the more likely to fail. I suppose, too, 
 that my face is not very easy to copy ; for I believe I have no 
 remarkable features. All the passpoi^t writers to whom I 
 have sat, have described eyes, nose, and mouth as ordinaires, 
 which does not mean ugly, but only much as usual with regard 
 to length, breadth, &c. •» * * •5f 
 
 In a later letter, when he had seen his picture, he writes : — 
 
 As far as I can judge, it will be like, when he has duly 
 furrowed the cheeks and forehead. At present it looks like 
 five- and -thirty ; but it is admirably painted. I don't know 
 
 VOL. II. K
 
 130 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 when I have seen a head so separate itself from the canvas. 
 It stands out just like a portrait by Raphael I used to admire 
 at Naples; almost the only one I ever saw that did look like 
 a real head, and not a painted one. -sf * ^ 
 
 Captain Brandreth, the engineer sent out by the Admiralty, 
 asked me as soon as he came where the galley prison was; 
 for he said he had seen my report to the Admiralty in which 
 it was mentioned, and that he was so much struck by the bit 
 of history found so unexpectedly in a dry dispatch, that he 
 took it directly to his "little friend Lord Dalmeny/^ who 
 enjoyed it as much as he did, and said there was poetry as well 
 as history in it. In describing the site on which I proposed to 
 build the new bakery, I said that a part of it contained 
 " extensive caverns, where formerly the Knights kept their 
 Turkish captives, and we now keep casks." This was all, and 
 certainly it is but little ; but I suppose there was something 
 odd in it ; for when I wrote it, I read it to Mamma, and it 
 made her laugh. Of course I meant it for fun when I wrote it ; 
 and the caverns, captives, and casks were not accidentally 
 alliterative. ■» •jf * * * 
 
 To Fanny, in June : — 
 
 Our poor church is in a bad way. Queen Adelaide was not 
 lucky in her choice of an architect. She was probably guided 
 in her choice by the high constituted authorities here; but, 
 however, by her, or by somebody, a cabinet -maker', a Mr. 
 
 , was chosen to design and execute the work. Well, 
 
 some cracks, splits, and crushings began to appear in the 
 columns of the portico before half the pediment was built 
 \ipon it. The Admiralty engineers were summoned to survey 
 and pronounce; and what they pronounced was that the 
 portico must all be immediately pulled down : and down it 
 all is, accordingly. The columns within the church, for the 
 support of the gallery and roof, must come down too. All 
 the work is suspected; but it would be so great a pity to 
 throw away the €0,000 already spent, that I believe they
 
 CHURCH-BUILDING. 131 
 
 mean to try and coax the walls to bear a roof. Perhaps, after 
 all, it may not tumble clown ; or, if it does, it may not be when 
 all the people are in it. The Governor will just arrive in 
 England to impart the pleasing news to the Queen. As soon 
 as the accident was discovered. Captain Brandreth came to 
 me, and said he hoped / had had nothing to do with the 
 church ! He and Mr. Scamp (who is a first-rate clever 
 fellow) say they never saw in all their lives such an exhibi- 
 tion of ignorance. No, I had not anything to do with it ; for 
 the advice I gave was not followed. 
 
 Lady Louis wanted to ask the Queen to engage my assist- 
 ance in her work ; but I refused, because I knew it would be 
 mismanaged ; and I only begged Lady Louis to tell the 
 Queen, which I believe she did, that one thing was absolutely 
 necessary, and that was to get an architect from England, 
 even at any price. What a disgrace it would have saved us ! 
 The Maltese are grinning at us, and have not the least doubt 
 that Heaven's hand is as much in the work as it was when 
 Julian tried, in spite of the Almighty, to rebuild the walls of 
 Jerusalem. What made it more remarkable was, that just 
 as the accident happened, a torrent of rain fell ; enough to 
 do great and universal good — and in June! No rain has 
 fallen in June before, except once, in the memory of old 
 people ; and that was, I suppose, on some other great occa- 
 sion of joy in heaven. They call our poor church the Devil's 
 Den — " tochbah ta scitaun." * * * 
 
 To little Clement, who was staying in June in the Isle of 
 Wight, with the Liddells : — 
 
 Here is a funny present for you ; for which, I suppose, you 
 won't particularly thank me. You have had Latin enough at 
 school ; and so I dare say you would thank me much more 
 for a packet of lollipops than for a Latin book. But yet, as 
 we all must learn that vile Latin, I thought I might help you 
 to put by a scrap or two in your knowledge-box without much 
 trouble ; and, you know, every little gained lessens the future 
 
 K 2
 
 133 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 labour ; so I have copied for you some of the book out of 
 which Kitty and Herbert are learning. They find it very 
 easy, and certainly like my Latin better than Virgil's a great 
 deal. I dare say one reason is, that my Latin is better than 
 his ; but besides that, I have had an advantage, that he had 
 not, in drawing my subjects partly from that immortal genius 
 Mother Goose. Though you are a much better scholar than 
 Kitty and Herbert, yet this little book may not come quite 
 as easy, in proportion, to yoii, because I took care to use 
 almost exclusively the words with which they were already 
 familiar. They have gone through it twice ; and the second 
 time it seemed so easy, that Kitty read and construed quite 
 well half of what I send you, in one lesson. The Goosey 
 part of my book naturally interests them very deeply; for 
 what other book in all the world contains so much to make 
 one laugh or cvj, as one happens to be in the humour for a 
 merry history or a pathetic one ? and besides, there is a com- 
 fort in knowing that it's all true. Of course it must be ; for 
 I remember to have heard it all when I was a little boy ; and 
 my Grandmamma knew it all too. If you think it would be 
 desirable to publish my work, tell me. You had better ask 
 Queen Victoria to give me leave to dedicate it to the Princess 
 Eoyal. 
 
 I suppose we should sell about a million copies for a penny 
 apiece, and about half would be profit, and that would be 
 two thousand pounds ; and I can't do better than give it you 
 to buy whips, sticks, and canes, if you have the same passion 
 for them as you used to liave.
 
 133 
 
 EXCERPTA ET TRADUCTA 
 
 EX 0PERIBU8 
 
 MATRIS ANSERIS, HORNERI, 
 
 ET VARIORUM AUCTORUM SIMILIUM. 
 
 CuRA ROBERTI CLEMENTIS SCONCII. 
 
 TOMUS PRIMUS. 
 
 PR^FATIO.« 
 
 DiciT parva Catharina, horridum opus est lisec lingua 
 Latina. " Selectse e Veteri " me facit dormire : Phsedrus dat 
 milii dolorem capitis : Virgilius est certe pessimus inter 
 omnes hujus mundi homines. Virgilio soli debeo illara indi- 
 gestionem propter quam lieri dedit mihi mater medicinara. 
 Non erat iter ad silvulam,'* non fraga. In itinere ride- 
 bamus. Risus nemini facit malum. Cum fragis mixtura 
 erat saccharum. Quod est suave^ quod est dulce, dat salu- 
 tem, non dat aegritudinem. Ergo Virgilius est qui meam 
 turbat bilem. 
 
 Pater mi, cur non potes nobis eraere libellum parvulum 
 Latinum, facilem et jucundura, iis sirailem quibus ego, et 
 fratres parvuli et parvula soror, legimus illas pulchras his- 
 torias de Johanne et Gillia, qui dum portabaut aquam de 
 monte, ceciderunt et capita fregerunt : aut si mavis alteram 
 illam de tribus pueris super glaciem sestivo die ludentibus : 
 aut illam de viro Thessaliensi qui ambos amissos oculos tam 
 lepide recuperavit ; aut de crudeli faciuore Johannis Viridis 
 felem in puteo submergentis : aut vitam Thomse PoUicis, qui 
 tantos interfecit crudeles gigantes : aut mortem Galli Ro- 
 
 "= All this is copied from the little MS. volume sent to little Clement. 
 ^ Boschetlo.
 
 134 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE- 
 
 bini, quern passer interfecit arcu suo et sagitta ; quern mori 
 vidit musca oculo suo parvulo, quern tantse ferse tantae 
 fleverunt aves. Hi sunt omnes optimi libri. Da mihi, pater, 
 unura ex his, et jace Virgilium, si vis, in ignem. 
 
 Bene igitur. Libri tales emi non possunt. Seel duos 
 dicunt esse modes per quos res obtineri possit ; per amorem 
 aut per pecuniara. Pecunia non potest haberi Thomas Pollex, 
 non Johannes Viridis, non Homo Thessaliensis. Jam videa- 
 mus quod possit altero fieri modo, nempe per amorem. Non 
 sum ego validus bellator; sed omnia vincit amor, et vestri 
 amoris gratia, bone Herberte, bona Catharina, vincere possira 
 etiam ilium terribilem homunculum Thomam PoUicem. 
 
 Siste, pater mi, inquit Herbertus, nimis esset ilia pugna 
 periculosa. 
 
 Nonne melius foret priraam facere pugnam contra Johan- 
 nem Viridem ? 
 
 Prudens puer es, mi Herberte. Consilium tuum sequemur, 
 et ita incipit hie noster libellus. 
 
 DE CRUDELI FACINOEE JOHANNIS VIRIDIS FELEM IN 
 PUTEO SUB]\IERGENTIS. 
 
 Tintinnabulum, bira, bo ! 
 Felis est in puteo. 
 Eam in puteum jecit quis ? 
 Parvus Johannes Viridis. 
 Quis eam traxit e puteo ? 
 Thomas Fortis, parvus homo. 
 Ut malus puer ille fuit 
 Qui felera avioe submersit. 
 
 DE FACTO iMIKIFICO VIRI THESSALIENSIS, 0CUL08 SAPIEN- 
 TISSIME PERDENTIS, ET ITERUM REPERIENTIS. 
 
 Fuit Vir Thessaliaj, 
 Et sapiens erat mire, 
 Spinosam in scpcm saltavit, 
 YA am bos oculos cflbdit.
 
 LATIN NURSERY RHYMES. 135 
 
 Et quando oculos 
 
 Yidit effossos, 
 
 Cum sua omni 
 
 Potestate et vi. 
 
 In sepem alteram saltavit, 
 
 Et eos sic recuperavit. 
 
 DE FATO FLEBILI TRIUM PUERORUM, QUOllUM OMNES 
 PERIERUNT; SED RELIQUI FUGERUNT. 
 
 ^Estivo die pueri tres 
 
 Per glaciem perlabentes 
 
 OmneS; ut aecidit^ inciderunt : 
 
 Reliqui fugerunt. 
 
 Nunc hi pueri 
 
 Si fueraut domi^ 
 
 Sive per terra m 
 
 Perlapsi siccara, 
 
 Millia dena minas pono 
 
 Pro uno denario, 
 
 Non omnes perdidissent hi tarn 
 
 Misere ^b aqua vitam. 
 
 DE PARVULO LANCES LAVANTE, PISCES EX OCULO 
 TRAHENTE. 
 
 Parvus quando puer eram 
 ]Matris lances lavabam ; 
 Digitum in oculo posui 
 Et pisces parvulos extraxi. 
 
 DE JOHANNE ET GILLIA DE FONTE PETENTIBUS AQUAM, 
 CADENTIBUS, CAPITA FRAGENTIBUS. 
 
 Johannes et Gillia 
 Per difficilia 
 Montis cacumina 
 Petierunt llumina.
 
 136 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Vas impleverunt, 
 
 Sed non felices redierunt. 
 
 Concidit pronus ille. A 
 
 Tergo dum sequitur Gillia 
 
 Post eum cadit. Capita fregerunt, 
 
 Et aquam perdiderunt. 
 
 DE FELIS-FIDIBUS, INCITANTIBUS AD SALTUM, RISUM, 
 CURSUM, VACCAM, CATELLUM, LANCEM. 
 
 Heidi dledidibusj felis cum fidibus ! 
 
 Incipit vacca jocari ! 
 
 Transilit lunam ; 
 
 Ridebis tu, nam 
 
 Catulus ridet 
 
 Dum talia videt, 
 
 Et lanx fugit cum cochleari. 
 
 DE SINGULARI FELICITATE JOHANNIS HORNERI, 
 
 PRUNUM E PLACENTA EVELLENTIS.-^BONITATIS LAUDEM 
 
 SIBI VINDICANTIS. 
 
 Parvus Johannes Hornerus sedebat^ 
 
 Et festivam edebat 
 
 Placentam in angulo, 
 
 Pollicem inserit, 
 
 Et prunura extrahit, 
 
 Et clam at Quantus sum bonus ego ! 
 
 De Merulis in crusta coctis, 
 
 Et non morieutibus, 
 
 Sed canentibus; 
 
 Jocum autem non amantibus, 
 
 In nasum servse vindicantibus.
 
 A LATIN HISTORY. 137 
 
 De sex denariis carmen cano, 
 
 De secalis sacco pleno ; 
 
 De merulis bis denis 
 
 Et quatuor in crusta coctis. 
 
 Apertam crustara quum viderunt, 
 
 Aves canere coeperunt ; 
 
 Ferculum nonne hoc egregium 
 
 Ad ponendum ante regem ! 
 
 Rex in conclavi nummos numerabat, 
 
 Dum E-egina 
 
 In culina 
 Mel et panera manducabat. 
 In horto lauta lintea 
 Suspendente servula, 
 Merula mordicus abrasum 
 Devolans aufert ei nasum. 
 
 LONGA HISTORIA, DE OMNIBUS REBUS, 
 ET QUIBUSDAM ALUS. 
 
 Urbs antiqua fuit^ cujus nomen erat Troja. Fuit quoque 
 regio cujus noraen erat Graecia. Inter populos harum duarum 
 regiouum fuit bellum famosissimum. Hujus belli Poeta, qui 
 dicitur princeps omnium poetarum^ scripsit historiam. Hujus 
 magni poetae nomen est Homerus. Nunc dicam vobis causam 
 hujus belli. Trojaui habuerunt regem senem Priamum. 
 Priamus habuit quinquaginta filios, et inter eos Paridera. Is 
 erat juvenis pulchrse faciei, sed mentem non seque pulchram 
 habebat. lis antiquis temporibus etiam regum filii fecerunt 
 quod nunc ille noster bonus Robertus facit in Australia : 
 pascebant oves. Sic quoque fecit Paris. Sedebat igitur 
 inter arbores montis Idas, qui raons prope Trojara est, dum 
 grex suus pascebat circa eum. 
 
 Nescio quid faciebat Paris dum sedebat in umbra. Cane- 
 bat forsan. Pastores antiqui temporis musicam amaverunt 
 omnes. 
 
 Robertus in Australia non canit. Cur uou canit Robertus ?
 
 138 LIFE OF K. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Quippe noil est doctus in arte musica. Quid facit itaque ? 
 Legit libros, nam legere scit bene. Non solum scit legere, 
 sed amat legere. Vide eum sedentem subter illam viridem 
 arborem, cum libro in manu et oculis in librum fixis. Heus 
 tu, mi frater, cave ne nimium sit fixus in librum oculus. 
 Quid vis Herberte? Cur me suades ne faciam id quod milii 
 valde jucundum est? Mihi placent libri. Non mihi placet 
 desidia. Non sum ego ignavus puer. I jam parve frater, 
 lege librum tuum diligenter, sicut et ego diligenter lego. 
 Valde bene, mi magne frater Koberte ; sed legi fabulam de 
 lupo rapaci, qui devoravit, aut si non devoravit, laceravit, 
 innoxium agnum. Quis scit igitur si non veuiat lupus, dum 
 tu legis, et prsedam faciat tuorum innoxiorum agnorum ? 
 
 Ego scio valde bene, parve Herberte; et scio quod non 
 veniet lupus. Et dabo tibi rationem manifestam cur non 
 veniet lupus ; quippe si non est lupus, lupus non potest 
 venire ; et lupi hie non habitant. Gaudeo, mi frater, et vale. 
 Memento tamen, si non potest venire lupus, possunt errare 
 greges, et tu potes perdere ovem dum quseris sapientiam. 
 Me nunc abii'e oportet, et meum legere librum. 
 
 Robertum liquimus in pratis Australiensibus ; ad Paridem 
 redeamus in sylvis Idse. 
 
 Sedebat igitur Paris, nescio quid meditans, et ecce ante 
 oculos attoniti juvenis tres steterunt ccelestes Dese, Juno, 
 Venus, et Minerva. 
 
 Scis parva Catharina, scis parvule Herberte, Romanos, 
 Grsecos, et alias illius temporis gentes, coluisse deos multos, 
 et deas multas. Ha?, quas nominavi, summse dignitatis 
 erant; sed jam videte si summaj erant sapicntioc. Rixam 
 inter se habebaut. Causam quairitis? Anne crustulum, 
 inquit Herbertus, quod habet una alterce cupiunt ? Anne 
 pomum ? 
 
 Causa multo gravior fuit. In speculo se videt Venus. In 
 speculo se videt Pallas. In speculo se videt Juno. Sum 
 formosa, inquit Juno, inquit PalLis, inquit Venus. Ante 
 omncs sum formosissima, inquit Pallas, incjuit Venus, inquit 
 Juno. Hcu ! Quantus in Olympo strcpitus ! Quis com-
 
 LETTER TO HIS SON CLEMENT. 139 
 
 ponebit talcm litem ? Dii nolunt judicare. Dixerunt id 
 quod dixit Henricus : Unicuique est sua pulchritudo ; Juno 
 pulcherrima, pulclicrrima Venus, pulcherrima quoque 
 Minerva. 
 
 Forraosus pastor Paris, ille judicabit, inquit Juno. Eamus 
 ad eum, inquit Pallas, inquit Venus. 
 
 Ad Paridem veniunt. Pomum aureum Paridi tradunt. 
 Jubent eum judicare, et pomum dare formosissimse. Ecce 
 Herberte, de porno erat lis dcarum. Dixit Paridi Regina 
 Juno, Da mihi pomum, et tibi dabo magnum regnum : 
 dixit Pallas, Da pomum milii, et tibi dabo sapientiam excel- 
 lentem : dixit Venus, Da pomum mihi, et tibi dabo uxorem 
 inter raulieres formosissimam. 
 
 Here ends the text of the only volume of this sort which I 
 have been able to find, though many others are alluded to in 
 the letters. In the little book from which I have copied it are 
 lists of all the words occurring in the rhymes and prose, all 
 carefully translated and analyzed for the little ones. 
 
 To Clement, a little later : — 
 
 My good LITTLE Mecco, — I have not written much more 
 of my Latin version of " Mother Goose " since I sent you 
 my first volume, for I only go on just fast enough to have 
 some always ready for Kitty and Herbert; and they don't 
 get on very fast, because we go over and over again till we 
 know every word, conjugating and declining thoroughly; and 
 when they can do the Latin perfectly into English, I give 
 them the English words to do back again into Latin. The 
 only poem I have written since is about the blackbirds, — 
 those, you know — four-and-twenty of them — that were made 
 into a pie, and one of them afterwards punished the maid 
 that made the pie, by nipping her nose off. I will send it 
 you when I have a good lot to send with it. Last Sunday I 
 wrote for them, in Latin, the account of Joshua crossing the 
 Jordan ; so that, you see, it is not only nonsense that I give
 
 140 LIFE OF 1{. C. SCONCE. 
 
 them. Next Sunday I mean to give them David^s battle with 
 Goliath. It is, you know, in the Latin Bible ; but I give them 
 the pith condensed, and in language they can better under- 
 stand. * # ■5f * * ^ 
 
 Speaking to Mr. Charles Smith, in a letter of June, 1841, 
 of the unhappy state of the church in Valetta, building by 
 Queen Adelaide, my Father says : — 
 
 IsnH this a dainty dish to set before the Queen ? * * 
 By the bye, talking of dainty dish, &c., of course yon are 
 aware that I quote from the immortal works of Mother 
 Goose, treasures to which adequate justice has not heretofore 
 been done ; for I am not acquainted with a version of them 
 in any language. It is a deficiency which I am resolved 
 forthwith to supply ; and in order that they may be the pro- 
 perty of the learned at least in all countries, I am engaged in 
 translating them into Latin.^ 
 
 I dare say Percy remembers that I pointed out to him, 
 some eight or ten years ago, the beauties of one of her cele- 
 brated compositions ; namely that which treats of the amiable 
 child whose infant hands lightened so aflFectionately his 
 mother's labours.*^ Young as he was, he washed her dishes, 
 and well was his piety rewarded. Other infants have put 
 their finger in their eye; but who but he has drawn from 
 thence what he drew? Pearls have often been so produced; 
 but I conclude that in this place the term fishes must imply 
 the OYSTERS and all ! Scholars of infinite taste in this depart- 
 
 * This idea was perfectly original with my Father, although I have lately 
 found that these nursery rhymes were very cleverly turned into Latin, and 
 published among a collection entitled " Arundinea Cami," by Rev. H. Drury, 
 &c., in this very same year (1841). Mr. Drury's Latin is, however, far too 
 difficult for little children. 
 
 ' Original — 
 
 " When I was a little boy 
 
 I wash'd my mother's dishes ; 
 I put my finger in my eye, 
 And puU'd out little fishes."
 
 LATIN NURSERY RHYMES. 141 
 
 ment of literature, namely, Catharina Victoriensis and ber no 
 less distinguished relation Herbertus, have expressed in such 
 gratifying terms tlieir approbation of my plan, that I could 
 not in conscience withhold from the European public this 
 happy result of my labours. In the course of the next 
 twenty years I hope to bring it to a happy conclusion. In 
 the mean time the first volume, in lOOmo, is ready for the 
 press; and I beg you will immediately call at Buckingliam 
 Palace, and obtain for me the Queen's gracious permission to 
 dedicate the work to the Princess Royal. Subjoined, I mean 
 to give you a sample of my composition, that it may recom- 
 mend itself to her Majesty. She will perceive that I differ in 
 opinion with Horace and Virgil and other writers of that 
 school, in preferring the use of Rhyme. But in this I am 
 not only borne out by many sublime compositions of a later, 
 and therefore, of course, a more refined age, — Drunken 
 Burnaby among the rest, — but by the cordial approbation of 
 the aforesaid Catharina and Herbertus, who disapprove 
 entirely of Virgil, and are charmed with my much more 
 readable verses.^ -jf -5? * * 
 
 Now you know. Smith, how impossible it is for any one 
 unassisted scholar to complete so mighty an undertaking; 
 and my object in mentioning the subject to you (besides the 
 dedication to the Princess) is to engage you to point out to 
 Percy how much it wall be for his advantage to shut his 
 Juvenal and his Thucydidcs, and to join with me in this 
 work, by which he will gain at once wealth and renown. He 
 may begin with the " Dainty Dish," for I have not yet 
 entered upon that. I should not think it would be more 
 than he might manage with due diligence in a long vacation. 
 The poems I have finished, besides those I send you, are 
 —" Johnny Green," " The Three Sliders," " Jack and Gill," 
 " Cat and Fiddle," " Jack Horner." 
 
 The notes will be philological, exegetical, philosophical, 
 and historical ; a lexicon goosianum, and copious indices. 
 
 i Here come some of the nursery rhymes before given.
 
 143 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Michele will be fully occupied for many years in furnishing 
 spirited lithographic illustrations from drawings of my own ; 
 and in order that they may be true to nature, I have agreed 
 with Mackenzie to buy a cow between us. He is to have the 
 railk^ and I the profits of my sketch from the life when she 
 makes the Jump I am to teach her. •» « -Sf 
 
 Kitty*' has been reading the sheet I have just written, and 
 says it is a rare pack of nonsense. At all events, Percy won't 
 think so ; and of such subjects he must be a better judge. 
 This I know, that I have just been giving Herbert his Latin 
 lesson ; and my Latin nonsense has engaged his unbroken 
 attention for an hour and a half. Would any sensible book 
 do that ? They are rapidly gaining a copious vocabulary, 
 and every Avord of it well analyzed. * * * 
 
 To Bob he writes, the following year : — 
 
 When you have small Latin learners, Bob, try my plan. 
 All Latin elementary books are -written to exemplify system- 
 atically grammar rules. The book is pretty easy in the very 
 beginning, but soon gets out of a child's depth, like Delectus. 
 No Roman writer is easy enough in point of style or subject 
 for a child's capacity. But these small people can pick up 
 Latin words if they are properly put in their way, just as they 
 do Italian ; so I give them strings of the commoner words, 
 and short easy sentences, culling them from all sources, and 
 composing too. I am filling a third volume of this sort of 
 Latin. They translate every day two pages of it into English, 
 and write it back again into Latin ; and so gradually learn by 
 mere habit, that it would be as absurd to say bonus puella as 
 buono ragazza. Of course I give them all the easier rules by 
 degrees. Propria quse maribus, as well as syntax, and they 
 learn the rules by heart here and there ; not going regularly 
 through those formidable treatises, but gradually making 
 acquaintance with them. I believe I meant to send yon, l)ut 
 
 •' His wife.
 
 HIS HANDS ALWAYS FULL. 1 13 
 
 did not send, some of our versions of nursery anthology. 
 Blandi doctores, you know, dant crustula} These have 
 answered my purpose better than caramelle.'' * -jf 
 
 In my last letter, dear Bob, were graver subjects. But I 
 am obliged to keep many irons in my fire, and any work of 
 mine interests you, as yours does me. My day is always 
 deplorably short. I can't do half I have to do, and yet I 
 often contrive to do two things at once. I can listen to the 
 lessons and draw at the same time. My letters to you are 
 generally written while they are going on. I wish I could 
 afford to keep a reader, as Pliny did, to read to me while I am 
 drawing. But I don't understand what he got by employing 
 a notarius, a secretary, whenever he had a thought to put 
 down : I could do it quicker myself. I should only want 
 notarius to copy. That would save me a great deal of time ; 
 when, for example, I have emended one of my speeches of 
 Thucydides, till I have partly made it illegible. •sf •jf 
 
 My Father never had a study or private sanctum of any 
 kind, but always sat in the library, which was a general 
 sitting-room, and was never in the slightest degree disturbed 
 in his work by the reading aloud, repeating of lessons, or the 
 talking that might be going on around him ; nor by the 
 pianoforte and harp-playing and singing in the drawing- 
 room, from which he was only separated by folding-doors, 
 and Avith which he was often in the same room. He had a 
 wonderful power of abstracting and concentrating his ideas, 
 — gained partly in early life, from having frequently important 
 dispatches to write against time, and surrounded by noisy 
 companions. 
 
 ' Here, in the letter, are copied most of tlie Latin nursery rhymes which I 
 have already given. 
 '' Maltese sugar-kisses.
 
 144 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 [1841.] 
 
 M'OEKIXG IN BOAT — PLAUTUS's PLOTS — CAPTAIN HENDERSON — TYTLER'S COL- 
 LECTION OF LETTERS — AMERICA — PLADTUS AGAIN — MISS HAMILTON — HORACE 
 — ADVICE TO LITTLE CLEMENT ON DILIGENCE AT SCHOOL — COUP DE SOLEIL 
 — "a>ISWERING" LETTERS — OBSTINACY— HIS CHILDREN'S LETTERS — NOVELS 
 — BAPTISM — NEWMAN — CHEMISTRY — HESIOD — THE CHURCH AT PORT PHILLIP 
 — AUSTRALIAN ABORIGINES — DONNA ROSA — OVID — FANNY — CHURCH AT 
 VALETTA — CAPTAIN BASIL HALL — NOTES. 
 
 This summer my Father lived very uncomfortably, having to 
 sleep at the Marina, and go backwards and forwards every 
 day between it and Sliema, where his family spent the 
 summer. He says : — 
 
 Portelli* has again and again offered to come and sleep at 
 the Marina, to enable me to be at home ; but I can't allow 
 that, because he has no leisure. He is obliged to be every 
 day, and all day long, at the office ; and to keep him away 
 from his family at night too would be a cruelty. I generally 
 get to Sliema between ten and eleven ; then I spend all the 
 time till one in giving lessons to Kitty and Herbert, then 
 dinner, then an hour and a half's sleep, then a cooling ablu- 
 tion, and an hour or two of light reading is all that remains 
 of a usable summer's day ; for in the evening you know 
 there are many visitors in the Sliema season * * * 
 Then I don't like keeping my boatmen iip late, and on their 
 account I embark on my returning voyage at half-past eight. 
 
 To save time, I have a good lantern in my boat, by which 
 I read comfortably, and it is well worth while. I am alto- 
 gether in my boat two hours every day, and they are glorious 
 reading hours ; for you know there are no caller's. But 
 
 Actine: as chief clerk.
 
 MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT AT :\rALTA. 145 
 
 altogether my reading is not much ; for, except one or two 
 new books, I have read notliing but Phiutus since I told you 
 I had taken him up, and I have not done with him yet ; but 
 I have read sixteen plays out of the twenty. What an un- 
 accountable thing it is, that among all the modes of character 
 and business that human life affords, a man of Plautus's wit 
 should have been content to build all his plots on the same 
 form and with the same material. Adolesccus loves Mere- 
 trix, lacks money ; Servus assists him, robs Senex, cheats 
 Leno out of Merctrix, transfers her to Adolescens, and all 
 right. Miles brags, Parasita eats, each here and there, by 
 way of variety, and that's all the variety. But what a clever 
 fellow he was, Bob, out of such materials to make a most 
 amusing book. * * # * * . 
 
 To Fanny, in July : — 
 
 I have had a good deal of work in my office, too ; so that 
 I am not only away from Sliema all night, but much of the 
 day besides. One day I didn't get to Sliema till half-past 
 seven in the evening ; and I always set out on my return at 
 half-past eight, for the sake of not keeping my boatmen out 
 of their beds. 
 
 Last night, however, neither they nor I were in bed till 
 one o'clock; for Mr. Mackenzie had a party, to which we 
 went. We met there a Captain Henderson, of the Rifles, 
 with whom we had before made some little acquaintance, 
 lie gave a music party on the water, having the full brass 
 band of the Rifles in a boat out at Sliema, not within the 
 harbour, but under tlie rocks outside, in the open sea ; and 
 numbers of people were there in boats to hear the music, and 
 Captain Henderson had a boat loaded with iced lemonade 
 and wine and cakes, which went about supplying all his 
 guests; and very beautiful music it was; but the one thing 
 that interested me, was a piece out of one of the operas that 
 my own dear Sally used to sing. Bless her precious heart ! 
 But the reason of my mentioning this Captain Henderson is 
 this: he introduced himself to nio as a neighbour and very 
 
 VOL. II. L
 
 146 LIFE OF R. C. SCOxVCE. 
 
 intimate friend of Robert Sconce's^ at Stirling. He was 
 veiy near being a first cousin of Robert Sconce's ; for his 
 father and my uncle married sisters (the sisters of Dr. Col- 
 quhoun) ; but his father's wife died early, and Captain 
 Henderson's mother was a second wife. Everybody speaks 
 of him in the highest possible terms. Some one told me he 
 had been upon his estate, and saw all his poor tenants en- 
 joying every sort of comfort that he had provided for them. 
 He spends a quantity of money here ; but he is the quietest- 
 mannered man you ever saw ; he has not a grain of conceit 
 of any sort, and seems to be always busied in doing good- 
 natured things. He has shown a particular desire to be 
 intimate with us, and, of course, he will be, for he is just the 
 sort of person to suit us. -jf * * •sfr 
 
 I have all the time been remarkably well. One of the very 
 hot days I was actually at work in my office the ivhole day, 
 and till half-past six in the evening, without suffering a bit, 
 and yet I had not only the heat to bear, but the plague of 
 multiplying and dividing, for which you know I have no 
 fancy. The Admiralty sent me out a new form for a bakery 
 account, and it was a puzzling job, and therefore fell to my 
 share. The common routine work, where there is only mul- 
 tiplying and dividing, P and all the rest do faster than I 
 
 can ; but where there is complexity of calculations, they tell 
 me I beat them hollow; not because I learned in my youth 
 more of Dilworth or Cocker, but because the science even of 
 grammar helps mc to investigate a truth with which figures 
 only seem to be concerned. Teach Johnny to think. Give 
 him a good h/oivledf/e-mastcr, and he will apply his know- 
 ledge afterwards as he pleases. 
 
 We are going on so beautifully in our office, that it will be 
 grievous, indeed, if they rob me of Portelli. We are, of 
 course, in fearful anxiety about it. ^ * -Sf 
 
 Have you seen. Fan, Tytlcr's collection of letters in the 
 reigns of Edward VI. and Mary ? It is one of our club 
 books that I have just been reading, and I think it would 
 just suit your taste, and camuse LiddcU too. I can't bear
 
 HIS LOVE OF OLD AUTHORS, 147 
 
 what they call a general history. Hume may tell me what 
 sort of man Burleigh was; but I don't care what Hume 
 thinks of Burleigh, and the less, because Lingard may give 
 me quite a different account of him ; but when I read letters 
 written by, and to, and about Burleigh, I can form my own 
 notion. 
 
 Oh, but dearest, if you could but transport me to Ninham 
 Farm ^ I would shut up all the books ! I should spend all 
 my time in those beautiful green lanes. "What a time it is 
 since I saw such a scene ! What would I give for a green 
 lane here for our little ones to play in, with some of those 
 venerable elm-trees, such as used to shade the lanes about 
 Sydenham, lifting their heads as high as the topmast- 
 heads of our stiff men-of-war, and throwing out branches 
 that fall feathering over each other, as if on purpose to make 
 lights and shadows for painters^ studies. -x -sf * 
 
 To me, in August : — 
 
 My boat comes for me at night. It has always a good 
 lantern in it, which I put upon the seat, and I sit upon a low 
 stool in the boat, so as to have the seat for a table for 
 ray book, and I contrive to read comfortably during my 
 voyage. After going clean through all the twenty plays of 
 Plautus, I began Horace, and have read in my boat all the 
 odes twice through, and shall read twice all the rest of his 
 works. It is sixteen years since I read him last ; but I find 
 I remember much the larger part freshly ; for at Tunbridge 
 we were, in my time, great dabs in saying Horace by heart. 
 
 I have a mighty liking for these old books. Besides their 
 intrinsic value, they interest me for their very antiquity, and 
 for the sake of ray early acquaintance with them. Be sure 
 and make Harry and Argylina Latinists, and Harry, of 
 course, a Grecian too. * •jf ^ -sf 
 
 I ought to give you all the news I can collect, for it must be 
 interesting to you to hear, as often as you can, what is going 
 
 '' Where she was staying in the Isle of Wight. 
 L 2
 
 148 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 on on this side of the globe. * * * We have 
 
 London news to the 4th of this months and Galignanis to the 
 6th. I read them last night ; but there is nothing remarkable 
 in them, except the matter of McLeod and the Americans. The 
 law question, whether, as the English Government has taken 
 upon itself the responsibility of McLeod's act, he, as an 
 individual, is amenable to American jurisdiction, was referred 
 to the judges of the Supreme Court of New York, and they 
 have decided that what the English Government may have 
 done or do in the matter is indifferent ; that Mr. McLeod, 
 in his own person, has perpetrated an illegal act, and must 
 in his own person take the consequences, and must con- 
 sequently be tried before an American jury. These judges, 
 too, use language quite unlike the sober reasoning of 
 English lawyers, when arguing a point of law, or English 
 judges declaring their opinion and supporting it by argu- 
 ment. They talk like angry politicians; like men utterly 
 unfit for the business of important dispassionate reflection. 
 If, then, this is the character of the judges, what is to be 
 expected from the more vulgar-minded jury? The poor 
 man, then, is in great danger ; and, if he is sacrificed, a war 
 will, of course, follow ; and, for every hair of his head, some 
 scores of American and English heads will be laid low. I 
 am a thorough antipolemist ; but, if I was Sir Robert Peel, 
 and obliged to go to war with America, I would levy an 
 income tax of twenty per cent., and send out, in two months, 
 forty sail-of-the-line and twice as many steamers, with five 
 hundred soldiers in each ship, — such a fleet as Nelson, and 
 such an army as Wellington had ; and so make those bragging 
 people fear us as much as they now hate us, since it is plain 
 enough that they do hate us with all their souls. The raore's 
 the pity; but that's one of the good things we owe to the 
 good old George the Third. ^ -jf -x- 
 
 While I am quoting Latin, I will just give you a word or 
 two from Plautus, that describe your Papa's condition with 
 remarkable precision. A brisk old gentleman says of him- 
 self, " Ilaud sum annos natus praiter quinquaginta et quaituor
 
 A TOIUJH OLD LADY. 149 
 
 (you know, my chick, I was born on tlie 6th of July, 1787) : 
 Clare oculis video (and mine are still as good as yours at 
 a long focus; and, with my spectacles, as useful as they 
 used to be without). Pernix sum manibus; sum pedes 
 nobilis/^ A very happy condition of body too ; but, what do 
 you think of Miss Hamilton, who, at seventy-four, walked 
 last night, in the dark (and no moon), from Florian,*^ through 
 the town and up to us at Sliema, to ask me about a cow. 
 She might, of course, have have sent a note. But she had 
 made the same expedition the night before ; and finding, 
 when she came to the door, tliat we had a party, she chose 
 to retire unobserved. Her companion in these night excur- 
 sions is a shrivelled Maltese woman, as old as herself, who 
 carries a lantern before her ; and Colomba'' says they remind 
 her of Diogenes hunting for truth. ^ * -x- 
 
 Your first letter from Port Phillip is come \ ^ ^ * 
 Most humbly, and with all my soul, I thank God for all His 
 great goodness to us. 
 
 To Bob, in August : — 
 
 Most dear Son, — The letter you wrote from Forest-Hill 
 Cottage on the 4th of INIarch is come ! Never brought letter 
 with it better comfort on all scores. It tells me of the safety, 
 the health, the high spirits, and bright prospects of my 
 beloved children. And all you write, my good Bob, assures 
 nie that you are setting out with the best of all provisions, — 
 a right mind. ***** 
 
 The life of a woodman and a shepherd ought to suit you ; 
 and a light heart keeps the head cool. AYhenever I have had 
 any carking, I have felt my brow burn, and then away goes 
 the appetite. You have had in your young life perpetual 
 anxieties. All those examinations at school and college were 
 hard pulls upon such nerves as yours ; and then the diffi- 
 culties of deciding for the Church, or the Bar, " mctueus 
 
 Some four miles, '' The housekeeper.
 
 150 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 patruse verbera linguae.'^ This is in Horace, lib. iii. Od. 12. 
 But do, Bob^ if you have a Horace at hand, read to Lizzy the 
 second epode : — " Beatus ille qui procul negotiis." There is a 
 line for Hanmer, the 6th, — " nee horret iterum mare ;" and it 
 will suit Sally too, for she will remember what a misery it 
 was to see him embark. And a line for you — " Forum vitat'^ 
 he wouldn't go to the bar. And a line for Liz and Sally — 
 "Quod si pudica raulier in partem juvat/' and " dulces 
 liberos/' and " lassi sub adventum viri. But all the ode is 
 beautiful, and you ought, in your circumstances, to learn 
 every word by heart, not this afternoon, but now, this very 
 moment. « -3& « « -x- 
 
 To Fanny he gives extracts of our Australian letters, in 
 case she should not have received hers; and says : — 
 
 They crossed the Yarra-Yarra by a ferry, pajang two pence 
 apiece for their passage. Ain't you glad to hear of that two- 
 penny ferry, Fan? For you know they arrived at the very 
 end of the summer; so that here is a clear proof that their 
 river is a real perennial river. May its waters prove a Nile 
 to them and their flocks, their meadows, and their cornfields ! 
 ***** ■»• 
 
 In this letter my Father says a good deal about his chances 
 of promotion, through the interest of his friends Sir J. Pechell, 
 Sir G. Cockburn, and others. He had been told, on good 
 authority, that Sir John Barrow was about to retire from the 
 Admiralty, and that he had been mentioned as likely to be 
 his successor. However, he Mas far from being sanguine 
 aI)out it, and never spoke of it out of his own family. 
 
 About this time my Father wrote to little Clement at 
 school : — 
 
 My PiiEcious Bov, — You will be at school again when this 
 arrives. It is to tell you, what you know well enough with- 
 out any telling, that Papa and INlamma love you dearly. But, 
 dearest Medio, you arc growing a big boy now, and I have
 
 VALUE OF EDUCATION. 151 
 
 something more to say ; and I think I may feel pretty sure 
 that you will listen to it, and understand it. Well then, we 
 hear with sorrow that you are low in your class, and that 
 you don't like learning, and don't learn. Now I don't mean 
 to scold you, or say anything to make you unhappy, but I do 
 wish very much to say something to make you think. At your 
 age, and Avith your sense (for you have plenty of understand- 
 ing for your age), you can form some idea of the value of 
 learning. You can distinguish between a man who has been 
 educated and one who has not. You can understand that a 
 man is in one main respect different from a dog ; and that is, 
 that a man has the powei" of reasoning, and a dog has not. 
 Even you can reason already ; not very wisely, but yet better 
 than the horse you used to drive to water at the farm. The 
 wild Indians who live in the woods of America can reason, 
 but very imperfectly. You can imagine what difference there 
 is between the mind of one of these poor Indians and the 
 mind of an educated man. 
 
 Now, Medio, if education makes this difference, can you 
 have any doubt of the value of education? Now tell me, 
 besides, — Don't you know that if a child were to grow up 
 without exercising its body by walking, running, jumping, as 
 other children do, it would have a poor miserable weak body? 
 And can't you imagine that just so it is with the mind ? You 
 go to school to exercise 3'our mind and make it strong ; but 
 if you don't ivork while you are at school, your mind has not 
 its proper exercise, and does not grow strong. Some men have 
 strong bodies, and some strong minds. Do you know what 
 a strong body can do ? Why not half as much as a horse. But 
 don't you think a strong mind can do a great deal more than 
 a horse can do ? Think about this, Medio, and then tell me. 
 AVhen the time comes for you to leave school and go to 
 college, you may, if you please, have such a feeling as this : — 
 IIow glad I am that I have worked hard at school, for now I 
 may gain credit at college ; but I am quite sure I shall get 
 no disgrace. Or you may, on the other hand, have this very 
 different feeling : — What aui I to do at college? I have been
 
 153 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 an idle boy ; I don't know half what other boys know ; I 
 shan't be able to pass any examination ; I shall be brought 
 to shame, and I shall make Papa and Mamma and Aunt very 
 unhappy. 
 
 I say, my dear Mecho, you must know that you will be 
 happier by-and-by if you work now ; only it requires some 
 resolution to set to work, and you don't try. But isn't it well 
 worth while? You may take my word for it, that not only 
 by-and-by, but now, you will be a very great deal the happier 
 for working hard. Just try it a little while, and see. I did 
 work very hard at school, and I got for my reward praise that 
 I delighted in. I had never any anxiety about my lessons. 
 Now you get no praise. You hear other boys praised, and 
 you see other boys get prizes ; and you will be distinguished 
 by never getting praise or prize. Shall you like that ? Isn't 
 it worth while to take a little trouble to get out of the stupid 
 list, and to see your name among the praised and the 
 rewarded ? Don't persuade yourself that, though you do no 
 work now, you may fetch up your lost time by working hard 
 when you grow older. Unless you begin at once, and work with 
 great spirit, you will not recover your lost time. * -jf 
 
 Don't call this a dull lecture, my dearest little boy, but 
 think of it seriously, for the sake of Mamma's and Papa's 
 love. * * * ^f * ^ 
 
 To Hanmer, in September : — 
 
 Beware of the sun ! It is apt to give no notice of the 
 mischief it means to do ; and when it does strike a blow, it is 
 always a hard one. A hurricane may blow your house down ; 
 frost may nip one's nose off; but far-darting Apollo aims at 
 the brain. Make a rest some day from your out-door labours, 
 to write me a letter. ^ -x- -x- -x- 
 
 To me, at the end of a long letter : — 
 
 Do you see, my darling, how 1 have been writing? I have 
 kept your precious letter before mo, and liave referred to it
 
 LETTER TO HIS SON. 153 
 
 sentence by sentence. This is the only way to make the most 
 of our poor intercourse. The notion people have of answering 
 a letter is generally no more than the writing of one in return ; 
 but I like to dwell on all you say to me^ and you may depend 
 upon always receiving a direct answer to every inquiry your 
 letters contain. This is a little like talking together, which 
 is a thousand times better than each making in turn a long 
 speech. * •sf * * * -sf 
 
 Thank you more than I can tell you, my pretty child, for 
 describing the joy you had in first seeing on your table, at 
 Forest Hill, my drawing of the Malta palm-trees; for you 
 pictured your dear own self to me so vividly that I could fancy 
 you before me. Dou^t I know exactly how it is that you 
 " scream for joy '' ? — and can't I see you holding your hand 
 up to look through it ? Nobody ever did praise my pictures 
 as highly as you, you know, my chick. •» * •3f 
 
 I shall fancy the shimper of your dear eyes when they light 
 upon our views of Malta. It is a vile place to us; but it 
 would be very precious to me if I were away and you here. 
 
 To Bob, in September : — 
 
 Though we have the thickness of the solid globe between 
 us, I never think of you as being lost to me; but, on the 
 contrary, I am sensible of owing to you a great deal of hap- 
 piness. In reading your letters, I see all that you are, as well 
 as all that you are doing, and I assure myself that all my 
 wishes for you are accomplished. Dear Lizzy, I gave him 
 many a good lesson; but what should we have done, after 
 all, without your help? If you had not taught him that 
 love was better than law, he would at this moment have been 
 straining his eyes over a disagreeable book in a dingy chamber 
 at the Temple, with a pale face, a furred tongue, an anxious 
 heart, and an empty purse. That he is at Melbourne now, is, 
 you know, your doing ; and he could not possibly, in any other 
 circumstances, have led so healthy and happy a life. Whatever
 
 154 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 had been his occupation in England, it must have been seden- 
 tary, and, in a great degree, solitary ; and, in both respects 
 hurtful to his mind and body. You have made us rich, then, 
 good child, in all sorts of ways; for isn't it you that have 
 made his three per cent, twenty, and set him to work at 
 cutting, digging, nailing, ploughing, gardening ? — and isn't 
 it a very sweet home that he returns to when his day's work 
 is done ? Now do me justice, good daughter ; for you know 
 everybody else thought Bob's love the ruin of his prospects, 
 and a wise father would have cudgelled it out of him. But 
 I was still wiser; for I was heartily glad of it from the very 
 first. This was lucky, too, you know ; for he is, as his 
 honoured Mamma says, as obstinate as a mule, and so, of 
 course, the cudgel would only have hammered the love in 
 harder and tighter. As for the obstinacy, I suppose you 
 have found out, by this time, that its bump is not necessarily 
 a bad one. I hope not ; for it is the biggest I have myself. 
 An obstinate fool or knave one had better avoid ; but not a 
 good man obstinately bent on loving one, you know, Liz. So 
 I hope Bob's bump and mine are merely signs that what we 
 mean to do we persevere in doing ; tenaces propositi, -jf * 
 
 I have just heard that my friend Portelli is confirmed by 
 the Admiralty in his appointment of my chief clerk ; and 
 great good news it is for us ; for otherwise he would have 
 quitted us altogether, and he is my right hand. -sf * 
 
 The long letter you wrote, chiefly on board the Argyle, and 
 finally on your arrival, has been about me ever since it came. 
 I take your letters and Sally's backwards and forwards from 
 Sliema to the Marina, and read them in m}^ boat, and INIamma 
 asks me if I mean to wear them out in my pocket ; but they 
 won't wear out, for they are carefully wrapped in a sheet 
 of paper that protects them, and I mean to keep them in their 
 proper sequence in a box specially allotted to them, •x- -Jf 
 
 You know. Bob, I read fewer novels than most people ; but 
 I have now and then enjoyed a good one thoroughly. There 
 is a coincidence between us in Waverlcy's having sent you to 
 the liistory of Scotland; for T took \\\) "Count Uobcrt of
 
 DISCUSSION ON BAPTISM. 155 
 
 Paris" for an hour, some years ago, while I was waiting at 
 Liddcirs for him to come in and draw me out an aching 
 tooth ; and as soon as the operation was over, I went to 
 the library and got a French translation of Anna Comnena, 
 and ended with reading all the Byzantine historians through. 
 I began Procopino, in Greek ; but it was too slow work. I 
 suppose even people who keep their Greek a-going more 
 regularly than ray little leisure allows, find their vocabulary 
 often at fault in the wide range from Homer to Chrysostom, 
 and still more to Comnena. Another coincidence, dear Bob : 
 While you were analyzing Pusey's treatise on Baptism, I 
 
 was fighting off a certain evangelical Dr. , a visitor here, 
 
 who insisted upon my listening to his Calvinistic talk about 
 it ; and the weapons I used were naturally furnished me by 
 some of the worthies cited in your tract (Catena Patrum) . Of 
 course my narrow shelves contain but few, but those few are 
 giants (though they do find room on the narrow shelf) ; and 
 having given him Luther, Hooker, Taylor, Wilson, Van Mil- 
 dert, and Lawrence, it was as much as he could well expect 
 from me, and quite enough to show him what ground I my- 
 self stood upon ; though I was quite sure he would not have 
 changed his for all the arguments and authorities that all the 
 Church could lay before him. I hate all argument, but, most 
 of all, theological; for all it does is harm, — good never; yet 
 now and then one is so assailed that there is no escape. 
 ^ * vf * •?? -Jf 
 
 The Calvinistic teaching about Baptism is this : Sedulo doce- 
 raus, Deum non proniiscue vim suam exercere in omnibus qui 
 sacramenta rccipiunt, scd ^GW^ww i« e/ec^i^. * * ^ 
 
 Dr. P 's view of Baptism is not, even by all the High 
 
 Church party (how I hate party !), accepted as quite sound. 
 The objection is, that he looks upon it as an act done in an 
 instant, and accomplishing its purpose in an instant, and not 
 rather as the sacrament of constant union with Christ, the 
 assurance of a continual living presence ; so that all the virtue 
 and life of the creature should consist in its union with a 
 Bciuir above itself.
 
 156 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Two volumes of Mr. Newman's sermons were lent to us last 
 year, and I read one of them every morning before breakfast, 
 and lamented when I had no more of them to read. There 
 was in them nothing controversial. For such reading I hope 
 you will always find leisure, let your work be what it may. 
 
 Your albatross-shooting wou.ld have made me read again 
 Southey's " Ancient Mariner,^^ but I have not got his works. 
 If you have, read it. * -jf * * 
 
 A great deal of chemistry may be got in a short time. 
 Watson, the famous Bishop of LlandafF, was Chemical Pro- 
 fessor at Oxford, or Cambridge, I forget which. When he 
 first announced himself as a candidate for the office, a friend 
 asked him if he knew anything about it, and his answer was, 
 " Not one word;'' and soon afterwards he began his lectures, 
 and acquitted himself with great applause. 
 
 * * * * -jf * 
 
 I think I forgot to answer your question, dear Bob, about 
 HesiocVs Sunday. Some years ago I mentioned it to you. 
 About sixty lines from the end of " Works and Days " are 
 these remarkable words: tjSSo^r/ [i^fxipu), hpov vjnap, ry 
 yap AiroWtova \pvGaopa yuvaro Ajjrw — The seventh day is 
 holy, for on that day Latona brought into the world golden- 
 sworded Apollo. Now just think, dear Sally, that Hesiod 
 wrote those words nine hundred years before our Saviour's 
 advent, and only seven hundred after the death of Moses. 
 That he got them, second or tenth hand, from the Mosaic 
 writings, is as clear as the sun itself. But compare the 
 Biblical account of the creation of the sun and moon at one 
 time with the mythological twin birth of Phoebus and his 
 sister. That is remarkable too, isn't it ? How could Gibbon 
 gravely tell us that we owe our revelation of the Trinity to 
 Plato ! Did he himself think so? lie must have been too 
 keen an inquirer for that; and yet he could hardly have 
 expected to cheat us. Plato, of course, got his notions from 
 the same source as Ilesiod. Pagan opinions were not inven- 
 tions, but deformed versions of revealed trutli. 
 
 -X- -X- w X- -X -X-
 
 ADVANTAGES AND WANTS OF AUSTRALIA. 157 
 
 To Georgiana Ewart my Father writes, in September : — 
 
 Let your father^s friends, tlie now triumphant Tories, 
 make him® Bishop of JNIelbourne. We will have Liddell 
 for our Physician general J and if I live to a patriarclial 
 age, I will go with my growing-up boys, and we will make 
 among us a good name for the new colony. I can^t conceive 
 why people, who may there find room enough, and where 
 an honest and industrious man must prosper, should go on 
 struggling for his daily bread in overcrowded England. I 
 consider Bob^s circumstances as being already far better than 
 my own, after all these years of toil ; for he will soon have a 
 better income, the life he leads is pleasanter, and more inde- 
 pendent; the improvement in his circumstances must be pro- 
 gressive, w^hile I have been for years standing still; I would 
 not, therefore, accept for cither of my young boys any Govern- 
 ment place, civil or military. As for me, I suppose I must 
 stay where I am, if I live so long, eleven years more; for 
 the Government would not allow me to retire till I am sixty- 
 five years old, and then I shall be entitled to a pension of 
 <f 500 a year, and I may take it with me to Port Phillip. 
 * * ^ These are the castles we amuse ourselves 
 with building; not unmindful that the tomb may claim its 
 occupant before the castle. 
 
 In October of this year, 1811, he writes to Bob : — 
 
 What do you think of writing a history of your young 
 settlement, with a description of its present state, and hints 
 for its improvement? Its one most crying present evil is 
 evidently the want of due provision for the duties of religion. 
 The Romanists and the Sects are putting us to shame all over 
 the world ; and I am afraid we have special reason to blush 
 for ourselves at Port Pliillip. Fifty Maltese would not leave 
 their land without taking with them a priest, and for that 
 priest and his people a church would be built immediately; 
 
 ' Robert.
 
 158 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 whereas you at Port Phillip are thousands, and I hear of only- 
 one clergyman, and of your assembling in a barn. But I read 
 of your races and of your balls, and four-guinea tickets. This 
 is beginning at the wrong end, dear Bob. Stir yourself, 
 then ; invite the people to subscribe largely. Tell them that 
 they must raise the money at the expense of some serious 
 sacrifice. They must not be content to give only what they 
 can give convenient!]/. They must be content to suffer some 
 inconvenience and privations for the sake of accomplishing 
 so necessary a work. They are bad calculators if they expect 
 their sheep to bring forth thousands and ten thousands in 
 their streets while they forget Him who gives the increase. 
 Let us hope for a blessing upon ourselves and our substance 
 when we have put away the accursed thing : namely, the 
 worship of mammon. We may innocently gather gold, if we 
 allow ourselves time for better things, and make a good use 
 of it. 
 
 But yours is a case in which your first fruits are plainly 
 called for. Shall I advise you, then, to spend the very 
 first money you can command (for I suppose your purse to 
 be now all but empty) in subscribing for the completion of 
 your church ? Subscribe for me too. Can I do better with 
 the first .€200 I send to Melbourne for my little boys, than 
 give half of it for such a purpose ? I think, if I were one of 
 your community, I could write such a paper as would stir 
 them up. At any rate I would try. By making a great 
 effort, at all events, you would do something. Your news- 
 papers would show what you were doing. 
 
 It would set a good example elsewhere, and would en- 
 courage Government at home, and the religious societies, to 
 help you with a grant. You should have immediately a , 
 Bishop of Melbourne. Never rest till you get one. 
 
 Here is a fit field for your activity, dearest boy ; and I 
 shall love to see you engaged in it. I have read this to 
 Mamma, and she agrees with me with all her heart in autho- 
 rizing you to subscribe for us for your church. The mere 
 putting down of the money would be doing nothing; but if
 
 LETTERS ON THE CONDITION OF AUSTRALIA. 159 
 
 you can excite the people to join, then our example and 
 yours may do a great deal. 
 
 The way would be to call a public meeting, and then make 
 a speech, move your resolutions, put down your money ; put 
 down a hundred pounds for me. Are any of you at Mel- 
 bourne members of the Society for Promoting Christian 
 Knowledge? You ought, by all means, to be a member. 
 You ought to establish a district committee. In such a 
 community as yours it would do immense good, by getting 
 right books from the parent society at their very low prices, 
 and selling or giving them to the middling and poorer classes. 
 Then invite the parent society to aid you in the building of 
 your church, in getting more clergy sent out, in getting you 
 a Bishop.^ -sf -jf 4f * -^f 
 
 On the IStli of October his darling Fanny arrived with 
 her husband and children at Malta, to spend the winter with 
 him, she being too ill to risk a winter in England. 
 
 About this time my Father writes to Bob, speaking of the 
 Australian natives : — 
 
 The consequences of these murders and outrages must 
 necessarily be horrible. There was something of the same sort 
 formerly at Newfoundland. Some murders had exasperated 
 the settlers — ignorant men, of unrestrained passions ; so that 
 if, by chance, one of our fishermen first caught sight of an 
 Indian, it was as much a matter of course to shoot him as it 
 would have been to shoot a hare. So, of course, with the 
 Indians ; and so it will be in your country. Booty at first 
 tempts the starving natives, and then mutual deadly hatred 
 prolongs the mischief. You must do your part, dear sons, to 
 clieck such a devil's course. Our people must neither he 
 murdered nor robbed. As much severity as justice finds 
 necessary must be used to deter the natives from outrage, 
 
 f My Father did not live to hear of a Bishop being sent to Melbourne. The 
 Bishop of Melbourne arrived there the year my Father died.
 
 160 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 but there must be no individual revenge. Hard enough it 
 must be to deal with tliese poor people. To humanize their 
 wandering tribes is not possible, and it is not easy to deter 
 them, by fear, from aggression ; for how are the individual 
 aggressors to be known and apprehended ? What police can 
 spread its power over so wide a land ? It would not be easy 
 to identify even the aggressing tribe, and if you could, how 
 could you get that tribe into your power, or how coilld you 
 deal with it ? * * -jj I am afraid no 
 
 good whatever would be done even by apprehending and hang- 
 ing the murderers ; for the rest would simply consider it as an 
 act of revenge. They would only be more cautious not to 
 attack without a fair chance of impunity; but they would 
 have two motives for mischief instead of one. It was at first 
 hunger; but now it will be hunger and hatred. * •jf 
 
 To me : — 
 
 Mr. Scamp, the Admiralty architect, came out by the last 
 packet, and immediately set to work, with his myrmidons, to 
 demolish the Galley Arches, and prepare the site there for our 
 new bakery. I wish they had put it anywhere else, for I 
 can't bear the destruction of an old building. Do you 
 remember old Donna Rosa? Her dwelling is only approach- 
 able by a great staircase contiguous to the galley arches, and 
 in pulling down these, it is necessary also to pull down the 
 staircase ; so that her house will be in a few days blocked up. 
 She could neither get in nor out, and so notice has been 
 
 given her to quit by Sir • . lie thought (for he had been 
 
 told so) that the poor old soul was living there upon charitable 
 sufferance, and that he might turn her out unceremoniously. 
 But I had understood, as clearly as the poor old woman could 
 make me understand, that she had some sort of right to her 
 house. So I set myself to work in her cause, and collected 
 the evidence of fifteen old people, several of them between 
 eighty and ninety, and one of ninety-two; and I have been 
 able to prove indisputably that the ground on which her
 
 DONNA ROSA. 161 
 
 house, and Mr. S.'s and Mr. 's stand, belonged in ancient 
 
 time to her family ; that it was sold by them to the Knights ; 
 that in the contract for sale the corner of those buildings 
 which she now occupies was secured to her family for their 
 residence; that when the English took possession of the 
 island, the first English Governors, Sir A. Ball and General 
 Cameron, wanted to eject them, but were satisfied with the 
 proof of their title which they brought forward, and confirmed 
 them in their tenure; that Donna Rosa herself was born 
 there; and that she has lived there until this day, her age 
 being, as proved by the register of her baptism, eighty-seven 
 last May. Sir John will forward all this to the Admiralty, 
 and we shall get for the old soul a just compensation.*^ In 
 the mean time I have taken a good house for her, with which 
 she is quite content. Only she says there has been a sentinel 
 under her window for eighty-seven years, and she is sadly 
 afraid of being run away with when such protection is taken 
 from her. * * * * -jf * 
 
 My time is occupied continually with thousands of small 
 works that prevent me from doing what I would if I could 
 command it. What I can, of course I give dearest Fan. 
 Latin Grammar takes up two or three of my morning hours 
 for Kitty and Herbert. Queen Victoria has her claims ; 
 sick Mamma hers ; introductions brought by every packet 
 theirs. All I can do is to fill up odd scraps of time with 
 some book that will bear interruption; and the book I have 
 now is Ovid. According to my usual way, I shan^t leave 
 him till I have read him clean through, and probably twice : 
 but it is surprising how much one can read by using up all 
 the odd minutes. I have always the book in my pocket. If 
 one likes a book, one is eager to open it ; and so the way is 
 always to have at hand a book one can really enjoy. 
 
 The great charm of Ovid, you know, is the wonderful 
 facility of his language. His verse reads as if every word 
 
 » The stir he m<ade in Donna Rosa's behalf was completely successful. She 
 obtained what he asked for from the Admiralty, a pension of £20 a yanr, 
 VOL. II. M
 
 163 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 naturally took its place where, with consummate art, he has 
 placed it. Now you know what strict rules of art there are 
 for writing Latin verse ; and you know what queer con- 
 trivances English poets are reduced to for the furnishing of 
 their measures and rhymes; and so you can easily understand 
 that he must be a great poet who can make every word fit its 
 place just as if art had nothing whatever to do with its collo- 
 cation. I thought of the Darabin^ while I read his abuse of 
 a river that stopped him, by its unusual fulness, on his 
 journey to his love. " Nee tibi sunt fontes, nee tibi certa 
 domus. Quis grata dixit voce perennis eas ?" He calls it a 
 mere mountain torrent, depending upon rain, with no springs 
 for its source. But if a wish could make our ^ixesim perennial, 
 plenty of us would alter it. ^ * * * 
 
 To Bob, in December : — 
 
 Let me give you first the subject always uppermost in my 
 thoughts here, and always, I well know, in yours and my own 
 dear Sally's. Fan is not worse. She is nearly the same as 
 she was when Liddell went away, and as she was when I 
 wrote to you a fortnight ago. * * ^ 
 
 Some hope there still is ; for there are many examples like 
 
 those of Mrs. R , whom you remember here. But we can 
 
 only hope in trembling. We must pray too with all our 
 hearts. All our poor little children pray God to look with 
 compassion upon their dear sister, and enable her and all of 
 us to put our whole trust in His mercy. * ^ * 
 
 When she was a child she said it was good for her to be 
 near me ; and good it is for both of us to be near each other 
 now. 4f ^ -sf We have, for a few days, a bishop 
 here — Alexander, whose seat is to be at Jerusalem. He dines 
 to-day at the Louis's, and they wished us to meet him ; but I 
 told Lady Louis I couldn't leave Fan, even for the Bishop 
 of Jerusalem. They say our bishop is not to be appointed 
 
 ^ The little creek on our Australian farm.
 
 THE NEW CHURCH. 163 
 
 till the churcli is built. Scamp hoped to complete it by the 
 close of next year ; but every step he takes discloses a new 
 imperfection in the old work, and the poor man is puzzled 
 everywhere. He has just found a part of the substructions 
 based, not, as they ought to have been, upon the rock, but 
 upon the remnant of an old and imperfect wall; so he is 
 afraid to trust the foundations anywhere; and the under- 
 ground work is so deep, that he would have to dig down, more 
 or less in different parts, from ten to fifty feet, to examine 
 them. Eight or ten inches of the base of a principal column 
 was found projecting beyond the intended foundation of it, 
 and resting upon nothing ; and what has been used for cement 
 has so little cementing or tenacious property, that it pulverizes 
 under the touch, so that snvff would have been quite as useful 
 a material. Not much like the old Roman mortar we saw 
 resisting the waves of two thousand years at Baise, nor the 
 old Norman castles in England, where the cement is as hard 
 as the stone, and especially at Rochester Castle like Travertine 
 stone, shells being mixed with it, and all in one inseparable 
 mass. ****** 
 
 Captain Basil Hall, who is still here, has interested himself 
 mightily in my studies, and begs me to let him write to Moxon, 
 his publisher, touching the publication of my Thucydides. 
 He says Moxon would have the manuscript examined by his 
 literary advisers, and if they reported favourably, he would 
 pay me a sum of money for my leave to publish at his own 
 expense, and for his own profit, a certain number of copies, 
 leaving me the copyright. I have not yet set to work upon 
 it, to revise and copy, for I have had no time ; but I will 
 begin as soon as I can. * * * * 
 
 M 2
 
 164 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 [1842.] 
 
 ADDKESS TO MR. LE MESURIER — FANNT — THUCYDIDES — SHAKSPEARE— BRITISH 
 CRITIC — BIRTH OF LAST CHILD — SON ORDAINED — ON SERMONS AND PREACH- 
 ING — LADY LOUIS'S NOTE — CLAIM OF HIS BROTHER'S WIDOW AND CHILDREN 
 — ON MY baby's DEATH — SKETCHING FLOWERS — THUCYDIDES — READING 
 PRAYERS — THE FATHERS — BISHOP OF SYDNEY — DISTINCT READING — A PAR- 
 SON'S WIFE— COLOURING FROM NATURE — ON MY BABY's DEATH — COLOUR 
 FOR SKIES — GERMAN AND HEBREW — ECONOMY AND ALMSGIVING — TORTOISE 
 AND CAT — DRAWING — THE OXFORD WRITERS — DAILY SERVICE — A GOOD 
 VOICE — SERMONS — MEMORIAL OF SIR S. ROBERTS — DESULTORY PURSUITS — 
 SUBSCRIPTION FOR THE BISHOP — PRETTY ^VIVES — WILLY — CLEMENT. 
 
 At the beginning of this year the Rev. J. T. H. Le Mesurier' 
 retired from the ministry of the Dockyard Chapel, and his 
 congregation presented him with an address and a piece of 
 plate in token of their respect. My Father was requested 
 to prepare the address, which was as follows : — 
 
 " Impressed with deep and sincere respect for Mr. Le 
 Mesurier, and with a grateful sense of our obligations to 
 him, we are anxious to unite in offering to him our heart- 
 felt thanks for all his zealous labours in our behalf. 
 
 " For twenty-two years he has been charged with duties 
 beyond the measure of any mental or physical energies but 
 his own. Five times every Sunday has he passed from the 
 performance of one service to another, and never in all those 
 years has the burning sun, the rain, the rough wind or 
 sea, restrained him in his pious course. To visit us in our 
 sickness, to carry consolation to the poor inmates of the 
 hospital, to hold communion with the dying when epi- 
 demic distemper raged, — and his brave example was a useful 
 
 Chaplain to the Forcen at Malta.
 
 THUCYDIDES. 165 
 
 lesson; to do good whenever it was in the power of his 
 hand to do it, he has disregarded all considerations but 
 those of duty to God and goodwill to man. 
 
 " We are persuaded that religion has not a more con- 
 scientious advocate, nor charity a more prompt or indefati- 
 gable minister of its varied duties, nor truth a more un- 
 flinching friend. 
 
 " With all our hearts we are grateful to him ; with all our 
 
 hearts we thank him ; and, in the fullest sense of Christian 
 
 benevolence, we bid him an afl'ectionate farewell." 
 
 ^ -x- -Jt * •X- ^ 
 
 To Bob he writes, in January, after speaking of the great 
 improvement of his dear Fanny's health : — 
 
 Let us thank God with all our hearts for this His great 
 goodness to her and us. * * ^ * 
 
 And at the close of the letter : — 
 
 We are all full of good hope. God's holy name be 
 praised, for this and for all His mercies ! I said these 
 words just now in leaving our dinner-table, and with all my 
 soul thought of Fan. 
 
 Speaking of his Thucydides : — 
 
 No one can judge infallibly of his own work. I do con- 
 scientiously think that my version is upon the whole the best 
 English version there is. I may be a fool for my pains, but 
 I am not vain in thinking so. I may make a great blunder, 
 but I do really form my judgment without a grain of 
 partiality ', on the contrary, I am generally disposed to 
 quarrel with what I do myself. I see more faults in my 
 own drawings than other people see, and I could have no 
 difficulty in acknowledging them to myself or to you, I know 
 that Bloomfield and Arnold and all the rest of them are 
 neccssarilv much better Grecians than I am. That is inevi-
 
 166 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 table. They have Greek books in their hands every day of 
 their lives^ and I let years pass sometimes without opening 
 one. I have a thousand other things to do. But, then, common 
 sense has a great deal to do with such work ; and, above all, 
 no one of them could have given his heart and soul to the 
 work as I gave mine. I am sure I have observed many 
 places in the commentaries of great critics, where they have 
 written nonsense and I should have written sense, simply 
 because their experience of the afifairs of the world had not 
 taught them some particular matter bearing upon the sub- 
 ject, and my experience had chanced to teach it me. There 
 was no superior wisdom that I could pretend to, but I 
 happened to know some fact that they did not know ; and 
 a very great light is often shed upon a cramp passage 
 in an old book, by some scrap of knowledge that one has 
 accidentally picked up. Again, suppose such a passage as 
 this were written in Greek. It is from the First Part of 
 King Henry IV., the last scene of act 1st : — 
 
 " Dangerous 
 
 As to o'erwalk a current, roaring loud, 
 On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 
 
 Ilotsjmi: — If he fall in, good night : or sink or swim," 
 
 So in all the books, and Stevens^s note says, " Sink or 
 swim is a very ancient proverbial expression.^' By proverbial 
 he means, of course, that in this place it is a figurative 
 expression. Not a bit. It is used here in its literal sense, 
 and there ought to be no stop at all at night. Hotspur 
 means to say, yes, it is so dangerous to cross this wild torrent 
 on the unsteadfast footing of a spear (whether laid across to 
 serve for a bridge, as Warburton says, or used for a leaping- 
 pole, which would have been the hardier way), that if a man 
 tumbles in there is an end of him, whether he can swim or not, 
 ibr the force of the water would dash him to pieces against 
 the rocks. This makes a clear and thoroughly satisfactory 
 sense. It is undeniable. Mr. Pembertou '' gave this pas- 
 
 A gcnlkiuan who gavf Ivctuich on Shakispoarc at Malta.
 
 "BRITISH critic/' 107 
 
 sage when he was licre^ and gave it according to the books, 
 and when I told him my view of it he adopted it frankly. 
 Well now, if this were in Greek, and Stevens and Pemberton 
 had been far better Grecians than I, yet certainly I shonld 
 have found the sense of the passage, and they would have 
 missed it. Observe, that as the books give this passage, they 
 make Hotspur say, " If he tumbles in, good bye to him ; but, 
 as for me, I have taken my resolution, and I shall go on, 
 whether my fate be to sink or swim ;" and this is certainly 
 not what Shakspeare meant him to say. * * * 
 
 Pray, pr'ay, dear Bob, don't follow Newman to the Pope's 
 toe. He and his friends are now writing like downright 
 Papists. I hear that something very much like celebration 
 of the Mass is going on at Oxford. The British Critic is 
 said to be under Mr. Newman's special superintendence ; 
 and one might certainly take it for an offspring of the Pro- 
 paganda. In my conscience I am afraid that half England 
 will return to the trammels it cost them so many sacrifices to 
 shake off. The Maltese priests are chuckling at a rare rate, 
 
 and glorying in their new allies. That ass Don told me 
 
 Dr. Pusey would soon set us all right. 
 
 The February letters announce the birth of my Father's 
 eleventh and last child, Sophia. 
 
 About this time my Father had the great satisfaction of 
 hearing that his dear son Robert was to be ordained in 
 Sydney by Bishop Broughton, who most kindly offered him 
 the living of Penrith, in consequence of letters of recom- 
 mendation from his friend Mr. Coleridge, of Eton ; and on 
 the 2nd of March, 181'2, his Father thus writes to him on 
 the occasion : — 
 
 No news could possibly be more welcome than what your 
 letter brought me last night, telling me that you were at 
 once to join, under the most advantageous circumstances, 
 the profession for which you were always intended, and the 
 only one for which you are, by nature and education, qualified.
 
 168 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Well done^ my dear good Sou ! You are in a situation that 
 promises most admirably ; and I trust you have as fair a pro- 
 spect as you could desire of leading a truly happy life. My 
 hope is all the more sanguine, because I know you will do 
 your duty conscientiously. Your business will be to guide 
 your flock. If it takes up all your time, no matter. If it 
 allows you leisure for reading, that will be a most precious 
 relaxation, and will improve your power, perhaps, of being 
 useful. 4e ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 I would not be in any immediate hurry to return to 
 England. Young as you are to have made such a beginning, 
 engaged as you are in a noble cause, with a magnificent field 
 before you, I would not quit it hastily for everyday work, — 
 for the ordinary work in England that ordinary men can do. 
 You will have a numerous family to provide for ; and by stay- 
 ing some years where you are, you will the7i return to England 
 without those most harassing cares that want of money for 
 education can't help creating. I shall be most anxious to 
 hear that your parsonage is in a healthy countiy, that you 
 have a comfortable and pretty dwelling, and some decent 
 
 neighbours. I remember knowing Sir in London, and 
 
 a great goose he was : I met him at dinner at Jervis's, the 
 barrister's. Your Grandfather and Uncle Vi were there. 
 
 Sir talked about the Antip"of/es" (odes, like odes of 
 
 Horace) ; and Jervis called out, at a long table-full of guests, 
 
 in his sharp lawyer's voice, " Sir J , an/ipo-des. Sir 
 
 J ; " correcting the poor man as unceremoniously as 
 
 he would a schoolboy. * -jj * * 
 
 Try, dear Bob, not to feel anything like vanity about your 
 reading and preaching; but remember that you are a poor 
 feeble servant of God's, engaged in doing Ilis work, and that 
 you can do it at the best but imperfectly. I am quite sure 
 you will preach good sermons; better if, when you have a 
 good many prepared and are not so much pressed for num- 
 bers, — better if you spend six days upon one than six hours. 
 South said one of his cost him a fortn'n/ht. x- -sf As for 
 mauncr, your sermon should be so learned by heart, and so
 
 ON SERMONS AND PRKACIIING, 109 
 
 spoken, as to sound like talking to your congregation ; other- 
 wise, there is a want of reality. If I were speaking to you, 
 and wished very earnestly to persuade you of something, I 
 should naturally use tones quite different from those that 
 anybody uses in reading a paper. I could not write a 
 sermon well without working myself up to think that I had 
 the people actually before me, and was speaking to them. 
 
 If I wrote a sermon under those feelings, I should certainly 
 call them up when I was preaching it, and so I would make 
 the people listen as if they had to do with a man who really 
 had something to say to them. I would make them at least 
 curious to know what it was I had to say. This can only be 
 done by feeling one^s self. That I should so feel I am sure ; 
 for many a time when I have been writing a sentence intend- 
 ing to affect others, I have felt tears come into my own eyes 
 — a sort of nervous feeling that I have, but one that I am 
 quite sure would make me eloquent. 
 
 If a man reads a sermon like reading out of a book, all the 
 advantage is totally lost. I might as well read the sermon 
 myself. But if I listen to a man who says the right thing as 
 an earnest man does say it, I feel now and then an accent 
 strike upon one of my nerves, and go deep into my heart. 
 Love, you know, is seated there, and not in the brains. 
 
 I have just received a note from Lady Louis, to whom I 
 sent one to tell her of what had happened to you. She says, 
 " I am in an ecstasy at the intelligence you give me of your 
 Son ! It does seem to me the most beautiful illustration of 
 the Divine declaration and promise contained in the fifty-fifth 
 of Isaiah that could have been exhibited to those who have 
 eyes to see and to admire the wonderful development of God^s 
 purposes in some of the most mysterious dispensations of his 
 Providence." And what she says is quite true. You seemed 
 to be going clean away from the road to the Church, and 
 have been brought into it by circumstances that would have 
 seemed the most unlikely to occur. -jf * * 
 
 Among others, I have had to write to the ividow of my 
 poor Brother. He died at Jamaica last November, and has.
 
 170 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 I fear^ left her and her two or three children no provision. 
 He had for many years a large income ; but from the little I 
 have heard I have scarcely any hope of hearing that he put 
 by any store. ^ * * I have, of course, told her 
 that I will help her if she needs my help. * * % 
 It is clearly my duty not to let this widow " and these orphans 
 want ; and you know, Bob, I should be a mere fool to attempt 
 to better the condition of my own children, and to provide 
 for them the means of prospering in the world, while I 
 neglected such a claim as this. I know and am sure that it 
 is much better for my own boys that I should pay to this 
 claim all that is due, even though it should leave them with- 
 out one penny. Isn^t this sound economy ? Not " Fiat jus- 
 titia mat coelum," but fiat justitia; that so we and all belong- 
 ing to us may be guarded from ruin, " Sicut in terni sicut in 
 coelo." * * ^ * * * 
 
 To me the same date^ on hearing of the death of my sea- 
 born child : — 
 
 Your loss is great. Poor little Harry's is a sad loss. But 
 the child you mourn for is, we know aud are sure, transferred 
 to heaven. It was not granted to you in vain. You have 
 been the means of adding one cherub more to the mansions 
 of the happy ; and when the close of your own lives is draw- 
 ing near, you will think of the sweet little countenance that 
 you loved to look upon, and will expect to see it smiling upon 
 you again. Aud so it surely ivill. * * ^ 
 
 How I long, my sweet Sally, to see some of your dear 
 sketches ! Every word you write is a word of precious in- 
 terest to me. The sketching of flowers is very interesting 
 where there are such multitudes of new ones ; and though it 
 is sad waste of time to finish them up as young ladies do, it 
 would be very pleasant to sketch them slightly. I could give 
 
 « I have inserted this to show my Father's feeling towards those whom he 
 had never seen. His assistance was not needed in this instance.
 
 SKETCHING OF I'LOWEKS. 171 
 
 you a perfect idea of a plant with an hour's work. Captain 
 Basil Hall was struck with the banana-tree in our court-yard, 
 for it happened to be in very picturesque condition of semi- 
 decay, and he sketched it admirably in pencil with his camera 
 lucida, but didn't know how to colour it. For the sake of 
 showing him, I sketched it afterwards myself, and coloured 
 it. The outline took me one hour, and the colouring two ; 
 and it was exceedingly pretty. He found my outline by eye 
 tally with his by the instrument, as if one had been an im- 
 pression of the other. All the colour was put on at the first 
 wash, with no repetition whatever, so it looked very trans- 
 parent. Just try things of that sort in that way. Don't 
 attempt high finish; and you have no idea what beautiful 
 things coloured sketches may be of flowers or anything else. 
 
 ■3f * •Jf -Jf -Jf ^ 
 
 I am grieved to hear, dear Hanmer, of your worries and 
 fatigues. I know that you are not robust, and that you are 
 beyond example energetic ; and so there is but too much fear 
 of your mind's being too active for your body. I know how 
 dauntless you are too, and therefore I am afraid of the bush- 
 rangers. You would fight half a dozen of them, and beat 
 them, too, with your one active arm and stout heart ; but 
 there would be danger in the conflict, and for that I have no 
 fancy, and still less for danger that confers no honour. For 
 Heaven's sake get your police improved. -sf * * 
 
 I have been busily* engaged for some time in revising my 
 Thucydides, and I shall improve it very much ; but the pub- 
 lication of it must be at least deferred, for I have had a letter 
 from INIoxon, the publisher, to whom Captain Basil Hall wrote 
 about it, telling me that educational books are not in his line, 
 and that Longman is the only man who, from his wide con- 
 nection with schools, can make them answ'er. I may, when I 
 have finished it, propose it to Longman ; but, at all events, I 
 will go on with it till it is quite finished, and it will be useful 
 to my Sons and Grandsons all the more for not being pub- 
 lished ; so my labour will not be lost, for it will enable Harry
 
 172 LIFE OF K. C. SCONCE. 
 
 by-and-by to make himself master of a very hard book with 
 small labour. -jf * -k- * * 
 
 To Bob he says, in March, about revising the Thucy- 
 dides : — 
 
 I have done the first four speeches, and am pretty sure you 
 will like them. As for the sense, I have only altered it a little 
 here and there, particularly where you have suggested altera- 
 tion ; but the language I have been able to make more idioma- 
 tical, more compressed, and more like original English. The 
 speech in general can't read like an original English composi- 
 tion ; for it is essentially that of a man whose notion of making 
 a speech was very different from a modern Englishman's. Two 
 or three hundred years ago English orators were much more 
 like Thucydides than they are now. Yet I have contrived to 
 make the separate sentences real English and yet strictly literal, 
 and consider myself, therefore, as having overcome a great 
 difficulty. * * ^ -jt * •» 
 
 You must always have in hand something classical : you 
 can't always read divinity and write sermons. I wish you 
 would take up some Greek book, and set to work upon it 
 and make a thorough good translation, and notes for the con- 
 struction, and whatever else may be necessary for entering 
 thoroughly into the spirit of the author, and knowing accu- 
 rately all that belongs to his subject. There are plenty of 
 Greek books that need such help. Little has been done for 
 Plato and Demosthenes : but there is a wide range out of 
 which for you to choose. * ^ * -sf 
 
 Later in the month he says to him : — 
 
 By this time you are familiar with your new duties ; and I 
 well know you are doing them well, Bob. You are thinking 
 of your work. When you read the prayers, you pray. Most 
 clergymen evidently do not; they read with such tones as 
 they could not possibly use if they were really praying. There 
 is a mighty difference between repeating prayers and praying.
 
 EARNEST READING. 173 
 
 No one can read the prayers well, so as to engage the congre- 
 gation to join fervently in them, without feeling what he reads. 
 If a man thinks about his reading, and is ambitious of being 
 thought by his congregation a good reader, it is not worth one 
 straw. Let a man with the finest of all voices learn to read 
 of Macready, and let him read the prayers without real feel- 
 ing; and let another with a gruff voice trust wholly to his 
 natural feeling for emphasis and cadence, and which will do 
 most good ? Just so in preaching. Supposing the composi- 
 tion equal, one man may read it in the usual way of a good 
 reader, and send his congregation away in raptures with him ; 
 and another will so say the same things, that some, at least, 
 among his hearers will go home and pray. Dearest Bob, 
 applause is very sweet ; but you know they who seek it and 
 earn it have their reward. * ■» * -sf 
 
 I had a long argument the other evening, at Lady Louisas, 
 with an evangelical clergyman, who took it into his head to 
 speak of bishops as partly useless appendages to the Church ; 
 and asserted that reference to the Fathers was of small use 
 on any subject, but that, as far as their opinion went, it was, 
 regarding the real Presence, all in favour of the Romanists, 
 for that he had lately " looked over " them himself and found 
 it so ! Looked over the Fathers ! -jf -jf I found he knew 
 less of Cyprian than I did, and less, too, of Chr^sostora, though 
 I have only read some of his sermons on St. Matthew ; very 
 interesting, too, historically. But I have read, besides, Poly- 
 carp and Clement, and Hermas and Barnabas ; and before I 
 am much older I will read them asain. 
 
 In April he writes to his cousin Mary Repton, junior : — 
 
 My sweet little Cousin, — You have done a glorious deed 
 for my dear Bob, and I do love you dearly for it. Of course 
 I always knew that you were a warm-hearted and a very 
 clever girl ; so that I am not surprised at your exerting your- 
 self in such a cause ; nor at your success in getting Coleridges
 
 174 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 and bishops to do your bidding ; but there is something won- 
 derful in the suddenness and completeness of the success. 
 BoVs one letter that told me of the first step in this impor- 
 tant matter, told me also of its complete arrangement ; and a 
 blessed change of life for him it is ! Don't you think he will 
 make a real good clergyman, Mary ? * ^ * 
 
 To Bob, in April : — 
 
 No more letters from Australia yet, but good Mary Repton 
 has sent me your correspondence with the Bishop, and very 
 great pleasure I have had in reading it. It was worth your 
 going to the world's end to make the friendship of such a 
 man.'^ I certainly never saw such an interest created by any 
 letter of introduction as the Bishop proves he felt. 
 
 * * ^ * * * 
 
 By way of a hint for making yourself heard. Somebody 
 told a Bishop Hinchliffe that they heard him better than any- 
 body else, though he was far from having a loud voice ; and 
 the Bishop said, " It is because I take care of the consonants'' 
 
 Speaking oL Major Ewart, a connection of his, killed in 
 AflFghanistan : — 
 
 Fighting is a bad trade, dear Bob ; bad enough in a just 
 and necessary war ; but who can persuade us of the justice 
 of this? ***** 
 
 Dearest Lizzy, I think of you with very lively interest in 
 your new character of a country parson's wife. You have 
 made acquaintance with the poor people round you, and have 
 busied yourself about their children's schooling ; and have 
 begun to set your garden in order, and your dairy and poultry- 
 yard and piggery. You will find time for all this, even with 
 
 '' The lato TSishop Broughton, of Sydney.
 
 ADVICE ON PAINTING. 175 
 
 all the business your pretty Madeline gives you. I want to 
 hear a great deal more of my only granddaughter. 
 
 ■3f * -Jf * -Sf * 
 
 On the 27th of April ray Father writes in low spirits to me 
 and Bob, having just parted with Fanny, who returned to 
 England via Marseilles, where her husband met her. He 
 says : — 
 
 You can imagine that yesterday was a miserable day for 
 us. •}«• -x- ^ I need not tell you how we miss our 
 sweet Fauny. Poor little Kitty was crying all day yesterday, 
 and is in no better spirits to-day. Fan was very fond of her, 
 and she of Fan, who says there never was a sweeter little 
 soul. She is now sitting opposite to me at the library table, 
 with a little Latin book in her hand ; but she can't think 
 about the book, and I love her all the better for her distrac- 
 tion. * •» ■5f * -K- 
 
 I am very, very shaky to-day, and want a good cry, like a 
 baby. -jf ^ * ^- * 
 
 To me : — 
 
 Whatever you sketch, colour it from nature when you can. 
 All the great authorities agree, and my own experience has 
 amply proved it, that an hour's work from nature is more 
 improving and more interesting than a month's from memory 
 or imagination. Another useful observation I have made in 
 the long run is this : that it is generally waste of time to take 
 up a subject that does not offer a pleasing balance of Ii(/ht 
 and shade. Form and colour, or one or the other, have often 
 tempted me to make a sketch out of which I could never 
 make a good drawing, for want of light and shade ; and it is 
 absolutely necessary to put in the effect of light and shade 
 on the spot. -x- * -x- * 
 
 To me in May, on his receiving my letter telling him of 
 the death of my child ; for he had only heard of it inciden- 
 tally before : —
 
 176 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 At last that sad sad letter is come that describes to me tlie 
 bitter suffering with which you have been afflicted. Deep 
 indeed was the painful interest with which I read every word. 
 Mamma and I have shared your pain, my precious child, and 
 keenly have I felt the grief of being separated from you in 
 your affliction and in all your hard trials. You are so very 
 precious to me, dearest daughter, that indeed there is nothing 
 but inevitable necessity that could prevent my being with 
 you. I should not for myself care in what corner of the 
 world it was. Your Bush would be an Eden to me, if we 
 were all together in it, and all content. I have read many 
 descriptions of mournful scenes, but never one so touching as 
 yours. * * ^ * * 
 
 Still it was a bitter grief, and was intended to be so. 
 Religion was never intended to make us insensible. It 
 teaches us to make a right use of our tribulation ; but 
 you know, dear, the purpose of tribulation would not be 
 answered if we did not feel it. May your trials give you 
 more and more strength, and more and more comfort in 
 the best of all hopes ! You have suffered a present loss ; 
 but you know that your beautiful babe was not given to 
 you in vain. By God's mercy you will see its bright coun- 
 tenance again. It is looking upon you and loving you 
 now, and praying for you. You know and are most sure 
 that God has taken it to himself; and now, if you could, 
 you would not wish it back again. You would bear your 
 own bereavement for the sake of your child's unspeakably 
 profitable change. And now, too, dearest, you are bear- 
 ing your loss in the same spirit in which you would 
 make a voluntary gift to Heaven, and therefore you will 
 never be left without consolation ; for all your recollections 
 of what your sweet infant was, will be mingled with the 
 blessed consciousness of what it now is, and will be for ever 
 and ever. To you, by God's blessing, it owes all this, and 
 when you think of it, my darling, I know it will mingle ^oy 
 with your grief. * * * How I shall 
 
 long to see the precious picture of your sweet children that
 
 COLOUR FOR SKIES. 177 
 
 you have done for me \ ^ ^ * When 
 
 you do landscapes, be sure and follow my plan of laying your 
 paper wet upon a glass. The man in Switzerland who told 
 me not to mount my paper, gave me a lesson worth all the 
 rest I ever had put together. * * * The 
 
 best blue for a sky is cobalt tempered with a very little lake 
 and a very little indigo. Rub a quantity of cobalt, and dilute 
 it enough, and tilt the plate so as to let it form a pool, and 
 then stand a fe.w minutes, and pour it off into another plate, 
 but leaving behind all the sediment. In this way you will 
 have it beautifully clear. If your paper is thoroughly wet 
 except the very surface, which must be thoroughly dried by 
 dabbing it with a handkerchief, you may put on your colour 
 so strong that one single wash will complete the sky. If, 
 however, you find the blue not deep enough, you may add a 
 second or as many more washes as you please ; but before 
 you put another wash, let the preceding one become perfectly 
 dry, and then wash it lightly with a large brush, not rubbing 
 it, but passing lightly over it, so as only to remove what 
 little colour will come off readily. Then dab that up and 
 dry the surface with your handkerchief, and immediately 
 put on another Avash. But mind, the back of the paper must 
 be thoroughly wet all the time. It was precisely in this way 
 that I did Lizzy^s picture of the palm-trees," and in that 
 picture every light was left. Now you know, my chick, it 
 would have been quite impossible to have left the lights of all 
 those sharp leaves out of a clear deep blue sky, in any other 
 way, nor could they by any hand have been scratched out so 
 as to give the same sharpness and lightness. It would have 
 been quite diificult enough to leave even the illuminated 
 stem of the tree. I could not have done it. ^ * * 
 
 To Bob, same date :^ 
 
 A young clergyniau has enough to do ; but with all your 
 doings you have two lunyuages to learn, which, if I were a 
 
 • The most peilect representation of Maltese ^unnhine that I ever saw. 
 VOL. II. X
 
 178 
 
 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 young man and a clergyman^ I would not rest till I iiad 
 mastered. German is necessary for you as a scholar, and 
 Hebrew as a divine. In two years you may do much in both, 
 only I should fear that neither could be comfortably managed 
 without a master. To set one a-going in some small degree, 
 such sort of help is necessary, but it is but little that a 
 scholarlike man needs of a master^s help. Mezzofanti says 
 he can learn any language in 2i fortnight. You know I learnt 
 Portuguese, at Lisbon, almost wholly from books. I had a 
 master to give me the pronunciation, but he was of little 
 other use. As for Hebrew, it is certainly a disgrace in these 
 days for a clergyman not to know it. I don^t mean for the 
 mass of worthy parsons who exercise the clerical calling, but 
 of whom little is expected ; but that it would be a shameful 
 deficiency in a man who is beginning his career in these 
 stirring times, and has a fund of other scholarship, and a 
 student^s habits. You know well, dear Bob, that a clergy- 
 man, who has brains in his head, may well store them if he 
 means to take an energetic part in the work that is going 
 on. You will be called upon continually to " give a reason " 
 when no little learning will enable you to give it satisfac- 
 torily to your own mind or the minds of your inquirers. I 
 should like to ask Mr. Newman why he is not a Romanist. 
 He may assert, this year, some small difference between his 
 opinions and the Pope^s ; but if he goes on at the rate he 
 has hitherto travelled, he may well intrench himself next 
 year at farthest within the walls of the Propaganda. 
 ■3f -x- * * * -;f 
 
 The only peculiar doctrine of the Church of Rome that I 
 have not yet heard of Pusey^s school's maintaining, is that of 
 the Pope's supremacy ; but if they agree in all the rest, what 
 a trumpery motive for separation that would be. 
 
 * -Jf •3t * •»* •»* 
 
 I do every day a bit of the revision of Thucydides, but it 
 is slow work, for the language, I find, Avill bear a good deal of 
 condensing; and then, after I have satisfied myself that I can 
 do no better, I compare it with Bloorafield's and the other
 
 THUCYDIDES. 179 
 
 translations and commentaries. The result is^ as far as 1 
 have gone, that though there are few passages in which my 
 version differs from his, yet there are some in which, I am 
 pretty sure, you will think me right and him wrong. I don't 
 know how this happens ; for he is a thorough scholar, and 
 has evidently spared no pains, and shows in his notes that he 
 has a large command of language. I am really surprised that 
 such a man should not have made a more readable book of 
 his translation; but as it is, however useful it may be to 
 students, no general reader could get through it. I should 
 have expected it to read as currently as Beloe's Herodotus, 
 and still keep pretty close to the text. But I say. Bob, what 
 reason could I give in a preface for publishing mine after 
 Bloomficld's ? He says of his performance that it was much 
 wanted, because Hobbes was antiquated and incorrect, and 
 that no other English translation existed but Smith's, which 
 was too free and loose and faithless for students to use ; but 
 I could not with any decency tell the public that I meant to 
 cut out Bloomfield. 
 
 I forgot to add, about the German, that I find reason every 
 day to regret my want of it, and that, if I were younger, I 
 would immediately set about learning it. They are, out-and- 
 out, the best scholars. Their editions of Greek books make 
 the Bloomfields and Arnolds look like pigmies. Their his- 
 torians are the Niebuhrs and Midlers ,• and their poets 
 Gcithes, and others almost as great, of whom we can know 
 little more than their names. Their histories we may read 
 when Mrs. Austin chooses to translate them for us ; but 
 IMiiller is said to be the most eloquent of all historians, and 
 when his German is made English, one may fancy that the loss 
 is little less than Thucydides suffers when lowered down to 
 Bloomfield. ^ * * -sf * 
 
 To Bob, later in May : — 
 
 Live comfortably, but always economically. Begin at once 
 to save something. You are likely to have no end of brats;
 
 180 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 and there is terrible anxiety when there is no provision for 
 one's wife and young ones in case of one's being suddenly 
 taken away from them. There is no comfort in spending 
 money like the comfort of reflecting that one is making a 
 provision for one's dears. 
 
 Live frugally, that you may both accomplish this and give 
 away largely too. My notion is, dear Bob, that people are 
 too apt to be niggardly in their givings to the poor, and to 
 justify the smallness of their doings in this way by pleading 
 their large families. They forget that if money is necessaiy 
 for their children, God's blessing is better still ; so you and I 
 will save what little we can by denying ourselves and not the 
 poor. ■3f ■Jf * * -sf ^ 
 
 Your tortoise is alive, and still growing, and may now, at 
 the age of about eighteen years, have reached a full fourth of 
 the size to which he means to grow. He has been heretofore 
 remarkable for his love of solitude, but has lately taken to 
 company, and strange company too ; for the cat took a fancy 
 to his snuggery between the trellis and the wall, sheltered by 
 the thick old geranium in the corner of the garden on the 
 right hand as you go up the steps, and there the old tortoise 
 welcomed her and her four kittens, and they have gone on 
 living together in queer harmony. The young cats jump 
 upon him and nestle round him ; and he and the old cat lie 
 close together, with his head and neck poked out under her 
 body, as if he liked the warmth of her fur. This is about as 
 strange a fellowship as White's "Natural History of Selbourne" 
 describes between a horse and a hen. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 To me, the same date : — 
 
 Your drawing, in a picturesque Alpine country such as I 
 imagine Mount William to be, would be a glorious resource, 
 and you would make yourself a real artist. Make studies of 
 trees, such as I did at Blonay ; only don't follow the plan I 
 did of using only gray or sepia, but take colour at once, for
 
 DRAWING. 181 
 
 it is really easier, and a million times more satisfactory. Don't 
 choose any tree, or any other subject, for a study, without 
 seeing in it a good effect of light and shade. Now, I must 
 tell you another observation I have lately made. Shranz and 
 I compared a drawing he had just made of the harbour, with 
 my drawing of pretty nearly the same subject; and he agreed 
 with me cordially that I had bestowed the chief pains on the 
 right place, and he on the wrong. His buildings and shipping, 
 forming the middle distance, were really well done, but did not 
 keep their place; they came too forward ; and the reason was, 
 that he had comparatively neglected hx^ foreground. He had 
 made it up out of his own fancy, and there was no truth in 
 it, and, consequently, no real force. This was the reason why it 
 did not throw back the other parts of the picture. On the 
 contrary, I had very carefully drawn and coloured my near 
 rocks and boats from studies on the spot, and, therefore, they 
 catch the eye at once, and, in fact, create the effect of the pic- 
 ture. Just so, if you sketch a tree, and mean to make a drawing 
 from it, you must be sure to study carefully all that comes in 
 between the tree and you, as far as your picture takes in, so 
 that the foreground may be more forcible than the tree. 
 Studies of near objects, such as picturesque combinations of 
 weeds, rocks, water, animals, rustic figures, will, of course, 
 help you to fill up a foreground. Remember w-hat Mr. 
 Coindet told you, — to sketch carefully all the branches of 
 your trees. I don't know whether he added, — observe the 
 beautiful variety of light and shade in the stem and branches. 
 ****** 
 
 To Bob, June 18th :— 
 
 You are setting out in your profession with impressions 
 which we may humbly hope are all right ; and perfoi'ming its 
 important duties as they ought to be performed. Many 
 clergymen, who have been for years asleep, have at length 
 been awakened, and are doing at last what you have happily 
 been impressed with the necessity of doing at first Of course
 
 182 LIFE OF 11. C. SCONCE. 
 
 I know that you owe the blessing of such a sense of your 
 duties, under God's guidance, to Mr. Newman and his pious 
 associates. In your case at least they have done good. So 
 they have unquestionably in thousands of others. Only stop 
 short when they would carry you too far. 
 
 That there is danger of being fatally misled, must be 
 obvious to all Avho are not influenced by party spirit, a spirit 
 which I heartily abhor. It is quite certain that Dr. Pusej'', 
 and I take for granted Mr. Newmau also, deems it a heinous 
 sin to address prayers to the Virgin. Dr. Pusey has said in 
 terms that the prayers in the Roman ritual are all spoilt by 
 this wretched perversion. But yet, if the reading of the 
 Tracts^ has created in some minds a temper to take all that 
 Dr. Pusey and Mr. Newman would give them, and then just 
 to take from the Pope what little he has to give that they 
 have not already given; to tliose minds a million times more 
 of harm than of good has been done; inasmuch as it is a far 
 greater sin to pay to the creature the honour due to the 
 Creator than it is to baptize at the end of the Church Service 
 instead of the middle of it. 
 
 That there has been and is such a tendency in very many 
 minds is quite obvious. And it is quite natural. The Tracts 
 undoubtedly give us an impulse that teiids towards Rome. 
 To that I have not the least objection, because the width of 
 our separation would not have been what it is except for 
 human passions and infirmities. We ought in many things 
 to be more like them than we are. But you know. Bob, the 
 author of an impulse is not always able to control its con- 
 sequences. The best billiard-player can't make a ball stop 
 just where he pleases. That there is in the Tracts danger 
 against which we have to guard, I should be blind if I did 
 not see ; and wise and pious as their authors are, I am shielded 
 from the charge of presumption in entertaining this opinion, 
 because I am bidden to entertain it by many of the bishops. 
 I don't mean that the Tracts deserve all that has been said 
 
 The "Tracts for tlie Times," published by Oxford divines at this lime.
 
 DAILY SERVICE. 18o 
 
 against them by the bishops. Some opinions have been 
 imputed to them which they have distinctly disavowed. 
 
 But the GOOD that these men may do is inestimable. 
 Long before a " Tract " was written, I felt the great differ- 
 ence between the Roman Church and ours, in their making 
 and our not making religion the daily business of men's lives. 
 The day we sailed from Marseilles, fourteen years ago, in the 
 good Bombard, the Alessandro, I went on board very early 
 in the morning to see whether the captain found the wind 
 fair to start. But there was not a man in the vessel. The 
 wind was fair, and they meant to sail ; and therefore every 
 soul had gone to church to pray for a safe voyage. And don't 
 you remember that while we were at sea the old captain 
 assembled at sunset all his crew, and never missed performing 
 their vesper service, and with great apparent devotion too? 
 Who ever saw such a thing in an English vessel ? But now 
 we may hope to see it. 
 
 You will do your parishioners immense good by bringing 
 them to daily prayers in the church. Of course you will 
 suit your hour of assembling them to the circumstances of 
 the majority, so as to collect the greatest possible number ; 
 and I know well you will make them feel that tlieir meeting 
 there is no matter of form. I wish with all my heart we 
 could have daily pi\iyers here. We have now on Saints' days, 
 and Kitson is nothing backward in doing his part ; but he 
 could not assemble a daily congregation; for you know we 
 are very few of us our own masters, and the sailors and 
 soldiers and dockyardmen would not be allowed to go to 
 church every day. They would not as things are now 
 managed. But for this too we may hope to see a cure. The 
 time may come when colonels and captains and Dockyard 
 Commissiouei's will see it necessary to give their men time to 
 meet every morning in the church. There would be no diffi- 
 culty in the matter. There would still be time enough in the 
 day to work for the Queen, even if half an hour were spared 
 to the service of God. It will occur to the rulers of our 
 affairs and the builders of our fleets to be just possible that
 
 184 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 teu hours' work with God's blessing may have a better issue 
 than eleven hours' ^york without it. It never occurred to the 
 controllei's of workmen that the breakfast hour was a loss of 
 time. But it has occurred to you^ and so by this time your 
 farmers have learned, that the success of their labours 
 depends upon their own industry and the happy succession of 
 sunshine and showers ; and that they can no more insure 
 their own strength to do any work at all, than they can the 
 falling of the rain. It depends upon my own industry, does 
 it? Then I will go to my field. This is what your farmer 
 used to say. It depends upon my own industry, does it ? 
 Then I will go to church. This is what he will say. 
 
 My dear Bob, you must improve to the utmost perfection 
 you can the good voice nature has given you; and gain all 
 the skill too you can in using it. Your business is with the 
 hearts of your hearers, and sweet and appropi'iute tones tell 
 vionderfully. Just as the very reverse of melody and pro- 
 priety was exhibited to us last Sunday by a good man, who 
 preached a good sermon and contrived to make it useless. 
 He had four notes in his voice, and bad ones too, and went 
 up and down every fourth word, demolishing of course all 
 meaning. When a man reads the prayers so, there can be 
 no reality in it. The most stupid of all jog-trot parsons 
 could not possibly use his habitual absurd tones if he were 
 really urging a petition in which his life or death depended. 
 It is very difficult for me to join with a man in a petition 
 when he shows me he is not in earnest ; but he helps me very 
 effectually to join with him when by the earnest reality of his 
 prayer he makes me feel that we are praying for life to an 
 actually present God. Mouthing won't do it. Macready 
 can't teach it. Not one individual in one thousand has ever 
 learned it at all. 
 
 As for sermons, I am sure you have remarked that they 
 are generally much more calculated to tell us what our duties 
 are than to engage us to perform them. If I tell the preacher 
 I knew all he told me before, he will naturally answer, " O 
 yes, but \vc all need to be rcniiiided of our duties." Quite
 
 MEMORIAL OF SIR S. ROBERTS. 185 
 
 true; but we need very mucli more to be persuaded to act 
 upon what we all know. In half~an-bour's sermon twenty- 
 five minutes are commonl}' spent in telling us bow we ought 
 to live, and just the odd five minutes in an exhortation to 
 live so. If I were a preacher, I would reverse the proportion. 
 A'^ery great skill is necessary to do anything of this sort with 
 good ejQFect; but no measure of skill can accomplish it if the 
 heart is not the chief prompter. 
 
 You know, dear Bob, people have often given me things 
 to write for them. Poor Sir Samuel Roberts wrote lately a 
 memorial to the Admiralty, claiming what is called a " good- 
 service pension. '^ He dictated himself a chief part of it, 
 and his wife put it together ; but they were not satisfied with 
 it, and I took it to do it for them. When I had done, I read 
 it to their party, and after three or four sentences they all 
 burst out a crying. Of course I meant it to touch not their 
 nerves but Lord Haddington^ s. They said nobody in the 
 world could have done it so well, and poor Lady Roberts hit 
 the right nail on the head when she said it was because 
 nobody else would so have felt for them," and that without 
 such regard as I had for ray old friend, I couldn't have 
 " thought of such words.'' 
 
 I dare say you are curious to know what I said, so I will 
 write a bit of it ; though, in truth, I see no great clever- 
 ness in it. After an introductory sentence, I made him say, 
 " He has many times addressed your Lordship's predecessors, 
 but it was alwdi^s for one single object; it was to beg for 
 employment when danger was to be encountered, and honour 
 gained, and he did not apply in vain. But those days are 
 past, and very difl:erent must be his petition now. He has 
 seen hard service, but he can see no more. All that remains 
 of him is but a wreck, and he comes to your Lordship for 
 the aid he needs." Then came a long list of his battles and 
 imprisonments, and shipwreck, and it ended so : " If your 
 memorialist attributes the ruin of his health to the labours 
 
 ^ There had been a friendship between Ihein uf thirty-three yeans.
 
 186 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 and sufferings he has undergone in the public service, your 
 Lordship will not suspect that he can well be deceived. It 
 is not age that has worn him out, for he has yet numbered 
 but fifty-four years. The blow with which he has been 
 stricken came upon him suddenly ; but he was laid open to 
 it by an habitual palpitation of the heart, which dates from 
 his shipwreck. Of his many companions in that calamity 
 few are now alive. His frame once seemed of iron ; but one- 
 half of it is now no better than lifeless clay. He gave his 
 strength to his country, and he now appeals through your 
 Lordship to his country to support the weak and shattered 
 remnant of him that yet survives." '' The pathos, of course, 
 consisted in bringing forward naturally, and in simple lan- 
 guage, such as a seaman's vocabulary might supply, the 
 contrasted pictures of the warrior in his strength, and in 
 his palsy-stricken helplessness. The idea might not have 
 occurred to me if I had been less able to put myself in the 
 poor man's place ; and if it had, I might not have expressed 
 it so naturally. I have filled a great piece of paper with a 
 small matter ; but never mind. All our little doings interest 
 each other. We must always write to each other very fre- 
 quently, and as we should talk. Remember, dear Bob, that 
 I can't interest myself about your doings and your circum- 
 stances if I do not know them, and I can only know of 
 them what you tell me. It is true that writing takes up 
 a certain quantity of time; but you need not grudge it to 
 mc, for affection is not too abundant in this world and is 
 worth nourishing. You can't do better than follow my plan 
 of writing at regular fortnight's intervals, j'ou or dear Lizzy, 
 and let the letter be either long or short as your leisure may 
 serve. * •Jf ->^ What an odd coinci- 
 
 dence it was that the cottage you first went to at Penrith 
 belonged to young Stilwell's brother-in-law. The lady of 
 
 '' Lady Koberts wrote to my Father afterwards that they aaid at tlie 
 Admiralty, "that so admirably worded aud so clearly and yet concisely 
 drawn u{i a document never was [ircsented before."
 
 APPOINTMENT OF THE lUSHOP OK GIBHALTAIl. 1S7 
 
 tlie cottage writes to her English relations thus (she little 
 thought you or I would see what she was writing : — 
 
 " Our cottage is occupied by a new clergyman, just or- 
 dained, and appointed to Penrith and South Creek churches ; 
 the parsonage, which is being built by subscription, not being 
 ready for them to go into. His name is Sconce, an Oxford 
 man, whose attainments are spoken most highly of, and his 
 views seem all based on an active anxiety for the perform- 
 ance of his duty. He is young, and his wife 1 should think 
 two or three years younger, with one piccaninny six months 
 old. Their advent to Penrith will be a source of much 
 pleasure to us, when once they are comfortably settled in 
 their parsonage." 
 
 But you are not to have all the praise to yourself, for our 
 queer Governor has been giving me some. I thought he had 
 put me quite out of his good books, for he has taken no 
 notice of us these two years, since the publication of Miege^s 
 book, that praised me at his expense and that of his myrmi- 
 dons. However he sat next Lady Louis at dinner the other 
 day, and talked about me for a quarter of an hour, giving me 
 credit for all sorts of high qualifications. He says nobody 
 ever comes to me for information without getting it, and a 
 kind reception too. 
 
 The last Galignani says Mr. Tomlinson is appointed 
 Bishop of Gibraltar. Such, it seems, is to be his title, though 
 Malta is to be his chief residence. * -5? * -Jf 
 Mamma's dearest love as well as mine to you and Lizzy and 
 Madgy. May your present sweet prospect long remain 
 unclouded. God bless you, my dear good Boy. 
 
 To Lizzy, later in June, my Father writes : — 
 
 You will concern yourself with Bob's labours as my dear 
 wife always does with mine, and help him, you know, when 
 he wants a second hand. You will both find the happiness 
 that rewards successful labour. It is a blessed thing, Liz, to 
 be always thoroughly occupied. Desultory reading for mere
 
 18S LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 amusement is not worth a straw. One must have a pursuit 
 to which one is eager to give every available raoraent^ and 
 such pursuits neither you nor your husband are likely to 
 want. -sf -Sf -Jf -^ -sf 
 
 Can there be any situation in which a happy life is more 
 likely to be found than that of a real good country clergy- 
 man ? Especially, you know, Liz, if he happens to have taken 
 to himself a reasonable and pretty wife. As for the beauty, 
 I should certainly bargain for that, just as Bob did; for you 
 are right in thinking that I enjoy pretty prospects of all sorts; 
 and painters, who have keen eyes, would naturally be expected 
 to pick out pretty partners. Not all the painters do, how- 
 ever; for Bob's old acquaintance, , is going to marry an 
 
 olive-hued Maltese maiden that Mamma pronounces a down- 
 right /n^A/. The glimpse I had of her showed me chiefly a 
 span or so more of throat than the usual measure ; but it was 
 convenient too, for the " piacere '^ of Maltese ladies is to 
 stretch their necks out of the street windows. 
 
 I have just been making a stir among the people here that 
 promises well, to engage them to subscribe in a body to the 
 fund for the endowment of our bishopric. Many to whom I 
 spoke acknowledged that it was absolutely necessary to sub- 
 scribe, and that there should be a public meeting for the 
 purpose. But then the Governor should be consulted, for he 
 should preside at the meeting ; and all the people most in 
 the habit of meeting him shrunk from the disagreeable busi- 
 ness of suggesting to him to open his purse and interest himself 
 in getting others to open theirs. 
 
 But you know I don't mind cross faces; so I paid him a 
 visit, and after combating successfully an objection or two, 
 he agreed that it was all right, and that he would subscribe 
 and preside. He asked me if I had any idea what people 
 meant to give — to regulate of course his own giving; and I 
 was glad to give him what information I could to enlarge his 
 ideas ; so I told him Mr. Lc Mesurier had already sent to the 
 fund in England j£50, and meant now to add another .€25,
 
 SUBSCRIPTION FOR THE BISHOP. 189 
 
 and tliat I meant to give £30. If I had not told him this, he 
 would probably have given £50, but now I think we may 
 expect from him double that. The meeting is to be on the 
 1st July. I find the Governor is taking it up with spirit ; for 
 since I saw him he has sugggested that ladies should be 
 invited to attend the meeting. 
 
 Wasn't it a saucy thing of me to go and ask him to give 
 away his money at my suggestion, considering I have not 
 been near him before these two years ? However he was very 
 civil. We mean to appoint a committee to collect what we 
 can from the strangers who will come here in the autumn, 
 and to write to all the communities of the Church of England 
 on the shores of the Mediterranean, and consequently within 
 the diocese, except Alexandria, which is in the diocese of 
 Jerusalem. -jf * '^ -Sf * 
 
 To me, same date : — ■ 
 
 I think of you continually, with anxious solicitude enough, 
 and inexpressible tenderness. You know, my sweet, that I 
 shall always think of you and love you — " dum memor ipse 
 mei," as that sneak ^Eneas told poor Dido ; and the oftener 
 you can tell me that you are well and happy — which includes 
 the well-being of your dears, the more you will sweeten your 
 dear Papa^s down-hill life, and console him for such a dismal 
 separation. ^ * * ^ * 
 
 We are always going on precisely in the old way, only we 
 have more schooling than ever, for Mia and Willy are now 
 little Latinists ; and Willy is so surprisingly apt a learner 
 that one must do all one can to help him. He has more 
 power of application than I ever saw in a child, and more 
 memory too. You know what a long job it is to teach a child 
 the Catechism. He has actually learnt it by being sometimes 
 in the room while the others are saying it. He ' has gone 
 
 About seven years old.
 
 190 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 through quantities of Latin accidence, much in the way in 
 which a man would. In short, he means to beat you all 
 hollow. ' 
 
 To Fanny : — 
 
 I want you very much. I want to know every morning 
 how you have slept, and whether you coughed much in the 
 night. I want to hear Bobby call me Papa. I want you all 
 to come and see me again this autumn. I did what I could 
 to spoil you before, but I am sure now I didn^t do half 
 enough ; and if you will but come again, I will love you fifty 
 times better. Only do try now. Wasn't the seton dread- 
 fully painful ? Couldn't you give it me instead ? My poor 
 Fan, I would wish it with all my heart, if wishing could but 
 do any good, and I would pretty soon borrow your pain and 
 bear it for you. Tliere wouldn't be much magnanimity in it 
 either ; for I am quite sure I should be better off when 
 Mamma has pain if I had it myself, and so in your case 
 equally. 
 
 To little Clement :— 
 
 You are a funny little sort of a monkej'', not to tell us you 
 were a monitor of your French class. Aunt has told us, and 
 she says you would not, because it looked like boasting. 
 Well, if you thought so that was a very good reason ; but you 
 need not be prevented in future from telling us anything 
 about yourself out of any such fear as that ; for I believe you 
 have too much sense to be vain ; and there is no vanity in 
 telling the truth to one's Papa and Mamma, even if it should 
 happen to be in one's own favour. I always thought you 
 would make a good Frenchman, because you made so famous 
 a beginning that summer we spent in Switzerland. 
 ******
 
 191 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 [1842.] 
 
 MEETING ABOUT THE BISHOP's FUND — PALMEr's TREATISE ON "THE CHURCH" 
 — FASTING — NICKNAME " PUSETITE " — THE CHURCH — ANTICHRIST — NEW- 
 MAN — SON TAKING PUPILS — WRITING LATIN FOR HIS CHILDREN — MALTESE 
 DOGS — LAY BAPTISM — WRITERS OF THE "TRACTS FOR THE TIMES" — 
 ROMANISTS AND PROTESTANTS — MICHAEL TOWEL — CONTROVERSY— BOSSUET 
 AND FENELON — LAY BAPTISM — PLAUTUS — FANNY — MUSHROOMS — CAUTION 
 ABOUT MONET MATTERS — QUOTATION FROM MELANCTHON, ETC. — ZUINGLIUS'S 
 OPINION OF SENECA — SOCRATES — HOOKER — CATHOLIC ANTIQUITY — PRIVATE 
 JUDGMENT — WEARINESS OF MALTA — TRACT NINETY — DR. PUSEY, ETC. — 
 DAILY SERVICE — BISHOP OF GIBRALTAR. 
 
 Before going on with the extracts from my dear Father's 
 letters, I must pause to speak of their beautiful regularity. 
 As I go on from year to year, and from month to month, I 
 find the four letters to his four absent children, generally all 
 written on the packet days about the 15th and 25th of each 
 month. This is the more remarkable, as two out of these 
 four letters were sent each fortnight to Australia ; and, irre- 
 gular as was the communication with Australia ten years ago, 
 I have not found one Australian letter missing. 
 
 He writes to Bob, the 15th of July, 1842 : — 
 
 The attempt I told you I was making to get up a subscrip- 
 tion to our Bishop's fund, has succeeded well. The meeting 
 took place, and about £600 was subscribed." £200 was con- 
 tributed by the Governor ; £200 by Mr. Frere ; and the other 
 £200 among the rest of us. ^ # ^ * 
 
 " In the manuscript book which I have before mentioned, of my brother's, 
 he here makes the following remark : — 
 
 " All mj' Father',s doing, though, like a hundred other great and good acts 
 of his, it seems to have been quite hidden from the sight of men. God be 
 praised, he hath his reward."
 
 192 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Let the occasiou, he writes, be what it may, people are 
 apt to give no more than they can spare without making any 
 sacrifice. Of course I coukl not give £30 without making a 
 sei'ious sacrifice, for it would pay for one of the boys at the 
 Naval School for a twelvemonth; but then I ought to feel 
 quite sure that if I give the money from a true sense of duty, 
 it is quite impossible for my boys to be the poorer for it. No 
 one can feel a more intense anxiety than I do to secure the 
 means of educating my many young ones; therefore I will 
 save all I can for that purpose conscientiously ; but I must 
 not weigh God's blessing against consols. * -sf * 
 
 You know the seven sages and their sayings. When I am 
 a sage, mine will be, " Make your wants known." Many and 
 many a want I have had supplied by making it known where 
 its supply seemed hopeless. It is astonishing how often and 
 strangely I have found help by using this maxim. Now all 
 this. Bob, is apropos to almost nothing ; for it was not at all 
 surprising that Cleugh should have Palmer on the Church. 
 Yet I asked him without the least in the world thinking it 
 likely. However, he had it, and had just finished the first 
 volume, and has lent it me ; and it interested me so much 
 that I read half the volume the first day, and would have 
 finished it the second but for the packet. I have nearly 
 finished it. Though I have read rapidly, it has not been the 
 less profitably ; for the thoughts are expressed so clearly, that 
 the meaning of every sentence is visible at a glance. When 
 this is the case, the faster one reads the better, for the easier 
 it so is to preserve the chain of argument and obtain a general 
 view of the whole subject. Of course one must afterwards 
 examine it again in detail. A book once read is not read, for 
 any useful purpose, at all. If I could, I would tell you what 
 I think of the book ; but the subject is full of such compli- 
 cated difficulties, that I am bewiklered in attempting to esti- 
 mate its arguments. That it is calculated to do great good is 
 quite certain. No honest member of our Church can read it 
 without a certain degree of comfort in finding how much there 
 is to justify our position. If I had been thinking of joining
 
 MR. palmer's book ON THE CHURCH. 193 
 
 the congregation of the reverend and eloquent Mr. II , of 
 
 the Dissenting chapel at Valetta, I think this book would 
 have deterred me : so it will furnish you with arguments to 
 keep your own flock within your fold. I suppose it would 
 have small effect in bringing back any who have already 
 strayed^ and especially any that have been educated in dis- 
 sent, for early opinions on religious subjects stick fast ; and 
 the professors of all sorts of opinions arc furnished with 
 arguments on which they confidently rely. But, Bob, I am 
 not quite sure that Mr. Palmer has furnished me with as 
 good defensive arms against the Romanists as offensive arms 
 against the Dissenters. Whether it is the fault of my under- 
 standing, or his argument, I can't yet tell ; but I will see more 
 into it, and of course I shall get more light as I read the rest 
 of the book. At present I have an impression — or not so 
 much as that, a notion, rather — that in some of his opinions 
 he is influenced by the notion that it is necessary to hold 
 them for the justification of the British churches. These are 
 words of his own (applied, of course, to others), which you 
 may see at the end of page 397. 
 
 I find, as yet, a difficulty in satisfying myself out of this 
 book that the English Church forms a part of the one, holy, 
 visible, Catholic Church, inasmuch as I do not find it in com- 
 munion with ANY other part of that Church. As for the 
 American Church, it is in fact one of the British Churches. 
 The only other parts of the Church are the Roman and the 
 Greek. The Roman Church did in fact excommunicate us. 
 The Greek was severed from the Roman, while we ourselves 
 were Roman, and therefore was severed from us ; and since 
 our separation from the Romans we have not yet united with 
 the Greeks. 
 
 It is true enough that the Reformers were not excom- 
 municated by the lohole Catholic Church (p. 389), for of 
 course the Greeks had no part in e,rcommunicating people 
 who had long ceased to be in their communion ; but I am 
 afraid it is not candid to say that the excommunication was 
 oidy received and acted upon by -^ome of the Western Bishops, 
 
 VOL. II. o
 
 194 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 who were " apparently " under the influence of the Pontiff 
 and Emperor. The truth is^ that all the "Western Bishops 
 except the excommunicated were under the influence of the 
 Pontiff, just as every bishop in all Roman Catholic countries 
 is now. The authority of the " Synod '' of Trent will^ I find, 
 be discussed more at large in the other volume. But quite 
 certainly every Romanist would laugh at me if I told him 
 that the Council of Trent was not equal in authority to the 
 ancient oecumenical councils. It appears to me that if the 
 absence of the Greek Bishops can be pleaded in bar of the 
 jurisdiction of the Western Church, we must deny both to 
 the Roman Church and to our own Church the possession of 
 any power at all of expelling heresy from the bosom of 
 either. 
 
 Again, how can Mr. Palmer, or any one else, deny and 
 attempt to prove, that whatever may be the measure of vice 
 in the Roman Church, the blind obedience professed by its 
 members and its well-marshalled authority are far better 
 preservatives against dissent and schism than our Church 
 possesses. True enough they have their Jansenism and their 
 wide-spreading infidelity ; but the infidelity of Protestant 
 Germany is nearly equal to that of Romanist France ; and 
 Jansenism is very much less apparent in any Roman Catholic 
 country than dissent is in England. Here in Malta our 
 1,500 English comprise a dozen various sects; but the 
 120,000 Maltese are all true servants of the Pope. 
 
 The Romanists have a mighty hold over their people, and 
 are strong enough to rob us, as they are now robbing us by 
 thousands, of ours. How is it possible not to confess to one's 
 own heart that their system has in this respect the advantage 
 of ours? Hitherto we have not coped with them success- 
 fully in preventing schism ; but I believe it is not because 
 our religion is less good in itself, but because our clergy have 
 been asleep, and our Government more vigilant to injure the 
 Church than aid it. Build more churches, ordain more 
 clergymen, and you clergymen fulfil all your duties faithfully 
 and zealousl}', and make your hearers feel they are worship-
 
 PALMER; FABER, AND IIEBER. 195 
 
 ping in their money-bags a god without a heaven, and then 
 they won't forsake you either for the Pope or Mr. Wesley. 
 
 That there must be immense difficulty in discussing the 
 subject of " the Church/' is shown by the total disagreement 
 there is among our theologians in treating it. For example, 
 Palmer says it would be vain to attempt to trace the visible 
 Church in the Albigenses, Waldenses, &c. ; whereas Faber 
 writes a history of those people expressly to prove that in 
 them the perpetuity of the sincere Church of Christ has, 
 agreeably to the promises, been maintained. Does not this 
 look as if men took up opinions merely because they seemed 
 necessary for the conducting of their argument ? I am quite 
 persuaded that to talk of the Albigenses as the sole repre- 
 sentatives, for a time, of the true Church, is absurd. 
 
 At page 253 I find something that shocks my candour ; 
 for it is an undeniable fact that Papists do not and cannot 
 admit that there is salvation in our Church, and we do admit 
 that there is in theirs. Heber said he had no higher wish 
 than to spend his eternity with Fenelon, Pascal, and Bor- 
 romeo. He does not doubt their salvation; whereas they 
 were bound to doubt that of the holiest among us. To pro- 
 fess, because it seems expedient to the conducting of an 
 argument, an opinion that one does not sincerely entertain, is 
 not only unjust in itself, but as fatal to the argument as the 
 inserting of a rotten link in a chain cable would be to the 
 storm-beaten ship that depended upon it. * * ^ 
 
 To me, in July : — 
 
 The best advantage I should derive from promotion would 
 be that after a very few years I might retire with a better 
 pension. However, I never have fidgeted about such 
 things, and I now think less about them than ever. 
 * « * * -x- ■>? 
 
 But oh, my dear dear Sally, I never made half enough of 
 you, I am sure I didn't ; and yet from first to last I don't think 
 any Papa in this world ever doted upon his daughter as I
 
 196 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 did upon you. Let us remember past times, my chick, and 
 look forward, and pray for each other, that we may love each 
 other in Paradise. ^ •Sf * ^ * 
 
 I have had another letter from sweet Mrs. Napier,'' desiring 
 me to get Charles Edwards sent home, vf •» * 
 
 To Bob, in August : — 
 
 In all your sentiments I agree entirely. I have not yet 
 discovered that there is any difference at all between your 
 theology and mine ; and of course this is a very great satisfac- 
 tion to me. Of the duty of fasting I have not the smallest 
 doubt. In short, I had satisfied mj self very many years ago 
 that in all our practice, hatred of the Pope was too plainly 
 mingled with the love of God. * * * I certainly 
 shan't call you a Puseyite. Nobody has less taste for nick- 
 names than I have, and I have a thorough respect for Dr. 
 Pusey. He writes like an honest man and a gentleman. I 
 am grievously afraid that he and his companions will, unin- 
 tentionally, send crowds to Rome, but I am not afraid of his 
 sending you there. 
 
 To Bob, later in August : — 
 
 I am afraid it will not be possible for me to find time to 
 draw up anything like a complete exposition of my own 
 opinions on the subject of your interesting argument — tJte 
 Church. You have taken it from Palmer ; and as I agreed 
 with Palmer in his general view, so I agree with you in yours. 
 Yet I find here and there a difficulty. There must, of course, 
 be enormous difficulty in bringing one's mind to adopt unre- 
 servedly, and retain steadfastly, awybody's opinions on this 
 most important subject ; because every book one reads has 
 some course of reasoning or some conclusion different from 
 those one has before been disposed to accept ; and so we poor 
 laymen have to decide between the Doctors. 
 
 *■ Lady William Napier, who died early in 1860.
 
 HIS VIEWS ON THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH. 197 
 
 In the main points I have little doubt. That the Churcli 
 of England is a true Church, 1 feel thoroughly satisfied ; and 
 that I could not separate myself from her communion with- 
 out committing grievous sin. I am equally satisfied that the 
 Roman Church is a true Church, with all her corruptions ; 
 and I always have detested the Protestant fashion of calling 
 her Antichrist. If Rome must be the Devil's throne, I can 
 niucli more readily take Nero for the Devil than poor okl 
 Gregory, whom you and I saw blessing the tens of thousands 
 that filled the wide area in front of St. Peter's. So must the 
 Greek Church be considered clearly a true Church. And I 
 can hardly conceive that there are any others. The Dissenters, 
 who have voluntarily separated themselves from us, I can 
 only conceive to be out of the Church altogether. 
 
 But, Bob, you and Mr. Palmer say a Church can only be a 
 Church, provided it has neither separated itself from the 
 universal Church by its own act, nor been cast ofl' by excom- 
 munication. I have no wish to controvert your proposition ; 
 but yet I can't heartily acquiesce in it. Until I read Mr. 
 Palmer's book I never saw this; and my notion was that we 
 had both separated ourselves voluntarily from the universal 
 Church, and also been excommunicated by it ; and yet I felt 
 quite sure that we were a true Church. I can't help still 
 suspecting that we must in candour allow that we really did 
 separate ourselves voluntarily from the universal Church ; 
 because, as members of the Western Church, we concurred in 
 excommunicating the Greeks. They were already gone, 
 therefore ; and from tliat Church of which we subsequently 
 remained part and parcel, we seem voluntarily to have sepa- 
 rated ourselves, notwithstanding all tiie professions of the 
 original reformers of their desire to remain in it : for the fact 
 is, that their renunciation of the Roman errors made it impos- 
 sible for them to continue in communion with Rome. AV e 
 voluntarily adopted a pure religion instead of an impure one. 
 By refusing any longer to address our prayers to the Virgin 
 and images, we virtually refused to pray any longer with men 
 wli05>c prayers were so misdirected. We perpetrated what
 
 198 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 must have been, in the Pope's eyes, a rebellion against his 
 just authority, and then had the impudence to offer him our 
 society on equal terms. 
 
 Again, we of the EngHsh Church can join in public worship 
 with French Protestants at Marseilles, or Swiss Protestants 
 at Montreux ; but can we — do any of us anywhere — ^join in 
 public worship with Romanists? 
 
 Then for the other point of our excommunication ; when it 
 is said that we were not excommunicated by the universal 
 Church, because the Greeks were not part of the Council, nor 
 we part of it, the objection to this argument seems to be, 
 that the Greeks could not be there, because they had been 
 excommunicated already ; and as for ourselves, we were 
 already in open rebellion, and were upon our trial ; so that 
 we could hardly have expected to be allowed to sit there as 
 judges. Again, while we were yet members of the Roman 
 communion, of course we considered the Roman Church (the 
 Churcli to which we ourselves belonged) the Church , the Catholic 
 Church, and we did not consider the Greek Church as any 
 part of the Catholic Church. We ourselves had acquiesced 
 in its excommunication. How, then, could we have said to 
 the Council of Trent, — You are not an oecumenical council, 
 because the Greeks are not among you ? In communion 
 with the Greek Church we have not been since its excommu- 
 nication by us and our then associates, the Romanists. With 
 the Greeks we had nothing to do. We were members of the 
 Roman Church, and by the Roman Church we were excom- 
 municated. We had up to that time deemed ourselves, with 
 the Romanists, members of the Church ; and by the Church, 
 therefore, we were excommunicated. I can't clearly see why 
 the Church to which we then belonged had not a right to ex- 
 communicate its rebellious members, just as we have now 
 to excommunicate our rebellious members. 
 
 I should be heartily glad to convince myself of the sound- 
 ness of Mr. Palmer's argument, or, rathei-, of the correct 
 statement of his facts; because it would at once show, what 
 1 believe to be truth, tliat the Cliurch of ]*]iigland is part of
 
 HIS VIEWS ON THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH. 199 
 
 the true Church, and that Muggletonians are not. But tlie 
 fact is that this, like many other arguments brought forward 
 in a similar spirit, has too much the appearance of having 
 been devised for expediency. It would be exceedingly con- 
 venient to us to prove the point ; and therefore, perhaps, I 
 am the more jealous in examining the proof. What I believe, 
 I must believe honestly. I do satisfy myself that we belong 
 to a true Church, whether we did or did not voluntarily forsake 
 the Roman communion, or whether we were or were not 
 excommunicated by competent authority. For my argument 
 is, that fatal errors had arisen in the Church to which we 
 belonged ; that it was our imperative duty to renounce those 
 errors ; and that as the Romanists would not renounce them, 
 the fault was not ours, but theirs ; that they forsook us, in 
 short, not we them. Then as for their excommunication 
 of us ; however their power of excommunicating, gene- 
 rally, may be denied or defended, I am quite sure that in 
 exercising that power against us they acted unjustly. Nor 
 is this at all surprising ; for if they persisted in worshipping 
 false gods, it was quite natural for them to curse those who 
 worshipped the true. You see, then, that to make Mr. 
 Palmer's proposition suit my convictions it would stand thus : 
 that we of the Church of England are separated from the 
 universal Church because we renounced errors which the 
 universal Church would not renounce ; and that if we have 
 been excommunicated, it has been by an unjust sentence. 
 
 Of course I am aware that if 1 can say nothing better than 
 this, I am on no vantage-ground with the Muggletonians ; for 
 they can say as much. It is true I should know they were 
 talking great nonsense ; but so it is equally true that the 
 Pope thinks we are talking nonsense. 
 
 The plain fact, however, is, that the English Church is in 
 absolute solitude. She is in communion with no other ; and 
 the cause apparently is that she alone has embraced the truth. 
 Other Churches have found neiv ivays, and persisted in them. 
 We found we were going wrong, and returned to the old way. 
 We ju'ofcss that wc desire to follow strictly the path in which
 
 200 LIFE OF 11, C. SCONCE. 
 
 our first Fathers in the Church walked ; and we refer to the 
 guide-books of antiquity to prove that we are following it. 
 The Romanists, even they, can't do as much (though we have 
 been accustomed to hear of their reverence for the Fathers, 
 and our contempt of them), and in point of fact they do not 
 attempt it. They are continually obliged to defend them- 
 selves by referring to the infallibility of their Church ; for 
 how otherwise can they justify the refusal of the cup to the 
 laity, and the addressing of prayers to the "N^ii-giu ? 
 
 Still less can the Muggletonians profess to be governed by 
 reference to antiquity ; and therefore I take for granted they 
 shelter themselves under the infallibility of Mr. INIuggleton ; 
 and so the Southcotians under that of Mrs. Southcote. 
 
 You see, Bob, I have not the least wish to disprove the 
 claims of our Church ; but, on the contrary, as zealous a 
 desire to uphold them as you or INIr. Palmer; and if I point 
 out anything that seems weak in your argument, it is not to 
 direct you to a different conclusion, but to invite you to see 
 whether you can make the argument stronger. 
 
 Again, I don't find that I can derive much satisfaction 
 from the argument on which you and Mr. Palmer dwell — of 
 the existence of Christianity in England before the arrival of 
 Pope Gregory's missionaries ; for though there probably were 
 Christians in England before Gregory's days, and when his mis- 
 sion arrived ; and though in Cornwall and Wales, perhaps, they 
 may have been something like an organized Christian com- 
 munity, yet of that fact there can't well be any very decisive 
 evidence; and whether there be or not, yet undoubtedly the 
 Christianity that soon afterwards spread over the whole 
 country was the Christianity not of Cornwall but of Rome. 
 It can't in fairness be denied that England owed its Chris- 
 tianity mainly to the preacliing of Augustine and his com- 
 panions ; and it must be granted that their influence is likely 
 to have been felt all over the country. The learning they 
 carried vith them, and their civilization, must have given 
 them an authority such as the poor British Christians of 
 Cornwall could not have possessed. If, therefore, there were
 
 HIS VIEWS ON THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH. 201 
 
 iuiy differences between the Coruisli bishops, if they had any, 
 and Augustine, it must be taken for granted that Augustine 
 soon settled thera all his own way. If the fact were, and 
 were sufficiently authenticated, that Augustine went to a 
 country already mainly Cliristian ; if, for example, Canterbury 
 had been already before his time a bishop's see, that would be 
 of immense value to your argument. But the case is very 
 different when we are forced to acknowledge that the Saxons 
 at all events were pagans, and can't help doubting whether 
 there was much Cliristianity even in the corner of the land 
 that remained to its poor aboriginal inhabitants. I am afraid^ 
 therefore, we can't improve our case by proving that in some 
 part of the island of Britain there were some Christians. 
 
 But, on the other hand, I should think our case a perfectly 
 good one witliout any such argument. The truth is, that 
 from the time of Augustine till that of Luther we were 
 Roman. Was it or was it not our duty, when once our eyes 
 were opened to the errors into which we and Rome had 
 together fallen, to renounce those errors ? Of course, we were 
 bound to renounce them. They would not ; and therefore 
 there was of necessity an end of our communion. Even Mr. 
 Newman, who is no ultra Protestant, calls the Roman worship 
 of the Virgin idolatrous : can any collateral arguments be 
 necessary to prove that we were justified in ceasing to be 
 idolater's ? He says, moreover, that the Church of Rome is 
 " crafty, obstinate, wilful, malicious, cruel, unnatural as 
 madmen are ; or rather she may be said to resemble a 
 demoniac." Tiiinking this of Rome, how' could we remain 
 in communion with her? 
 
 But besides all this, and setting aside the historical question, 
 whether we did or did not voluntarily separate from her, 
 or whether we were or were not excommunicated by the 
 Church, the true question for us at this day to decide seems 
 to be whether we, the English Church of the present day, are 
 noio justified in continuiny separate from the Church of 
 Rome? If what our reforming predecessors did was wrcMig, 
 we arc bound to repair the wrong.
 
 202 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Now certainly, in considering this question, I sliould not 
 care one straw whether there were or were not Christians in 
 England before the days of Gregory and Augustine; nor 
 should I stop to inquire whether the first Reformers quitted 
 the Roman communion of their own accord, nor whether 
 the Council that excommunicated them was or was not an 
 cecumeuical council ! I should at once decide that I could 
 not hold communion with an idolatrous church. Let the 
 proceedings that created the separation be what they might, 
 the separation itself was inevitable, and remain it must until 
 they renounce, or we resume, the worship of the Virgin, of 
 stocks and stones, and tobacco-stoppers. Perhaps you have 
 forgotten the little image in the Cathedral at Lisbon, called 
 Our Lady de la Pena (of the Rock), which w^as about the size 
 of my little finger, and was shrewdly suspected to have been 
 originally used for stopping a pipe. She had performed, in 
 the eighteen months of her reign, when we saw her, just 
 twenty thousand miracles. She was invented to serve a poli- 
 tical purpose. The politicians devised the manoeuvre, and the 
 Cardinal, Patriarch, Archbishops, and Bishops connived at and 
 acted in the farce. What sort of communion could there be 
 between people who think as Mr. Newman does, or as you 
 and I do, and the congregation of that church at Rome where 
 you and I saw the Pope's certificate of the Virgin's picture in 
 that church having spoken to his predecessor Gregory the 
 Great? Of course, all the people who worship there are 
 bound to believe that the picture can hear as well as speak ; 
 and without doubt, therefore, they ^jr«?/ to the picture. 
 
 You sec, dear Bob, I have put down all this as it occurred 
 to mc, without much method; but you will make out my 
 meaning, and will, I know, be interested in seeing how I 
 occupy myself with the pursuits in which you are engaged. 
 
 Most of this was written while three of the young ones 
 were round me, and seldom letting two minutes pass with- 
 out a question about the genitive case of ego, or the perfect 
 teu^e of cano, and other similar lore. 
 
 Have you got, or have you read, New man's lectures on the
 
 ADVANTAGES OF TEACHING. 203 
 
 prophetical office of tlic Church, viewed relatively to Romanism 
 and popular Protestantism ? I have read it through with deep 
 interest and unmixed satisfaction; and I shall quickly finish 
 it, and read it a second time. Clcugh has not yet given me 
 the second volume of Palmer. Putting down my letter to 
 read some of Newman before I go to bed, I find (p. 406) 
 this, which seems to justify my argument that it is quite 
 immaterial what sort of Council it was that excommunicated 
 us : — " TFho can excommunicate those who have ever held to 
 that creed, and that succession, and those ordinances which 
 Apostles bequeathed them ? " ^ * ^ 
 
 Speaking to Bob about taking pupils, he says : — 
 
 If I were you, I would stick to the £150 a year, and not 
 abate anything, because the Sydney people will think your 
 Greek the better for being dear, and you will have boys of a 
 better class. 
 
 But, Bob, another important reason why it would be good 
 to take pupils is, tliat your work with them would greatly im- 
 prove your own scholarship. You could not at college go back 
 to the grammar drudgery you were allowed to shirk at school, 
 neither could I sit down in solitude to re-learn Propria quae 
 maribus for my own use ; but scrap by scrap it gets into my 
 own head while I am hammering it into Bettoo's and Kitty's : 
 and so all the niceties of elementary scholarship Avould be- 
 come familiar to you in beginning again a, b, c, with your 
 "young pickpockets." You had better read this sentence to 
 your class ! 
 
 To me, in September : — 
 
 They'' read only out of my manuscript books. I have 
 written about jive hundred puyes for tliem, and go on con- 
 tinually adding. Well I may, for Herbert reads ten pages 
 a day. I skim all sorts of books for the sake of picking out 
 
 Ili.s little children.
 
 204 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 odds and ends that suit them. All sorts of subjects, from all 
 sorts of authors, come higgledy-piggledy : multitudes of short 
 sentences with only a nominative case, verb, and accusative ; 
 then rather a long story ; so that my books contain something 
 of the histories of Socrates and Adonis, King Priam, Tom 
 Thumb and Apelles, Narcissus, Maltese puppy-dogs, Diogenes, 
 Julius Cccsar, and Jupiter. In short, I take down, as it hap- 
 pens, Plautus, Terence, Virgil, Horace, Lucan,Tibullus, Cicero, 
 Justin, Sallast, Seneca, Suetonius, Livy, anything that comes; 
 and I am quite sure no Selectee ever answered their purpose 
 as well. The common Selectse, and all other similar books, 
 contain in the beginning half a dozen easy pages, and then 
 they get full of dull difficulties. No purveyor for little 
 children has ever thought of providing a quantity of easy 
 Latin. Their object generally is to exemj)hfy rules, and so 
 pass on from one rule quickly to another. Then they talk 
 about idiomatical niceties and peculiarities ; and all the while 
 the poor boy has put into his memory no vocabulary. But 
 in my way Bettoo has learned the English of, and got familiar 
 with, hundreds and hundreds of Latin Avords; and he has 
 written such large quantities of Latin into English, and 
 English into Latin, that he is getting familiar with gram- 
 matical construction by mere habit, just as, in talking 
 Italian, he would naturally make adjectives and substan- 
 tives agree. He would never say in Italian, buono donna; 
 and would be just as sure not to say in Latin, bonus puella. 
 * ^ ->f * -jf -jf 
 
 Now, about the Maltese dogs. You know they were very 
 famous of old. They are mentioned twice in ^Elian's '' His- 
 tory of the Nature of Animals," which I have never seen. 
 But in ^lian^s " Varieties of History," he tell us Epaminon- 
 das had one. Phsedrus mentions them in two fables ; one 
 about the man and the dolphin, and the other about the ass 
 that wanted to sit as the little dog did in his master's lap. 
 That little dog (though the English version does not tell us 
 so) was a Maltese. A]ci|)hron speaks of one accidentally 
 killed by being caught in a trap set for a fox ; and now I
 
 ON LAY BAPTISM. 205 
 
 have just seen in Plutarch this : " What a fool a man must be 
 to fret because he ean't combine the qualities of a lion ranging 
 the forest, and a Maltese puppy dog nursed in a widow's 
 lap." Isn't it very remarkable that such a trumpery little 
 wretch should trace back his history 2,300 years in tlic 
 writings of all those old Grecians ? 
 
 To Bob, later in September : — 
 
 On the 27th of last month came three of your letters 
 together. ^ •jf * I have read all these 
 
 with very lively interest and unmixed pleasure; for, of 
 course, I delight in seeing how thoroughly you are disposed 
 to do your important duties, and, of course too, T firu] great 
 comfort in seeing how perfectly all your opinions, as far 
 as 3'ou have expressed them, coincide with my own. I am 
 only sorry that I am so little able to help you by my own 
 reading in the solution of your doubts. The question that 
 chiefly engaged you, of the efficacy of lay baptism, and the 
 propriety, or otherwise, of your rebaptizing children who 
 had been baptized by Dissenters, and were brought to you 
 to be received into the Church, seems to be quite as diffi- 
 cult as any one that could be proposed. You know, a 
 clergyman in England, some short time ago, refused to bury a 
 person who had not been baptized by a minister of the Church, 
 and an action was brought against him, and a verdict given 
 against him, in accordance with the judge's charge. A hard 
 case this. Bob, tiiat lay judges should have power to decide 
 such questions, and that the Church should have wo j^ower. 
 However, I find the ease has been referred to by the Bishop 
 of Exeter, in a late Charge of his ; and the paper containing 
 it having been sent to me, I am glad to forward it to you ; 
 the more so as the Bishop of Exeter is considered, I believe, 
 one of the ablest and most orthodox on the bench, and 
 the Charge contains, besides, many remarks on the writings 
 of your Oxford friends. You will see that it condemns the 
 90th Tract in the strongest language that can be used. I
 
 206 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 have not seen the Tract ; but from v/hat I have heard of it, 
 I have no doubt that, greatly as I admire most of what I have 
 read of Mr. Newman's works (not all), I should dislike it as 
 much as the Bishop does. His book on Romanism and 
 Popular Protestantism is one of the most satisfactory I ever 
 read ; but, here and there, there are expressions in it quite 
 unlike the gentle spirit one would suppose from most of 
 his writings to belong to him. I am much less acquainted 
 with the writings of Pusey ; but from the little I have read 
 of his, I should feel pretty sure he would not use the rude 
 language I find, applied to the Romanists, in page 101 of his 
 book. It would have been perfectly easy for Mr. Newman to 
 give us quite as effectual a warning against their arts, without 
 calling them names. He can't mean what he says, in such 
 words as these : — 
 
 "Till God vouchsafe to restore her, we must treat her as if 
 she were that Evil One which governs her ; " that is to say, 
 we must hate the Roman Church. Of course, we are bound 
 to hate sin, and therefore to hate its author the Devil ; and if 
 we are to treat Rome as we do Pandemonium, what becomes 
 of Palmer's view of the Church, o. part of which he recognizes 
 at Rome ? A pretty portion of the Church ! Why, we are, 
 according to Mr. Newman, to regard Rome as downright 
 Antichrist — as the visible church of Satan. How then can it 
 be any part of God's Churjch? and how can there be in it 
 "some things absolutely good," as Mr. Newman says in the 
 next page there are ? 
 
 By the bye, one would not have thought that the author 
 of such a book should have been accused of meaning to make 
 us Papists. Of course he can have no such views ; though it 
 is quite clear that some of his writings have actually sent 
 many to liis Pandemonium. He did not mean it, but he has 
 done it. 
 
 Whether it was possible or not to take away from people 
 those errors which made their distance from Rome greater 
 than it ought to have been, and not to give them at the same 
 time a notion that they might go nearer and nearer still, till
 
 CAUTIONS HIS SON AGAINST ROMANISTS. 207 
 
 at last tliey were hooked in by the DeviFs chiw, — this is a 
 question there would be small profit in discussing. But it is 
 profitable for rae, and still more for you, who have to teach 
 others, to reflect carefully upon the use we make of the light 
 these good and able men have given us; and to think for 
 ourselves while we are listening to them. 
 
 The good they have done is to the ivise, the evil to the 
 weak and indiscreet. But you know, Bob, there are nine 
 men out of ten without brains ; and then out of ten men with 
 brains, at least nine are without an education to fit them for 
 forming any judgment on such subjects ; and even among 
 the comparative few who have both brains and education, 
 there are many who have flighty fancies, and go ofl" like per- 
 verse rockets, any way but the right. It follows from such 
 an argument as this, that the recipients of the evil are likely 
 to be the more numerous. How that may be in fact I can't 
 tell ; but you7' business will be with Penrith, and I have 
 sanguine hope that there the good may be unmixed. 
 
 But it is a inost difficult task you have to perform ; for this 
 I know, that among the ignorant Papists here you could 
 attempt no reform without a much greater probability of 
 turning them into infidels than sober Christians. Their vice 
 is redundancy ; but strip them of their outer rags, and they 
 will persuade themselves that their good doublet is equally 
 useless. Our vice is nakedness ; but once persuade us to put 
 on the doublet, and we may easily take a fancy to the frippery 
 also. 
 
 As for the Romanists, I hope, dear Bob, there may be 
 none of them at all in your parish. If there are, of course 
 you will be obliged to keep your people on their guard 
 against them, for they are always at work. They are a 
 thousand times more anxious to convert us than we them. 
 This is natural. It is no concern for our souls that prompts 
 them : they hate us with all their souls, because we quitted 
 them, and remain apart from them as their accusers. They 
 had rather convert one Protestant than ten Turks, because 
 over us they gain a triumph. When we go back to them, M-e
 
 208 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 humble ourselves before them, and their pride is soothed by 
 our confession of our folly ; — we have maintained a contro- 
 versy in which at last we confess ourselves beaten. This 
 sentiment is continually expressing itself in my hearing. 
 Our half-witted old drunkard of a warder, Michael Towel, 
 died a year ago. He had been, ever since 1 had known him, 
 a Methodist. The preacher at his chapel for some time was 
 a negro fifer of one of the regiments, and he and Michael 
 were a pretty equal pair of theologians. But poor Michael 
 was seldom sober enough latterly to go to church ; so some 
 worthy Capuchins and Dominicans found their way to him a 
 day or two before he died, and made of him a right good 
 Catholic. It served their purpose beautifully ; for they got up 
 by subscription a grand funeral procession for him, and 
 chanted their triumph all round the town. 
 
 " You see we are right and you are wrong," the triumph 
 says ; " for here is your own Michael to witness against you ; 
 and of all the English in Malta, poor though he was, there 
 was no one wiser or soberer than Michael Towel." 
 
 They tell us just in this way, and about as truly, that 
 among the English divines none have been more distin- 
 guished than Spencer and Sibthorpe. They brag and crow 
 about these men. But the truth is, the Spencers are all 
 worthy men, but all remarkable for the want of any superior 
 talent ; and as for Sibthorpe, he was appointed preacher at 
 St. John's, Bedford Row, some years ago, and his congrega- 
 tion found him so dull that they contrived to get rid of him. 
 They are now crying up Froude as the "forte teologo" of 
 his day, since Dr. Wiseman has convinced them that, if he had 
 lived another year, he would have renounced his few remain- 
 ing errors. Newman was perpetually in their mouths, and 
 they acknowledged him to be a writer whose works we might 
 profitably study ; but now they hear, through their active 
 prompter Dr. Wiseman, what Newman says of them, they 
 are satisfied that Newman has no talent whatever. 
 
 I can't help now and then engaging in argument with 
 them, for they attack me; and when they do, I make a point
 
 HIS DISLIKE OF CONTROVERSY. 209 
 
 of never standing on the defensive. It requires no great 
 dexterity, with such assailants as mine, to parry a thrust or 
 two; and then I get rid of their chuckling by referring to 
 their indulgences and idolatries. That there are idolatrous 
 practices going on under our own eyes here perpetually, 
 they cannot deny. They call them abuses; but they are 
 abuses that all their bishops and their popes tolerate and 
 encourage. 
 
 But I hope you are free from any necessity for engaging in 
 any such discussions, for they are wholly unprofitable and un- 
 desirable. No Romanist ever begins an argument with me for 
 any other purpose than for that of crowing over me. Of 
 course, I can't stand that. It would not be right for my 
 cause that I should. But the feeling between two arguers 
 in such a case is precisely that of a pair of mere fencers. No 
 good is ever got by it ; and the merits of either cause have 
 nothing whatever to do with the issue of the battle. The 
 cleverest arguer always wins ; and it has, unluckily for us, 
 always happened that our champion has been the weaker. 
 Bossuet had it all his own way ; for what Protestant of his 
 day was a match for him ? and poor Mr. Pope was signally 
 discomfited by Maguire. One can't read any discussions 
 of that sort without seeing at once that all depends upon 
 the reading and readiness of the disputants. The less of 
 controversy we are obliged to engage in the better. I have 
 a thorough distaste for it. Keep your own flock safe, Bob, 
 in their own fold ; and, if there must be controversy, leave 
 it as much as you can to those who, by filling prominent 
 stations, are called upon to engage in it ; and, when you 
 must take your share, never use one unkind word. By the 
 bye, how much more reverence and affection one has for 
 Fenelon than for Bossuet. Fenelon met with mortification 
 and defeat, and bore it like an angel. There can't well have 
 existed a more beautiful character of a Christian gentleman ; 
 and, though the other was a thorough good man too, one is 
 vexed with him for having had the upper hand, in anything, 
 of a man so amiable as Fenelon. -x- -x- * « 
 
 VOL. u. 1*
 
 210 LIFE Ol' R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Dear Bob, — All that yoxxx newspaper editor said about 
 the state of religion in South Australia was not bad ; for 
 example : " Hei'e we see no bickerings, heart-burnings , jea- 
 lousies." 
 
 But are there not often such doings and feelings between 
 different sets of people, all of whom equally think themselves 
 Christian ? We must make no dishonest compromise ; we 
 must not let our Church at Penrith or anywhere else sink 
 into a sect. But we must be no parties to any bickerings, 
 and we will neither express nor feel any heartburnings nor 
 jealousies towards our dissenting neighbours. You may be 
 attacked by Dissenters; but if you are, I know you will 
 answer with no acrimony. 
 
 How you are to satisfy yourself on the subject of lay 
 baptism I don't know, /can't bring my mind to any com- 
 fortable conclusion either way. Have you, or has either of 
 your clerical friends, Bingham's works ? He would, probably, 
 show you all that has been said with any authority on the 
 subject. To hunt the Fathers is useless without a guide; 
 for what is to be made of their hundred folios — Greek and 
 Latin books without, or w ith very scanty, indexes ? Cyprian, 
 you know, decided, wath his council of a hundred or more 
 bishops, that persons baptized by heretics must be rebap- 
 tized. 
 
 The Church of Rome was of a contrary opinion, and ulti- 
 mately it was carried against Cyprian. The Church of 
 Rome does not baptize again children who are baptized by 
 laj'men. Children, with apparently little chance of living, 
 are often baptized by Stilon,'^ and his baptism is deemed 
 enough. But yet, if you were to turn papist, they would 
 neither admit your orders nor your baptism. They would 
 rebaptize you with a conditional baptism ; so that, suspecting 
 you were not duly baptized before, but, not being sure, they 
 confer a rite which, if needful, is to have effect, and if not, 
 to be null and void. 
 
 '' A surgeon at IVl;vlt;i, and a llonian C'atholic.
 
 ON BAPTISM. 211 
 
 I really don't see why St, Aiii^iistinc's opinion on this parti- 
 cular subject should not have as much weight with us as it has 
 on many others. I never heard that the corruptions of Rome 
 had extended in any way to the rite of baptism ; nor, in fact, 
 can I see why any opinions the Roman Church holds on 
 that subject now should not have weight. Such a question 
 ouglit to be decided by the bishops. You may think, per- 
 haps, that even the bishops in convocation could not make an 
 invalid baptism valid. But yet you have no doubts in being 
 governed by the Rubric ; and if the Rubric were revised by 
 competent authority, it might give you specific directions and 
 leave you no choice. Le Mesurier confines himself, when a 
 child is brought to be received into the Church, to the asking 
 of the simple question which the service requires him to 
 ask : Hath this child been already baptized or not? And^ if 
 the answer be affirmative, he does not inquire by whom ; 
 and so it may have been by a Wesleyan or anybody else — a 
 
 layman, for instance. Neither nor seem to have 
 
 any decided opinion. These are very sad disadvantages with 
 which our Chvirch has to contend. The fact is, no indivi- 
 dual's opinion on such a subject is worth a straw. I should 
 think that, in any case of doubt, you could not possibly do 
 wrong in being guided by your bishop. Think of the argu- 
 ments pro and con, that this proposition of mine suggests. 
 The bishop may decide wrong, but he is more likely to decide 
 right than you are, or than a deacon is. 
 
 To Bob, later in September, speaking of his nursery 
 anthology : — 
 
 One would not expect to find such direct classical authority 
 for the phrase '' nipping a nose off," as there is in Plautus. 
 "Nam si amabas, jam oportebat nasum abreptum mordicus," 
 It is quoted in Ainsworth's Dictionary ; but I was not indebted 
 to the dictionary for it, for you know I read Plautus through 
 last year, and found this nut for myself in " Menaschmus." I 
 see in Ainsworth another mordicus, eqnall}- familiar to us, 
 
 p 2
 
 212 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 from Suetonius, from whom I have borrowed many bits for 
 my young scholars. This one is the story of Julius Caesar's 
 jumping into the sea at Alexandria, and swimming with his 
 Commentaries held in his hand above the water, and his 
 paludamentum between his teeth : "paludamentum mordicus 
 trahens, ne spolio potiretur hostis." * * * 
 
 You would like very much to hear little Kitty make out 
 page after page of my Latin books, about the Balearians and 
 their slings, Cimon and his hospitable suppers, Augustus and 
 his toast-and-water, Lucullus and his cherries. She knows 
 that quinces are called in Italian cologne, because they are in 
 Latin mala Cotonea ; the Italian cerase comes from the Latin 
 cerasa ; apricots are mala Epirotica ; and thousands of 
 these odds and ends of all sorts that no printed books pro- 
 vide. There are thousands of beautiful bits to be had from 
 Seneca too, ■jf ■» * -jf * * 
 
 To me, in October, speaking of the sad necessity for dear 
 Fanny's being closely shut up in her room all the winter, my 
 Father writes : — 
 
 It is a sore trial for my poor child. But let us humbly 
 thank God, my darling, for enabling her to bear it as she 
 does. She has learned at an early age the most important of 
 all lessons — that this world is not our resting-place. She is 
 cheerfully resigned to God's will, and He will not forsake her. 
 * * ^ ^ * * 
 
 While I think of it, let me tell you that you must not say, 
 "Mr. Johnson left on Monday." The verb to leave is an 
 active verb and not a neuter, and absolutely must have its 
 case after it. You may say, Mr. Johnson left Melbourne, or 
 left us, but to say he left, in the sense of he departed, is to 
 adopt the most tiioroughly ignorant and vulgar slang. The 
 Spectator has just been abusing some eminent American 
 wi'iter for using the barbarous phrase ; but you may trust me 
 that I have not borrowed n)y notion of it from the Spectator.
 
 TUNBRIDGE MODE OF COOKING MUSHROOMS. 213 
 
 Mercantile j)eople use it; just as tlicy say, ''1 avail of/' 
 instead of " I avail myself of." 
 
 I suppose you will think I never mean to give up my pro- 
 vince of schoolmaster; buiryet you have probably found out, 
 loDg ago, tliat though some young ladies think their educa- 
 tion finished at eighteen, or somewhat sooner, they are in a 
 sad mistake. I suppose I know a good deal more than the 
 young ladies, and yet I am quite conscious of the deplorably 
 unfinished state of my education. I do what I can from day 
 to day to mend it ; but the real truth is^ that the longer one 
 lives and the more one learns, the more open one's eyes are 
 to the extent of one's ignorance. •» •x- ^ 
 
 I have not been so well this summer as several others, for 
 I have had more of those disagreeable attacks of petty cholera. 
 * a- * -Jf •5f -)f 
 
 Your meadows are kind in giving you not only grass but 
 mushrooms ; and your natural genius for cookery has turned 
 itself to good account in turning them into catsup. There is 
 no way of concocting them in wltich they are not admirable; 
 and I remember, forty years ago, the fashion among the Tun- 
 bridge boys, of stewing them with milk. We used to get 
 them in the fields there in quantities. 
 
 Horace says, " Pratensibus optima fungis natura est : aliis 
 male creditur." You know more about them, botanically, 
 than Horace did, and you know that all ayarici are not 
 eatable, and that no boletus is fit to eat. So please either to 
 see your mushrooms yourself, or give your cook a lesson that 
 she may know them accurately. At Castelamare they used 
 to give us all manner of things in the mushroom shape, and 
 so now and then poison us. All but the eatable species, 
 which is but one out of two hundred, go jn England, you 
 know, by the delicate name of toadstools — by which name 
 you will please never to call them ; for though it may mean 
 the toad's ottoman, yet it may suggest a much uglier idea — 
 that of having sprung from a toad's deposit. Yet I dare say 
 many a pretty lady has innocently talked of toadstools, just 
 as the pretty dears use many other phrases they would not 
 
 ^Sfc.
 
 214 LTl'E OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 use if they knew their origin. Do you remenihcr what a 
 boletus is ? It is like a mushroom, except that instead of 
 having gills underneath, it is full of little holes, as if pricked 
 with a pin. -jf * 4** •jt 
 
 To Bob, in October : — 
 
 Aunt says has sent orders for books and other 
 
 things, and has not sent any money to pay for them. Do, 
 my dear Bob, let me charge you to make, once for all, a rule 
 never to let any human being say or think that it is possible 
 for you to do anything careless, or indiscreet, or wrong, in any 
 respect or degree, where money is concerned. It is impossible 
 to be too nice, too rigidly punctual, too prompt to pay, too 
 cautious to prevent anybody paying for you. It is perfectly 
 astonishing how many men — and what sort of men — are apt 
 to be otherwise than quite right where money is concerned ; 
 and you must be quite right. •?? * * 
 
 I have read your essay with very great pleasure, for I 
 agree cordially with you in every word of it. Your own 
 argument, proving, from St. Paul's expression, his enduring 
 all things for the salvation of the elect, that the latter word 
 cannot be taken in the Calvinistic sense, is one that I should 
 use with very great confidence. It seems an admirably 
 satisfactory one ; nor can any one deny tliat the coincidence 
 between kX^tol and iKKXnaia is likely to have a meaning. 
 Have you read Archbishop Lawrence's Bampton Lectures 
 on this question with the Calvinists? If any of your brother 
 clergymen have it, you should borrow it. 
 
 When I am writing to you, 1 care nothing about connecting 
 subjects, but put down just whatever occurs while I happen to 
 think of it. Did you remark, in your rapid reading of Terence, 
 the very striking words, " Advorsum stimulum calces " ? They 
 are in " Phormio," act 1, sc. 2. Of course, it was a proverbial 
 phrase; but it is interesting actually to see it in a book two 
 hundred years older than St. Paul. 
 
 Melancthon, quoted by Lawrence, says : — " De efTectu 
 elcctionis teneamus banc consolationcm, Deum volcntcm
 
 MLLANCTHON AND ZUINOLIL'S. 215 
 
 uonperire totura genus humanurn, semper propter Filiiim per 
 raisericordiam vocare, trahere et colligere Ecclesiara, et recipere 
 asseutientes, atque ita veile semper aliquara esse Ecclcsiam, 
 quam adjuvat et salvat." The word vocare here is obviously 
 suggested by the meaning of the word Ecclesia. Do you 
 know how Calvin expresses his consolatory views? " Neqne 
 euim pnevidere ruinara impiorum a Domino Paulus tradit, scd 
 ejus consilio et voluntate ordinari, quemadmodum ct Solorvio 
 docet, non modo pracof/nitimt fuisse impiorum interritum^ sed 
 impios ipsos fuisse destinato creatos, ut perirent." 
 " Eece, quum rerum omnium dispositio in manu Dei sit, quum 
 penes ipsura resideat salutis ac mortis arbitrium, consilio 
 nutuque suo ita ordinat, ut inter homines ita nascantur, 
 ab utero certce morti devoti, qui suo ewitio ipsius noraen 
 gloriticent." 
 
 To form these frightful opinions, a Calvinist must take 
 certain expressions of St. Paul, and interpret them in a 
 certain way ; and he must not only disregard the maxim 
 that no particular law is to be judged of without taking the 
 whole law into consideration, but he must leave entirely out 
 of his account every word that our Saviour uttered and the 
 Evangelists recorded. 
 
 In a note of Lawrence's I find this from Zuinglius, which 
 will interest you : — 
 
 "Seneca viri sanctissimi fidem quis non admiretur? Cum 
 ait ' Sic certe vivendum est, tanquam aliquis in pectus intimum 
 prospicere possit, et potest.' Quid enim prodest ab homine 
 aliquid esse secretum ? Nihil Deo clausum est. Interest 
 animis nostris, et cogitationibus mediis intervenit. Sic inter- 
 venit dico, non tanquam aliquando discedat. Quis quseso 
 banc fidem in cor hominis hujus scripsit? Neque quisquam 
 putct ista in evacuationem Christi tendere, ut quidam nos 
 insiraulant ; ampUficant enim illius gloriam. Per Christum 
 enira acccdere oportet, quicunque ad Deura veniunt. Unde 
 socei^m Mosis ne suspicanuir quidem alia via, quam qua 
 dicit, ' Ego sum via, Veritas, et vita,' ad Deum pervenisse, 
 qua et Moses et omnes veniunt."
 
 ;216 LTFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Ill such a heart as that the law of God was unquestionably 
 written ; and though never baptized, he was called by an 
 iuward call to be a member of the Church. 
 
 Among the extracts I have made from Seneca* are these : — 
 
 " Miraris homiuem ad deos ire ? Deus ad homines venit, 
 imo in homines venit? Semina in corporibus humanis diviiia 
 dispersa sunt ; quae si bonus cultor excipit, similia origini 
 prodeant, et paria his ex quibus orta sunt surgunt ; si raalus, 
 non aliter quam humus sterilis ac palustris necat." Had he 
 seen the writings of the Christians ? " Quid est prsecipium ? 
 Non admittere iu animum mala consilia; puras ad coeluin 
 manus tollere." By the bye, I had before put into my book 
 the bit quoted by Zuinglius, as well as the rest, and a great 
 deal more. •» * -x- * -jf 
 
 Xenophon's "Memorabilia'^ and Plato's "Plisedon" contain 
 very wonderful proof that Socrates was guided by a far better 
 and holier light than that of mere reason. Both these good 
 men, Socrates and Seneca, spent their whole lives in endea- 
 vouring to deserve God's favour, and in preparing so to die, 
 that, after deatli, they might be transferred to Heaven ; and 
 they both did lay down their lives as cheerfully as if they had 
 unbounded confidence in God's mercy. 
 
 Speaking of Hooker, my Father says : — 
 
 I suppose him to be considered the first authority in our 
 Church. For orthodox views, sound learning, and judicious 
 treatment of all the subjects he discusses, I suppose the general 
 voice of our Church would place him at tlie very head of 
 English theologians. ^ * •jf * 
 
 Where can you find. Bob, a more competent examiner of 
 the Fathers, or a more faithful reporter of their sense, than 
 Hooker? and, you see, he tells you that the general and full 
 consent of the godly and learned in all ages allows the validity 
 of lay baptism, and disallows its iteration. You will surely 
 tread on dangerous ground if you disagree with Hooker. 
 -X- ^- -X- x- -X- -X- 
 
 For the little ones.
 
 ON LAY BAPTISM. 217 
 
 Later in the month my Father writes : — 
 
 In the 138th number of the Quarterly Review, for March, 
 1842, I find some observations that I am inclined to extract 
 for you, as containing a warning very much needed by num- 
 bers of ardent young men, who may quite unconsciously be 
 led astray while they think they are following Catholic 
 antiquity. ^- * * * # ^ -jf 
 
 And now, dear Bob, do let me tell you that when you spoke 
 of your difficulty on the subject of lay baptism, and of your 
 desire to ascertain the sense of the Fathers upon that ques- 
 tion, I had serious doubts whether you were not pursuing a 
 wrong course. I felt nearly sure that your true duty was 
 frankly to lay the matter before your bishop, and to be 
 governed in it by his directions. A bishop must be presumed 
 to know better than a deacon what the practice of the ancient 
 Church was, and wliat the rule of oar Church is ; and to 
 interpret the Fathers much more justly, from his long 
 acquaintance with them, than the poor deacon who has read 
 none of their works, but only turned over their pages to hunt 
 for scraps here and there bearing on one particular topic. At 
 all events, your bishop is the head of your Church, and his 
 authority is sufficient for you. The spirit in which you would 
 submit to it would be a dutiful and humble spirit : the spirit 
 that would dispose you to prefer your own private judgment 
 in determining what the sense of the Fathers really is upon 
 the point, after weighing in your own scales the authority of 
 one Father against that of another, may not be sufficiently 
 humble, and may not be consistent with a deacon's due 
 deference for his bishop. 
 
 Take these thoughts of mine, dear Son, as you know I offer 
 them. Nobody's theological skill can be much less than 
 mine ; but I hope I am on the safe side in feeling habitually 
 a very deep reverence for my own Church and for its bishops, 
 and a very strong sense of the danger of depending upon my 
 own, or any one's, private judgment. And I am naturally 
 anxious lest you should, in your veneration for Catholic
 
 218 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 antiquity, seek it for yourself, or without the guidance of our 
 own Church. 
 
 Heretofore we have wofully neglected duties which the 
 Church, our own Church, enjoins. Let us henceforth 
 earnestly endeavour to fulfil them ; but let us add nothing 
 that our Church does not recognize, and persuade ourselves 
 that we know better than she knows what Catholic antiquity 
 is. Let us take for granted that Jewell and Hooker, and 
 Andrews and Laud, Barrow and Bull, collected the true 
 sense of the Fathers as well as we can ; and I am pretty sure 
 that there is no subject on which you may not more safely 
 take that sense from them, or men like them, than from your 
 own original reading for many years to come. Of course, it 
 is your bouuden duty to study tlje Fathers for yourself; but 
 the fruit of such study is of slow growth, and you must 
 beware of using it till it is ripe. * ^ * 
 
 To Lizzy, in November : — 
 
 It is dull enough even for us to feel our imprisonment in 
 so vile a cage hopelessly dragging on for the fifteenth year ; 
 for we can't even know here what the wider world is. From 
 books, reviews, and newspapers we pick up some sort of notion 
 of improving arts and improving society ; but it is like looking 
 through a fog, and looking without enjoying. Can't you 
 fancy that to love books, and have no public library (for ours 
 is so neglected that not a book has been bought for it these 
 fifty years) ; to love pictures, and never see a gallery or 
 exhibition ; to love passionately fields and woods, and never 
 to look U])on a meadow or a tree, must be some sort of trial 
 for the spirits ? 
 
 But yet, dear child, don't think we pine. Very much 
 indeed the reverse. 1 don't think there are any two people 
 in tlic world who could more dislike their h)cality, and yet 
 reconcile themselves to its privations more cheerfully ; for 
 good wife and I are exactly alike in diiujence. We work 
 hard cvcrv moment of our time -x- * ^
 
 Al'PKOACH Ol- OLD AGE. 219 
 
 Speaking of Fanny to rae : — 
 
 The pretty dear j^ives me the very great pleasure of liearinj; 
 that your box of curiosities is safely arrived. -5f -jc- -jf 
 Fan says she has not only been looking, but steuliny. The 
 temptation was too great to be resisted, and she could not 
 keep her hands off, and pilfered a squirrel skin and a couple 
 of pieces of the cone of the honeysuckle-tree. Bless her dear 
 little heart, how very glad I am she had something to afford 
 her so much interest ! The monkey didn^t very much scruple, 
 I dare say, about sharing my little treasures with me, for she 
 knows I would give her one of my eyes. What an arrival 
 that box will be for us ! A million million thanks, my 
 darling child, for such precious keepsakes, things provided by 
 your own dear hands, while you were thinking of your own 
 dear Papa. * -Jf * ^ -jf 
 
 To Bob, later in November : — 
 
 We should, of course, think it a great melioration in our 
 affairs if I were summoned to a higher office in England. 
 We have plenty of reasons, you know, for wishing to be 
 there; but yet it would be to me individually a life of labour 
 and anxiety ; and I don't at all know how my diminished 
 strength would bear that, after so many years of perfect 
 quiet. This place of mine is in truth almost a sinecure. It 
 requires about as much brains as would half fill a nutshell, 
 and exercises even that small measure but seldom ; and I am 
 by no means sure that I could begin again to work hard as I 
 (lid in former times. -5f * ■x- ■^f 
 
 I think I am more distinctly conscious, within the last 
 year, of having grown old, than I ever was before. * -3^ 
 
 * ■3f This is an argument to reconcile me to my imprison- 
 ment ; but yet such an imprisonment as this is, does grow, 
 after fifteen years, into a hard trial of the spirits. Few- 
 people could bear it more cheerfully than we both do; but 
 yet it affects us both, — good wife probably more than it would 
 me, except that I suppose I feel any of her pains and
 
 220 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 grievances as much as she does herself. You know, Bob, the 
 refreshment mind and body derive from a pleasant walk or 
 ride ; and that refreshment we never feel. We go out from 
 necessity, and drag our legs along over the same dull path, 
 gazing on the same stone walls, and return tired as much 
 after a mile's travel as I have been in Switzerland after a long 
 day's march over the mountains. 
 
 The days now passing are golden days, for my dear oldest 
 friend, Mrs. Duckworth, is with us, and will be till the 12th 
 of next month, when she will go on to Alexandria to meet her 
 daughter. -jf ^ -k- * * 
 
 Since my last letter I have read No. 90 •/ read it I have 
 with very great pain and disgust. Let Mr. N. beg the Pope's 
 pardon, and go to Rome if he pleases. Let him advocate the 
 Pope's cause if his conscience compels him : I should find no 
 fault with that. One only pities Mr. Sibthorpe ; but one 
 can't help thinking Mr. N. dishonest. A bishop would not 
 speak as plainly as this in his Charge ; and those who had 
 before learned to admire Mr. N. and love him, may probably 
 not allow themselves to think that he could do wrong; but 
 I don't see how mnj person, using his judgment freely and 
 fairly, could avoid applying to this composition the epithet of 
 dishonest. I did exceedingly dislike a previous tract of his, 
 No. 89 ; I think it was for insinuating, instead of plainly 
 stating his opinions; and this is written Jn the same spirit, 
 only that it has carried him greater lengths. Mr. N. has 
 done so much good and established so many claims to the 
 gratitude of our Church, that I don't like to allude to him in 
 spealung of the tract. I take the tract as a composition, with- 
 out any reference to its author, and then I find it detestable. 
 No Jesuit ever wrote more jesuitically. When Mr. N. says 
 the Articles were never meant to condemn Popery as purified 
 by tlic Council of Trent, inasmuch as they were written 
 before the council was hohlen, and when it is answered that 
 the Articles were revised and conjirmed after the Council of 
 
 ' "Tract for the Times."
 
 TRACT NUMBER NINETY. 221 
 
 Trent — originally writteu, I believe, while the council was 
 sitting, and nearly brought to a close, — how will he escape 
 from the inference ? 
 
 I showed your last letter to Lady Louis, and she says the 
 simple, earnest, loving character of it is very delightful. We 
 dined yesterday with the Governor, and he talked about yon, 
 and he said Lady Louis had been telling him of the beauti- 
 ful description you had given of the Church in AustraUa, 
 and of your own happy condition. 
 
 vf 7P w 7$" TP 7v 
 
 To Robert, in December : — 
 
 You say that though I dislike controversy, I need not be 
 afraid to read the Tracts, as their authors expressly disclaim 
 controversy. That is all very well : but, then, so may a man 
 knock me down and disclaim pugnacity. Could the author 
 of No. 90 expect that, when he told Englishmen that Invo- 
 cation of Saints was a doctrine of their Church, there was to 
 be no controversy about it ? When I said, dear Bob, that, 
 with regard to some of the Tract doctrines, those especially 
 set forth in No. 90, the Church dissented from them, I sup- 
 pose I meant what I certainly do mean when I repeat that 
 such is my conviction ; that my Prayer Book does not teach 
 me those doctrines ; that they are, therefore, not the doctrines 
 of our Church. That they are the doctrines of the Church of 
 Rome, Mr. N. tells us. It seems to me that the conclusion 
 to which any one would naturally come, in reading Tract 90, 
 supposing one had never heard of Mr. N. before, and had, 
 therefore, no partialities, would be this : This man thinks the 
 Church of England wrong and the Church of Rome right, 
 in at least nine points out of ten ; and, in his hearty desire to 
 escort the Cimrch of England to Rome, he sets about giving 
 an interpretation to the Articles which he caimot sincerely 
 believe them to bear. I do not believe that, apart from 
 prejudices which disqualify him from judging truly, he can 
 attribute to the Articles the sense that Tract would persuade
 
 223 LIFE OF R. C, SCONCE. 
 
 US they ouyht to bear. I would have said the sense they 
 were meant to bear ; but he does not even pretend that they 
 were meant to bear his sense. However, as Mr. N/s convic- 
 tions have carried him nine-tenths of the way to Rome, and 
 he has, therefore, virtually professed that hitherto the Church 
 of England has been nine parts out of ten in the wrong, I 
 donH see how he can answer Dr. Wiseman when he asks 
 him, " Don't you think it possible that as you have dis- 
 covered how very much of error you had, you may by-and-by 
 discover that some little remains ? " 
 
 Now, dear Bob, it appears to me that Dr. Pusey can't 
 help being thoroughly right when he tells me that I can't 
 forsake the Church without committing a grievous sin. I 
 am sure you would say just the same. Then I am bound 
 to accept the doctrines of my own Church, and to reject all 
 others. I must not listen to Mr. Newman if he tells me that 
 the doctrines of our Church are defective. He may satisfy 
 himself that the primitive Church held other doctrines, which 
 we ought to adopt, and therefore he may, if he can, procure 
 the revision of the Prayer Book ; but until he does, that I am 
 not at liberty to follow him. 1 do not clearly see why I 
 should not as safely believe the Pope when he tells me about 
 the primitive Church. 
 
 There is, in real truth, no one that acknowledges more 
 gratefully than I do the immense benefit conferred upon 
 us mainly by the labours of Dr. Pusey and his friends. There 
 are now daily prayers in many churches in London, and 
 without doubt the time is at liand when al/ churches will be 
 open every da3\ 
 
 In the beginnii>g of the last century there were (as I see in 
 a statement in the Spectator) 130 cjmrches in London where 
 daily service was performed, and ten years ago not one! So 
 in this very important particular it is not very far that we have 
 to be led back. Of course, I know that in the cathedrals there 
 was always service every day; but I also know that at St. Paul's 
 your Uncle Vade formed all the congregation ; and he, punc- 
 tual in his attendance, was equally regular in his practice of
 
 PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 223 
 
 sleeping through the service. The time is coming when the 
 churches will not only be opened, but filled. * -jf -jf 
 
 One word more about your theology. Of course, dear Bob, 
 I think, as you do, that the unanimous voice of the immediate 
 followers of the Apostles is the best interpreter of Scripture ; 
 but still I find difficulty enough remaining, for men differ as 
 widely in telling me what the voice says, as they do in telling 
 me what the Bible says. As for finding out for myself, I am 
 quite unable to do that. I, or any one, may form my opinion 
 of the matter; but whatever opinion he or I may adopt, we 
 shall always be obliged to own that thousands of wiser men 
 have judged of that voice differently. Of private judgment 
 I know nothing. I have certainly no private judgment on 
 such subjects. All the judgment I venture to exercise is in 
 deciding upon the sense of the comparatively plain directions 
 given me in the Prayer Book ; as, for example, I decide for 
 myself that what the service for Baptism says it really means, 
 and, accordingly, I believe in baptismal regeneration ; and so 
 I believe that election regards the Church and not the indi- 
 vidual; and so that I am forbidden to invoke the Saints. 
 But I should not have the smallest faith in my own power, or 
 in that of any individual, to decide upon any controverted 
 point by a reference to the Fathers. All parties have quoted 
 them triumphantly, just as all parties have justified all their 
 peculiar opinions by referring to the Bible. 
 
 * *■ -K- -Jf * * 
 
 1 have just had a mighty treat in receiving a box from my 
 dear good Sally, with Australian oddities of different sorts, 
 but especially drawings of her own, which give me a most 
 lively idea of her dwelling and the scenery round her. In 
 one of the sketches there is a " vehicle,^' which, she says, is 
 of your drawing. Very interesting to me is her dear little 
 portrait of her son, and of the sweet little one that went to 
 Heaven. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 My Father had the pleasure, at this time, of making the 
 acquaintance of the Bishop of Gibraltar. He went, with
 
 224 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 three or four gentlemen, to present an address of congra- 
 tulation, from the members of the Society for Promoting 
 Christian Knowledge at JNIalta, to the Bishop, on his arrival, 
 and was received very cordially by him. 
 
 My Father says : — 
 
 He (the Bishop) was particularly struck with our library, in 
 which we received him, and said he had not seen so English- 
 looking a room since he left England. ^ ^ ■» 
 
 I read every evening to Mrs. Duckworth and Mamma one 
 of Mr. Newman's sermons.
 
 22( 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 [1S43.J 
 MRS. Duckworth's distress — my father's consolation to her — part op 
 
 HER LKTTER TO HIM — TEACHING LITTLE ONES — BISHOP— CONSECRATION OF 
 ENCiLlSH BURIAL-GROUND AT MALTA — MALTESE MARRIAGES — THE OXFORD 
 WRITERS — MURDER OF DR. MARTIN — NEWMAN'S SERMONS — FASTING — PRE- 
 PARATION FOR ETERNITY — AGAINST THEOLOGICAL RANCOUR — EDITORS OF 
 CALVINISTIC NEWSPAPERS — PROSPECT OP GOING TO SWITZERLAND — HOW TO 
 CUT INDIA-RUBBER — GIVES UP SWITZERLAND, AND GOES TO HIS SICK CHILD 
 — VISIT TO THE ADMIRALTY — SIR T. ACLAND — HIS " BUSTLE " — MY FATHER 
 BUYS A "bustle" — CORREGGIO'S VENUS — HIS SISTER-IN-LAW — SIRW. 
 HOOKER — FANNY — VISITS HIS ORPHAN NEPHEWS AND NIECES, AND 
 BROTHER-IN-LAW AT TUNBRIDGE — DEAR FANNY'S ILLNESS — VISITS SIR H. 
 AND LADY BUNBURY AT BARTON HALL — HIS DARLING FANNY's LAST DAYS 
 AND DEATH — GRAVE— MR. PORTELLI — EFFECTS OF COLOURING — ST. PAUL'S 
 EPISTLES — PASSAGE FROM THE ACTS — ST. PAUL'S GREEK. 
 
 To Robert, the 16th of January of this year, his Father 
 writes : — 
 
 This has been a fortnight cut out of my usual employments, 
 and given up wholly to my poor friend Mrs. Duckworth. She 
 expected her daughter by a certain French packet from 
 Alexandria, which ought to have arrived here on the 4th of 
 this month, and until eleven o'clock last night neither the 
 packet nor a word about it reached Malta ; and in the mean 
 time there had been a continuance of the worst weather an 
 old sailor said he ever remembered in the Mediterranean. 
 
 Of course, Mrs. Duckworth has been filled with terror ; and 
 her nerves have been so much shaken by former great suffer- 
 ing, that she is less able than other people to endure such a 
 trial. I have done literally nothing else the whole time than 
 exert myself to calm and fortify and encourage her, and in a 
 certain degree I have happily succeeded ; for without some 
 such help there would have been real danger of her going 
 
 VOL. II. Q
 
 220 LIFK OF R. C. SCO.VCE. 
 
 crazv. Happily she has a lively religious feeling, and could 
 pray fervently ; and I read very often suitable sentences to 
 her, and she told me she felt them more forcibly than she 
 had ever done when she had read them herself. 
 
 What a difference there must be, dear Bob, between one 
 man's reading in such a case and another's. I believe there 
 is only one way to read a prayer rightly, and that is earnestly 
 to endeavour to feel every word, and to utter it just as one 
 would if the awful presence of the Almightj^ were visible to 
 one's bodily eyes. There could be no gabbling in such a 
 case, no capricious or absurd habitual cadences, nor oratorical 
 affectations. 
 
 Well, but at last we know that the missing packet put into 
 a port of Laconifi, and was quite safe ; that Annie was not 
 there at all, but on board of a packet which was not due at 
 Malta till to-day; and that a son was most happily born to 
 her a fortnio;ht ago, on board the Prench packet Leonidas, 
 while lying quietly in the Piraeus. •5^ * * 
 
 Mrs. Duckworth says in a letter which seems to have been 
 written a year or two after, and which I happened to find 
 among my Father's papers : — 
 
 " Yes, dearest Sconcey, it is very true there is nobody's 
 reading which ever did soothe and comfort me in sorrow, or 
 interest me and beguile me, as yours and dear Mrs. Sconce's 
 did ; and even now, at a distance both of time and space, I 
 look back upon the time, and am cheered by the bare recol- 
 lection, knowing that the same words of promises and 
 encouragements endure in all lands, ' yesterday, to-day, and 
 for ever ! ' It is very pleasant to me to feel that the tones of 
 your dear voices, and the tender kind spirit in which you read 
 them, did indeed produce the solace 1 wanted. It is badly 
 expressed, but I mean that it is very pleasant to me to feel 
 that it is to you and your excellent dear wife that I owe ray 
 comfort." **-)?**
 
 Tl^ACHING LTTTLK ONES. 527 
 
 And here I cannot help expressing my regret that I have 
 none of my Father's letters to this dear friend ; for in the 
 letter from which I have been extracting, Mrs, Duckworth 
 says : — 
 
 "I should find it very, very difficult, and indeed utterly 
 impossible, to tell you how my heart thanks you for the most 
 afifectionate, the most precious, and the most beautiful of 
 letters, which the post brought me three days ago. I do not 
 think I ever in my life felt quite as I did when I read them ! 
 And I pray in all humility to Him who alone can change the 
 heart, and give life to our endeavors, that the amazing privi- 
 lege and great blessing of having possessed such friends may 
 not be among the number of those mercies which the 
 Almighty has granted me in vain ! ^ * * * 
 
 " Oh, dearest Sconce, may He on whose mercy and loving 
 kindness we can only rely, so wash us all clean in the blood 
 of the Lamb, that you and I and all our dear ones may gain 
 an eternal inheritance, where sorrow and sighing are not 
 known, and where we may even be permitted to rejoice over 
 those trials on earth and those friends who have led and 
 guided and assisted us on the road." -jf ^ ^ # 
 
 To Robert, later in January, his Father says : — 
 
 I have given the larger part of my time by far to my young 
 ones, according to their several w^ants, and that I am doing 
 still. *At present I am going over and over again the baby 
 Latin that suits my four small learners; and Herbert's mul- 
 tiplication and division cost me best part of two hours a day. 
 I can get no Englishman here to teach either Latin or cipher- 
 ing, and therefore I am forced to do the drudgery myself. It 
 is drudgery ; for though one learns by teaching some things, 
 yet you know I have learned such things as those well 
 enough to need no more refreshing. However, I go on wil- 
 lingly, for their sake ; and of course I am better satisfied so, 
 than I should be to see them wasting their time. The main 
 mortification is the waste of power ; for, you know, my teach-
 
 228 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 ing twice two, and hie, hfec, hoc, is like putting a dray-horse to 
 drag a wheelbarrow. -jf * * * 
 
 V/hile Mrs. Duckworth was with us in her misery, I could 
 do nothing to improve my acquaintance with our good Bishop. 
 I have since asked him to dine with us; and he is coming to 
 meet a small party the day after to-morrow. We all like him 
 exceedingly. He is apparently just what he ought to be to 
 contend with all the difficulties of his position in such a society 
 as he will be immersed in, not only here, but in all parts of 
 his diocese, where his flocks are surrounded by enemies of all 
 persuasions. He preached last Sunday an admirable sermon 
 at our chapel. He neither^pouted his sermon nor read it like 
 an essay ; but addressed to us what he had to say in the tone 
 in which he would have spoken if the words had arisen from 
 the impulse of the moment. I listened to him willingly, 
 because I saw that he was himself interested in claiming my 
 attention. Of cotirse, nobody can preach a sermon properly 
 who does not know it pretty well by heart, and who has not 
 sensibility enough to feel at the moment all that he is saying. 
 
 The day before yesterday he consecrated the Florian burial- 
 ground. It was the first important demonstration that our 
 Church has made in Malta; and I hope the Maltese will now 
 begin to think that we are not ashamed of our religion. We 
 have heretofore done all we could to give them a different im- 
 pression. In their great delicacy of not interfering with the 
 religion of the country, our governors have always kept our 
 own religion in the background. This, at least, I hope we 
 shall do no more. Fancy our never having ventured to ring 
 a bell in Valetta to call our people to church ! The Bishop 
 means to have at least six in the tower of the new church. 
 I had rather have eight, but I believe the tower would not 
 hold them. 
 
 Almost the whole of the English population was present 
 at the consecration. The Bishop perambulated the ground 
 preceded by a verger in purple, and followed by ten clergy- 
 men in their surplices and scarfs. So many clergymen were 
 certainly never assembled here before. It has happened
 
 CONSECRATION OV THE ENGLISH BUHIAL-GKOUND. 229 
 
 three times tlmt we have been left for months together with 
 one only to supply all the wants of the 5,000 English which 
 there are generally here, including the troops. 
 
 The consecration service was read by the Bishop and his 
 assistants on an eminent piece of ground, with all the large 
 assembly round him, and all heard distinctly his clear voice. 
 
 ***** 4C- 
 
 Nobody values more than I do the good your Oxford 
 friends have done. But I can't so accept all the verba of 
 any magister, as to adopt all the opinions in all the books he 
 may write during a series of years, and to change my opinions 
 just in propoition as he may happen to change his. I think 
 
 Mr. N has changed his opinions between his writing of 
 
 his earlier strictures on the Roman Church and liis wiiting of 
 the 90th tract ; and I dislike that Tract most thoroughly. I 
 can't help that ; and I can't help thinking that it breaks 
 down (for those who accept it) so much of the barrier be- 
 tween us and Rome, that we may at once jump over what 
 remains, as Remus did over the first incipient bulwark of the 
 same town. I see little left but the Pope's claim to the 
 primacy ; and as for that, nobody thought of contesting it 
 till it became expedient to find arguments against it; and 
 arguments of some sort are easily found on most subjects. 
 ****** 
 
 At this time, from some expressions in my Brother's letters 
 (or, as my Brother said, from the misunderstanding of some 
 careless expressions), his Father was filled with terror lest he 
 should desert his own Church for that of Rome ; and the 
 February letters to him are filled with the most earnest 
 remonstrances. He says, in one : — 
 
 It is a misery, ray part of which I am yet unable to 
 measure ; but its fearful extent appears even in this, — that 
 so appalling a difference of sentiment seems to cut off all 
 our intercourse. Not, my dear Bob, that it would, if it 
 depended only on my disposition towards you, for I shall
 
 230 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 love you stilly even if you become a Jesuit or a Capuchin > 
 but you are yourself unable to write, even to me, on any 
 other subject than this one that you have taken up with red- 
 hot, unwholesome enthusiasm ; and from this subject I must 
 now whollv abstain. ^ ^a- ^ * 
 
 The letter ends thus : — 
 
 With all the seriousness and affection I can express, let 
 me entreat you not to seek your Jerusalem at Rome. You 
 will find no peace the7'e. Palmer, the elder and wiser, has 
 told you that you cannot quit your Church without a crime, 
 and your great master, Newman, has himself bade you beware 
 of Rome, and called her a Demoniac. In the muddy waters 
 of the Tiber you might find a haven, such as it is, from waves 
 without, from the persecution you so much dread ; but the 
 fire of remorse would consume you nevertheless. Be sure of 
 this, dear son, — from the torture of most terrible misgivings 
 you never could be free. 
 
 May God bless you, my dear sou, and your precious wife 
 and little one, and bless the birth and growth of your 
 expected babe, — and give you a better mind ! 
 
 W 7P w TT 7P 7C 
 
 My dear Father's leisure at this time was occupied in doing 
 for me ten coloured drawings of places in Malta that were 
 most familiar and dear to me. 
 
 He says to me, in March : — 
 
 Do you remember a ]\Iiss , the daughter of a Maltese 
 
 judge ? •X- * * Well, said Miss is 
 
 married to the son of , now also a judge, and the mar- 
 riage was negotiated by a brokcT, who is also a ho7^se broker : 
 not a horse breaker mind, but broker, and the man's business 
 is to furnish gentlemen with horses and ladies with husbands. 
 My clerk, who is now married, used, before he was provided 
 for, to have brokers constantly coming to him to offer him
 
 THE OXl'OHl) WKITKllS. 231 
 
 young ladies ; and Colombo's son, who now wears a long 
 beard like a Turk, has frequent overtures made to him 
 through a similar channel. By the bye, one of the Miss 
 
 , Don V.'s niece, is married to a doctor at Casal Curmi. 
 
 Her brother came a day or two before to announce it, and 
 told us of the expensiveness of such affaiis ; for, said he, 
 according to the usage of the country, the young lady must 
 not only furnish herself with habiliments from top to toe, but 
 must provide bed too. We happened to land at the bakery 
 on the wedding-day, and sure enough there was a cart at the 
 parental door already laden with the bridal bed and its gear. 
 Isn^t that a funny fashion ? 
 
 To me, in March, after writing very strongly against the 
 spirit of the late Oxford writers, he says : — 
 
 But, on the other hand, my precious daughter, don't let 
 us reject the good we are offered through the instrumentality 
 of these writers. I heartily hope they have done me good. 
 They certainly have benefited numbers. They have taught 
 people to pray oftener and more earnestly — to think more of 
 the other world and less of this — to give more without grudg- 
 ing to God and His poor — to practise more self-denial. 
 
 Think of all this, my child, and do persuade yourself that 
 hitherto we have all been dreadfully wrong in dwelling so 
 much upon the trifles of this world, and disregarding so 
 much our own best interests. 
 
 We had an awful warning here the otlier day of the uncer- 
 tainty of human life. Poor Dr. Martin was visiting Sir John 
 Louis, and as he was passing from the house to the Admiral's 
 steps opposite, to get into his boat, the sentinel shot him 
 quite through the body, and in one hour he was a corpse! 
 There was no provocation. The soldier did not know him 
 by sight. Neither was the man mad or drunk, but simply 
 possessed by a devil to commit a murder ! 
 
 ******
 
 ^32 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Later in March, to me : — 
 
 As soon as half-past nine strikes, I read every evening to 
 Mamma one of Newman's sermons (of which we have all the 
 six volumes), and we both find that they do us good. They 
 make one think more seriously than any sermons I ever 
 read. Don't let the mischief Mr. Newman has done deter 
 you from accepting all the good he is able to give you, which 
 is very great. What a grievous pity it is he adopted strange 
 doctrines! With them I have nothing to do; but I have a 
 very great deal to do with the question which he brings home 
 to me, whether I have not hitherto thought a great deal too 
 much of this world and too little of tlie next. I have just 
 got from the Christian Knowledge Society a second series of 
 Bishop Blomfield's Prayers ; very much better ones than 
 the first series that we formerly used, and Mamma and I 
 always say them together after our sermon. 1 wish I had 
 put a copy into youf box, but I had only just got it, and had 
 not made acquaintance with it. 
 
 As ^OY fasting, the wonder is how it was ever possible for 
 us to have neglected a duty so plainly enjoined by Scripture 
 and our own Church. However, we neglect it no longer. I 
 believe my ihity to be to avoid injuring my health," and I am 
 not very strong, and could not go without a certain quantity 
 of food without suffering headaches and heartburns; but you 
 know one need not eat delicacies ; so we omit the non-essen- 
 tials of food — eating our bread without butter, dining without 
 puddings and desserts, or wine, or beer, and eating what we 
 do cat sparingly, though not with so absolute a stint as to be 
 hurtful. What we can do in this way we are undoubtedly 
 bound to do; and 1 know that you won't think that in this 
 or any other of my opinions I am betraying a predilection for 
 the Pope. Our Church is all right, and its directions are 
 
 " My stepmother says that there is no doubt my dear Father's health teas 
 injured by his fasting, not knowingly to himself at the time; but the fact is, 
 that aH?/ abstinence from food was injurious to him, as his feeble frame required 
 all possible sujuiurt.
 
 PREPARATION FOR ETKRNITY. 233 
 
 plainly set forth iu the Prayer Book, but we have heretofore 
 been all wrong in disobeying its laws. 
 
 We and our teachers have been going on in a contented 
 jog-trot on the straight road to ruin ; for quite certainly all 
 the world has seemed to think this life all-important, and has 
 been over careful of its good things, and grievously, most 
 grievously, neglected heavenly things. 
 
 You and I will try, my dear Sally, to remember that our 
 time here must be short, and that the future life has no end, 
 and we will pray oftener than we used to do, and more 
 fervently, that we may be allowed to love each other for 
 ever. It is true I am old and you are young. There is a 
 difference between us of twenty-eight years. But what is that, 
 my child ? Twenty-eight years to eternity ! There is quite 
 as much reason, therefore, for you to think seriously as for 
 me ; and quite as much reason for you to wean yourself from 
 the trifles with which most people's hearts are filled. 
 * * * * ^ * 
 
 To Bob, in April, after further remonstrance and argu- 
 ment ou his dissatisfaction with his own Church, his Father 
 
 says : — 
 
 However, on these subjects I will write no more. You will 
 agree with me, dearest Bob, that it is better for us to lay 
 them aside ; for I am quite conscious on my part of the use- 
 lessness of laying before you the arguments of even the wisest 
 and best of men, with a view to the influencing of any of your 
 opinions; and you would think it mere idleness to endeavour 
 to convince me that / ought to despise the bishops of my 
 Church, and to make my adherence to their communion 
 depend upon their sanctioning doctrines which they have 
 heretofore repudiated. 
 
 One thing I may mention as not being in the way of argu- 
 ment, but as a suggestion I wish to otter you with so much 
 love, that, for the sake of the love, I know you will attend to 
 it : be always on your guard, dear Bob, against theological
 
 234 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 rancour. Don't hate people for not thinking as you think. 
 Don't express yourself as if you scorned and despised all the 
 world except the particular party to which you are attached. 
 
 You have been sensible of the influence of this sort of feel- 
 ing, for you begin one of your letters by acknowledging that 
 the preceding one was written " somewhat in anathematizing 
 Palmer's spirit.^' •3f -sf •}? It seems very hard that 
 religion should make men unamiable. It is doing this sort 
 of mischief here at Malta now. A set of low-churchmen have 
 got up a newspaper for the twofold purpose of proving the 
 Pope Antichrist, and our bishop a liar ! One article is headed 
 " Baptismal Regeneration no Doctrine of the Church of 
 England." Think of such a publication in such a society as 
 ours is at Malta ! 
 
 One of the writers in this paper is a very amiable and 
 clever man ; but he is a thorough Calvinist, and the Bishop is 
 not, and consequently he hates and despises the Bishop, and 
 thinks he is serving God by assailing him. Hearts liable to 
 be so disturbed must be filled much oftener with a bad feeling 
 
 than a good one; just as Mr. P fancied himself the first 
 
 of philanthropists, but he had not a moment's leisure to love 
 the poor^ for his heart was all day long occupied with hatred 
 of the rich. 
 
 Fenelon and Bishop Heber were beautiful examples of the 
 absence of this bitterness. Imitate them iu this, dear Son. 
 In urging your own arguments or controverting those of 
 others, try and avoid crowing, and chuckling, and sneering. 
 Persuade yourself that people who think differently may yet 
 be honest and sane. How can you love your enemies while 
 you are abusing them ? •» ^ •x- * 
 
 For the gap there has now been I am very sorry. It has 
 been caused by sickness in my heart. In other respects I have 
 not been ill; but yet you would find in mie a very great 
 change. I have lost all the little flesh I liad, and am little 
 better than a skeleton. Of course, I have next to no strcngtli. 
 I had so many small attacks last summer of my usual summer 
 malady, that they did me, I believe, jjcrmancnt mischief.
 
 EDITORS OF CALVINISTIC NEWSPAPERS. 235 
 
 Their effect — I suppose it was that, but it may be simply the 
 effect, suddenly perceived, of increasing age — has been to 
 change me from a young man into an old one. You know I 
 had, when you were here, a great deal of strength and elas- 
 ticity left ; but I have now very little of either. I believe it 
 would do me great good to spend a summer out of Malta; 
 but without a clear necessity I won't do that, for it would do 
 me no good to go alone, and Mamma and I could not leave 
 the young ones ; and if we went all together, it would consume 
 full three years of our hoarding. * * -x- 
 
 The Bishop begged me to help him get up and support a 
 periodical here, to counteract the detestable publication I 
 mentioned to you. I should have been very glad to contri- 
 bute; but he himself and his two capital chaplains will be 
 absent from INIalta half of every year, and I should have 
 pretty nearly the whole labour to myself, for which I could 
 not possibly find time. It would sadly disturb my peace, too, 
 to be perpetually engaged in controversy with bitter adver- 
 saries,'' whose productions prove them equally deficient in 
 right judgment, education, and gentlemanly sentiment. 
 
 The person I before alluded to is going away, and the chief 
 
 of the other contributors are and . ^ * 
 
 The man has been in my house once, and made me a long- 
 oration, in the course of which he told me baptismal regene- 
 ration was a mere " figment,'' and that as for the Fathers 
 and the old divines, it would be a great blessing for religion 
 if they were all burnt. The other is the editor of a scurrilous 
 newspaper, who sent his little daughter to Cleugh *^ to be pre- 
 pared for confirmation. Cleugh talked to her as he naturally 
 would, and gave her Mantes Catechism to read at home. The 
 girl came no more till after a long time she brought back the 
 book, and glibly told him, " We shan't come any more, for 
 this is a bad book. See here, this is all popery, and so is 
 this; so my brother won't come any more, no more shall I." 
 
 '• Dissenters. " The minister of the Protestant church at Valetta.
 
 23G LIFE OF 11. C. SCONCE. 
 
 This was a pretty sample of the spirit in which the children 
 had been brought up. Of course, if the father had a strong 
 objection to the book, whether well or ill founded, there 
 would have been no harm in his mentioning that objection to 
 Cleugh; but he sent his little ignorant girl to lecture her 
 spiritual pastor, and insult him. These are the conductors of 
 a publication which they feel quite sure is calculated to pro- 
 mote the cause of true religion ! 
 
 To me, same date : — 
 
 The last letters from dear Bob comforted me greatly. He 
 gives me several reasons why he does not mean to become a 
 Roman Catholic, and why he thinks it his duty to remain in 
 his own Church. And most heartily do I pray that he may 
 be governed in this most grave matter, and in all others, by 
 God's gracious guidance. * ^ * # •3f 
 
 For the presenr he has quieted my apprehensions, but his 
 impulses seem to be so strong and so sudden, that it must be 
 very long before I can open his letters without fear of finding 
 what I should consider the announcement of an hideous 
 calamity. "^ * * * -jf * 
 
 At the end of this letter, he says : — 
 
 You will be surprised to liear that I have actually written 
 by this packet for five months' leave of absence. Mamma 
 and I suddenly made up our minds that it was necessary for 
 me, and good for all of us, to get away for this summer. We 
 shall go straight to Vernex.'' 
 
 Later in April : — 
 
 Since I wrote last, no letters have come from Australia or 
 England, and no event has occurred among us ; but never- 
 theless we have been by no means in our usual condition, for 
 
 ** In Svvitztrlaiui.
 
 PROSPECT OV GOING TO SWITZERLAND. 237 
 
 we are all as much excited by the prospect of our summer's 
 holiday as prisoners may be supposed to be when they expect 
 to be let loose after a dozen years' immurement within the 
 walls of Chillon. Except the one holiday we made together, 
 I have been fifteen years in this miserable place. I have 
 made myself as contented in it as anybody well can ; but you 
 know we have no resources except within ourselves. We 
 have no society. You have met in Australia with men whose 
 sentiments and pursuits are like your own ; but there is noi 
 one now in Malta with whom I have anything in common. 
 
 A walk or a ride in other countries does one good in various 
 ways, for it is often exhilarating ; but here the most Mamma 
 and I can do is to vary our walk between the Capuchin 
 Convent and St. Clement's ; and whichever way we go, half 
 of it is through our dirty town. We do this for the sake of 
 mere necessity. We should have more headaches and less 
 appetite even than we have, if we did not ; but we come 
 home dragging our legs along and as much knocked up by 
 the two miles' effort as if we had been surmounting an Alp. 
 Give me books, and I believe there are few people who could 
 bear solitary confinement better than I could ; but was there 
 ever mortal man, with sensibilities for enjoyment of any sort, 
 who would not feel his heart beat when his prison gate was 
 set open ? Mine, then, is something like such a case. 
 * * * ^ * * 
 
 I have been hard at work in selecting the old unfinished 
 Swiss sketches, that I may take them back, and supply what 
 I left wanting ; and I have made fresh outlines of some that 
 were not coloured on the spot, that I may colour them now. 
 I have cut one hundred sheets of drawing paper to fit my sketch- 
 ing-case, and I quite expect to fill them with one hundred 
 sketches. You know I made more than half that number last 
 time, when I had much more impediment than I shall have 
 now. -jf ^ * * ^ * 
 
 One lives and learns. Young ladies at seventeen say their 
 education is complete : mine is beginning. I have but just 
 learned how to cut apiece of India-rubber. ^Ir. Clifton told
 
 238 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 me, aud as you use tilings of that sort, I will teli you, that you 
 may turn the hint to account as successfully as I did just now. 
 I wanted to sjilit a piece that was too thick, and it would have 
 been an impracticable matter if I had not set about it the 
 right way. Dip your penknife in water, and it cuts the 
 India-rubber very much more easily than scissors, under 
 water, cut glass. 
 
 By the bye, among my preparations for Switzerland, I 
 have had a piece of glass framed of the size of my sketching- 
 case ; and I mean to sketch out of doors upon it constantly. 
 How the travelling artists will stare ! But I know by experi- 
 ence that I shall so be able to get a much faster and much 
 better effect. Whenever I am not too much pressed for 
 time, I mean to make all coloured sketches. And one of the 
 great pleasures I promise myself is that of sending you some 
 memorials of your old Swiss haunts, particularly of Bonigen 
 aud Vernex. * ^ •^ •sf -jf 
 
 The packet from England arriving at Malta on the 14th of 
 May, brought him his leave of absence, and also a letter from 
 his darling Fanny, telling him of her greatly increased illness, 
 and begging him to come to her : and on the 16th he set 
 off to go to her, with his wife and their four elder children. 
 On the 17th he wrote to her on board the Scamandre, and 
 said : — 
 
 You know already that I am on my way to you. It is 
 good for me to be near you, and good for you to have me near ; 
 so you know we gave up our voyage to Switzerland, and are 
 doing as you desire. ■?«■ -jf * * * 
 
 My Father stayed a week at Naples to show his wife and 
 children the Studii, and Pompeii, and Baiaj; then went on in 
 a Tuscan steamer to ]\Iarseilles, spending a day at Civita 
 Veccliia, another at Leghorn and Pisa, and another at Genoa. 
 They stopped two days in Paris, where he says, — 
 
 You may well imagine how cordially we were received by 
 that dear Madame Reboul.
 
 VISIT TO THE ADI\riltAI.TV. 289 
 
 He had written her an affectionate letter from Marseilles, 
 calling himself " her all unchanged friend (furrows ex- 
 cepted)/^ 
 
 He arrived at Haslar on the 13th of June, and found his 
 dear child sadly chanired, and even more reduced than he had 
 expected. After spending a short time with her, he went to 
 town to present himself at tlie Admiralty, and into Kent to 
 see some relations. Of this he writes in June : — 
 
 All my official masters were very civil to me, and gave me 
 generally to understand that I had established for myself a 
 first-rate chai-acter. I think I made out too that in case of 
 any vacancy that might be desirable for me, no one would' be 
 preferred before me, except a politician. If Sir John Barrow 
 retires. Sir R. Peel will probably put in a political friend, 
 without consulting the Admiralty at all. If Mr. Meek were 
 to retire, that would not be a political place, and it would 
 pretty surely be given to me. However, Mr. Meek is but 
 half a dozen years older than I am, and has apparently not 
 the least thought of giving up. If I had had any luck, I 
 should have had, many years ago, the place he has ; for I find 
 that when he was appointed it was for some time doubtful 
 between him and me, and that Lord Keith's interest did but 
 just carry it in his favour. 
 
 I saw Sir John Pechell, one of the late Lords of the 
 Admiralty, and a very warm friend of mine ; and he told me 
 that if any vacancy had happened in his time, the strongest 
 possible fight w^ould have been fought in my favour, not only 
 by himself and Sir William Parker, who were my friends, but 
 quite as zealously by Sir Charles Adam, who was as warmly 
 disposed towards me as they were, though he had never 
 seen me, but merely for the sake of vay reputation in the 
 service. 
 
 Lord Haddington expressed himself in general terms of 
 great civility, and told me he should be happy to see me when 
 I returned to town, and to receive any memorial I might like 
 to present to him ; and wlien I told him I should be glad to
 
 240 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 leave jNIidta^ but could not accept a dockyard appointment in 
 England, he said he thought I was quite right. His secretary, 
 Captain Bailey Hamilton, told me there was no place lower 
 than Mr. Meek\s that was fit for me. He advised me to see 
 Sir George Cockburu ; but Sir George had been grievously 
 ill, and saw nobody. Captain Hamilton said, " He will, how- 
 ever, see you, for we were talking of you only the other day." 
 So Sir George did see me, and, like the rest, expressed him- 
 self in a very friendly way. In short, I am pretty sure that 
 no one in the civil service of the navy would be preferred 
 before me ; but yet there seems not the least prospect of an 
 opening for any preferment at all. -5^ * * 
 
 He took Clement back with him to Haslar, where he was 
 soon joined by his sister. He says to his friend Admiral 
 Furneaux : — 
 
 You may fancy how LiddelFs small house is filled when I 
 tell you that he has made it hold (besides his own family) 
 Mrs. Sconce and me, and five of our children, and my sister. 
 ^ * * * * ^ 
 
 On the 15th of July he wrote from London to his wife at 
 Haslar : — 
 
 Then I went to Greenwich and saw Sir Robert Stopford, 
 who said he w;is rejoiced to see me, and asked me to dine 
 with him to-morrow, which of course I can't. He spoke as 
 if he would gladly help me to get an appointment in England 
 if he could, and told me it was likely there would be a vacancy 
 at Greenwich. ^ * * * * 
 
 Sir R. Stopford said that it certainly was the intention of 
 the late Admiralty to appoint me to Barrow's place if he had 
 retired; and that a wish was expressed that he would retire, 
 to make wav for mc.
 
 SIR T. ACLAXD. 211 
 
 On the 20th, he writes again to his Wife : — 
 
 This morning I breakfasted with Sir T. Acland, and there 
 was Lady Adand and the youngest son and youngest daugli- 
 ter; but it was not a very comfortable visit, for during break- 
 fast at least six different people came to him about as many 
 different sorts of business; and directly after breakfast he 
 had to go himself to M. Bunsen, the Prussian Ambassador, 
 and he took me so far on my way to ray own business. As 
 he was going out of his own house, four people were wait- 
 ing to speak to him. He was as cordial to me as he 
 could be, and inquired after all of you, and sent special 
 remembrance to Liddell ; but he was in a more rapid whirl 
 than ever, drank half his tea standing, and left the other half 
 undrunk. 
 
 Then I went to the bazaar, and bought the work-basket for 
 my own sweet Fan, and the bustle for you; and the young 
 lady at the bazaar of whom I bought it blushed most shock- 
 ingly at the idea of selling a bustle to a gentleman ; so I did 
 what I could to put her in countenance, telling her she 
 needn't be ashamed of selling a bustle to an old gentleman, 
 that ray wife had told me to get it for her, and that really it 
 was a very innocent transaction. Then she laughed, and 
 thought me, of course, a very funny customer. 
 
 * * * -)f -jf * 
 
 In this letter he sent his Wife a copy of his memorial to 
 Lord Haddington, and says : — 
 
 You won't think the memorial as striking a composition as 
 some that you have seen of mine ; but then you know I have 
 not fought a lot of battles, nor been imprisoned, nor paralyzed ; 
 so mine is but a tame history. 
 
 ****** 
 
 On the 21st:— 
 
 The grass has not grown under my feet to-daJ^ Sec what 
 I have done, dear wife. After leaving Somerset House 1 called 
 
 VOL. II. R
 
 242 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 at the National Gallery. Oh, what beauties there are there ! 
 Many have been added since I saw it fifteen years ago. Cor- 
 reggio's Venus is worth most of the pictures you have seen in 
 all your life put together ; I must introduce you to her. Then 
 called at Stratford Place, in hopes of a letter from Hooker ; 
 and sure enough there it was, to tell me he should be at 
 home till noon to-morrow, but not after. But to-morrow I 
 could not go to him, as I must go to the Admiralty j so I deter- 
 mined to go this evening. Started first for Paddington, dined 
 by the way at a restaurateur's. Spent an hour with poor Eliza- 
 beth.* The poor thing is sadly forlorn; and I long to see more 
 of her and cheer her. * * ^ * 
 
 Reached Kew Bridge at twenty minutes before nine. 
 Hooker's house being more than a mile across the bridge 
 in the country. At nine, saw Hooker in his beautiful park. 
 He received me just as I knew he would : one of the finest, 
 active, cheerful people you ever saw. * -sf * 
 
 I sat an hour with Lady Neale, who seems to love me 
 better than anybody, barring Harry. ^ * * 
 
 She hopes you are coming to town, that she and you may be 
 together while I am obhged to run about after my affairs. 
 * * -Sf -sf * * 
 
 My Father writes to Bob in July, speaking of his dear 
 Fanny : — 
 
 She is sinking slowly. Her life may yet be spared for some 
 months, but not, I feel assured, for many. She is visited 
 frequently by the excellent clergyman of the parish. Arch- 
 deacon Wilbcrforce,* and he uses "^the prayer for a sick 
 person when there appeareth small hope of recovery." Our 
 sweet SWEETEST Fanny joins in such prayers with placid 
 resignation, and without evincing the smallest fear of death. 
 I observed to the Archdeacon her remarkably tranquil state 
 
 * His brother Charles's widow, 
 ' The Bishop of Oxford.
 
 fanny's illness. 213 
 
 of mind, and he said he firmly believed it was on a good 
 ground. 
 
 After I had ended my little service with her the other day, 
 she said, " What a blessing it is to have you to I'cad to me 
 and pray for me." It is an inexpressible comfort to me to 
 be with her; but what shall we both do when the time comes 
 that I must leave her ? ■^ ■jf * •5f 
 
 Very thin and pale as it is, her sweet face retains its 
 beautiful smiles. -jf -jf -j^ -k- -^^ 
 
 My prayer is, that our Blessed Saviour will look upon her 
 in his mercy, and be ever present with her. He knows best 
 whether it is best for her that her days should be prolonged. 
 He will not willingly afflict her with protracted suffering. 
 We may, I trust, pray that she may not suffer protracted 
 pain. She has great fortitude, and hitherto she has never 
 shown for one moment impatience of her allotted trial. 
 * ^ •» -Sf •}? •» 
 
 At this time my Father's brother-in-law, Dr. Knox, died 
 suddenly in the vestry of his church, at Tunbridge, and my 
 Father went there at once to try and help and comfort his 
 orphan children, and their afflicted Uncle Vicesimus. My 
 Father says, in a letter to Mr. Smith : — 
 
 I have been no less than three times to Tunbridge, desirous 
 of doing what little I could to divert his grief, and express 
 kindness to the children, and yet reluctant to stmj away from 
 my dear interests here. ■?&*■»* 
 
 From Haslar, to his Wife inLondon,on the 14th September: — 
 
 She desired me to read the prayer for a sick person, w hich 
 of course I did, but not the one for a person apparently at the 
 point of death. I could not find in my heart to read that. 
 Neither of the prayers for the sick in the Prayer Book or 
 Liturgica Domestica are worded precisely as one might desire, 
 and so I had not been accustomed to read cither to her ; but 
 
 R 2
 
 244 LIFE or R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 I told her \\c liad never failed to pray specially for he7' when 
 appropriate clauses occurred in almost every prayer, as in the 
 brief sentence, " O Lord, make haste to help us ! " 
 
 ^ * * * * * 
 
 The husband God gave her is a mighty blessing to her. 
 
 You would admire, as I do, LiddelFs most tender and 
 
 unwearied care of her. -k- •jf * His behaviour is 
 
 not unlike her own, that of cheerful gravity and resignation. 
 
 ^ ^ * ^ * * 
 
 Towards the end of September my Father wrote to me : — 
 
 For a long, long time I have had no courage to write 
 to you, much as I have to say, and dearly as I love you. 
 You know well, my darling, Irom my last letter, what our 
 affliction is, and I feel your portion of it very deeply. Would 
 that I could take it for you in addition to my own! But, 
 dearest, if you saw what I see, you would be well assured 
 that we OUGHT rather to rejoice than mourn; for our precious 
 Fanny is even now, in spite of her fearful illness, positively 
 happy. She would not change her condition for that of health ; 
 and happy as she is now, what a blessed change is awaiting 
 her, and near at hand ! 
 
 Wonderful it seems that her poor little remnant of strength 
 should have supported her so long. Fearful expectoration, 
 cough, fever, with alternate perspirations and diarrhoea, are 
 ail working the destruction of her now shadow-like frame. 
 It is seldom that she is able to open her eyes and speak a 
 word, or even listen, until towards evening; and then she 
 generally feels awake, and free from any very painful or dis- 
 tressing sensations, and we talk with her, and she likes me 
 very much to read to her and pray with her. 
 
 The good clergymen of the neighbourhood often visit her, 
 to her great comfort, and especially the excellent Archdeacon 
 Wilberforce. I wrote to him yesterday, by her desire, to ask 
 him to come and administer the Sacrament to her, and all of 
 us together; and I dare say he Mill come this evening.
 
 DKAR fanny's ILLNESS. 215 
 
 You know our sweet Fan's quiet fortitude. God's blessing 
 has given it a good foundation, and it never fails her for one 
 moment. Tears come into all our eyes sometimes, except 
 hers. She speaks of death as if it had indeed for her no 
 sting, no terrors, and as if she contemplated its approach 
 without a wish that it shovild come one moment sooner or 
 later than God in his mercy shall see fit. She has resigned 
 herself entirely to his will, and is content. Her voice is very 
 feeble and she can speak but little, and in whispers. She 
 told me she wished she had strength to talk to me, for she 
 had much to say. " I am so perfectly happy," she added. 
 " I have not the least fear of death. I feel as confident as 
 any poor human being ought to feel. I hope I am not pre- 
 sumptuous, and that all my reliance is upon my Saviour's 
 mercy." 
 
 The last time the Archdeacon was here, after he had prayed 
 with us, Fan expressed a wish to talk to him alone, and she 
 did so, and told me afterwards that she had spoken to him 
 just as she did to me, with unreserved freedom. The good 
 man could only encourage her to feel more and more assur- 
 ance that God would never leave her nor forsake her. 
 Touching as these scenes are, her nerves are never shaken by 
 them, — her composure is never disturbed ; and when I am 
 struggling to preserve the condition of my own countenance, 
 I see hers wearing its wonted placid expression of cheerful 
 content. 
 
 The Archdeacon asked her if she was able to think without 
 pain of parting with her little children ; and she assured him 
 that she had been enabled to do even that. At first it ivas a 
 very fearful thought ; but her long illness, she says, has been 
 a merciful preparation for her, and she now feels entirely 
 ■willing to separate herself from all earthly ties. She knows 
 that her treasures will be safe in God's merciful protection. 
 She speaks very often of her dear Sally, and is having some 
 little things prepared to send you. Among them is a pair of 
 slippers of her last work. She told Liddell she w'ould send 
 some of her best clotlies too, tliat she should never want any
 
 24-6 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 more. She speaks of these things without any effort^ or 
 emotion of any kind. 
 
 Her conviction is that her parting with all her clears is but 
 for a moment. She asked me if, in eternity, any number of 
 our measures of time called years might not be supposed to 
 pass like a mere moment ; and so of course they will. It has 
 been^ you can well imagine, a very great blessing to her and 
 to me, that we have been permitted to spend this awful season 
 together. I |]ave got two months' farther leave of absence, 
 so that it will not be necessary for me to be at Malta before 
 the middle of December. It may be God's will that my dear 
 child's stay on earth should be prolonged beyond that time ; 
 but, humanly speaking, her little remaining strength cannot 
 last much longer, and a sudden change for the worse may 
 come on at any moment. 
 
 We must not desire that her sufferings should be pro- 
 tracted. She is, I humbly trust, in God's great goodness, 
 ripe for heaven ; and in her translation from a bed of sickness 
 and pain to a paradise of rest and joy, we must rejoice, and 
 not grieve. I shall lose, for the small space of my remaining 
 life, an admirable child, whose love has been precious to me 
 beyond all description ; but I shall know with the most 
 certain knowledge that she is sharing the love of angels ; that 
 God is rewarding her for all her goodness to me and to all 
 her dear ones; and that He will aid us all in striving to fit 
 ourselves for the blessed abode to which she is preceding us, 
 and where she will welcome us. 
 
 My heart bleeds for you, my darling Sally. Would that I 
 were with you, when my darling here no longer needs the 
 poor comfort I can give her, that I might comfort you. 
 
 ■5f ■)«■ TT ^f ^ -K- 
 
 Poor Liddell bears as well as anybody could bear his awful 
 trial. Right nobly does he perform his part in nursing and 
 cherishing his poor sufferer. No creature ever bestowed 
 upon another more tender and unremitting care. He or I 
 arc of course always with her; Mamma often; and in the 
 eveniner all three of us. * * * *
 
 VISITS AT BARTON' HALL. 2i7 
 
 I have never told you, Hanmcr, of my visit to Barton. I 
 stayed but three days, for I could not bear to be away from 
 Fan : but they were three very pleasinj^ days to me. I hope 
 your father liked me as much as I did him. He and Lady 
 Bunbury and your brothers Charles and Edward, and that 
 dear " Cissy "^ — O what a sweet Cissy it is ! — all seemed to 
 open their hearts to receive me; and thoroughly amiable, 
 estimable, and pleasant people I found them all. Nothing 
 could exceed their cordiality, and I am sure nothing could be 
 livelier than my sense of it, and my wish to make more 
 acquaintance with them all. ^ * ^ ^ 
 
 The letter to Robert of the same date was almost the same 
 as the above. To me, on the 10th of October, his Father 
 wrote : — 
 
 Mourn for your darling Sister, my poor dear, dear child, but 
 in the midst of your mourning rejoice; for God's mercy was 
 marvellously displayed in supporting her through all her long 
 trial, and in enabling her to retain to the last moment all her 
 patience and cheerful hope, and Christian heroic fortitude ; 
 and in transporting her from this scene of suffering to the 
 abode of angels by a blessed death, which had no terrors and 
 no sting. She breathed faintly, fainter and fainter, and then 
 ceased ; and the moment in which the happy spirit fled — 
 O my dear child, how can I describe to you, how tell what I 
 would give, that you could have seen the appearance that then 
 shone upon her most lovely countenance. It was nothing- 
 short of an angelic radiance, that told us of her transition to 
 eternal peace and joy. I have no words to tell you how beau- 
 tiful it was. It was not like the beauty of earthly things, but 
 like the expression of a bright and happy angel's perfect peace. 
 
 And what a change is tJiat for our sweet one ! Sadly as 
 she had suffered, this world was a very painful abode for her, 
 and we know and are sure that she is now in Paradise. It is 
 ri(jht that we should, though with all humility, feel this 
 
 f Miss Cecilia Napier, now Mrs. Heni^ Bunbury.
 
 248 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 perfect assurance ; for it was in God's mercy that she put her 
 whole trusty and the faith she felt was his gracious gift. She 
 had had many most soothing visits from the excellent Arch- 
 deacon Wilberforce. At our darling's request he admin- 
 istered the Sacrament to us all on the 5th of this month. 
 Happy was it that it was not delayed, for there was after- 
 wards no such interval of repose as was granted to her that 
 evening. " Oh, Mrs. Liddell," said the good man in taking 
 leave of her, " what a blessing it is to have such a foretaste of 
 heaven as you have ; for you have a perfect assurance of 
 going there ! " -x- * * * * 
 
 Four hours only before she expired she desired me to read 
 a prayer to her. We could not help weeping bitterly while 
 1 read the solemn words, but she herself shed no tear ; for 
 God did, indeed, "give His strength to His servant, and 
 help the child of his handmaid." She then told us that 
 she felt no pain. Yet, what she had endured ! and, what 
 was she enduring still ! And how should we, then, praise 
 God that He has mercifully taken her to her rest. How 
 she needed rest, poor child. How our hearts bled to see 
 her quite worn out, aud still forced to sit up, feeble and sore 
 and sinking, and yet denied the dying comfort of a pillow ! 
 Yet she had better comfort ; for ministering angels Avere sup- 
 porting her, and the arms of Jesus were opened to receive 
 lier. * •jf * I had left her on Sunday 
 
 night (the 8th), and went to bed, trusting, from her then 
 comparatively tranquil state, that she might continue to 
 sleep, and not apprehending any immediate change for the 
 worse ; but Liddell sent for me at one in the morning (of 
 yesterday, the 9th), and 1 found her breathing so feebly, and 
 with so much difficulty, that I feared I should never hear her 
 beloved voice again. I helped, with Liddell, to support her 
 in sitting up, and presently, to my unspeakable comfort, she 
 saidj " God bless you two, Papa." Liddell was crying bit- 
 terly, and she said to him, "Don't cry!" Again, almost 
 ■within the last hour, seeing his tears, she laid her hand, with 
 an expression of tender remonstrance, upon his arm, and
 
 fanny's last days and dkatii. 249 
 
 made a distinct sii^u with her lips for him to kiss her. He 
 had been holding her up for some time^ while he was himself 
 in a constrained position, and she said to me, " Perhaps 
 you'll take his place, Papa ; he must be very tired." For many 
 hours we held her up by turns, her head bent forward, and 
 her forehead resting upon one of our hands. While in this 
 miserable condition of unrest, and struggling with the 
 phlegm, which she had no strength to cough up, she said^ 
 
 " What a mercy it is to ;" the closing word or two I 
 
 ■was not able to hear, but it was enough to show that she felt 
 herself, at that moment of bitter trial, an object of God's 
 mercy. We propped her up with pillows, which supported 
 her back, and, while Liddell was adjusting them, . she said, 
 " It's very nice." She could not lie down at all, but was 
 able, now and then, for a short time, to lean her head against 
 the pile of pillows that supported her. At four in the morn- 
 ing she said, " What do you think it's o'clock ?" I told her, 
 and she presently added, " Then I'll take another mor- 
 phine." At seven, " You'd better go and sleep. Papa." She 
 then heard her pretty little ones getting up in the next room, 
 and said to Liddell, " There's the children ; don't let me see 
 them or hear them any more." She wished not to be dis- 
 turbed any more by any earthly interests. At half-past 
 seven, putting her hand to her throat, " such an oppression in 
 breathing," — to Liddell (for it was his usual time), " An't you 
 going to the hospital ?" At nine, " Have you been to break- 
 fast. Papa ?" And, after that, " I'm in no pain." But, my 
 dear child, she said this in answer to an expression of mine 
 in admiration of the wonderful fortitude that God had given 
 her, and what she meant seemed really to be this, "W^hy, 
 Papa, I really have not anything very hard to bear." Mamma 
 then came in, and said to her, '^Heaven bless you, dear;" 
 and Fan replied, "And bless you too;" and then added, "I 
 can't pray." Mamma said, " We pray for you, and without 
 doubt our prayers are heard." About eleven o'clock, she 
 said to Liddell, " We shall meet in heaven." Her last words 
 were, at lialf-past twelve, half an hour before she died, " I was
 
 250 LIFE OF R, C. SCONCE. 
 
 only dreaming." We thought we heard her speaking, and 
 on our asking her what sLe said, that was her answer. 
 
 She had heen sleeping, precious child, and her dreams 
 were happy dreams. It is very likely that sleep came fre- 
 quently over her towards the last, and she was probably 
 sleeping w-hen her last gentle breath escaped. Did she not 
 die in the Lord, and do not we know that she is blessed, and 
 must we not rejoice at her blessedness? According to the 
 course of nature, she might have been expected to survive 
 her husband many years ; and only think, if he had been 
 taken from her, how much worse her condition would have 
 been than his is now ! Yet we must mourn for him, for 
 great is the claim he has upon our sympathy. He was to our 
 precious angel a most tender and most admirable husband ; 
 nothing ever could exceed his incessant devotion to her, in 
 gratifying all her wishes, caring for all her comforts, antici- 
 pating all her wants, and exhausting all the resources of his 
 great skill to mitigate by all human means her protracted 
 suffering. * * •}& He asked us all to come 
 
 and pray this morning by the bedside where our darling lay. 
 I chose some of the beautiful prayers suited to such a solemn 
 season and read them, all of us weeping a flood of tears, and 
 all, I am sure, trying, as well as our poor infirm nature 
 would allow us, to lift up our hearts to God and implore His 
 merciful aid to fit us all for a blessed reunion with our departed 
 love, and with all our dear ones. 
 
 Be sure, my darling, that in all my poor prayers I think of 
 you — dear to me as my own soul, — and your husband and 
 little children, and my precious Bob and Ms little household, 
 •jf * * You will be equally sorry for the 
 
 love / have lost. Isn't it a sad loss, my darling ? How she 
 doted upon her papa ; and how intensely I loved her, too ! 
 There was a tender, and fervent, and quite equal love between 
 us : she was to me even all that you are, my child, — more than 
 that is not possible. How grateful I am for God's goodness in 
 allowing me to be with her during her last trial, to exchange 
 words of love with her, to ])ray with her, to pray for her at
 
 fanny's last days and death. 251 
 
 lier bedside^ to read to her, to help her when most she needed 
 help, to hear the last accents of her sweet lips, to receive the 
 last looks of her beautiful eyes, and the deep impression of 
 that uiuUtei'able grace that shed itself over her in the last 
 moment of her earthly life ! She thought of you continually. 
 ■3f * * * * * 
 
 Never yet did theologian compose a homily equal to the 
 lesson this poor, meek, single-minded, loving, confiding child 
 has afforded us in the example of her death. Words, words, 
 what are they? Our darling was no talker; but she gave 
 herself up to God, and He graciously endued her with real 
 wisdom. Let us think of her and imitate her. Young as 
 she was,*' she had already fought a good fight. Few, and full 
 of pain, were the days of her years, but riot of sorrow ; for 
 God, in chastening, loved her, and made her to rejoice in that 
 pain as an assurance of His love. She told me what a bless- 
 ing her long illness had been to her, in preserving her from 
 many sins she might otherwise have been tempted to commit. 
 
 See, my darling, how I go on dwelling on this subject of 
 deepest and tenderest interest. It does me good to dwell 
 upon it, though I shed many tears while I write. Tears 
 enough you will shed. I know you can hardly see through 
 them to read what I am writing; but they will do you good, 
 my darling, too. 
 
 The next day he added to my letter (tiiose to me and 
 Robert are almost the same), — 
 
 We treasure all that is left to us of our loved one too much 
 to leave her to any stranger^s keeping. The poor decaying 
 body now stretched upon her bed, and soon to be consigned 
 to the grave, will in its glorified form mount up to Heaven, 
 and there, by God's mercy, Ave shall see it again. We honour 
 it duly : Liddell never leaves the room, night or day, without 
 my taking his place in it. * ^ * * 
 
 Twenty-six years old.
 
 252 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 He himself composed that precious body in its winding-sheet, 
 and he and I together will put it into its coffin. All the little 
 LITTLE we can do to express our love, how sweet it is to do 
 that little ! We have chosen a place for her grave in the 
 hospital burying-ground. It is immediately under a great 
 elm tree; I will make a sketch of the place for you. 
 
 A little while before the poor dear was taken so very ill, 
 and when she little thought her end was so very near, she 
 told me to make a sketch of this house for her; and I did 
 make as pretty a drawing of it as I could, and she dwelt 
 upon it again and again with great pleasure. I will copy 
 that drawing for you. * * * •3^ 
 
 We shall now leave England, on our return to Malta, the 
 end of this month.' 
 
 A few days later he writes to us : — 
 
 She lies in the hospital burial-ground, a wide space 
 surrounded with a wall, close to which, on the outside, are 
 some el Qi- trees, immediately beneath the largest of which, 
 an aged and majestic tree, is the vault. It will be covered 
 with stone, and surmounted with a marble slab, inscribed, — 
 
 f k gemiiiiis nf 
 
 FANNY MARIA LIDDELL, 
 
 WHO DIED 
 
 OCTOBER THE NINTH, 1843, 
 Aged 26 Years. 
 
 We wished the stone to be laid before I went away, but it 
 was not possible. It Avill be done in ten days more; and then 
 some evergreen shrubs, which we have already selected, will 
 be planted round it, and trained to embower it. 
 
 * * * -x- * -Sf 
 
 ' Tlio letter coutaiuiug the account of my dear Sister's death is given almost 
 entire, for the sake of her sons.
 
 MK. pokti;lli. 253 
 
 No being in this world better deserved love than she did. 
 Few could know liow excellent she was who did not see her 
 in her last trial; but it is a very great consolation to me that 
 I had always known her true value, and that site knew how I 
 delighted in her and prized her love. ^ -sf ■jf 
 
 * * * * ^ * 
 
 You will be glad to know that a summer's absence from 
 Malta has done me great good. I have not had a day's 
 ilhiess; whereas, if I had stayed there, I should scarcely 
 have had a day's health ; and my strength is consequently 
 repaired in a degree that I was far from expecting. 
 
 My Father arrived at Malta with his wife and daughters 
 on the 12th of November; having left Herbert and Willy 
 at school in England. He says : — 
 
 We found our three young ones well. They had been 
 admirably looked after in our absence by good Portelli and 
 his nice young wife, and by Mr. and Mrs. W^hitmarsh. What 
 an immense treasure Portelli is to me ! He did all my office 
 business while I was away, as well as I could have done it 
 myself; and the Commander-in-chief and the Admiral-super- 
 intendent have both told me of the great pleasure they have 
 had in their intercourse with him. He saves me ^^no end" 
 of official trouble, and in all other things delights in giving 
 me his friendly aid. Of course I do all I can to make his 
 situation agreeable to him, and so we suit each other 
 thoroughly. * * « •x- * * 
 
 In another day or two we shall endeavour to settle down 
 into our old business habits ; but it needs an effort, ray dear 
 Bob ; for one's ardour on most subjects cools as one grows 
 older and becomes more and more sensible of the vanity 
 of most of our pursuits. In one respect, and that a main 
 one, my best hopes, I humbly thank God, have not been 
 disappointed. My children are all, as far as I can yet judge, 
 blessed with good dispositions ; and whatever may be their 
 failure or success at schools or colleges, it will not be a matter
 
 254 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 of oppressive anxiety to me as it has been. I will endeavour 
 to do my part well, and wait the result calmly. 
 
 •JS- ^ -Jr -Jf ■Sf * 
 
 You are a good boy for not being angry with me for what 
 
 I said about Mr. N and his Tract No. 90. I think I 
 
 remember saying, in spite of my abhorrence of the tract, that 
 I still gave him credit for honest meaning. If anybody else 
 had written it, I could hardly have made as much allowance. 
 But oh, how thoroughly sick I am of the profitless writing 
 and talking these disputes have prompted ! That you and I, 
 and all of us, may be guided in the right path is my humble 
 prayer; but I am quite sure that controversial writings do 
 
 me no good. Wise and good men think as Mr. N 
 
 thinks ; other wise and good men think otherwise ; but when 
 these wise and good men are writing against each other^s 
 writings, they are animated by angry feelings, in which I 
 have no desire to share. * ^ -jf * ^ 
 
 To me, same date, speaking of little Kitty : — 
 
 She must now be you to me, and Fanny too ! My own 
 dear, dear Sally, and my own dear, dear Fanny, who is still 
 mine and yours, and happy, supremely happy, and yet looking 
 for an increase of happiness in our reunion with her. May 
 God in his mercy prepare us for it ! This our bereavement 
 is a medicine to help us in that preparation. How miserable 
 a condition this life is, and how foolish it is not to endeavour 
 to look forward to a better \ ^ * * ^ ^ 
 
 I am going to make an effort to finish the drawing of St. 
 John's Church, which I began more than two years ago, and 
 after a fortnight's work upon it, have not touched it since. 
 
 ^ •» * -K- I think I got some little benefit by 
 a glance at the Water-Colour exhibitions in London, after 
 being so many years without seeing anything of the sort. 
 "Wiiat I observed was an immense ciiange in the system of 
 the artists in general. They now produce much more forcible 
 effects with very much less finish. When you look at a
 
 EFFKCTS OF COLOURING. 255 
 
 drawing close, it is all unintelligible dabs: and yet those dabs 
 tell at a distance most beautifully. The new painters seem to 
 get a better result than the old ones, with a tenth part of the 
 labour. You and I must try to do the same. I suppose one 
 must look at the drawing in its progress, at a certain distance, 
 and not care so mucli how it looks on close scrutiny. But 
 then, mind, there must be a strong ejfect in it — plenty of 
 colour, and powerful opposition of light and shade. 
 ***** ^- 
 
 To me, later in November : — 
 
 Sir Henry told me, though you have never mentioned it, 
 that Hanmer had contemplated your coming to England, for 
 change of climate. Most fervently do I hope it may not be 
 necessary ; for I w^ell know how unwilling you would be to 
 make so formidable a voyage without your husband ; but if 
 your health really requires the change, let that be tlie^r^^ 
 consideration, important as it is to him and to your dear 
 children, as well as to yourself and your own dear Papa too. 
 You shall not come to England, my sweet child, without my 
 seeing you. I would go most gladly to see you there, and 
 think it more than abundantly worth while, even to spend 
 one week with you. But perhaps it might not be amiss for 
 you to spend the winter season at Malta, and then I would 
 fetch you, and you well know what joy it would be to us to 
 make much of you and my beloved grandchildren. To have 
 you with me once more would be to me an inexpressible 
 blessing. 
 
 Dearly as I have loved you ever since you were born, it 
 now seems as if I had lost golden opportunities to express all 
 the tenderness I feel for you, and as if the greatest comfort I 
 could have in this world would be to make amends to you and 
 myself by loving you more than ever. Pray always, my 
 darling, that we may, by God's great mercy, be allowed to 
 love each other in heaven, and to share the everlasting love 
 of our dear ones who arc gone before us.
 
 256 LIFE OF R, C. SCON'CE. 
 
 Oh what cruel pain you have felt in the loss of sucli love as 
 our angel Fanny's ! There never was in this world a heart 
 that could love more tenderly than hers : and who was ever 
 more worthy to be loved ! V\'ho ever united more sweetness, 
 and gentleness, and simplicity, with fortitude more absolutely 
 heroic ! You know the precious record I possess of her early 
 affection for me and for you too. You know I have a little 
 book in which she scribbled her baby memorandums after I 
 left England in 1823. In one page is written : " Papa, who 
 I love so much, is gone from rae." And in another : " Sally 
 is my only comfort now.'' Dear DEAR child ! 
 
 TT TT TT TT Vr W 
 
 To Bob, same date : — 
 
 While I was in England I wrote but seldom to you, 
 dearest boy, and no oftener to my poor Sally. You can 
 imagine the pain I felt in writing, for I knew what you would 
 feel in reading the sad accounts I had to send ; but now I 
 will resume my old habit of writing once a fortnight, that is 
 by every packet ; and if my letters have no other interest, 
 they will, at least, assure you that I am always thinking of 
 you and loving you. I am afraid I am not as good as I have 
 been as a correspondent, or a companion ; for I find it hard 
 to screw ray spirits up for anything. I have done little or 
 nothing yet, since I returned to Malta, except setting my 
 young ones a-going with their lessons, after their long holiday, 
 and making a beginning towards sorting my papers and tear- 
 ing up rubbish. I mean, then, to make a catalogue of my 
 books, which I never did before. I have not added very 
 many to them since you helped me use tlicm, but yet there 
 are some additions, -x- * * ■sf 
 
 You will be glad to hear that our poor church has got over 
 its difficulties, and is to be ready for consecration without fail 
 on St. Paul's Day, the 28th January. The good Queen 
 Adelaide has promptly answered every fresh demand upon 
 her for it, and has desired only that the work may ])e brought
 
 LOSS OK HIS DAUGHTER FANNY. '257 
 
 to a satisfactory completion. There was a meeting of the 
 people here, in my absence, to subscribe money for an organ 
 and other church furniture, and for paying the organist^s 
 salary. Though I was absent, they named me one of the 
 committee, and I am to attend a meeting of the committee 
 to-day. I suppose we shall collect j£500 or £G00; but the 
 people here are almost all poor. Most have but small incomes, 
 and you know they are great dinner-givers and champagne- 
 drinkers. I shall only subscribe £5, like most of the others. 
 By-and-by I shall be able to do more. 
 
 * * * * -Sf -Jt 
 
 To Robert, in December : — 
 
 What a heavy, heavy loss is the loss of such love as my 
 Fanny's love ! But I loved her too well to grieve for my 
 own loss while I think of what her condition was and what 
 I am sure it now is. The fearful trial she has passed we 
 have still to pass. Agonizing as it was to us to see her 
 bodily suffering, she herself seemed always raised above 
 it ; and so entirely were pain and distress taken away from 
 the last close, that it seemed a miraculous transition without 
 death. Never did a human soul quit this earth more happily. 
 What can we who loved her desire more? I am content to 
 bear my own loss for the sake of my darling's gain ; and 
 inexpressible is the comfort of having been allowed the 
 blessed intercourse with her of those last months. I think 
 of her waking and sleeping too. May you and I and all of 
 us see her angel countenance again, and share the same 
 blessed abode for ever. * * * * 
 
 To me, same date : — 
 
 I wish, my darling, I could sail away to go and see f/ou. 
 If I had not many cables mooring me here, I should make 
 small hesitation. My own inclination w^ould take mc quickly 
 enough to William's-town, and there is no spot in this world 
 where I would rather be. There would be happiness enough 
 
 VOL. 11. s
 
 258 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 for me near you, and there is nothing in this life that I desire 
 in comparison with the joy of looking upon my dear child 
 again. We have not only much to make of each other^ but 
 doubly much for the sake of our darhng in heaven. We 
 have not lost her, but she is taken from our sight for a sea- 
 son only. While you and I live, we shall think of her, and 
 Jove her still, j ust as we did love her, only more ; but the 
 place she has left we must in the mean time supply to each 
 other, and we must learn to pray more and more fervently for 
 God's merciful aid to purify our souls, and prepare us for the 
 blessed abode of which she is the happy occupant. Don't 
 grieve for her, my own sweet Sally, for hers is a most happy 
 lot. Her trial is all over, and she passed from earth to 
 heaven by a death so wonderfully blessed, that I have some- 
 times imagined it to be more like the transition of Enoch 
 than the painful passage through the valley of the shadow of 
 death, by which the other sons and daughters of Adam have 
 all passed. Doting upon her as we did and do, we must really 
 and actually rejoice in thinking of the happiness she now 
 enjoys. * * -jf ^ * * 
 
 To me, later in December : — 
 
 Most of my evenings have been spent lately in the severest 
 of all reading, that of St. Paul's Epistles, in Greek. They 
 are far more difficult than any profane Greek book, and you 
 may imagine it from the English version. There are plenty 
 of places there where you can't account even for the grammar. 
 Many there are where the sense might be made clearer by 
 other terms than those the translators have used ; but hap- 
 pily all that is essential in the sacred writings is as clear as 
 the sun. In one place (in the Epistle to the Colossians), 
 St. Augustine, quoted by Bloomtield, says : " Ego prorsus 
 quid dixerit, me fateor ignorare." I dare say you can con- 
 strue that. But there is one little emendation I must give 
 you — not in the Epistles, but Acts, in the 17th chapter, v. 22, 
 where St. Paul makes his speech to the Athenians. In our
 
 READS THE GKEEK TESTAMENT. 259 
 
 version lie is made to be^^in by saying, " I perceive ye are 
 too superstitious." But the Oreek word has a good sense 
 and a bad one —superstitious and religious, — and here he used 
 it in the good sense, " very religious ;" that is, more atten- 
 tive than others to religious matters. This is the sense 
 attributed to it, says Bloom field, by most of the commenta- 
 tors for the last two hundred years ; and how very much it 
 improves the speech ! He had been walking about their 
 city, and saw evidences everywhere of their attention to 
 religion, such as their religion was; he saw their altar to 
 their unknown god ; and he had so an excellent opportunity 
 to engage their favourable attention to what he had to sa^^ 
 " I see," said he, "on all sides, proof that religion is an object 
 of deep interest with you. Hear me, therefore, for it is of 
 religion that I desii'e to speak to you." Don't you like that 
 alteration, my darling ? -jf * ^ * 
 
 To Robert, same date : — 
 
 Sir asked me to dinner one day, prefacing his invita- 
 tion by asking whether I dined out on Sundaij ; and I told 
 him I did not. ^ * ■jf I don't mean that 1 
 
 should think it necessary to make a rule not to dine out 
 under any circumstances on Sunday ; but I liked much better 
 to spend my evening in reading my Greek Testament, and 
 then a sermon to Mamma, than in drinking wine with half a 
 dozen jolly captains, and listening to their talk. By the bye, 
 dear Bob, my Greek Testament reading lately has been in the 
 Epistles. I have often been daunted by the first that comes 
 in order — the one to the Romans, — and have stuck there ; but 
 this time I thought I would try some of the shorter ones, and 
 have read Philemon, Colossians, Thessalonians, and Ephesians. 
 Dreadfully difficult they still are ; but, happily, the difficulty 
 does not lie in essentials, and it is consolatory to see St. 
 Augustine declaring, " Ego prorsus quid dixerit, me fateor 
 ignorare." (See Bloomfield's note, 2 Thess. ii. 6.) No pro- 
 fane author could so damp my courage ; for I should not feci
 
 260 
 
 LIFE OF R, C. SCONCE. 
 
 shackled as I do here. I should uot pay the same deference 
 to commentators^ and should fancy that I might here and there 
 succeed in discovering a sense which they had missed ; but this 
 is out of the question in the sacred writings, for it would need 
 more than a life to read what has been written upon them by 
 wise and holy men, of whom I could never, in any one in- 
 stance, persuade myself that they were wrong and I right. 
 But it is the mere grammar that makes the first difficulty. 
 The Greek seems nowhere so dead a language as in St. Paul. 
 A modern Greek will read Xenophon like a modern Greek 
 newspaper. Our pilot in the Revenge, a thoroughly un- 
 educated man, did read and construe our Xenophon; there- 
 fore, XenophoTi's is not a dead language. But what would 
 Lambrinos (the pilot) make of St. Paul ? Of course, it is easy 
 to conceive that in a letter much might be quite clear to its 
 receiver which would not be to any one unacquainted with 
 things of which the writer and receiver were mutually con- 
 scious. But an example in point is this : — In a letter Portelli 
 wrote to us from Malta, while we were in England, he said, 
 " The sticking-plaster has grown mouldy." Nothing went 
 before, or followed, that had anything to do with sticking- 
 plaster. A commentator some centuries hence would have 
 suggested an emendation ; but to us, all was quite intelligible. 
 Something is to be supplied which we could supply, though 
 nobody else could. lie meant to say, " The children have 
 met with no accident, such as you did, and Clement did, in 
 tumbling upon the boat's gunwale and breaking your heads, 
 so that there has been no necessity to iise the piece of sticking- 
 plaster you desired Kieli to keep in the boat for fear of such 
 an accident." I don't know whether you remember ; but it 
 happened once that, in getting out of the boat, Clement fell 
 and cut his forehead, close to the eye, so uglily, that Mamma 
 thought it right to take him at once to Liddell, at his house. 
 I did not go, because it was near dinner-time, and we had 
 eighteen people coming to dine with us, and they came before 
 Mamma returned ; but as she was getting out of the boat, 
 down she fell, with her forehead on the point of the rowlock ;
 
 THE SUN BETTER THAN LAMPS AND CANDLES. 261 
 
 and a frightful wound it made. The recollection of tliis 
 double disaster made her leave a charge that the boat should 
 never be without a piece of sticking-plaster. 
 
 * -Sf -Sf -x- * -Jf 
 
 Take care of your eyes, too. Make short evenings, and 
 get up early ; the sun is better than lamps and candles.
 
 262 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 [1844.] 
 
 APPLIES FOB APPOINTMENT AT GREENWICH HOSPITAL — LETTER TJ LOKD HAD- 
 DINGTON — HIS son's sermons— clergymen meddling with politics — 
 
 NEW governor — THE DEAN — HIS DRAW^NGS— MALTESE LILAC — PASSAGE IN 
 
 tacitus — penance — profligacy of the monks — the jesuits — dr. 
 Keith's lecture — loss of spirits — mr. newman — sermon-writing — 
 
 THE OXFORD " MOVEMENT " — HIS ANGEL FANNY — NEEDLE's EYES— CAIRO 
 magicians — LUMBAGO— LETTER TO LIZZY — NEW SOUTH WALES LEGISLATIVE 
 COUNCIL — PARTY SPIRIT — SERMON-WRITING — DERIVATION OF " CHURCH " — 
 SICKNESS — LAYING STONE OF NEW DOCK — VISIT OF KING AND QUEEN OF 
 NAPLES— LIVES OF THE SAINTS — PRINCE DE JOINVILLE — MIA'S FORTITUDE 
 — MALTESE BEGGARS — MARINA SMELLS — SCHISM IN THE PAPACY — JESUITS 
 — PH(ENICIAN REM^UNS AT GOZO — PHCENICIAN LANGUAGE — LAW'S "SERIOUS 
 call" — ARNOLD AND BLOOMFIELD — RECIPE FOR BEEF-TEA — THOMAS PLATTER 
 — PLANS FOR THE FUTURE — ZABBAR GATE — CONSECRATION OF THE CHURCH 
 — DAILY SERVICE — TAYLOR AND BARROW — PAUSANIAS — MR. KITSON. 
 
 At the beginning of this year my dear Father made a fresh^ 
 and I believe last effort, to be removed from Malta. As my 
 Brother says in the manuscript volume I have mentioned 
 before, " had he been recalled now, one of the most efficient 
 servants the Queen ever had would have been secured to the 
 Government, in all human probability, for many years. As 
 it was, his universally admitted claim met with nothing but 
 civil words. He endured another Maltese summer, and he 
 died. The reward man refused, God has granted." 
 
 My Father says in a letter to Lizzy of the 17th January : — 
 
 By the last packet I had a letter from Bob^s old friend 
 Janie (Mrs. Bowles), to tell me that her uncle, Mr. Locker, 
 was going to resign immediately his place as one of the 
 Commissioners of Greenwich Hospital, in consequence of 
 mental failure. She did this to give me an oi)portunity to 
 apply for the ai)pointaicnt ; and I have accordingly written
 
 MEMORIAL TO LORD HADDINGTON. 263 
 
 to Lord Iladdingtou, the first Lord of tlie Admiralty. The 
 patronage may be with Sir Robert Peel, but I have begged 
 Lord Haddington in that case to forward my application to 
 Sir Robert. I have written to my friend Captain Hamilton too 
 (Lord H.'s private secretary), to beg him to give me what help 
 he can, and to engage Sir George Cockburn's good offices. 
 
 I take for granted I shall only get a civil refusal, for the 
 place is so good a one that it will be scrambled for by poli- 
 ticians and people of parliamentary influence, who will be too 
 strong for such interest as mine to cope with ; but then I 
 can't help that, and I shall escape the reproach of not 
 having done what I could. I suppose Bob will like to see 
 what I said to Lord Haddington ; so here is a copy of ray 
 letter. I have said all that was further desirable in the one 
 I sent to Captain Hamilton : — 
 
 " Your Lordship's kind reception of the memorial I had 
 the honour of presenting six months ago, assures me that I 
 may without impropriety beg your Lordship to think of me 
 in the filling up of an appointment which is now likely to 
 become vacant. I have been informed, on no vague authority, 
 that Mr. Locker has tendered, or is about to tender, the 
 resignation of his office as one of the Commissioners of Green- 
 wich Hospital. If such be the case, may I hope that your 
 Lordship would consider me a fit candidate for the place ? 
 
 " I served, as your Lordship knows, twenty full years 
 as an Admiral's Secretary; many of those years in active 
 warfare, at the battle of St. Domingo, at the forcing of 
 the Dardanelles, in large fleets, on the most important 
 stations, and commanded by admirals of great name, who 
 honoured me Avith their friendship, and have recorded it in 
 testimonials of no common emphasis. To those twenty years 
 I have now added sixteen in n)y present situation at the head 
 of the Victualling Establishment at Malta ; and of the effici- 
 ency of this department your Lordship has always received, I 
 trust, a favourable account. 
 
 " My health has sutt'ered severely from too long a residence
 
 264 
 
 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 in this climate. Of foreign service I have had a large share; 
 and deeply shall I be indebted to your Lordship^ if you can, 
 without injustice to the claims of others, make this an 
 opportunity for recalling me to England." 
 
 This, you see, is a strong case. They can't say I have not 
 a claim ; and I believe the general voice of the Admiralty 
 would be that no one has a stronger. When I get my answer 
 I will send it you. Meanwhile I shall probably not think of 
 the matter further. 
 
 My Father, who had visited Mr. Locker when he was in 
 ICugland, knew then, from the state of health in which he 
 found him, that he could not hold his appointment much 
 longer; and if he could have used this knowledge at that 
 time, he might have had a better chance of success. But as 
 there was then no idea of Mr. Locker's resigning, my Father 
 felt that it would be wrong to take advantage of his know- 
 ledge, and never said one word about it to anybody. 
 
 On the 17th January he writes to Robert : — 
 
 Since I wrote last I have received as many as five of your 
 dear letters. * ^ * •jf Two excellent sermons 
 too, " Thou art the man," and " Repentance." The latter is 
 .9M_/>e?-excellent, and is almost the only sermon I ever read 
 that looks to my own eyes as if I had written it myself. Of 
 course, I have read a great many much too excellent in point 
 of style, and in display of eloquence and theological learning, 
 to look at all like anything I should have written ; for I have 
 little enough of Home, and far less of Taylor or Barrow. 
 But this sermon of yours has precisely that quality that has 
 now and then given great effect to a writing of mine ; it comes 
 from your heart, and expresses itself in the forcible but simple 
 language that a man (an educated man) naturally uses when 
 he feels strongly, and means his hearers to march against 
 Philip, not to cry, " What a fine speaker !" I never read a 
 sermon better suited to its purpose. Too true it is, that upon 
 most of your hearers it was probably wasted in a great
 
 PARSONS AND CHURCHES. 265 
 
 measure, thougli few, I liope, and possibly none, upon whom it 
 liad not some good effect ; for at least, if they listened at all, 
 it would be sure to raise their clergyman in their esteem. 
 
 Go on preaching so, and by degrees you will gain an influ- 
 ence that will tell more and more. A very young clergyman 
 has always uphill work to do. Youth is not often wise, and 
 grey-bearded men don^t like young teachers. As you grow 
 older, you will gain, of course, more authority. In the mean 
 time, what has depended upon yourself you have done ; for 
 you have made your people see that at five-and-twenty you 
 have the gravity of a presbyter. 
 
 I have received all the newspapers, and so made myself 
 acquainted with the political struggle in which you were 
 called upon to take a part ; and it is quite clear that you took 
 the right one, and did no more than your obvious duty 
 required. There is a wide difference between using a legiti- 
 mate influence for a good purpose in the way you exerted 
 yours, and entering hotly into the broils of party politics, by 
 making speeches at electioneering dinners, with the accom- 
 paniment of bumper glasses and hip hip hurrahs. If the men 
 of Philippi had had to choose between a Christian or Pagan 
 magistrate, St. Paul would full surely have advised them to 
 take the good and reject the bad, though he would have 
 taken no part in the hip and hurrah. 
 
 Speaking of the new church at Malta: — 
 
 The font was given by Mr. Bowden, the writer of the Life 
 of Pope Gregory ; so of course you w ill think it an orthodox 
 font; only it is too small. It is a marble copy of a good 
 Grecian vase. I should have liked it better if it had been 
 made from one of the old fonts, of which there are many very 
 beautiful. But then I don^t attach all the importance you do 
 to the particular shapes and positions of church furniture. I 
 really do venerate Christian antiquity ; but I can take what 
 the bad taste of others has provided for me without being 
 immodcratelv angrv with them. -x- ^- * ■x-
 
 266 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 To me, same date: — 
 
 I saw the Governor (Sir Patrick Stuart) yesterday for the 
 first time. Other people who did not know him have been 
 presented at his levee, or by friends they got to introduce 
 them ; but I go to no levees, and I had no ambition to be 
 introduced at all. However, his brother, who was our fellow- 
 passenger from Marseilles, and on whom I had never called, 
 came the other day to see me; and upon my returning his 
 visit yesterday, he said at once, " I am very glad to see you, 
 for I want to introduce you to my brother." The Governor 
 received me with such extra cordiality, that I am sure a good 
 deal had been said to engage his prepossessions in my favour ; 
 so perhaps he means to patronize me. I shall be glad if he 
 does, simply that I may do something to put the poor Abbate* 
 in his proper place. The fact is, that Bouverie's myrmidons 
 have actually had him sent to Coventry by the Palace, for 
 being my friend. The Maltese officials were always jealous 
 of him for being mentally their immense superior ; and with 
 
 to back them, they got Bouverie to slight him. You 
 
 know the Abbate took my part strenuously at the time of the 
 
 row about the Secretaryship; and ■ never, of course, 
 
 could forget that : so ever since, when the dignitaries are 
 invited to dine at the Palace, the ecclesiastical as well as 
 the rest, the Dean has always been left out. At Ponsonby's 
 table he was a frequent, familiar, and honoured guest, and 
 often asked to meet remarkable strangers. At all events, I 
 shall be able to talk to Mr. Stuart about him, and that may 
 do him some good. -x- •» -jf ^ * 
 
 To me, later in the month : — 
 
 I have been thinking of you more than commonh'^ of late, 
 because I have been working for you. Don't you remember 
 our many visits to Wittel Hassel,'' and our sketching there? 
 You know I began, and carried rather far, all on the spot, a 
 
 II Decano Bellanti. '' Jn St. I'aul'H Bay.
 
 SKETCHES IN MALTA. 267 
 
 (IniAving of the chapel under tlie rock. It remained till the 
 other day in my portfolio just as I left it some eight years 
 ago, at least ; but I took it into my head that I could make 
 something of it, and so I tried, and I find it will make really 
 not an ugly drawing, and a good deal of it is not badly done, 
 and it looks very natural, and is exactly like the place; and 
 so I thought I should like you to have it, for old recollec- 
 tions' sake. The old Abbate went with us more than once, 
 and he made a sketch there of our Angel Fanny as she sat 
 under the rock; and I will give you that sketch too, my 
 darling. ^ * * 1 have made a very pretty 
 
 little drawing of some more Boschetto trees : it was one that 
 I began many years ago, and put some colour upon it on the 
 spot one day that I went there with Mr. Allen, an officer of 
 Engineers, who was here for a short time, and drew well. 
 Some of his drawings have since been published ; but he has 
 been dead some years. The trees are the first one comes to 
 in going out of the gate of the Boschetto garden down the 
 valley. I have put a parcel of goats into the foreground, and 
 altogether it has turned out well for me ; only you know I 
 think almost every drawing I do bad as soon as I have 
 finished it. The palm-trees I did for Lizzy are an exception ; 
 I don't think that bad, nor do I the view from our Slieina 
 gallery that I sent you, nor one or two in Mamma's album, 
 — one especially, looking from near the head of our creek 
 towards Burmola market. * ■k- * * 
 
 We arc not apt, you know, to stagnate in our stillness ; but 
 it has been ruffled lately by unusualities ; for Mamma and I 
 have actually been dining out two days running ; first Mith 
 Sir Lucius Curtis, and then with the Governor. 
 
 Speaking to Bob of the Governor and his family, whom he 
 liked much, he says : — 
 
 They have found out that I am learned in plants, and have 
 asked me for help. They brought me an Asphodel to name
 
 268 LIFE OF K. C. SCONCE. 
 
 for them ; and the Governor asked me what the tree is that 
 grows commonly here, and looks like Persian lilac.*^ I told 
 him it was called Melia, and, therefore, ought to be Homer's 
 /ifXtrj \a\Ko[iap£ia. •» * * -jf * 
 
 The lessons morning and evening interfere with my reading 
 and writing, and I can do nothing while they are going on but 
 draw ; and a great comfort it is to do that ; for while the little 
 things are hammering at their small Latin, I can wait for them 
 much more patiently while, at least, ray own fingers are em- 
 ployed, than if I were doing absolutely nothing. I suppose 
 you can fancy that it is rather a formidable effort for me to 
 be still, at this time of day, dealing with bonus and amo. 
 
 I have refreshed myself, in the short leisure of the last 
 three evenings, with reading through, once more, Tacitus's 
 " Agricola," and the bits of the History and Annals relating 
 to the Jews and Christians. Is there not in Tacitus an evidence 
 that the Gospel of St. Luke circulated in his day ? Just look 
 (Hist. v. 5) : " Nee quidquam prius imbuuntur (Judsei) quani 
 contemnere dcos (heathen gods), exuere patriam ; parentes, 
 liberos, fratres, vilia habere." Compare this with Luke xiv. 
 26 ; and all this, in its right sense, is strictly true. I turned 
 to the place in consequence of a reference to it in Jeremy 
 Taylor ; but I can't put my hand upon the passage in which 
 the reference is contained. 
 
 By the bye, dear Bob, have you read his chapter on Mor- 
 tification in the Life of Christ ? He does not advise us to 
 punish ourselves. It is a difficult subject. If by inflicting 
 upon ourselves voluntary vengeance, we could in any measure 
 avert that of the Almighty, our Church would surely tell us 
 so. But we are in His hands a^id not in our own. Do you 
 remember the Capuchins at Gozo showing us the iron scourge 
 with which they told us they flogged themselves ? I am 
 quite sure that, if they did, they were none the better for it. 
 At all events, these ai-e not subjects to be dealt with in the 
 earlier stages of a Christian course, nor without the sanction 
 
 *" Commonly called in Malta, Maltese lilac.
 
 EFFORTS OF THE JESUITS. 201) 
 
 of deeper feeling than that of the poor Capuchins, men who, at 
 Lisbon, frequented the Lupinaria, and were met there in the 
 full dress of their order by the Revenge's midshipmen. As 
 for our Capuchins and other Frati and Padri, they are mostly 
 of the very lowest class of ignorant Maltese ; but the Car- 
 melites are said to enjoy, more than any of them, the favours 
 
 of the fair. Do you remember , the Italian master? 
 
 He has a very handsome wife. Both are as good for nothing 
 as they well can be. They seem to have had a mutual under- 
 standing, and pursued their irregularities by mutual conniv- 
 ance, till they quarrelled, and she brought him into court 
 for an infidelity ; and he defended himself by pleading her 
 intimacy with the Reverend the Rector of the University, 
 
 and the Reverend Superior of the Jesuits, Padre . The 
 
 Jesuits have for some time been trying to re-establish a 
 footing here, and they will succeed. They have volunteered 
 to take charge of the University, and to give the Maltese a 
 good education for nothing. They offer to bring a dozen or 
 more of professors, — of Italian from Italy, French from France, 
 Grecians, Latinists, mathematicians, medical, theological, 
 legal doctors. They would do it with all their hearts. They 
 are the Pope's zealous myrmidons, and here is a fine field for 
 them. Hitherto the Government has been able to fight 
 them off, for one of tliem (a singularly clever man) has been 
 preaching politics and something like sedition. That the 
 Romanist Governments have sanctioned the revival of their 
 order is not surprising ; because, mischievous as they were in 
 other respects, they were without doubt the ablest of the Pope's 
 supporters; and, in the present state of the world, they are 
 naturally considered, upon the whole, desirable allies ; but 
 their intriguing and dishonest spirit is precisely what it was 
 in their palmy days. That they should always be a formidable 
 body while they exist at all, is inevitable ; for every man of 
 them is a picked man. They picked out a dozen of the 
 cleverest boys they could find here, and sent them to the 
 Jesuits' college at Rome. Out of those twelve there may be 
 one of a character that suits them, and then that one they will
 
 270 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 make a Jesuit, and will train him with unceasing care. So 
 it is at Fribourg, where they have a great college for general 
 education, — they keep for themselves all the i^ery best. 
 
 To me, in February : — 
 
 Mamma and I had a great treat last night. We heard 
 a lecture by Dr. Keith, the author of the " Evidence of Pro- 
 })hccy." He was here for eight- and-forty hours only, on his 
 way to Jerusalem. It is the second voyage to Jerusalem he 
 has made in the last five years. I don't know whether you 
 have read his book. It is a very beautiful one. His lecture 
 last nigbt (at the Presbyterian chapel in Valetta, for he is of 
 the Scotch Church), was to show, by reference to the Pro- 
 phets, that the " set time " for the restoration of the Jews 
 is come. Just look at the places I am going to note: 
 Psalm cii. 13, and several following; Isaiah vi. 7, to the end; 
 Ezekiel xxxvii. 11, to the end; Daniel xii. 1 to 4. The psalm 
 says, '' Thou shalt arise and have mercy upon Zion, for the 
 time to favour hei', yea, the set time, is come ; for thy ser- 
 vants take pleasure iu her stones, and favour the dust 
 thereof." 
 
 True it is that the minds of men have been turned of late 
 to Jerusalem in a striking degree. The presence of a Chris- 
 tian bishop there is a remarkable proof of this. Isaiah says : 
 " Until the cities be wasted, Mdthout inhabitant, and the 
 houses without man, and the land be utterly desolate, and 
 the Lord hath removed men far away, and there be a great 
 forsaking iu the midst of the land ; and yet in it shall be a 
 tenth," &c. Now it is only of late years that there have 
 been utterly uninhabited cities in Syria and Palestine, and 
 there arc now many cities literally without a man in them. 
 The houses not, like those of Pompeii, mere walls, but 
 with roofs and doors. Again, six years ago. Dr. Bowring was 
 sent by Government to examine the state of the country, 
 with a view to the affairs of trade, and he said in his report :
 
 CONDITION OF PALESTINE. 271 
 
 " The land does not now produce more than a tenth of what 
 it is capable of producing ;" — and when he wrote that, he 
 knew nothing of Isaiah, and didn't care to know. The 
 " substance " is in the land, for it produces brambles so thick 
 that there is not room to plant a foot ; and where a moun- 
 tain-torrent has ploughed the surface, deep rich mould is 
 disclosed. 
 
 But again, about the desolate cities. A traveller just 
 returned from Jerusalem says he wanted to go and visit a 
 city, the name of which I don't think Dr. Keith mentioned, 
 and some Arabs he wished to employ as guides said, "No; 
 we have just been driven out ; there is »o^ a man left there, 
 and we cannot return." It seems as if the country, no longer 
 protected and governed by Mehemet All's strong hand, was 
 desolated by the quarrels of various Arab tribes, the stronger 
 expelling the feebler, and yet the stronger too few in numbers 
 to fill their places. 
 
 Daniel says : " Many shall run to and fro, and knowledge 
 shall be increased." Did men ever run to and fro as they do 
 now, in steamers and on railroads; and when did knowledge 
 increase as it is increasing now ? Ezekiel speaks of the " dry 
 bones shaking." There is a great shaking among the Jews. 
 They are stirred up everywhere. All, Dr. Keith says, have 
 ceased to couple the Talmud with the Bible. All the Jews 
 of one synagogue (I think he said at Frankfort) had agreed 
 to let their children be brought up Christians. The mission- 
 aries of the Scotch Church have lately converted thirty, 
 whereas so little impression has been made upon them till 
 very lately, that when I was at Rome eighteen years ago, in 
 the holy week, when the baptizing of the converted Jews is 
 publicly performed, it was said they had of late been so 
 unsuccessful, that, by way of going through the ceremony, one 
 single Jew was baptized for the third time. Most likely the 
 story was not true; but at all events it showed that Jewish 
 converts were not common. 
 
 Voltaire (like Volney) bears his testimony to tlic truth of 
 prophecy ; for he calls Palestine a barren country, and says
 
 272 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 the Israelites only fancied it a goodly land because they had 
 been forty years in a desert. So it has been deemed of late 
 years a barren country : it has been barren because there 
 has been a temporary curse upon it ; but its substance is still 
 there beneath the surface^ and again it will yield corn and 
 wine and oil tenfold what it is yielding now. 
 
 Can^t you fancy^ my darling, from this poor little sketch, 
 how interesting such a subject would be, handled by a man 
 who has made it the study of his life, and who is full of talent 
 and energy and eloquence. One drawback there was, and 
 that was that he spoke such broad Scotch that one could 
 only understand him by dint of painful attention. 
 
 At the beginning of this letter my Father, speaking of his 
 application for the Greenwich appointment, which was backed 
 by several warm friends in England, says : — 
 
 I never feel the slightest anxiety about this or any other 
 such speculation. There is a good Providence that overrules 
 our affairs far better than we could govern them for ourselves. 
 As for myself personally, I am too old '' to have any ardent 
 wishes about the whereabouts or condition of my few remain- 
 ing days ; and whether it would be best for my little ones 
 that I should be in England I can't know. The cold 
 there might agree with me less than the heat here. 
 ■Jf -Sf ^ * -Jt * 
 
 Before closing this letter he had received his answer, and 
 simply says at the end of it : — 
 
 A letter from Captain Hamilton is just come to tell me that 
 I shall not have the place at Greenwich. 4, Sir II. Peel has 
 given it to somebody else. * * ^ * ^ 
 
 '' lie was (inly fifty-six.
 
 FEELINGS UNDER BEREAVEMENT. 273 
 
 To Bob, later in the month : — 
 
 There is now only one place a vacancy in which would 
 probably remove mc to Eiiglaud, and that is Mr. Meck's ; but 
 there is now no talk of his leaving it (there was a year or two 
 ago) ; and he may keep it, and most likely will, till I am no 
 longer fit for work. The truth is, I feel as if there were not 
 much work left in me. I am not as strong as I was in body, 
 but the change of which I am most conscious is in the failure 
 of my spirits. They are no longer elastic, and would not 
 carry me through long labours as they used to do. Writing 
 all day would make my head ache, and the responsibilities of 
 an arduous office would shake my nerves. I had felt for some 
 time these effects of old age creeping over me, and you can 
 imagine, dearest Boy, how much they were aggravated by the 
 bitter suffering of last autumn. 
 
 I do, I am sure, rejoice that my beloved Fanny, my 
 unspeakably beloved child, is removed from a world of suffer- 
 ing. The way we have yet to tread she has most happily 
 passed through. If her life had been prolonged to its full term, 
 it would have been full of severe trials/ all of which she has 
 been mercifully spared ; and I bless God^s holy name that she 
 has departed this life in His faith and fear. But it is His 
 gracious intention that bereavements should wean us from 
 the world ; and it is good for me that I should not take the 
 interest I used to feel in the present scene. I trust His good- 
 ness will enable me to feel a livelier interest in heavenly 
 things, and then I may hope to shake off some of the heavi- 
 ness of heart which now oppresses me. 
 
 I have felt very much for you, my dear Boy, and for my 
 poor Sally ; for I know what your grief will be when you 
 receive the sad letters I wi'ote from Haslar. * ^ ^ 
 
 To me, same date : — 
 
 How grievous our separation is when we most want each 
 other ! I want, more than I can express, the comfort you 
 
 • What a bitter trial to lier would bave been liis own sufferings and death, 
 VOL. II. T
 
 274 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 could give me, and I could do you good too iu your grief. 
 You aud I have real sympathy with each other in such a 
 bereavement. I know what you and our angel Fanny were 
 to each other, and remember all that she was to me. 
 Blessings, all blessings be upon her memory, for her sweet- 
 ness was indeed inexpressible. 
 
 It is very melancholy and very mournful to think of the 
 loss of so much love — lost to us in this world ; and it makes 
 the natural weight of increasing years more heavy to me. 
 But yet I am content to bear the burden, for my darling is 
 now exempt from all burdens, and cares, and pains; and 
 angels love her, and she knows, perhaps, how we love her, 
 and pray to be reunited with her ; and if she is allowed to 
 pray, how surely we know that she is praying for us to the 
 merciful Saviour who heard her dying prayer, that He would 
 receive her into the arms of His mercy ! Oh that He may, 
 in His great goodness, succour us in our last trial as He did 
 her. * * * -jf ^ * 
 
 Every now and then I will contrive to do something in this 
 way' for you, my precious ; but I am tired of drawing, and 
 tired of most of the pursuits in which I once took an eager 
 interest. You know some variety of employment one must 
 have, and I will resort to that occasionally. The main busi- 
 ness of my short remaining life ought to be a preparation for 
 its close; and I pray God it may be. -My relaxation lately 
 has been reading Tacitus's Annals, — about the hardest Latin 
 there is; but as I am rather intimate with him, he amuses me 
 for an hour or two in the evening, in spite of his crampness. 
 * ^ * * * -jf 
 
 In April he writes to Robert : — 
 
 The packet that came on the 13th ])rought mc no less than 
 jive very precious letters from you: No. 47, of the 6th of 
 August, and .50, 51, 53, and 53, of the 4th, 13th, IGth, aud 
 
 ' i'l-awin''.
 
 AFFECTION FOR II IS SON. 275 
 
 27th of October. Here is an account that displays pi'iiud 
 facie your care for your old far-distant Father, such as he may 
 well thank you for with all his heart ; and trust me, dearest 
 Bob, it is not lost upon me. 
 
 Nothing can be more to my mind than buch letters as these. 
 The one great consolation that we can afford each other is 
 love ; and as far as that goes, it is very certain that you and 
 I will never be wanting to each other. Thank you, dearest 
 Boy, for going back to my old letters to pick out affectionate 
 bits. You n6t!tl not ask me if you are not more worth loving 
 now than you were when you rode upon my shoulders. It is 
 quite true that I was wrapt up in you then; but it is equally 
 true that if I had been- asked then whether I should be con- 
 tent to have you grow up just what you are, I should have 
 thought it the realizing of my best hopes. Be sure, dear 
 Son, that I am thoroughly satisfied with you, and don't want 
 you to be anything but what you are. I never did for a 
 moment doubt that your heart was all right ; and you may 
 be sure I give you credit for as much goodness and cleverness 
 as your good brother-clergymen in Australia can, while I 
 love you a million times more than they possibly can. 
 
 Very, very sorry I am to have given you pain by writing as 
 I did in my terror ; but though you did make me think you 
 were actually turning Papist, and so I naturally made a des- 
 perate effort to stop you, yet it was for you that I felt. I 
 fancied you bringing upon yourself frightful misery ; and it 
 M'as better to wake you by pinching and pricking you, than 
 to let you tumble into an abyss. This reminds me of one of 
 our long-ago adventures, — when we slid over the head of our 
 prostrate horse at the Scsean gate. The moment I reached 
 the ground, I pitched you a yard or two forward, aud you fell 
 on your nose, and then fell a-scolding me : " The horse didn't 
 hurt me, but you did ; and you did it on purpose." I was 
 afraid the horse might trample upon you in getting up, and 
 so made haste to get you out of his way. Just so this last 
 time : I thought you were in great danger, and I was myself 
 in very great alarm for you ; and what I wrote was under the 
 
 T 3
 
 276 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 infiueuce of that alarm. If I had loved you less, I should 
 have been less vehement ; but the thorough scolding you say 
 I gave you, is uo more sign of abated affection than that 
 pitch upon your nose was at the Seaman gate. And mind, 
 dear Bob, if the time were to come over again, I do verily 
 think nothing better could happen to you than did happen, 
 in your having fallen under Mr. Newman's guidance. 
 
 It is certain that he and his associates have done you 
 infinite good, have made you a devoted Christian, and all 
 that a good clergyman ought to be. You kirow I see many 
 young clergymen ; but I see none, whether old or young, 
 who are in earnest as you are. You know I always did give 
 Mr. Newman credit (I use his name" because he has been so 
 much more talked of than any of the good men who pre- 
 ceded or have wrought in concert with him, that his name 
 may well stand for all) for effecting a mighty reformation, 
 and I may well be grateful to him for what he has done for 
 you individually ; but while I feel this, you must not think 
 me bound to follow him in his dreamy wanderings, nor think 
 me unkind for warning you if I see him leading you into 
 danger. I believe there is now something very like craziness 
 in his brain. 
 
 Of his pious intentions I am not at liberty to doubt. All 
 the world, all who can exercise any sort of candour in judging 
 of such things, agree that honest conviction has guided all his 
 writings ; but yet, I am equally convinced that he has im- 
 bibed unconsciously the spirit of a thorough Jesuit, It speaks 
 in No. 90 — it had spoken in a tract a little earlier, I think 
 89 ; but it has declared itself undeniably in his last sermons, 
 if the extracts 1 saw be faithful ; and 1 can hardly fancy how 
 anythin;^ that preceded or followed such a sentence as I sent 
 you, speaking of tlic " present power and influence of the 
 Mother of God,^' can have so affected those words as to un- 
 Komanize them. When you promised me you would not go 
 to Home, even if he did, you gave me very great comfort ; 
 for there in heart and soul ho is. The adopting of all his 
 opinions, /(f«Y/re in verba sua, would now be hard for you, if
 
 Mil. Newman's languagi;. 27 7 
 
 it be truo (as I take for granted it is) that he lias recanted 
 what he wrote in " Romanism." It was natural that you 
 should revere and follow almost blindfold, in your earlier 
 steps, your able and pious teachers ; but you will not respect 
 yourself if you continue, at your age of six-and-twenty, to 
 give up your mind like a piece of " pasta in mano sua," to 
 be moulded at his or their will. This was the old Abbate^s 
 phrase, you know, applied to Mamma, who was, of course, in 
 a great rage at the notion. He said she was buona, buona ; 
 pasta in mano vosti'a ; and yet, poor thing, she thinks she 
 has had her own way all her life long. So you think too, 
 dear Lizzy, don't you ? But Bob has equally cheated you ; 
 for, whether you know it or not, you have heen paata. 
 
 Do let me answer categorically a question you ask me — 
 " Did you ever think I had a violent or sour temper ? " No, 
 no, dearest Boy. It has always been a great happiness to me 
 to know, and every one that knows you has always observed, 
 that you had always a most sweet temper ; but once let 
 a certain measure of fanaticism possess the most amiable 
 man's mind, and see whether on that one subject of his mad- 
 ness he will not speak and write sourly and violently. Partv 
 spirit enters into all theologians, and no polemical bitterness 
 equals theirs. Consciously or unconsciously they hate their 
 opponents, and express their hate. Newman expressed hatred 
 of the Pope while he felt it, and when he warned us to 
 beware of him (of his Church) as lyinr/ in ivait to do us a 
 mischief if he could. The Abbate's observation when he read 
 these passages, was, that Mr. Newman had brought shame 
 upon himself by discarding the decencies of language, within 
 which, by common consent, disputation was carried on in 
 these more civilized days. 
 
 The style of your sermons is precisely right, for it is clear, 
 forcible, and natural. Young gentlemen are apt to betray 
 their youth by trying to write fine. * ^ ^f 
 
 You clergymen have immense advantage in being able to 
 avail yourselves of scriptural language. What a glorious 
 book our English, version of the Bible is ! The more familiar
 
 278 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 with it you grow, the better, with your taste, you will write 
 your sermons. I dare say you have observed, that a sermon 
 always tells better for being composed expressly for the day, 
 and treating of the day's service, and touching, if need be, 
 upon circumstances of the moment. This gives a sure sign 
 of earnestness in the preacher, and bespeaks unfailingly the 
 attention of his hearers. * -sf * -st 
 
 To Robert, later in April : — 
 
 I have very great hopes that several good men in the 
 Church, whom you have often spoken of as authorities, — I 
 mean Gresley, Palmer the wise, and Paget, — are taking a 
 lead which will be followed by a multitude of the very best 
 among the clergy and laity, and will tend to secure for us all 
 that is good in the Oxford " movement," and save us from its 
 frightful dangers. You will, of course, soon see Gresley's 
 '^Anglo-Catholicism.'' I have just read a notice of it in the 
 '' Church Intelligencer," the writer of which notice seems to 
 think on such subjects precisely as I do, — in short, as Mr. 
 Gresley does, and as I heartily hope you will ; for it is not 
 possible for your eyes to remain shut to the plain fact that 
 the school of which Mr. Newman is the first and foremost, is 
 a " Romanizing school." " Mr. Gresley (says the " Church 
 Intelligencer") has spoken out very plainly what he thinks 
 of the conduct of those who seem determined to go as far 
 beyond the Church towards Popish dissent, as others have 
 gone below the Church towards Protestant dissent." There 
 is, happily, " n. numerous body of sound, Catholic, devoted, 
 and zealous men who are, in truth, the salt, and will ulti- 
 mately prove to be, under the blessing of Heaven, the 
 stability and salvation of the Church of God in England ; " 
 and that you are one of that body I feel sure, from all your 
 warm expressions lately of attachment to this our Church. 
 
 Speaking of that numerous body of worthy men, Mr. 
 Gresley says, " They have but one course to pursTic ; that 
 is, to declare their unabated attachment to their Mother
 
 TRACTARIANISM. 279 
 
 Church, to ding more closely to her than ever, and appeal 
 to the good sense of those who seek after the truth, that the 
 excesses of a few are not to be laid to the charge of those 
 who never, in thought, word, or deed, have swerved from 
 their allegiance/' I am glad to see that Mr. Gresley thinks 
 the perpetrators of these excesses are but few in number ; for 
 sureh'^ none of them could truly declare their unabated attach- 
 ment to their Mother Church. Mr. Newman could not; for 
 though he might (or might not), yet if he did, he would 
 deceive himself. He may (or may not) have some feeling 
 that will still keep him among us ; he may think it necessary 
 to remain where he is, but his attachment is not that of 
 affection ; and so of all who commit the excesses he has 
 committed. 
 
 Some, of course, go beyond him. Mr. S. M , for 
 
 example, the member for Bucks, has given in his adherence 
 to the Pope ; a Christ-Church man, and, of course, a Tracta- 
 rian disciple. But what a horrible calamity are these deser- 
 tions ! A county member marching over from our ranks to 
 those of the Papists, carries with him a mighty influence for 
 good to our adversaries and evil to us. His children, the 
 heirs of his estates, will be Papists ; their money will be 
 spent in perverting the poor of their neighbourhood, and 
 will be withdrawn from the schools they have heretofore 
 helped to support, and from all the good channels in which 
 
 it has flowed. This Mr. had a companion at Rome, 
 
 who has also, it is said, turned Papist. 
 
 Mr. Gresley says, " He has never believed, and never will 
 believe, that any of the writers of the ' Tracts for the Times ' 
 will separate themselves from their Mother Church ; " but his 
 mere saying it implies a doubt. He won't believe it, though 
 he doubts and fears. But is it not of Newman and Pusey, 
 among others, that he speaks, when he alludes to the conduct 
 of some of those who have been amongst the most prominent 
 advocates of the "movement," and of whom he says, "It is 
 a sad example of human infirmity that men, whose learning, 
 ability, and piety seemed to mark tliem out as amongst the
 
 280 LIFE or R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 chief instruments of Divine Providence to restore their 
 Church to its integrity, should have been carried away 
 from their high object by the very eagerness of their zeal, 
 until at length they have dared to despise the mother who 
 has nurtured them. For a while charity forbade that we 
 should believe the possibility of such a change. * * * 
 Their friends were unwilling to admit the possibility that 
 those who had once appeared the Churches most devoted 
 champions were really tainted with disloyalty. And now that 
 the fact is too notorious to be questioned (so mind, dear Bob, 
 and don't you question it), when the noblest minds have been 
 beguiled and led on, step by step, until a shipwreck of faith 
 seems impending, a sorrowful alarm is caused in the ranks of 
 those who once marched together as allies. The mischief 
 done to the cause of the Church by such excesses is incal- 
 culable." Most heartily do I hope, dear Son, that all this 
 will appear to you as it does to me, — that these good men are 
 bent upon restoring to us the Church of the Prayer Book, and 
 that we can only do right by co-operating with them. If we 
 want other doctrine than that which is honestly to be gathered 
 from the Prayer Book, we must go to Home for it ; for few of 
 us can long be blind enough not to see that no honest in- 
 terpretation of the Prayer Book can give us the doctrines 
 Mr. Newman professes to find there. 
 
 To me : — 
 
 Good Lady Gore wrote to Sir R. Peel and Lord Had- 
 dington and Sir G. Cockburn, to make interest for the 
 Greenwich appointment for me, and she has sent mc Sir G. 
 Cockburn's answer. " You cannot be more anxious to 
 serve Mr. Sconce than I am, nor can you have a higher 
 opinion of his abilities ; but I cannot hold out to you any 
 favourable prospect of his obtaining the vacancy in Green- 
 wich to which you allude. '' x- * -x- ¥r
 
 LOSS OF SPIHITS. 281 
 
 Some letters of mine had miscarried^ and my Father was 
 anxious about me. He says : — 
 
 You said, wlicn you were a little scrap, you would ^ive a 
 guinea for a letter from Papa, and how gladly would I so 
 part now with one of my guineas. How I love to remember 
 these little sugarplum-sayings ! And now I may soon receive 
 from you answers to my first letters from England — letters 
 which wrung your poor heart in telling you of the grievous 
 illness of our darling, and of the too sure termination of that 
 illness. I think continually of the grief you are suffering, 
 and feel it still more than my own. My course is nearer to 
 its close. If, by God's great mercy, I may join my dear one 
 in Heaven, and live with her for ever, it signifies very little 
 what measure of suffering may fill the short intervening 
 space. I have not the spring either of body or spirit that I 
 had even until very lately ; but it is much bctte?' so. It is 
 sad, very sad, my chick, that you and I should be separated, 
 when we so need each other's sympathy. You know how 
 that blessed angel was twined about my heart, and well I 
 know how precious she was to yours. 
 
 * * * ^ ^ ^ 
 
 In the next letter : — 
 
 I have nothing whatever the matter with my health, and 
 feel the approach of old age no otherwise than iu its taking 
 away my elasticity both of limbs and spirits. I can't interest 
 myself in the pursuits in which I used to delight ; but you 
 know, my darling, it is better so, for it would be a sad thing 
 if we were never to be weaned from this world till we were 
 suddenly called out of it. Yet, I work with my children, 
 and occupy myself a little with drawing, and find some 
 amusement in books : for instance, I have just read all the 
 works of Tacitus clean through, an hour or two at a time in 
 the evenings. I like old books better than (most) new ; and 
 besides that, you know, I may help the young ones still with
 
 282 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 their Latin and Greek ; and to do that effectually, I must 
 keep my acquaintance fresh with the good old gentleman. 
 
 7P W "Sf TT TT vP 
 
 To Rohert, in May : — 
 
 I have just read a book called '' Kings of the East," show- 
 ing, that in the great battle before the world^s end, England 
 is to be the Church's champion. There are certainly many 
 striking facts brought forward; but then, they are sadly 
 mixed up with trash. There is small profit in reading a book 
 of that sort, unless the author be content to go no more than 
 reasonable lengths, and the misfortune is, that all such books 
 attempt a great deal too much. From half a dozen words of 
 Scripture are spun out as many chapters of exposition, all 
 made, of course, to consist with some notion the writer has 
 taken up, and of which he is determined to make the most. 
 4f * * * * * 
 
 To me, in May : — 
 
 I have an interesting word or two to tell you from my 
 friend Lord Nugent, who Avas our fellow passenger from 
 Marseilles. He has since been to Palestine and Egypt, and 
 came to see me, to give me an account of his adventures. 
 Here is something that will please you. He was passing 
 with his Arab guide through one of the gates of Hebron. 
 They were walking in the middle of the road, approaching 
 the gate, and the gate was like that opening upon the Street 
 of Tombs at Pompeii — in short, like that of Porta Reale or 
 Porta Marina, a big gate in the middle, and a little one for 
 foot-passengers on each side. Just as they were coming to 
 the middle gate, through which they were going to walk, a 
 drove of camels approached, meeting them ; upon which the 
 guide called out in Arabic, " Let us go through the Needle's 
 Eye !" The gates of Eastern towns arc c'ommonly so made ; 
 the big gate in the centre is for ramcls, for there are few 
 carriages of any sort in use there, and the side gates are
 
 CAIRO MAGICIANS. 283 
 
 commonly called, and, uo donhtj were called two thousand 
 years ago, 7ieedfes' eyes ! Among the guesses at the origin 
 of the scriptural expression, some interpreters say, you know, 
 that there was a gate at Jerusalem called the Needle's Eye. 
 But how much more satisfactory a solution we have now : it 
 was not a particular gate so called, but the general name of 
 the side gates, to distinguish them from the camels' gate. 
 For a camel to pass through a needle's eye would be a clear 
 impossibility ; but a rich man may enter into the kingdom of 
 heaven, just as a camel might possibly, by getting rid of its 
 load, squeeze through the lesser gate. 
 
 You have heard a great deal of the Cairo magicians, and 
 have been bewildered by the wonders they enacted, as I have 
 been. They claimed, of course. Lord Nugent's curiosity, and 
 I am glad to find one can escape from the conclusion that 
 they are workers of real devilry. Very keen observers, such 
 as Captain Martin and Sir William Eden, Captain Ranier 
 and Mr. Lane, have been all but dismayed by them. These 
 conjurers certainly did, in many cases, describe absent people 
 they had never seen with most minute accuracy. How did 
 they do that ? By mere collusion. Lord Nugent thinks, and 
 Mr. Lane now thinks too, with persons who had seen them. 
 Mr. Lane is at Cairo still, and has been there many years. 
 Ke and Lord Nugent took their measures well for guarding 
 against any collusion, and went with only one other English 
 friend to see one of these Magi. They called for five or six 
 remarkable people, and the man failed in every instance so 
 totally that he never made one guess approaching the truth. 
 Among others, he described Mr. Muntz with a chin like a 
 lady, and this jNIr. Muntz, a Member of Parliament, is re- 
 markable for wearing a beard like a Capuchin's. They then 
 asked for a man distinguished by enormous size, a prodigious 
 mass of fat, and the conjurer described him as neither fat noi 
 thin, and sitting with one ankle resting on the other kuee, 
 a position in which / could sit (when I have no lumbago) 
 easily enough, but one as perfectly impossible for the fat 
 gentleman in question as any of the queer postures of the
 
 284 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Chinese jugglers. When fhey told the man of his failures, 
 he said, " Ask me for somebody that has lost an eye or a leg, 
 and see if I don't tell you right." This was, of course, 
 affording himself a chance of a good guess, and they told 
 him so, bnt asked for Sir Henry Hardinge. The man 
 naturally imagined he might have lost a leg or an eye, but 
 which he could not venture to guess ; so when they asked 
 him if he saw both his eyes, he said no, for his face was in 
 profile. Tiien, if he saw his feet. No, for they were partly 
 concealed by a cloak or dressing-gown that he had on. What 
 coloured gloves had he ? White. Do you see both ? Yes ; 
 for he has his arms crossed. Well, it so happens, that Sir 
 H. Hardinge has lost a hand, and wears no sham hand, but 
 his coat-sleeve hangs down with nothing visible beyond it. 
 
 This magician was not Abdel Kader, the great man of all, 
 Avhose reputation is widest spread. So they went next to 
 Abdel Kader, and Jie failed quite as absolutely as the other ; — 
 a total failure in every case. He said it was very remarkable ; 
 but that since the death of Othman Ejfendi his power had 
 sometimes failed him, — he could not account for it. Upon 
 this. Lord Nugent observed Mr. Lane strike his forehead, as 
 if something remarkable had suddenly occurred to him ; and, 
 on their going out, Mr. Lane explained what it was. The 
 conjurer had, undesignedly, given a clue to the detection of 
 the fraud. Othman Effendi was a renegade Scotchman, 
 who had risen to fortune and high place under Mehmet 
 Ali. He was an intelligent man, and useful to English tra- 
 vellers. He was generally of their party when they consulted 
 the conjurer, and Mr. Lane had not the least doubt that he 
 was in league with him. He contrived to get information 
 from the consulting parties, and to give it to the conjurer. 
 Whenever the conjurer did succeed, it was, they now feel 
 sure, by means of collusion with Othman Effendi or some 
 other. Mr. Lane remembers two remarkable cases of the 
 conjurer's success when Othman was present; one was in u 
 most exact description of Burkhardt, who was a personal 
 friend of Olhiuau'.s, and the other of a man who was at the
 
 LUMBAGO. 285 
 
 time ill in bed, and whom the conjurer actually described as 
 being so. Mr. Lane is not quite positive^ but he thinks it 
 most likely that he told Othman that the man was ill; and 
 then, of course, Othman told the magician. Lord Nugent is 
 writing a book, and Mr. Lane has authorized him to say that 
 he agrees with him in the conviction that any success these 
 people have had is only to be attributed to this sort of col- 
 lusion. -Sf ^- * -Jf * * 
 
 Speaking again of his dear lost child : — 
 
 Are we not sure that she has passed from a state of long- 
 painful trial to a rest full of blessedness now, and of still 
 more blessed hope? In this world we shall not look upon 
 her sweet face again. Oh, how- very sweet it was ! But we 
 will rejoice for her sake, and bear bravely our own loss, 
 praying fervently to God that we may be reunited with her 
 in heaven, and with her angel mother, whose image she was 
 in mind and feature, in the soft speaking of her blue eyes, 
 and the tenderness of her heart. My dearest, we must love 
 each other more and more. You are many thousand miles 
 away from me, but yet you are an unspeakably precious trea- 
 sure to me. I cannot see you, but I can always think of 
 you, and pray for you ; and when I am writing to you, it is 
 in some sort like being with you; and when your dear 
 letters come, it is some sort like your coming. 
 
 * ^ ^ -^ -Sf -Jf 
 
 To Robert, same date : — 
 
 I have that vile lumbago again. After nine years since I 
 had the least touch of it, it laid its vile grasp upon me sud- 
 denly the day before yesterday, and how long it may keep its 
 hold one can't guess. I have had it just three times: once 
 for three years incessantlj^ then for a month, then for a 
 year. It is not as sharp this time as before, so I hope it 
 may be less tenacious. I went into the garden quite well. 
 It was a beautiful morning, but there had been some rain
 
 286 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 the day before, and so there may have been some dampness 
 in the air; and, in half an hour came the pain and tight- 
 ening of the nerves about my back as suddenly as a gun-shot. 
 But it is not any violent pain, and the mere inability to move 
 quickly is less inconvenient to me than it would be to most 
 people ; so I shall try to bear it as lightly as it deserves. 
 * * * * ^ * 
 
 To Lizzy : — 
 
 Malta, 29</(. May, 1844. 
 
 My very sweet Child, — The packet has brought me 
 many letters to answer and much work to do in little time, 
 but the very first thing I have to do is to follow the impulse 
 of my heart, and tell you how thoroughly I delight in your 
 dear letter. How I love to see you taking your husband^s 
 part, like a brave, honest, affectionate wife as you are ! 
 
 May you never have harder work to do for him than to 
 convince me that you are right in your estimate of his worth ! 
 I love him all the better, Lizzy, for having made you love him 
 so thoroughly, and of course I am more persuaded than ever 
 that I formed a very wise judgment when I gave my hearty 
 consent to his making love to you, when he ought, in most 
 other people's opinions, to have been reproached with some- 
 thing like insanity. 
 
 Now, dearest Lizzy, I feel quite sure you have had wit 
 enough to discover that there is no little of self-love in the 
 desire men commonly feel for their sons' success at college 
 and elsewhere ; and you know I interested myself so much in 
 Bob's school and college pursuits, that it would have been 
 natural for me to feel more than commonly mortified at his 
 not gaining the honours I expected him to gain ; but yet, so 
 cordially do I agree with you in being quite satisfied with him 
 as he is, that I do not feel, and have not felt, the smallest 
 particle of regret for what he has missed. He could not have 
 been a better man or a happier. I am very sure he would 
 not have been half as happy with a double first as he is ivilh
 
 PAINFUL IMPRESSIONS. 287 
 
 yoii ; nor have done half as much good to himself and others 
 as a college tutor as he is now doing as a parish priest.^ 
 
 I had one selfish feeling in heartily working for him when 
 he was at Tunbridge, and that was the desire to have him 
 come and see me at ]\Ialta ; which he could not have done 
 between school and college if he had not won the exhibition 
 of that year. Nothing could exceed the intensity of my 
 desire for his success in that object, for the sake of the great 
 happiness I knew it would give him as well as me ; but for 
 all the rest I have thought of nothing but his advantage, and 
 have thought of it with the deep interest of very ardent affec- 
 tion. Ay, my dear Lizzy, for though we don't know much 
 of ourselves, I think I can^t be mistaken in thinking that I 
 have a very ardent nature ; and I know how to love as well 
 as you do ; and how I loved Bob lie knows, and so you and he 
 both know how I love him now. 
 
 Very, very sorry, then, I am for having given pain to you 
 and him. I did think, it is very true, that he was growing 
 crazy, and such a thought might well have frightened me out 
 of the little wits I had, and so I may have expressed myself 
 badly ; but yet I well knew his heart was all right, and there- 
 fore it would have been both wicked and stupid to love him 
 less. 
 
 Now, dearest Lizzy, I know you and he are thoroughly 
 one, and so I will say to you, in answering this dear letter of 
 yours, what otherwise I should have preferred saying to him- 
 self. It was not my misunderstanding of his expressions, not 
 my want of skill in extracting their meaning, that gave me 
 the painful impression under which I afterwards wrote. He 
 did seem to me to be going, running, galloping into Popery 
 — and at last in my dismay I talked to the bishop about it, 
 and read him some of Bob^s letters. He exclaimed with the 
 same sort of amazement I had felt myself. I begged him to 
 tell me if there was anything I could say that would be of 
 
 K My brother was at this time removed from Penrith by the bishop, to St. 
 Andrew's, then tiie cathedral church of Sydney.
 
 288 LIFE or R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 any use, and he suggested a word or two. I could not bear 
 to write anything to hurt my dear Boy. I showed the bishop 
 what I had written, and he would not let me expunge any- 
 thing. He really did think, as I did, that this my dear Son 
 was likely, even by the next packet, to declare himself a 
 faithful subject of the Pope. I could not help entertaining 
 these horrible fears ; and you see it was not my want of 
 theology that laid me open to them ; for they were confirmed 
 by the cool judgment of a venerable person to whom I applied 
 for comfort and counsel in my deep distress. 
 
 Now then, Lizzy, kiss your husband, and tell him his late 
 letters have set my heart so perfectly at ease again, that I 
 shall certainly never scold him any more, and so you won^t 
 have to scold me any more. And as for love, ask your own 
 dear heart how it feels for Madzy. You wouldn't change 
 her, would you, for the brightest little lady in either hemi- 
 sphere ? Just so am I satisfied with my Bob ; and thoroughly 
 content I am to have him just as he is. I may now and then 
 have opinions differing from those he has, or seems to have, 
 and then neither you nor he would like me not to say what 
 I think about them. I am sure he would much rather I 
 should treat him in this respect, as I always have done, with 
 unreserved frankness. 
 
 It happened only the other day I told him I did not like 
 his signing " A Poor Man " to a letter he published, consider- 
 ing the subject of the letter ; but he knows I am as sure as 
 of my own existence that he is incapable of practising a 
 deception. It occurred to me that there was a sort of decep- 
 tion in it, and you and he will please to love me all the better 
 for saying what I thought about it. 
 
 •5f * * ^ -K- -Jf 
 
 I find I did my dear son an injustice in thinking (from 
 what he said about it) that he had argued unbecomingly with 
 the Bishop. Thoroughly satisfied I am that he did not, and 
 thoroughly sorry for having pained him by saying what I did 
 about it. 
 
 1 wish, dearest Lizzy, I could spend more time with you
 
 INDIFFERENCE TO THE CnURCII. 289 
 
 to-day ; but I luivc done what I could, and I am sure you 
 Avill accept this little letter as an expression of my love for 
 you, and of my earnest wish to set your good heart at rest, 
 and to convince you that I love your husband almost as 
 much, and think of liim almost as highly even as you do. 
 Think of me, dear, as Bob does. I am not a very cross old 
 man. Bless you and your pretty babes. 
 
 To Robert, in June : — 
 
 * * ¥: ^ 1 quite agree with Mamma, who 
 
 exclaimed when I read to her your last sermon, " Upon my 
 word. Bob is a capital writer of sermons ! '^ And she is a 
 capital judge too, Bob. And I should like you to try and 
 make some impression upon your strange legislative coun- 
 cillors. The newspapers you sent me have told me of their 
 doings, and of the total absence of Church influence among 
 them. If they are a fair sample of your people, the Church 
 must be in a lamentable minority. There are, probably, 
 many Irish and Scotch, Romanists and Presbyterians, among 
 you, and among the English an unusual proportion of dis- 
 senters and indifferents ; arising from the cruel neglect of 
 Church and State, in leaving such a population for the best 
 part of a century without churches and clergymen. 
 
 Have you found any of these people open to conviction? 
 Many, like poor Michael Towel,'' left the Church because it 
 was not religious enough for them. He preferred the black 
 drummer to Mr. Le Mesurier, because his preaching was 
 " more effectual like." But there is more life among us now, 
 and there must be some among the hitherto dissatisfied, who 
 begin to think you can teach them at least as well as the 
 drummer can. 
 
 The majority of the dissenters are, I believe, more or less 
 Calvinistic, and with them, of course, you can do nothing. 
 The Calvinistic members of our own Church hate us bitterly 
 
 '' An old warder of the Victualling Yard. 
 VOL, II. U
 
 290 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 euougli. They have been assailing our bishop in the Record, 
 for not opening a crusade here against the Roman Catholics, 
 and on other scores. There have been several letters of that 
 sort (I have seen none of them)^ and their author is a Dr. 
 
 , who spent some time here two or tln^ee years ago ; the 
 
 man, I dare say, I told you of, who came one day, in his great 
 regard for me, to show me the error of my belief in baptismal 
 regeneration. He brought me a book ; and in return I put 
 before him Van Mildert, Taylor, and several more, which I 
 told him I liked better than his. Before that he was a 
 constant visitor at our house ; but because I could not for his 
 pleasure give up my creed, he came again no more, but to bid 
 me a formal good-bye. This is, of course, mere party spirit, 
 and a miserable spirit it is. Are there any theologians free 
 
 from it ? ^s five-year-old son is not, for he saw Charley 
 
 saying his prayers the other night, and told him he would 
 go to the Devil, for not crossing himself as he did. 
 
 •Jf -Sf * * ^ ^ 
 
 No young writer of sermons ever wrote more like an old 
 one than you do. You have always had good taste enough to 
 shun the use oi finery. There is no sentence of your writing 
 that has one particle of the foolish display that so often 
 offends us in the sermons we hear, never of Kitson's, but of 
 the chaplains who occasionally help him ; one of them a very 
 clever young man too, who is rising into renown among us. 
 A writer of essays for his readers' amusement may deal in 
 prettinesses, for which he has leisure ; but if I am earnestly 
 bent upon a point, I must go straight on ; I take what I find 
 at hand to suit me, and nothing far-fetched ; what helps me 
 and my hearers on, and nothing that would set my own 
 thoughts a-waudering and theirs too. In short, nobody can 
 write well who is not in earnest ; but a full heart is always 
 eloquent ; and as you have good taste, and scholarship to boot, 
 you will do great things. 
 
 * * * * ^ It 
 
 A large body of Cambridge young men expressed their
 
 MALTESE JESUITS. 291 
 
 wish for the re-establishment of monasteries, a sentiment in 
 which I thoroughly disagree with them ; but it shows that 
 religious feeling is at work at Cambridge too. Of course, I do 
 dislike opinions tending to work into our Church anything 
 that now belongs to Rome, and does not belong to us. What- 
 ever is truly ours let us cherish, and let us repair where it has 
 fallen into decay ; but let us borrow nothing from the Pope. 
 What monkery tends to is plain enough to people who have 
 lived, as I have, in Portugal, Italy, and Malta. Here and 
 there there is of course a good man among them ; but gene- 
 rally they are the most ignorant and profligate of human 
 beings, the most venal procurers, and unblushing perpetrators 
 of impurity. At all events, monkery is no part of our Church 
 system, and therefore we must do without it as well as we 
 can. 
 
 By the bye. Government here having still set its face 
 against the introduction of a body of Jesuits from abroad, the 
 Pope and the INIaltese have agreed upon a mode of carrying 
 their point at last ; for a couple of dozen young Maltese have 
 been sent to Sicily, to be educated as Jesuits there ; and when 
 they return, full-grown Jesuits, of course they must be received. 
 Some of the best of the Maltese families have sent their sons 
 upon this errand- 
 
 In the next letter, speaking of a young clergyman : — 
 
 He deals in metaphors, alliterations, and prettincsses of all 
 sorts, and talked of a good man becoming a jewel, which at 
 length, by the Almighty's setting, &c. I could not hear the 
 finish of the sentence, for that word setting stunned me. 
 
 * * * ^ ^f * 
 
 Do tell me where you found " church " said to be of Greek 
 origin (I suppose you mean 'Kvpiov oiKog), for Dr. Johnson 
 makes it Saxon, and Archbishop Whately says it is probably 
 no other than " circle," i. e. assembly, ecclesia. I should 
 hardly think it could be Greek, for, if it were, it would pro- 
 
 u 2
 
 292 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 bably have come to us through the French (or Italian pos- 
 sibly), and there is no French word like it ; besides that, the 
 formation of " church " from the words Kvpiov oikoq would 
 not have been at all according to the process by which Greek 
 words are commonly made into English; and besides that, 
 our Saxon ancestors who first used the word church, didn^t 
 know a word of Greek, no not one of them. I have no time 
 for hunting, nor books here that would help me; but the 
 word church is, I have no doubt, older than Petrarch, who 
 brought Greek into Italy, whence it slowly found its way to 
 Eugland. ****•» 
 
 To me, in June : — 
 
 I have always delighted in drawing for you, my chick, for 
 the sake of the intense pleasure you take in what I can do 
 for you, and the pretty praises you bestow on my doings^ 
 da cuore and con amore. 
 
 I have now something else I must do for you one of these 
 days, if I live. I must copy for you a drawing I have made 
 for Mamma, of our rooms : it has turned out very well, Mr. 
 Allingham and Michele say; at all events, it is just like the 
 reality, and when I look at it through my hand, so as to ex- 
 clude the margin, it does not look like a picture, but like the 
 very carpet and bookcases, and chairs and tables. 
 
 ■3f ^ * * * 4f 
 
 Our summer' has begun, and, as usual, has begun to use 
 rae ill. I have been contending for the last four days with 
 ray old complaint, and have not yet subdued it. It is only 
 in a mild form, but yet enougli to weaken me ; for besides 
 the disorder itself, I have a semi-starvation to suffer, living 
 only on macaroni and rice-and-watcr. ■x- -jf * 
 
 I take immense care of myself, and no one can be more 
 temperate or cautious about diet ; but it seems as if no care 
 could ward off these vile disorders. I am not ill this time, 
 
 He was obliged to sjiend Uie Kumnier at the IMarina.
 
 A ROYAL VISIT. 293 
 
 as you may suppose from oui' having entertained a party at 
 dinner yesterday : tliere were Michele and his bride, the 
 Abbate and Luigi, the Portellis, and Mr. Allingham. 
 * -jf * ^ ^ * 
 
 The first stone of the new dock itself is to be hiid 
 to-morrow. It is to be an imposing ceremony. The 
 Governor is to be chief mason. Hanmer ought to be 
 here with his apron ; and Sir L. Curtis has invited 280 
 people to be present, and to breakfast afterwards (at three 
 o'clock) under our colonnade, where a table is laid half 
 the length of the Marina, with canvass and flags spread to 
 keep out the sun, — but they wovbt keep it out ; and you re- 
 member what our Marina is, on the 28th of June, from three 
 to six in the afternoon ; — it is a furnace. 
 
 We have just had a right royal visit. The King and 
 Queen of Naples chose to visit Malta ; and went away yes- 
 terday, after staying two days. His chief attendants were 
 our two Admirals, with whom he must have had a very 
 edifying intercourse, as he doesn't know a word of English, 
 nor either of them a word of Italian or Erench. * * -jf 
 
 The King came alongside my wharf, and I received him at the 
 steps; but finding the Admiral was at the dockyard, he shoved 
 off' again, so I escaped the infliction of his society. What sort 
 of an infliction it was to those who endured it, you may fancy 
 from this, — that he went everywhere — through the streets, 
 over the dockyard, the new works, the forts — under the broil- 
 ing mid-day sun, in a sciroc wind, with his hat in his hand, 
 and making all the twenty people who accompanied him do, 
 equally, all they could to court a coup cle soleil. I have not 
 heard that any are dead yet ; but he must be surprised if all 
 survive it. His own head is double thick, and well covered 
 with hair; but poor Colonel Tylden, the chief engineer, 
 walked by his side, with his poor old purely bald head 
 shining, and reflecting the sun in a blaze like a mirror. Sir 
 E. Owen invited him to a collation on board the flag-ship, 
 and he went to restore accordingly, after all his hot marches ; 
 but, unluckily, the Admiral had not given clear orders to his
 
 294 
 
 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 servants, or Lis servants made a blunder ; but so it did happen 
 that, hungry and thirsty as his Majesty might well be, there 
 was nothing, absolutely nothing, for him to eat or drink ; and 
 at last tardily produced itself a bottle of wine, said, moreover, 
 to have proved sour. Its ill-fated Majesty had reviewing and 
 cannonading to its hearths content ; but its more vulgar appe- 
 tites were doomed to disappointment, for they say he took the" 
 Governor by surprise at St. Antonio, and found no better prog 
 there than sandwiches and tea, though this Neapolitan Majesty 
 looks as if he could bolt an ox and wash it down with a pipe 
 of wine. 
 
 To Robert, in July : — 
 
 If it were not that Mr. Newman has been heretofore your 
 guide, and that all his opinions have become j^ours, my great 
 dislike of the course he has taken would deter me from 
 reading a word he writes or others write about him ; but, as 
 it is, it is impossible for me to see the progress of Puseyism 
 without thinking of you, and hoping that Uncle Vi has mis- 
 understood your letter, in supposing you a " rank Puseyite." 
 That he should think it " so much the worse" if you were, 
 you would not, perhaps, wonder yourself, if you knew the 
 lengths to which the heads of the party have now gone. 
 * * * * * * 
 
 I told you some time ago of what Mr. Newman had said, 
 to engage us to offer our prayers to the Virgin Mary ; and I 
 have just read a notice of the lives of certain Saints, Mr. 
 Newman being the editor, which Saints are, of course, held 
 up to us that we may worship them too. Saint Stephen 
 the Abbot, Saint Richard the Saxon, Saint Walburga the 
 Abbess, the lady who, rising from pra3'er, full of holy power, 
 bade the elements be still, and the winds and waters heard 
 and obeyed ! If this is part and parcel of Puseyism, do tell 
 Uncle Vi that you are not a rank Puseyite. The most 
 forward advance of the party, or rather of its chiefs, had not 
 gone beyond the 90th tract when you last expressed your
 
 MR. Newman's development. 295 
 
 concurrence with them ; but I have a strong hope (not with- 
 out anxiety) that you will agree with me in dissenting 
 thoroughly from the views of the editor of these lives. He 
 is not at all more a Jesuit in my eyes now than he was when 
 he wrote No. 90 ; but I think, perhaps, he will be in yours. 
 He wore a mask, and wears it no longer. My belief is, that 
 he felt long ago a desire to lead us nearer to Rome than he 
 then indicated. In the conscientious discharge of what he 
 deemed a duty, he concealed the extent of his views, and 
 advanced slowly, that he might not outstrip his followers. 
 My hope is, that there are now not very many as far gone as 
 he is, and that a great body of them, who had already gone 
 too far, are turning back again. You won't wonder at my 
 reading with anxiety on your account these strange writings 
 of Mr. Newman's, after the very strong terms in which you 
 have expressed your attachment to him, and your adherence 
 to all his opinions. You believed that he had never gone 
 from one thing to another, that he had been perfectly con- 
 sistent all along, one writing being only the development of 
 another ; and just so, then, you may consider this panegyric 
 of St. Walburga a development of No. 90, in which he told 
 us the Church of England had no objection to our invoking 
 her. I know you won't invoke her, for in one of your letters 
 you disavowed that particular doctrine ; but when you know 
 that Mr. Newman docs, it will be very hard for you to per- 
 suade yourself that he is wrong. By those of his friends who 
 do not, or do not yet, invoke Saints, it will probably be said 
 that these writings, like 90, are merely intended to deter 
 over-zealous men from turning Papists, by showing them 
 that they have saints enough for patrons and patronesses at 
 home, without going to Home for them ; but if that were the 
 primary motive of No. 90, yet obviously its tendency was to 
 recommend to general adoption the Roman Catholic doctrines 
 it treated of, and Mr. Newman did not at all object to its 
 having that tendency, or he would have said so. You said, 
 that if you were asked to point out the one man in all the 
 world least likely to turn Papist, that man should be Mr.
 
 296 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Newman : you may still be of that opinion^ tlius far, that 
 he is not likely to quit our Church, individually, and join 
 the Roman; though really it is very wonderful that even in 
 that sense you should single him out ; but do you think the 
 Pope can consider even Dr. Wiseman, or the whole body of 
 Jesuits, a more useful ally or better friend than Mr. New- 
 man is? Does he not see that Mr. Newman is serving his 
 cause by remaining where he is a million times better than 
 by simply passing over? He has no wish to leave our 
 Church, but to hand over to the Pope Church and all. 
 
 Feeling all this, dearest Bob, it is natural for me to write 
 it to you. Of what use would be our intercourse, or what 
 comfort could there be in it, if I did not express all my 
 thoughts freely ? But pray don't find in what I have said 
 anything to hurt you. One does not always know, or stop 
 to analyze one's motive for what one says. Mine, I sup- 
 pose, has been mainly to justify my own long ago expressed 
 opinion of Mr. Newman as an unsafe guide, and my agree- 
 ment with uncle Vi in his " tant pis " of Puseyism in its 
 present development. •jf * ■jf •» 
 
 The day before yesterday, the 6th, was my birthday, dearest 
 Bob, and I have now completed fifty-seven years. I pray 
 God to make me deeply grateful for the mercy that has 
 spared me so long, and to teach me the true and full value of 
 every day that His great goodness may yet grant to me ! I 
 am not strong, for I have no flesh upon my bones ; but my 
 limbs are yet active and sound, my constitution still free from 
 any fixed disease, and my senses as fit for use as ever. Yet 
 I am reminded by the setting in of this summer, that 
 danger is always at hand. ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 I would not stay at Malta if I could help it ; but, as long 
 as I can, without running too much risk, I must, for other- 
 wise I could not educate my boys. For their sake I know I 
 must not persevere in bearing this climate too long; for ray 
 life is of more value to them tlian many sterling pounds ; but 
 I must not be in a hurry to resign my post. I should have 
 a much better chance of getting an appointment in England,
 
 FRENCH THREATEN MOROCCO. 297 
 
 by retaining this in the mean time. I must fight with this 
 summer as well as I can here, and think of getting leave 
 of absence for some part of next. * * * 
 
 To me, same date : — 
 
 The quiet of my official life will, I am afraid, be disturbed 
 by the doings of the French and their fighting admiral, the 
 Prince de Joinville. Tlicy have now a quarrel with the 
 Emperor of Morocco, and have sent a fleet to his shores. We, 
 of course, shall quickly have an equal fleet there too, for 
 which I shall have to provide. That our fleet will go and 
 M atch the French is certain enough, for Sir R. Peel said so 
 in the House of Commons ; but does it mean that if the 
 French attack the Empcror^s town, we are to attack them ? 
 It would seem a hard case that a great European war sliould 
 be created for the sake of these Moors; but on the other 
 hand, I suppose we should not choose the French to possess 
 forts close to the Straits of Gibraltar, which might become 
 formidable to us. At all events, ships will come from England 
 and give me, what I don't like, more work, and more anxiety, 
 which I like still less. You understand that I deal in perish- 
 able materials, and that I am answerable for their preserva- 
 tion ; and that when there are large quantities of such things 
 to take care of, there is more danger of their spoiling than 
 when the quantities are but small ; and it is not as if any 
 credit or reward were to be got by one's labour and one's 
 cares, for mine are of too humble a nature for that, and so 
 the best thing I can desire is repose. * * * 
 
 I suppose you have heard something of Joinville's pam- 
 phlet ? What a hellish spirit this young man must have ! 
 He goes to England with Victoria ; the young Queen takes 
 his arm, and shows him her comfortable house, and shares 
 her loaf with him ; and he returns to France, and writes and 
 publishes an argument to show his countrymen how pleasant 
 it would be to cross over, and burn down the said snug and 
 hospitable dwelling. Some time after I came to Malta this 
 amiable young gentleman came here, and was about as l)ig
 
 298 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 as Clement is now. His heart must have made haste to grow 
 hard. ^ ^ ')t ^ ^ ■» 
 
 I must tell you of little Mia's"" courage. She is but a little 
 woman, you know, and I thought her in bravery not more 
 than a match for a mouse ; but she had three teeth drawn 
 without uttering a sound. Mr. Finney, the dentist, said he 
 had never had such a child under his hands. You women 
 are in truth glorious endurers, and I am glad for poor little 
 Mia's own sake that she has so much in her of a most useful 
 virtue. I gave her a dollar for her honorarium, and she 
 valued it far more for the credit's sake than that of the 
 624 caramelle for which she might if she pleased exchange 
 it. The truth is, she will give it all away in sixpences to 
 certain old women who are among our visitors. 
 
 By the bye, do your Australian beggars ever say Thank 
 ye ? You know ours never do. I gave an old boatman 
 double his fare the other day, and remarked to Chico, who 
 stood by, the man's cool thanklessness, and asked him if his 
 countrymen eve?' did say Thank ye ; and he confessed I was 
 quite right, for they never did. I think the last acknow- 
 ledgment I had of that sort was at Gozo fourteen years ago, 
 and I was so struck with the poor man's unusual gratitude 
 that I added sixpence to the original penny. Such appeals 
 are not likely to empty one's purse. All these people, too, 
 who receive our pence and our shillings, feel quite sure we arc 
 going to the Devil, and say so in terms of very cordial acqui- 
 escence. Poor Mademoiselle Villes" has none of these 
 bigotries and hatreds, and talked about us to Rosaria, the 
 half-witted housemaid, and asked her if I must go to the 
 Devil. " Ce Monsieur Sconce, qui est si bon?" " Yes, yes," 
 said the half-witted maid, "Devil, Devil ! " 
 
 Later in July : — 
 
 I have been much better than I have ever been in summer 
 for the last eight or ten years, except out of INIalta ; and I 
 
 ^ Amelia. ' The Frencli govoracbH.
 
 SCHISM IN THE PAPACY. 299 
 
 verily believe this is owing to the loss of our Sliema house. 
 Here is one proof more how little we know of what is good 
 for us. We fancied a summer at the Marina would be the 
 death of some of us, and we find thjit all are as well as if they 
 were at Sliema, and I all the better for not having a daily 
 journey in the sun. * * -jf •jf There are but 
 two things that spoil the sweetness of the air; but the truth 
 is, that when we walk on the terrace in front of our house, 
 the odour of the drains contaminating the stagnant creek is 
 partly insufferable; and into our back windows comes not 
 unfrequently that abominable smell of fried oil in which the 
 Maltese deal so largely. From all such evils, however, we 
 escape for two or three hours every evening in our boat, and 
 I know little about them while I am busied as I am in the 
 daytime, or sound asleep at night. •» * * ^ 
 
 Do you see Reviews, my darling ? There is an article in 
 the June Quarterly, headed " Schism in the Papacy.^^ The 
 article is not quite satisfactory, for it does not enable one to 
 judge of the extent to which the combination has spread ; 
 but that there have been many of the Roman clergy con- 
 cerned in it seems certain. I heard many months ago that 
 it had created a strong feeling at Rome ; and the Pope was 
 certainly alarmed, for he ordered what is called a triduo — a 
 solemn service of three days — to avert the danger that 
 threatened the Church. It had an unexpected effect too ; 
 for the people at Rome did not accurately distinguish be- 
 tween the interests of the Church and those of the State ; 
 and, in the panic the triduo created, made a run upon the 
 bank, and well-nigh broke it. 
 
 But these German papists who want to marry, want three 
 other things : prayers in their vernacular tongue, communion 
 in both kinds, and no compulsory confession. To none of 
 this can the Pope consent ; it follows that they cannot perse- 
 vere without separation; and then away goes from their 
 creed the supremacy of the Pope, and his infallibility. All 
 this would be full of deepest interest if a large body were 
 agreed in the enterprise; but, as it is, I am afraid it cannot
 
 300 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 be large enough to contend with the secular power that will 
 be arbitrarily exerted to put it down. The Austrian Govern- 
 ment, you know, forbids its subjects to change their religion, 
 and so the inhabitants of Zillerthal migrated in a body to 
 Prussia ; but as Austria can't migrate to Prussia, it follows 
 that before Austria can be reformed, the Austrian Govern- 
 ment must be changed, which is not likely to happen in our 
 time. The Jesuits meanwhile are adding more to the Pope's 
 strength than the German malcontents are likely to take 
 from it. The Jesuits, as the professed enemies of our reli- 
 gion, are naturally directing their chief energies to the 
 countries within our rule. India seems to be their main 
 point, and they are doing much more there than we have 
 the means of counteracting. They have not only the advan- 
 tage of absolute union in their own Church, a mighty power 
 wielded by one unfettered will ; but the theological enmity of 
 the Romans well suits the national enmity of the French, 
 and so they are co-operating most heartily with the Pope in 
 trying to make the people of India more his Holiness's 
 subjects than Queen Victoria's. To show how sensible the 
 Pope is of the value of his Jesuit friends, he has actually 
 made Padre Ryllo rector of the Propaganda. This is the 
 man (a Polish Jesuit) who was sent out of this island by the 
 Government for preaching unwholesome politics. A most 
 active and unscrupulous partisan he is. -x- -Jf •Jf 
 
 I paid the Bishop a visit yesterday, and he told me the 
 Maltese newspapers had talked of his audacity in presuming 
 to say grace at Sir Lucius Curtis's dinner, in the presence of 
 Maltese. Sir Lucius had admitted to his table some six or eight 
 Maltese; and that was a reason why the English bishop 
 should not say grace for the two hundred and fifty English 
 who were there assembled. * ^- * They 
 
 really do behave, and we encourage them to behave, as if 
 they were the dominant power, and might grant us just 
 what little measure of toleration they might choose; as if 
 we were bound to respect their religion and they at full 
 liberty to insult ours. -x- * -x- -x-
 
 SILENT GRIEF. 301 
 
 To Robert, 15th Augast, in answer to a letter, after he had 
 received his Father's, announcing Fanny's death : — 
 
 Habitual ill-health had for a long while deprived her of all 
 enjoyment, and heart-breaking as it was to me to see her 
 suflFering, even / could rejoice more than grieve when it 
 pleased her merciful Maker to take her away. I loved her 
 much too tenderly to indulge any selfish feeling where she 
 was concerned, and short as the remainder of my own life 
 must be, it is time for me to learn how to part with earthly 
 blessings; yet my Fanny was to me a blessing unspeakably 
 precious. What is there as sweet as love, and what dear 
 daughter ever loved more tenderly than my Fanny loved 
 me; and not one grain of her precious affection was lost, 
 for I doted upon her all her life long with my whole 
 soul. Great, indeed, is the comfort I feel in having been 
 permitted to be with her during her latter days. May 
 God's great mercy bring us together in heaven, and she 
 will tell me that her dear Papa's voice helped to soothe and 
 support her in her last earthly trial. Dearest Bob, you asked 
 me, in one of your late letters, why I never spoke to you 
 of your angel Mother. You said we ought to commemo- 
 rate our departed dear ones in all possible ways, and not 
 content ourselves with shedding a few tears and dismissing 
 them from our memories. Oh, my dear boy, you little know 
 what sort of memory on that subject I had and have. My 
 nature is, I believe, more apt than that of most people to 
 keep what I feel to my own heart. The grief I felt would 
 not have wrung me as it did for years if I could have talked 
 about it, which I never could. But I forget nothing that 
 has once impressed me. What I love, I love for ever. You, 
 dearest boy, with the thick globe between us, may depend 
 upon my never forgetting to love you. As for writing to 
 you, the interest your affection engages you to take in my 
 letters adds so much to the pleasure I feel in writing them 
 that you need never fear any failure in my punctuality. To be 
 able, even at this distance, to contribute something to your 
 happiness is very sweet to me. * * *
 
 302 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 At this time my Father suffered from constant morning 
 heaclaches_, which became alarming from their long continu- 
 ancCj and which he attributed to a certain measure of malaria 
 arising from his well- watered garden behind his house, and 
 the impure creek. 
 
 To me, 29th August : — 
 
 You never told me whether the long-podded Jamaica bean, 
 of which I sent you a quantity of seed, answered in your 
 climate. * * * It is a first-rate vegetable. We 
 have them growing beautifully in our Marina garden ; they 
 run up twenty or thirty feet, and some of the beans are 
 twenty-eight inches long. They are not fit to use when full- 
 grown though, but must be cut before they begin to turn 
 yellow. The Latin for it is DoUchos sesquipedalis. The 
 more water you give it the better it grows, -jf * •jf 
 
 All the drawing I have done lately is one I gave our good 
 friend Mrs. Clifton, of a group of trees at the Boschetto, one 
 that I had never sketched before. I was attracted to it by 
 the effect of light and shade, which was very agreeable, five 
 or six stems rising together, some brightly illuminated and 
 others in deep shadow, backed by a dark mass of foliage over- 
 hung by branches catching the light, a couple of boys sitting 
 under them, and some goats feeding. It cost me a great 
 deal of work, and Mr. Allingham says it has turned out 
 capitally, and so does Mamma. The truth is, some parts are 
 beautiful, and some good for nothing; so that if I were to do 
 it again I could not for the life of me do the good parts as 
 well, and should probably do some of the others much better. 
 There is always a great deal of my work dependent upon 
 luck. Don't be scandalized at my saying anything of my 
 doing is beautiful, for I have no more vanity in the matter 
 than if I was speaking of the doings of a Mr. Johnson or 
 Tiiompson, and I have not in all my life made a dozen draw- 
 ings for which I would give as many straws. * -x- * 
 ******
 
 SACRED MICE. 303 
 
 To Robert in September : — 
 
 Do you remember my telling you, years ago, that in digging 
 out the earth that covered the old temple at Gozo, heaps of 
 the bones of tnice were found there. I don't know whether 
 I referred then to the last chapter of Isaiah, ver. 17 : " Eating 
 swine's flesh, and the abomination, and the mouse.'' Those 
 mice were certainly not eaten as common food, but sacrificed 
 victims, and the eaters were Canaanites. Is not this, put 
 together, a curious piece of proof that Phosnieians (Canaan- 
 ites) built these Gozo and Malta temples ? The Romans, you 
 know, had no objection to enlarge their host of divinities, 
 and so took Isis and Serapis from the Egyptians, and so most 
 likely from the Phoenicians borrowed their observance of 
 mice ; for Pliny says : " Sorieum occentu dirirai auspicia, 
 annales refertos habemus " — that auspices were continually 
 annulled by the squeaking of mice ; and Ausonius : " Qua- 
 drupes oscinibus quis jungitur auspiciis ? ISIus.'' I got these 
 two quotations from Pitiscus; and I gather from the two 
 together that so many cases of annulled auspices by the 
 squeaking of mice could not have been by mice that happened 
 to be dwelling or passing near at the moment of taking the 
 auspices ; but that mice must have been kept in the temples 
 on purpose to form a check upon the birds. 
 
 Phoenician lore is prospering. A German has taken pains 
 to collect all the existing inscriptions in that language, and 
 there are as many as fifty, mostly short; but some with Greek 
 versions have furnished a key, and all are now intelligible. 
 The candelabrum in the old Valctta library that has two 
 or three Greek names upon it and some Phoenician words, 
 proves valuable in this way ; for one of the Greek names 
 is HeZiodorus, and one of the Phoenician ahshejjish, and 
 shemsli is Maltese and Arabic for the sun. Another of the 
 names is equally translated. Our bishop has got the book, 
 and is studying the subject. Phoenician seems closely allied 
 to Hebrew. * * ^ * * 
 
 Have you read Law's ''Serious Call?" Mamma and I
 
 304 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 are reading it now ; and an admirable book it is. Thousands 
 of books point out one's duties ; but few are equal to this 
 for the concise and striking form in which the arguments for 
 performing them are urged. Many a book that contains 
 good matter is dismally dull ; but this has a lively spirit. I 
 can't read prosy writing. How far from wordy the inspired 
 writers are, from Moses to St. John. There is a wordy pre- 
 face to our edition of Law, which I have taken the liberty to 
 glance at and skip. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Your old tortoise has gone on growing, and promises to 
 attain his T/AtKta by about the year 1870. By that time he 
 will be on familiar terms with the biped frequenters of the 
 garden ; for he has ah'eady consented to some intercourse 
 with us, and came voluntarily the other day to eat a prickly 
 pear while I held it between my fingers. I value the poor 
 beast for having been your property, and supply him with 
 melons, grapes, and prickly pears to his heart's content. 
 
 In the next letter : — 
 
 I have been going on very steadily of late with my Thucy- 
 dides, that 1 may have the copy ready for Clement by the 
 time he can use it, and that the original may go back to you. 
 The first material correction I have made is at the end of the 
 first speech. * •»**•}& * 
 
 Then follow different versions and explanations of the 
 passage. Speaking of Bloomfield's and Arnold's Thucy- 
 didcs, he says : — 
 
 AVhat a striking difference there is between Dr. Arnold's 
 character and Dr. Bloomfield's ! Arnold's reputation as a 
 man of genius and a true scholar is far the higher ; yet he 
 always speaks humbly of his own doings, and Bloomficld is 
 perpetually blowing his own trumpet, and calling other 
 people fools. -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- *
 
 INTERMITTENT FEVER. 305 
 
 To me, writing of his work, he adds : — 
 
 Then will come the Sophocles and Euripides ; and it will 
 be altogether two years' good work, or even more, for the 
 lessons of the young ones occupy much of my mornings, and 
 I am not strong enough for such work in the summer after- 
 noons, and when the evening comes I like to read serious 
 hooks,— Greek Testament, English Bible, good old Bishop 
 Taylor, and others like him. It does one great good, my 
 darling, to have such books much and often in our hands. 
 If the one great object of living is to learn how to die, how 
 much time we have all lost ! -x- * * * * 
 
 Malta, 10th October, 1844. 
 From the Deanery-Houae at Citta Veccliia. 
 
 My very DEAR Bob, — When I last wrote to you I Avas 
 sick, without knowing what was the matter; but the malady 
 soon unfolded itself in the shape of intermittent fever. I 
 verily believe it had been affecting me the whole summer. 
 The headache I had, more or less, every morning, was one of 
 its symptoms; and the sciroc wind, that began with the begin- 
 ning of September and has lasted ever since, gave it its full 
 force. Physic, while I was breathing miasma all day and all 
 night, had no effect, and the doctors found change of place 
 absolutely necessary ; so, not to go farther than I could help, 
 I took possession, ten days ago, of the old Abbate's house 
 here at Citta Vecchia, which stands high, and is ventilated 
 very differently from our detestable creek, which is no better 
 than a big cloaca, from the head of which they are scooping 
 out, to make the new dock, thousands upon thousands'of tons 
 of the filth deposited there during the thousands of years in 
 which a town has probably stood where Burmola now stands. 
 The change of place has done me great good. For five days 
 I continued free from the fevei% and thought it would return 
 no more; but return it then did, and stuck by me thirty 
 hours, and pulled me a great way back. This is now the 
 fourth day since the fit went off, and I am feeling tolcral)ly 
 
 VOL. II. X
 
 306 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 well, and making the most of my enemy's absence to lay 
 in munitions for the repelling of another attack. Good 
 Mr. Whitmarsh has been out here to see me ; and has pre- 
 scribed, for the repair of my dwindled muscles, a sort of beef- 
 tea that you should, in case of need, know how to make. Get 
 an earthen jar big enough to hold two pounds of beef; get 
 two pounds of beef; remove all the fat; thump the lump of 
 beef with a rolling-pin, or some such instrument, and then 
 put the lump of beef into the earthen jar ; get a bung that 
 fits the jar ; cover the bung with a piece of muslin, for nice- 
 ness; bung the jar well up, and tie the bung down with a 
 stout twine ; get a saucepan of cold water and put it upon 
 the fire, and put the jar into the saucepan, so that the jar 
 may be nearly, but not wholly, immersed, for no water must 
 get into the jar. Let the water boil, and keep slowly boiling 
 for a couple of hours ; by that time all the juice that the beef 
 contained will be extracted from it, and will furnish enough 
 for two doses, to be taken with a little salt and a big slice of 
 toasted bread. Much nourishment is so to be had in small 
 volume; and it is a dish that you or I, who are not learned 
 in such arts, may make as well as a professor. Mamma is, of 
 course, here, to take care of me. 
 
 •5C- •jc- ^ * * -Jf 
 
 You remember something of Citta Vecchia. It is like a 
 miniature Pisa; a place where there was once great bustle, 
 and now absolute stillness, — fine houses unoccupied, and 
 streets without a passenger. 
 
 It would be dull for most people; but in my poorly days I 
 move little from my sofa, and when my head is pretty clear I 
 open my books, and find in them all the company I want, as 
 long as I see Mamma's petticoat within a few inches of me. 
 When I say all I want, you know I speak of accessibilities ; 
 for tlicrc are many coats and petticoats I should be glad 
 enough to see, if I could. 
 
 * ■» * * ^- * 
 
 When you questioned, dearest Son, whether all lowness 
 of spirits is not symptomatic of something wrong in our
 
 HAPPINESS IN OLD AGE. 307 
 
 spiritual state, you need not much have hesitated ; for though 
 undoubtedly it often is, yet quite surely it is not always so ; 
 for all the world knows that something wrong in the bodily 
 state is often quite enough to account for it. For my own 
 part, I am not subject to depression of spirits, though I have 
 no longer the vivacious elasticity I used to have, and retained 
 perhaps longer than most men are apt to retain it. That 
 the approach of death should be welcome to an "earnest 
 Christian,^^ no Christian can deny ; and I humbly hope God 
 will bless my endeavours to become an earnest Christian, and 
 support. me under all my remaining trials. But, Bob, I do 
 not think, because I am three years nearer to the grave than 
 I was three years ago, that that is the reason why I have lost 
 my buoyancy. I have grown pretty suddenly from a young 
 man into an old one, but I do not lament the change ; I have 
 not the least wish to be young again. I am not, in that re- 
 spect, like poor Mr. N ,'who said, " Make me but eighteen 
 
 years old, and put me down naked on Salisbury Plain ! " 
 You think a good man's old age ought to be the happiest 
 time of his life : ay, dearest Bob, a good man's ! But yet I 
 hardly see why, except that he must soon have done with it. 
 Old age is apt to be accompanied with many suflFerings which 
 must deprive even a good man of all present enjoyment ; and 
 as for that happiness which consists in looking forward to 
 immortality, why should not a good young man feel it as 
 intensely ? A little more or less remaining pilgrimage ought 
 to make but small difference. 
 
 * * -jf * * ^ 
 
 Little Mia brought me her book to construe a Latin line 
 for her, " Platere, pluribus intentus minor est ad singula 
 sensus." Platere, is O Thomas Platter — Thomas Platter, to 
 whom this was said by his master while said Thomas was 
 engaged at once in twisting rope and reading Plautus. I 
 was so much struck with INIia's book, that I read it through. 
 It is the autobiography of Thomas Platter, a Swiss, born in 
 1499, and contains some picturesque incidents which Walter 
 Scott has woven into his "Anne of Geierstein." The good 
 
 X 2
 
 308 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 man was successively goatherd^ beggar, student, roperaaker, 
 painter, and professor of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. 
 ^ -Sf * * ^ * 
 
 To me, same time : — 
 
 I must try, if I live so long, to keep my appointment three 
 years longer, because, in December, 18 17, I shall have com- 
 pleted in it twenty years, and shall be entitled to a higher 
 rate of pension ; but I will not spend those years in Malta. 
 I have no doubt they will give me leave of absence for next 
 summer and for that of '47. There will only then be '46 to 
 contend with ; and my notion is, to spend the chief part of 
 that summer here at Citta Vecchia, keeping up a communica- 
 tion with my office by means of a daily courier, and going in 
 myself only occasionally. 1 am now satisfied that I must not 
 tiy to stay any longer. While I went backwards and for- 
 wards all the summer between Sliema and my office, exposure 
 to the sun gave me choleili; and now that I have tried a 
 summer at the Marina, it has given me ague. 
 
 VP 7P 7P TT TP vT 
 
 Later in October : — 
 
 I am already pleasing myself with the prospect of quitting 
 Malta /or (/ood after three years. Bob, perhaps, may live in 
 England by-and-by, and so may t/ou, my darling, and I may 
 have the consolation of being near you in my last days. I 
 should so be in England, too, when Clement would most want 
 me, and when Charley must begin to go to school. 
 
 ■)t * ^- •X- * ^ 
 
 How strange it will be to me to be my own master, after 
 having spent so many years in what is called the service, — that 
 is, in a condition of slavery, however self-imposed, and light- 
 yoked, and well paid, — to go where I please without asking such 
 
 a man as •«- * * * to mix with thinking 
 
 people, to have all my boys with me in their holidays, and do 
 them all the good T can.
 
 ZABBAR GATE. 309 
 
 Most people who retire from business are said to find the 
 repose they coveted less agreeable tlian they expected — their 
 time is apt to hang heavily on their hands ; but such can't 
 well be my case, for I never yet had an hour that I could 
 not fill ; and as for my business, I can't much miss that, 
 seeing it has not for the last thirty years employed me one 
 average hour in the day. The smallest of ray left-hand 
 fingers would make an Agent Victualler, and its next neigh- 
 bour an Admiral's Secretary in time of peace. In the busier 
 times before that, I had enough to do ; but it was work that 
 interested me far less than such as my own tastes have since 
 provided for me. * * * * * 
 
 In November, to me and Bob : — 
 
 Though I can't tell you that I am well, yet you need not 
 fidget, for I am firmly persuaded that my disease is of a mild 
 type, and will gradually give way as the winter advances. I 
 thought myself tolerably well towards the end of October, and 
 we moved from Citta Vecchia to our Marina home ; but I 
 had not been there two days before headache began to return, 
 and then fever too; so we made another move, and are now 
 occupying the house over Zabbar Gate — I dare say you 
 remember it. It is one of the gates in the Cottoncra lines, 
 close to St. Clement's, the open ground, which would some- 
 times in winter, when there is a sprinkling of grass upon it, 
 be called a field, and round which field you and I had a 
 gallop now and then sixteen or seventeen years ago, wheu 
 you first backed the matchless pony. This house of ours is 
 well suited to our purpose of breathing free air, for the 
 ground is compai'atively high, and it is, besides, perched 
 on the top of the lofty building that forms the gateway. 
 From our drawing-room windows we look over the sea more 
 than half-way round the horizon, and over the lantern of 
 the St. Elmo Lighthouse. ^ -jf -jf w 
 
 I am still pretty strong for a sick man, for Mamma and I 
 took advantage of a cloudy sky yesterday morning, and
 
 310 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 walked to Marsa Seala^ a little harbour two miles beyond 
 Zabbar. It took us an hour each way, and I came home not 
 over-tired ; yet I must add, that it was my day's work ; for I 
 could do nothing afterwards, not even read my new number 
 of the Quarterly, though I did manage that after tea, which 
 is generally my best time, and besides that, read a sermon of 
 Wilberforce's to Mamma. In the afternoon I was not without 
 fever. -jf * * ^ * •5f 
 
 Our particular object in returning from Citta Vecchia when 
 we did, was to be present at the consecration of the new 
 church on the 1st of this mouth; and a deeply-interesting 
 solemnity it was. It is a very beautiful edifice, richly and 
 properly fitted up. A thousand worshippers were present, 
 and many hearts were undoubtedly full of the sense of the 
 mighty blessing conferred upon our community by this 
 glorious gift of the good old Queen. The Bishop wept when 
 he began to speak of Queen Adelaide. Now, Bob, do remem- 
 ber, that in my address I spoke of moistened eyes, and the 
 
 meeting said " Pooh, pooh ! " said he didn't cry, and 
 
 the Governor said he didn't cry, and nobody did, so they 
 scratched it out ; but yet it was no unreasonable flourish of 
 mine, for I was obliged to wipe my own eyes before I could 
 write the words, and the Bishop has now proved that it was a 
 subject on which tenderness might be felt, and might so 
 express itself. The collection at the offertory that day 
 was £112. Notice was given that there would be service 
 every Sunday at eleven, and three, and at seven, and 
 l^rayers every morning at eight. During the week we were 
 at the Marina, Mamma and I, and Kitty and Mia, Charley 
 and Mary, went every morning, and sorry I was tliat my 
 sickness prevented us from continuing to go. There were 
 always about forty present, and my hope is, that there will be 
 more and more. There is no case in which more good may 
 be done by example ; for many who might not think it im- 
 jiortant to go, or think at all about it, will begin to think 
 of it when they see their neighbours go. They will begin to 
 thitdc that people who begin the day by praying together, arc
 
 WRITTEN SERMONS. 311 
 
 less likely to quarrel during the course of it, — that it may be 
 worth M'hile to rise half an hour earlier, for the sake of giving 
 glory to God, and promoting peace and good-will upon earth. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ W TP vP 
 
 The next November letters give a somewhat improved 
 account of his health. In December he returned to the 
 Marina, by the Doctor's desire, the Zabbar house being too 
 cold for him ; and the headache continuing and rather in- 
 creasing, blisters were put on the forehead and kept open for 
 some days. On the 12th he writes : — 
 
 Dearest Bob, — You bid me write you some sermons. 
 Just yet, you see, I am not fit for writing anything ; but 
 even at my best I am afraid I could not write a sermon. I 
 can do nothing unreal. If I were a clergyman, I think I 
 could make my congregation listen to me, and make them 
 think and feel. I should have plenty to say to them, and 
 should say it very forcibly, because it would come from my 
 heart. But it is a very different thing when the mere brain 
 is to do the work. And such would be the case, even though 
 it would be for you that L were writing, because, " for you," 
 in this sense, does not mean for your benefit, or for the pur- 
 pose of doing good to you ; but it means chiefly instead of 
 you, by supposing myself in your place. If you were in a 
 difficulty, out of which anything I could say would help you, 
 then I could write for you with the passionate earnestness 
 that would be abundantly real. But besides the difficulty of 
 fancying myself a clergyman, I should feel afraid of there 
 being something like presumption in my attempting to speak 
 in his language. You could not yourself have written such 
 sermons as you have written, if you had not felt while you 
 were writing them as if you were at the very moment actually 
 preachiny them ; and I can't work myself up to feel as if I 
 were in a pulpit, even if it were right to try. 
 
 Of course, dear Bob, I have not the least doubt that if you 
 were to preach to your people a sermon of Barrow's, or perhaps
 
 312 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 of Taylor's, you would put them to sleep ; but that is no proof 
 that the good men were not eloquent. Their English is 
 obsolete, and their manner out of fashion ; but they were 
 mighty masters in their day, and if they had lived in our 
 day they would have been equally mighty. Lord Chatham 
 must have been a pretty good judge of eloquence, and he 
 said he improved his own by studying Barrow. As for 
 Taylor, I can conceive nothing more awfully grand than 
 some passages of his sermons. He writes sometimes as 
 if he had the combined spirit of Shakspeare and Homer 
 and Demosthenes superadded to his theology. No one • 
 makes me feel and remember more than he does. He does 
 me great good, and I am sure that it is in great measure 
 by means of his eloquence that he finds his way to my heart. 
 All you desire in a sermon is heartiness, plainness, unity 
 of subject, and reverence, quite enough too ; but then that 
 HEARTINESS is the rarest thing of all. Where it is in due 
 measure, and in combination with a due share of brains, there 
 will be no sleepers. Your hea7't must write all your sermons, 
 and your heart will write them well. * * * 
 
 Later in December : — 
 
 Since the last account I gave you of myself, I have mended 
 in one respect ; for a couple of hollows, which had been 
 deepening in my cheeks, have begun to fill up again, and 
 everybody sees that I am making the improvement, Mamma 
 as well as the rest, and I am sensible of it myself. Yet the 
 headaches are not cured. * * * -x- 
 
 The Marina seems not to agree with me; though wc can't 
 well account for the existence of unhealthy air in December, 
 even in our ugly creek. As soon as the coldest of the winter 
 is over, we shall get away from it and go again to Zabbar. 
 
 * ^ ¥: On my further travels I am to 
 
 set out at the end of May, so as to be in England by the 
 beginning of the Midsummer holidays, and have my dear 
 Clement, and Herbert, and Willy to spend them with me.
 
 ANCIENT FRAGMENTS. 313 
 
 I am speculating upon taking them somewhere to the seaside, 
 where we have fine air for long walks, and undisturbed 
 leisure for long lessons, to help Clement, particularly, forward 
 in Greek and Latin, which have hitherto not much prospered 
 with him. •Sf * * -jf -Sf 
 
 I am still leading a sad idle life; but Mamma and the 
 doctors are right, and I obedient. Of course, I can^t leave 
 my books quite alone. I took up my old Pausanias the 
 other day. I had read parts of him on our way to Greece in 
 days of yore. I looked to see what he said of a statue of 
 Mercury, by Socrates, that stood in the Propyloea, and I found 
 I had made a mark there in the margin, most likely thinking 
 to myself, " Who knows whether that statue may not some 
 day be found under this rubbish?'^ and sure enough, not the 
 statue, but a fragment of the pedestal, has been found with 
 Mercury's name on it. So has a piece of another pedestal 
 been found hard by, with the name of Thucydides ; and 
 Pausanias says there stood there a statue, I don't clearly see 
 whether he means of Thucydides himself or of ffinobius, the 
 author of the vote for rescinding the banishment of Thucy- 
 dides. In either case the name of Thucydides (and it is he 
 of Olorus) would be found in the inscription. Isn't it in- 
 teresting to see such proofs of the accuracy of a (juide-hook 
 of seventeen hundred years old ? It was Giffard's "Tour in 
 Greece" that told me of the finding of the fragments, and 
 he mentions a third, bearing the name of another statue 
 mentioned by Pausanias, and found precisely in the spot 
 indicated. ^ * -jf •sf -jf 
 
 I told you, in my last letter, Ave were going to lose the 
 Whitmarshes. A sad loss it is ; and now we have another, — 
 Mr. Kitson is going to leave us. ^^e could ill afford to spare 
 such worthy members of our small community. The loss of 
 such a man as Kitson is a grievous loss for us all : his talent 
 is first-rate. 
 
 My Pather, as well as other members of Mr. Kitson's 
 congregation, felt that thev could not allow him to leave
 
 314 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 them without a tribute of respect and regard; and my 
 Father, who was always expected to take the lead in such 
 cases, wrote as follows on this occasion : — 
 
 We have been so much accustomed to hear from each 
 other expressions of esteem for Mr. Kitson, that nothing 
 can be more undoubted than our sincere unanimity in wish- 
 ing to pay to him a tribute of respect on this most unAvelcome 
 occasion. We do, with all our hearts, unite in acknowledging 
 our serious obligation to him, in lamenting his removal from 
 among us, and in praying that his future life may be cheered 
 with the best of blessings. We shall always remember his 
 impressive performance of the solemn service of our Church, 
 his lucid exposition and faithful advocacy of sacred truth, his 
 great talents, and matchless temper ; and we trust he will do 
 us the favour to accept a trifling gift, which we shall gratify 
 ourselves in preparing for him, as a memorial of the impression 
 which he leaves among his Malta friends. 
 
 E-ear-Admiral Sir Lucius Curtis, who has kindly presided 
 at our meeting, will be good enough to convey to Mr. Kitson 
 the sentiments of the congregation.
 
 315 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 [1845.] 
 
 FIRST MENTION OF THE FATAL SORE THUOAT — JUSTIFICATION — MR. WHITMARSH 
 — ANCIENT WHEEL-TRACKS — CASAUBON's DERIVATION OF " CHURCH " — 
 ARCHBISHOP OF TRIPOLI — BELFRY — POPULAR PREACHING — LETTER TO 
 LITTLE KITTY — NOVEL VIOLIN PERFORMANCE — DUOMO AT MILAN — TOMB OF 
 STILICHO— THE ARCH OP PEACE — AMPHITHEATRE — BRERA GALLERY — CER- 
 TOSA — PASSAGE OF THE SPLUGEN — CATHEDRAL AT BASLE — GREEN STONE — 
 MONUMENT OF MARSHAL SAXE — CATHEDRAL AT STRASBURG — DUTCH WOMEN 
 — ARRIVES IN ENGLAND — THROAT— NORFOLK CRESCENT — WATERINGBURY — 
 TEACHING BOYS — MRS. DUCKWORTH — MR. LAWRENCE — WRITTLE — NEWMAN 
 — VEVAY — DOGGREL VERSES — MADAME DREYER — LENK — VERNEX — RUSSIAN 
 LADIES — SALAMANDER — REASONS FOR STAYING AT MALTA — ST. JOHN's 
 CHURCH — LORD STANLEY — RIDING. 
 
 In the beginning of January of this year is the first mention 
 of the fatal sore throat. My Father says to me : — 
 
 I always begin^ I believe^ by telHng you what you most 
 want to hear, and that has been lately about my own health. 
 I have made good progress of late, my darling, and the best 
 proof is that in the last month I have gained two and a half 
 pounds weight, and weigh to-day 127 pounds,^ I have got 
 the better of the headache, and should be stouter still if I 
 had not had a sore throat for a very long time, I believe 
 these two months, which prevents my going out as much as I 
 ought, for the least damp or evening air makes the throat 
 worse. I believe it is what is called a relaxed sore throat ; 
 but I have been very much subject to some such disorder for 
 some years past, and the least aggravation brings it to a bad 
 cough. -jf * * .x- -jf -jj 
 
 Speaking of this sore throat in the next letter : — 
 Whitmarsh thinks that this, and the fever I had, and the 
 
 * His height was about 5 feet 9 iuches.
 
 316 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 nine months' headache I am shaking off, are all referable to 
 the visitations of cholera of the nine or ten preceding 
 summers. If so, I shall be puzzled to spend one other summer 
 here, which will be very convenient to me if I cayi manage it, 
 for the sake of my increased pension. 
 
 Fancy what we should do with less than a thousand a year 
 in England ; with two boys at college together, and two at 
 school, and four daughters to be provided with masters ! We 
 shall do it all if I live ; but then the extra £50 a year will be 
 valuable to buy us the egg-shells and nettletops on which we 
 must be content to dine. But for this long malady of mine, 
 I should be gaining strength and flesh rapidly, and I suppose 
 it is not anything very serious : and if I do get rid of it, I 
 may reasonably expect to enjoy as much vigour and activity 
 as most men of fifty-seven. * * * ■» 
 
 In February, to Robert : — 
 
 You sent me in your last letter some notes on justification, 
 with reference to a disagreement on that subject between 
 Mr. Faber and Mr. Newman. What a lamentable thing it is, 
 dear Bob, that there should be this never-ending strife among 
 members of the same Church ! It seems as if theologians 
 could never be at a loss for some subject of quarrel. On they 
 go, arguing questions which have been ai'gued a thousand 
 times, protesting that there is nothing new in their matter, 
 and hoping for nothing more than to put it into some new 
 form of words. To whom does such argument do good ? It 
 has been often remarked, that nine disputes out of ten would 
 drop at once if each party understood the other's terms. 
 AVould not this be the case with arguments on justification 
 more than almost any other subject? Is there any real 
 difference, I mean important difference, even between Mr. 
 Newman and Mr. Faber ? I don't know what they have 
 written, but may not their disagreement be more about "the 
 'philosophy of justification" than its essential theology? 
 Would not both of them consent with such a view as this, of 
 Bishop Van Mildert's? — "For Christ's sake, aud in consi-
 
 THE DOCTRINE OF JUSTIFICATION. 317 
 
 deration of His merits and sufferings alone, our sins shall be 
 remitted to us ; but to render thera effectual to that purpose, 
 our own co-operation is indispensably requisite. On our com- 
 pliance with the terms of the Christian covenant, our faith is 
 reckoned or imputed to us for righteousness, notwithstanding 
 the imperfection which still necessarily adheres to all human 
 actions, and notwithstanding the innumerable transgressions 
 for which we should otherwise be amenable to the tribunal of 
 Divine justice." Then he adds : " With this simple state- 
 ment of a doctrine in which we are all so vitally interested, 
 let us content ourselves, without adventuring upon specula- 
 tions leading to most dangerous errors." 
 
 Just such a warning there is in Bishop Taylor, who bids 
 me " not fool myself by disputing about the philosophy of 
 justification. These things," he says, "are knotty (hsec enim 
 spinosiora) and too intricate to do any good." But Avhen he 
 tells me that " by the works of faith, by faith working by 
 love, and producing fruits worthy of amendment of life, we 
 are justified before God;" and that, "for our little imperfect 
 services He freely and bountifully will give us eternal life," 
 must we not all agree in this ? Or can any of us disagree 
 with Hooker, that " God doth justify the believing man, yet 
 not for the worthiness of his belief, but for the worthiness of 
 Him which is believed. God rewardeth abundantly every 
 one which worketh, yet not for any meritorious dignity 
 which is or can be in the work, but through His mere mercy, 
 by whose commandment he worketh." 
 
 Further than this / must not attempt to go. I see in 
 your notes some expressions that seem puzzling, but I have 
 no M'ish to meddle with the thorns. Have you read Mr. 
 Faber's book about the Vallenses and Albigenses ? He 
 depends upon thein for the making out of a case for our 
 Church ; and I never read a more unsatisfactory argument. 
 * % ^ ^ * ^ 
 
 I don't know what we shall do without Whitmarsh. Dr. 
 
 prescribes for me ex officio, but not ex animo ; and yet 
 
 I am forced to apply to him, because if I go away on the ])lea
 
 318 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 of ill-health, he will be called upon for his official opinion. I 
 am glad to find that the whole of our small community- 
 wishes to pay a special respect to Whitmarsh on his departure. 
 As soon as I found there was such a feelings I set about cir- 
 culating a paper for subscription, to buy him a piece of plate, 
 and we put down our name for ten pounds. * ■jf -sf 
 Nobody has equal reason to feel obliged to him. I have not 
 a copy of what I wrote for the subscription paper, but it was 
 this, or nearly : — 
 
 "Mr. Whitmarsh is going to leave us; and he must not 
 go without an assurance that he leaves grateful hearts behind 
 him. Most of us have felt the benefit of his great medical 
 experience; but all have known the willing exercise of his 
 great energies wherever suffering was to be alleviated, or a 
 friend was to be proved in time of need. He will not thank 
 us for mentioning, but it is, nevertheless, a very sincere 
 gratification to us to know and remember his large-hearted, 
 unostentatious, silent, and sacred charities. He has been the 
 friend of those who do not live to thank him.'* 
 
 '' We earnestly hope he will oblige us by accepting a trifling 
 gift, which we mean to offer to him. May health and peace 
 cheer his remaining days, and those of his most excellent 
 wife : worthy as they are of each other, and united as they 
 will be in our grateful remembrance." 
 
 Later in February : — 
 
 My application to the Admiralty for leave of absence goes 
 to England by this packet, and with it a letter from Dr. Watt, 
 of the Naval Hospital, stating the absolute necessity of my 
 changing the climate ; and a letter from Sir L. Curtis, assuring 
 the Board that Portclli is very capable of doing the work in 
 my absence : so there will be no impediment. 
 
 •Jf * * -)f * -Sf 
 
 '' This alludes to the orphan child of Dr. ISIartin, who was killed by the 
 sentinel at Sir J. Louis's door. Mr. and Mrs. Wliitmarsh hail taken care of 
 hei- for three years.
 
 LATIN LESSONS. 319 
 
 I never had any notion that my life was in the smallest 
 
 danj^er ; but I have lately discovered that gave me up in 
 
 despair, and told poor Mamma I had organic disorder in tlie 
 head, and might linger, but could not recover. Only think 
 what her share of suffering has been ; and all the worse for 
 fighting against it, to conceal it from me. 
 
 ^ ^ * * ■Sf -Jf 
 
 The only work I have done of late has been giving their 
 Latin lessons to Kitty and Mia ; and both of them are making 
 a start. * ^ * * ^ -sf 
 
 You said you didn^t know that you should teach your little 
 girls Latin ; but I think you would rather like the way I have 
 managed with these small people.*^ They have been slowly 
 picking up Latin, scrap by scrap, till they know a good deal ; 
 but while they have been doing that, the same labour has 
 answered other good purposes, for what they have done has 
 been little else than writing English translations of Latin 
 bits of my providing, for I have made no less than five 
 volumes of " Selectse " for them. In this way they have 
 learned English, orthography, caligraphy , without any 
 trouble; and the Latin has been so much into the bar- 
 gain ; and very useful it is, — it makes them know their 
 English, French, and especially Italian, better than they 
 would know them otherwise. 
 
 * * * * 4f * 
 
 In March, to Robert : — 
 
 I find people expressing most unreasonable contempt for 
 the preachers of borrowed sermons. I should not feel the 
 least scruple in appropriating what I pleased ; only I would 
 take great care to steal like a Spartan. * * -jj- 
 
 •= He had said, in a former letter to me, "Do be persuaded, from my 
 experience, that it is better not to trouble your children with book-learning 
 while they are very young. * * * * "phe young learners are 
 not the best. Let the little things run about and get strong, and don't exercise 
 their brains till they have grown into some consistency."
 
 320 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 I believe I am, upon tlic whole, better than I was when I 
 last wrote. I had some nights of such violent headache, that 
 I thought I had better not lose any time in getting away from 
 the Marina. •3f * ^ ^ * 
 
 Mr. Christian offered me his house at Sliema, and we moved 
 to it at once, and are here now. It is the house in which the 
 Mackenzies used to live, a grand building, with a broad peri- 
 style round it on both stories. The Christians have had so 
 much trouble here, that they wonld not occupy the house 
 again, and their term expires the end of June. I sent him a 
 bag of money, to pay the four months^ rent, but he won't 
 have it, insisting, that as he offered me the house for the sake 
 of my health, he can't in honesty make it a gain to his pocket. 
 This is gentlemanly dealing — isn't it? I do love an instance 
 of this spirit ; and the spirit of Mr. Tagliaferro, who has 
 bought the house, is like it; for he has desired me to keep it 
 just as long as it suits my convenience, only hoping, he says, 
 that the air will be useful *to me; so we shall keep it to the 
 end of the year, and when I go away in May, I shall leave 
 Mamma with more comfort (to myself) than if she had been 
 stewing with all the poor little things at the Marina. 
 
 Later in March, after speaking of blistering his head, 
 which disturbed his sleep, and did him no good, he says : — 
 
 However, you need not fancy me suffering much either 
 from the maladies or medicaments ; for I took advantage of 
 an interval of fine weather yesterday, and had a glorious walk 
 of five miles, exploring the hills beyond St. Julian's. I 
 stumbled upon a place we must have seen together years ago, 
 called the St. Julian's Macluba. ISIacluba is the name of a 
 remarkable 7^7 on the other side of the island — a place where 
 the ground has subsided and made a great circular hollow of 
 a hundred feet deep and as many wide. This above St. 
 Julian's is much smaller. Near it are several of those 
 remarkable ruts, marking the wheel-tracks of ancient days, 
 with which Malta is intersected in so many places and so 
 many directions, that there can l)e no doubt of its having
 
 THE nOCTOllS lUFFLKD. 321 
 
 l)een a place of great population and traffic. There is never 
 an accountable terminus to any of these tracks, so that 
 there must have been numbers of towns of which all traces 
 have disappeared. 
 
 The Bishop, by the bye, is a great hunter of antiquities, 
 and he and Sir Gardiner Wilkinson lately found and opened 
 a tomb that had lain undisturbed for three thousand years. 
 There were two skeletons in it and some pottery. 
 
 I can not only walk well, but dine well after ray walk, and 
 digest well : no wonder, then, the doctors are puzzled by the 
 obstinacy of a headache that still returns every night, and an 
 inflamed throat that has baffled their art for five months. I 
 have now given up the hope I had of taking a sane body to 
 England; and I suppose I must follow the advice everybody 
 gives me, and go to Leamington and Dr. Jephson, who is 
 famous for mending mucous membranes. Liddell, I am 
 quite sure, knows as much of the matter as he does, only I 
 can't stay any time in his neighbourhood.'' My three dear 
 boys would have small fun in spending their holidays within 
 a stone's throw of New Cross. ^ ^ ^ * 
 
 One of my grievances is, that I am seldom able to go to 
 church. The damp of ours hurts me, and the last time I 
 went I was obliged to come out. As warmer weather comes 
 on, I shall, of course, get rid of this evil. 
 
 I don't choose to confess to myself how much I miss 
 another old habit — that of snuft'-taking. I can't touch it 
 now ; f^r some particles will always find their way to the 
 throat, and in the condition of mine they are poison ; yet 
 like other things, so snuff — one can leave off even snuff. 
 
 * * ^ ¥: ¥r It 
 
 To me, in April : — 
 
 My condition is much the same as when I wrote a foit- 
 night ago, pretty vvell (not very strong) in general health, but 
 the throat quite as bad as ever. •x- * * 
 
 •' GroPiuvich. " Where their school was. 
 
 VOL. II. Y
 
 322 LIFE or R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 I had a most kind letter from Mrs. Duckworth and Annie, 
 asking me to go to them at Bordeaux, and travel to England 
 with them, offering me tivo places in their carriage, one 
 inside and the other out^ that I might change as I pleased. 
 I was sorry I could not have the great pleasure of being 
 with them ; but it will be desirable for me to lose no time. 
 * * * * I mean to set out by the French 
 packet of the 15th of May. * * ^ ^ But 
 what sad work it is to go by one's self! I want Mamma to 
 take care of me when I am well, much more when I am sick. 
 I shall pass some wonderful scenery ; but I have not the least 
 pleasure in having anything to myself. 
 
 * ^ * * -Sf * 
 
 To Robert :— 
 
 Thank you for telling me of Archdeacon "Wilberforce^s 
 " Eucharistica," of the existence of which I was ignorant. I 
 was lucky enough to find it at the Valetta bookseller's, and, 
 of course, bought it. I don't think, dear Bob, there is any 
 difference between Archdeacon Wilberforce's doctrine and 
 your most excellent Grandfather's. * -sf * 
 
 That " church " is KvpuiKi] oikui, of course, I must take 
 upon the authorities you have given me. If Casaubon was 
 satisfied, I may be ; but it is hard to think how Saxons con- 
 trived to make the word. It is true Turner (Hist, of Anglo- 
 Saxons) says, Theodore, Archbishop of Canterbifry, and 
 Adrian, who were sent into England by the Pope, about 668, 
 were thoroughly acquainted with Greek. Whatever Adrian 
 may have been, Theodore, of course, was, for he was a Greek 
 by birth ; and some scholars they had, too, down to Bcde, but 
 as Grecians, few enough, and of small power. Neither were 
 the Saxon Bishops likely to bring home much Greek from 
 the general councils ; for Boccaccio says, no Italian scholar of 
 his day knew as much as the Greek characters. From the 
 time when Rome ceased to pay obedience to the Exarchs of 
 Ravenna, the Greek language and literature, says Hallam,
 
 ARCHBISHOP OF TRIPOLI. 323 
 
 had been almost entirely forgotten within the pale of the 
 Latin Church. The ecclesiastical language, he observes, was 
 full of Greek words Latinized ; " but this process had taken 
 place before the fifth century, and most of them will be 
 found in the Latin dictionaries.'^ 
 
 Talking of ecclesiastical Greek, you may not happen to 
 know that there are at this moment plenty of Greek bishops 
 who don't know one word or one letter of Greek. I mean 
 those of the Syrian Church. There is one here now, the 
 Archbishop of Tripoli in Syria. When he left his own 
 country, three years ago, he did not know one word of any 
 language but his vernacular Arabic. He can now read and 
 talk English, French, and Italian ; and I have just given him 
 a Greek grammar, of which he means to make use. His 
 branch of the Greek Church, the head of which is the 
 patriarch of Aleppo, paid a sort of semi-obedience to the 
 Pope, but has been lately brought under his absolute control ; 
 and the archbisliop is a reformer, and would gladly join us. 
 So, he said, would many of his brother bishops and priests if 
 England would protect them. 
 
 Our bishop had a letter lately from twenty-five Maltese 
 and Italians, setting forth that they and others Avished to 
 attend our church, but did not understand our language, and 
 begged to have a service performed in Italian, which there 
 will be. There will be no difficulty, for we have a Maltese 
 priest and a Sicilian who have come over to us. 
 
 Of ecclesiastical etymologies, I dare say I told you years 
 ago that " belfry " is not derived from bell. In old Italian 
 books one meets with " belfredo," for a tower raised by 
 besieging armies for assailing walls; and this belfredo had 
 more, therefore, to do with belhim than bell. 
 
 Of Casaubon, Scaliger, quoted by Hallam, says he was the 
 first of living scholars. Hallam supposes he meant to except 
 himself, but thinks that, as a Grecian, he had not a rival even 
 in Scaliser. * ^ * * * 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 LIFE OF R. C. SCO.VCR. 
 
 On the 13tli of May:— 
 
 Dearest Bob, — I am not surprised that you are growing a 
 popular preacher. A sensible and earnest man can't well be 
 otherwise. A good voice and good taste are of course addi- 
 tional advantages ; and as I believe j'ou have all this, you 
 can't well fail. There is, of course, danger of being elated 
 by your reputation ; but against that danger you must fortify 
 yourself as you can; for if you choose the other plan, of 
 running away from the danger by preaching dull sermons, 
 you will do no good either to your hearers or yourself. That 
 would be burying your talent. You must turn it, then, to 
 the very best account, and it will enable you to do immense 
 good ; and you will be grateful that your efforts are so blessed, 
 and be enabled to bear with equanimity the praises of your 
 congregation. 
 
 Popular preachers — ay, preachers widely popular among 
 congregations not all fools — are sometimes most prodigious 
 
 puppies and asses. I suppose you have heard of Dr. . 
 
 Of all asses he was the chief, and turned out quite as much 
 knave as fool; yet he Mas applauded sky high for his 
 eloquence and sanctity. It is true, I suppose, that all men 
 value praise; but it is certain that foolish men value it most. 
 All our doings are, after all, but little doings. What is it 
 one knows in comparison with what one does not know ! Yet 
 it is wonderful how the authors of the I'ery little doings value 
 their own performance ! If a dozen people did each a work, 
 all diflFering in degrees of skill, the self-satisfaction of the 
 authors would probably be in exactly inverse ratio with their 
 success. -Jf ^ -jf ^ -5^ 
 
 The better you do, if you do it from your heart, the less 
 and the less you will care for the praise. And oh, the igno- 
 rance of the praisers ! What stuff it is that pleases most of 
 the ladies — and the gentlemen, too, dear Lizzy ! 
 
 Well, dearest Bob, in three days more I am going — that is, 
 by the French packet to Leghorn, and thence over Mount 
 Cenis, where the snow is melted. I am just the same as
 
 LETTER TO LITTLE KITTY. 325 
 
 when I wrote last ; not very sick, but yet my throat not a bit 
 better. Sad for poor Mamma. I am sorry enough to go by 
 myself, but more sorry still for her share of the suffering. 
 
 TP 7P 7P 7P 7T vf 
 
 To little Kitty, from Leghorn, 21st May : — 
 
 I know how sorry you were to see your dear Papa go 
 away, and Papa loved you all the more for being sorry ; and 
 well I know I shall not see so sweet a little girl till I see my 
 own dear Kitty again. * «• -sf •sf * 
 
 When I was so very sick, I thought of what we read about 
 Augustus Caesar and his taste for the sea : navigabat potius ; 
 he had a preference, a predilection for it. I wish I had had 
 him in the Dante. But I suppose he made very little trips 
 along the shore, and took care to land whenever bad weather 
 was coming on. I heard a short dialogue on board between 
 the two Englishmen, that would have made you laugh. 
 "Whales carter-vang?" asked the father. " Eighty -/o?fr," 
 said the son. So I suppose the elderly gentleman paid four 
 francs more than he need. "I want to find my berth,^' said 
 the senior ; " what's berth in French ?'' This was far beyond 
 the junior's vocabulary, and he made no answer. What a 
 mess tliese people must make of their travels, not knowing 
 the meaning of anything they hear, and not able to express 
 a want. 
 
 When you see the Abbatc, tell him the Commander gave us 
 a bottle of Orvieto wine, that he got at Civita Yecchia ; and 
 that I thought of the gusto with which I remember him 
 to have described it. It is just like very fine cider. 
 * * * ^ * * 
 
 Ou tlie 22nd of May, he writes to his wife : — 
 
 "What a different place Genoa is from what it was this 
 time two years, when you were close to me ; and what a dull 
 room this is now ; and what a cheerful one it would be if I
 
 326 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 had but my own dear wife in it ! There are a hundred 
 thousand people in the streets^ seated in chairs four deep on 
 each side, all in their finest finery, to see the procession of 
 Corpus Domini. Music of all sorts, and fooleries that we are 
 used to, except that Capuchins and other such personages are 
 in hundreds instead of dozens, and the municipality and 
 functionaries of all sorts in their antique dresses. So I hear, 
 but I have seen as little as I well could, though I have been 
 out all day ; for the procession has been our great impedi- 
 ment, which we have done our best to avoid, though we 
 could not help crossing it repeatedly. I say we, because my 
 good friend Brown ^ was with me ; and I don't know what I 
 could have done without him. ^ -jf ^- * 
 
 I have been dining at the table d'hote with thirty people, 
 only two of us English. * * ^f Daring dinner 
 
 two performers on the violin made music for us. They 
 exhibited all sorts of dexterities, and (among the rest) per- 
 formed along, rapid, and intricate piece, both playing together 
 on the same fiddle, standing opposite to each other, so that 
 the big end of the fiddle rested on the shoulder of one, and 
 the small end on the shoulder of the other, the two right 
 hands working all the time with the fiddlesticks, and the two 
 left hands fingering the strings. The German said it was 
 new to him. 
 
 Pavia, 2ith May, 1845. 
 8 A.M. 
 
 My most beloved Wife, — Far as you are away from me, 
 your influence reaches me, for I am in want of comfort, and 
 find it by sitting down to write to you. You sec I have 
 dated my letter from Pavia. I wish it was quite true ; but 
 the city gate is only a hundred yards off', in sight from the 
 room I am writing in, yet into Pavia I can't go. In short, 
 I ara just in the case in which you and I were eight years 
 
 ' H. B. M.'s Consul .it (Icuom
 
 DISAGREEABLE TRAVELLING IN ITALY. 327 
 
 ago at the Sardinian frontier, at Iselle and the foot of the 
 Simplon. 
 
 At lialf-past two yesterday afternoon I left Genoa in the 
 mail (a pretty mail !), expecting that my passport, which had 
 been sent before to Milan for the signature of the Austrian 
 authorities, would meet me here ; and here it has not met me. 
 The director of the post at Genoa assured me there was no 
 doubt but that, at all events, I should suffer no incon- 
 venience, as no objection would be made to my entering 
 Pavia, where I might be perfectly well off till my passport 
 came. Not a bit of it. The comraissaire at the frontier says 
 it is an " affare serio,'' takes me for the leader of a con- 
 spiracy against the Emperor, and won't let me budge. He 
 sent a carbinier with me to an albergo close to the barrier, 
 and won't even let me have my bag and baggage with me, but 
 keeps it in his bureau for a guarantee. I made the good man 
 understand that certain things T must have, and so I did in 
 truth get all I wanted, such as razor and clean shirt, and 
 these my writing tools. But such a place as this albergo is ! 
 much like the one into which you looked at Iselle, except 
 that I have my room to myself. 
 
 Misfortunes don't come single. I should not care two 
 straws for the discomfort if I were well, or as well as I usually 
 am ; but as ill luck would have it, I felt some borhory- 
 gmatous commotions as I got out of the coach, and the usual 
 indisposition has followed. I did not tell you that I had a 
 slight visitation of it in the Dante; but it went oft" kindly, and 
 so I dare say will this. I take all the care I can to avoid 
 noxious food, and of course drink no wine, for all that comes 
 in my way is poison ; but there is no answering for any of 
 the nasty cookery out of which one has to choose; and our 
 supper at Tortona last night was filthy. 
 
 To little Kitty :— 
 
 Pavia, 2Uh May. 
 "My DARLING Child, — Travellers by night sit by prefer- 
 ence with their backs to the horses, to avoid the wind. The
 
 328 LIFE OK R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 coach in which I came liacl seats that held three. Of our 
 seat I had one corner, and a nice clean handsome German 
 gentleman the other. Between us sat a mother and her 
 babe ; and soon the pretty child began to cry, and cried (and 
 kicked its mother all the while) for four incessant hours ! 
 The little dear was about two years old. In all that time the 
 cleansing wave had not once bathed its cheek, nor its dear 
 mother's, nor the clothes of either. The smell ! — If I went 
 on describing it in this pathetic strain, I should harrow up 
 your soul as mine was harrowed. But think of the com- 
 plexity of ills ! An open window would have done wonders 
 for me ; and I could not open it, for facing me sat a poor 
 man with a respirator, speechless with a bad throat, and a 
 breath of air must not blow upon him. We were passing a 
 beautiful country, of which the bad, dirty glass shut out half 
 the view, while it kept in all the stink ! I am a little sick 
 this morning, and perhaps this may reasonably account for 
 it ; but I bore it much more patiently than any of my com- 
 panions did, and caught myself laughing at my queer circum- 
 stances as I looked into the glass just now while I was 
 shaving. Levius fit patientia quicquid corrigere est nefas. 
 
 By the bye, little Miss B. and I had some Latin talk, and 
 I found she had not as good a master as you have. If my 
 passpoit does come this afternoon, it will be all well enough; 
 but I should not at all fancy sleeping in this horrid place. 
 
 The bed in my room is what Mr. would call " sui 
 
 generis," meaning, I suppose, fit for a pig ; sui being the 
 dative case of sus. 
 
 Bless you, my own sweet Kitty. I have written a page to 
 Mamma, and now, after this parenthetical scrap to you, I 
 must go on with Mamma's letter. I love you with all my 
 heart, my good little child. 
 
 ] 1 o'clock. 
 
 I thought it wortli while to go down and talk to ray com- 
 missary again. There arc in my pojtmantcau all sorts of 
 credentials, wliich, as he lurtunalcly read's English, showed
 
 IS DETAINED AT PAVIA. 329 
 
 LIiii quite satisfactorily who I am. Amonj^ the rest I showed 
 him the Admiralty certificate of my time served, and there 
 my salary of £G00 a year is put down, and when he had 
 ciphered that into 15,000 francs, he necessarily set me down 
 for a hij^h personage, it being, of course, more than any but 
 great officers get under his frugal government. All his fears 
 removed, he told me he would give me at once all the license 
 his authority allowed. He could not sanction my moving to 
 an hotel at Pavia, as he did not command in Pavia; but I 
 might walk about there, or where I chose, and dine, if 1 liked, 
 at an hotel there ; and if the passport does not come by the 
 diligence, he will state my case to the proper authorities, that 
 I may move to an hotel fit for a gentleman. I then went 
 into the town and bought a few pennyworth of physic — five 
 drops of laudanum, and some peppermint and lavender — and 
 made a bargain for a gig to drive me to Milan, twenty miles, 
 in thi*ee hours, for eight francs, which is just the price of the 
 diligence — the mail, as they call it. If I am Avell enough, I 
 will set off the moment the passport comes, and so reach 
 Milan by half-past seven, or, more likel\', past eight o'clock. 
 I should like, if I can, to be housed in a good hotel to-night, 
 and there are capital ones at Milan, though I saw nothing 
 that looked promising in Pavia. 
 
 A very little out of the road to jNIilan is the famous Certosa, 
 a magnificent old abbey, with walls of solid white marble, 
 lined within with costly stones and carvings most elaborate, 
 in marbles, gems, and metals ; but if I go to-night, I can't 
 stop to look at it, as it would make me too late, and you 
 know, sweet, my first business is to get well. 
 
 Mind in your future travels to say no secrets in trust to your 
 neighbour's ignorance of English. All people seem to know 
 all languages. Two Germans in the coach last night talked 
 almost as well as I do ; and when I spoke in Italian to the 
 dirty woman's dirty husband, who was outside, even lie 
 answered me in English, and they belong to Nice, and in 
 degree he may be a tinker or u cobbler. All talked French 
 and Italian.
 
 330 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 At daylight this moruing we crossed the Po, iu summer a 
 smaller stream, but now as big as the Thames at London, 
 and under the walls of Pavia flows the Ticino, little less. All 
 the country round is watery meadow, with quantities of 
 poplars and willows ; though I have not seen one Lombardy 
 poplar, — the straight trees so common in England : they are 
 all wlute poplars, with more spreading branches. It is a nice 
 country for malaria and fever; and the clerk at the barrier 
 said his Government had sent him here to kill him. 
 
 * ^ * ^ * ^ 
 
 The man who sold me the physic told me I did not look 
 sick — " gia si vede dal suo colore ; e fresco." You know I 
 have had no fair play yet since I began my travels, with 
 rough weather at sea, turmoil at Genoa, and such a night as 
 last night — O such a night ! « # * 
 
 Hotel Reichmann, Milan, 25th May. 
 
 * ^ •» * The drive from Pavia to Milan 
 is twenty miles, all along a dead flat, with a canal running 
 on one side the road, and a river on the other, and often 
 three or four rivers, in rows, on one side or both sides. All 
 the land is wet meadow or inundated nce-grounds, frogs 
 croaking all the way, and telling of malaria. My driver said 
 the sickly season was not begun yet, but that everybody 
 would be sick in summer, and some kept their fever five 
 years. There was not a particle of beauty in the scenery, for 
 there were still no other trees than young poplars (not one 
 fine old one) and pollard willows. Nightingales abound, and 
 I heard many singing. Fireflies sparkled in miUiomt. 
 
 * * * * ^ * 
 
 I have been out to see the Duomo, the marvellous Cathedral 
 of Milan. What a gorgeous structure it is ! I wonder what 
 possessed the architects to construct it of such minute blocks. 
 Even the lower courses of granite, or some such hard stone 
 (for all the rest is marble), are so small, that the sixth stone 
 from the ground was not higher than my head, and half of 
 the st(nies arc not a foot long. Another thing that displeased
 
 DUOMO AT MILAN. 331 
 
 me was, that the roof inside is painted to look like tracery, 
 though it is, in fact, plain. There ought to be no sham 
 among such immensities of grand reality. The marble was 
 once white, but is now stained with rich tints of every 
 modification of grey. -k- * -x- ■sf 
 
 On the 25th of May he again writes to his wife, from 
 Milan :— 
 
 My Italian was at fault in asking my way about the town ; 
 for I heard constantly the word " Contrada," which means 
 street. I observed afterwards written up at the corners, C", 
 instead of S''*. The people all pronounce a exactly like 
 French. Paese means a village. I knew that before; for 
 my first master in England, the maker of wax fruit, used it 
 in that sense — so, I believe, does Manzoni. The clergy are 
 clean, wearing breeches and silk stockings, and looking like 
 English clergymen; and the ladies have white and red in 
 their faces, not dingy, like Southern Italians. 
 
 * -jf ^ ^ * * 
 
 2Qth May. 
 While I was at breakfast this morning, in came the poor 
 man with the ailing throat, and he seemed rejoiced to meet 
 me again, and begged me to go out with him to see the sights. 
 It was raining, and I had not meant to go out at all ; but 
 there are things worth seeing, and he had a carriage at the 
 door, so I agreed to share the cost with him, and we set out, 
 and saw several of the chief churches, — one remarkable for 
 its great antiquity and for the tomb of Stilicho, as it is called, 
 I don't know upon what authority. He was the General of 
 the Roman Emperor Honorius, and is the hero of the poet 
 Claudian. The Arch of Peace, a triumphal arch erected in 
 celebration of the peace, is one of the most beautiful things 
 that eyes can look upon. It is of grand px'oportions, of 
 beautiful white marble, admirably sculptured with basso- 
 relievos, and surmounted with a chariot drawn by six horses,
 
 332 LIFE OF K. C. SCONCE. 
 
 besides a trumpeting lady on horseback at each of the four 
 corners, all of bronze, and twice the size of life — most noble 
 horses they are, full of nature and life-like motion. The 
 ladies upon them are, of course, Fame and her deputies, pro- 
 claiming the peace, and good riders they all are. We went 
 up to the top to see them in detail, and were well repaid for 
 our trouble. Then the Amphitheatre — a gigantic one — of 
 wider area than the Coliseum, begun by Buonaparte, and 
 finished enough for use ; and it actually is used for races of 
 all sorts, foot, horse, and chariot, and it is occasionally filled 
 with water six feet deep, for boat-races. It holds thirty 
 thousand people. I suppose it is the only modern amphi- 
 theatre in the world, and the only one in which games are 
 actually exhibited. 
 
 In the Brera Gallery, the great picture gallery of Milan, 
 we saw some pictures of most of the old masters, but few of 
 first-rate renown. The great sight of all w^as the remains of 
 Leonardo da Vinci's gieat achievement, the "Last Supper" 
 (not in the Brera Gallery, but in a large room adjoining the 
 cavalry barracks). There is scai'cely any one head that can 
 now be well made out, though the general forms may ; and 
 some notion is to be gathered of the colouring and light and 
 shade. ^ Of course we had everywhere to pay the showman ; 
 and I made my companion do that. You may judge I did 
 wisely, for our sight of this wonderful work cost us only a 
 quarter of a franc, my share, consequently, being five far- 
 
 5 Speaking of this painting of Leonardo da Vinci, Mr. Harford says, in his 
 " Life of Micliael Angelo : " — 
 
 " Of his greatest work in painting, the 'Last Supper,' in the refectory of 
 the church of S. Maria delle Grazie, at Milan, only a faint shadow now exists ; 
 but in its perfection it must have been a jierfect work of art. The skill with 
 which he has surmounted the difficulty of relieving a long straight line of 
 figures from stiffness and monotony, the fine disposition of the various groups, 
 the speaking physiognomy of their exj)ression, and the sublime tenderness with 
 which he has invested the features and the figure of the Saviour, are such as 
 to leave nothing to desire in this composition but tiiat it had been executed 
 with more permanent colouis, and that barbarism had less rudely invaded its 
 remains."
 
 SIGHT-SEEING AT MILAN. 333 
 
 things. We kept our carriage three hours, and my share of 
 carriage and sights together was four francs and a few sous; 
 pray observCj too, that we not only saw the interior of the 
 great theatre (this was my companion's taste, not mine; 
 though it is, I believe, the grandest in the worhl), but had 
 it lighted up for us with a dozen lamps. 
 
 I have made a good provision for the mountain, for I have 
 bought a beautiful pair of very thick woollen stockings, and a 
 pair of list thickly-lined boots to go over my shoes; and the 
 stockings and boots together cost six francs. My friend and 
 I may probably keep company as far as Strasburg. He is 
 young and strong, and well, except his throat ; and seems to 
 have great reverence for me, and will willingly take all the 
 trouble to his share. He is sensible enough, but has plenty 
 to learn ; and is curious, and finds my learning (such as it is) 
 useful to him. He was as good as a laquais de place to me 
 to-day, and better too, because he paid his share instead of 
 being paid. -»*«•»■» 
 
 I must tell you of the sage counsel my hackney-coachman 
 gave me. It was raining, and I had no great taste for mount- 
 ing to the top of the triumphal arch to see the bronze horses 
 close. " Goy" said the man, " they are worth seeing, and 
 ' giacche avete speso denaro per venire qui, spendetelo bene,' 
 to a good purpose — get your money's worth." So, as I may 
 never be at Milan again, and a journey through it costs some 
 twenty or thirty pounds, I am glad I spent the five additional 
 farthings to see the work of Leonardo. When once you are 
 at a place, it is bad economy not to see all in it worth seeing. 
 
 Still at Milan, 21th May. 
 Set out early with my young German and a young 
 American who had been his fellow-traveller and had re- 
 joined him, and went to the Duomo. Saw the tomb of 
 S. Carlo Boromeo, enclosed in a crypt enriched with 
 silver- gilt carving of marvellous workmanship and cost. 
 Saw among the treasures of the chuijch a bas-relief in gold 
 and rubies, the work of Benvcnuto Cellini, the prince of
 
 334 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 gold-workers. Went to the top of tlie dome, outside, upon 
 the roof, and up to the lantern, and saw Mont Blanc and the 
 Jung-Frau, and the whole chain of Swiss mountains. They 
 told us we were 420 feet from the ground ; and even up there 
 every part of the building is of the finest white marble, and 
 wrought with the same care and richness and delicacy as 
 below. The pinnacles above the roof have innumerable 
 niches filled with statues, the smallest not a foot high, and 
 bearing close examination, as if they were meant for the 
 chimney-piece of a lady's boudoir. The showman said 
 twenty-five millions of pounds sterling had been spent upon 
 the workmanship alone, exclusive of the material, — as much 
 as the whole annual expenditure of the Government of 
 England, not including the interest of the national debt. 
 A great deal yet remains of the upper ornamental part 
 undone; and the Milanese will continue to spend their 
 money upon it for centuries to come. 
 
 We then set out to the Certosa, fifteen miles, and saw the 
 richest church for internal ornament in the world. Marbles 
 and carving can go no further. For many years it was un- 
 tenanted, but has now a society of monks. Two were on their 
 knees at the great altar ; and as I could not go and scrutinize 
 it while they were thei'e, I asked some one when they would 
 go away, and was told that night and day, for eight days after 
 Corpus Domini, there were always two of them stationed to 
 pray there. 
 
 The young American is very lively and good-natured, and 
 talks German, French, and Italian. His English is nasal, and 
 he says my, like his countrymen, with great empliasis ; but the 
 only bits of Americanism he gave me were, that he was con- 
 siderable certain it would rain, and that it was very aggravating. 
 ****** 
 
 Basle, Z\st May. 
 And always quite perfectly well, my precious wife, with 
 the exception of the , throat, which is ])reciscly the same. 
 It has never been a l)it worse, though I have Ijccn breathing
 
 PASSAGE OF THE SPLUGEN. 335 
 
 plenty of cold, damp air. It has rained every day for the 
 last eight days, and the sun has not shown itself for one 
 moment. 
 
 I have had no breathing-time, in the sense of leisure, and 
 it has been impossible for me to write since I left Milan, and 
 I have brought my letter on to Basle, as it must go through 
 France, and this is all in its way. And now, sweet, I will 
 give you an account of my journey. 
 
 On the 28th, at six in the morning, an omnibus took me, 
 in half an hour, to the railroad-station ; and, by the railroad, 
 reached Monza in twenty minutes. There got into a dili- 
 gence, and anived at Conio at eleven. Dined at Como, and 
 set out by the steamboat at two, and landed at Colico, at the 
 northern end of the lake, at six ; hired a carriage, jointly 
 w ith my German companion, and reached Chiavenna by nine, 
 and there slept. The rain 'poured all day, 29tli of May, — got 
 up at four, rain falling in torrents ; the worst possible day 
 for the mountains. The diligence goes at six. AYhat shall 
 we do? Wait for a fine day? We might wait for a week; 
 and what can we do in such a place as this? So my German 
 and I agreed that the least evil was to go on, and on we went, 
 with the inside of the diligence all to ourselves, for few 
 people would willingly face the Splugen in such weather, 
 none, it seems, but people with sore throats. Yes, there was 
 one other, in the imperial or sort of half-covered coupe, and 
 he was another young American, who would have stayed 
 behind if our example had not encouraged him. The first 
 word the man spoke told me his country, though his face was 
 downright English. He said he should locate himself in the 
 coupe. Well, dearest wife, but though I meant to brave the 
 snow and rain, I had not the least intention to get wet, or 
 feel a particle of cold; so I put on first, two shirts, two pair 
 of thick cotton drawers, and a flannel pair over them ; my 
 thick woollen stockings, a flannel waistcoat, over them my 
 usual clothes, then my thick boots, and over them my list 
 ones, and then my thick great coat. The conductor furnished 
 me with a wrapper, and my German lent me one of his super-
 
 336 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 nuraerary cloaks, for lie had four, and one was a Greek 
 capote with a hood to it. Up the mountain and up the 
 mountain, clouds above us, clouds below, and rain never 
 ceasing, so that our view was close contracted, but yet all 
 the grander for the obscurity, and what glimpses there were, 
 were wonderfully rich in horrid beauty. At noon, after 
 having passed in the carriage between walls ten feet high of 
 snow, which had been cut away, we came to the end of the 
 cutting, and all was one wild wilderness of uninterrupted 
 snow. Lying upon it, without any covering, or any soul near 
 them, were some twenty sledges of various forms. Into two 
 of them we packed the luggage. Into another my German 
 and I transferred ourselves, and the American occupied 
 another. The horses were taken out of the diligence and 
 harnessed, one horse to each sledge, the postilions driving 
 two, and two men who soon made their appearance, the 
 other two. 
 
 With all my own quadruplicate clothing, and the borrowed 
 cloak which covered my head effectually, over my thick 
 Scotch bonnet, which I had tied on with a handkerchief over 
 my face, I had some of my blanket to spare; so we made 
 that an apron to cover our knees and feet, which were, besides, 
 protected by a wooden apron, with which the sledge was 
 furnished. It was a sort of rude gig, raised about a foot 
 above two parallel pieces of carved wood shod with iron, in the 
 shape of skates. Happily there was but little wind, and the 
 rain was less violent than any other part of the day — and 
 off we set ! 
 
 The surface was at first level, and the good horse went 
 along merril}', only now and then putting his foot into a hole 
 where the snow was partially melted ; but soon wc began 
 to mount, and the partially beaten track was so irregular as 
 to require nice driving. The driver stood upon the sledge 
 behind us, and it was awkward managing the whip and reins 
 over our shoulders, and an inch or two the wrong way would 
 have overturned us into the snow; so, to my sur[)rise, the 
 young German seized the reins; and a noble charioteer he
 
 DANGEROUS DRIVING. 337 
 
 made ! A very fine fellow is Von Trentorius (not /Sartorius). 
 He is a Prussian subject, but in the Russian service, and has 
 driven six horses through the snow, four abreast, and two 
 leaders. 
 
 In half an hour we came to the crest of the moun- 
 tain, where there is a large building, the outpost of the 
 Austrian dominion. Into this we drove, to have our pass- 
 ports registered ; and the five minutes' shelter was useful to 
 us for adjusting our coverings. The drivers munched some 
 rye bread the while, and gave me a lump, which I found 
 quite as good in that atmosphere as the best is apt to be 
 below. 
 
 Off again, with a good courage, and not at all cold, only 
 just knowing, if one put one's head out for a moment, that 
 cold enough there was. Sometimes there was notldng to be 
 seen but mere snow, and the track that preceding sledges 
 had left. That track we followed, and presently came the 
 descent ; and then we soon found we were not following the 
 course of the road, but making short cuts, and -going down 
 steeps far too precipitous for wheels. Well done. Von Tren- 
 torius ! and well done you noble horse ! Before us was a 
 steep descent, but it seemed to end in a mere brink, over 
 which one could only tumble. Not a bit ; steeper it was than 
 anything down which I had seen anything go except at the 
 sport called the Russian mountain, which I oncesaw at Mar- 
 seilles ; and down we went much in the same way. The 
 good horse crouched with his hind-legs under him doubled 
 up, and his fore-legs stretched forward, and slid down ; and 
 two men, who seemed to have been in waiting, came and 
 seized the sledge, one on each side, to keep it from over- 
 setting; and Von Tren, with a steady hand, guiding the 
 horse; and so men, and horse, and sledge, and all slid, 
 scrambled, floundered, at a most rapid rate, and no accident 
 happened ; and in two hours from the time of leaving the 
 diligence we got to the cleared road, and there we found 
 another diligence, into which we and our things were packed, 
 and our same horses harnessed to it. There, too, were dozens 
 
 VOL. Ilr z
 
 338 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 of sledges lying for the use of any travellers that might need 
 them, and there we left ours. 
 
 By three o'clock we reached the village of Splugen, still 
 very high up in the mountain, and there we dined, with 
 appetites of wolves. At Coire, at the foot of the mountain, 
 by nine at night, the scenery magnificent all the while, but 
 the latter part the best. What they call the Via Mala has 
 fifty times more of rugged grandeur than anything on the 
 Simplon or St. Bernard. 
 
 Friday, ZOth. 
 
 Left Coire at five in the morning in the diligence, and 
 reached Wallenstadt by half-past nine. A steamer took us 
 in an hour and a half to the end of the Lake of Wallenstadt; 
 a row-boat, on the canal, in two hours and a half to the 
 beginning of the Lake of Zurich — a great big boat with a 
 cabin fitted up just like the cabin of a steam-packet. At the 
 head of the Lake of Zurich we ought to have found the 
 steamer, but it had been prevented by the rising of the water 
 from passing a certain bridge; and we had to get into a 
 carriage, and that brought us, by three o'clock, to the 
 steamer, which landed us at Zurich at six. You see we had 
 a variety of conveyances ; but we took our places through, 
 and the whole cost of the day's travelling was but fifteen 
 francs. 
 
 The Hotel du Lac at Zurich afforded us a comfortable 
 dinner and lodging, and we had some grand people for our 
 fellow-travellers, who dined in the salle a manger while we 
 were dining. It was Prince Somebody — koff, a Russian ; a 
 remarkably fine, handsome young man, with two carriages 
 filled with ladies and children, and one other gentleman; 
 and one of the ladies was the far-famed Tafflioni — all on their 
 way to England together, where she is engaged. 
 
 Saturday, Zlst. 
 
 Set off in a diligence at half-past eight in the morning, and 
 got to Basic at six in the evening. -x- * * *
 
 A SWISS SERVICE. 339 
 
 Ist Ju/ne. 
 
 I made a point of getting to Basle last night, to stay over 
 Sunday. I shall put this in the post as I go to church. 
 
 * * -Sf * vC- * 
 
 Basle, Sunday, \st Jime, 1845. 
 
 * * * * I have been to church both 
 
 morning and evening. There was in the morning a large 
 congregation in a good old church ; but there was a great 
 echo, and the clergyman spoke through his nose, without 
 opening his mouth, and I heard imperfectly. In the after- 
 noon there was a plainer speaker, and I got nearer and heard 
 perfectly. The service was just the same as we used to hear 
 at Montreux — first a hymn, then the Confession, then another 
 hymn, then a long prayer, then a chapter from the New 
 Testament, then the sermon, and then another hymn, and 
 the blessing, and the good man prayed God to bless us and 
 our families, and you may be sure I tried to join in his prayer 
 with my whole heart. The Confession is word for word the 
 same as in the other Swiss churches. It is read out of a book. 
 The prayer is not read, but I remembered much that was the 
 same as I have before heard, so that there was no difficulty 
 in following it. After the afternoon service I went to look 
 at the Cathedral. It is very ancient, and the outside is 
 curious for its rude ornaments and unusual material, for it is 
 built of 7'ed stone, and looks like brick, though it has a much 
 finer effect when you see that they are large blocks of old 
 stone. 
 
 By the bye, we passed, on the lower parts of the Splugcn, 
 on the Swiss side, quantities of beautiful (jreen stone, like 
 marble. The parapets on the road were made of it, and slabs 
 were cut in some places, prepared for transportation. Do you 
 remember two pieces of green stone on the corners of the 
 balustrade at the Zabbar house ? It is just the same sort, and 
 Avould be much used if it were to be found where carriage is 
 easier, for it is almost as handsome as the marble called Verd
 
 340 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Antique. At our table d'hote dinner, at five, there were but 
 five of us, one a German, and the others a young English- 
 man and his two sisters, very nice merry girls, and we talked 
 a great deal. They, as well as I, are going to Strasburg 
 to-morrow ; but I meant to go by the six o'clock train, and 
 they by the eight, and they agreed to get up a couple of hours 
 earlier, that we might go together. In my walk through the 
 town I found I knew more German than I thought, for I 
 construed several of the inscriptions over the doors. One 
 man kept a " Bier brauerey ; " another said that " Tabac and 
 spezerey waaren (were sold) bey Samuel Lotz;" another 
 advertised that he was a " Gartner," another a " Schu- 
 macher ; " then I passed through the Fischmarkt and the 
 Miinster Platz, which means the Minster (the Cathedral) 
 Square. 
 
 Tuesday, Zrd June. 
 
 In the steamer going down the Rhine -sf * •x- 
 Yesterday morning I got up at half-past three, breakfasted, 
 and set out at five in an omnibus to take us to the railroad. 
 On our way we were stopped to have our baggage examined 
 at the French frontier. At 5'50 started by the railroad, and 
 reached Strasburg by half-past ten, the Englishman and his 
 sisters and I having had the carriage all the way to ourselves. 
 One of the poor girls, nineteen years old, is very pale and has 
 been sick. She told me her two elder sisters had died of 
 consumption, and her parents must tremble for her. Another 
 elder sister was killed lately, by a stack of chimneys falling 
 and breaking through the room in which she was. Tlie 
 brother told me she had had for six months a presentiment 
 that she should not live. She had a bad temper, and in that 
 six months entirely subdued it, and thought of nothing but 
 preparing for her end, which came by so very unusual an 
 accident. 
 
 We went to see the much-talked-of, but very ugly, monu- 
 ment of Marshal Saxe, and the very beautiful cathedral, the 
 higlicst spire in the world, and saw the famous clock strike
 
 RIIINI': SCENERY. 311 
 
 twelve, at which time Si. Peter's cock flaps its wings and 
 crows thrice, and certain other mechanical feats are per- 
 formed. We dined at Strasburg, and set out again in an 
 omnibus to go to the raih'oad station on the other (the right) 
 bank of the Rhine at Kehl. After crossing the river, we 
 were in the territory of the Grand Duke of Baden, and there 
 again we had to descend from the omnibus for 'the inspection 
 of our portmanteaus and bags. Left Kehl by the railroad at 
 ten minutes after three, and in an hour and a half came to 
 Baden-Baden station, where my companions left me, wishing 
 heartily, they said, that we could have continued together, and 
 giving me credit for liking them as well as they did me. 
 
 ■3f TT VT vf TT TP 
 
 At nine last evening we arrived at Manheim, where I 
 slept. Up at five this morning, and set out at half-past six 
 in the steamer for Cologne. We have now (eleven o'clock) 
 just passed Mayence. There is no beauty in the Rhine yet — 
 it is all a dead level, but there will be soon. The fine scenery 
 begins at Johannisberg (the domain of which the Allied 
 Sovereigns made a present to Prince Metternich), near 
 Bingen, and continues as far as Bonn, after which there is 
 nothing picturesque j so that it is but a little bit of the long 
 river that gives it its reputation. 
 
 OSTBND, ^th June. 
 
 And so, sweet Wife, my long journey has just reached its 
 close. We reached Cologne on the 3rd, at eight in the 
 evening, and slept there. Next morning I saw the cathedral, 
 and Rubens's famous picture of the Crucifixion of St. Peter ; 
 set out by the railway at nine in the morning, and reached 
 Brussels by eight in the evening. Set off" again this morning 
 at seven by railroad, and got to Ostend by noon. 
 
 The road from Cologne has been all flat and uninteresting, 
 except that green fields, and trees, and flowering shrubs, and 
 flowers abound, and are all beauties in my eyes. Yesterday 
 and the day before I had pleasant companions : a vciy clever, 
 frank young Englishman in the steamer, and a young Englisii
 
 342 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 newly-married couple yesterday in the carriage, which we 
 had to ourselves; both thoroughly nice people, very good- 
 looking, kindly-natured, and sensible — but — O what a but ! — 
 the poor young man looked wofully emaciated ; and when we 
 got out to w^alk, which we were obliged to do, to go over a 
 hill where the tunnel had broken in, he coughed a cough 
 that spoke of absolute consumption. The poor young lady is 
 not more than twenty, and seems to love her husband, but is 
 so merry that she can scarcely think him in any danger. 
 
 To-day my company was of a very different description. 
 There were five in the carriage with me. Four were fat, 
 middle-aged, ugly Dutchwomen, with green teeth and yard- 
 wide mouths, and gruff, grunting, croaking, braying, grating, 
 bawling voices, that never ceased going through and through 
 me, " located," as I unluckily was, in the middle of them. 
 Of course they killed me at last. Like the bold Trojans, 
 whom " non anni domuere decem, non mille carinfe," (Kitty 
 can construe that : domuere is third person plural, preterper- 
 fect tense of domo, to subdue ; and carina is a keel, but 
 here, by synecdoche, a part for the whole — a ship) . So I 
 survived 
 
 A thousand leagues, sea storms, and Alpine snows, 
 To fall a victim to four Dutchlaud frows. 
 
 The other was a vivacious young male of the same species, 
 who made his full share of the barbarous noise. I asked 
 them what hotel they were going to, and they said the " Im- 
 perial," and so gave me the means of escaping from them by 
 going to another. 
 
 Now, Mrs. Clifton,'' can you wonder if I don't like w^omen ? 
 Haven't they been the death of me twice since I left you ? 
 
 I can forgive the charming creatures 
 Any variety of features ; 
 But if they batter 
 My ears with chatter ; 
 
 '■ She WUH living in the house with Mrs. Sconce,
 
 MEDICAL ADVICE. 313 
 
 Or if, like George's fragnmt bride, 
 Their shift, and petticoat, and hide 
 They will not wash. 
 My love they quash. 
 
 To-morrow raorniug at ten o'clock tlie steamer sets out for 
 Dover, and promises to cross in five hours. If so, I shall be 
 at Camberwell late to-morrow evening. I am a little tired 
 with so much whirling along railroads, and have been a little 
 put out in my digestion by irregular and generally late meals, 
 and queer cookery ; but I slept sound last night, and am 
 pretty well to-day. As for the throat, it is only no worse. 
 
 * -jf * -jf This is a poor, dull town, but it has 
 an important fishery ; and so the black gutters are garnished 
 with garbage; here a pile of shrimp shells, there a rejected 
 flounder, and so on. -Sf * * * * 
 
 At Dr. Liddell's, Greenwich, 'ith Jane. 
 I have seen our two precious boys, and they are both of 
 .them pictures of health. * -sf * * * 
 
 Mr. Whitmarsh has seen my throat, and says it is a little 
 more relaxed than when he saw it last; but by my own 
 sensations it is no worse. He tells me Knox's house at 
 Writtle is prepared to receive Harriet and me and our boys 
 for the holidays, and that there I am to go. I don't know 
 what may have been said about it, but I know you wish me 
 to go to Leamington, and so, I take for granted, it will be 
 decided.' 
 
 The first thing yesterday morning Liddell inspected my 
 throat, and questioned me as doctors do who try in earnest 
 to find out what is the matter, and what should be done. 
 ^ * * He is persuaded that a fair trial of the 
 
 effects of change of climate, and of improved general health, 
 ought to be given to it, before resorting to any remedies, 
 local or otherwise. * ^ * ^ * 
 
 ' Dr. Liddell was not at home when this letter was sent off.
 
 344 
 
 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 I looked in at the Water-Colour Exhibition, and missed 
 poor old Hill's name among the contributors. I inquired for 
 him^ and heard that he died last summer. It made me 
 melancholy. It seemed a great loss to me. I had known 
 the good old man ever since I was a boy. * ■jf ■» 
 
 I should like to spend half of every day in writing to you; 
 for there is nothing that I do, or that happens to me, that I 
 don't want to impart at once to precious wife. There is 
 nothing I do that interests me half as talking in this way to 
 my dearest aninue dimidium, and so doing what I can to 
 mitigate for both of us this most distasteful separation. 
 ^ ^ * ^ ^ # 
 
 I have just been to pay a visit to Sir Robert and Lady 
 Stopford, and have heard a sad account of poor INIrs. Duck- 
 worth. She was taken ill at Alenyon, eighty miles from 
 Paris. * -sf * My poor sick friend specially 
 
 desired Lady Stopford to give her kindest love to me, and 
 tell me she thought of me every day. Poor soul ! I only 
 wish I had known of her illness in time to go straight to her 
 from Brussels. I would go 71010 if it were not for ray dear 
 boys' holidays. ^ ^ * ^ ^ 
 
 At General Wood's in Norfolk Crescent, Bath, 
 \ith June. 
 
 You need not be afraid of my forgetting you in my vortex 
 of pleasures ; for though it would be great pleasure, under 
 other circumstances, to look upon the green fields and trees, 
 and to see old friends who are thoroughly glad to see me, 
 yet I have never spent an hour since I left you that has com- 
 pensated for an hour's loss of you. It is quite true that, 
 whether for a long time or a short one, you are worth every- 
 thing else in the world to me ; and I want no variety. I 
 want you, and having you I care for little else, -x- * 
 Yesterday Liddell dined with my Admiralty friend Mr. 
 Hay, whose acquaintance he made by my introduction ; and 
 Mr. Hay talked of mo as if he was thoroughly desirous of 
 doing all he could to help me. He says it is possible the
 
 THE BATH WATERS. 345 
 
 Secretaryship of Greenwich Hospital may ))e vacant, and 
 asked if that would suit me; and Liddell said it would 
 exceedingly well. It is .€600 a year, with a house — and a 
 sinecure. •5f ^ -sf * * 
 
 How I wish you and I, my angel, had just such a house as 
 this is, and here.'' It looks over nothing but grass and trees, 
 and distant hills, and you would not fancy yourself in a town. 
 * * -jf My two drawings are in the drawing- 
 room, and look well in their frames, but the one of the 
 harbour is rather pale. It is very pretty, nevertheless, and 
 Mrs. Wood looks at it with a magnifying-glass, and says 
 nothing can exceed its finish. But the water-colour painters 
 don't work in that way now. The drawings have a fine effect 
 at a distance, but when you look into them you see dabs of 
 all sorts put on in the rudest possible way, and many of 
 them with body-colour. They totally (most of the artists) 
 disregard finish. * * * * -jf 
 
 You can easily imagine that these good friends do all they 
 can to take care of me. Mrs. Wood looks after me much as 
 you would. I have been drinking the Bath waters, and 
 bathing in them. Liddell said I had better try them, and 
 Mrs. Wood is of his opinion ; but I don't expect them to do 
 either good or harm, especially in one week. She shows me 
 all the sights about the town, and this afternoon drove with 
 me into the country. The General and I play chess in the 
 evening. * ^ * * * ^ 
 
 18</t June. 
 
 I have astonished Mrs. Wood to-day by walking up to 
 Lansdown Crescent and all the heights of Bath, and coming 
 back without being tired. But what an escape I have had ! 
 She made an engagement for me, not knowing, poor soul, my 
 dread of the ladies, and Miss Macadam (of course, the lady 
 that makes the roads — her Grandfather gave them the name) 
 
 ^ He did have a house in Norfolk Crescent, close to General Wood's, the 
 following year, and moved into it a very few days before his death.
 
 346 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 was to call for me in her carriage at five o'clock to-day, and 
 she and I to take a tete-a-tete drive. Only think of it ! I 
 was ready to sink into the earth when 1 heard it. I told 
 Mrs. Wood you would hear of it, and all Malta would be 
 scandalized, as well as Macadamized. But there was no help 
 for it, and tete-a-tete I was doomed to be, when happily there 
 fell some raindrops, and a little wind rose, and it occurred 
 to Mrs. Wood, that as my throat was so bad I ought not to 
 go out ; so she wrote an excuse for me, to my inexpressible 
 relief. What in the world should I have done ! The dear 
 lady is deaf, too, and I have no voice. We shall meet her 
 this evening, for we are all going to Mrs. Sankey's, where 
 she will be, and, of course, I shall tell her of my severe dis- 
 appointment. I can the more safely, as to-morrow is my last 
 day, and we are going to a great flower -^ho-w , and you know 
 I may very innocently fall in love with the flowers ; and 
 besides, I shall neither have to listen to them nor talk to 
 them. As for the party to-night, I shan't mind that, for the 
 General and I will play chess, -jf * -sf * 
 
 Next day. 
 
 1 have just come in from seeing a flower-show in the Park 
 — beautiful things ; but some of our ixias and oleanders would 
 have made a good figure among them too. The greatest 
 glories were the roses. I suppose I have no very redundant 
 strength, for I was glad to come home and sit doAvn as soon 
 as I had seen the flowers; whereas the rest of the people 
 promenade the lawns, to look at each other's clothes and 
 display their own. The argument, you know, is, that the 
 Bath people in general are stronger than I am, thougli there 
 were plenty of elderly gentlewomen among tlicm. I mean to 
 get much stronger at Wateringbury, Avhere I shall keep 
 earlier hours. * * -x- -sf ^ 
 
 He had engaged a cottage at Wateringbury, near Maid- 
 stone, for a few weeks, for the sake of being near liis brother- 
 in-law, Ilev. J. Henderson, who was then at Barming, and 
 there he went from Bath, picking up his sou Willy from
 
 FIELD BOTANY. 347 
 
 Marlborough College, and his Aunt Van Sprang, by the way. 
 At Wateringbury his sister and two elder sons, from the 
 Naval School, New Cross, were ready to receive him. There, 
 during the six weeks' holidays, my Father devoted himself to 
 his boys. Teaching was for himself almost the worst possible 
 employment in which he could have engaged in the state of 
 his throat ; but for his poor boys, this instruction from their 
 precious Father, the last they were ever to receive, was 
 invaluable. 
 
 In the first' of his almost daily long letters to his wife, 
 from Wateringbury, he says : — 
 
 Clement has been construing and parsing Latin to me for 
 t^vo hours and a half, and knows a great deal more than I 
 expected, and works with a most willing spirit, and has a 
 good memory, and there is no reason why he should not do 
 really well. He will gallop through my red books. Besides, 
 some of the first volume, he has done this morning twenty- 
 eight pages of the second, and in the evening will do more. 
 
 * -Jf •» * We had a very beautiful walk 
 through meadows and bean-fields in flower, and among green 
 lanes and plantations of various trees, and I thought I might 
 as well make something of a lesson out of our ramble, and 
 initiate my sons into the science of botany, and especially 
 that part of it that may help their Latin reading. They have 
 in Virgil, Propria quse maribus, and other authors, abies, 
 fraxinus, acer, quercus, and so on; and now they know the 
 trees when they see them, as well as their English and Latin 
 names. I showed them a few other plants, of which I 
 thought they might remember the names, and any knowledge 
 is so much gain when it may be had without painful pursuit. 
 It is horrid cockney not to know the names of trees and of the 
 commoner species of plants. 
 
 Again, next day : — 
 
 I have been occupied with my boys ever since I got out of 
 
 The day after his leaving Bath.
 
 3i8 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 bed at seven o^clock. Clement came in to me then, and con- 
 strued, while I was dressing. After breakfast we all walked 
 into the woods, and said verbs as we went along, and Herbert 
 carried for me old Aunt^s camp-stool, which she brought on 
 purpose for my use, and I sat down upon it in a beautiful 
 shady recess, and my boys deposited themselves round me, 
 and I believe we said, short, best part of a hundred verbs, 
 Clement doing each first, then Herbert, and then Willy. 
 Then we returned home, and Clement construed for an hour, 
 while Herbert wrote an exercise, and then Herbert construed 
 and Clement wrote. •jf * * ^ * 
 
 I slept last night but little. My throat hurt me, and kept 
 me awake. The evening was very damp in coming yesterday 
 from Maidstone, and I suppose it did some mischief. It has 
 generally been much as it was latterly at Malta, but now and 
 then a great deal worse, and then after a few days~ it gets 
 back to its usual state, but never any better * -x- * 
 Just now my throat is excoriated, and smarts and burns ; but 
 I have no doubt of its soon healing again, as it has done 
 several times before. 
 
 As far as I am individually concerned, my separation from 
 you is a great pain ; but I bear it willingly, for the sake of 
 the very important good that I know I am doing to our dear 
 sons. Some important good I shall myself derive from the 
 change of climate; but Clement and Herbert will probably in 
 these six weeks make an advance in classics and mathematics"" 
 equal to six mouths' school work. •jf * * 
 
 We try and make acquaintance with the birds, too, as they 
 sing for us. I used in my youth to know most of them by 
 their song or flight ; but it is impossible to make much fami- 
 liarity with them and their doings if one docs not go out 
 early in the morning, which is their active time. Two of 
 different sorts sang for a long while in a tree close to us. If 
 
 They bad a master for inatlieiiiatica.
 
 COUNTRY CIVILITY. 319 
 
 we hear them again we shall remember their notes, and if I 
 get a good sight of the birds, I shall probably know them. 
 The good boys enjoy their walks thoroughly. 
 
 ****** 
 Nothing can be more regular than the life I lead. Of 
 course it would be better for me if I had a tutor for my sons 
 who could and would do what I do, for I talk too much, and 
 have books before me too long ; but it does mc but little harm 
 in proportion to their great good ; and when they are gone to 
 school I may be as idle as I please. 
 
 The letters to Robert and me at this time contain chiefly 
 repetitions of the foregoing. 
 To me, he says : — 
 
 I have not yet communicated with Barton ; but if I can 
 possibly contrive to pay Sir Henry a little visit, I shall be 
 heartily glad. Vi Knox pressed me very much to go to hira 
 at Writtle, and I should be sorry not to be with him a little 
 while. I may perhaps go from Writtle to Barton ; but I shall 
 be hard pushed for time, and I must do, before all, what is 
 best for the errand on which I came, — that of repairing my 
 health, if I can. 
 
 In the course of a talk with a countryman, I told him I 
 knew this country Avheu I was a boy. " Why, sir,^' said the 
 man, " that be a long bit agonc, for I take you to be seventy." 
 I told Aunt Van, and she said sometimes I looked a hundred. 
 Yet I have not grown a bit older than I was at Malta, but a 
 trifle younger. ***** 
 
 All the country people are civilly inclined and willing to 
 talk. I met a girl of a dozen years old, from whom I ex- 
 pected only a curtsey — the little dip they all give us; but 
 besides that, the little thing said, in passing, ''It's been 
 a nice day, sir." I suppose I should soon make personal 
 acquaintance with all my cottage neighbours for miles round. 
 ******
 
 350 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Qtli July. 
 
 And here^ you know, is my birthday, ray darling wife ; and 
 I have lived fifty-eight years ; and I hope I am grateful for 
 the many blessings with which they have been filled, and that 
 if it pleases God to allow me to number more years, I may 
 make a better use of them. 
 
 We have been to church, and Harriet and I received the 
 sacrament. 
 
 And now, this evening, I am going to Dover, and then to 
 cross over to Boulogne. I received a letter by the post this 
 morning from Colonel Douglas, telling me of their arrival at 
 Boulogne, and of Mrs. Duckworth's having been again alarm- 
 ingly ill there. She rallied from this attack, by dint of 
 physicking and blistering; "but this fresh call upon her 
 already alarmingly reduced powers is not unattended with 
 considerable anxiety.^' I am longing to see the poor soul ; 
 and I am only four hours distant from her ; so go I must. 
 
 I leave my boys plenty of work prepared, and, if they 
 please, they may do it easily. 
 
 After two days' absence, having written in the mean time 
 from Boulogne, he writes again from Wateringbury : — 
 
 We have done a good day's work, dearest. The weather 
 has been fine, so that we have been able to do the out-door 
 business as well as the in. We read hard most of the morn- 
 ing, but spared some time for walking and some for jumping. 
 AVilly and I are the best jumpers ; Clem and Herbert may, by 
 dint of practice, equal us ; but they can't yet. I can clear, at 
 a standing jump, seven of ray own feet, and Willy can clear 
 Bcven of his ; but the other two can hardly do as much. Seven 
 of my feet are equal to 6 ft. 2 inches, which is very well for a 
 sick old man ; though in ray jumping days I could clear 9 ft., 
 that is, ten of my own. 
 
 You see I am not very sick, cither in body or spirit, though 
 my throat is never one bit better : it docs not oppress me, and 
 I trust it will not. AVc may pray God to make us well, but 
 still more to enaljlc us to receive cheerfully and gratefully
 
 HOLIDAYS WELL EMPLOYED. 351 
 
 trials that may so be converted to our greatest benefit. I 
 must not call this slight ailment any trial at all ; but slight as 
 it is, what lasts a long while needs patience that one must seek 
 from the right source, or it will fail. 
 
 Yet in the postscript of this letter he says : — 
 
 I am pretty well to-day, though I had no sleep last night. 
 My throat kept me awake by the tickling of the phlegm, and 
 partly by the pain of swallowing. There is a clock near my 
 room, and I heard it strike every hour. I tell you always exactly 
 how I am, whether better or worse, for I like to tell you the 
 plain truth. I have certainly, habitually, more pain in swal- 
 lowing than I had at Malta, and there is more phlegm created. 
 * * ^ But I never had a headache. 
 
 It seems a long time since I wrote to you (though I have 
 not missed a day), for it was early yesterday when I sent away 
 my letter, and now it is night. My day has been all spent upon 
 my boys and my walking, neither of which great businesses I 
 put b}"", even to write to you. 
 
 * -Jf * -Sf * * 
 
 What Clement does is really important, for it will put him, 
 in Latin, quite half a year in advance. You see, my darling, 
 his six weeks' holidays bear an important proportion to the 
 length of the ensuing half-year at school, which contains 
 about twenty weeks. Sla^, you know, is little less than the 
 thi7'd of twenty ; and as we do every day more than three 
 times as much as he could do at school, the amount is easily 
 calculated. -sf * * * * 
 
 What I tell him he retains admirably, and I expect him to 
 gain special renown at his naval school by construing certain 
 nautical phrases with a technical propriety worthy of his 
 nautical sire; for example: iEneas, ipse sedens clavumque 
 regit, velisque ministrat, is, " He directs the steerage and 
 trims the sails" (v. 218); and again (v. 229), — Vigila, et 
 velis immitte rudentes, must of course be, "Keep a sharp 
 look out, and ease off the sheets." Of course, if any of the 
 Council hear him construe so, it will be worth a gold medal to
 
 352 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 liim. They will tliiuk him specially inspired by the genius 
 loci. So, of course, when iEueas speaks to his men, he must 
 call them my lads, and my fine fellows, and my hearties, and 
 so on. -sf * -sf * ^ -jf 
 
 Last night I did get some little sleep by sitting upright in 
 bed. For some days I have felt a burning on my chest, 
 which may be heartburn, showing that all is not quite right 
 about the digestion, and that may account for the disorder in 
 the throat. -jf *•?(-* * 
 
 Harriet and I just remarked that we should be glad to get 
 a photograph of the old Aunt. I suppose her to be the 
 handsomest old lady of eightj^-four that was ever seen. She 
 has no wrinkles, her cheeks are not fallen in, nor the form of 
 her mouth spoiled by loss of teeth. Her eye is bright and the 
 expression of her countenance lively and amiable. There is 
 not a particle of the ugliness of age to be seen in her." 
 ^ # ■» ^ ^ -jf 
 
 I have not yet given myself up to the single pursuit of 
 health ; for, between Clem and Herbert, I have talked, at 
 least, four hours a day, which is bad. Liddell says I have 
 not given myself fair play, and that I ought to have nothing 
 to do but to consult my oWn cure. Well, here is only 
 one week more to work ; for, after next Saturday, I don^t 
 mean my boys to open a book. They will be at home 
 till the following Friday, but they must be whole holi- 
 days — those last four days. Good boys they are for having 
 worked so much and so willingly, and I don't think my lec- 
 tures have done me much harm, for they have been cheered 
 by success, and I have spoken in a low voice. 
 
 ■X- -X- -Jt -X- -Jf ■X- 
 
 How thoroughly I should have enjoyed my ramble this 
 morning if you had been with mc, my darling Wife, and do tell 
 
 " This description of liis Aunt V;ui Sprang would scarcely have been less 
 correct ten years later.
 
 HIS son's improvement. 353 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Clifton how glad I should be to have them of 
 such a party ; for they would have had a keen relish for the 
 beauties of the scenery^ aud INIr. Clifton would have been as 
 eager as 1 was to get a sight of the little bird that sang 
 so loud and sweet and long a song in Sir John Shaw's 
 hornbeam tree. I did see the little wretch, but could not 
 make out his colour, and so can't find his name. I had 
 once some knowledge of birds' music, but have forgotten 
 almost all, and when I go out with the three sons, they 
 chatter so fast that there •is small chance of getting close 
 to a songster unobserved. 
 
 Harriet asked me just now if I had said all I had to say to 
 my sweetheart. Everybody contrives to find out that I am 
 over head and ears in love with my wife, and, of course, it 
 must seem very absurd for an old gentleman like me to 
 retain a propensity which people are so apt to outgrow. 
 What I may come to there is no saying, but my heart is 
 not old yet, and my notion is that, unless I grow crazy 
 
 like poor , you will be my sweetheart till the end of 
 
 the chapter. You know it never was my way to do anything 
 by halves, and the last thing I should begin with would be 
 loviny. ****** 
 
 My brother Herbert says, in a letter to me from India : — 
 
 After 1845, I always kept a good place at school in mathe- 
 matics, and I attribute it in a great measure to the pains my 
 Father took in teaching me arithmetic, and especially practice. 
 It encouraged me to take pains. He never uttered an angry 
 word, although not a day passed without my giving him 
 trouble with my Nepos. I was stupid and backward, but not 
 obstinate. Our Father, you know, was always very active, 
 and I recollect when we walked out he used to race with us, 
 and how pleased he was to find that Willy could keep up 
 with him. 
 
 VOL. 11. 2 A
 
 354 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 To me, 28tli July, my Father writes : — 
 
 If I had only myself to think of, I would not depend upon 
 the doctors, for I feel sure they will do me no good, and may 
 do harm. I think nature would work for me better than 
 Dr. Jephson ; and my own inclination would be to set out 
 at once for the old haunts about Montreux, and see whether 
 I could not double my appetite and my strength, as I did 
 once before, by tramping from morning till night among 
 the mountains. But though I have a notion that such might 
 be the better plan, I may be mistaken, and I am afraid 
 to act upon my own mere guess in a matter that con- 
 cerns wife and children. If I had a sanguine hope that 
 the Swiss mountains would cure me, I might venture to 
 turn my back upon the English doctors ; but I have not 
 that. I only think it might possibly do some good, but 
 when a disorder has lasted nine months (not a malattia 
 allegra) , one can't reasonably hope for a sudden cure. Lord 
 Western, who died lately, about eighty years old, had a sore 
 throat for the last thirty years, and tried all the physicians 
 and surgeons in Europe without the smallest advantage. Yet 
 the disease did not shorten his existence one hour, and he 
 died of natural decay. 
 
 Here follow more little extracts from letters to his wife : — 
 
 All the rest of the day" I have been employed making 
 a sketch for you of the view from our window. I began it 
 yesterday before wc set oft" to Yalding, so that I have spent 
 just one whole day's work upon it, and it is done, and a 
 very pretty and satisfactory sketch it is ; for Herbert, who 
 delighted in watching its progress, and Aunt, have both paid 
 it high compliments. It fills a page of my great sketch-book, 
 and is highly coloured, and quite enough finished for what 
 jt pretends to be, no more than a sketch. It will serve to give 
 
 " From lialf-past eleven.
 
 VISITS MR. LAWRENCE. 355 
 
 you an exact notiou of our country, and will be an interesting 
 memorial for Herbert. ^ Yc * * 
 
 Zlst July. 
 
 This is our last clay at Wateringbury, and the boys' last 
 day, poor fellows, at home. 
 
 Harriet has not only been preparing their boxes, but pies 
 and other prog for them. ^- * * She devotes 
 
 herself to these boys of ours in a way that you can have no 
 idea of without seeing it as I have seen. 
 
 He then spent some days at his "dear old friend/' Mr. C. 
 Smith's, giving some hours eaqh day to Mrs. Duckworth, who 
 was very ill at Greenwich. 
 
 2nd A ugust. 
 
 But now, sweet wife, I have an account to give you of ray 
 throat that you will be glad to hear. I took it this morning 
 to Mr. Lawrence. I never saw a more prepossessing person 
 than he is. His look speaks at once a clear-sighted and 
 honest man. He looked at once into my throat, and told me, 
 that as low down as could be seen there was really nothing 
 whatever the matter with it. « •?? •x- ■?.- 
 
 Then I told him how it had come on, and how much worse 
 it had sometimes been, and what my sensations were, and that 
 it still felt sore, though much less than it has done, lower 
 down. " Well,'' said he in a cheerful voice, " you may be per- 
 fectly satisfied that you have no serious disease, that the 
 mucous membrane has been irritated by previous illness, and 
 that having contracted that illness in a climate that disagreed 
 with you, you will in all probability get rid of all the remain- 
 ing mischief by leaving that climate for a better." 
 
 ■jf * * * * •^f 
 
 He told me to sponge my throat night and morning with 
 vinegar and water, to rub it with an oil for which he gave me 
 a prescription, to create a little external irritation, and to get 
 my skin into a healthy state by rubbing it all over with a 
 
 2 A 2
 
 356 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 hair glove^ to eat and drink just as I had been accustomed 
 to do^ to keep as much as I could in the open air, and to 
 quit Malta finally as soon as I conveniently could. I told 
 him what my object was in trying to spin out the time till 
 the year after next, and he agreed that it was quite reason- 
 able, but that I must be cautious to get away in time if I 
 was threatened with more sickness. 
 
 I told him that I myself was quite satisfied, from my own 
 experience of my own case, that his opinion was a sound one, 
 and that I had myself thought that I should do better by 
 going to Avalk about the Swiss mountains, than by putting 
 myself in the hands of the doctors,* 
 
 * -JJ •jf . * * ■» 
 
 Now, sweet wife, in all this he agrees exactly with what 
 Liddell said to me, except that Liddell acquiesced in my wish 
 to go to Jephson ; but I am sure he did so because he thought 
 it would be more satisfactory to you. * * ^ 
 
 Now, dearest, I desire, you well know how, to do just what 
 I think you would consider best for me; and I do feel 
 persuaded that you would heartily wish me not to go to 
 Jephson after what Mr. Lawrence has said. 
 
 At V. Knox's, at Writtle, 
 8<7i August. 
 
 Vi Knox is very warm in his expressions of interest, and 
 says, he rejoices with all his soul that I did not go to Jephson. 
 % % * ¥: He says he would give two 
 
 hundred pounds, or even five, to go to Switzerland with me ; 
 but he has business which makes it impossible for him to 
 leave London. ^ ^ ^ ^ * 
 
 Last night, after Yi's dinner party of twenty had gone 
 away, and his nieces were gone to bed, and he and Tom 
 Knox and I were only left, he made a •pleasant communica- 
 tion to us ! The Superintendent of Police at Chelmsford had 
 been to him, and told him, that a gang of London house- 
 breakers had arrived at Chelmsford, and had resolved to 
 begin their operations by "cracking" his house and that
 
 A FALSE ALAUM. 357 
 
 of his neighbour, Dr. Penrose, wlio is absent, and has left in 
 his house only an old woman and a boy. The Superintendent 
 informed Yi, moreover, that his Butler had been seen in the 
 company of these robbers ; yet Vi has great eonfidence in 
 tlie man's honesty, and thinks he might have been accosted 
 by them, and drawn into talk with them, without at all sus- 
 pecting who they were. What was to be done ? It was 
 midnight, and no measures could be taken for getting help 
 from without, and there were no beds in the house for either 
 Tom Knox or me,P and, at any rate, I was not robust enough 
 to volunteer to sit up all night, for the chance of that being 
 the night fixed upon for the enterprise. But Vi would not 
 let either of us do that, and he determined to go to bed 
 quietly himself and take his chance, first making the Butler put 
 the plate under his bed, and warning him and the Coachman 
 (the only men in the house besides himself) that there were 
 bad characters in the neighbourhood. He made them observe, 
 too, that he had properly loaded his double-barrelled gun, 
 and assured them, that two, at any rate, of the first-comers 
 would infallibly be dismissed to Pluto. The night passed 
 and the burglars didn't come. * * * 
 
 SODTHSEA, \2th Aurjust. 
 
 (He came here partly to see friends, but chiefly to visit the 
 Victualling Yard, and take a lesson at the Bakery there.) 
 
 Directly after breakfast I set off" to Haslar. I need not 
 tell you what I felt there. In going towards Dr. Richardson's 
 I overtook him, and he took me to his house, and at once 
 asked me to take up my lodging there. 
 
 •jf ^ « * •JJ * 
 
 He said he knew I wished to visit the burial-ground, and 
 had the key in his pocket, and would go with me. We went 
 together. Close by the side of my darling's grave is that of 
 his wife, precisely like it. It is similarly surrounded with 
 
 ^ Tic w;i.s slucpin^f at the inn clo.so Ijy, ^Jr. Knox's house being lull.
 
 358 LIFE OF K. C. SCONCE. 
 
 shrubs, and overshadowed by the ancient elm. The trees 
 planted two years ago are much grown ; those newly added 
 unite with them, and form one arbour. I looked up at the 
 windows of the room where you and I last saw my Angel 
 Child. God grant that you and I may see her again where 
 there will be no more pain and no more partings ! 
 
 •Jf * -3^ ^ -Jf -Sf 
 
 I shall see poor Mrs. Duckworth for the last time (not, I 
 hope, the very last time) to-morrow. 
 
 LoxDOX, 14<A August. 
 
 At the often-repeated invitation of Sir Howard and Lady 
 Douglas, I went to see them, and was received with all the 
 cordiality they promised. ^ * * * 
 
 I found Mrs. Duckworth still improving, slowly; but after 
 the Stopfords left her room to go and dress for dinner, she 
 grew suddenly very nervous at the thoughts of taking leave 
 of me, and said she could not bear looking forward to it; 
 and I came away almost at once. She put into my hand a 
 little ring, Avhich she desired me to beg you to wear some- 
 times for her sake, and the most beautiful pair of ear-rings 
 that ever were seen, with her kindest love to little Kitty. 
 
 TT w vr 7? 7P 
 
 It was an inexpressible comfort to me to see our dear Sons 
 thoroughly happy in their promotion. They were very anxious 
 whWe the suspense lasted, and all the more so because they 
 knew how anxious / was ; and they were all the more happy 
 in being able to tell me that all was right. The whole school 
 was examined by Dr. Chambers, to enable him to class them 
 anew ; and of course the work we had done in the holidays 
 told in the examination. -sf * * -sf 
 
 My dear Father stayed three days at Paris, chiefly with his 
 dear, kind friend, Madame lleboul. He needed this rest before 
 proceeding on liis long journey to Yevey.
 
 MR. NEWMAN. 359 
 
 Speaking of Madame RebouFs daughter, he says : — 
 
 Mary is a glorious-hearted English girl, — frank and honest 
 and affectionate, — and just, in these respects, like my dear 
 Annie. 
 
 To Robert he writes, from Paris : — 
 
 I seldom say anything in reference to the favourite topic of 
 your letters — the praises of Mr. Newman and Dr. Pusey, the 
 doings of the party of which you are a stout champion. You 
 know, dearest Boh, what my opinions have been on these sub- 
 jects, and you can easily guess that nothing either they or you 
 have written have induced me to change them. You and your 
 
 friend Mr. W pity me for being old, and consequently 
 
 unable to run as fast in a new direction as you do ; but it is 
 nothing new, dear Son, for young men to run too fast ; and 
 that multitudes have done so in this case will, I fear, be shown 
 but too decisively. 
 
 Of course, you have heard — what no one, I believe, now 
 denies — that Mr. Newman is about to declare himself a 
 dutiful son of the Pope. Woful as such a consummation 
 will be, it has, you well know, seemed to me inevitable. No 
 one not in heart a Papist and a Jesuit could possibly have 
 written that tract, the number of which happened to be the 
 number of one of your late letters; and you made allusion, 
 in numbering the letter, to what I had said of the tract, and 
 that allusion meant, of course, that the tract was no more 
 Jesuitical than the letter. Do you think so still ? Can 3'ou 
 think, if what we have heard be true, that the Church has 
 not cause to rue the rise of Mr. Newman ? Abundance of 
 good and wise men will remain with us ; but they Avill have 
 to contend at once with passion, suspicion, and the Puritans, 
 and those are fearful odds. You, dearest Bob, will, I am 
 sure, be among the good and the wise ; but moderation is an 
 essential part of wisdom, and it will be more than ever neces- 
 sary for you to doubt whether all the opinions, and customs 
 and tastes of your party are just, and all opposing opinions,
 
 360 LIFE or R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 and so forth, untenable. Of course, you will protest against 
 my use of the term party ; but I can't help it. It has the 
 characteristics of a party but too evidently. 
 
 I like to say to you just what I think; and one of my 
 thinkings is, that the seal of a letter is not a fit place for the 
 sacred symbol of the cross. There is no more reason why 
 you should use it than all your neighbours — your greengrocer, 
 for example, who professes to be a Christian as much as you. 
 Would you put it upon your snuff-box, spoons, or coach- 
 panel ? 
 
 Vevet, 2ith August. 
 Ay, dearest love,'" and not one jot the worse for such a 
 journey, though I was fifty-nine hours on the road without a 
 rest, except half an hour each day for breakfast and for dinner. 
 I left Paris at noon on Thursday, the 21st, and got to Besan9on 
 on Saturday morning, at six. I had taken my place no fur- 
 ther ; but finding myself perfectly well, and not in the least 
 tired, I came on straight, after just time enough to get some 
 coflPee, to Lausanne, where we arrived last night at eleven. 
 * ^ ^ I was up this morning at six, got into 
 
 the well-remembered ondibus at seven, and to the Vevey post- 
 office at nine, and there realized the hope I had been cherishing 
 all my journey of finding my sw^eet wife's letter. 
 
 Of course, I alighted at Vevey, at the old Faucon, poor 
 old Mrs. Dreyer's."^ To my great surprise, she knew me the 
 moment she saw mc, and before I opened my lips, and glad 
 indeed she was to see me. She held my arm for five 
 minutes, told me I looked as if I had been ill, asked most 
 affectionately after you and tlie children, and thanked me 
 with all her heart for remembering her and coming again to 
 
 '' To his wife. 
 
 ' He had lodged with his family at her house eight years before, for a few 
 days, when she, like all the French and Swiss landladies, fell in love with him.
 
 DOGGEREL VERSKS. 361 
 
 see her. She told me my coming was a remarkable coinci- 
 dence, and asked a young woman, standing by, if they had 
 not been talking of me this very morning ! By way of 
 amusing you, and my own fancy, in the diligence, I put 
 together a string of doggerel verses. They will show you, 
 at least, that I was not jaded in spirit. 
 
 From Paris to far Besan9on 
 
 Without a rest is somewhat long ; 
 
 And two nights' rattling upon a 
 
 French pave wounds one's seat of honour. 
 
 As least of ills, though more I do pay, 
 
 I took a seat within the coupe, 
 
 'Tis roomier and far superior 
 
 To the rotonde or the interior : 
 
 Besides, one hopes there may not jump any 
 
 Fleas and so forth, from coupe company. 
 
 For grave and many are the.offences. 
 
 Apt to assail poor travellers' senses ; 
 
 And hard it is long nights to associate, 
 
 Boxed up, in contact close with those ye hate. 
 
 So 'tis a moment of suspense. 
 When seated first in diligence. 
 You wait to see what sort of faces 
 Will occupy the other places : 
 What sex, what bulk, what nation, may be 
 Some ell-wide monster or a baby. 
 Fatal extremes ! No wonder we all eyes 
 Open to see what fate we yealize. 
 Hard fate it is ! a decent foreigner 
 Takes, for I've one, the vacant corner ; 
 But in betwixt us jams a corpus, 
 A male one, bigger than a porpoise. 
 Squeezes my breath clean out and pinches 
 My small breadth into three small inches. 
 This brute appears an employe 
 Of Lafittc, rue St. Ilonore,
 
 362 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Lafitte Gaillard, the mighty staler, he 
 Who fills all France with' his messa^erie, 
 He's sent upon a special mission 
 Of coach and horses' supervision, 
 And curses the postilions, fo?' it e- 
 vinces his plenary au//<ority. 
 
 He would have cursed me too, and a most blackguai:d 
 curser he was; but I kept him at arm's length, not literally 
 — I could not do tltat. * -jf -Jf * 
 
 I wanted you sadly as we merged from the mountains 
 and first got sight of the plains of Vaud, the lake of Neuf- 
 chatel on the left, and that of Geneva on the right, and the 
 whole chain of the Alps in front, without a cloud. Mont 
 Blanc illuminated and painted 7'ose by the setting sun. 
 
 I counted upon going to church at Vevey, but the service 
 began at nine, and I could not be in time ; but, upon the 
 whole, I don't know whetker I was not more satisfied to read 
 our own Church service, which I did before I began to write 
 this, and you may be sure, dear wife, whenever the word v)e 
 occurred I thought always of you. 
 
 ^c- * -Jf -Jf * * 
 
 They came to tell me dinner was ready, and such a dinner 
 never was provided for one appetite. The good old lady 
 thought she could not do enough to tempt me to eat, and in 
 she brought fish, flesh, and fowl — boiled beef, roast veal, 
 mutton cutlets, stewed pigeon, roast chicken — vegetables 
 various — stewed apricots, an apricot cake, a most beautiful- 
 looking thing, currant jelly — preserved ginger, ripe peaches. 
 Then she talked to me about her wines, and strongly recom- 
 mended a small bottle of champagne ; but, though I wouldn't 
 have that, I thought I would venture upon some of the wine 
 of this region, M'hich I used to drink, and found it agree with 
 me; so she produced a little bottle " of the vintage of '34," 
 which she said M'as a renowned one. 
 
 ■Jf * -Jf * -Sf -Jf 
 
 The good old lady's assiduities arc unbounded and afl'cc-
 
 LENK. 363 
 
 tiouate. She would give me her whole house, and be better 
 pleased to take no money for it. -sf ■jf -jf 
 
 He then passed some days in the beautiful valley of Sim- 
 menthal, between Vevey and Thun, stopping a day or two 
 at different villages, and writing long letters to his wife from 
 Weissenburgh, Erlenbach, Zweysimmen, &c., from which the 
 following little extracts are taken. 
 
 The mountain air is cold, and the weather has been damp 
 and dreary ; but yet, if anything, my throat is rather better 
 than when I left Vevey. It has not kept me awake, and 
 does not hurt me much in swallowing ; but there is a great 
 deal of irritation going on, which creates an immense quantity 
 of phlegm. ■5f * * * I did expect when 
 
 I left England, as I told you, that the evil was going finally 
 away. I was all but absolutely free from it ; but it has 
 come back again, and I wish I could guess why. 
 
 * * •jj * * •» 
 
 My want of German is a sad grievance. There is a church 
 close to my hotel, but the service is, of course, in German, and 
 it was useless my going to it. This is one of the comforts of 
 home, to which I shall be most glad to return. The good 
 people here^ do all they can to take care of me, and nothing 
 can exceed the liberality of their provisions. 
 
 * ^f * ^ •jf * 
 
 Oh, the difference between these mountains and the dock- 
 yard creek ! This valley is more than 3,000 feet above the 
 level of the sea. Tell little Mia I have found wild rasp- 
 berries and gooseberries, and longed for her to have the fun 
 of picking them. •» * •Sf ^ -jf 
 
 ZwEYSiMMEN, Zfd September. 
 I have been to Lenk, and spent a very pleasant day. I 
 got up at half-past five, and began my journey at half-past 
 
 ' Erlenbach.
 
 364 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 seven, and got to Lenk at ten, driving at a good pace along a 
 good road, with only little ascent. The valley ends there in 
 a mountain something like those at Grindelwald, a brown 
 rock towering some eight or ten thousand feet, the top all 
 snow, and a glacier coming a good way down, but not into the 
 valley, like the Grinderwald one. From this glacier the river 
 Suime comes tumbling down, something like the Giesbacb, 
 more in quantity, but not picturesque. I spent three pleasant 
 hours among these wild regions, made a memorandum or two 
 to serve for sketches, and then repaired to the inn at the 
 village of Lenk for some dinner. The man who keeps it is 
 an Italian, and was glad to talk his own language with me. 
 
 The old man who drove my little char mounted his box 
 without a whip. I never saw a coachman without one before ; 
 but it vvould have been a needless affront to his good horse to 
 carry one. I never saw a quadruped so promptly docile. 
 The man nev ex jerked the reins, as the stupid Maltese do, and 
 never made any of the queer noises that are supposed to be 
 more intelligible to horses than plain English or plain 
 German ; but when he wanted it to go faster, he said in a 
 low, quiet voice, " Allez," and that instant the horse mended 
 his pace — he never failed, and so he stopped when he was 
 spoken to in the same quiet way. But when the rain came, 
 and we were in haste to get home, and the man said " Allez " 
 with a little increased emphasis, my patience, how the pretty 
 mare did trot ! Strong, fat, sleek, handsome, fast, making 
 nothing of her work, it was a pleasure to be drawn along by 
 such a creature; and I hope her lot will be like that of 
 Eclipse, of whom it is recorded, that he was never touched 
 by M'hip or spur. 
 
 Tiic landlord at Lenk gave me beautiful trout from his 
 stream, beef, mutton, and all sorts of sweet things, and took 
 in return for them two francs, made my coachman a present 
 of a drink of wine, and thanked me heartily, and shook hands 
 with me. Civility is the general fashion of this country. I 
 gave an old man sixpence for doing an errand for mc, and he 
 not only thanked nic, but wished mc health. lie happened to
 
 THE CROWN INN, ZWEYSnniEN. 365 
 
 know some French. As one approaches the Vaucl confines, one 
 meets occasionally with people who have crossed the border ; 
 but it is wonderful how strongly the line is marked of German 
 on this side, and French on the other, of a mere conventional 
 boundary. At Fribourg, the language of the upper town is 
 French, and of the lower German ; and there are hundreds 
 of people there who don^t know a word of the language that 
 belongs to the nest street. 
 
 Those horrid people at Zweysimraen did really put me into 
 a horrid rage, by the cheating and cool impudence. I men- 
 tioned it to the man at Gassenay, where I slept, and, " Oh, 
 sir," said he, " they are famous for it — look here ! " and he 
 showed me his book, where travellers write their names, and 
 sometimes make remarks, you know, — and there was a warning 
 to avoid the Crown Inn at Zweysimmen ; and in a similar 
 book at Chateau d'Oex, where I breakfasted, there were more 
 than half a dozen notices of the bad character of the said 
 Crown. I really do think I kept myself awake by brooding 
 over my anger, and itching to make my entry in the book, 
 which would, of course, have demolished the " Crown." 
 However, I could not succeed in satisfying myself that my 
 motive was quite right, and so I thought the safer way was to 
 say nothing. It would have been good for future travellers 
 to be effectually warned away from the " Crown," but would 
 not have been at all a good thing for me to take revenge of 
 the '' Crown," and especially behind its back. Kitty and Mia, 
 remember that somebody in the " Red-book " says, " I would 
 punish you if I was not angry." 
 
 His remaining time in Switzerland he spent at A'ernex, at 
 the Hotel du Cygne, overlooking the lake, in which we had 
 all lived together eight years before. 
 
 V2th September. 
 It has not been quite so fine to-day ; } ct I was able to get 
 a very pleasant walk and an hour or two's sketching, and so
 
 366 LIFE OP R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 brought home a glorious chestnut tree. In my walk yesterday 
 I met two young ladies, and they passed me to-day while I 
 was drawing, and so I took my hat off to them, and then they 
 stopped and asked to look at ray work, and they told me there 
 was a finer tree a quarter of a mile off than the one I was 
 drawing, and they described to me the way to find it. "No, 
 no," said I ; " I dare say you are not very busy, and I find it 
 too cold to sit still any longer, so, if you please, you shall come 
 at once and show me the tree." Of course, they liked nothing 
 better, so we took our walk together ; and the great tree was 
 close, as it happened, to their house, so that I did not take 
 them out of their way. They are exceedingly pretty and 
 lady-like, so I shall go and sketch their tree and make love 
 to them. They have the grace of real gentlewomen, without 
 one particle of affectation or awkward shyness. I hear the 
 rain plashing at a great rate now into the lake, and I am 
 afraid there will be an end of my sketchin"; and love-makinsr. 
 It would be a great pity too, for though I can't bring away 
 the young ladies, I had designs upon at least half a dozen 
 chestnut trees of rare beauty. 
 
 •5f •Jf * -Jf ^ * 
 
 I couldn't go and see my ladies, but one has been to see me. 
 I told you two very pretty ones made acquaintance with me 
 while I was sketching. It happens that one of the two — not 
 the Dutch one — is an acquaintance of the ladies who are 
 living at the Cygne with me. She is Russian ; and there is 
 another young Russian lady living with her. This other one 
 came this afternoon to see the ladies here, and I saw her and 
 talked to her; and thinks I to myself, though Russia is a 
 wide realm, she may know the Fengcrs,' so I asked about 
 them. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure," said she ; " I live in the same town, 
 Riga, and I know them most intimately; and the young 
 
 * The two Madame Fengers and Mademoiselle Yachman were the Uussian 
 ladies spoken of at the bej^inning of this volume, with whom we formed so 
 close an intimacy at the Cygne, Vernex, eight years before.
 
 RUSSIAN LADIES. 367 
 
 Madame Fenger, who is now Madame Pcscantiui, is per- 
 haps at this moment at Geneva. She was to come about 
 tliis time. Mademoiselle Yachman has changed her name 
 too, and has an English husband, Mr. Sharman, and they 
 were lately living near Lausanne, and were to come for the 
 grape season to Montrcux.^' 
 
 Isn't this a strange coincidence ? I have written poste 
 restante to Geneva, to tell Madame Pescantini I am here 
 and want to see her; and I have written to Mrs. Sharman 
 for the like pnrpose. How glad they will both be if they 
 really are here before I go. I am sure I shall be heartily 
 rejoiced to see them. 
 
 The E/Ussian girl who came here this afternoon and gave 
 me this news is a frank, cordial little body," very much like 
 the little Fenger herself, and tells me that, as my companions 
 in this house are going away and I shall be alone, I must 
 come very often and see her and her friend. 
 
 I have plenty of work at home for wet days, upon the 
 slight sketches I have made; and to-day I have concocted a 
 pretty little drawing out of an outline I made in five minutes 
 while the diligence waited for me. 
 
 * x- * -JC- ■» ^ 
 
 As for my pretty Russians, nothing can be more constant 
 than they are. They came to me while I was sketching 
 to-day, and waited till I had done, and then took a long walk 
 with me. These two girls soon got a notion, upon their 
 coming to Vevey last year, that there was something wrong 
 in their own church in praying, as the E-omanists and Greeks 
 
 " Eaikes says, in his journal : — 
 
 " The Russian women, generally speaking, have much frankness and sensi- 
 bility in their character. A refined education forms their minds to the enjoy- 
 ment of those scenes, both local and social, in which Italy abounds. This 
 feeling is frozen up in their own barren country as soon as it is formed ; but 
 when they are allowed to visit foreign lands it bursts forth with redoubled 
 warmth, and only renders them more wretched when fate or the Emperor 
 ordains their return to Kussia."
 
 368 
 
 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 do equally, to the Virgin Mary and the Saints ; and of their 
 own accord they went to Mr. Malan, the most famous of the 
 Geneva clergy, and begged him to instruct them ; and they 
 subsequently received the communion in his church. They 
 now read nothing but religious books, because, say they, we 
 must make the most of our time, — in Russia they won't let 
 us have such books. I have made for one of them a little 
 sketch of the cottage they live in, and the enormous walnut- 
 tree close to it; and for the other I did the gate of the Castle 
 of Blonay, — to their great delight. -jf « -sf 
 
 I am impatient to tell you that my throat continues better. 
 I have had no such days as yesterday and to-day since I left 
 Paris : there has been less expectoration, and I swallow better. 
 My Russian friend observed it to-day. How glad I am, pre- 
 cious wife, when I can tell you I am better ! I really never 
 do think about my throat without reference to you. When 
 it is worse I am always picturing to myself my poor wife 
 fretting about it. * * * * 
 
 I do all I can to improve my condition, and I suppose I am 
 leading a healthy life. I get up very early, keep out of doors 
 almost all day, sitting in dry sheltered places to sketch, and 
 never sitting still if I feel the least wind blowing upon me, 
 and always taking a good long walk, and not too long. These 
 good Russian girls, too, help to make my day cheerful. They 
 are warm-hearted, unaffected, and sensible, and thorough 
 
 ladies. One of them, Catherine de S , is of one of the 
 
 highest families : her father is heir to the title of prince, and 
 her sister's husband gives balls to the imperial family, at one 
 of which the Grand Duke and heir apparent asked Catherine 
 to dance with him, and she made an excuse, feeling shy. 
 ■K- * -Jt * ^ * 
 
 To me, he says : — 
 
 To my Geneva letter 1 have had no answer; for little 
 jNIadame Pescantini won't be there, I am soi'ry to hear, till 
 after I am gone away. I am very sorry, for I should have 
 rejoiced to see her. But Miss Yachman I have seen. She
 
 A SALAMANDER. 369 
 
 answered my letter quickly, and 1 went to see her at a beau- 
 tiful little villa she has elose, to Lausanne. She has an English 
 husband whose name is Sharman, and they have been married 
 these half-dozen years. 
 
 She hugged me and kissed me mueh as you would, warm- 
 hearted soul as she is ; and he received me quite like an olil 
 friend, for lie said his wife had talked about us all a thousand 
 times. She asked a great deal about you, and told me that 
 the room I now occupied at the Cygne was the one " Sarah " 
 occupied eight years ago. •» * * * 
 
 To his wife : — 
 
 I have seen a salamander to-day for the first time in 
 my life. It was lying dead in the path, but live ones abound 
 here, though their time for going abroad is just my time for 
 staying at home, namely, after dark, and especially in wet 
 weather. It is a species of lizard, broad and fiat, and in 
 shape, but not colour or size, very like the wood-slave, the 
 ash-coloured lizard that loves walls and old wood. The sala- 
 mander is black, with a broad orange-coloured stripe on 
 each side, from head to tail. The one I saw was eight 
 inches long and one broad, but Miss Pfeil said she had seen 
 them much bigger. How the fables about them were sug- 
 gested I donH know; but it seems they love water much 
 better than fire. -Sf * * ^ 
 
 There has been more improvement still in my throat. It 
 is improvement enough to be seriously grateful for, and you 
 must join with me, sweet wife, in giving glory to God for it. 
 * * * * ^f * 
 
 My sketching goes on very badly. I can do next to 
 nothing, for the grass is always wet, so that I can never go 
 out of the road, and even then I can only sit in a shel- 
 tered place, and seldom long together. I have found a 
 place that suits me well, but the patent dry da/s that I 
 require are but few." * * * * 
 
 * Yet the number of sketches he did make during these few waeks iu 
 VOL. II. 2 B
 
 370 LIFE OF K. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Speaking of a German artist who was at the the Cygne, he 
 says : — 
 
 He said I had all the talent of a professional painter, and 
 til at my trees and mountains were magnifiques. They are 
 poor little dabs enough, and not at all what I like to carry 
 home to dearest wife ; but, of course, I know that they are 
 better than amateurs are apt to do. ■sf * ^ 
 
 Now go, last of my letters ! and tell my dear wife, if you 
 can, how thoroughly I love her. ^ ^ * 
 
 To me, from Malta, 28th October: — 
 
 I am again at ray own dear home, after an absence of just 
 five months, I left Yernex the 3rd of this month. Tlie 
 steamer took me to Geneva, the diligence next day to Cham- 
 bery, and next to Lyons, the steamer to Avignon, and next 
 day to Beaucaire, and then railroad to Nismes. I had never 
 been there, and was glad of the easy opportunity to see its 
 famous antiquities. I always pick up friends in a journey, 
 and this time I had been associated some days with two 
 Frenchmen, who joined me in hiring a carriage to the Pont du 
 Garde, the old Roman aqueduct, some half-dozen leagues from 
 Nismes. Next day to Aries, where there is a well-preserved 
 Roman amphitheatre and other remains, and next day to 
 Marseilles. •jf * -jf Most happy was I 
 
 to be again among my oivn. Few people are less fit than I 
 am now to wander about the world by myself, for you know 
 I want somebody to love, and to love me. 
 
 In November : — 
 
 But, dearest Bob, I am very sorry to hear that my sweet 
 daughter Lizzy was in poor health. Take great care of her, 
 Bob, for she is worth her weight in much better things than 
 
 Switzerland is am;iziii^r, and among Uiem are many exquisite gems, surpassing 
 in artistic effect and Ije.-uity of coiouiiii;,' any of liis earlier drawings*.
 
 CIIANGK or CLIMATE. 371 
 
 gold. She is worth to you what my honest wife is wortli to me. 
 These good women are angels about us. Millions of thanks, 
 my own good son, for your counsel and offer of all your good 
 service about the future education of my young sons. Well 
 I know, and well Mamma knows, and loves you for it, that 
 you would be to her and them a friend in need. Don't 
 think me such a goose, Bob, as to lament my ill fortune in 
 having only a thousand a year after my retirement. You 
 know I only meant that it would puzzle me to educate with 
 it eight children as I wish to educate them, and will, if I live, 
 at the cost of any sacrifice. My own wants are few. Wife 
 and I spend nothing upon ourselves. We will live in a wee 
 house, and be content if we can keep it warm. But, dearest 
 Bob, I have a dilemma to choose out of. For the last twenty- 
 two years I have only spent one winter in England. I never 
 could bear cold, and now it will pinch me more than ever. I 
 have great doubt whether I should not be nipped by the 
 frost. However, I must try. For my boys' sake I must 
 live in England, if I can. But for that, I would choose a 
 milder climate when I leave Malta. You are right, dear 
 son, in advising me not to stay here. I don't mean to stay ; 
 but I will get through next summer here, or partly here, if 
 I can. If I find I am beginning to suQcr I will go away at 
 once. Last year I had headaches for months befoi-e the 
 fever came; and if I had had the least suspicion what they 
 were leading to, I would, of course, have decamped. If any 
 such monitors come next summer, away I will go at once. 
 
 But I really have great hopes of doing well, managing, as 
 I mean to do, quite differently from past times. We have 
 that noble house at Sliema with the colonnade round it — cool 
 and far healthier than our Marina house, and there I mean 
 to live, and scarcely ever come to the office at all. There is 
 generally but little work doing in summer, and Portelli will 
 do it for me, only sending me routine papers to sign. In 
 this way I shall avoid my two great enemies, the sun and 
 tlie impure air of the dockyard creek. And please to observe, 
 my wish to hold my ap]"tnintment as long as I can with safety, 
 
 '1 V. 2
 
 oi.S LIFE OF R. C. SCOXCE. 
 
 arises not merely from the motive of the increasing pension, 
 hut to retain as long as I can the chance of getting a ph^ce 
 in England. If a vacancy fit for me should happen while I 
 retain this place, I should now, while Sir George Cockburn 
 is at the Admiralty, have a good chance of getting it; but if 
 I were on half-pay, I should have no chance. 
 
 * * ^ * * * 
 
 To me, in November: — 
 
 I have been drawing in St. John's Church every day for the 
 last month and more. I began the drawing four years ago, and 
 got it about half done, and there it stuck — sometimes busi- 
 ness, sometimes sickness, and twice going to England, having 
 interrupted it. I have now taken it up again, and mean to 
 persevere, if I have health and leisure enough, till I have 
 finished it, for it is worth finishing. I never sit more than 
 an hour and a half at a time in the church, so that ray days' 
 v.orks are short, and I suppose it will take me about forty 
 more sittings to finish it; and altogether I may have been 
 already sixty times. But it shows the whole church, and all 
 its detail of painting and carving; and there is not a bit as 
 big as your nail that is not carved and painted and gilt. 
 Mr. Hysler, the artist, sat by me the other day while I was 
 at work, and said it was the very^ church, exact in drawing 
 and colour and tone, and congratulated me on being the 
 first tliat ever succeeded in doing it. 
 
 There never has been a drawing made of St. John's, though 
 hundreds have done bits, and some have attempted the whole. 
 Several people have suggested that I should get the drawing 
 thoroughly mcII engraved by a London artist ; and I dare say 
 some great printseller woidd be glad to undertake the publica- 
 tion, for it would be sure to sell, as it is t/ie great ornament of 
 
 ' Wlit'ii my liuilinixl s;i\v this rnrilly wonderful drawing Lately, he exclaiine(}, 
 "That isn't a piclare of hit. JcjIim'h church, it \h the ehiireh itself." — 1356.
 
 "t^OUTIIEHN QUCKNS." 373 
 
 Malta^ and the thousands of people who come here would uiost 
 of them like to have a copy. 
 
 However, I must let Michele do it; for if he succeeds 
 tolerably, it will be a gain to him, and the sale of his 
 lithographies would not much interfere with the subsequent 
 sale of the engiaviugs, as there are people enough to buy 
 both. He could make, of course, for himself, a very good 
 drawing; but then he could not make one like mine without 
 spending upon it as much time as I have spent, which would 
 ruin him. * -jf •sf * * * 
 
 To Robert :— 
 
 I have received some of your " Southern Queens," and very 
 interesting they are. Your own compositions in them of course 
 interest me the most, and they are quite satisfactory ; but 
 besides those, there is the correspondence between our Bishop 
 and the Roman, and there is the account of the New Zealand 
 affairs. Oh, what a sad business our blockheads made of it ! 
 Stupid governors and incapable colonels are doing all they 
 can to work ruin for our young colony there. Think of four 
 or five hundred of our soldiers being marched up the country 
 to attack a walled and a well-manned fortress, in which there 
 were cannon too, without taking artillery with them, and a 
 rocket brigade with just nine rockets for their whole ammu- 
 nition, which nine rockets, too, were wasted. It must have 
 a most marvellous efi'cct in spiriting on the savages and 
 intimidating our own people. 
 
 Lord Stanley, you know, has earned the credit of doing all 
 he can to ruin the colonies ; and, at all events, he has no wish 
 to evince any particular affection for their interests. 
 
 Our Bishop has just returned from England. "While there 
 he wished to talk to Lord Stanley about the affairs of jNIalta, 
 and had much to say that a good minister would have been 
 willing to listen to ; but Lord Stanley would not see him : he 
 positively refused him an interview, thereby, of course, avow- 
 ing liis utter indifference, at least for the ecclesiastical interests 
 of this part of his charge.
 
 374 LIFE OF K. C. SCOXCE. 
 
 He seems to show special favour to the Roman Catholics, 
 and especially to the Jesuits, as if he thought that was 
 liberality, — his fair play being all on one side. He has sanc- 
 tioned the establishment of a Jesuits' College here ; and a 
 tribe of Jesuits from Stonj'hurst have come out to form it, 
 and they have set themselves up at Citta Vecchia, and have 
 already eighty Maltese boys in their training. 
 
 These Jesuits will busy themselves in undermining the 
 lower classes of our people here, and in their active clever- 
 ness will have a certain measure of success ; whereas if our 
 bishop and clergy were to attempt the making of converts 
 from the Maltese, Lord Stanley would rebuke them, and 
 would remind them that when the Euglish Government 
 uudertook the protection of Malta, it guaranteed to the 
 Maltese protection for tlieir religion, and so he would 
 consider any argument with them as an infringement of 
 the covenant. -Jr •}«•■» •jc- * 
 
 In December : — 
 
 Do what you can to keep out of hot water with people who 
 think differently from you. One is naturally tempted to hit 
 hard in return for an attack ; but wheu a man can afford to 
 leave abuse unanswered, it is generally better for himself in 
 most ways. The devil is sure to prompt us with bitterness^ and 
 then away we shoot poisoned arrows : 1 have, many a time '> 
 and very, very sorry I am for it. 
 
 The throat has been worse of late, and is pouring out 
 phlegm in such quantities that all I eat can barely supply 
 the waste; still I am not otherwise feeling like an invalid, 
 and I have an excellent aj)pctite, thanks mainly to good 
 Marama, who lately doubled it for me by making me buy a 
 horse and ride him every day. I am still active on horse- 
 back, and gallop like a midshipman, and away I scamper just 
 as I used to do years ago. It does me great good and 
 improves my sleeping as well as ray eating powers.
 
 875 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 [1846.] 
 
 HOWE HAPPINESS — HON. MRS. STUART — ROMANIZING CLERGYMEN — PHOENICIAN 
 TOWER AND INSCRIPTION — HIS HORSE — INCREASED ILLNESS— PREPARES TO 
 LEAVE MALTA — LETTER TO MR. PORTELLI — JOURNEY TO ENGLAND — ILLNESS 
 — SUFFERINGS — LAST LETTER TO HIS SON ROBERT — HIS WIFE'S NARRATIVE 
 OF LAST DAYS AND DEATH — BURIAL — MY BRuTHER's LETTER TO ME OJf 
 OUR father's DEATH— MR. KITSON's LETTER. 
 
 To Robert, in January, his dear Father writes : — 
 
 I find in your letter a most comfortable picture of your 
 domestic condition. It is, I verily believe, much such a home 
 as ours is, where two people have one heart, the same prin- 
 ciples and thoughts and tastes, helping and cheering each 
 other, never disappointing or vexing, except in the sense in 
 which poor Mamma complains that I give her more plague 
 than all her money, by being sick, by her neither being able 
 to cure me nor j^art cure me, by taking all or some of my 
 ailment to herself. -x- * * * •}? 
 
 The doctors have sent hither this season invalids of all 
 sorts, and among them an unusual number of our acquaintance, 
 among them tTiat very sweet creature that was once called 
 Minny Gore — she is now the Honourable Mrs. Stuart, and 
 her husband, who is, of course, with her, is a Colonel in the 
 Guards. They dined with us tlie other day, and ^lamma is 
 enchanted with my dear Minny," who is not one bit spoiled 
 by the atmosphere of the Court, in which she has lived ever 
 
 " In a letter to me, Mrs. Stuart says, speaking of my Father : — 
 " It has always baen a source of real pleasure to ine to have renewed my 
 memory of him, as we did at Malta in lS4d, and to have felt the glow of his 
 almost uni([ue warmth of heart! as well as of his rare talents."
 
 376 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 since she was grown up, and seems to love me as much as she 
 did when she was a little girl. She asked a great deal about 
 you and Sally, and remembei's everything about Rochester 
 as well as if it were yesterday. -sf -if * 
 
 And lastly, the Prince and Princess of Capua, on whom I 
 was obliged to call, from having seen a good deal of them 
 formerly at the Woods\ They wanted our house at Sliema, 
 and I was put toray wit's end to refuse it with a good grace. 
 Happily I did contrive it. -Jt * * * 
 
 By the bye — of Puseyisra — Colonel Stuart saw two English 
 clergymen kiss the vessel that contains Saint Januarius's blood, 
 at Naples, the Saint that the Neapolitans curse when any- 
 thing goes amiss, and the blood that the Roman Catholic 
 Eustace believed to liquify by legerdemain, and not miracle. 
 Another English clergyman knelt at the mass. 
 
 Later in the month : — 
 
 Yesterday we all went to see the Torrejouhar, a fragment 
 of a Phoenician tower, a mile beyond Goudia. We had two 
 calesses for Mamma and the little ones and Mademoiselle 
 Villes,^ and the old Abbate went with us. I went on horse- 
 back. I had noticed often, years ago, a remarkable inscription 
 on a stone forming the architrave of a house at Goudia, and 
 yesterday I copied it. Here it is — a puzzle for you and any 
 of your friends who have a taste for antiquarian lore : — 
 
 Anno in cAPnAci o n li* 
 
 Ctl CDCCCCC)CX)flJl ^le XXIfl dl lUAlUS 
 All I can make of it is, that the author of the composition 
 knew a little Italian and very little Latin, and so helped out 
 his Latin with the Italian. The C, instead of T, in incarna- 
 tionis, must be an Italianism ; and as he did not know the 
 Latin for '' of May," he wrote ''di'' for "of" in Italian, and 
 added to it the Lafin for May in the nominative case. The 
 
 *■ The iruveiJiess.
 
 GOOD IIOHSKS SCAKCE. 377 
 
 R in incarnatioiiis is in the Greek form, with a very little 
 loop, p, so. Tlie carving is elaborately and well done, the 
 letters being left in high relief, and each letter three or four 
 inches high. It seems odd that there should have been no 
 Latinist at hand to submit it to — the parish priest, for 
 example, who very probably knew that the genitive case of 
 Mains should be IMaii. I had a disagreeable ride, for my 
 horse — which I only got a few days ago, in exchange, at a 
 loss of course, for the one I first bought — stumbled so abomi- 
 nably, that I expected him every moment to come down upon 
 his knees and nose. * -Sf -)f •?:- * 
 
 The difficulty of getting a good horse is close upon a mere 
 impossibility. The other shied so much, that a Maltese 
 groom said to me one day, " Sir, that very pretty horse, but 
 shy too much, and kill you some day, cause, you know, you 
 very old man ; " and as I had no fancy for such a catastrophe, 
 I got rid of him. I am still a good rider, except that I soon 
 get tired ; and when I am tired it is a painful exertion to stick 
 upon the back of a plunging beast : still, when I came home 
 I was not knocked up, and contrived, without any disagree- 
 able effort, to write most of the evening, scoring off a couple 
 of chapters of my Thucydides. -jf ^ ^ 
 
 In February, to me : — 
 
 Happily for me, dearest, I have no anxieties to trouble 
 me ; for my difficulty is great enough as it is, in contend- 
 ing with my bodily infirmities. My throat has not been bad 
 lately, rather better than otherwise; but the headaches have 
 come back, and have for the last ten days seldom beeu 
 absent. I believe the hot weather has been unfavourable to 
 me, for all this month of February has been so much abso- 
 lute summer. There has been no wind, no rain, to stir the 
 stagnation of the atmosphere, and the more pernicious stag- 
 nation of our detestable creek. * * ^ 
 
 To-day I am pretty well ; but I can seldom do much more 
 than give Kitty and 3iia their lessons, read lor amusement,
 
 378 
 
 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 and take my daily ride. My horse is an admirable one. I 
 have sold the second I bought, and gone back to the first ; 
 and having, in a great measure, cured him of his terror of 
 pigs, he turns out in every other respect first rate ; full of 
 spirit and activity, most gentle temper, a mouth that doesn't 
 pull against a little finger, very easy pleasant paces, and never 
 trips. In short, I never had a better, and I am grateful to 
 the good beast for the help he gives me. It amuses me to 
 skirmish across the island, and revisit, after so many years, 
 places formerly familiar to us, -sf ^ -k- 
 
 March of this year is the first month in which there are no 
 letters to his children ! 
 
 In April he writes to me, and nearly the same to 
 Eobert :— 
 
 I am but little better ; but yet in the last day or two I 
 have gained something in point of strength. For two months 
 I have been much more ill than before ; yet the doctors are 
 convinced that I have no incurable disease, and my own 
 sensations tell me that change of climate, which has so 
 often set me up, will again be of great use to me in removing 
 many of my maladies and repairing my strength ; though I 
 am far from expecting that it will cure my throat, which has 
 now been out of order seventeen months. 
 
 We are packing up for a final remove from Malta, and 
 hope to get away before the end of next month. We can 
 hardly yet quite decide which way to go. The least difficulty 
 will, probably, be in the sea-voyago, but that would be quite 
 foriuidablc enough ; and, if we can hire a carriage, and post 
 through France for less money, that will perhaps be the best 
 way. 
 
 Whether I shall be able to stay in England is very uncer- 
 tain. An English winter would probably suit me as little 
 as a Malta summer. Even for the summer I don't know 
 whether I shall not be sent to the Eaux bonnes, in the 
 ^yrcncc^s, or Lo some of the German baths; both have been
 
 INCKEASED SUFFERlNfOS. 379 
 
 talked of. But^ first of all, we must deposit the young 
 ones with Aunt, who will take care of them if we are obliged 
 to go away. We have spent the last winter in Malta, not 
 thinking a winter here could be amiss ; but I haye had such a 
 complication of maladies that it is hard to guess ivhat climate 
 Ave ought to choose. JNIy head has been, for these two 
 months, sadly out of order ; no acute pain, but a stupify- 
 ing weight upon it. The throat has been very much worse, 
 and the medical people have now no doubt that the passages 
 leading to the lungs are diseased. The increased irritation 
 there brought on a cough that has now been long fixed, and 
 another strange symptom in the shape of hiccups. For a 
 whole fortnight this went on nearly all day, and much of the 
 night. Then I had a most blessed respite, and now it is come 
 again, and occupies me almost continually. I mean that it 
 makes me think about it, and about little else ; for while it 
 is upon me it shakes me violently for hours together; and 
 when I succeed in suppressing it, for an interval, with hot 
 wine and water, which sometimes succeeds and sometimes 
 not, — it would return again in a moment if I were not con- 
 stantly on my guard to struggle with the rising air in my 
 throat, which brings it on. 
 
 I am often obliged to sit motionless, holding my breath as 
 hard as I can — never speaking. I write down what I have 
 to say. My voice is all gone but a whisper, and even that I 
 am not allowed to use. Perhaps when I gain a little more 
 strength, as I may from the voyage, the bronchitis may be 
 mitigated, and the hiccup which is caused by it may go away. 
 By way of fighting the internal disease, the doctors have 
 applied a seton to my throat, and Stilon has a good hope of 
 its working a thorough cure ; but in the mean time it is both 
 an additional drain and a painful disturber of repose. The 
 pain, however, is but a small matter; and, happily, none of 
 my complaints are painful, and I have generally plenty of 
 refreshing sleep. Upon the whole, I quite agree Avith the 
 doctors in thinking that my condition is not worse than pre- 
 carious ; that 1 mav regain a certain measure of strength.
 
 380 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 and may loug go ou like a creaking wheel. 1 have never 
 felt the least despondency, and poor Mamma's trial is the 
 heavier of the two. Yet we are both abidingly sensible of 
 God's great goodness to us, and trust He will enable us, in 
 all His dispensations, to praise His holy name. 
 
 I had a most welcome letter from Sir Henry Bunbury from 
 Naples, giving me your latest news, a happier account than 
 any I had before received, and especially of Hanmer's heakh. 
 Sir Henry had just heard, too late, of my having returned to 
 Malta, or he would have come to see me, or proposed our 
 meeting at Messina. How glad I should have been of either 
 plan if I had been in tolerable health. 
 
 I have not written to the Admiralty to resign my 
 appointment, but simply to say that I can't stay at Malta 
 this summer. Perhaps they will again give me leave; or, 
 on the other hand, they may say, that as I had leave last 
 year they can't give me more, and that I must resign. I 
 don't at all care, for I have not the least notion of returning. 
 
 We came to Sliema the last day of February, and I have 
 only been to my office twice since then. * * * 
 Mamma is at the Marina, packing up the books; Mrs. Clifton 
 and Mr. and JMrs. Portelli help her. We shall leave all our 
 furniture to be sold by them after we are gone. 
 
 In May, he writes : — 
 
 I am so much better than I was when I wrote a fortnight 
 ago, that I am impatient to write again, though I have little 
 else to tell you. My voice is in a great measure returned, so 
 is my sense of hearing. * * -jf -sf 
 
 Of my present condition you may judge something, from 
 my having been able to pay eight farewell visits in Yaletta 
 jesterday, the first time I have been able to make any such 
 exertion. Of course, I was carried about, with Mamma, in a 
 calesse.*' ***■»* ^ 
 
 •^ liu Lad bold liiis CHuiugc iiiiil iiorsca a yccir ur two Ijufuru.
 
 LOVE, THE BEST THING. 381 
 
 On the 18tli May, iu his last letter to his Son frora Malta, 
 he says : — 
 
 I received yesterday your letter No. 98^ and you were 
 quite right to make sure that its contents would be joyful to 
 me. It gives me the address of your parishioners ; and though 
 nothing they say in your praise can strengthen my own con- 
 victions, yet it is an immense satisfaction to find that the 
 people to whom you are devoting yourself entertain, and take 
 pleasure in professing, a right feeling towards you. This must 
 be, of course, a mighty consolation and encouragement to you, 
 and therefore it is that I rejoice in it. I am apt to cry about 
 such things (neither for joy nor grief of my own), and that 
 would have made it quite impossible for me to read a bit of 
 your letter out loud ; but Mamma read that part to our friends 
 the Clifton s, who shared our great pleasure in it. 
 
 Don't fret, dear Bob, because you can't get me to think as 
 you do of Newmans, Wards, and Puseys, nor because I have 
 small taste for scientific theology ; for it is enough that I think 
 of you as you would wish me to think, and there are things 
 enough in which we do thoroughly agree in thought, feeling, 
 and taste. Mamma says of you that you are a chip of 
 the old block ; and it is quite true, at all events, in the 
 sense she mainly meant it, — and that is, in your great 
 energy. 
 
 Of course, I dearly love to see it, — and to see it admirably 
 directed, too. You know well the object of my intense care 
 M'as your true happiness in this life and your preparation for 
 a better; and you can judge whether I am not more satisfied 
 with you as you aie than if you had been the humdrum occu- 
 pant of the best living in England. You are doing your best, 
 and doing it right well ; and yon are loving your old Father 
 even as he wants you to love him, — ay, Bob, and that's one 
 thing in which we heartily agree, that in all this world love 
 is the best thing of all. What should I have done iu the 
 last two years of sickness without kind hearts about me to 
 give me love as well as needful help in my feebleness? What
 
 382 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 but love could even dress my seton for me, night and morning, 
 as Mamma dresses it? 
 
 Malta, 25th May, 1846, 
 My dear Portelli/ — My last writing at Malta must be 
 to you. I am going away in so precarious a state of health, 
 that my return must be uncertain. However that may be, 
 let me assure you that I shall never forget what you have 
 been to me for the last eighteen years. I only wish you were 
 likely to be my successor. Who could possibly fill the place 
 better ? — how many are there who could fill it as well ? 
 Exceedingly few. It is well known to the Admirals, to the 
 Admiralty, and especially to our immediate master, Mr. Meek, 
 how admirably you have managed the department in my re- 
 peated absences on account of ill health. If it were not for 
 the entire confidence that is placed in you for ability and zeal, 
 I should certainly not have been allowed the repeated leave 
 of absence with which of late years I have been indulged. 
 Mr. Meek has been told by me, over and over again, that you 
 are worth your weight in gold ; and Sir Lucius Curtis would 
 adopt, with all his heart, the strongest terms that even I 
 should choose in speaking of you; and well he knows that, 
 intimate as the friendship between us is, it is impossible to 
 attribute to private partiality one particle of the language in 
 which I have a thousand times expressed my sense of your 
 value. 
 
 God bless you, m}^ dear Portelli; — thank you, with my 
 whole heart, for the daily and hourly help, and for all the 
 kindness for which, during so many years, I have been in- 
 debted to you. You know well the truth with which I am 
 ever yours, 
 
 R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 '' His chief clerk.
 
 DEPARTURE FROM MALTA. 383 
 
 This is tlic last letter I ever received from my dearest 
 Father: — 
 
 Greenwich, SOth June, 1846. 
 
 My own sweetest Child, — I had the happiness of 
 receiving yesterday your letter of the 12th of February, 
 giving a good account of the health of all your precious 
 house. And 7ioiv, ray darling, I may venture to tell you 
 that I, too, am pretty well. I could not have done so before, 
 for I have had a renewal of very grievous illness, and arrived 
 here, at Greenwich (on the 20th of this month), in a very 
 precarious condition, so that Liddell did not know whether 
 my lungs might not be incurably affected. Since then I 
 have slowly improved, but yet have contrived to make some 
 progress from day to day. •?? ^c- -jf * 
 
 People with complaints of this particular nature are said to 
 be always unconscious of their own state ; but I feel pretty 
 sure that I am really mending, and that the lungs are, for 
 the present, safe. -jf ^ * ^ * 
 
 We left Malta the 26tli of May, and went in the French 
 packet to Leghorn. On board the packet I caught a cold 
 that fell heavily on my chest, and, I believe, created an 
 inflammation of the lungs. We paused one day there; and 
 then feeling able to go on, it seemed better for us to try and 
 get home than to run the risk of my being laid up in a strange 
 land. 
 
 We engaged a vetturino, witli a big berline and three stout 
 horses, and on we went, by easy stages, to Genoa, Milan, Como, 
 Bellinzona, St. Gothard, and Fluelen ; there we took the steamer 
 to Lucerne, and thence another vetturino took us in two days 
 to Basle ; steam, by land, river, and sea, brought us all the 
 way from thence to Greenwich in six easy days. It was 
 often doubtful to us which might prove the lesser evil, — to 
 come on or to stop; but we always decided upon coming on, 
 and so we persevered from Leghorn to Greenwich, from tlie 
 30th of May to the 20th of June, without one day's halt. The 
 fatigue was, of course, very injurious to me; but the rest I
 
 881 LIFE OF K. C. SCONCE. 
 
 have since enjoyed is repairing the mischief, and I have a *rood 
 hope of being soon tolerably well. I am lower in condition 
 than I ever was — nothing but skin and bone, — but my appe- 
 tite is like a wolf^s, and my digestion admirable; so I flatter 
 myself that I must be imperceptibly picking up some little 
 solidity. 
 
 On our landing at Dover, good Uncle Joseph, with Clem 
 and Herbert, met us on the beach. Aunt would have come, 
 but was recruiting her strength at Barming, after a serious 
 attack of bilious fever. Next day. Mamma and I, and our 
 seven children, came to Greenwich, and Aunt joined us ; 
 some at Liddell's and some at a neighbouring hotel. 
 
 On the 23rd they all went to Bath, leaving me to be taken 
 care of by Liddell, — and he has taken the utmost care of me. 
 We are to make Bath our permanent abode; and they have 
 taken furnished lodgings there till they can meet with a house 
 to suit us. They have had no luck yet. We don't mean to 
 live in the town, but in some country place near it. 
 
 If we can get such a place as Tothill,^ only with a room or 
 two more for our larger numbers, it will suit us exactly. 
 Liddell wishes to keep me a little longer under his eye; but 
 as soon as I may safely go, I will make haste to join them. I 
 can't do much to help them hunt for a house, for half an 
 liour's walk at a time is as much as 1 can manage, and at 
 a snail's pace. However, my mobility will improve when the 
 beef I am consuming finds its way to my legs, which are 
 mere mopsticks. 
 
 Uncle Vi and his wife are coming to see me to-day. He 
 wants me to go with them to Writtle ; but when I can go 
 anywhere, it must be to Bath. He says Bath must be too 
 hot for HiC in the dog-days : but these English people have 
 odd notions of heat, for 1 find this last day of June much 
 like a Malta December, and have been tilad to add a flannel 
 waistcoat to my defences against the cold. The lower part of 
 Bath is, I believe, hot, and not very healthy ; but we don't 
 
 * Near Plymouth, wheii^ we lived while he was with Sir H. Neaie.
 
 A FATAL ACCIDENT. 385 
 
 mean to settle there. Of course, my chick, it is quite settled 
 that I am not to return to IMalta. You see I could not escape 
 illuess there, even in the winter, this last year. I have come 
 away on leave of absence, which I may probably spin out till 
 October or November, and then send in my resiguatiou. 
 
 I don't know what pension they will give me. The 
 regulations ou tliat subject are not juot ; for I believe, 
 according to them, I can only claim £\\^ a year; that is to 
 say, twelve shillings a day for half-pay as Secretary, and 
 i6250 a year for pension as Agent Victualler ; and yet I 
 should have been entitled to as much as that for twelve 
 years' service as Secretary and fifteen as Agent Victualler; 
 whereas, altogether, I have served, not twenty- seven years, 
 but /or///. 
 
 Good old Le Mesurier came here this morning and break- 
 fasted with me, and inquired kindly after you, as he always 
 does. Good old Smith paid me a visit the other day, and 
 sent his love to you. 
 
 Liddell is gone this morning to the funeral of poor little 
 Patrick Stewart, the youngest son of our friends Captain and 
 Mrs. Houston Stewart. She is a most sweet creature, and we 
 all love her dearly ; she doted upon our angel Fanny. This 
 poor little boy was but thirteen years old. Some unwise 
 friend had trusted him with a gun — it went off while he was 
 stooping to put ou his shoe, and the charge went through his 
 head and killed him instantaneously. The poor parents are 
 composed and resigned. They are good people. 
 
 Heaven bless and guard you all, my dear child. I shall 
 look forward to the joy of seeing you once more even in this 
 world ! Dearly do I love you, my admirable daughter. You 
 are inexpressibly sweet to me. 
 
 The following are little extracts from his daily letters from 
 Greenwich to his wife at Bath : — 
 
 How I do long to hear of you, and of dear Harriet and all 
 the good little souls. I trust you have encountered no great 
 
 VOL. II. 2 c
 
 380 LIFE OF R. C. SCOXCE. 
 
 perplexities. I am helpless just at the time when my help 
 would be most useful to you, and I am deprived, too, of my 
 sweetest wife just wheu I most want her. But you and I 
 know that we have millions of mighty blessings to be thankful 
 for, and a source of strength and consolation that will not fail 
 us in any trial. ***** 
 
 Liddell takes care of me just as you do. * * 
 
 I was at Church yesterday, dear wife, at the Hospital Chapel. 
 Mr. Kitson read the prayers slowly and solemnly. 
 
 ****** 
 
 I have been walking in the Park (as 1 always do for an 
 hour after breakfast) and longing to sketch some trees ; but 
 there is too much wind. You may depend upon my doing 
 no imprudences. My having an inclination to sketch is a 
 sure sign of my being better. * * * * 
 
 I have as decided a preference, dear wife, as you have, for a 
 house out of the town ; for though you know I am as little 
 dependent as most people upon external circumstances for ray 
 comfort, yet I can fancy nothing more detestable for a perma- 
 nent abode than a street in Bath. London is bad enough ; but 
 there, there are museums, libraries, exhibitions ; whereas, at 
 Bath there is nothing. The poor little things could never go 
 out without smart bonnets and smooth collars, and could have 
 no independent out-of-doors play ; and walking for exercise 
 would be to you and me as disagreeable a dovere as a walk to 
 the Capuchin convent. A walk at Wateringbury did one's 
 spirits good ; but in the Bath streets — my patience ! why, the 
 Capuchin convent would be out-and-out better ; so do let's 
 scour the whole circumference of Bath, till we light on some- 
 thing that will do. ***** 
 
 I say, Willy, have you got your marbles with you ? If not, 
 J suppose we can get some at Bath. I can play at marbles 
 with you, but I am afraid I can't jump as well as last year, 
 because my legs have got no flesh upon 'cm. 
 
 * * * * * *
 
 GROWING STOUTER. 387 
 
 Next Monday we are to go to Bath. Liddell and Johnny 
 and Bobby to the Woods. * * * * 
 
 Here is your dear letter, and my good little Clement's. 
 Thank the dear old fellow for it. I won't write to him now ; 
 but I know how glad he will be to hear that I am to spend 
 my birthday at home — only three intervening days. 
 * -x- ■» * ^- •5f 
 
 Whitmarsh came in just now, and I made him feel the 
 calves of my legs, and he said, " Oh, there's muscle there ! " 
 In this matter there has been rapid improvement, and, of 
 coux'se, that is very encouraging. I could hardly be getting 
 these mighty limbs if I had an internal consuming disease. 
 So now, sweet wife, I have gladdened your heart. 
 
 I am going on comfortably, and expect to be pretty stout 
 again before very long. Very slow as the improvement is, it 
 has made a wonderful difference in me within the last fort- 
 night ; and though a certain quantity of local irritation still 
 remains, yet there remains not a particle of that feeling of 
 illness that it used to cause. Of course, that proves its 
 diminution. * * ^ •k- -Jf 
 
 Pray do tell good Clement how much I am pleased with 
 his affectionate little letter — and a very satisfactory one it is 
 too, in showing me that he can understand a piece of Latin 
 without help. We must push him on now at railway pace, 
 for his years at school will be few. W^e must get a cheap 
 house, that we may afford him, for a year, a first-rate tutor. 
 * 4f * * * * 
 
 From Greenwich, writing to his Cousin Mrs. Repton, he 
 says : — 
 
 I should have been glad to go and see you, my dears, but 
 it is bej'ond my strength. Talking, too, is mischievous to 
 me : a little too much of it two days ago pulled down all at 
 once the building-up of a week. 
 
 2 c 2
 
 388 LTFE OV R. C. SCONCK. 
 
 And now I come to what my poor l^rother calls " the last 
 of his most fondly-loved Father's beautiful and affectionate 
 letters :"— 
 
 Bath, 12^/1 July, 1846. 
 
 My dearest Boy, — Since I wrote to you twelve days ago, 
 I have received two of your letters, 99 and 100, one just 
 come, and I long to write to you directly. I took ray paper 
 out an hour ago, but sleep came over me, and I gave way to 
 it willingly, for I was in pain, 
 
 jMy own dear Bob, you must not be disappointed if my 
 letters are little more than short histories of my condition. 
 They have been nothing else for a long time past. For 
 more than two years I have been continually sick, and often 
 severely ill, and at this moment I have a galling evil of 
 a new sort. The seton that was put into my neck at Malta 
 created an abscess, and a wide-spread erysipelas, and the sore 
 is now a mighty big one, and growing every day wider and 
 more angry. 
 
 I came to Bath a week ago, and Liddell came with me to 
 pay a visit to the Woods, with whom he stays till to-morrow, 
 when I must be transferred to a new doctor. Aunt is ill too. 
 She has had an ague, off and on, these two months. For 
 the last two days there has been no fit, and we are be- 
 ginning to hope it will give way. Sad it is for poor Mamma 
 to have us both ill together; but she has happily great 
 help in nursing us, for all our good children are anxious 
 to do their best, and it is very comforting to see the love 
 with which they do it, Clement and Herbert claiming the 
 chief share in supplying my wants. If you were here, you 
 would think me still more your property ; and I wish I could 
 see your old face about me, and your pretty Lizzy, and the 
 little daughters. 
 
 29th Juhi. 
 The month has been wasting away, and glad, indeed, I ara 
 to be able, now before the packet goes, to add a little to uiy
 
 SORE THllOAT AGAIN. 389 
 
 letter, and to send you a better account of both invalids. 
 * * * I have been struggling for the last 
 
 fortnight veith greatly increased pain. The sore in the neck 
 allowed rae no rest, day nor night, and the pain created 
 general illness, and the great discharge from the sore pulled 
 me down very low, and one of the remedies — a poultice as 
 big as your two open hands, kept night and day upon the neck 
 and over the collar-bones — gave me rheumatism in my head 
 and shoulders, and down to my fingers ; so that, three days 
 ago, I could not possibly have held a pen. 
 
 But a blessed change took place in the aspect of the sore, 
 the discharge ceased, the pain abated, and allowed me a little 
 sleep ; the poultice was removed, and the rheumatism went 
 away. The healing process is going on promisingly. It is 
 very slow and uncertain ; but in the mean time, the 7'est I 
 enjoy is exquisite happiness. It is far from amounting to an 
 absence of pain ; but yet, the mitigation is to me a greater 
 blessing than perfect health could be to people who had not 
 lecently known what an ulcer in the neck of eight or ten 
 square inches is. 
 
 But now, dear Bob, you must remember that the seton was 
 designed to counteract internal disease, and that I had 
 grievous threatenings about the regions of my lungs. 
 
 The seton seemed to do no good ; but the sore it made 
 was equal, in irritation and discharge, to twenty setons; and 
 it HAS done good, for I have now no morbid sensations 
 remaining in the chest, and so there is hope that the dan- 
 gerous disease is suspended, or cheeked, or possibly even 
 cured. Yet all is not right within, for among the mischiefs 
 of the poultice (the great mass of damp so long enveloping 
 my neck), it brought back the disorder in my throat, that 
 seemed to have gone away after lasting twenty months. Still, 
 that is comparatively not a serious evil. It is far better, you 
 know, to have it in the upper region of the pharynx, or 
 larynx, or glottis, than down in the bronchial tubes or lungs. 
 I have not yet been able to get out of the house. The pain 
 allowed no locomotion ; but for some days I have been able
 
 390 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 to sit for three or four hours in the drawing-room; and when 
 I can get out, I verily believe I shall be a sort of new man. 
 
 I received some days ago the '"Divinity" you sent, through 
 George Repton, and I hope to read it with great interest ; 
 but I must wait for more strength. I have no power yet to 
 read more than short sentences in devotional books, a little 
 now and a little then. For hours after the dressing of ray 
 neck I can think of nothing but its smarting. My scrap of 
 dinner, and great draught of porter (for I have a mighty 
 thirst, the effect, I suppose, of pain and enormous perspira- 
 tion) -wind me up ; but then I grow sleepy, and am glad to 
 put my head on my pillow again. ■sf ^ * 
 
 In answer to a letter of my Brother's about Mr. Newman's 
 secession from the Church of Eugland, he says : — 
 
 I gave you my opinion of Mr. Newman years ago, and 
 there I let the matter drop. I believed that time would 
 open your eyes ; and I hope you know me too well to think 
 that I have now any triumph in having made a right guess, 
 while you made a wrong one. 
 
 One great difference between us — between youth and age — 
 is, that you are sure of many things, and I have arrived at 
 the conclusion that there is scarcely any opinion on which one 
 can safely rely on any subject. I don't mean that you are 
 over confident in yourself, but in those to whose guidance you 
 have committed yourself. 
 
 ZQth Jidy. 
 
 Here is the last day for the packet. I had hoped to be 
 able to write to my darling Sally, but it is impossible. Send 
 lier the substance of this with my blessing. I have really a 
 good hope of being able to send by the next packet a better 
 account of my health. If the sore heals kindly, I shall 
 quickly regain some strength. I am now exhausted with 
 mere pain. God bless you, my good and very dear children, 
 and enable us all to submit ourselves entirely to Ilis good 
 pleasure, and glokity God in Tiiii hay ov visitation.
 
 INCREASING WEAKNESS. 391 
 
 These are my dear Father's last wrilten words in my 
 possession. The history of his few remaining days is given 
 in the following narrative, written shortly after his death by 
 his wife, and sent to his absent children in Austraha. 
 
 On looking back at the mournful history of the last seven 
 weeks, I now wonder that we were not better prepared for the 
 impending blow, — that we did not see it was inevitable. 
 
 Blinded, I suppose, by the flattering nature of the disease, 
 I had persuaded myself that it could not be consumption, and 
 so, at times, hoped on to the last ! 
 
 My precious Robert had for some time thought very badly 
 of himself. He was apt to check my too sanguine view of his 
 case, and only a day or two after he arrived at Bath (the 6th 
 of Jul}'', the last birthday he was to spend upon earth) he ob- 
 served that " it would be folly to reckon on such a life as his." 
 
 In spite of some favourable appearances — I mean the 
 liealing of the sore, and cessation of the cough — the weakness 
 continually increased. For many days before we left Russell 
 Street he was unable to dress without my help, and had 
 scarcely power to wash and shave. Getting up and down 
 stairs, and going out in the Bath-chair became more and 
 more difficult. It seemed, indeed, as if both would soon be 
 impossible, as it proved; for the very last time he attempted 
 either of these painful efforts, was the day we came into this 
 house. ^ We got him up to the drawing-room floor, and he 
 never moved from it again. He got rapidly weaker, and my 
 hope must have failed me entirely if it had not been for the 
 cheerful manner of our young doctor, who at that time, as I 
 have since learnt, knew little of the history of the case, and, 
 deceived himself, always contrived to comfort me. I used to 
 dread making my first inquiry of dearest Robert in the 
 morning, as to how he felt, because every morning regularly 
 he told me that he was " sensibly weaker." On the 19th of 
 August, as we were wheeling him upon the couch from the 
 
 ' In Norfolk Ci'escent.
 
 392 LIFE OF U. C. SCONCE. 
 
 bedroom into the drawing-room, he shocked rae by saying, 
 in a solemn manner, as if to prepare us for the terrible truth, 
 " I think worse of myself to-day than I have ever yet done." 
 To some reply of dear Harriet's, he answered, " It would be 
 madness to shut our eyes to the truth ; I have very little 
 more strength to lose, and if that little goes at the rate it is 
 going now, I can't last long.'^ I determined to write for 
 Pr. Liddell immediately, and having taken the pen in my 
 hand, ray beloved Robert said that he would dictate the 
 letter, and made me write down these dreadful words — "I 
 am grievously ill ; my strength is fast going from me. I 
 •want much to see you. Make haste and come to me.'^ 
 
 The next day he rallied a little, and for the first time for 
 many days told us he did not think he had " lost any ground 
 in the last twenty-four hours.'^ I was further cheered by his 
 asking me for the newspaper, and by seeing that he read it 
 with interest. On putting it down, he talked to me, as he 
 was always accustomed to do, of what he had been reading — 
 a debate upon the duty on sugar with reference to the slave 
 question. He told me how distinguished a part the Bishop 
 of Oxford had taken in it, and said, that " he had spoken in a 
 manner altogether worthy of a Wilberforce." 
 
 After this he took his dinner and dozed ; about five o'clock 
 (he was still on the couch in the drawing-room) Dr. Liddell 
 arrived. This was the very earliest moment that he could 
 have come, and dearest Robert, who was rejoiced to see him, 
 received him with affectionate and most affecting warmth. I 
 remember his saying, '' You are a good fellow, Liddell, for 
 making such has>te to come to me. I wanted to see you, not 
 as a medical man, but as a friend ; it does me good to look at 
 you." He had sat up longer than usual, and being tired. 
 Dr. Liddell soon assisted me in getting him into bed. Dr. 
 Liddell remained in the room, and when the tea was ready, 
 my precious husband begged him to take some at the bedside, 
 which he did. Thinking, I suppose, that the opportunity 
 must not be lost, dearest R()l)ort talked to hiui about business 
 of various kinds, of liis Will amongst t!ic rest, and tliat even-
 
 FRIENDLY VISITS. 393 
 
 iiig it was written fair and signed. He had almost lost the 
 use of his dear hands^ and felt so doubtful of being able to 
 guide the pen, that he asked for a bit of paper, to try. He 
 did just manage to sign his name for the last time. Having 
 done it, he said, " Nobody would know that to be my writing; 
 but you, Liddell, can certify that it was only the hand that 
 failed me, and that I was of sound mind. My head is as clear 
 as ever. At least, I am not conscious of any loss of intellect, 
 and I think I could express myself on any subject the same 
 as ever I did." 
 
 A delightful surprise now awaited him, a visit from his 
 oldest and very dear friend, Mrs. Duckworth. In conse- 
 quence of the bad account I had sent her the day before," she 
 and her daughter and her son-in-law hurried to Bath, and 
 being just arrived, wrote to ask me when they might come 
 to the house. In his weak state he was so little able to bear 
 excitement, that I hesitated about reading the note to him. 
 
 He guessed the contents at once, and instantly exclaimed, 
 with great eagerness, and crying for joy, " What — are they 
 come, then ! are they in the house — in the next room ? Oli, 
 bring them all in, it must do me good to see them." We told 
 liim they were waiting at the inn, and it was agreed that 
 Dr. Liddell should go and fetch them directly. 
 
 The meeting between such very dear friends, under such 
 circumstances, was what it would naturally be — each heart 
 was full, and my beloved husband could not help shedding 
 more tears. He said, " You mustn't think I am dejected. 
 Oh, no ! I am quite calm ; these are tears of joy." His other 
 '' dear friend," as he commonly called Lady Gore, had paid 
 him a visit two days before, and being affected in the same 
 wa}^ : he told liei', too, that it was the great happiness he felt 
 at seeing her that made him shed tears. He added, " I have 
 always been more apt to cry for pleasure than pain." So 
 many whom he loved dearly having come to see him, did 
 give him intense pleasure, and I am glad, for their sakcs, to 
 
 i To Tonjuay.
 
 394 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 record it, quite sure that the knowing this will afford them 
 all lasting satisfaction. 
 
 The warmth and tenderness of his own most affectionate 
 nature made him peculiarly sensible of any kindness or 
 affection shown to him, and several times, in allusion to these 
 visits, he said, that he thought " few people were ever blessed 
 with so many real good friends as he had. They are glorious 
 friends, all of them. See how they have come from the 
 North, East, and South, to visit me, and there's Joseph'' 
 coming too ! '' We were then expecting him ; but he wrote to 
 say, that he could not find any one to do his duty, and could 
 not possibly be here before the 26th. Early on Friday 
 morning, the 21st, my beloved husband complained of 
 increased weakness, and I myself thought I saw a general 
 change for the worse. He looked very ill, and his breath, 
 which had been short and feeble for some time past, seemed 
 to me shorter still. I felt alarmed, and fetched Dr. Liddell. 
 He soothed me in some degree, by not appearing to think 
 him any worse. 
 
 We were accustomed to pray together at this hour, and 
 Dr. Liddell joined us. Besides some other forms, we used 
 that morning a Litany for the sick, and my beloved husband 
 repeated every response earnestly and aloud. Dr. Liddell 
 then had breakfast by his bedside. They afterwards talked 
 upon business, chiefly about the retirement pension. I derived 
 a momentary comfort from hearing Dr. Liddell speak as if he 
 thought my beloved husband would live to enjoy it. At the 
 same time, he had told me the precarious condition of that 
 precious life. He compared it to a person standing on the 
 brink of a precipice, and added, " It is impossible to guess 
 which side he will fall over.'' 
 
 In speaking to Harriet, as she has since told me, he said, 
 that twenty-four hours might at any time make a fatal 
 change — a little more than twice that time showed how sadly 
 right lie was. He left us about noon. My beloved Robert 
 
 '' Hits l>io'Jiei-in-lii\v, IJuv. .Tos. Ilemleisun.
 
 LASTING FRIENDSHIP. 395 
 
 took an affectionate leave of him ; but there was nothing in 
 his manner by which I could tell whether he did or did not 
 expect to see Dr. Liddell again. He repeated, " You're a 
 good fellow;'' and I think his very last words at parting were, 
 *' God bless you, my dear Liddell ! " 
 
 Mrs. Duckworth came to us at one o'clock, and by that 
 time I had just got him into the drawing-room. There was 
 a solemnity in her manner which showed me that she feared 
 he would not be spared to us much longer. Like a true 
 friend, she was always trying to contribute to his comfort. A 
 short time before she had sent him a cushion of her own 
 knitting, and that day she brought him an eiderdown pillow. 
 He thanked her for it in his own warm, affectionate way, and 
 was pleased when I removed one of the other pillows, that he 
 might have hers next to his head and face. 
 
 Finding that Joseph could not come at once, my beloved 
 Robert was anxious to have the assistance of some other 
 clergyman, and we talked to Mrs. Duckworth upon this 
 important subject. All the clergy here being alike strangers 
 to us, we agreed that we ought to send to the Rector of the 
 parish, and Colonel Douglas kiudly offered to find out who 
 and where he was, for we did not know, and beg him to come. 
 At the same time, he told us, that his Father, Sir H. Douglas, 
 
 was intimate with the elder Mr. P (the former master 
 
 of the Grammar-scliool, and a man of high reputation here), 
 and after a little consultation, it was then determined that 
 Colonel Douglas should call upon him, instead of the Rector, 
 and request him to come to us in the evening. He then went 
 away for that purpose. Mrs. Duckworth was sitting close 
 beside my beloved Robert's couch. His behaviour, no less 
 than his words, expressed the great comfort he felt in liaving 
 her there. He often took both her hands in his, and many 
 a time his dear countenance lighted up with pleasure as he 
 looked upon her face. They spoke of their long friendship — 
 how they had known and loved each other for forty years. 
 He was glad to change his position whenever he could, and 
 we moved him into the armchair, as usual, to cat his dinner.
 
 396 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Mrs. Duckworth took liers at the same table with him, and 
 that was a pleasure to him. He wasn't able to sit up long, 
 and returned to the couch — there he remained till about four 
 o'clock, when he went to bed. Colonel and Mrs. Douglas, 
 who had rejoined us, stayed with him for a little while, and 
 then left the room. 
 
 I was alone with dearest Robert. He proposed our praying 
 as a fit preparation for the Holy Sacrament, which we thought 
 we were about to receive. The little table was prepared, and 
 
 so I hoped were all our hearts. At six o'clock Mr. P 
 
 arrived — not the elder, whom we expected, but a son of his. 
 1 never understood why the Father didn't come. The 
 moment he entered the room he begged me to go away. 
 We were all assembled in the next room, expecting shortly 
 to be called to the solemn service we earnestly desired to join 
 
 in ; but an hour passed, and Mr. P^ still remained at the 
 
 bedside by himself. At first we only thought he was injudi- 
 cious for staying so long, and feared that my beloved Robert's 
 little strength would be exhausted ; and then we began to 
 
 \\ onder at the strangely-prolonged visit. At last, Mr. P 
 
 Cauie in to us. He addressed himself to Harriet and me. 
 He said a great deal, but what he meant I couldn't under- 
 stand for some time. I was confused and agitated, and could 
 only make out that he talked in a way I never heard a 
 clergyman talk before. I supposed that he must have some 
 peculiarity in his opinions. Harriet doubted his belonging to 
 our own Church, and thought he must be a Sectarian minister 
 of some sort. I understood him better as he w^ent on. Having 
 asked him if he did not mean to administer the Sacrament to 
 us, he said, "No;'' that he did not, generally speaking, 
 approve of giving it to dying persons, because there was great 
 misconception upon this point in the minds of most people. 
 He spoke of it as a Popish practice, and seemed to suspect 
 that we, like those he censured, considered it in the super- 
 stitious light of a passport to Heaven. I assured him that we 
 had no such notion. 1 &aid, wc had been taught to consider 
 the SacramciiL of the Lord's Supper as a powerful means of
 
 A cr.KUGYMAN's VISIT. 397 
 
 grace, on wliicli account our Cliurcli enjoined the frequent 
 receiving of it ; that my dear husband had always been a 
 regular communicant in the days of his health and strength, 
 and that I could not possibly believe there were any just 
 grounds for denying him now the consolation of this holy 
 ordinance. To this he replied, that he must act conscien- 
 tiously, and do what he thought best for my husband's soul. 
 His own conviction was, that it was better for him not to take 
 the Sacrament in the present state of his mind. '' Why ?" I 
 asked most anxiously. He said, " Your Husband has told me 
 he does not feel peace in believhiff, and therefore,'' he added, 
 " he is not in a fit state to receive the Lord's Supper." 
 
 I was unspeakably shocked ; but I summoned courage to 
 say, " If by 'peace ' is to be understood a perfect assurance of 
 salvation, I am not at all surprised at his words. I believe 
 that this is granted to very few people, and many of the most 
 eminent Christians are supposed to have died without it. I 
 am fully satisfied that my beloved Husband has a humble 
 hope, and that it is well founded, not on his observance of 
 
 outward ordinances (Mr. had spoken of these as being 
 
 a snare to many), not on any doings of his own, but upon the 
 mere}'' and merits of our Redeemer." 
 
 He then said he did not wish to seem harsh or unkind, and 
 that he would go home and think over the subject, in case we 
 should still desire him to administer the Sacrament, or that 
 he would get some other clergyman to do it. I told him this 
 was not necessary, as we were expecting my brother in a few 
 days. Alas ! He asked me if he should come the next day. 
 1 didn't know what answer to make, doubtful whether his 
 visit would be a comfort to my beloved Robert. Should lie 
 
 not wish to see Mr. any more, it would be easy, I 
 
 thought, to put him off, and therefore I accepted his offer of 
 calling next day at noon. This is the substance of wliat 
 passed between us. He must have stayed with me for at 
 least an hour. 
 
 Harriet left us, and went to our beloved Robert, with 
 "whom she had some conversation upon Mr. 's strange
 
 398 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 objection to administer the Sacrament. Happily, he was not 
 at all disturbed by it, as I feared he -would be. He saw that 
 their opinions on the subject were quite different, and he 
 calmly retained his own. He feared, though, for me, knowing 
 my greater weakness in every way ; and when Harriet re- 
 marked on the strange manner in which Mr. expressed 
 
 himself, he said, " I hope he is not saying anything to 
 distress dearest wife.^' On my return to his room, I was 
 agreeably surprised at finding him quite calm and placid as 
 
 usual. I merely asked him if Mr. P ^s visit had given 
 
 him any comfort ; he said, ^' A doubtful comfort, owing to 
 the very great difference in our religious views." 
 
 That evening he rallied wonderfully ; he was able really to 
 enjoy the society of our kind friends. Once, taking hold of 
 Mrs. Douglas's hand, he said, " I do love to see you all about 
 me." She and her husband had tea in his room, and after 
 tea all the rest of the family joined us. My beloved husband 
 sat propped up in the bed with pillows, and smiled and talked 
 to us all in turn. 
 
 He was quite himself : his manner was full of that quiet 
 animation which always distinguished it, and made it so 
 attractive to everybody. We remarked how strong and 
 clear his voice was. At Harriet's request he repeated a 
 few lines of Spanish poetry,' and at another time some droll 
 verses of his own. He made us all as cheerful as he was 
 himself. It seemed impossible that he could be so ill as wc 
 feared, and for a brief interval I forgot my fears. 
 
 Between nine and ten o'clock Mrs. Duckworth got up to 
 go away. Good Colonel Douglas, who was always glad to put 
 in a word of comfort, congratulated me on the seeming 
 amendment, and said he thought tliere was good ground for 
 lioping that my beloved husband might yet recover. Alas ! 
 He slept in the night at intervals, but was frequently dis- 
 turbed by shortness of breath ; and the next morning he told 
 me he was weaker than ever. I soon perceived it. Every- 
 
 ' From "Don Quixote," of a kiiii,'ht, f^ancelot, so well served liy lailica.
 
 Various opinions, but onk faith. 399 
 
 tiling still went on as usual. He had his cup of milk, — the 
 first nourislnnent which he always took in the morning ; then 
 we prayed together ; then he was shaved ; and then the doc- 
 tor came to dress his poor dear neck. The sore never looked 
 better : it was healing as well as it possibly could, and the 
 pulse was good, but there was no improvement in the state 
 of the tongue, and I followed Mr. Stockwell out of the room 
 to talk to him about that. I asked him if it was indeed 
 thrush ? He said, " It isn't exactly what we call thrush, but 
 it is just as bad." I mentioned the healthy condition of the 
 sore, which we had all .along been told was a good sign. He 
 replied, "7/" the neck heals, there is no reason why the tongue 
 should not ; " but he gave me no encouragement to hope that 
 it would. 
 
 My beloved husband determined on seeing Mr. P , and 
 
 I shall ever be thankful that he did. Whatever are Mr. P 's 
 
 opinions, he is a pious, good man, and his visit afforded us real 
 comfort. Before he arrived, we had read a passage from the 
 Bishop of Oxford's " Eucharistica " to dearest Robert. Part 
 of it was a quotation from Hooker, stating the importance of 
 the Lord's Supper as a means of grace. He said, *' Show it 
 
 to Mr. P when he comes, and say that that is quite my 
 
 own view." I did so; and when he had read it, I told him 
 (being afraid he might try to argue with dearest Robert) that 
 my dear husband was never fond of religious controversy, 
 and could not possibly engage in it now ; I ventured to add, 
 " He thinks he must be safe in holding opinions which have 
 the authority of Hooker and the Bishop of Oxford for their 
 support." He answered in a low voice, and I only caught 
 something about his differing entirely from the Bishop of 
 Oxford ; " but," he said, " I don't come here to argue, but 
 to preach." He did better for us than either : he read some 
 scripture, and then prayed most fervently. I never heard a 
 man who seemed to pray more from his heart, and I felt a 
 humble confidence that he would prevail. INIy beloved husband 
 joined in the prayer with equal earnestness. 
 
 When IMr. P was gone, he made an elfort that was
 
 400 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 very painful to him, and got up. Hitherto he had always 
 been able to help himself a little in the putting on his 
 clothes, and I dressed him without further assistance; but 
 from the greatly increased weakness he could now do nothing, 
 and I was obliged to call the maid. Something told me that 
 we were putting on those clothes for the last time ! He could 
 hardly stand for a moment ; and by the time we had got him 
 on the couch, he was so much exhausted that he said himself 
 he must not attempt to get up any more. After wheeling 
 him into the drawing-room, I thought he looked quite like a 
 dying man. My feelings got the better of me, and I could 
 not help crying. He said, " Don't cry : w hen the trial comes, 
 the way is to screw one's courage up to bear it." He then 
 quoted Jeremy Taylor's direction to the dying man to send 
 away " the women and the weepers." I told him I always 
 thought the bishop hadn't a wife when he wrote that, and I 
 said, " You wouldn't like to send me aw^ay, though I do cry, 
 would you ? " He replied, '' Oh no, that I wouldn't ; " and 
 caressed me tenderly, which of course made me cry all the 
 more. 
 
 Mrs. Duckworth came in soon after. Having left him 
 a])parently so well overnight, she was not prepared for such 
 an unfavourable change, and was the more distressed by it. 
 He said something to her about Annie's " having her pillow 
 back again, when he had done with it." Poor Mrs. Duck- 
 worth tried to express a hope she could not feel, that he 
 would long want it for himself. Once more they were to 
 dine together. For the last time we helped him into tlic 
 arm-chair. He expressed a readiness for his dinner, and ate, 
 or rather swallowed, as much as he had done for some time 
 past. Ever since his poor mouth had become so sore, he 
 had become quite unable to masticate, and only took what 
 he could take with a spoon. For several days he had 
 found great difficulty even in drinking, owiug to wind and 
 phlegm which rose in his throat whenever he attempted to 
 swallow. To-day there was more of it than ever, and I 
 was dreadfully shocked at the rattling sound it made.
 
 RESIGNATION TO DEATH. 401 
 
 such as I had heard before on the near approach of deaths 
 and only then. 
 
 Colonel and Mrs. Douglas came in soon after he had dhied. 
 He returned to the couch, and remained upon it for a little 
 while, when he wished to go to bed. Colonel Douglas 
 assisted in putting him there — never to leave it again ! 
 The exertion of getting to bed fatigued him sadly ; but this 
 soon went off, and he then told us that he felt pretty com- 
 fortable. Nothing particular occurred during the rest of 
 that day. He revived towards evening, as he commonly did, 
 and talked occasionally. We took tea in his room, as we had 
 done the evening before. Wishing Mrs. Duckworth to taste a 
 " Sally Lunn,'' a famous Bath tea-cake, he had desired one 
 to be got. When he ordered it, he jokingly said, '^ It^s one 
 for her and two for myself." Poor dear soul, I reminded 
 him of his words, and begged him to try and eat a bit. I 
 put a scrap upon his tongue such as one might have given 
 to an infant. Nothing in the shape of food could well be 
 softer, but he said it felt hard and rough to him, and he 
 was unable to swallow it. He got some sleep that night, 
 but was restless, and often disturbed ; and when he awoke 
 Hp the next morning, which was earlier than usual, I ob- 
 served that his breath was shorter than it had ever yet been. 
 He was still weaker too, and less able than ever to move him- 
 self about in the bed. He said to me, "I haven't a bit of 
 muscular strength left." Whpn I was dressed, and ready 
 for our prayers, he told me to read the 51st Psalm. Then 
 I read some passages of Scripture from a book we were in 
 the habit of using, " The Pious Christian's Daily Prepara- 
 tion for Death and Eternity." 
 
 After reading and praying with him, I felt inclined totalk 
 to him more unreservedly than I had ever had courage to do 
 before, and I said to him, " Since it does, indeed, appear 
 to be God's will to take you from us, I want to know if 
 you wish to die, or if you would rather recover." He paused 
 a little, and then said, " I can't say that I wish to die." 
 
 '' You think of vs more than of yourself, I suppose, and 
 
 VOL. II. 2d
 
 402 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 would like to live chiefly for our sakes." He replied, " It is 
 great suffering, either of mind or body, which generally makes 
 people desire to die, and I have not suffered enough to be 
 weary of life. If it were to please God to give me strength 
 from this moment, and restore me to tolerable health, I 
 could still enjoy life. However, having been brought so 
 very near the gates of the grave, it would be a pity to have 
 to go through it all again. The best way is to put oneself 
 entirely in God's hands, and desire only to do His will." 
 
 In answer to something I said about my own share of the 
 trial which seemed coming upon us, he told me, " I am 
 always praying to God to comfort you in your sorrow, '^ 
 
 That morning the post brought him a letter from dearest 
 Bob; No. 101, written on the 7th of April, 1846. I read it 
 to him. Some time afterwards he said, " I want to write to 
 dear Sally and Bob, but I am not able.'' Turning to Harriet,'' 
 he said, " Tell them both that I love and always have loved 
 them with most inexpressible tenderness, and that I value 
 them both most highly. Tell Bob I have received his letter. 
 I am sorry to hear he has so many causes for vexation, but I 
 have no doubt it will all come right at last. Call him 
 Puseyite or TFhat-ite, he is a glorious fellow, and though I 
 have not agreed with him in all his opinions, yet I know him 
 to be an excellent parish priest, and most devoted clergy- 
 man." 
 
 Harriet and I thought it sad that the poor boys, the two 
 elder ones especially, should not see their dear Father again, 
 and we expressed our wish of sending for them. At first he 
 partly objected, but his love for them and for us prevailed 
 over other considerations j and, after a minute or so, he said, 
 "Very well, send for them; yes, do. They are thorough 
 good boys, and have always behaved most affectionately to 
 me. Clement and Herbert both loved to wait upon me." 
 
 Poor fellows, there was no longer time to send for them. 
 
 ^ J ri her letter to me she says, "And then, dear, he spoke with so ranch 
 enerr/y, his wliole soul seemed in those words."
 
 AN ILLUSIVE HOPE. 403 
 
 For several days we had observed that he made a point of 
 noticing the three little ones whenever they happened to 
 come into his room. lie always caressed and spoke to each 
 of them separately. 
 
 To-day, Sunday, the 23rd, when he first saw Kitty and 
 Mia, he said to them, in a very serious manner, "The 
 great w^ork you have to do now is to pray to God for your 
 dear Papa. I am not able to pray much myself. Beg 
 God to enable me to bear my sickness patiently, and if I 
 die, to take my soul to heaven." He then spoke to them 
 of God's goodness to him in sparing him from pain, and 
 expressed his great thankfulness for this mercy. Nothing 
 could exceed the patience that he showed throughout all his 
 long and trying illness. He had suffered a great deal in 
 various ways, but never once did the smallest murmurs escape 
 from him. 
 
 Mrs. Duckworth and Colonel Douglas came together after 
 the afternoon church. My beloved husband was unable to 
 talk much. More and more phlegm seemed to be collecting, 
 and he could scarcely spit up any, which distressed him 
 extremely. A gasping came on, and every now and then he 
 wanted to be raised up suddenly in order to breathe better. 
 The difficulty of breathing and swallowing had so much 
 increased that he could take very little nourishment. He 
 dozed occasionally. About four o'clock in the afternoon the 
 elder Mr. Stockwell called. He had not seen dearest Robert 
 for six weeks, so that all he knew of the case was from his 
 son's report. He asked some questions, and felt his pulse, 
 which he said was good. Dearest Robert told him how he 
 was oppressed by the phlegm and vmable to cough it up. 
 Mr. Stockwell said, '' You seem to have a cold." These 
 few words, spoken perhaps at random, produced a strange 
 effect upon me, which I now can only wonder at. The idea 
 that what had alarmed me so much before was merely a cold 
 got possession of my mind. Dearest Robert had been suffer- 
 ing a good deal lately fi'om rheumatic pain, whicli he attri- 
 buted chiefly to getting uncovered, and thereby chilled in 
 
 3 D 2
 
 404 LIFE or K. C. SCONCE. 
 
 bed. I thought the air- passages, too, might have been 
 affected in the same way, and felt satisfied. It was a blessed 
 delusion for the short, the very short time it lasted. 
 
 My beloved Robert himself was not so deceived. He now 
 felt that his departure drew very nigh. Several times that I 
 spoke to him about his having caught a cold, he made no 
 answer. The last time he said, " I suppose I have ; it makes 
 no difference." As the evening advanced he slept more, and 
 whilst he slept, he made a louder noise than usual in breathing. 
 Still strangely blinded to his real condition, I was pleased at 
 his sleeping so much, and thought it would refresh him. 
 Mrs. Duckworth said she hoped it was good sleep; but the 
 very remark showed she had misgivings about it. Harriet 
 brought back some of my alarm, by saying, she thought he 
 was " very ill." 
 
 Between each sleep he awoke gasping, and was eager to be 
 raised. About eight o'clock I brought him an egg beat up 
 with milk, thinking that better than wine for the cold I even 
 then thought might account for the accumulation of phlegm ! 
 
 He took some, but was too much oppressed to take it all. 
 Soon afterwards Mrs. Duckworth and Colonel Douglas left 
 us, intending, as we supposed, to return to their home the 
 next day. Throughout the evening their manner had tended 
 to cheer me ; but it seemed changed just as they were going 
 away, and I was greatly saddened by the alarm I thought it 
 expressed. My beloved Robert seemed to be asleep when 
 they went, but he was not, and a few minutes afterwards he 
 asked me if they were not gone. I said yes, and he replied, 
 " Ah ! they did wisely to avoid saying Good-bye ! " He lay 
 quiet for some time longer, and then started up and gasped 
 frightfully. All at once the awful truth burst upon me. He 
 must, indeed, be dying ! 
 
 Harriet was alone with me. The poor children had all 
 gone to bed. He wanted to move perpetually, and we called 
 the maid to help us. We moved him about from one position 
 to another, but he found no relief in any. His distress was 
 very great. As he struggled for breath, he called out, " I
 
 THE THROES OF DEATH. 405 
 
 can't breathe — I am sufFocating ; " and if we went close to 
 the bed, he said, " Don't come near me ; go away." At ten 
 o'clock we sent for tlie doctor. I knew then that nothing 
 could be done; but I thought it would be a comfort to see 
 him. When he came, he tried to cheer me with a hope I 
 could no longer feel. He said the pulse was perfectly good^ 
 and Avhilst that was the case^ that there was a possibility that 
 medicine might relieve him. He told me to give bim a 
 camphor draught that we had by us, to enable him to throw 
 off the phlegm. Dearest Robert told him that he had already 
 taken two that day without the slightest benefit. He said, 
 " Then they are not strong enough, and I will send you 
 some that are." In the mean time he proposed giving brandy 
 and water. My beloved Robert said he did not tbink he 
 could swallow it, but that he would tiy. He got it down, 
 but it had no effect. 
 
 Mr. Stockwell behaved in a very kind, feeling manner, and 
 offered either to stay with us or to come again, whichever we 
 preferred. We begged him to go home then, and return in 
 a few hours. He soon sent us the medicine ; but when I 
 asked dearest Robert if he would take it, he said, with marked 
 emphasis, ''Nonsense, nonsense !" He continued in the 
 same great distress, sometimes motioning to us to lift him 
 up, and then directly afterwards wishing to be lowered. The 
 struggle for breath was dreadful. Once, when it was at its 
 worst, he said " Pray for me." I took up a book, tliinking 
 he meant me to pray out loud. He said, "It's of no use," 
 meaning, of course, that he was too much engrossed by his 
 bodily sufferings to join us. We knelt by his bedside and 
 prayed silently. At another time he called out in a loud 
 voice, " O God, save my soul." He spoke fast, as if afraid 
 he should not have breath to finish even so short a prayer. 
 Once I said to him, " I am afraid you are suffering sadly." 
 His only answer was, " God's will be done." The cold per- 
 spiration was profuse from head to foot. It made him feel so 
 cold about his arms and shoulders, which were outside the 
 bedclothes, that he frequently asked for more covering.
 
 400 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Once, after telling me to cover his shoulder^ he said, " It 
 doesn't signify, I shall soon be cold all over." The cook 
 came into the room — Harriet said to him, " Here is the kind- 
 hearted cook come to see you.'' He said, " God bless her ! " 
 I said " And haven't you a blessing for Otway ?" (the house- 
 maid, who had always waited upon him with singular kindness 
 of feeling, and he was very partial to her in consequence.) 
 " Oh, yes, that I have — God bless her too ! I have blessed 
 her many a time." At two o'clock the doctor came ; some 
 one got up to go to him, and there was a little stir in the 
 room. Dearest Robert asked the cause of it; and when I 
 told him that the doctor was come, but that I had desired 
 he might not be brought up stairs, he said in a very faint 
 w hisper, '' I shan^t want him any more." The perspiration 
 about his head and face annoyed him, and from time to time 
 he told me to wipe it away, — he would say, " forehead," 
 " nose," " mouth ; " and whenever I wiped near his mouth, he 
 generally said, "Quick, quick !" as if my hand kept the air 
 from him. I frequently dipped my finger in wine and water 
 and wetted his parched lips and tongue. Sometimes he would 
 say " Enough," and this, I think, was the very last word that 
 dear tongue ever uttered. Once, when he still seemed to be 
 suffering a great deal, I could not help praying to God to 
 release him. My beloved Robert heard me, and though he 
 could not speak, he reproved me for it by a sign which could 
 not be mistaken. 
 
 To the last he seemed to retain all his faculties. Within 
 half an hour of his death, I said to Harriet, '' What a blessing 
 this is, — he is amongst us to the very last; thank God for it." 
 He directly said, " Amen." Long after he ceased to speak, 
 he turned his eyes towards us and pressed our hands^ The 
 struggle gradually subsided, and the breath grew fainter and 
 fainter till half -past three, when, as I humbly believe, my 
 beloved husband entered into his eternal rest. 
 
 I have omitted one thing; ])ut it is important, and I 
 must add it here. I asked him if he felt easy in his mind, 
 and happy ? He said, " I have a humble hope, — a very
 
 BURIAL AND EPITAPH. 407 
 
 humble hope." This was some time after he had said, 
 " Oh, God, save my soul ! " 
 
 Until the arrival of his brother-in-law, the Rev. J. Hen- 
 derson, everything was done in the most feeling way that 
 kindness could suggest, by Colonel Douglas. They, together 
 with my Uncle, V Knox, Sir John Lid dell, my brothers, and 
 several other relations and friends, followed my dear Father's 
 remains to their last earthly resting-place on the 29th. 
 
 They lie in the cemetery at Widcombe,' covered with a 
 simple stone, on which is engraven, 
 
 f I]e '§dM "gxtmiim d 
 
 ROBERT CLEMENT SCONCE, 
 
 WHO DIED AUGUST 24th, 1846, 
 
 IN HIS FIFTY-NINTH YEAK. 
 
 And in a spot so lovely, that, whenever I visit it, the pleasing 
 idea occurs to me that it is just one he would have fixed upon 
 from which to make one of his most beautiful drawings. 
 
 Colonel Douglas, writing to his mother-in-law, ]\Irs. 
 Duckworth, some time after, from Malta, says : — 
 
 "I am now going back to the Volcano, as we sail for Corfu 
 this evening; and if I have yet an hour, I am going over to 
 see poor Portelli. It will be a solace to me to see and s})eak 
 to one who loved and valued our precious Sconce; and he 
 will like to hear from me all I can tell him of his peaceful 
 end." 
 
 In another part of the letter. Colonel Douglas, speaking of 
 a brother-in-law, says : — 
 
 '' It appears to me that the symptoms are very similar to 
 those we witnessed in our beloved friend."" INFav it be my 
 
 ' Adjoining Bath. " My Futher.
 
 408 LIFE OF R. C. SCOXCE. 
 
 comfort to find my poor brother-iu-law in the same beautiful, 
 and calm, and holy frame of mind ! '' 
 
 ****** 
 
 And here I do not think it will be considered out of place 
 if, in memory of both Father and Son, I introduce two letters 
 written to me, when these sad tidings reached Australia, by 
 my dear brother, the "Robert" and "Bob" so often addressed 
 in these volumes, and who, five years later, was also taken from 
 us; when, doubtless, his spirit was reunited to his beloved 
 Father's :— 
 
 "Stdxey, Christmas Eve, 1846. 
 
 " My dearest Sister, — Join with me in praising God for 
 His great goodness, and praying Him to support us all under 
 the aflQiction He has sent us. I do praise Him and thank 
 Him with all my heart and soul for taking our own dear 
 Father from a world of which he had had enough, — in which 
 for years he had suffered unceasing pain, — to one of rest and 
 peace. 
 
 " But I need support, and so will you, sweet Sister ; for 
 the loss, temporary as it is, of such a Father, is hard, very 
 hard, to bear. I have been weeping for hours like a child ; 
 and my soul would refuse to be comforted if I did not know 
 that the best and surest comfort is at hand. Oh, how I loved 
 him !^iow he loved me ; and how little did I deserve such 
 love ! God give us both grace to live so that we may be 
 worthy to follow him and be with him ! 
 
 " "What joy it is, though, Sukey, to think how surely he is 
 with the saints at rest, — to think what a humble, devout, 
 earnest Christian he ever was, — to think of all the good he 
 has done, all the poor he has fed and clothed, all the hearts 
 he has won by his gentleness, and sweetness, and kindness, — 
 to think how he loved Christ and trusted in Him, — how he 
 W'as sustained to the last by continually feeding on the 
 Heavenly food of the blessed Sacrament. My selfish tears 
 scald me with self-reproach when I remember that he is even
 
 Robert's letters. 409 
 
 now ill the joy of his Lord, with our own Mother too, and 
 with our Fan — bless her sweet heart, — and your Franky and 
 our Bobby, — a holy family of pure and loving spirits. 
 
 " Yesterday evening a note came from Cos. Joseph by the 
 packet, alone ; no other from anybody. It had a deep black 
 edge, and the post-mark Bath. It is short and hurried, and 
 tells nothing but that our dear angel Father died ou the 24th 
 of August — St. Bartholomew's Day. His guileless soul fled 
 on the same day as did that of the Israelite indeed, and kept 
 ^le festival above." * ■}? # ^ * 
 
 " Christmas Day. 
 
 " May it be full of blessings to you and lasting happiness, 
 and of present joy in the midst of our sorrow. This great 
 day^s event it is that has turned death into life. The martyrs 
 called the day of their death their birth-daj, and so in keep- 
 ing the Saviour's birth-day I have been keeping our dear 
 Father^s too, and that guileless Apostle's. I take deep com- 
 fort in these providential coincidences. 
 
 "We have just returned from our early communion. I 
 could not do the duty myself; but I never received with 
 greater hope and love. How thrilling now to us will be 
 that commemoration of the blessed, when we pray for grace 
 ' so to follow their good examples that with them we may be 
 partakers of God's heavenly kingdom.' 
 
 " The bishop is going to do my morning service for me, 
 and Bodenham the afternoon ; and among them my kind 
 friends will take my work till I am able to command myself. 
 
 " I am not qiiite sure, dearest Sukey, that it will not be 
 my duty to go to England, and take care 'of our poor dear 
 Mother and her eight little ones. It will depend, of course, 
 upon what I may hear; but how desolate she must be! I 
 have written a heartily affectionate letter, promising to be to 
 her all that a son can be, and gladly indeed Avould I do 
 anything to cheer her; but England has no charms for me 
 now our dear Father and sweet Fan are at rest. You are 
 nearer to me here ; my little son hes in the Sydney burial-
 
 410 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 ground, and we have warm friends all about us." I could 
 not go without a bitter pang, and it will only be if the 
 demands of duty are peremptory. God bless and support 
 you. I am ever your most affectionate Brother, 
 
 "R. K. SCONCE." 
 
 After reading his stepmother's narrative of our Father's 
 last days, he wrote to me as follows : — 
 
 " My dearest Sukey, — After waiting for more than a 
 month in great anxiety for English letters, I have at last had 
 the inexpressible satisfaction of receiving the inclosed narra- 
 tive." I have copied it all out in a volume, which is now 
 filled with many memorials of our angel Father, so the 
 original you may consider as yours. It will, no doubt, 
 afford you the same thrilling interest it did to me. It is 
 most admirably written, and tells much for the Christian 
 strength and energy of mind by which our poor Mother is 
 sustained in her grief. I have written her a -long letter 
 about it, and I shall continue to write to her regularly as I 
 did to him, loving her for his sake with all the affection of a 
 son, * -jf -jf ^ * •^ 
 
 " When you have read the account of our beloved Father's 
 sufferings and death, I know you will think about it just as I 
 do, that all was just as we could have wished. I mean, of 
 course, in his own bearing. His pains and trials were great, 
 but they were sent by God, and, of course, we are satisfied 
 that such things should be as He wills, not as we will. But, 
 as far as we can judge by the narrative, could he have borne 
 them more beautifully than he did? Is it possible that 
 anyone could show himself" on his deathbed a more thorough 
 
 " My <lear Brother never returned to England. He died at Sydney in 1852, 
 in tlie Konian Catholic faith, which he had embraced two years after his 
 Father's death. Nothing but the most sincere conviction influenced him in 
 this step, whereby he sacrificed all his worldly advantages. 
 
 " Which I have already given.
 
 ROBERTS LETTERS. 411 
 
 Christian ? It was, I firmly believe, a most blessed death. 
 See how patient he was through all. See how he loved. See 
 how strong and unwavering was his faith in the mercy of 
 God. See how meek and humble he was to the last ; how 
 free was his hope in Christ from all presumption. You know, 
 dearest Sukey, I am accustomed to deathbeds, and many a 
 time have I left a room of one who would have been a saint 
 
 in the eyes of that unhappy Mr, , with a heavy heart. 
 
 What would I not give to hear oftener from those I am called 
 to visit those precious words of our Father's — " I have a 
 humble hope, a very humble hope." Had I pictured to 
 myself just what I could have wished my Father's last days 
 to have been, 1 should have anticipated all that occurred. 
 I do not mean I would have had him suffer as he did 
 (many, many tears have I shed for those sufferings), or that 
 he should have been tormented and persecuted and excom- 
 municated, by that faithless minister of the Church who 
 attended him. His pains and his trials I said before were 
 from God ; but the rest I would have had just as it was. 
 
 His behaviour to Mr. P was eminently beautiful. Pie 
 
 calmly and patiently listened to the cant he must have 
 nauseated, and uttered no word of resentment against him 
 for the cruel outrage that denied him the bread of life. 
 Deny it, indeed, he could not, fbr who can doubt that even 
 then that sweet soul was full of his Saviour. The unjust 
 sentence of a fanatical priest would surely receive no ratifica- 
 tion in the courts of heaven. He did feed on that heavenly 
 food, and abundant was the blessing he derived from 
 it. There was much loveliness in the charity that received 
 
 Mr. P and thankfully used his ministry the following 
 
 day. I have prayed for some portion of the same spirit that 
 influenced him, that I may be able to suppress any undue 
 indignation. Oh how ardently I do wish that clergymen who 
 do not 'approve' of their own Church's commands would 
 have the honesty to resign their office. Our Father wanted 
 
 no Mr. P , his little finger was worth ten such men — he 
 
 wanted a priest— he wanted the ordinances of the Church.
 
 412 LIFE OF R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 Mr. P refused the ordinances, and tried to substitute 
 
 himself for them. It was a hard trial, but God's grace in 
 the dear Father's heart was triumphant. Knowing, as you 
 do, what my opinions are on such matters, you will not be 
 surprised at any warmth of expression I use in speaking of 
 
 Mr. P 's conduct. The truth is, I had set my heart on 
 
 hearing that the dear man's sufferings had been soothed by 
 that most blessed Sacrament, and my disappointment was 
 great. I could have wished him to have had, as sweet Fan 
 had, a man like Archdeacon WilberforceP to attend him, but 
 God's will be done. All is well, I am assured, and happy in 
 the assurance. God bless yon, dearest sister, and Hanraer, 
 and yonr little ones, and give you health and strength to bear 
 this sad, sad grief. 
 
 " We must pray for each other." 
 
 And now my labour of love, which has cost me many tears, 
 is over : I close it with a letter from our friend, the Rev. 
 Edward Kitson : — '^ 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Bunbury, — I fear you will have thought 
 me unkind in not answering your letter sooner, but really 
 and truly I have not had time to do so, and now I am obliged 
 to write more hurriedly than I could wish. 
 
 " I regret much that I have not by me any writing of your 
 Father's, with which to assist you in your praiseworthy purpose 
 of sketching a memoir of his life. If, however, you should 
 be fortunate enough to collect some of his letters, I think your 
 editorial labours will be comparatively easy. Little or no 
 comment would.be required. They would only require to be 
 read, in order that the writer's soundness of understanding 
 and goodness of heart should at once be manifest. Indeed, 
 from among men it would be difficult to select one whose 
 life might be so safely held up as an example to those for 
 whose benefit you purpose writing your book. 
 
 p The Blsliop of Oxford. i Now of Greenwich Hospital.
 
 LETTER FROM THE REV. E. KITSON. 413 
 
 " As a gentleman, in the highest sense of the word (no 
 small praise, / think), as an elegant classical scholar, and as 
 an accomplished artist, he was an ornament and acquisition 
 to any society in which he might move. But commendable 
 and valuable as such attractions are, there were other features 
 of his character still more worthy of imitation, especially his 
 meelvness and unaffected piety. 
 
 " Of the many years that I had the pleasure of his 
 acquaintance, I had for three or four the additional gra- 
 tification of numbering him amongst my congregation at 
 the Dockyard Chapel at ]Malta. Never absent himself from 
 his place at church on Sundays or festivals, he was also 
 accompanied by Mrs. Sconce and their numerous family, 
 whom, in this respect, as in all others, they took particular 
 pains early to train in the way in which they should go. 
 Certainly amongst that congregation, none, and I doubt if 
 from any other one could be found more attentive to all the 
 practical duties of a really good Churchman. All charities, 
 whether of a public or private nature, he was ever ready to 
 sanction and support — and so quietly and unostentatiously, 
 that he seemed literally to fulfil our Lord's injunction on such 
 occasions, ' Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand 
 doeth.' And whilst he acted up to the latter part of the 
 exhortation of the Apostle, ' especially to do good unto those 
 of the household of faith,' he forgot not the former part, 
 which is equally important—' to do good unto all men.' I 
 regret that at this distance of time I am unable to specify 
 his numerous acts of kindness and beneficence ; I can, 
 however, safely say, that his whole conduct rendered him 
 universally respected and beloved. And although / cannot 
 remember his good works, yet he has gone where 'they will 
 assuredly follow.' 
 
 " I have, my dear Mrs. Bunbury, thus given a brief and 
 rough sketch of your dear Father's character, so far as I was 
 acquainted with it, and as it is still impressed on my memory. 
 I wish I had time and ability to do proper justice to the 
 subject, but I liave neither. ^ ^ * -jf
 
 414 LIFE OP R. C. SCONCE. 
 
 " If I can on any future occasion help you with regard to 
 the matter you have in hand I will do so most gladly and 
 willingly. 
 
 '' Pray remember me kindly to Captain Bunbury, and also 
 to Mrs. Sconce and family, who I believe are still residing in 
 Bath, and believe me to remain, yours very sincerely, 
 
 "EDWARD KITSON." 
 
 ** Cfjc just m:m tonlkcti in Ijis intcgrib ; \\% rljiliircu arc bitsscii 
 May it be so in this case !
 
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