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Catharine and Craufurd Tait

WIFE AND SON OF ARCHIBALD' CAMPBELL
ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY

Si Memoir

EDITED A T THE REQUEST OF THE^SCHBISHOP

THE REV. WM. BENHAM, B.D.
VICAR OF MARDEN, AND ONE OF THE SIX PREACHERS OF
CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL

WITH TWO PORTRAITS ENGRAVED BY JEENS
NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION
% o n rj o n
MACMILLAN & CO.
1882.
The Ri$ht of translation is reserved.

PREFACE.
DRIVATE feeling has suggested many doubts as to
the publication of these memories of a mother
and her son. The request for it came from many
personal friends and devout members of the Church.
The final decision rested mainly with two persons.
The one was Miss Tait, and her judgment was simple
and to the point : ' If it be thought that the history
of my mother's life is likely to do good by helping
and encouraging anybody in good living, then let
the thing be done, but any other motive ought not to
be heard of.' The other was the Archbishop himself.
Much as he shrank from it, he yet, on mature con
sideration, judged that the lessons which these Memo
rials are likely, under God's blessing, to call forth,
were too important for the Church of God to allow
them to lie buried within the sanctity of home. They
comprise a record of deep piety ; of an unstinted
wealth of effectual sympathy; of untiring labour,

vi PREFACE.
along with an exulting love of home, and husband,
and children.
The publication having been decided on, I was
intrusted with the work of editing it, and ventured to
suggest to the Archbishop that he should himself
contribute his own recollections.
His Grace was also kind enough to lend me a
vast mass of letters and journals, and from these the
volume is compiled. It is put forth in the trustful
hope that in the tender piety and brave Christian
endurance here exhibited the mother and son though
dead, will yet speak.
The simple lesson of these two lives is one — a
bright lesson shining through the darkness of our pre
sent sorrow. It shows how the early Christian training
which the mother received from her parents was car
ried on by her with unwearied patience in the training
of her only son — and with a like result, namely, the
power of continuance in prayer to sustain and cheer
when the character is chastened by that discipline of
suffering which a loving Father sends to us all, and
which is good for us all, if we will but recognise it as
coming from His hand.

PREFACE. vii
There was this great difference, indeed, in the appli
cation of the truth to the two lives, a difference to be
often meditated upon by those who are left. In the
one case an extended life of usefulness was granted
on the earth ; in the other, there was that early and
sudden departure to which so many each year are
called. But to the faithful such an ending is not less
full of hope. They are sure that it is the entrance
upon new duties, in a land which is indeed unknown,
but which is * a goodly land and a large,' and lightened
by the presence of Christ.
The lesson of these lives has indeed been, and is
daily being, repeated in the lives and deaths of hun
dreds of Christian mothers and earnest-minded young
clergymen. Only few of all these have had such a
field or such rare advantages for showing forth their
light. Let this volume go forth, then, as an example
of the life of many a one, and may God bless it to His
glory and the comfort of many.
W. B.

Cable of Contents.

Early Years.— 1819-1843.
Early Life of Catharine Spooner at Elmdon, 3, 125 ; Various recollec
tions of her at that period, 126-130 ; Her Irish connexions, and
their influence, 3-5, 8, 9 ; Other Influences— Edward Fortescue
—the Wilberforces — the Oxford Tracts, 5-8, 130-140 ; Her Mar
riage, 11, 12, 141, 142.

Life at Rugby. — 1843-1849.
Its novelty, 12 ; Difficulties — happiness, 13, 14, 143 ; The holidays,
14, 16; Anecdotes, 144 «., 145, 146; The daily routine, 15,
144, 145 ; Birth of her first child, 16; Dangerous illness of her
husband, 17-19, 150, 151 ; Business-like habits, 19, 20, 151 ; Her
enjoyment of life, 21 ; Letters illustrating this period, 146, 149,
150, 151 ; Birth and childhood of her son, 23-26.
Life at Carlisle. — 1849-1856.
Descriptionof the locality, and anecdotes of the people, 26-31 ; Letters
of friends — description of the first days there, 152, 153 ; Letter
of sympathy from herself to one in sorrow, 155 ; Her work at Car
lisle, 31, 32 ; Training of her children, 32-35 ; A great sorrow falls
upon tliem, 35, 36, 156, 157; Names and dates of birth of her
children, 158. Her Narrative. — Their visit to Ireland and return
b

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

to Carlisle, 159, 160 ; Her reminiscences of her little ones' last days
of health, 161-166 ; The last Christmas and New Year's Day to
gether, 167-170; Birth of Lucy, 170; Chatty is taken ill, 173;
Dies (March 6), 180 ; Baptism ofthe infant, 182 ; ' The first dark
days of nothingness,' 183-189; Susjh falls ill, 190; Suspense-
death (March 11), 194; Burial, 195 ; Catty's tenth birthday, 195 ;
Frances is taken ill, 197 ; Palm Sunday and the Holy Week, 200,
201 ; Death of Frances (March 20), 207 ; Tlie three eldest— how
shall it be with them? 208; Heavy news— illness of Catty, 209;
Progress of the malady, 209-214 ; Funeral of Frances, 214 ; Easter
Day dawns, 217 ; May is ill, 217 ; Pointing heavenwards, 222;
Singing the Easter anthem, 223 ; The watch of death, 223-226 ;
Catty's death (March 25), 226 ; Her burial, 227 ; Fear and
hopes concerning May, 227, 228 ; Her dream, 230 ; Waning hope,
230-242 ; Her death (April 8), 242 ; Commemoration, 243 ; Remini
scences of friends concerning this sorrow, 244, 245 ; The mother's
relics of the little ones, 245, 246; The parents quit the Deanery,
36, 247, 248 ; — Letters of Mrs. Tait to friends, 249-252 ; The
Dean is appointed Bishop of London, 37, 253.

In London. — 1856-1868.
The Bishop's consecration, 37; Visit to Bish'ip Blomfleld, 38; Mrs.
Tait's work among the poor at Fulham and St. James', 39 ; Visits
to other Bishops, 40, 41 ; Letters, 254-259; Birth of her daughter
Edith (December 7, 1858), 259 ; Her baptism, 259 ; Illness of
Lucy, 260; Death of Colonel Tait, 260; The Garden parties
at Fulham — Anecdotes, 43, 262, 263 ; The Ladies' Diocesan
Association, 44-46, 277-280; Birth of Agnes (i860), 263; Resid
ence at Lochgilphead — an adventure, 266-273 ; Offer of the Arch
bishopric of York (1862), 61, 264, 305 ; Illness ofthe Bishop in
1866, 66, 274; The Cholera in London, 46; Beginning ofthe
Fulham Orphanage, 48, 56 ; Foundation and -consecration of
Fulham Palace Chapel, 56-58 ; The Lambeth Conference of 1867,
59, 60; Visit to the Isle of Thanet— Purchase of Stonehouse, 60,
61 ; The Bishop appointed to the Primacy, 61.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

At Lambeth and Addington. — 1869-1878.
Enthronisation of the Archbishop, 62 ; Novelty of the country life at
Addington, 63, 283-286 ; Work there and at Lambeth, 63-65,
286-288 ; Dangerous illness of the Archbishop, 66-68, 288, 289 ;
Foundation ofthe Orphanage at St Peter's, Thanet, 68, 69, 289;
A sojourn abroad, 73-82, 289. 290.
St. Peter's Orphanage, 49-55, 83, 290-298.
Craufurd. — His birth and infancy, 23-25 ; Goes to Eton, 264, 299 ;
Is confirmed, 300 ; Goes to Oxford, 85, 86, 301-3 ; Obtains a First-
Class, 86, 303, 304 ; Tries unsuccessfully for All Souls Fellowship,
86, 304 ; Starts for the East, 87, 305 ; His letters from Alexandria,
Cairo, the Nile, 306-322 ; The desert, 322 ; The Holy Land, 324-
326 ; His Ordination, 87, 326; His work at Saltwood, 87, 326-32 ;
His Father's thoughts on clerical work and the younger clergy,
87-94 ; Ordained Priest, 94 ; Becomes his Father's Chaplain, 94,
333 5 What has a Chaplain to do ? 94, 95, 333 ; Craufurd as a
Preacher, 93, 334-336 ; He goes to America, 96 ; The voyage,
337 j Lands at New York, 338 ; Voyage up the Hudson, 339 ;
Poughkeepsie, 339 ; Illness, 340 ; Saratoga, 340 ; Niagara, 342 ;
Chippewa, 342 ; Chicago, 343 ; Montreal, 346 ; Boston, 348 ; New
York, 350; The Convention, 351 ; Continued illness, 353; The
House of Bishops, 353 ; Episcopal Anecdotes, 354 ; Visits to Phil
lips Brooks and others, 355 ; Washington — return Home, 357 ;
Letters from Dr. Potter, Mr. Hammersly, Dean Stanley, 358-63 ;
Becomes Vicar of St. John's, Notting Hill, 100, 101 ; Illness,
100-102, 363 ; Growing worse, 103, 364; The last days, 103-108;
Death, 364-366 ; Companions in death — Horsley— Hilton, 108;
Funeral at Addington, 108, 109, 367.
The return to Stonehouse, no; The meeting of the hundred Bishops,
in, 369-371; Visit to the Continent, 112-114; Mrs. Tail's last
residence at Addington, 116; Lambeth Chapel restoration, 372-
374; Marriage of the second daughter, 116, 117, 375; Visit
to Scotland, 117; Illness, 118-121 ; A solemn Advent Sunday,

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

121 ; 'Lead, kindly Light,' 122; The end, 122; Funeral at
Addington, 376; Letters of sympathy from the Royal Family,
377 ; From some English Bishops, 377-382 ; From American
Bishops, 382 ; From the Bishops of Salisbury and Durham, 382,
383 ; From Rev. T. T. Carter, 384 ; Dean Close, 384 ; Rev. G.
H. Wilkinson, 385 ; Canon Bright, 386 ; Rev. E. C. Woolcombe,
387; Rev. R. W. Dale, 389; Dean of Durham, 391 ; From the
Laity, 392 ; Mr. Plumptre's Sonnet, 394 ; Conclusion, 395.

fari 3L

'Stonehouse, St. Peter's,
Thanet, Jan. 1879.
' My dear Benham, — You wish me to send you a
letter with some recollections of my wife and son, for the
Memoirs which you have kindly undertaken to edit. It
soothes my sorrow to comply with your request. — Yours
sincerely,
'A. C. C

CATHARINE TAIT,
T T is impossible to judge rightly of the character of
my dear wife without considering the influences
which surrounded her early days. The beautiful
Parsonage of Elmdon, in the midst of the green fields
and the stately elms from which it took its name,
was the place of her birth, and in its deep retirement
she lived till her marriage. The garden, the few
scattered cottages which composed the parish, the
Hall and its inmates, the relations, and the leading
evangelical clergy who came to visit the truly
venerable Archdeacon Spooner, her father — these
formed the world in which she grew up from
childhood. She had never seen the sea until a year or two
before her marriage ; she had only visited her near
relations and their friends in Worcestershire and
Warwickshire. The connexion with the world with
out was kept up only by the cousins at the Hall, and
the brothers returning from College, sometimes bring
ing their friends with them, and by the accounts of
those more distant visits which the father and mother

CATHARINE TAIT.

and elder daughters occasionally made. A great
event for all the family was the single visit which the
elders paid to Ireland, to the ancestral home of her
mother, Dromoland, in the county of Clare. This
visit was paid before the death of the last Marquis of
Thomond, by which event Sir Lucius O'Brien, son of
Mrs. Spooner's brother Sir Edward, succeeded to the
barony of Inchiquin and the headship of the O'Brien
clan. By this visit was cemented the great intimacy,
which has lasted to this day, with the cousins who
formed the Dromoland family. Many of them, from
time to time, visited the sweet Parsonage, and an eager
interest was ever taken in all Irish affairs. At first
it was the M'Ghee and O'Sullivan efforts to enlighten
the poor benighted Papists ; afterwards, when things
had somewhat changed, the College of St. Columba,
and William Sewell's attempts, with the Monsells,
and Adares, and Aubrey de Vere, and kindred spirits,
to indoctrinate young Ireland with the principles of
the Oxford . movement. From this connexion with
Dromoland came life-long friendships and enduring
interests. Sir Edward O'Brien had strenuously
laboured on behalf of Mr. Vesey Fitzgerald, the
Cabinet Minister who contested the county ol Clare
against O'Connell at the memorable election which
virtually secured Roman Catholic Emancipation, and
for a time all the O'Briens and their kin were staunch
Protestants of the purest type. When I first met
my dear wife, as she was on a visit to my sister, then
living in Worcestershire, she — a girl of under seven-

CATHARINE TAIT.-

teen — was full of zeal for the Irish clergy, oppressed
and half-starved, as she supposed, by their Popish
parishioners. Old Lady O'Brien, the mother of Sir Edward, had
left the Dromoland home long before with her
beautiful daughters, three of whom married English
men. Gerard Noel, the husband of one of these, was
naturally, from the many attractive qualities of his
Christian character, the most loved and honoured
uncle of the family at Elmdon Parsonage. Major
Henry O'Brien, his brother-in law, who finally joined
the Plymouth Brethren, had much to do with the
first distinct wakenings of the spiritual life in
Catharine's mind. It was not till some years later
that the marriage of her immediate elder sister to
Edward Fortescue, then a youth brimful of old non-
juring notions, handed down to him by his father,
and fanned into zeal by the teachings of Newman at
Oxford, brought a totally strange element into the
family. Catharine, with all the enthusiasm of her
girlhood, became greatly affected by the ascetic,
enthusiastic, and truly devout character of this new
brother-in-law. She was often heard to say that
there was a time when no life would have appeared
to her more happy than that of becoming village
schoolmistress in the district which this enthusiastic
young priest had carved for himself out of a neglected
parish in the neighbourhood of his father's home near
Stratford-upon-Avon. This castle in the air took
the place of that earlier dream which she used to say

•CATHARINE TAIT.

made her ardently wish at sixteen that she might
have joined the Achill or some other mission to the
benighted Papists in the west ol Ireland. As life
wore on, she saw, and deeply deplored, the many
points of divergence between her convictions and
those of her brother-in-law, long before his changed
views led to his final secession to the Church of
Rome ; but all through her life that marked love for
the ceremonial of the English Church, with which he
had at first indoctrinated her, continued as the outward
form in which her deep inward piety embodied itself.
For a time, then, in her enthusiastic girlhood, she
began to think that there was nothing like the teach
ing of what was called the Oxford School, and could
scarcely bear that it should be opposed and spoken
against. She has often told me how when she heard
that one of the four protesting tutors, who helped to
bring to a sudden close the series of the Oxford
Tracts, was a candidate for the head-mastership of
Rugby, she earnestly hoped that he would not be
successful, and gave all her wishes in favour of
Charles Wordsworth, now Bishop of St. Andrews,
who, as it was reported, had been requested by his
friends to become a candidate. It was a strange turn
of fate which made her open her heart next year to
the very candidate whose success she had deprecated,
and become the happy partner of his life at Rugby,
Carlisle, Fulham, Lambeth, sharing in all his deepest
and truest interests, helping forward for thirty-five
years every good work which he was called to

CATHARINE TAIT.

promote, united to him in the truest fellowship of
soul, while still tempering, by the associations of her
early Oxford bias, whatever might otherwise have
been harsh in his judgments of the good men from
whom on principle he differed.
But to return to the home at Elmdon Parsonage :
— Though its inmates lived in deep retirement, they
knew and took an interest in all that was going on
without. I have mentioned Elmdon Hall, which
had been the Archdeacon's birthplace. It was distant
from the Parsonage only a few hundred yards. The
Archdeacon's mother had lived there as a widow :
she was the sister of the first Lord Calthorpe. Herself
a good Christian, but a stift precisian, she was
brought in her old age, I believe, to a fuller know
ledge of the true spirit of the Gospel by her son at
the Parsonage, with his brother-in-law Gerard Noel,
and by the great and good man who had married
her daughter, William Wilberforce. The memories
of this old lady still lingered about Elmdon ; and
when the eldest brother, the father of many bright
sons, succeeded to the Hall, the same religious life
which had got possession of the parish continued in
its great house. These sons, the cousins at the Hall,
brought first their College friends and tutors, then,
as years went on, their wives and families, into the
little community, and the marriage of the eldest to
Miss Innes of Lochalsh created a new interest for
the Highlands of Scotland, to add to the already
existing interest for Ireland.

CATHARINE TAIT.

QUIET years rolled on. The bachelor cousin, the
second Lord Calthorpe, paid his annual visits
to the Parsonage, bringing with him the last news
from London, and Uncle Dick Spooner, afterwards
Member for the county of Warwick, full of extreme
Tory politics and puzzling questions of finance ; and
Dr. Marsh came, and old Dr. Bridges, and Bishop
Ryder of Lichfield, and on one marked occasion Dr.
Chalmers, and later on Prince Lee, afterwards Bishop
of Manchester, — these, with the occasional interrup
tion of a visit from Henry Wilberforce, or some other
friend of the younger members of the family, kept
the quiet life from stagnating. I must not forget,
too, the ever welcome periodical visits of Aunt Lucia
O'Brien — a hearty evangelical in religion, — the most
sympathising and large-hearted of Irish maiden
ladies, called by her nephew, Charles Harris (Bishop
of Gibraltar), 'the world's great-aunt,' who with no
home of her own, migrated from house to house of
her almost innumerable relations, and kept the whole
clan together by the affection which she called forth
and everywhere received.
A fresh connexion, too, with Ireland arose. On a
fine summer's day, in a moment, by the fall of a tree,
the possessor of the Hall, the Archdeacon's eldest
brother, was struck with death, — an eccentric man,
but a true Christian ; the terror and yet the friend of
all the beggars who used to come from Birmingham
to infest his pleasure-grounds, whom, after relieving

CATHARINE TAIT.

far beyond their deserts, he would, at the head of his
gamekeepers and stable-servants, with many shouts,
chase through the Parsonage field into the public
road. He died, and h's death scattered the happy
party at the Hall ; for his eldest son had chosen to
make his home on his wife's property in the High
lands, and the place was let to the old Countess of
Rosse, who came there from Ireland in her widow
hood. She came in fear and trembling, having heard
of the Puritanical Archdeacon and his five religious
daughters ; but experience soon melted her heart.
She took all of them, and especially Catharine, the
youngest, into close affection, and at last even left
her a legacy in her will. The old Countess soon
gathered round her a troop of her Irish kin — Lord
Lorton, and the charming Mrs. Lefroy his daughter,
King-Harmans, and many others. The families of
the Hall and the Parsonage again lived on the most
friendly terms. Lady Rosse's Irish relations were
glad to find Mrs. Spooner and her daughters enthu
siastic about Ireland, proud of their descent from
Brian Boru, and, provided any scheme was genuinely
Irish, not very particular as to whether it was con
sistent with the old Tory politics of their family, or
was being gradually moulded into the form which a
mistaken love of Ireland assumed years after in the
person of the rebel cousin, William Smith O'Brien.
Thus, from a new quarter, the Irish connexion and
friendships were enlarged. No wonder that they
lasted through life.

CATHARINE TAIT.

Lady Rosse died, and the Hall after a time was
sold by the eldest cousin. There was always friend
ship between the Parsonage and the new owner, but
the romantic spell of the early days was broken.
Thus, under changing influences, Catharine grew
on to womanhood in the old Parsonage. A visit to
Cheltenham, where the family were intimate with
the Closes ; another to Hastings, during which on
a fine summer's day, reading the Bible in the old
churchyard, as she used to tell, she was warned by a
Scripture-reader, as the best advice he could give her,
not to marry a drunkard or a Sabbath-breaker ; and
another visit, which deeply affected her imagination,
to the hitherto unknown beauties of the mountains
about the English Lakes — these were the only
changes from the quiet Parsonage-life till she was
three-and-twenty. Two sisters and a brother had
been married, and with them and their rising families
came fresh interests. But the daily routine was to
read some interesting book of history, philosophy, or
theology all the morning, to teach in the Sunday-
school-, to visit the cottagers and help them in their
difficulties, and almost every evening towards dusk,
after his post hour, to take a long walk through the
parish with the much-loved father, to tend the some
what failing health of the dear mother of the family,
who was a perfect model of a Christian lady, directing
all around her by the gentlest influence.
Into this quiet life I was introduced through my
friends the Sandfords of Dunchurch, and by the

CATHARINE TAIT.

intimacy of my sister with a very dear aunt of the
family, in the winter of 1842, and not many weeks
passed before Catharine had consented to share with
me my anxious life at Rugby.
When, in the previous November, Mrs. Sandford
brought her over from Dunchurch, where she was
staying on a visit, to Rugby, to see the school, and
introduce her to the new head-master, our acquaint
ance did not begin for the first time, though for
years we had been strangers. I have mentioned
above that we had met in Worcestershire ; this was
some six or seven years before. Her uncle, Mr.
Gerard Noel, had then jokingly said to her at Hallow
Park, where she was staying, ' I suppose you are
making these slippers for Mr. Tait:' a curious
anticipation, as neither she nor Mr. Tait had any
thoughts of each other : they had only met casually,
and did not meet again for so many years. When
the good uncle was sent for in the summer of 1843
to marry us at Elmdon, he quietly remarked, 'So,
Kitty, you were, after all, making those slippers for
Mr. Tait.' Very heartily did he give his sanction to
the fulfilment of his prophecy, and never did the
rectory and parish look more joyous than on that
bright midsummer day, when, amid approving repre
sentatives of both families, he united us for life in
the little church in which she had been baptized.

12 CATHARINE TAIT.

TT would be difficult to conceive a more complete
change than that which now awaited her. She
had, of course, to be introduced to all her new
relations, Scotch and English, whose ways of looking
upon men and things were very different from those
she had been accustomed to in her early home.
And when the pleasant marriage tour, first in Derby
shire, and then through Lowland Scotland up to the
Highlands, was finished, and we had been welcomed
once again on a bright autumn evening for a few
days' rest in the old Parsonage, we plunged at once
into our busy life. She used to say that my face
assumed a business-like look the moment we came
to our home at Rugby. The life of the school-house
was always busy, and had naturally many anxieties ;
but it was a very happy and a very bright life.
Besides several hundred boys around us outside,
there were seventy in the school-house. The servants,
whose business it was to attend to these, formed a
large household to be ruled by the young mistress.
There were all the families of the masters as near
neighbours and intimate friends ; there were visitors
continually coming from Oxford and elsewhere ; and
those who know what Rugby was when Arnold left
it, will understand that every interesting question of
politics, and all the latest speculations on theology
and philosophy, were flying in the somewhat excited
society of the masters from mouth to mouth.

CATHARINE TAIT. 13
Catharine had to hold her own in this totally new
society, and she did it quietly ; her sweet looks and
warm intelligence recommended her to all. She
braced herself for each day by the prayers of the
Parish Church, from which she returned to family
prayer. From the first she began the practice, which
she continued for the five-and-thirty years of her
married life, of teaching all the younger maid-servants
of her household, and praying with them on Sundays,
and more frequently when she was preparing them
for Confirmation, thus ruling well her household.
She greatly enjoyed the bright stirring Sunday
services in the school chapel. There, and wherever
she appeared, the boys loved to look upon her face ;
she had the young ones to tea with her, and made
conversation to entertain them, and was ready to
discuss any subject that turned up at the dinner
parties in which she received the tall youths of the
sixth form. The boys in the sick-room were her
especial care. She was invited everywhere by her
neighbours in the town and the adjoining country.
But she was never more happy than when helping
me to get up my history lessons, or when galloping
by my side in the green lanes and over the meadows.
In the town she was soon known by all the poor, and
she established a little school of girls, in which it
was her pleasure to teach almost every day. You
could scarcely dream of a brighter, happier, busier
life, and she threw herself into it with full enjoyment.
Two years passed before there was any hope of

14 CATHARINE TAIT.

children, and we had pleasant tours together in the
holidays — in Germany and in Italy. Nothing could
exceed her enjoyment, notwithstanding all its fatigue,
of the journey which she made with me and my two
brothers and a nephew to Naples and beyond in the
summer holidays of 1845. She mounted to the top
of Vesuvius, then in eruption, explored Herculaneum
and Pompeii, and revelled with me in tracing, with
all th&enthusiasm of a school-boy, the spots rendered
famous by Virgil and Cicero. In Rome itself, Dr.
Braun of No. 1 in the Tarpeian Rock, had no more
earnest listener as he kindly called our attention to
the most notable statues, and led us through the
most famous localities of the ancient city. She
studied Dr. Schmitz's volumes of Niebuhr's Lectures
with as much zest as if she and not I were going to
teach the sixth form the fruits of our tour. And she
was deeply interested in what glimpses we could
obtain of the working of Romanism through the great
festival which fell on the day of our visit to Albano,
and afterwards in the strange exhibition of surviving
medieval fanaticism which we encountered unex
pectedly at Perugia, when pilgrims came from all
quarters of Italy to have their beads blessed by
touching the ring of the Virgin. A far better
impression was left by the memories of Carlo
Borromeo, which she eagerly traced at Milan. It
must be remembered that this tour was accomplished
in the seven weeks of the midsummer vacation,
under the blaze of an Italian sun ; that there were

CATHARINE TAIT. 15
no railways in those days, and we posted the whole
journey in a carriage which we hired at Paris, except
when we and our vehicle were transported on board
a Mediterranean steamer from Genoa to Naples.
The journey was conducted under such unfavourable
circumstances, because, as things then were, it could
not be accomplished at any other time of the busy
year. The result, of course, was that, though we
saw what we could of Italy, we found it in its summer
attitude of slumbering repose. There was enough
in this hurried journey to tire us all; but her spirit
was indomitable, and she returned full of new
¦ thoughts and energy to her ordinary home-life at the
opening of the autumn half-year. The school-house,
meanwhile, had become a centre both for relations
and for many other friends, and there can be no
doubt that its chief attraction was its young mistress.
She was twenty-six when her first child was born.
The routine of her life at Rugby was as follows : —
I was in school, winter and summer, before the first
stroke of the clock at seven, and soon after, she
would leave her room. Each morning at eight, often
conducted by one ofthe school-house servants through
the streets, which at Fair-time were crowded with
cattle, she found her way to the old Parish Church,
which she loved, and where her friend John Moultrie
almost every morning read prayers. After some
quiet time again by herself in her own room she
came down to our family prayers. Full of interest
in all that was going on, she shared with friends who

16 CATHARINE TAIT.

might be staying in the house in the news of the
morning, but by a quarter-past ten at latest she had
gone to her household work. On certain marked
days she received at home the poor people who
wished to speak with her, and noted all their
wants. If there was time, she would join in reading
aloud with the friends who might be staying with
her, or, on certain fixed days, have a lesson in
German.1 Her afternoons on half-holidays were
always at my disposal. No time was lost ; the inter
vals were filled with visits to the poor, or other useful
occupations. Boys of the school-house were seen
both by her and me for some time in the evenings,
that she, as well as I, might become acquainted with
them all. And all spare time was spent in reading
before and after family prayers. So that for her
each busy day ended always about midnight, to be
succeeded next morning by another as busy and
happy and useful as the last.
In the third year of our wedded life came the
blessing of our eldest girl's birth, and all . the happy
cares of a young mother were added to the home
life. Soon came another girl. Vacation tours were
now of course curtailed ; but still old friends in Scot
land, in Derbyshire, and in Northamptonshire, as
well as the family circle at Elmdon, welcomed the
mother and her children. She was ever hailed as a
* It may be noted that her Rugby German master, dying thirty
years afterwards, bequeathed to his pupil of long past days his gold
watch and diamond ring.

CATHARINE TAIT. 17

guest at Renishaw, at Pitsford, and afterwards at
Courteen Hall. In these days London was almost
an unknown region to us, though, with her keen
interest in all that was going on, she greatly rejoiced
when we could snatch a week to spend there. I
remember no happier time than when, with the two
little girls, living in a cottage above Ambleside, in
the. bright days of a summer vacation, we wandered
together among the mountains, and watched the
glorious sunsets from Harrison's Terrace. She was ••
indeed a sweet companion for such wanderings : she
knew almost every Psalm by heart ; her mind was
stored with the old hymns she had learned in child
hood, and passages of Cowper which had been her
father's delight ; she knew every part of 'The Chris
tian Year,' and loved to repeat it, and choice passages
from Wordsworth, Trench, and Tennyson, she always '
had ready, to give us food for thought. In the holi
days we had much time for reading together, and
though she always complained that she had not a
good memory, I never knew any one who took a
more intelligent pleasure in reading and being read
to, especially on every subject of history and bio
graphy, or on anything which could assist in the
understanding of the Bible.
Suddenly, in February 1848, came one of those
quickly-gathering dark clouds which at intervals God
has sent to overshadow my bright life. We had a
dinner-party in the school-house, and I felt rather
unwell, but went to bed as usual, hoping to rise for
B

18 CATHARINE TAIT.
school work ; but next morning I was no better ; still
there was no anxiety, and my wife went without me
to dine with some friends in the country. The
following day I was found to have rheumatic fever,
and by the evening I can just remember that I sent
for the solicitor to the Trustees, to dictate to him my
Will. I scarcely rose from my bed again till Easter
Week. On Ash- Wednesday I was expected • to die
every half-hour. There were long days and nights
of watching during that spring of 1848, when king
doms all over Europe went down with a crash, and
England itself was by many supposed to be on the
brink of a Revolution. Of all these outward events
I knew nothing for many days. But my young wife
kept watch beside my bed. All through. the worst
days, and still more when I was recovering, she was
ready to pray with me and to repeat helpful texts and
hymns ; and her own spirit, as she often said after
wards, was stayed upon the text, Isaiah 1. 10 : ' Who
is among you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the
voice of His servant, that walketh in darkness, and
hath no light ? Let him trust in the name of the
Lord, and stay upon his God.' Never shall I forget
the thankfulness with which at last, on Easter Day —
though my health was much shattered for life, and I
rose a very different man in bodily strength from
what I had been when I lay down, — she and I
together returned thanks, and received the Holy
Communion amid the bright band of youthful
worshippers in the dear Rugby Chapel. I was

CATHARINE TAIT. 19

restored to comparative health ; but there were still
to be anxious months "of weakness. Wherever I
went, seeking for change, she was by my side,
concealing her anxiety, and beaming with cheerful
thankfulness, and wiling away all times of languor.
You would have said, Surely this ceaseless care for
another, and neglect of self, must have told in the
long-run on her own health ; yet she seemed by God's
blessing the strongest and most active of her kind,
and most able for thirty years afterwards still to
make every necessary exertion and enter into every
enjoyment. As a proof that in her Rugby life, while she cared
for the poor and engaged in many good Christian
works without, our family duties were by her rigidly
attended to, I should mention that from her first
return home after our marriage tour, she relieved me
entirely of the care of my accounts. These were
complicated enough, even when confined to my own
household expenses and those of the school-house,
which she regulated with the utmost accuracy. But
far more complicated were the general school-
accounts, in the supervision of which she acted for
me. The accurate division of the accounts of the
different masters and myself was no light matter.
One master in particular, who had the reputation of
great financial ability, besides all his other brilliant
qualities, was the chief director of the complicated
scheme on which we proceeded, and great were his
astonishment and her feeling of triumph, when one

20 CATHARINE' TAIT.
day the young wife of twenty-four convicted him of
a serious mistake in his calculations, and brought him
to rectify the account' accordingly. These business
habits were of the greatest use to her all through her
life. On one occasion my brother-in-law, Sir Charles
Wake, scrutinising her accounts with the preconceived
feeling that a lady's habits of business were not
much to be trusted, was obliged to confess that
nothing could be better managed, It was the same
all through our Carlisle days, and in London, and
when I became Archbishop. If my affairs have been
well managed, it was her doing. Rigid punctuality
in payment, clear balancing of the accounts on certain
stated days, and methodical arrangement — these were
the main features of her system. One day, when one
of her brothers was at Coutts's Bank, the manager
complimented him on the way in which Mrs. Tait
conducted the Archbishop's affairs ; and when she
came to add the St. Peter's Orphanage accounts to
all our other statements of receipt and expenditure,
she carried the same exactness of system into the
books of this public trust. When the trustees met
shortly after her death to see how the accounts of the
Orphanage stood, they found everything discharged,
and every item noted in her own hand, up to the day
when she left Lambeth for Scotland on her last
journey. She carried her Christian principle into all
she had to do, and did it heartily and regularly, as to
the Lord.

CATHARINE TAIT.

There scarcely ever was any one who so thoroughly
enjoyed life. My sister, Lady Wake, reminded me
the other day of Catharine saying lately at Addington
that she did not care for pleasure, and the saying was
received with a shout of laughter ; yet the saying was
true in this sense, that her highest pleasures were
found in duty ; yet her heart was open to every
innocent enjoyment. She used to say that the Rugby
time was the happiest of her life. I am not sure that
this, was so, but it was a very happy, bright time,
even making full allowance for the cloud which my
illness brought over it. But, indeed, to her all life
was happy. God gave her wonderfully good health,
and a buoyant, cheerful nature. She used to tell us
that, when she was a young girl, she could not be
prevented from laughing to herself through mere
joyousness of spirit. This went with her through
life. At Rugby, a beautiful house of her own, with a
pleasant garden, the green grass of the Close; and
the old elms overshadowing it, congenial society,
ample means, abundant occupation — all these out
ward circumstances were added to the charm of the
freshness of her early married independence. Here,
as in the scenes of her after life, it was one of her
chief characteristics to find enjoyment in every duty
which she had to perform. There was in her no trace
of the fine lady who thinks her husband's common
work a thing in which she need not take much
interest. Her heart was in all we had to do together,
and in all my separate work. While she found time

CATHARINE TAIT.

for her own labours among the poor, and her own
reading, her deepest interests were ever mine. It was
the same at Carlisle, in London, and at Lambeth.
The Chapter meetings of our Cathedral at Carlisle
would have been very dull indeed had it not been for
her readiness to make the members of the Chapter
welcome in the Deanery. When we first went to
London, she went to every opening of a church, and
as often as possible to Confirmations. She tried to
be ever with me when I was called to preach. The
routine of such duties, and the parochial gatherings
which generally accompanied their discharge, were
sources of real enjoyment to her ; she loved to make
the acquaintance of the clergy, and to take an interest
in the separate work of each. So at Lambeth, the
gatherings 01 Bishops, with the interest of all that
was going on in their several dioceses, the meetings
01 Convocation, for all the members of which she
threw open our house — these things gave her the
truest pleasure. Yet she fully enjoyed all extraneous
pleasures also. I never knew any one who felt more
happy at a well-arranged London dinner-party, when
sitting next some Cabinet Minister, or man of letters,
or Bishop, or bright young lawyer or clergyman
interested in the work of his profession. Our peri
odical visits to Windsor in later days were thoroughly
enjoyed by her ; and she seemed always ready for a
simple, happy holiday when the pressure of business
and the necessary claims of society allowed her

leisure.

CRAUFURD TAIT. 23

DERHAPS the brightness of the Rugby life was
not unnaturally most fondly remembered, because
it was there she first learned the great joy of being a
mother among happy children. Her first two girls,
long since in heaven, were an inexpressible delight
granted before my illness. Soon after I began to
recover God gave us that dear only son who was our
solace in many trials, and our joy and pride till he
had nearly completed his nine-and-twentieth year.
Nothing could exceed in tenderness the affectionate
friendship which bound the mother and the son. A
lovely baby at Rugby during our last year's stay
there, he was the favourite of the school-house boys,
who placed on his head a school-house football cap.
He was with us in the carriage when the boys took
out the horses and dragged us down to the station to
bid us farewell at the close of our bright Rugby life.
I remember when the first of his little sisters born at
Carlisle came into the world, he was found watching,
stretched on the mat at his mother's door. As he
grew to boyhood his attachment to her became
almost romantic, like that of a lover ; he consulted
her in all his early troubles : he read with her in his
holidays, as, for example, Grote's Greece and Clar
endon. I think by thus guiding his tastes she con
tributed no small share to his distinction in the
History schools at Oxford. And when he took Holy
Orders he found a great help for his ministry in the

24 CATHARINE TAIT.
efforts she had made to imbue him from the first
with a knowledge of Holy Scripture. Who that
witnessed them can forget her tender welcomes of
him when he returned home from his first school,
from Eton or from Christ Church, from his eight
months' travels in Egypt and in Syria, and from his
last journey across the Atlantic ? How tenderly she
nursed him in every early illness, and in those last
sad months when .his failing strength spoke with too
sure foreboding to her loving heart that he must
leave her soon !
While he was still at Christ Church she had visited
him there, and taken the deepest interest in the pro
gress he was making in his work. When she went
down to his curacy at Saltwood, with what joy she
heard from his friend and Rector, Erskine Knollys,
and his dear wife, to whom he was as one of her own
family, as well as from the good woman in whose
house he lodged, how he was loved in his labours
amongst the poor. It was a touching sight to see her
in church, listening to his sermons when he preached
at Addington or Lambeth. I remember the beaming
look with which she heard me read the letter of the
venerable Bishop of New York, congratulating me on
the impression my son had made on all who were
thrown in his way in his American tour, and especially
on his winning all hearts to him, when with modest
grace he spoke a few words as my representative in
the Convention, and presented my letter of invitation
to join the Lambeth Conference. And the thought

CRAUFURD TAIT.

is almost too sad to dwell on, of the intense interest
with which, on that dark night of February 1878,
she joined with me and his sisters, and the congrega
tion of St. John's, Notting Hill, in watching his pale
face lighted with a heavenly interest, as, with the
shadow of death upon him, he passed through the
ceremony of his induction to his lbng-wished-for cure,
and we heard the Archdeacon explain to the con
gregation the bright hopes they might entertain of
the self-denying labours of their young pastor. He
was indeed, all through his life, her true and tender
friend. No wonder that his death, and the circum
stances which had preceded it, were too much for her
and she joined him in the Paradise of God at the end
of six months. But if this loss, and, two-and-twenty
years before, that of her five sweet little daughters,
was a trial such as flesh and blood could not bear
without the special grace of God the Comforter, the
very intenseness of the sorrow shows how great must
have been the happiness which the loss brought to a
close. Our greatest griefs ever spring from our holiest
arid best joys, and no one who knew my dear wife
will doubt that, besides all other, sources of enjoyment,
God gave her the highest of all earthly good things
in her family affections. How often have I heard her
say at Fulham, when she was recovering from the
devastating shock which attended our leaving Carlisle,
' God has been very good to fill our nursery again ;'
and no one who ever saw her, especially on a Sunday
evening, with the three daughters who grew up.

CATHARINE TAIT.

around her, can doubt that she had the fullest enjoy
ment in their society and that of her son. I will not
say how full of blessings to us both was her constant
companionship as a wife and friend. How both her
family joy and her family sorrow were leavened by
that deep devotion which was her main characteristic
was shown in the tone and look of unspeakable
thankfulness with which she ever acknowledged the
privilege, that of all the six children taken from her,
every one, from the youngest to the eldest, had so
passed from life as to leave not a shadow of doubt
that they all went direct to the presence of their
Saviour.

DUT to return : — Her work amongst the poor at
Rugby had not been very different in kind
from that to which she had been accustomed in hef
early home. After all, Rugby is not more than a
large village, and it was in her native county. To
the Warwickshire labourers and their families, most
of whom, both in her father's parish and in Rugby,
were members of the Church of England — to their
habits, their houses, their modes of thought and
speech, — she had been accustomed from her child
hood. But when we moved to Carlisle all was new.
An old fortified town, enclosed until lately within
walls— clustering at the base of its castle,— cramped
into narrow lanes (as the only mode of extending

CATHARINE TAIT.

27

population within the walls had been to cover every
available yard of ground with buildings) ; these
narrow lanes the abode of the very squalid poverty
of a mass of people drawn in not very unequal pro
portions from England, from Scotland, and from
Ireland. On every side were evident signs of the
vice and misery which a garrison is apt to spread
around its neighbourhood. Without the limit of the
ancient walls, dingy modern streets stretched out
towards the country, the worst of them inhabited by
the decaying race of poverty-stricken hand-loom
weavers, the better by the tolerably well-to-do mill-
hands who worked in the smoky manufactories which
modern industry had raised round the old fortress
city ; — this was the place and this the population
amongst the poor of which she set herself to work.
The Deanery and Cathedral were in the middle of
the town, and she soon made her home a centre to
which the poor looked for sympathy and help. I
remember that this innovation on old prescribed
ideas of Cathedral etiquette was at first not regarded
with any great favour by some of the inhabitants of
the ' Abbey,' as the Cathedral precincts were in Car
lisle called. Yet certainly my dear wife sacrificed
none of the other duties of the Deanery House to
her works amongst the poor. Her poor neighbours
were encouraged to come at stated times and under
proper restrictions to make their wants known at the
Deanery, and she went out at regular hours to visit
such of them as seemed to require her presence in

28 CATHARINE TAIT.
their homes. There was not much pastoral visiting
in Carlisle at this time, nor any very well-regulated
system of district subdivision in the four overgrown
parishes which included the whole town, so that it
was difficult not to be overwhelmed by the multi
plicity of claims ; but she was systematic in her work,
and contented rather to do a little well than spread
her exertions over a sphere too wide to be of any
use. The central school also, which she regularly
visited, and in which she taught, gave her an acquaint
ance with a manageable number of poor families.
Many of the homes which she was called to visit
were as unlike the tidy Warwickshire cottages of her
youth as can well be conceived. Irish courts, with all
the exaggerated characteristics which Irish families
develop in a worse form in England than even in
their own land, presented perhaps the most urgent
appeals, such as could not be resisted. The religious
peculiarities of the inhabitants of these and other
courts were no bar to the charitable efforts of the
Dean's wife in their behalf. She used to tell how
one of the Irish women, by way of currying favour
with the wife of a Protestant dignitary, said to her
one day, when asked what place of worship she fre
quented, ' Well, ma'am, I '11 not tell you no lies : I am
a Catholic, but then I 'm a very bad 'un ;' and
another applicant when similarly questioned said,
' I thank God I 'm no bigot ; I can worship as com
fortably in the church as in the chapel or tabernacle,
and as comfortably in the tabernacle as in the church/

CATHARINE TAIT. 29
Indeed, the religious condition of some of these
people was peculiar. I remember an old woman
between eighty and ninety, whom we had visited for
years, and whom our Scripture-reader also regularly
attended, who had had a strange history through the
murder of her son, and who always professed her
allegiance to the Church of England. Suddenly,
when death, long delayed, was certainly coming at
last, she sent , for the priest, and declared herself a
Roman Catholic. However, there were amongst the
poor whom my wife tended some truly consistent
Christians. I remember one man, John Horsley by
name (who believed himself to be some relation of
the famous Bishop) ; he was a regular worshipper in
the Cathedral, at least when the Dean was to preach,
and though very poor, a man of a good deal of
intelligence, and apparently a simple-minded Chris
tian. One day as my wife was coming out ot the
Cathedral she saw him standing by the Deanery
door, and, as she was busy, she was passing on after
having addressed to him a few words, ' I wanted to
speak to you to-day, Mrs. Tait,' he said, intimating
that he was not well ; ' I am come to bid you good
bye, for I am going to die to-day.' She stopped and
said she would send the Scripture-reader to see him,
and, if he liked, to pray with him at his house.
' Better not send him to the house to-day, ma'am,
for it 's washing-day, and my landlady will be very
busy ; but I came here just to tell you that I 'm
going to die to-day.' She did what she could to

30 CATHARINE TAIT.
cheer him, and after a little time he went away ; and
to be sure, when the Scripture-reader arrived, he
found that old John was dead. I remember also an old
woman (very much in outward appearance and in lan
guage what I had imagined Mause Headrigg should
be) ; she had a husband as old, or older than herself,
who was not so quick of speech as she, who seemed
also to be a real Christian. She used to lead the old
man with her wherever she went to prayer and
sermon, and as far as one could judge by outward
signs, the old couple were living not for this world,
but with their hearts above. Whensoever I preached,
or had a lecture in my night-school room, the old
couple were to be seen there. The old woman sent
for my wife upon her deathbed, that she. might tell
how she felt when passing through what she called
' the swelling of Jordan,' and left her blessing to him
whom she designated as young Samuel, that is our
dear Craufurd, then only some five or six years old.
I remember one simple-minded creature who was
often visited. She lived in one of the least pleasant
lanes, and we thought it a great thing for her when
some relation offered to take her to stay in the
pleasant village of Rockcliff, overhanging a lovely
view of the Eden, and in the fine fresh air. But she
soon came back to Carlisle, for she couldn't bear the
change to village life, and longed, I believe, amongst
other things, to be back within reach of the Cathedral,
and to join the congregation there. Many friend
ships were thus made with the simple-minded poor,

CATHARINE TAIT. 31

and the memory of the dear lady from the Deanery
can scarcely have passed away, though twenty-two
years have now gone since Carlisle ceased to be our
home. She visited regularly in the workhouse, for
which there was at that time in Carlisle no Union
chaplain, and many were the hours which she spent
reading with the afflicted inmates.
Perhaps more might have been done, both by her
and me, in the way of organisation, which might
have continued after our own day ; but the parochial
arrangements of the town at that time were such as
to make this very difficult, and she contented herself
rather with the endeavour to encourage every good
work which might be undertaken, and with the
regular supervision of such poor families as she could
personally visit. After we left, the arrangements
effected with the Ecclesiastical Commissioners enabled
the parishes of the town to be all subdivided, and the
present Dean, aided by the three Bishops who have
filled the See since our time, has had the blessing of
seeing several new churches erected and placed under
the charge of clergy, energetic in their work, and
not overwhelmed by the vastness of the population
of their districts. But I had my hands full with the
attempt to reorganise the Cathedral Grammar School,
and with the restoration of the Cathedral building.
In these, and in all other good objects, my dear wife
was my constant helper, while her efforts amongst the
poor were as far as possible helped forward, both by
the lectures I gave in my night-school, and "jy my

CATHARINE TAIT.

¦undertaking to preach regularly as to a settled
congregation , in the Cathedral, of which, of course,,
the seats were free to all comers.
Meanwhile my wife neglected no other duty.
There was no lack of hospitality in the Deanery.
She greatly enjoyed gathering our neighbours around
her there. All the members of the Chapter and.
their families were attached to her, as well as all the
other clergy and officers of the Cathedral body ; and.
the change from the. more genial life of Rugby was
gradually compensated by an enlarging circle of
society in the neighbourhood. No one ever more
heartily entered into the enjoyment of visiting in the
country-houses which were opened to receive us.
The chief happiness of her domestic life was in the
children who one after another were born to give
brightness to the dingy old Deanery. Each day
while we were in residence she would sally forth in ,
our open car with the whole body of them when an
interval came from the work of the day. In spring
time and in summer we would encamp some four or
five miles beyond the smoke of the city, and wander
with them, seeking wild-flowers in the woods or
loitering pleasantly by the river-side. And then as
the elder of them grew up, what pleasant hours she
spent in reading with them, and how wonderfully she
was able to interest their growing intelligence in all
the good works which she herself did for Christ's sake.
The Cathedral services, too, were both to her and to
them a never-ceasing source of interest. There

CATHARINE TAIT. 33

might be much to improve in the Cathedral — it had
certainly a somewhat forlorn air when we first became
acquainted with it, — but to her it was ever God's
House ; she sought and received daily blessings
from it.
I cannot say that she loved our eight months'
annual residence in Carlisle. She was always glad
when our vacation-time arrived, and we were able
in the winter-time or spring to return to visit the
old home at Elmdon, or some of our relations in
Derbyshire and Northamptonshire, making a rush
occasionally for a week or two to London ; or when
in summer, with all our children about - us, we
migrated to some lovely spot on the Lakes or in
Scotland. We generally settled ourselves in some
pleasant house, which we hired for two months ; and
as she was as great a favourite in my family as in
her own, we had no lack of visitors when we desired
their companionship.
One summer we lived, keeping house together,
with my three brothers at Alva, near the home of
my boyhood, and my wife here, as elsewhere,
cemented the union of the different elements which
composed this joint family. By my two brothers
who had spent most of their lives in Scotland, and my
soldier brother, who had seen twenty years of a hard
military life in India, and by the motherless children
of my eldest brother, she was alike beloved. Such
was her nature that she always won all hearts.
Another summer we had a lovely house at Keswick,
c

34 CATHARINE TAIT.
and old friends gathered around us. Another we
spent at St. Andrews, and greatly she enjoyed, not
only the quiet of the place and its many associations
with old Scottish ecclesiastical history, but also the
society and unfailingly interesting conversation of
Sir David Brewster, who at that time made the little
northern University famous.
Some six weeks of our summer vacation in i8$5
were spent by us in a tour in Ireland, accompanied
by her sister Elizabeth and our dear little son. The
land of her mother's birth and affections stirred in
her the romantic feelings of her early days. I well
remember her pleasure in the visit to Dromoland,
and the happy quiet time in the genuine Irish home
at Cullane. It was a pleasant journey which we
made with her cousin Mrs. Studdert on an open
jaunting-car through Clare, gazing from the cliffs of
Moher on the expanse of the Atlantic ; and driving
in the bright summer weather through the wild
country by Lisdoonvarna, Kilfenora, and the old
O'Brien Castle of Lemmonaye. These days, as well
as those others which we spent with the Bence
Joneses near Clonakilty, and afterwards amid the
arbutus-covered hills of Killarney, sent us back
refreshed, rejoicing to meet the happy group of our
children, and spend a month with them by the well-
known sea. There, when I was called up to London
on the business of the University Commission, as
well as at other times, especially in the late autumn
when we could be spared from Carlisle before our

CATHARINE TAIT. 3.5

holiday was exhausted, she had dearly loved the
little lodging at the quiet village of Allonby, where,
book in hand, reading with me or with the children,
she could wander undisturbed for miles along the
pleasant sands, and watch the glorious sunset which
lighted up Criffel, and the other Scottish hills beyond
the Solway. Sometimes in these vacations I was
engaged in writing some article or lecture in which
she would take intense interest, and for which she
was ever at hand to help me in my reading. And
thus passed from six to seven quiet years.
Then on a day in the early spring of 1856 the
clouds darkened and a change came upon us with the
suddenness and overpowering force of a thunderstorm.
She must herself describe this change in her own
words. Suffice it here to say that in six weeks we
laid five loved daughters in the churchyard at Stanwix
within sight of our old Cathedral, and near the quiet
waters of the Eden. Many a prayer had been offered
up in Carlisle and elsewhere for our afflicted family,
but God saw it to be for our good to take our children
to Himself. Early in April, the day of the funeral of
the last who died, we fled with our new-born baby,
and were followed by our dear little son, to take
refuge, for a few days among the hills at Moffat,
almost afraid that we should not be received in any
lodging, from the alarm which the fever that visited
the Deanery had caused. After a little time we
moved to the country she loved so well on the banks
of Windermere ; there we rested a fortnight, and

36 CATHARINE TAIT.
presented our baby to be received into the Church at
Bowness. The summer found us, by the kindness of
our friends the William Marshalls, slowly recovering
from the shock which had uprooted us from the
Deanery, in the pleasant house they lent to us on
Ullswater ; soothed between the months of May and
September by wandering with our dear Craufurd amid
the most lovely scenery, in perfect retirement, watch
ing the ever-changing colours on the hills around us,
as week followed week in the advance from spring to
autumn. She returned with me to Carlisle for a few
days for the opening of the restored Cathedral in
June, when we stayed with our friends the George
Dixons. We never slept in the Deanery again. The
shock had been overpowering. But as in the quiet
country home which had been lent to us we cherished
our dear little son and baby girl, and read together
and prayed together, and bathed our spirits in the
beauties that surrounded us, by God's mercy there
came over us a holy calm.
God was preparing both my wife and me for a great
change of life, a far more extended field of work than
we had before known, and fresh great blessings, which
for twenty years she enjoyed with the keenest sense
of gratitude, tempered by the solemn thoughts which
this great trial had fixed deep within her heart.

CATHARINE TAIT. 37

/^\N the 17th of September 1856 I received a letter
at Halstead from Lord Palmerston, with the
announcement that the Queen had been pleased to
approve of my appointment to the See of London.
When I placed the letter in her hands, she asked me
to take quiet time for prayer, and then to answer it.
We had been forming together plans as to how we
should be best able to bear the return to our duties
in Carlisle, and this great change came to solve the
problem. She felt all the solemnity of the occasion,
and for herself and me desired that we should enter
on our new work in the spirit of prayer. The months
which followed were necessarily full of much occu
pation, from this sudden change of life. By the 23d
of November 1856, the day of my consecration in
Whitehall Chapel, we were established in a hired
house in London. It was not until the spring that
we took possession of London House ; and as Bishop
Blomfleld lived till the end of next summer, we were
not settled at Fulham until the late autumn of 1857.
But by the Christmas (1856) after my consecration we
were in the full swing of work in the greatest diocese
of the world. My dear wife devoted herself resolutely
at once to do her part. The candidates ordained by
me (now a long catalogue of some 700 clergy), most
of them retain some remembrance of her kindliness.
She did all she could to make the acquaintance of
the London clergy, but these were about 1000 in

38 CATHARINE TAIT.
number, and she had set herself .a task which could
not be perfectly fulfilled. It must be remembered
that at this time her heart was still bowed down by
recent grievous mourning. I shall never forget, when
we went for a few days to see my sister, Lady Sitwell,
near Maidenhead, the feelings with which we together
watched, from the railway embankment near the
station, the setting of the last sun of 1856, with all
its solemn thoughts of past joys and sorrows and
coming responsibilities. Nor was the feeling very
different when, a year after, standing on the Bishop's
Walk at Fulham, we saw the last sun of 1857 %nt
up the Thames and glisten among the old trees, and
still recall the same sacred memories. As soon as
she well could, she threw her drawing-rooms at
London House open, and invited as many of the
clergy to a friendly gathering as the house could
hold. Good Bishop Blomfield was still living, and
in full possession of all his mental faculties. I recall
her admiration of his noble form, as she walked by
the wheel-chair on which he was carried prostrate
round the garden at Fulham ; and from him and
Mrs. Blomfield, and their son Frederick, who became
one of my chaplains, she anxiously endeavoured to
gain advice and information for the better discharge
of her and my duties. Bishop Blomfield had begun
these clerical gatherings at London House. She
gladly caught at the idea of continuing them, and
afterwards developed them on a larger scale in the
gardens and spacious rooms of Fulham Palace. In

CATHARINE TAIT. 39
no year during the whole of our time in London did
she fail to receive the whole body of the London
clergy as her guests. This, scarcely possible in any
other diocese, could be done in that of London, where
all the clergy reside within a few miles of the
Episcopal House.
From the first also, as I have said before, she set
herself to make personal acquaintance with as many
as possible of the parishes which I was called to visit.
St. James's and Fulham, of course, soon became the
chief centres of her interest amongst the poor. In
the for mer she confined herself to visiting in the work
house, where she was to be found every Sunday of
our residence in St. James's Square during the twelve
years of my London episcopate. At Fulham she
found poor cottages to visit, which reminded her of
her old days at Rugby and Elmdon ; and in the
widows' Almshouses and Union Workhouse she was,
continually to be seen. Soon, as her knowledge of
London increased, she became well acquainted with
many of the hospitals, and especially gave herself to
such branches of work as were best suited for a
woman. The Brompton Consumptive Hospital lay
halfway between Fulham and London House, and
many poor patients have carried to their dying day a
grateful remembrance of the regular Scripture lesson
which week after week she gave there. Meanwhile
penitentiaries, conducted by sisterhoods, were grow
ing. She took an interest in them all, especially in
St. James's Home, which she was chiefly instrumental

40 CATHARINE TAIT.
in having erected on a portion of the episcopal estate
at Fulham. The ladies at the head of these institu
tions became her friends; and so many were the
centres of such work in which, as time went on, she
became interested, that I remember we used to have
a joke that one day when she said to the footman at
the carriage door, ' Home,' he answered, ' Which
Home, ma'am ?' Obviously this multiplicity of
occupations called for systematic arrangement, and
she was very careful not to undertake what she, could
not effectually fulfil.
Meanwhile a great deal devolved upon her in
the direct furtherance of my episcopal work as
Bishop of London. London House and Fulham
quite as much as Lambeth have long been centres
for the whole episcopate of the English Church.
She and I took the earliest opportunity of visiting
our episcopal brethren at their own homes. Cuddes.-
don, then occupied by her first cousin, Samuel
Wilberforce, was soon a centre of attraction to us.
Her intimacy with this relation was very close. She
had a true admiration of his many marvellous gifts,
and especially of that fund of true religious feeling
which he had inherited from his father, and which
formed after all the deepest and strongest element
in his most versatile character. But no long time
passed before we had visited in almost every epi
scopal house in England, and thus come to know
more intimately both my brother Bishops and their
families. All the Bishops of the English bench

CATHARINE TAIT. 41
became, more or less, her friends, from the old Henry
of Exeter — who, having received kindly sympathy
from her in the last illness of his suffering daughter,
poured forth upon her, when approaching his nine
tieth year, compliments, which, in addressing her,
came from the genuine gratitude of his heart,1 — to
Montagu Villiers of Durham, for whose unexpected
death she sincerely grieved, esteeming him a genuine
man of God. With Mrs. Villiers she kept up her
intimacy till death called the widow to join her
husband. I well remember our visit to the great
scholar of St. David's at Abergwilli, how she entered
into all his peculiarities and won on his regard.
There were afterwards few more pleasant days than
when Bishop Thirlwall joined her guests at Fulham
or at London House. She was ever a welcome
guest at the house of the venerable Archbishop
Sumner, enjoyed his playful humour and reverenced
his deep piety ; and she learned to love and esteem
his successor from our visit to him at Auckland after
Mrs. Longley's death. Indeed, one might go through
the whole list of my contemporaries in the episcopate,
and I believe it would be true to say that there was
1 The circumstances of our last visit to him were these : — The old
man received us at luncheon in his beautiful villa near Torquay.
Though very feeble, he sat with us at table and next my wife, and
exerted himself to the utmost. In telling some anecdote he forgot a
name, and touching his forehead he said, ' My poor head ! I forget
all names now ;' then turning to her he added, — ' Except yours,' and
taking, I think, her hand he said again, — ' I shall never forget your
name,' implying that this was for her kindness to the daughter he had
Lost.

42 CATHARINE TAIT.

not one of them who was not always glad to see her,
and whom she did not gladly welcome with a feeling
of almost sisterly regard. The two Deans of St.
Paul's and Westminster in 1857 were Milman and
Trench. It is not too much to say that both of them
were truly attached to her, and with their wives she
formed a life-long friendship.
All this will show how many and widely different
were the directions in which her sympathy went
forth. Besides those whom I have mentioned she
kept up close intimacy with all my College friends,
a group sufficiently diversified in opinion and in
character. When some one would blame any of
them for eccentricities of opinion — as, for example,
Dean Stanley, almost my oldest friend and the god
father of her eldest living daughter, — she always
answered that though thoroughly orthodox herself,
she had no faculty for detecting heresy, and could
read with the deepest interest the books and enjoy
the conversation of men from whom she differed, and
admire their great qualities and help them in good
works without in any way pledging herself to follow
their guidance.
This wide acquaintance, however, with my coad
jutors and friends by no means filled up the whole
of the ever-widening circle of the social claims upon
her time. She never laid herself out in any way for
what is commonly called London society, but her
position necessarily brought her into connexion with
many of its brightest ornaments. I know nothing in

CATHARINE TAIT. 43

her life more truly Christian than the way in which
she moved as befitted a Bishop's wife in such society.
When she first came to London she was still young,
and had it not been for the deep lessons of her
previous life, she might have been tempted to plunge
into the society that opened before her. I remember
the impression which her face and appearance made
on Lady Palmerston at their first meeting ; how the
elder lady professed to think that it was impossible
the younger could be the Bishop of London's wife,
but must be some young relation whom I had under
my care. She certainly was a favourite wherever
she went, from some quiet indescribable charm. She
neither sought society nor avoided it ; she enjoyed
it when it came in her way quietly and calmly, and
consistently with all the claims of important duty
which were ever present to her mind.
I feel disposed to leave to some other hand the
description of the garden parties at Fulham, in which,
for several Saturdays every summer, she received her
friends. Suffice it to say, that they reflected her
own mind and taste. The habitual frequenters of
such gatherings elsewhere used to note that she
made them something very different from an ordinary
London party. Persons who never met elsewhere
met on the Fulham lawn as common ground. There
was always a large infusion of the clerical element,
and men and women, tired with the routine of
London gaieties, were not sorry to spend a quiet
afternoon in that peaceful garden, under the old

44 CATHARINE TAIT.
trees on the river-side, in a place full of old associa
tions, and there to meet clergy, statesmen, literary
men, and most of the labourers in the various works
of charity in which my wife delighted. One element
was never wanting, — a large concourse of joyous
children, who came with their parents to revel on the
lawn, and ride the two or three old ponies which she
always caused to be trotted out for their amusement.
The place is singularly suited for such gatherings,
which, once begun, are continued there to this day.
There is something almost marvellous in the sudden
transition from the dust and noise and hurry of the
roads of suburban London, into that calm, peaceful
shade, the moment you turn up the old elm avenue
leading to the court-yard which Bishop Fitz-James
erected in the time of Henry VII. These parties
were, of course, not gathered together without an
immense amount of labour on her part. At times,
both at Fulham and at Lambeth, I have heard her
say that the necessary trouble of preparation was
almost too much ; but I can testify that she never
allowed it to interfere with the due performance of
any one other duty.
It is difficult to select the works of charity in which
she was most interested during our early days in
London. Like myself, in my work which came before
the complete organisation of the Diocesan Home
Mission and the Bishop of London's Fund, she seemed
to be feeling her way amongst the various efforts she
was called to encourage. Gradually, however, her

CATHARINE TAIT. 45
energies became concentrated on one or two more
definite fields of action. I remember distinctly her
awakening me one night in our room in London
House, and unfolding the scheme of the Ladies'
Diocesan Association, which had become impressed
upon her mind ; and she quickly set herself to work
to have the scheme matured. I must leave to others
to describe the labour for which the maturing of her
conception called. Her idea was, that the great
number of ladies who, in London, are anxious to
do distinct work for Christ beyond the limits of
their own families — in workhouse visitation, and in
hospitals, and in ministering to the wants of the poor
in their own houses — might have their efforts better
systematised if they met together in one centre under
their Diocesan. Many, of course, might prefer to
work apart, each in their own parishes, and under
their own pastors ; but any wide acquaintance with
the state of London shows that there are many
districts in which ladies, capable of so working, are
not to be found. Almost the worst growing evil of
the Metropolis is the local separation between the
abodes of the rich and the poor. She thought that
the superabundant energy of one district might, by
such a union as she proposed, be better made available
to assist the overburdened clergy in districts where
they had to work almost single-handed. She knew
also that such a union, under the Bishop, might more
effectually gain entrance for Christian visitation and
kindly sympathetic influences into some of the work-

46 CATHARINE TAIT.
houses and hospitals, in which a shrinking from such
assistance had hitherto been manifested by the
authorities. This union, therefore, was organised by
her efforts. A chaplain was appointed to collect
offers of work, and point out spheres for working.
Periodical meetings were held at London House for
mutual counsel and for prayer, and once a year the
associates gathered to receive the Holy Communion,
and to be addressed by the Bishop. A blessing, I
think, has descended on this effort, and my successor
in the See of London, and his family, have shown
their appreciation of it by continuing it to this day.

'"PHE year 1866 is memorable in the history of her
efforts. In the spring I had a serious illness,
after ten years' work in London. I passed Easter
Week in bed, and when I was able to get about, we
were sent for the remainder of April and for all the
month of May to the neighbourhood of Hastings.
They were weeks of quiet and great enjoyment,
which she and I and our children spent in the house
we hired at Fairlight, enjoying the coming on of
summer with thankfulness for my returning strength.
By the beginning of June we settled to our work as
usual at Fulham, and all things looked bright. Very
soon rumours reached us of an expected visitation
of the cholera, and as the summer advanced it became
too apparent that London was to be severely tried.

CATHARINE TAIT. 47
Our annual gathering of the clergy took place in the
garden at Fulham, and the general subject of conver
sation was the expected pestilence. At the close of
our garden-party all assembled around the great
cedar-tree to the north of the Porteus Library, and
there took counsel as to the steps necessary, in case
our fears were realised. Soon afterwards the state
of things in the east of London became very bad
indeed ; the whole district which had any connexion
with the river Lea was infected. I summoned a
meeting of the clergy of Bethnal Green, Stepney, and
Spitalfields, and we endeavoured to make arrange
ments which might aid the sanitary authorities.
From that time my dear wife accompanied me
regularly in the visits which I made to the infected
districts. She felt that others might naturally hang
back if she in her prominent position were afraid.
She knew that her voluntary presence in the hospitals
would give courage and endurance to those who
could not escape from the responsibility of ministering
to the sick, and that personal knowledge of the
danger and its details would enable both her and me
better to appeal for help, and assist in the organisation
ot efficient remedies. I can see her now standing in
one of the large wards of the hospital for Wapping
and St. George's-in-the-East, quietly soothing the
sufferers, while one poor little girl seemed to be seized
with the last agonies, and the Rev. C. F. Lowder,
who attended us, stepped quietly to the bed of the
poor patient, and gave her such help as, by God's

48 CATHARINE TAIT.
blessing, resulted in her final recovery. I can see
her in the well-ordered hospital extemporised by
Miss Sellon, near Shoreditch, encouraging the sisters
who had ventured their lives from the pure air of
Ascot into that infected district ; and in the Middlesex
Hospital, where other well-known ladies had under
taken to assist the permanent staff. I remember the
real danger to which I thought she was exposed near
Ratcliff Highway, when, unexpectedly, she was
summoned to try and guide the somewhat irregular
efforts of the clergymen of the parish to distribute
relief amongst a miscellaneous crowd of those whose
families were suffering from the plague. I remember
also how, when the evil began to abate, she helped
Miss Twining, by her support and advice, in the
temporary building secured for convalescents on a
spot south of the Thames.
This visitation of the cholera led to the crowning
labour of her life. Mrs. Gladstone, Miss Marsh, and
herself — the 'three Catharines,' as some newspaper
called them, — had each of them her spirit stirred to
undertake the charge of some of those many orphans
whom the cholera left destitute ; and institutions, still
vigorously at work, were the result. Mrs. Gladstone,
I believe, undertook to provide for the boys. My
wife hired a house at Fulham for the girls, and, by
the aid of Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster and the sisters of
their ' Home,' soon established St. Peter's Orphanage,
which has continued growing ever since. It cannot
be doubted that the ever-present thought of her own

CATHARINE TAIT. 49
children whom she had lost was an incentive to her
care for these destitute little girls. The following
sketch, anticipating the future growth of her work,
will best explain what have been the results of this
laborious effort : —
The Fulham Orphanage contained thirty girls.
It was distant from the Palace about five minutes'
walk. When we were at home there was constant
communication between her and the inmates. She
visited them almost every day. On Sundays the
children would come and have a Scripture lesson ;
and she would read to them the ' Pilgrim's Progress,'
or some such book in the great hall or on the lawn.
From time to time they attended the services of the
Palace Chapel, and no sound could be more pleasant
than that of the hymns and carols with which, stand
ing in the frosty garden, they would waken us on
Christmas morning. The Orphanage remained at
Fulham for about five years. But as soon as we
ourselves were called away by my translation, she
resolved that it should be moved and made avail
able for my new as well as my old diocese. At first
she had been making arrangements to have a
permanent building erected on the Fulham Episcopal
estate, but. feeling how much depended for its growth
and welfare in its early years on her personal
superintendence, she determined as soon as possible
to move the Orphanage near one or other of our new
residences. Lambeth and Addington were both
thought of. But it so happened that about this time
D

50 CATHARINE TAIT.
I was enabled by the bequest of a relation to purchase
a private and more permanent home for my family in
the Isle of Thanet. Here she arranged with me in
1869 to secure in perpetuity two. acres of ground on
one of the most healthy sites in England ; and in
course of time she caused a handsome building to be
erected, capable of receiving eighty children. By
great exertions, and the kind assistance of many
friends, she was able to defray the whole expenses of
the erection and complete furnishing of this building;
and soon afterwards went on to add a Convalescent
Home for the reception of women and children in
need of sea air. The whole expense of the building
for this institution also was paid through her exertions
before the second house was opened. During all the
weeks which each year she spent in our house on the
Isle of Thanet, the Orphan and Convalescent Homes
were her constant care. Aided for many years by
the sisters of St. Peter's, Kilburn, and at last, on their
retiring, by an experienced lady of her own selection,
from the diocese of Winchester, she superintended
personally, or by writing, all the most important
arrangements connected with the Homes, and when
she was living in Thanet she visited them daily.
The children were taught by a thoroughly competent
certificated schoolmistress, and the lady superin
tendent was aided by other ladies resident in the
Home. The clergy of St. Peter's and the two medical
men of Broadstairs gave her their kind assistance in
the work of both Homes. The distance from our

CATHARINE TAIT. 51
house is but a few minutes' walk, and the same sort
of communication was kept up here as at Fulham.
Besides the ordinary school instruction, she took care
that the girls as they grew older should be trained in
the duties of domestic service ; one of the original
Fulham girls has become a nurse in St. Thomas's
Hospital, and two are preparing to be school
mistresses. Her great endeavour was, when they
left the Home, to see that they began life in suitable
situations, and that they should be watched over
afterwards, and the numbers were such as to render
this easy of accomplishment. She herself and her
daughters, as well as the ladies resident in the Home,
kept up an intimacy by correspondence and other
wise with the girls who were sent forth each year.
She knew, indeed, that her own motherly care could
not continue always, and took steps to give perman
ence to the ' Homes,' after her own day. Thus she
secured the concurrence of a body of trustees : she
placed the Orphan School under Government inspec
tion ; and her own words will well explain the scheme
by which she sought to secure for each orphan child
some permanent friend to take in some measure the
place of a parent. As there never was absent from
her own mind the sense of the motherly duty
which devolved upon her towards the children, she
endeavoured to stamp the same on the Institution
in what it is hoped will be enduring characters.
The following are the words in which, in her report
for 1877, she explains her plan: — 'In respect to

CATHARINE TAIT.

orphans Mrs. Tait is desirous to continue the system
which has been successfully adopted since the com
mencement of the Institution, under which ladies or
children of the higher classes undertake to watch over
and care for individual orphans, and during the child's
residence at the Home to provide, or raise, a sum of
£\2 to £15 a year for her maintenance. Such
assistants to be termed Children's Associates ; an
associate to undertake, by personal interview or by
correspondence, to become acquainted with the
orphan, to be interested in her during her residence
at the Home, and endeavour to watch over and
befriend her, if occasion require it, in after life ; so
that each child may feel that she has a friend and
adviser interested in her future prospects, and taking,
in some degree, the place of the parent she has lost.
Mrs. Tait will be very thankful to any ladies, or their
children, who will come forward and help in this way,
and who will apply for orphans to be assigned to
them.' In the Convalescent Home every endeavour was
made to minister effectually both to the souls and '
bodies of the patients, and she desired the two insti
tutions to be united, so that the permanence of
the Orphanage might secure the permanence of the
Convalescent Home also. Funds were never wanting
while she lived, and there seems every hope from the
acknowledged usefulness of both institutions that
they will not fail after her day.
And here it seems natural to ask, What was, the

CATHARINE TAIT. 53

secret spring by which this ever active life was
sustained and directed ? God had indeed, conferred
on her the charm of beauty, by which a woman, when
she views it as a gift from above, goes forth with a
great advantage to win her way in His service. He
had also given her a gracious manner, certainly in
her case a gift from Him, for it was only the outward
expression of the kindly graces He had planted in
her soul. Moreover, she was by God's Providence
placed in outward circumstances which called forth
all her powers, and gave full room for their develop
ment. She had also a good understanding, began
early to cultivate her mind, and never ceased through
all her life to continue her education, strengthening
her mind by reading. She learned also in her varied
experience to accommodate herself to circumstances,
and if she could not do all she wished, to work hard
in doing what she could. She gained, as life went on,
a great acquaintance with men and women of all
ranks, and made allowance for their peculiarities,
using a fine tact in all her intercourse without ever
sacrificing principle. To all this was added the per
severance of a settled purpose and indomitable will.
But these gifts, great as they are, could not make her
what she was. The real key to her character is to be
found in the depth of her Christian life. She was,
above all things, given to prayer. From her earliest
years she prayed habitually and constantly for guid
ance ; secretly and in public she was ever seeking
strength through prayer. Hence the charm to her of

54 CATHARINE TAIT.

the daily services ofthe Church, which never became
to her a formality, because they were but the outward
and appropriate expression of thoughts which were
planted in her soul by the Spirit of God. I think one
chief attraction to her ofthe High Church movement
was the great variety of books helpful to , devotion
which the writers of this school have put forth. She
used such books freely, having, through God's help, a
right discrimination in her own heart and judgment
whereby she was able to pass over or put aside what
she disapproved of, and to assimilate as it were the
wholesome nutriment for the soul, while she rejected
what she could not approve. I have reason to
believe that in using even Bishop Andrewes's
' Devotions,' which was indeed her companion and
help every morning, there were passages which she
studiously omitted as not embodying her own view
of Scripture truth. She especially prized the sugges
tions for a wide extension of intercessory prayer
through the whole range of the trials of the Christian
life, which she found in some of these manuals. Yet
the use of them was no substitute for personal unpre
meditated prayer, poured forth as the expression of
her own and her family's and friends' peculiar wants.
Moreover, she had a deep spiritual acquaintance
with Holy Scripture, which she had been taught
from her childhood could make her wise unto salva
tion. She could repeat much of it, was Seldom at a
loss to find any passage, and especially she knew the
Psalms of David with a remarkable familiarity, with

CATHARINE TAIT. 55

the distinctive characteristics of each. Her know
ledge of Scripture helped her prayers, and her
prayers her knowledge of Scripture.
Thus braced and trained for God's service herself,
she had a remarkable appreciation of all traits of real
goodness in others, and though it must be confessed,
that when she visited Scotland, she showed no
appreciation for the worship, or other outward de
velopments, of the Presbyterian Church, and even
in Switzerland and Germany, always felt a sort of
shudder at the bareness of the ecclesiastical arrange
ments, yet she never talked with a spiritually-minded
Christian, of any denomination, without feeling her
heart warm towards him and his work. I remember
on our first visit to Edinburgh after our marriage, she
was present in St. Stephen's Church, and somewhat
astonished the worshippers amongst whom she was
placed, by kneeling down at the prayer, and standing
during the Psalmody. She would quote, in her justi
fication, some saying respecting Roundhead modes
of worship, current in the family, as uttered by her
uncle, Mr. Wilberforce, when he was coming out of
Mr. Jay's chapel at Bath. Yet I remember that on
the first Sunday after our great sorrow at Carlisle,
when We had taken refuge in a village beyond the
Border where there was no Episcopal place of wor
ship, she sought and found consolation in the services
of the parish church.

56 CATHARINE TAIT.

DUT we must return to the time when the Orphan
age scheme was first organised at Fulham.
This was, as I have said, in the late summer, or
beginning of the autumn, of 1866. Before I was first
taken ill that year, another work ofi which her heart
was much set had been begun. The old chapel
of the Palace of Fulham had, soon after Bishop
Porteus's death, been turned into the 'Porteus
Library ;' Bishop Porteus having left a large collec
tion of books to the See, and a sum of money to
provide a suitable apartment for their reception.
The old hall had at that time been manufactured
into a chapel of a very debased ecclesiastical char
acter. My dear wife felt as I did, that the ministra
tions for worship, both family and diocesan, neces
sarily attaching to the chapel of the principal See
House of so great a diocese, required some more
suitable arrangement. After much deliberation, we
determined to erect a new chapel according to
designs furnished by Mr. Butterfield, restoring the
Hall to its original purpose. I remember the cold
snowy day on which we all turned out on the lawn
in front of my library windows, and my dear son laid
the foundation-stone. The work went on during my
first illness and the great visitation of the cholera.
We left Fulham at the very end of September, having
stayed till London was resuming its usual state of
health. I had scarcely arrived in Scotland, when a
second and more serious attack of the same illness

CATHARINE TAIT. 57

prostrated me at North Berwick. My dear wife was
as ever my sedulous and patient nurse. Though we
moved to England in November, and I was able to
compose my quadrennial Charge, it was not thought
safe for me personally to deliver it. I held the visi
tation by my chancellor, and forwarded the Charge
to the clergy from Brighton, where my doctors
advised me to stay till January of 1867. Then again
came a happy time of returning strength ; and my
dear wife had the satisfaction, on the first of May
1867, of being present at the opening of our new
chapel, which now assumed, in her eyes and mine,
the character of a thank-offering for restored health
and renewed hopes of usefulness. It was adorned
with many gifts from private friends, from the lay
officers of the diocese, from Sion College and the
Rural Deans, as well as from individual clergy ; all
seeming glad to testify their sympathy with me and
my wife on the completion of this work. I preached
the morning sermon, Bishop Wilberforce the sermon
in the afternoon. The Archbishop of Canterbury
(Longley) was present, and a large gathering of the
Bishops. It was with a very thankful heart that she
received them, and many of our other friends, on one
of the warmest and most beautiful May-days which
the Fulham gardens had ever seen.
It was a special pleasure to her, and greatly added
to the interest of this opening, that I was able to
carry into effect her long-cherished plan for the erec
tion and consecration of this chapel before London

CATHARINE TAIT.

received the visits of the many Bishops from all
parts of the world, who gathered to the first Lambeth
Conference at the call of Archbishop Longley. I
have already mentioned on what intimate terms she
lived with all my Episcopal brethren at home. From
time to time Bishops from distant colonies had been
her guests at Fulham and London House. But now
she was to assist me in entertaining the representa
tives of the whole Anglican Episcopate. She threw
herself with her accustomed energy into the duty of
the time. M'any Bishops from the United States as
well as others stayed with us in our home, and for
five consecutive days she received a gathering of
some forty at dinner in the newly restored hall,
taking a deep pleasure in worshipping with them in
the chapel, which seemed to have been prepared for
the especial purpose of helping the Archbishop at
Lambeth on this first general meeting of Bishops
from all branches of our Church.
The chapel has ever since afforded a suitable place
of worship on many interesting occasions. For ex
ample, my wife gathered her poor neighbours at
Fulham to worship there on the annual occasion of
the widows' 'treat.' The candidates for ordination
here worshipped and were addressed during the
Ember weeks. Here were held the annual Com
munions of the Ladies' Association ; and that fare
well service at which, on the vacancy of the See of
Rochester by Bishop Wigram's death, I bade farewell
to those Essex and Kent clergy, who had been up to

CATHARINE TAIT. 59

this time included in the diocese of London, and
handed them over, as the Act of Parliament directed,
to the spiritual care of the new Bishop of Rochester.
We had spent a few weeks of the summer in the
lovely country by Windsor Forest, but returned to
Fulham in time for the Lambeth gathering of
Bishops. I remember as we were journeying back,
somewhat in patriarchal fashion, with carriage and
cart and riding-horses, and a little pony-carriage, in
which I was driving my wife, we were amused at
being stopped on the road by the late Queen of
Holland, who had been our guest at Fulham two
years before, and who on all her visits to England
seemed to take a pleasure in keeping up her acquaint
ance with my dear wife and with me.
The first Lambeth Conference naturally called
forth, from the circumstances of the Church at the
time, some discussions of a somewhat stormy kind.
There was much difference of opinion in those days
between myself and the then Bishop of Cape Town,
and her gentle influence presiding when we met at
Fulham at the close of each busy day helped much
now, as on all previous occasions, to calm the
differences, which might otherwise have assumed
undue proportions. I mention these things to show
that in our social and official life she was a real power.
She went with me for a short visit to the Wolver
hampton Church Congress, at which the old Bishop
of Lichfield, Lonsdale, presided within a few days
of his death. And soon, feeling still anxious for my

60 CATHARINE TAIT. '
health, she persuaded me to go for six weeks' rest
and fine air to the Isle of Thanet. We had visited
this neighbourhood twenty years before when I was
recovering from my great illness at Rugby ; she
remembered the beneficial effect of the Thanet air,
and was anxious that after the fatigue of the Lambeth
Conference, and before the commencement of my
winter work in London, I should again be subjected
to its strengthening influences. Thus began our
intimate connexion with the spot which was to be so
much, identified with her labours. We returned to
Fulham for Christmas, but before Easter 1868, I had,
as above explained, become the possessor of the small
estate on which a site for the Orphanage was to be
found. This home in Thanet was intended as a
refuge from the almost overwhelming work and
anxieties of the diocese of London. It had been an
established and necessary rule that the Bishop of
London should escape from his labours and out of
his diocese for a considerable vacation every year ;
without this alleviation, no human constitution could
stand the pressure of the constant work. Hitherto
we had wandered in our vacations from one spot to
another. It seemed better now, as an opportunity
presented itself, to secure a fixed vacation-home
to which our children and ourselves might always
together turn, and where we might all together carry
on our home pursuits without the interruption of seek
ing a new residence each season. We had no thought
then in entering on 1868 that it was tp be the last

CATHARINE TAIT. .61

year of our connexion with the See of London, and
that the place in which we settled our private home
was in the new diocese to which I was so soon to be
called. Archbishop Longley was then in his vigour,
presiding over the Ritual Commission, of which I
was a member, and taking an active part in all public
affairs. Whilst journeying through his diocese he
came to see us when we were first settling at Stone
house that Easter. We little thought that by the
beginning of November he was to be called away,
and I was to be summoned to his place.
It was a very busy session of Parliament ; the first
brewing of the storm which swept away the connexion
of the Church of Ireland with the State was darkening
the horizon ; there was much excitement, political
and ecclesiastical ; much public business to be done,
both within and without the House of Lords. And
the diocese of London never for a day during nine
months of the year intermits its overwhelming call
upon the strength and energy of its Bishop. No
wonder that my dear wife, warned by the experience
of the past, was anxious that I should have a
complete change, and when the session ended per
suaded me to go to Homburg and the Engadine.

\X TE had not long returned when Archbishop
Longley died, and I was called to be his
successor. My wife had in 1862 advised -me to

62 CATHARINE TAIT.
decline the Archbishopric of York when offered to me
under Lord Palmerston's Administration. This was
before the organisation of the Bishop of London's
Fund ; and at that time I was in more vigorous health,
and much work in London to which my strength
was equal seemed to lie before me. The offer of the
Archbishopric of Canterbury presented none of the
difficulties which must have attended a migration
from London to York. To leave Fulham, indeed,
with all its interests, was a trial. My little daughters
were dissolved in tears when they first heard of the
change. The new Chapel, the old familiar visits to
the Almshouses, and the many kind friends of their
childhood — it seemed as if they were to lose them
all. But we could not but be thankful that I was
to be placed in a position where, though the responsi
bilities were to be even greater, there was reason to
hope that the incessant pressure of personal over
whelming work would be less felt. She accepted the
change calmly, and, as usual, in the spirit of prayer,
quietly wound up her concerns at Fulham before
Christmas, and prepared herself for the duties of her
new sphere. Soon followed her first visit to stay
with the Queen when I was called to do homage at
Osborne. On former occasions she had, indeed,
dined at Buckingham Palace, but whenever I was
called to Windsor I had been invited alone. Then
followed the great ceremonial of my enthronisation
at Canterbury, and soon she was plunged in all the
social and other duties of Lambeth, the first Arch-

CATHARINE TAIT. 63
bishop's wife inhabiting the Palace for twenty years.
How well she bore herself in her new sphere all will
testify who were brought within her influence. She
strove to continue as much as possible at Lambeth,
amongst rich and poor, the same sort of occupations
to which she had given herself at Fulham and at
London House, though now on an extended scale.
The country life at Addington was new to her ; we
had never had a fixed residence in the country since
she left the quiet Parsonage at Elmdon. To have a
home in that beautiful neighbourhood was a great
refreshment as the summer came round. But there
was much to be done in Lambeth before then.
This was the year in which the Irish Church was
disestablished. There were comings and goings of
persons of all degrees and sentiments. Much had
to be arranged. Late and present Ministers of State
had to be gathered in social intercourse with the
Bishops on whom the anticipated blow was about
to descend. It was seen that the only hope of
mitigating the evil, in the then state of the public
mind, was by bringing the antagonistic elements as
much as possible to understand each other, in the
hope that the inevitable mischief might be lessened.
It was at one of her parties that the Primate of
Ireland, invited to meet the then Prime Minister,
stumbled, entangling his foot in my wife's train as we
were going into chapel before dinner, and recovered
himself, exclaiming, ' that the best thing he could do
was to hang on by the skirts of Canterbury.'

64 CATHARINE TAIT.
All through this anxious session she was striving to
fulfil her part in our new post. On stated days the
gardens at Lambeth were filled with visitors, as had
been those at Fulham. Even on Sundays she had
not much rest, for we tried that year the plan of
throwing the Palace Chapel open, and securing each
week some eminent preacher. The result was more
than we had anticipated. Canons Liddon and Miller,
Dean M'Neile, and such like preachers, filled the
chapel to overflowing, and both we and our servants
found that we had more work than we desired on
Sunday. Then Convocation had of course to meet,
and she was ever studious to make acquaintance, as
far as possible, with all its members. Few but
herself could have sanctified this busy and exciting
life. Yet for her it was sanctified, and for her, at
least, it needed not the stern lesson of the following
autumn to impress upon her min-d that the calm life
of faith is the true life, whatever be the work or
excitements to which, in the path of duty, we are
called. Lambeth Palace stands in the midst of a
dense poor population, in whose welfare she soon
became deeply interested. The 'Dole,' which has
been given at the Porter's Lodge from time immemo
rial, supplied a nucleus of our poor neighbours with
whom to become acquainted, and she soon made
time for visiting the sick and aged. It was ever her
desire and practice, at the end of the London season,
to have a gathering of our poor Lambeth neighbours
for a garden-party of their own, and many of them

CATHARINE TAIT. 65

remember the stories which she would tell them, and
how she was ever foremost in leading the hymns
which they sang before they went away.
We left London for Addington soon after the
passing of the Irish Church Bill, somewhat exhausted
by the six months' campaign. But the summer was
by no means a time of rest. We stayed for a short
time in comparative retirement at Addington. Before
the session ended, there was still, indeed, the con
nexion with London. The Speaker Denison and the
Lord Chancellor Hatherley, with their wives, and
Lord Stanley and the Master of Harrow, spent, I
remember, a quiet Sunday with us, and other friends
came and went. Soon diocesan work put in its
claims ; we received our Rural Deans, and a gathering
of the clergy of the neighbouring Rural Deanery,
and I began to hold meetings in various places for
the clergy of Kent. In September we had the house
full of candidates for ordination ; our first Canterbury
ordination in Lent had been at Lambeth, our second
was at Addington, where there was room enough to
gather all the candidates as inmates of our own house.
It was not till very late in September that my dear
wife felt herself entitled to our month's holiday, and
we left for Scotland. I remember the great enjoy
ment of some quiet days passed alone near Dunkeld.
But our friends were naturally anxious that the first
Scotch Archbishop of Canterbury should visit them.
We went to Keir to meet the Prince and Princess
Christian, and passed from one house to another till
E

66 CATHARINE TAIT.
I was again called to take up my diocesan work in
Kent. Hitherto, the change to Canterbury had
certainly brought no relaxation of work. At this
time the Archbishop had no Suffragan to aid him in
his diocese. The Confirmations were pressing. But
still all seemed to go on prosperously, and my
strength to be equal to my duties. But the bow, it
would seem, had been overstrung.

T HAD been to a diocesan meeting at Ashford, and
in the evening spoke for one of the Missionary
Societies. Next morning I had to hurry to London
for the Ecclesiastical Commission, and I think for a
meeting of the Charterhouse, then down to the Isle
ot Thanet by the evening train. Next day was
spent quietly at home, but correspondence was
accumulating, and I believe ninety letters had to be
superintended and despatched by that post. I was
very tired in the evening, but next morning I rose
fresh as usual. I remember going into my wife's
room, and finding her reading the Bible with the
children. I warned them not to work their mother
too hard. I remember also looking out of the window
on the bright frosty morning, and anticipating a day
of comparative rest. I returned to my dressing-room,
but I had not finished dressing when I fell prostrate
and senseless on the floor. The shock to my dear
wife was frightful. For a fortnight I was in bed very

CATHARINE TAIT. 67
weak, though having immediately recovered con
sciousness. Dear Ramsay and Mary Campbell were
with us when I was taken ill, and he, my very earliest
and kindest friend, ministered to me and comforted
me on my sick-bed. It was remarkable that he and
Mary, soon after their marriage, had come to see us
when I was lying almost between life and death at
Rugby. Little did we think at this time that I
should outlive them both, and that he in his widow
hood would come to die almost in my arms at
Addington three years afterwards, when mourning
for his wife and son. So unexpected are the changes
of life. Ramsay loved my dear wife, and both he
and his wife were loved by her as true friends. All
engagements for Confirmations and the like had, of
course, to be put off. My life was in great danger ;
and now, as at Rugby twenty years before, she, as
she afterwards told me, stayed herself on the text,
which recurred to her mind, ' Who is among you that
walketih in darkness, and hath no light? Let him
trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon his
God.' My son was summoned from Oxford, and our
most intimate friends gathered round us, as well as
the most skilful and watchful medical attendants.
But little could be done except to secure perfect
quiet. One of the kind sisters of St. Peter's, Kilburn,
came down to nurse me, and was soon joined by our
former housekeeper, who had nursed our children at
Rugby, and tended them in those sad six weeks at
Carlisle, who now did not leave me for three months ;

68 CATHARINE TAIT.
and who watched over my son, nine years afterwards,
in his last illness, and was with him when he died.
He stood by me now in the worst paroxysms of my
illness, and soothed me in his arms, while his mother,
as before, was ever at my side. We three received
the Holy Communion together, when I seemed to be
dying on one of the first most alarming nights. Gradu
ally, by God's mercy, my strength returned. My dear
wife, who was always brave, endeavoured to still her
anxiety by reverting to her usual interests of work
for others. She told me that from day to day,
unable to look forward, she felt as she prayed that
she could leave all for herself and for me in God's
hands, knowing that He would give us what was
best. About a month after my attack came round my
birthday, the 2 ist of December. With a thankful
heart for the progress I had made, she determined
to mark the day by laying the foundation-stone of
the new building for the Orphanage, the site having
been chosen some time before. It was a snowy,
gusty day, but the neighbours kindly assembled to
cheer her, and express their sympathy. It was a
great pleasure to her that I was able to appear at the
window of the drawing-room, and watch them as
they formed a little procession on their way to the
selected spot.
It was a touching incident, and an earnest of an
enduring influence which she exercised ever after
wards, that Sir Moses Montefiore, then above eighty

CATHARINE TAIT. 69

years of age, came through the inclement weather to
express his interest in the work. He could not, of
course, as a Jew, join with the worshippers, but from
his carriage close at hand he was an attentive listener,
and expressed to her afterwards his delight at hear
ing the Psalms of David chanted as the worshippers
assembled on the ground. This may be the proper
place to tell how this venerable man never lost his
interest in all she did, and especially in the work of
the Orphanage. He subscribed to it liberally. He
presented to it a bust of myself, and of her as the
foundress, and she used to tell how once she found
him paying a visit to the Home, gathering all the
children round him, giving each of them a silver coin
fresh from the Mint, and hearing them repeat one of
Dr. Watts' hymns, which he said he had learned as a
child to say to his mother.
All the neighbours who had attended the ceremony
came with him into the house to express their good
wishes for my health. And then my wife was left
with her children, and one or two intimate friends, to
cheer me during the slow hours of recovery, scarcely
daring to look forward beyond each day, and
certainly not anticipating that after nine years of
work and happiness I should return to this same
place mourning that the dear son and wife who had
thus watched over me were both gone, and I left.
About a month afterwards, towards the end of
January 1870, we all returned to Addington. Here
she found abundant occupation. One ordination I

70 CATHARINE TAIT.
was obliged to hold by deputy, availing myself of the
kind assistance of my early friend Bishop Anderson.
But by this time it had been settled that I should
have a Suffragan, and the Queen had approved of the
appointment of Archdeacon Parry to be Bishop of
Dover. I can scarcely conceive that any Archbishop
of Canterbury can dispense with such aid in future.
My wife made all the arrangements for the consecra
tion in Lambeth Chapel. I was not allowed myself
to attend, but she reported to me how all had pros
pered, and the tenor of the encouraging sermon
which Dean Alford preached. I was now recovering,
and able to transact all business which did not require
the exertion of any sustained public effort. It was
at this time that we together received one forenoon
the Archbishop Lycurgus, of Syros and Tenos. I
was still too weak to be allowed to see much of him,
but my wife made every arrangement for the
entertainment of him and his friends. I remember
the gratitude with which she was able to report
favourably of my progress when the Queen —
continuing the kindness which had led her Majesty
to write to her in terms of sincerest sympathy when
I was taken ill — invited her to dine at Buckingham
Palace, that she might personally give intelligence
respecting my state of health. As the spring
advanced we were continually together, enjoying
long drives and frequent walks, and visiting the
parishes and churches in the neighbourhood of
Addington. Friends came to visit us, and she found

CATHARINE TAIT. 71
time for all her ordinary occupations. Especially
she worked hard for the loved Orphanage. She did
not hesitate to have a great gathering in Lambeth
Chapel of all interested in it, though I was not
allowed to be present. Bishop Wilberforce preached
at this service, and the work, as was to be expected,
prospered under his advocacy. This year, indeed, of
great domestic anxiety, was as fruitful as any other
of her life in accomplished work. It was with a
thankful heart that we all returned to the Isle of
Thanet in May, and found the buildings of the
Orphanage making good progress.
Perhaps the one most marked feature in her
character, shown as much in time of absorbing home-
anxiety as when her mind was free, was the utter
absence of all selfishness. The maid who was her
personal attendant for upwards of fifteen years, has
said since her death that she could not help
remonstrating with her sometimes for never thinking
of herself. Her husband and her children were her
first care ; but she always, even in the most anxious
times, made full leisure to think of others beyond.
She seemed to hold that it was the first characteristic
of a Christian to look out of self. But, indeed, she
did this, not as a duty, but because, from nature or
from grace, she could not help doing so. It seemed
as if it would have made her positively unhappy that
God should have bestowed on her so many common
worldly blessings unless she had been able to share .
them with all who were brought within her influence.

72 CATHARINE TAIT.

Every member of her family, and of mine, will testify
to this unselfish desire to make them happy if in any
way she could. At Rugby, enjoying abundant means
beyond our reasonable needs — at Carlisle, in easy
circumstances — at Fulham and Lambeth, having the
command and distribution of large revenues, she ever
exercised a vigilant control over our expenditure,
never grudging what was spent on others, but most
abstemious in all that concerned herself. Always
careful as she was to dress as became her station, I
never knew her spend anything beyond the most
necessary sums on personal ornament. This unself
ishness showed itself in little, as in great matters. It
was curious to note how every day she never could
rest satisfied till she was able to make arrangements
for the enjoyment of every friend who was living in
our house. At Christmas and such-like times, she
had no greater pleasure in the selection of her society
than in opening her house to those who might other
wise have felt desolate.
Thus there was no one amongst her large acquaint
ance who did not know that in her kindly nature they
would find sympathy and help whensoever it was
needed. Yet the fire of love burned most brightly in
her heart for the circle of home. And never did she
exert herself more unremittingly to make her home
cheerful, than in the anxious time which succeeded
the illness I have above described. She came with
me to stay at Lambeth for a short time in the
summer of 1870, when my strength had returned. I

CATHARINE TAIT. 73

can well note the time, for she went with me to the
House of Lords, and we have often recalled together
the anxious faces of the Prime Minister and two of
his colleagues, when we exchanged greetings with
them in one of the lobbies, while they were discuss
ing the news which had just arrived of the first out
break of the Franco-Prussian war. She encouraged
me quietly to return to my ordinary occupations.
After a short time at Lambeth, we went again to
Addington, and by the time of the summer ordination
I was able to address the candidates, and conduct
the ordination in Croydon Church. She called
pleasant guests around us, and tried to keep up as
many interests as possible. The young Rajah of
Kolapore came down, and we drove him through our
woods. The German Ambassador, Count Bernstorff,
and his wife and son and daughter, paid us a visit of
some days in the most critical period of the war ; and
it was a matter of curious interest to us to pay a visit,
on a very memorable occasion, at the house at Chisle-
hurst, which was now tenanted by the Empress of
the French. Some of the leading clergy of the
diocese stayed with us at Addington ; and in
October she accompanied me to Canterbury that
she might watch over me when called to speak, for
the first time after my illness, at a great meeting
held on the subject of the new Education Act. It
was still under her watchful care that I was soon
afterwards encouraged to take my seat on the
Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, and help to

74 CATHARINE TAIT.
decide the intricate and distressing case of Mr.
Voysey. Soon she was to be subjected to what appeared
to her at first a fresh great trial. In vain she
pleaded with the doctors that we were in possession
of three as good houses as could be found in England,
and that home was better than any other place. Sir
W. Gull was inexorable, insisting that the winter
must be passed away from the cold of England.
As soon as this was decided, she set herself, as a
duty, to make the best of our enforced exile, and
herself superintended all steps required to make our
journey through Europe easy in the anxious time of
the still raging war. We started a very large party,
sixteen in all, including children, chaplain, and my
sister Lady Wake with her daughter. Our destination
was the Riviera, but it was impossible to take the
route through France. The interest of the journey
was great to her, and to us all. From time to time,
as we passed through Germany, we came upon traces
of the war, — French prisoners defiling before our
hotel, an enormous train full of wounded returning to
their homes, the hospital at Stuttgart, in which we
found poor fellows, shot down at Gravelotte and
elsewhere. My wife as usual threw herself as heartily as the
youngest into the interest of all that was to be seen
and done. It was an enjoyment to her when she
induced me to visit and have a long conversation
with Marshal Canrobert, detained on his parole at

CATHARINE TAIT.

75

our hotel ; and no one was more ready than she to
visit with enthusiasm the sights which came in our
way at Munich, Innsbruck, Verona, Venice, Milan,
and Genoa. I remember as we entered Italy by the
Brenner, and spent the night at Botzen, how her
sympathy was called forth by the crowd of peasants,
who, on a week-day, poured into their parish church
at the sound of the evening bell. It took us between
a fortnight and three weeks to reach our destination
at San Remo, — an anxious time for the mother, in
charge of so large a family, with a husband whom
she thought herself bound to save from all trouble
and unnecessary exertion.
There was a great interruption, during the winter
that followed, of all those pursuits which most
engrossed her attention at home ; but she was quite
ready with the spirit of her early youth to employ
this enforced leisure for acquiring information, and
storing her mind with fresh ideas and views of life,
which might not have been impressed on her in the
routine of home. She read books which bore on the
scenes and the people in the midst of which she was
thrown, and there was the daily great interest of the
fluctuation of the war. We were, indeed, in a peaceful
corner, but many of the people amongst whom we
lived, especially at Mentone, had left their homes and
dearest interests in Paris or in other spots where the
miseries of war were at their height. Her ardent
nature could not comprehend the real or assumed
indifference which some of those who lived with us

76 CATHARINE TAIT.
in the same hotel showed in this very crisis of their
country's fortune. I should have thought that their
way of talking as to the miseries of besieged Paris
was assumed, had it not been that when the elections
for the Chamber came on, which were to decide the
future fate of France, they would not, as we were
informed, take the trouble of walking across the
street to record their votes, as they were entitled to
do in whatever place in France they were sojourning.
The only Frenchman who, at Mentone, won her
regard as a lover of his country was a poor peasant
whom we met one day in a long walk among the hills.
He stopped us, and asked, ' What news from Paris ?'
We answered, ' The Prussians, we are told by to-day's
paper, are entering the town. It has capitulated.'
The old man fell on the ground as if he had been
shot, and would not believe that such disgrace had
come. He had served in the time of Charles X., and
was now living by cultivating a few acres among the
olives. Certainly the people did not show to great advan
tage as Frenchmen along this coast. Perhaps some
of them scarcely looked upon themselves as fully
incorporated with France. The changing of all the
signs from 'Imperial' to 'National,' within a few weeks,
was a sort of index of the fickleness of their patriotic
affections. On one particular sign 'Imp^ri' was
effaced, and a blank left to fill up with 'Nation' or
Roy,' as the case might be, and this probably
afforded a true exposition of the popular mind.

CATHARINE TAIT. 77

Certainly such views of public feeling were not
acceptable to a genuine patriotic English spirit.
Of course, living for several months in a Roman
Catholic country, it was natural for us all to try to
form some judgment in comparing the Church of the
land in which we were sojourning with our own.
But every one knows how difficult it is for strangers,
in a passing visit, to form opinions on the religious
state of those with whom they can have but little
intercourse. My wife accompanied me up the
beautiful road which leads inland from Mentone,
when I went to pay a visit to the priest of the little
village clustering among the rocks. We stayed
with him some time in his humble cottage, but
beyond what we gleaned from the impression of his
general quiet and kindly demeanour, and the interest
with which he spoke of once having visited Rome,
could form but little estimate of his character ; and
nothing very definite could be gained from the casual
salutations exchanged with the priests we met, or
even from that longer conversation, in which she took
great interest, which we one day held in our hotel
with the Archbishop of Algiers. Her prepossessions
were certainly all against the march of Liberalism.
While we were at San Remo, before crossing the
French border, she quite bridled up with indignation
at the sight of the many convents which the Italian
Government had secularised, and was disposed to
treat with reverence the poor friars and monks, who
were earning a scanty pittance where once they must

CATHARINE TAIT.

have been, from their numbers, almost supreme. I
do not think she liked seeing a well-conducted Govern
ment school, which we went to visit, established in
the vacant rooms of one of these convents. But
though her chivalry and Church instincts led her
thus far, certainly her visits at Christmas and Easter
time to the churches at San Remo and Cannes did
not impress her favourably. The laborious and
somewhat tawdry decoration representing the stable
and the manger, and the exhibition of the open
rock-hewn grave, to which the simple peasantry
flocked as to a show, and the strange mixture of a
common secular fair and all its vulgar accompani
ments with a not very reverent celebration of the
mass on a festival day at Cimies, made her very
thankful for the simple ritual of the Church of
England, and its earnest appeals to the highest
religious instincts, through the reason and the
conscience, without giving too prominent a place to
mere imagination and fancy. While we were at
Cannes, her days, as at Rugby of old, were solemnised
by the daily service in the Church, as well as by
family prayer.
It was not till we settled at Cannes, before the
beginning of Lent, that a sort of home-feeling came
over the party. Hotel life is somewhat trying, but at
Cannes, the kindness of the present Lord Brougham
placed at our disposal the charming Villa Eleanore,
which his famous brother had erected as a refuge for
the failing health of an only child ; it bore her name,

CATHARINE TAIT. 79
and was full of touching memorials of her father's
love. In the charming ropms and in the garden of
this villa we became domesticated. The returning
spring, with its luxuriance of flowers, tempted us to
long drives towards the Estrelle, or inland among
the villages and gardens and fields of roses and the
olive woods. My dear wife would read to me while
we were driving, and there was abundant time for
pleasant study, of which she never failed to avail
herself. Thanks to my good chaplain and commissary,
now Bishop of Gibraltar, whom I had left in charge at
Lambeth, the number of business letters which reached
us was not very great. I was able, indeed, to give my
nephew and domestic chaplain, who accompanied us,
a month's holiday, which he, with my son, spent in
visiting Naples and Rome. The day of their return
was a joyful one. It had been a great pleasure and
support to my wife to have her son by her side during
the first weeks of our sojourning, excused from the
winter term at Christ Church. He was here, as ever,
her counsellor and friend. It was a trial, soon after
his return from Italy, to send him back for the
summer term on the lonely journey by Marseilles.
I remember his mother and our whole party, from
the grounds of an old chateau, watching his train as
it hurried past us towards the Estrelle, and catching
a glimpse of his features as he waved to us his
handkerchief— fit emblem of another parting seven
years afterwards, sad, but not less brightened than
this by the hopes of meeting again.

80 CATHARINE TAIT.
Our pleasant family party in the villa, with our
children, my sister and niece, spent the days usefully
and pleasantly. But my wife, now as ever, was
anxious that our enjoyment of this life should be
shared by others. Even in the hotel at San Remo,
when her anxiety was greatest as to the uncertainty
of the climate agreeing with me, she and my sister —
like-minded with herself — had thought it wrong to
let the Christmas and New Year pass without doing
something which should cheer the invalids in our
hotel, and they arranged a little festivity with
tableaux, to which all were invited. And now she
thought it a shame that the drawing-room and
gardens of the Villa Eleanore should not contribute
to the enjoyment of all, so she began weekly gather
ings, resembling, on a small scale, those at Fulham
and Lambeth, never so happy as when sharing with
others the good things God gave to her and her
family. Thus the time passed quietly, and she
had the inexpressible pleasure of seeing my health
and capacity for work greatly restored. But her
anxieties were not over. It had been difficult to
reach Cannes during the war, and it was not less
difficult to return. The route by Paris certainly
presented no attractions for an Archbishop and his
family, for the Commune was in possession, and
Monseigneur Darboy was in the hands of the insur
gents. We had nearly resolved to return by Mar
seilles, and from thence through Switzerland, when a
lady, whose husband we knew at Mentone, gave the

CATHARINE TAIT. 81

following report of her adventures by that route : —
She was quietly sitting in the hotel at Marseilles,
when the landlord entered and said, ' Madame, the
town is in insurrection ; you have two courses open
to you, — either hide in the cellar, or make the best of
your way to the railway station, and be off.' She
chose the latter alternative, found the railway station
surrounded by soldiers who had gathered there to
shoot the insurgents whom they had captured, and
condemned by drum-head court-martial. The execu
tions were going on ; nevertheless she was fortunate
enough to catch her train and reach Lyons. There
she breathed freely, and anticipated some rest. But
again when she was seated in her hotel, and
endeavouring to recover her self-possession, the
waiter confidentially approached her : ' Perhaps,
Madame is not aware that one-half of this hotel is
turned into a small-pox hospital ; we have just
received here and at the station the remnant of
Bourbaki's routed army.' It is scarcely necessary to
mention that she started by the next train, and felt
truly thankful when, hurrying through Switzerland,
she reached the German frontier, and left France and
its troubles fairly behind her. — With this story before
us, it will readily be believed we were not much dis
posed to follow in her route ; we were still fourteen
in number, and some of us not prepared for such
rapid locomotion as this lady had found necessary.
There was nothing for it but to retrace our steps
through the north of Italy and over the Brenner.
F

82 CATHARINE TAIT.
And again the journey, which gave us several delight
ful days at Milan, and amid the Italian lakes in all
the brightness of the early May, was full of interest.
We reached Dover on the eve of Ascension Day,
17th May 1 87 1, an eve destined seven years after
wards to be very memorable for my wife and me and
all of us.
Friends had come to Dover to welcome us. Gladly
we received the Holy Communion in St. Mary's
Church next morning. It was that day that my wife
and I visited William Sewell, who had examined me
and been my early patron at Oxford, and whose many
works some twenty years before she had read with
enthusiasm, when he was a prominent figure in the
then Oxford movement. The old man, prematurely
old, worn by long-continued illness, was cheered by her
kindly presence. Next day I celebrated the marriage
of my niece at Folkestone, and soon, to the joy of all
of us, with thankful hearts, we found ourselves at
Stonehouse, where I was able to take my part in the
Confirmations at Ramsgate and Margate, and where
we received a gathering of the clergy to welcome us
on our return. The country we had left was still
racked in the convulsions which the war had caused.
There had been the murder ofthe Archbishop and the
other hostages in Paris, and the news came to us in
our quiet home that the city was being burnt by the
followers of the Commune. A few peaceful days at
Addington, in the full enjoyment of the first burst of
the rhododendrons, sent us on to our accustomed

CATHARINE TAIT. 83
work at Lambeth, my dear wife's heart full to over
flowing with gratitude to God. It was not long
before she accompanied me to the House of Lords
when I resumed my active work, and I spoke at
considerable length on a Bill for the Reform of the
Ecclesiastical Courts.

CHE now returned to all her interrupted work,
and the Orphanage was her first care — a care
indeed, at this crisis of its history, for she found that
in her absence, through some mistake, the cost of
the building and furnishing had crept up to nearly
double the sum she had anticipated, and for the
payment of which she had provided. Most people
would have been, under such circumstances, in
despair ; but she was not a woman to be daunted.
She wasted ho time in vain complaints ; it was
difficult to say whether any one was in fault, — there
had been some mistake, and she set herself at once to
rectify it. She rallied round her, as by magic, a
circle of liberal and wealthy friends, George Moore
among the chief ; the rest are still living. He used to
say that though he did not always approve of her
plans, he never could resist her. One meeting was
enough : the money wanting was advanced, and she
had the satisfaction soon afterwards of collecting
enough to repay all debts, and of completely clearing
the institution of its heavy liabilities.

84 CATHARINE TAIT.
It was on St. James's Day 1871 that our eldest
daughter was confirmed by me in Lambeth Chapel.
And now all things flowed on in their ordinary
course for the next six years. My dear wife's
occupations, domestic, social, and charitable, were
much the same as they had been in the diocese of
London. According to the grace given to her, she
did her work as to the Lord, without any ostentation,
— giving of her abundance with cheerfulness ; ruling
her house with diligence ; charitable and cheerful ;
abhorring that which was evil ; cleaving to that
which was good ; kindly affectioned in sisterly love ;
preferring others to herself; not slothful in business ;
fervent in spirit ; serving the Lord ; rejoicing in
hope ; patient in all trials ; continuing instant in
prayer ; distributing to the necessities of those in
need ; given to hospitality ; blessing by her gracious
words and demeanour ; rejoicing with them that
rejoiced, and weeping with them that wept ; not
minding high things ; accessible and kind to those
of low estate ; never recompensing evil for evil ; pro
viding things honest in the sight of all men. Her
daughters grew up under her eyes ; the youngest was
confirmed in 1875. The years passed happily at
Lambeth, Addington, and Stonehouse, and were
diversified by annual visits to Scotland ; on one
occasion there was a tour in Switzerland.

CRAUFURD TAIT. 85

MEANWHILE the dear son, from his birth the
object of so tender an affection, grew to
mature manhood. Before my illness in 1869, he had
been the most joyous of Eton schoolboys — loved
by a large circle of his coevals, and liked by his
masters, — more intent perhaps on the sports than on
the studies of his, school. But with his entrance on
his life at Christ Church, and the family anxiety
which followed soon afterwards, his character seemed
to ripen. His intellectual energies especially were
' called out. When we went to visit him at College
we found that he was studying hard ; and none of
the interruptions which followed prevented his steady
attention to his appointed work. The dear fellow,
from his childhood onwards, had always thought
lowly of himself, and it had been my endeavour
to make him form a true estimate of his really good
abilities. In conduct he was irreproachable, and never gave
us an hour's real anxiety. But we could scarcely
help judging of his intellectual calibre by his own
humble estimate. His winning manner always
attracted friends ; children loved him. No one was
more popular at school and College, and amid his
widely extended relations. With elder people his
true modesty conciliated regard. It was a pleasure
to us to know how many of his seniors at Oxford, to
whom I took care that he was introduced, looked on

85 CRAUFURD TAIT.

him with kindly interest. I know how much he
prized the friendship of such men as Mr. Coxe of the
Bodleian, and how he valued their advice. The life
which he deliberately chose at Christ Church, shun
ning all approach to dissipation and frivolity, and seek
ing chiefly the society of those whom he could respect,
was blessed both for his moral and intellectual
development. At times, it seems hard to call to
mind how all the various influences, which by God's
blessing were thus brought to bear upon him, served
but to form a life which was cut short before it could
show in any extended sphere the blessings of the
training it had received, but this regret is foolish, for
God thus trained him for a higher life above, in which
all qualities, social, moral, and intellectual, must have
their perfect development. Thus his mind grew.
But as at home he showed that his interest in the
amusements of his age was as great as ever, delight
ing as he did in riding and shooting, ready as he waa
to join in cricket and in tennis, we scarcely were pre"
pared for the change that was going on ; and it
certainly took us all by surprise when in July of 1 872
the joyful news reached Lambeth that, at his B.A.
examination, he had been placed by the examiners in
the first class of the Law and History school.
The work which led to this success now necessitated
relaxation. We were not therefore surprised that he
could not settle at once again to study, and we had
no reason to be disappointed when he failed to be
successful at the election for All Souls in November.

CRAUFURD TAIT. 87

How he had made his mark in Oxford may be judged
from the terms in which he was spoken of when he
was a candidate for this fellowship. He had now
become the trusted companion both of his father and
his mother. And when before the beginning of 1873
he resolved to put into effect the long-cherished inten
tion of a visit to the East, we all felt that the neces
sary absence of more than seven months caused a
great blank in our home lives. What this journey
was to him while it lasted others may tell, but no one
could converse with him, or listen to his teaching
afterwards, without seeing that he had well used this
time for forwarding his education as a clergyman.
Egypt, the Nile, the Desert of Sinai, Petra, Jerusalem,
the land of Moab, Lebanon, Damascus, and the
hurried visits to Athens, Constantinople, and the
Danube — these all left their mark on his remaining
years. Who can forget the family rejoicing on his
return, when landing from a steamer at Lambeth-
stairs he walked into the well-known corridor ? Sweet
memories, auguring, we trust, some future meeting
even more joyous ! And now he stayed with us
quietly at home, though events which deeply marked.
all the rest of his brief life were hastening on. He
settled down to read for his ordination, and in Lent
1874 he was ordained by the Bishop of Dover in the
Parish Church of Kennington (I being confined to bed
by a very severe cold), and he entered on parish work
at Saltwood, near Folkestone, under Canon Knollys.
Some take a gloomy view respecting the younger

CRAUFURD TAIT.

clergy of our Church, judging from a few specimens
that they may be classed under the two heads of
priestlings and semi-sceptics. When I hear such com
plaints I have ever present with me the image of a
young man entering on the duties of his ministry with
all the ardour of a well-spent youth ; pure, gentle,
loving, and beloved ; growing from his earliest years
under the shadow of the Church ; with every advan
tage of education and social position ; endowed by
God with good abilities ; using all for his Master's
service ; mixing in society which became his station,
but never amid the calls of society forgetting his
heavenly calling. Such a young clergyman was my
dear son. Trained from childhood in the fear of God
by his mother, ever bearing on his heart the
impression of that heavy calamity which had deso
lated his home at Carlisle in his seventh year, and had
taken from him in six weeks the five sisters who were
his playmates, he had passed safely through the trials
of Eton, of Christ Church, and of foreign travel, and
now he began his work as a village pastor, full of
Christian kindness of heart, greatly beloved and
• respected, inspiring all his friends with bright hopes
for his future. He was called away early, but not
before he had done somewhat, through the influence
he exercised on the wide circle of his friends and
relatives, to recommend a manly, simple form of
Church of England Christianity, thoroughly genuine
in its attachment to the great truths of the Gospel,
yet ready to welcome every improvement in the

CRAUFURD TAIT. 89
Church's system which the growing knowledge and
experience of the age he lived in could add to the
stores of wise teaching bequeathed from old days.
He had, indeed, exceptional advantages in his
training for the Ministry, through the post in the
Church to which it had pleased God to call me while
he was yet a child. But these advantages brought
also with them, it must be remembered, their own
peculiar temptations, so that, on the whole, perhaps
he was not more highly favoured in the preparation
for his life's work than a thousand others, and I am
confident there were amongst his contemporaries
many who were like-minded with him, who are, thank
God, still living to be the salt of the Church in which
they minister. He used playfully to say that they
would form a school ' more Low Church than my
mother, more High Church than my father,' broad in
its sympathies with Christian goodness in all forms,
ready to learn whatever new could be taught them
provided it were true, not forgetful of reverence for
what was old. Such a school, with Professor Light
foot for its head, and Bishop Fraser of Manchester
as its model of work for the masses, and Maclagan
as its model parish pastor, was his dream for the
Church of the future. Surely there are many others
who will help to bring to fulfilment on earth this ideal
of one who has passed early into a purer and higher
form of the Church glorified by Christ's immediate
and visible presence. The furtherance in some
degree of his Master's work on earth according to

qo CRAUFURD TAIT.
this ideal may be the footprint on the sands of time
which his dear life has left, though his genuine and
almost faulty humility always made him declare
almost passionately that he denied altogether the
truth of Longfellow's assurance, that it could be
given to such as he to leave any such footprints.
And here let me picture something of the influence
of a young clergyman who has finished his University
course with credit, his mind well stored with what he
has read, and his reading supplemented with some
knowledge of the world, bringing to his work in a
country village at once the devotion of an earnest
Christian spirit and the refinement of his early
training. He occupies, say, as my son did, a small
lodging in the village street, his house not distin
guishable outside from the abodes of his poor neigh
bours, unless there be a bright flower or two more
carefully cultivated than is common in the patch of
ground which separates his front-door from the street.
You go into the little low-roofed parlour, which cor
responds on the left of the entrance with the kitchen
on the right. At once you observe that there is
something very different here from what you expect
to find in such a cottage — a well-filled bookcase
of carefully-bound books, bearing many of them
perhaps the names of Eton friends from whom they
are presents ; a few ornaments in good taste, trans
ported from College rooms ; good prints hanging on
the walls — the whole personal arrangements of the
lodger contrasting with the old cottage furniture still

CRAUFURD TAIT. 91
left in the rooms by the landlady, whose kindly
regard he has completely won, and whose pride and
care it is to minister to his comfort. You are soon
made conscious that from this humble lodging in the
village street there goes forth amongst the labourers
and mechanics and poor washerwomen, who live in
houses of similar proportions, the same sort of civilis
ing influence which has its chief seat in the adjoining
Rectory, and in many country parishes, also, thank
God, in the more distant Hall. The inner life of the
curate's lodging is sanctified by prayer, not private
only, but with the small household. He is but a
lodger, and yet he calls together the landlady and
her maid-servant, and his groom-boy, that they may
worship and read together as members of a Christian
family. I am speaking of things as they ought to
be, and very often are, in the Established Church of
England, and as I know they were in Saltwood in
my son's time. The young curate in the vigour of
his strength, as a son with a father, works with the
rector. Late in the evening he goes out from his
comfortable fireside to hold services and give instruc
tion for those who are not accessible to the ordinary
ministrations of the Church. As he has also under
taken the charge of those who live in a thickly-popu
lated poor district of a neighbouring town on the
putskirts of the parish, he must minister in their
schoolroom, at a distance from their parish church.
The morning finds him attending the daily service
or visiting the school. He has the zeal of youth,

92 CRAUFURD TAIT.
and apparently as yet the strength of youth, and
both are sanctified by an earnest faith in the Unseen,
and in supernatural helps at hand to supply the
defects of his personal weakness.
The kindliness of his manners, the reflection of the
gentle spirit within, win for him respect even in the
roughest homes of the village ; his presence is hailed
at the sick-bed and by the chair of dozing age, and
the little children like to look at him. What other
profession opens such a field for a young Englishman
of religious mind ? What blessings may the young
pastor receive in his own soul towards the deepening
of every good element in his character from the
atmosphere of hearty Christian sympathy with his
fellows which he habitually breathes ?
The young men he especially gathers round him.
He recognises in the labouring lads the same elements
of good and evil, the same temptations to vice, and
the same inducements to resist it, which made up the
struggle of the lives of his own coevals at school and
College ; and he feels himself able to aid them by
his experience, ever ready to be their guide, and not
keeping coldly away from their amusements.
But this busy life of outward activity does not
engross him. He has few temptations to squander
his time in the frivolities of society, and therefore,
though with difficulty, he finds leisure for study — his
study of God's Word and of books which help to the
understanding of it, quickened by the sense that he
has each week to prepare a public address which

CRAUFURD TAIT. 93

demands methodical arrangement of his thoughts,
and efforts after the best way of expressing them.
A happy life truly, and a useful, and if at times
he feels solitary in his humble lodging, he is ever
welcome at the cheerful Rectory, where he can find
both fatherly and motherly advice. Moreover, the
Church he serves does not debar him from dreaming
of the highest domestic happiness, when he can
gather round him the joys which wife and children
confer on a Christian home. Fourteen months were
thus passed at Saltwood by my son. His sisters from
time to time stayed with him for weeks and helped
him, and there was an occasional visit to his home.
Thus we were able to judge of the progress he was
making. From time to time we had heard him preach,
and were struck both with the simplicity and quiet
earnestness of his sermons. On one marked occasion
when he happened to be with us, while still a Deacon,
he was called upon unexpectedly to fill a difficult
position. It was on the day of the passing of the
Public Worship Regulation Act. I had fixed the
opening of a church at Croydon for the last Saturday
of the session, feeling no doubt that that would be
for me a free day ; but difficulties arose about the
Commons' amendments to the Bill on Friday night ;
its fate in the conflict between the two Houses seemed
to hang in the balance on Saturday morning, and I
felt myself bound to be present at the last moment
in Parliament to see it safely through. No other

94 CRAUFURD TAIT.
substitute to preach for me could be found. My
wife, who was to have taken me in the carriage to
Croydon, was obliged to accept Craufurd in my
place, and he preached as his father's representative,
fulfilling well the difficult duty to which unwillingly
he was called.
Immediately afterwards he returned to his ordinary
life at Saltwood, and there he continued for some
time after I had the happiness of ordaining him
Priest in 1875, in Croydon Parish Church. Deep
was the solemnity of that ordination ; his Rector
preached : ' To him that overcometh will I give to
sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame
and am set down with my Father in his throne,'
Rev. iii. 21.
Soon afterwards my nephew and domestic chap
lain was obliged to make arrangements for leaving
me on his approaching marriage, and it seemed a
plain duty for my son to help me as his successor.
He determined for a short while to place himself
under Maclagan, then labouring in a populous parish
in the south of London, that he might gain some
experience of the hard work of the London clergy,
and took up his abode in the clergy-house with the
other curates. But in the late summer of 1875 he
was settled as domestic chaplain at Lambeth and
Addington. How zealously he did his laborious work in con
ducting my endless correspondence, and what kindly
consideration he showed for the feelings of all with

CRAUFURD TAIT. 95

whom he came in contact, is known throughout my
diocese. From this time he was his mother's and
my constant companion. He would pray with his
mother in any time of anxiety, and she has often
spoken to me of the depth and fervency of his
prayers. What time he could spare from his public
duties, which were very pressing, he spent in reading
with his sisters, his mother, or myself, and in private
study, and availed himself of as many opportunities
of preaching as he could secure. Often in the private
chapel at Lambeth and at Addington we all listened
with attention and edification to the natural out
pourings of his deep religious feelings and to his
simple statements of the Gospel rules of life. It was
not an easy matter for so young a man to preach to
the very mixed congregation which gathered in those
chapels : ourselves, our servants, visitors of various
kinds, clerical and lay, and not unfrequently one or
two Bishops ; but his genuine simplicity enabled
him well to fulfil his task. He took pains to regu
late the chapel services, and instituted especially,
from Maclagan's example, an address every Saturday
night in preparation for the Sunday. He was the
pastor of the household, prepared the servants for
Confirmation, and was ever ready to assist the clergy
of our parishes even in the midst of his busiest days
of other work. At the ordinations his help was
invaluable as a link between myself with my elder
chaplains and the candidates, who were nearly of his
own age. On one ordination especially, the last in

96 CRAUFURD TAIT.
which he was privileged to take a part, no one who
knew the circumstances can ever forget the exceeding
tenderness which he showed in dealing with the
scruples of a young man who sought his help.
Thus time wore on. He had his peculiar trials,
but he bore them manfully. On the 22d June 1877
he was twenty-eight — on our thirty-fourth wedding-
day. He had shortly before this been with me to
Scotland for the funeral of my eldest brother, and
accompanied me to Scarborough to cheer, as he
always did by his presence, and minister, in her
weakness and old age, to my eldest sister, Lady
Sitwell, who loved him as a grandson. Through
these trying visits he watched over me with his usual
tenderness. He had now acted as my chaplain for
two years ; he was engaged to be married, and it was
deemed desirable that he should be ready, as soon as
possible, to return to parochial work. He was able
at this time to secure the services, as his successor, of
an intimate friend, who had travelled with him in the
East, who was well known to me, and has since to
our great joy become my son-in-law ; so that he had
the less anxiety in preparing to have a home of his
own when opportunity might offer. Meanwhile, with
the full approval of his mother and myself, who
thought that his health required a complete change,
he determined to carry into effect a long-ago con
ceived plan for visiting America. He remained with
me at Lambeth till after the annual gathering of the
Stewards of the Sons of the Clergy, and sailed for

CRAUFURD TAIT.

97

New York with his cousin and uncle and another
friend on July the 17th.
He undertook this visit with exceptional advan
tages. I was myself able to introduce him to all the
leading ecclesiastics of the Anglican Church on the
other side of the Atlantic. The Minister of the United
States furnished him with many letters, as did other
kind friends. There were few people, therefore, of
eminence in the States, or in Canada, to whom he
had not access ; and I knew that he would use well
the opportunities thus afforded him. For the kind
ness everywhere shown to him in his journey I am
deeply grateful. He felt that in these three months
he made valuable friendships, which he hoped would
be kept up and renewed as life wore on. And to every
sort of society, political, ecclesiastical, and literary, he
had as much access as the time admitted of. At
Washington he was received by the President — spent
happy days at Boston and in New York — Was franked
on his journey, with true American kindness, to
Chicago, and was at Ottawa for the marriage of a
cousin, at which he officiated.. He returned to the
States in time to be present at the meetings of both
Houses of the Convention of the Clergy, and to com
municate personally my message of invitation to the
Bishops for the coming Lambeth Conference. His
own journals, and the letters of his friends, testify to
the impressions he received and made. Meanwhile,
from himself, we at home gathered that the journey was
entirely prosperous, and we had scarcely a suspicion
G

98 CRAUFURD TAIT. — - -
that he had at times to struggle with the beginnings
of that insidious illness which so soon afterwards
closed his brief career. I should altogether both fail
of my duty, and do injustice to my feelings, if I did
not here record my sense of the extraordinary kind
ness and hospitality with which he was everywhere
welcomed. I doubt whether there be any country,
other than the United States, in which a young
stranger like him, in a somewhat rapid tour, could
have received so much personal consideration, and
been so cordially welcomed in so many homes.
Meanwhile, with his mother and our two elder
daughters, as soon as the business of the session
allowed, I went to Ireland for that pleasant visit to
the North, in which, forwarded from one country-
house to another, in Wicklow, Meath, Armagh,
Fermanagh, Londonderry, ending with the Vice-
Regal Lodge, we experienced like hospitality from a
host of friends, ecclesiastical and lay. Strange that
our two visits to Ireland, south and north, at a dis
tance of twenty years, full of the joyousness secured by
friendly greetings, should each have been the prelude
to a year of suffering such as falls to the lot of few !
November found us, as usual, by the sea at Stone
house. A casual call to visit London enabled me to
welcome Craufurd at Lambeth, and bring him down
to his mother and sisters about the middle of the
month. We were somewhat struck by observing
that he was pale and thin, but he seemed in the
highest spirits, ready to look out for new occupation.

CRAUFURD TAIT. 9g
He gave a lecture to the students at St. Augustine's,
Canterbury, on his American travels, and seemed
as full of life as ever. We did not know that to
spare our feelings he concealed how sometimes for
hours he would suffer intense and unaccountable
internal pain. It was not till we were settled at
Addington that this became known to us, and then
there was reason to believe that it was but a passing
ailment. About this time a living became vacant —
one of the most desirable in my patronage — in a
beautiful country, with moderate work. I sent him
down to make inquiries for me about it, as proposals
were made for diminishing its income, to which I
was ready to accede, and he saw the" principal pro
prietor of the neighbourhood. His interview was
short, as the mistress of the house was lying at the
point of death ; but there must have been something
extremely pleasing in my son's demeanour — he was
always full of tenderness when his sympathy was
called forth: the old man wrote next day to beg
that I would appoint him to be his pastor, he had
been so touched and charmed with- what he saw of
him. Craufurd altogether repudiated the suggestion.
The quiet post, with its many attractions, was, he
said, suitable for a man who had grown grey in the
Church's service, and he should think it wrong in
his youth and strength to occupy a place for which
others had far higher claims. A few days afterwards
he went with me, on the 7th of December, to a most
important devotional meeting at Lambeth. There

ioo CRAUFURD TAIT.
were several Bishops present, amongst others the
Bishop of London. I told him that Craufurd was
anxious for a post in London, and that the living I
have alluded to was vacant. He at once suggested
that the excellent incumbent of St. John's, Notting
Hill, who found the work in which he had laboured
for years now too much, should go to the country
living, and that Craufurd should undertake the care
of the vacant laborious post. This unexpected open
ing seemed to solve many difficulties. Here was the
very sort of work for which my son had longed, and
for which he seemed to his friends peculiarly fitted ;
and we returned to Addington with thankful hearts
and a bright prospect. A week or ten days were
spent in some family arrangements, and soon all
seemed settled, and he was instituted by the Bishop
of London as incumbent of St. John's, Notting Hill.
He looked forward with deep interest to the work
that now lay before him, and the clergy and laity of
the neighbourhood seemed all ready to welcome him.
He was with us to take his part in our usual Christ
mas gatherings at Addington. The New Year 1878
opened, and, though the mysterious symptoms of
some latent illness still troubled him, there seemed
no cause for alarm. His mother's anxious heart,
indeed, observed signs of bodily weakness. She had
seen him attempting to fell a tree near the house,
and giving up the task with an exclamation that his
strength was failing, but he bore up so bravely that
no one could pronounce him to be really ill. He

CRAUFURD TAIT. ioi
preached in the Chapel, and attended me as chaplain
on several public occasions, but his mother's anxiety
increased, and she urged me to take him to see Sir
William Gull. It was, I think, the day after the
meeting of Parliament that we went together to Sir
William's house, and I remained in the outer room,
fully anticipating that we should have an opinion
treating the symptoms of illness as a light matter ;
but when I was admitted I saw from the physician's
manner that the case was far more grave than any
one had supposed. Still, all was hopeful. Imme
diate work was forbidden, but a rest till Easter would
probably get the constitution right. Craufurd and I
went out together, and no shade of sadness seemed
to oppress him. He took me by appointment to
view the Parsonage at Notting Hill, pointed out to me
each room and the improvements which he intended
to make, and left me, to finish his walk through
the parish, and his leisurely inspection of it. Mean
while a deep sadness settled on my heart as we left
the Parsonage. I felt a gloomy foreboding that he
would never take possession of it. I had engaged to
spend the evening with the Bishop of London at
Fulham, to be ready for breakfast at Grillon's Club
at the beginning of the Parliamentary session next
day. I shall never forget the anxious thoughts of
that wakeful night. Some anticipation seemed to
come upon me of the trial that was not long to be
delayed. Still, in the morning, I was cheered, not
only by the society I met, but specially by conversa-

102 CRAUFURD TAIT.
tion with an eminent medical man, a member of the
Club who had lately seen my son, and I remember
talking to my next neighbour, Lord Ebury, of the
prospects of Craufurd's work at Notting Hill. We
were still encouraged to be very hopeful, and he was
told that it was his duty to be inducted as Vicar of
St. John's on the 3d of February. I have already
said something of that scene. The friends who had
watched his youth, the curates who were to help him,
the congregation to which he was ready to devote
his energies, all listened to the Archdeacon's sermon,
in which he set forth the claims of the young pastor
to his people's regard, and though Craufurd looked
ill while taking his part, he was still full of hope ; but
this was his first and last appearance as incumbent in
that Church.
He sought now to employ well the period of en
forced rest, though he was as much as possible in the
open air, by the doctor's orders, driving his pony
carriage. He sketched out for himself and began a
course of study which should help him in his future
work. It was not till twelve days afterwards, on the
15th of February, when we were obliged to be at
Lambeth for Convocation, and he remained quietly
at Addington, that his strength altogether broke
down. Fever set in with violence, and on Saturday
the i6th'when we returned we found him in great,
though not immediate, danger. Then followed three
months of the most intense anxiety.
It is useless to follow the variations of our feelings

CRAUFURD TAIT. 103
from week to week and day to day. Sometimes
hope rose high, but only to be speedily dashed. His
mother and sisters were with him continually, and
the nurse who had tended his infancy, childhood, and
early boyhood, returned to watch in his sick-room.
The invalid himself was perfectly calm in the midst
of all this anxiety. The change in his illness had
providentially removed the great pain from which he
had before at times suffered, and though he was very
weak, he was not confined to bed. Early in the
morning, when he had ended his own prayers, his
mother came to read with him. He was engaged in
the study of interesting books ; conducted, though he
soon became unable to write, the correspondence
connected with his parish, and took a deep interest
in all the political events recorded in the newspapers.
His nights indeed were much disturbed, and his
nurse often heard him praying in the stillness. No
doubt, by God's goodness, these three months of
quiet trial were greatly blessed to the strengthening
of his soul. One book which he read with great
interest was Bourdillon's 'Alone with God ;' he read
through Jeremy Taylor's 'Holy Living,' and had,
before the end, begun the 'Holy Dying.' Mean
while, intimate friends, some very dear to him, came
to cheer him and us at Addington. Each day in his
room he would have one or other to drink tea with
him, and one of his sisters to dine with him. He
suffered much from weakness and continued fever,
but was ever uncomplaining. No one during all this

104 CRAUFURD TAIT.
time ever heard a harsh or fretful word proceeding
out of his mouth. It was scarcely possible to asso
ciate with him the idea of approaching death, — he was
so cheerful and so full of his old playful spirit, and
this it was impossible not to interpret as a good sign.
Meanwhile, the cold of winter passed, and the bright
spring days came on, and it was impossible but that
with them our hopes should be rekindled ; for he was
allowed by the doctors to come down-stairs on Easter
Monday. He was carried into the chapel, to refresh
himself with the sight of our Easter decorations, and
henceforward passed all his time down-stairs, spending
his days in his mother's bright morning room. At
first it had been expected that he would be well by
Easter. He bore up bravely against the depression
of his deferred hope. But he was now allowed to
drive out in the bright days, and to lie out on his
sofa in the sun ; and had it not been that his weak
ness continued, and his pallid looks, we might have
supposed that this change of treatment, with the
changing weather, betokened progress towards re
covery. Soon May came, and he looked forward
with cheerfulness to the promised move to the sea,
which we could not but hope might, in God's good
time, renovate his wasted strength.
There was something peculiarly affecting in the
sight of a young man, with such calls upon him, the
centre of so much affection and bf so many hopes,
with every alleviation which outward circumstances
could give to sickness, tended by the most skilful

CRAUFURD TAIT.

physicians, and nursed with the most sedulous care,
laid prostrate, and making no real progress towards
health. Still, it was impossible to despair of his life.
His kind medical attendants hoped against hope ;
they knew that the insidious deterioration of the
blood, if he was really suffering from it, was, according
to all past experience, incurable ; but they knew also
that many other diseases, once reckoned incurable,
had, through favourable experiments, been found to
be capable of cure, and they could not help hoping
that it might be so with him ; so they would not
allow either us or him to despond. They would not
hear of his resigning his parish, as he proposed. From
the first the charge of it had been committed to the
able man— whom the Bishop of London has since
appointed to the vicarage — who had assisted his
predecessor, and who, with his mature experience,
so well discharged all the duties of its pastor that
Craufurd's mind was at rest as to his people. No
doubt privately the doctors feared that his resigna
tion would extinguish all hope in their patient, and
might endanger his life.
It was on Saturday, the 25 th of May, when the
bright summer was beginning to burst, that he left
Addington. He himself, in a letter which he dictated
the day before, described the preliminary arrange
ments, and how servants, with every appliance that
could conduce to his comfort, had left for Stonehouse,
to be ready for his reception there. Sickness,
doubtless, is more easily borne when such helps can

106 CRAUFURD TAIT.
be supplied, and Craufurd was truly thankful to
Almighty God for these secondary blessings. I do
not think he expected that he would die soon, but he
determined, by God's help, to be ready either for life
or death. The business before* him was plainly to
use all reasonable means for his recovery, and his
manly faith saved him from being disquieted either
by unworthy fears or unfounded hopes. He was
living in faith and prayer, and God sustained him.
Many anxious looks and good wishes accompanied
him as he drove from the Park, for he was much loved
by rich and poor there. His kind physician went
with him in the train, and the journey, which occupied
in all about four hours, was well accomplished. It
seemed almost as if the experiment had answered,
for on Sunday and Monday he was certainly no
worse, and, we hoped, rather better. I read the
Service with him on Sunday afternoon in the
drawing-room. More than once he drove out, and
he lay in his little carriage among the ilex-trees on
the lawn, enjoying the sea- view and the fresh air.
Thus he passed Tuesday morning. One of the Rural
Deans coming to me on business shook hands with
him on the lawn, and two cousins had come over from
a distance to visit him. Unexpectedly he complained
that he did not feel as usual, and was apprehensive
of a bad bilious attack. It was not so. The
sickness which followed was the beginning of a
haemorrhage which was to end his life. Still, he bore
up pretty well through Tuesday. But I was advised

CRAUFURD TAIT. 107
to break an appointment for a meeting at Maidstone,
and send my chaplain in my place. It was, indeed,
mercifully arranged that I did not go, for before my
chaplain could return, though he came back as soon
as possible, and reached us on Wednesday about
seven o'clock, it was only to find us kneeling around
the dear lifeless form of the friend whom he loved as
we did. Craufurd had passed a disturbed night on
Tuesday. We had telegraphed for one who had only
left him a week before, whom he longed to see again.
The day went dn amidst great anxiety, but still we
scarcely knew that there was immediate danger.
With his usual manliness he questioned me exactly
as to how the matter stood, and received with perfect
calmness the statement of the real truth, that there
was great danger, but still hope. He joined with
me in prayer. 'I submit myself,' he said, ' entirely
to God's will.' I answered, 'You have always done
so;' he said, 'Not always,' implying that his illness
and its trials had given him complete resignation to
the will of God in Christ It was not till towards
five o'clock that his medical attendant from Broad-
stairs, who had watched him for the two last days,
was struck with a sudden change. He summoned us
at once, and said that as far as he could judge he
could not survive above an hour. In accordance with
his own wish I again told Craufurd of the immediate
danger ; he received the intelligence with the utmost
calmness, and set himself to use the hour, feeling that
as before his business had been to live, so now it was

ro8 CRAUFURD TAIT.
to die. The presence of those he loved greatly
cheered and comforted him. He was the calmest of
us all, and almost seemed to be helping us to bear
up. He addressed kind messages to each, turned on
his side like a tired child, and fell asleep in Jesus.
Blessed end to a manly, simple life ; yet not the
end — rather surely the beginning of a new life into
which he passed, while he left us overwhelmed by
his bedside.
It is remarkable that another young clergyman,
ordained on the same day as himself, equally given
up to his Master's service, Horsley, and another
almost of the same standing, Hilton, one ofthe most
devoted and beloved curates of the diocese, have
passed away like him, their work scarcely begun.
But the Lord God accepted in all three the short
service which He gave them time to render. It is
natural to say that such lives cut short bear on them
the mark of imperfectness ; but in God's sight it is not
so ; the Lord Jesus no doubt called these three young
ministers of His Gospel thus early to be with Him
in Paradise because He had perfected His work in
their souls thus early — a peculiar privilege surely —
and He wanted them for some work elsewhere, that
they might serve in His own immediate Presence in
the Heavenly Sanctuary.
It was on the 4th of June — a day familiar to all
Etonians as a day of rejoicing — that in the beautiful
quiet churchyard of Addington he was followed to
the grave by many who loved him and his family ;

CRAUFURD TAIT. 109

relations, neighbours, elder friends, and his own young
coevals attached to him from school and College days ;
and as the benediction was pronounced over his
resting-place his parents felt that their many prayers
for his welfare, offered up from his infancy onwards,
had been answered, though not in the way they had
expected. A friend has sent me these lines : —
$3a20tb from gleath unto "j&iie.
* He asked life of Thee, and Thou gavest him a long life, even
for ever and ever.' — Psalm xxi. 4.
' He is not dead, ' but only lieth sleeping
In the sweet refuge of His Master's Breast,
And far away from sorrow, toil, and weeping,
' He is not dead,' but only taking rest.
What though the highest hopes he dearly cherished
All faded gently as the setting sun ;
What though our own fond expectations perished,
Ere yet life's noblest labour seemed begun ;
What though he standeth at no earthly altar, —
, Yet in white raiment, on the golden floor,
Where love is perfect, and no step can falter,
He serveth as a Priest for evermore !
O glorious end of life's short day of sadness !
O blessed course so well and nobly run !
O home of true and everlasting gladness !
O crown unfading ! and so early won !
Though tears will fall, we bless Thee, O our Father,
For the dear one for ever with the blest,
And wait the Easter dawn when Thou shalt gather
Thine own, long parted, to their endless rest.

no CATHARINE TAIT.

A ND now there remain but six months of this
biography. Three days before she died, my
wife said to me in Edinburgh, ' This is the 29th ; six
months to-day since he left us.' How did the mother,
who so tenderly loved her son, pass these six months
— when all her nursing and care, and her prayers for
his recovery, had ended ?
We went from Stonehouse, and returned again on
the evening of that sad 4th of June. A month was
spent quietly in that home, now hallowed as the
place of his departure. Kind friends did their best
to help us ; and my dear wife threw herself as soon
as possible into the interests of her Orphanage. The
day after his departure, Ascension Day, we had joined
our family alone in the Holy Communion in the
chapel, and met again in the same solemn way in the
same place on the next Sunday, when the Bishop of
Ripon gave us a touching address. The four quiet
weeks were the best medicine for our bruised spirits.
And afterwards my dear wife assured me that when
she was able to return to the same peaceful spot again
for a few days in July, she felt greatly soothed by
sitting quietly on the summer lawn, and thinking
over the past. My ^occupations called me to business
as the month ended, and she felt that duty called
her now to take her place by my side. The great
gathering of Bishops from all parts of the world for
which my dear son had presented the invitations the

CATHARINE TAIT. m
last autumn in America, was fixed for the first week
in July ; and it had been arranged that a large
number of my brethren should be received by me in
our metropolitical Cathedral at Canterbury. She
accompanied me to St. Augustine's College, and
afterwards to the Cathedral. Of course we took no
part in the hospitalities of this interesting visit. We
went and returned in the same day from Stonehouse.
But it pleased her to shake by the hand some ot
those who last autumn had so hospitably received
our son, who had been looking forward to see him at
this gathering, and were deeply touched by his
absence. In a few days we moved to Lambeth,
where the hundred Bishops were to assemble. She
kept herself as quiet and retired as she could, but felt
it a duty, and even a solace to her grief, to help me
as much as possible. She therefore made the effort
to show herself amongst the Bishops day by day, and
received as quietly as circumstances admitted all my
brethren from America, who had each some touching
reminiscence to communicate respecting the last
autumn. Meanwhile our family services in the chapel,
•in which mention was made each day of the happy
departed, were greatly soothing to her spirit. Before
his illness I had, principally by her help and at her
suggestion, moved in the matter of restoring the
ancient Palace Chapel, the seat of so many recollec
tions in the history of the English Church. By her
aid and the influence which she brought to bear on
the effort, and the general interest which, helped

ii2 CATHARINE TAIT.
especially by one trusted friend, she was able to
excite, I had carried forward the work of restoration
so as to make the building not unfit for the venerable
company which gathered in it day by day. At the
opening service of the Lambeth Conference all the
Bishops attended in their robes, and she with her
family was present in the gallery. She was present
also with us in St. Paul's at the closing service, and,
as was her nature, took the deepest interest in hearing
of all our proceedings. Many letters which I have
received from America and elsewhere have expressed
the admiration of the writers for the self-control she
exercised during that season of her deep grief, and
the way in which she exerted herself not to allow the
Bishops' Conference to suffer from the cloud which
had gathered over our home. But now the strain
of this public duty was removed, and the question
arose how best to seek some relaxation before it was
necessary again to engage in work. Her own mind
went back to the days we had spent at Hallsteads in
our former grief. She thought at first that we should
be most soothed in some quiet residence on the
Lakes, where we might gaze on the glorious hills irr
peaceful retirement. But, on consideration of the
whole case, it seemed better for all of us to seek some
more complete diversion, and on the 1 2th of August
she and I and our three girls, and their cousin, one of
my chaplains, left for Switzerland. I do not know
that the tour answered particularly well for her ; she
suffered from a slight ailment, which disturbed her

CATHARINE TAIT. 113
rest during several of the weeks of our absence. But
still she was greatly interested in revisiting Brussels,
which appeared a changed city since we had last
spent some days there years before, and the field of
Waterloo, which we had visited twelve months after
our marriage, and which she took great delight in
showing for the first time to her daughters. Basle
and Lucerne awakened recollections of a former visit
to each with our dear son. We recalled at Lucerne
how great had been our anxiety when he was laid up
for a day or two in the Schweizerhof with what we
almost feared might be the beginning of a dangerous
fever ; how we had wandered above the town through
the great churchyard, in that part of it called the
Kindergarten, where were hundreds of little children's
graves, and almost feared that our boy of twelve
might be laid among them ; and we thanked God
for the seventeen years passed since during which he
had been spared to be the joy and pride of our home,
and quietly to do much work in his Master's service.
We went also seeking to visit, in their lovely villa
near the town, friends whose daughter, their only
child, had been taken from them since we saw them
last ; and, not finding them at home, wandered about
their beautiful gardens, thinking how much more
gently we had been dealt with than they, having our
three dear daughters spared- to us, to cheer us in our
old age. As we moved very leisurely from place to
place, we had abundant time for reading together;
and when we went to stay quietly for a week at
H

[14 CATHARINE TAIT.
Burgenstock, the views and walks among the heights
were very refreshing ; and great was the interest
which she took in revisiting the Righi by help of the
appliances of the railway, — a very different mode of
access from that by which we had approached it with
Craufurd when we were both more vigorous for
mountain climbing seventeen years before. Then
the quiet days at Montreux were enjoyed, by us,
reading, driving, penetrating into the hills above, or
sauntering by the margin of the Lake. I thought it
right to spend three days at Geneva, hoping to get
some clearer insight into the condition of the Old
Catholics of Switzerland. I cannot say that she
enjoyed this time. Geneva is too much of a town,
and its suburbs too suburban to be a pleasant resting-
place in a tour. Fontainebleau with its old cMteau
— so wonderfully preserved inside and out amid the
wreck of Revolutions, carrying you back, in the still
remaining furniture and decoration of the rooms,
through the Second Empire and the First to Marie
Antoinette and Louis XVI. and the Grand Monarque,
and even up to Francis I., — had great charms for her ;
stored as her mind was by what she and her
daughters had been lately reading ; and she enjoyed
the drive through the forest. A few days in Paris,
then full to overflowing through the Exhibition,
completed the tour, and soon we were at Canterbury,
plunged in the work of the autumn Ordination. She
felt a relief in being spared, through the kindness of
the Dean and Canons, from receiving the candidates

CATHARINE TAIT. 115
at Addington, where our spirits would have been
scarcely equal to welcoming them, considering the
sadness of our last hurried visit there on the 4th of
June. She was present in the Cathedral to witness
the Ordination, when our friend Professor Plumptre
preached. A week was spent in Kent after the
Ordination was over, as I had diocesan work. She
seemed well and quietly happy, though at times sad,
and some who watched her narrowly thought that
her strength was not what it had been, yet she was
in spirit the same as ever. Staying with our nephew-
chaplain and his wife, by Blean Forest, she visited
one day with our niece a gipsy family, the mother
of which lay sick in their wagon. The boy, a wild
specimen of his tribe, was greatly attracted to her
by the stories which she told them, ever glad tp
sow some good seed even in the most passing visit.
Soon we were settled for a month at Addington,
the sadness of our return cheered by the prospect of
our second daughter's marriage in November. The
preparation for this happy event greatly occupied
her. But, as usual, she would not allow our residence
in this spacious home to be a comfort only to ourselves.
It was almost a joke in the family that she made
Addington a sanatorium, and those members of the
family who gathered round her during that last
precious month will long remember her unselfish and
untiring endeavours to make the place minister to
their comfort. She rejoiced that I was able to preach
each Sunday. The last was a Solemn day : the

116 CATHARINE TAIT.
window which the people of Addington had erected
in love for Craufurd had been put up the night
before. She heard me preach for the last time, —
the text, 'Sorrowful, yet alway rejoicing.' Our
hearts were full of the past 4th of June and the
coming 12th of November. We had felt that we
could not bear having the marriage, as we should
have desired, in our lovely little country parish
church, and it was settled that we should leave
Addington on Monday, and that my daughter and
my chaplain should be married in the restored
Lambeth Chapel.
Tuesday, 12th November, was a solemn as well as
a joyful day. Before breakfast, all who were staying
in the Palace met for Holy Communion, with the
bride and bridegroom, and many noted the heavenly
expression of sadness, mingled with joy, in my dear
wife's face. None were invited but near relations
and intimate friends, and those immediately con
nected with our household, yet the number swelled to
some 120 in the chapel, and the post-room and ante-
chapel were filled with some of our poorer neigh
bours. It was a beautiful sight as the company
arrived by the Great Libraiy staircase, brightened in
the November day by a blazing fire, and walked
along the picture-gallery, through the post-room into
the chapel. From our private rooms, by the same
route, came the procession of the bride. She leant on
her father's arm, followed by her two sisters, and
last came the mother, looking touchingly lovely with

CATHARINE TAIT. 117
her anxious yet thankful face. None who saw her on
that day will ever forget her look. Many felt that
she seemed care-worn, but none, I think, anticipated
that that was to be the very last day that she would
ever enter the chapel she loved. After the service,
the party gathered in the Great Dining-Hall, and
soon afterwards the mother bade farewell to her
daughter, whom she was never to see on earth again.
We assembled once again in the chapel for prayer
that evening, commending the bride and bridegroom
to God's care, and commemorating the dear brother
of whom all were thinking. Next morning, we four
remaining members of the family were off by the
Scotch express direct for Edinburgh. The Bishop
of Carlisle and Mrs. Goodwin had kindly offered us
that we should rest at Rose Castle, and at first I had
thought my wife would like it, as she had visited
the loved grave of our daughters every year. But
she said, No ; she could not bear now, under her
fresh sorrow, to open the wounds of old days. One
kind friend, ever sharing in our joy and sadness, was
at the train to speed us on our journey — the same
who after three short weeks received us on our
return, — I widowed, my daughters motherless. Yet
no shadow seemed to rest upon our northward
journey. It had been deemed well that we should
not linger on at home after the excitement of the
wedding, and I was anxious to see my only remain
ing brother, now in his eighty-first year. My sister
also, Lady Wake, was waiting in Scotland to

118 CATHARINE TAIT.
welcome us at his country house, 'The Cottage,'
near Blairlogie. We spent in her most congenial
society, cheering the old man, ten happy days. My
dear wife was able to enjoy her accustomed walks
on the Ochills, and long talks with this beloved sister.
On the Sunday we received the Holy Communion
in the beautiful Episcopal Chapel at Alloa, where
we recognised, as fellow-communicants, old friends
staying in the neighbourhood. This was the last
earthly House of God she entered.

A HAPPY visit of three days to a niece and
nephew, during which she entered, with her
usual sympathy, into all their arrangements for
settling in a new home, brought her by the Saturday
evening to Garscube, which, like Edinburgh and the
Cottage at Blairlogie, she had visited on her marriage
tour. Strange that after thirty-five years, when so
many who had welcomed her as a bride were dead,
and after such changes in her own and her friends'
families, she should retrace the steps of her wedding
tour on this last journey I
She felt not so well as usual when we reached
Garscube, yet was greatly interested in her kind
reception in the old home so familiar to me in early
life, and which she could not but remember also that
she had visited with all her elder children around her.
But she was much affected by the thought of the

CATHARINE TAIT. 119
many changes which death had made in the Garscube
family — the old Baronet and his wife and all his
many children gone to their rest, and two grandsons,
each in his turn the proprietor of the place, gone
also — yet the place, itself the same as ever. I re
member especially she was much moved at the sight
of the bust of the second Sir Archibald, whose death
in the vigour of his manhood seemed strongly to
remind her of her own last great loss. She was not
feeling well, and did not go to church — a circumstance
very unusual with her. But it seemed only a passing
ailment. She came down in the evening, and re
mained for family prayer, and the next day, though
still feeling unwell, she greatly enjoyed at dinner the
society of an old Rugby friend, a Professor in the
Glasgow University, and had an interesting conversa
tion with the newly-appointed Episcopal minister of
St. Mary's in Glasgow, who had lately been assisting
Mr. Wilkinson in London. Tuesday she passed as
usual, and, indeed, on these last two days she was able
to visit with much interest her hostess's Cottage
Hospital, and took her daughters for a walk through
the grounds, to show them some old familiar spots
which she and I remembered to have sought on our
marriage visit. On Wednesday her feeling of illness
had not abated, and I thought it right — as we were
going to my brother's house in Edinburgh — to tele
graph for his family physician to see her on her
arrival. He ordered her to bed, but did not fear
more than a bad bilious attack. We were to be at

120 CATHARINE TAIT.
Durham on Friday for the day of Missionary Inter
cession on Saturday, and the Dean of Durham, a very
old friend, had kindly arranged the anthems which
he knew would please her, and was looking forward
to her enthusiastic admiration of his lately reopened
Cathedral. But it was now plain that she must rest
awhile ; though we had no apprehension but that she
would be well in a few days. It was on Thursday
evening that a serious change was seen. She became
rapidly worse, and very weak. Friday was a day of
anxiety, and when she told me her feelings late in the
day, I telegraphed to Dr. Carpenter, our kind phy
sician at Croydon, who thoroughly knew her constitu
tion, and all she had gone through. In great alarm,
from what I told him, he telegraphed back that he
would come immediately, so as to arrive by the
express on Saturday evening. From time to time,
she shewed her usual interest in the welfare of all
connected with her ; she had spoken of the approach
ing ordination of a young cousin, and reminded us
that we ought to pray for him. On Saturday she
was utterly prostrated, and spoke to her eldest
daughter of what she wished in the event of her death.
She was perfectly calm and collected ; but though,
when I was with her, she spoke with exceeding
tenderness and thankfulness of our five-and-thirty
years of wedded love, and said how she hoped that
she might live, once more to see her married daughter,
for ' Christmas would be sad without the mother,' yet
we hoped even still that she was only nervous from

CATHARINE TAIT.

weakness. Cheered at the thought of seeing the phy
sician who knew her so well, she expressed to me the
hope that he would be able to move her to the quiet
and fresh air of Stonehouse, for which she pined.
The night was one of great restlessness, and on the
Sunday she was worse. By mid-day her case was
hopeless. Her speech — from the setting in of con
gestion of the lungs — had become very difficult, but
when roused she had all her mental faculties entire.
She had settled on the day before that she would
receive the Communion on this day — Advent Sunday.
I reminded her how she had looked forward to a
glorious celebration of it in Durham Cathedral. We
were now in great alarm of some sudden termination,
or of unconsciousness coming on, and it would have
left a sad memory if she had departed without that
solemn rite through which her soul had always re
joiced to hold communion with her Saviour. But
still for several hours she was entirely herself. I
administered the Holy Communion to her, to her
daughters, and to the physician. She joined in
all so far as her impeded speech would allow. I
said to her the ' Nunc Dimittis,' and she repeated it
with me. I said to her, ' Lord, I have loved the
habitation of Thine house,' and she added, ' And the
place where Thine honour dwelleth.' I tried to go
through the hymn, 'Jesus, Lover of my soul,' and
when I faltered she supplied the missing words.
Then, after a time of rest, as of old on all Sundays
— in the Deanery, at Fulham and London House, at

122 CATHARINE TAIT.
Lambeth and at Addington, — her daughters sang to
her some favourite hymns — ' Lo ! He comes with
clouds descending,' and ' Lead, kindly Light, amid
the encircling gloom.' When they had finished,
I repeated to her again the last lines, inscribed
by her desire on the frame of Grispini's picture of
the children who left her at Carlisle : —
' And with the morn those Angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.'
'Yes, yes,' she repeated, and either then, or a few
minutes before, she spoke of those of us who had
gone before stretching out their hands to welcome
her. The physician wished her again to rest. Soon
she became unconscious, and about ten o'clock, after
I had offered up the Commendatory Prayer, her
breathing ceased with a gentle sigh, and she was
gone. Thus ended her earthly life of fifty-nine years — re
freshed from her childhood onwards, through the
grace of God, by a wellspring of joy within which
poured forth in acts of kindliness to all whom she
could reach ; a life sanctified by prayer, disciplined
by abundant suffering, ever thankful to God, active,
cheerful, mixing in the world's innocent enjoyments,
and resolute to fulfil all worldly duties; yet not of
the world — meet preparation for the life of a glorified
saint in the immediate presence of the Father and
Redeemer.

$art II.

HTHE reader has now had before him a memorial,
committed to writing by one loving hand. The
following pages comprise other memories of the
mother and son, gathered partly from a few of their
own letters, partly from letters of friends. And there
is one document of touching and solemn interest,
which will tell its own story in its place. The
reminiscences thus gathered together are arranged in
their proper sequence. We therefore begin with the
early days at Elmdon.

THE EARLY DAYS AT ELMDON.
1819-1843.
/^ATHARINE Spooner was born at Elmdon Parson
age on the 9th of December 18 19, and baptized
by her father three days later. Among the vast
number of letters of tender sympathy which poured
in after her death, those of writers who remember
her childhood dwell, one after the other, upon her
remarkable beauty. ' Few are now living,' writes a
dear friend of her mother, ' who remember as I do

126 CATHARINE TAIT.
that lovely babe on her mother's knee, and all her
endearing childhood, when she grew in favour both
with God and man.'
'My first remembrances of her,' writes another
lady, very dear to English hearts,1 ' are of a dream of
loveliness — so fair, so soft, so gentle, with so musical
a voice. . . . We were both much in the school-room
at that time, and until very shortly before we ceased
to live within seven miles of each other. I remember
the enthusiasm of her admiration for anything like
high intellect or genius amongst the public characters
of the day, both in their speeches and writings. . . .
After my dearest father's removal to Leamington in
the summer of 1839, I never saw Catharine again, so
far as I can recollect, until I met her as the wife of
the Dean of Carlisle. ... At the time of her last
great sorrow she wrote to say that she should like to
see me before I left London. I had left, but gladly
went back to secure the privilege of being allowed
to sympathise with my early friend in her sorrow,
and to see how sweetly she was bearing it, through
the grace of God.'
The following is from another friend : —
'I can scarcely fix the date at which my first
acquaintance with my dearest friend and cousin
began. We were born in the same year, and baptized
by the same name in memory of our aunt, the dearly-
loved sister of her mother and my father. While I
1 Miss Marsh.

CATHARINE TAIT. 127
was yet very young both my parents died, and I and
my sisters were ever after treated almost as daughters
by our aunt and uncle, and passed much of our time
at Elmdon.
' Catharine was the youngest daughter of that large
and happy family of cousins. On her sweet, bright
childhood I will not dwell ; there are those still who
know what a ray of light she was in the house. My
mind turns to a subsequent period, when, after our
return from America, we went to stay at Elmdon.
She was then seventeen, an exceedingly lovely girl,
the sunshine and joy of the whole household, full of
mirth, elasticity, and buoyancy of spirits. Even then,
young as I myself was, I could not help watching
with wondering admiration the earnestness, thought-
fulness, and conscientiousness which under all the
brightness marked her daily life. We were confirmed
about the same time, though in different places. I
received very many letters from her on that subject,
and I know that, although she had always been
thoughtful and earnest, her life was from that period
wholly given up to .God's service ; and she commenced
those habits of constant prayerfulness which flowed
on with ever increasing devotion to her end. Each
visit which I paid to Elmdon afterwards found her,
although not less joyous and full of healthful bound
ing spirits, yet more and more occupied by thoughts
and aspirations connected with the eternal world.
Duty was with her not merely the result of admirable
parental training in that well-ordered home, it was

128 CATHARINE TAIT.
an instinct. She was, indeed, " a law unto herself,"
one of those of whom Wordsworth speaks in his
"Ode to Duty"— " There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them, who in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth.
Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot,
Who do thy work, and know it not."
Her days were a constant round of duties, lovingly
and energetically performed. No hours, no moments
were wasted. It was my happiness and blessing to
be associated with her in some of these. Can I ever
forget our daily walks to various cottages, through
lanes and meadows, when she used to read and"
minister to the old and sick poor in her father's parish,
some of them being her special charge, while others
were under the charge of her sisters, — her constant
attendance at both Sunday and week-day school, and
her care for the instruction and welfare of the younger
servants in the house ? Often I have seen her, when
the whole family were assembled in the drawing-room
in the evening — and she one of the brightest, — quietly
disappear for an hour or more to her own room, for
the purpose of instructing some of the younger
servants, whose day until then had been fully
occupied. Then her tender, reverent attention to her
parents was so beautiful, manifesting itself in a
thousand different ways. Her mother's room was
sought the first thing in the morning, that they might
read a portion of the Holy Volume before she rose.

CATHARINE TAIT. I29

It was also her habit to commit to memory, not only
hymns and sacred poetry, but also long passages of
prose from any book she was reading that she
thought would interest her father, and these she
would repeat to him in the long walks they used to
take together in the parish.
' Although she had lately been released from the
formal routine of school-room life, she thirsted for
knowledge, and pursued her studies single-handed
with all the energy and enthusiasm peculiar to her
character. To this was added a great power of
communicating the same feeling to others. Thus
she gently drew me to rise with her at a very early
hour in the morning, even in winter-time, while the
house was still quiet, and after joining in prayer we
used to study together History, French, and English
Theology. I remember we read Bishop Andrewes's
Sermons, some of Jeremy Taylor's works, and of
Bishop Hall's. She used to delight in those old
English divines, and — it may or may not be so, — I
have always liked to think that her eager study of
these thoroughly English and practical and devotional
works left an impression on her mind which time
never effaced, and was one of the means that kept her
heart ever loyal to that Church into which she had
been baptized, and which she loved with a great love
amid the conflict of opinions which soon afterwards
set in.
' I accompanied her on my first visit to Alveston
Manor- House, Stratford-on-Avon. It was my first
I

13° CATHARINE TAIT.

meeting with old Mr. Knottesford.1 How could I
describe him — his odd appearance, his great learning,
his delight in his library, his love of music, his great
piety ? I cannot ; I can only say that the whole tone
and character of the place and of its inmates remind
me of some pages ot Pepys's Diary. Catharine's
elder sister, next in age to herself, to whom she was
much attached, had recently been married to Mr.
Knottesford's only son Edward Fortescue, at that
time his father's curate. Subsequently he was
appointed to the cure of Wilmcote, in the parish of
Aston Cantelupe, interesting as being the parish in
which Shakespeare's father was married to Mary
Arden. ' In this retired hamlet a new church had been
built under the auspices of Edward Forte'sciie.
Catharine watched the building of this church from
its commencement to its consecration, with the
greatest interest, and many happy visits she after
wards paid at Wilmcote, when her sister, with her
husband and family, went to reside there. I think it
was at this little church that she first learned to
estimate at their true value, and to enter into the
spirit of the morning and evening daily service of the
1 Many notices of him which have reached us entirely bear out these
expressions of the writer, and prove how his oddities all served to show
forth the old man's goodness and piety. His quaint appearance — knee
breeches and coat of antique cut — entirely expressed the inner man, for
his opinions were derived from the nonjurors, whose works he had
studied and admired for years in secret, before he suddenly found that
opinions which he scarcely dared mention in public were ushered into
an unexpected popularity by the Oxford Tracts.

CATHARINE TAIT. 131

Church. She never seemed so happy as when in the
House of God. I think, if it had been possible, she
would have liked to be always there, like the
Psalmist, who seems almost to have envied the little
birds who made their nests near the altar of God
Certainly she chanted with a full heart — "Blessed
are they who dwell in Thy house ; they will be
alway praising Thee." I think every one who knew
her must have been struck with the look of rever
ential and holy joy which stole over her face when
ever she entered a church. This ardent love for the
services of God's House ever remained with her.
Channels they were to her of Divine Grace, which
fed and strengthened her soul. As such she used
them, and such she found them.'
To the same effect speaks another friend, who in
childhood visited Elmdon Parsonage :* — ' Every even
ing at my early bed-time she came with me for a
little talk and prayer, and, indeed, she taught me to
pray as no other had. On Sundays it was her habit
to gather her younger brothers and myself for read
ing the Bible and prayer. Those prayers of hers, so
simple and so real, are fresh in my memory to this
day. Prayer was the very pulse of her life. I used
to get up very early on summer mornings, and wan
dering about as children do, I one morning opened
the door of a spare room, and there, kneeling at a
1 This letter was written to a stranger to the family, but was after
wards seen by the Editor, who asked the consent of the writer to this
extract being made.

132 CATHARINE TAIT.
chair by the open window, was Catharine at her
prayers. She did not move, and I withdrew at once ;
but the picture ever remains — her sweet eyes looking
up, her hands clasped, asking, seeking, as she tried
to teach us to do.'
Her husband's Memoir, as well as the letter we
have quoted above, indicates how strong was the
influence of Mr. Fortescue upon her at that time. It
was an influence, indeed, which abode upon her for
life, and certainly was not without serious danger.
How that danger was averted, and how the influence
wrought only good, will be shown, it is believed, in
the pages next following. In a matter of so much
interest as the shaping the very destinies of her soul,
it will not be out of place if we quote at some length;
The first passage is from the pen of her husband's
sister, Lady Wake : —
' She was not fifteen when I first knew her, a bright
and pretty child, scarcely more. ... I was aware of
a deep under-current of thought, which showed itself
in many ways, mixed up as she was with the interests
and amusements of my own children, all of them
younger than she. It was evident that earnest
evangelical religion had been implanted in her heart,
and the reverent love she bore her father and her
mother, who were true types of this early reawaken
ing of the truth in the slumbering Church, fostered
and sheltered its growth. We lost sight of her, and
did not find her again till, developed in mind and
body into a charming young woman, she became

CATHARINE TAIT. 133

infinitely more dear to us in the character of my
brother's wife. The mode of her religious life had
much changed, but the character of its being was the
same — earnest, devotional, and most real : she had
received strong High Church principles; a strong
flavour of the ideal and romantic had been mingled
with it. This was not wonderful, for, as she related to
me, the influence exercised over her sisters and herself
by a brother-in-law, Edward Fortescue, was precisely
of the description to fascinate the mind and imagina- ,
tion of young girls. She described to me the manner
in which Good Friday had been passed by them under
his directions. The day had been spent in fasting
and prayer, in the solemn endeavour to realise the
scenes of that terrible day in Jerusalem ; and when
the hours of darkness came, as they were alone in
their rooms, there was an awful silence, broken at in
tervals by his deep voice through their open doors
pronouncing the words of the dying Saviour on
the Cross, this lasting through the three hours of
agony He hung upon it. The effect produced upon
the nerves and feelings of sensitive girls may be
imagined, and with Catharine it was lasting ; but
happily she was brought under a more wholesome
and strengthening influence in the teaching of her
cousin Harriet O'Brien's husband— Mr. Monsell — a
clergyman of strongly pronounced High Church
views, but of less eccentric character, a man of a highly
cultivated mind, and possessed of much intellectual
strength. The influence of these men remained with

134 CATHARINE TAIT.

her, because their views and the manner of their
worship gave a certain something that was tangible,
seeming to impart a shape to the glowing feelings of
devotion that had filled her heart. It was well for
her that all this was steadied and tempered by the
deep practical piety and sound good sense and judg
ment of the husband upon whom God in his Fatherly
love for both bestowed her. She often said to me in
after years, " Had I not fallen in love with your
brother, I should long ere this have been a nun ; and
a very bad nun I should have made," she always
added, with a laugh. I cannot imagine her making
a bad anything, but her vocation as wife and mother
were too clear for her under any circumstances to have
been a nun.'
We will introduce here an extract from a letter
of the widow of Charles Monsell, the clergyman to
whom Lady Wake has just referred: — 'I had seen
Catharine in her girlhood, in her holy, happy home
(of which you have such tender recollections), for
Elmdon was considered in our family the perfection
of a clergyman's home. We met again at Leaming
ton in 1840, the year after my marriage, and there
the first link of our great friendship was formed.
Catharine was in the first burst of her life, full of
vigour and enthusiasm, and my husband, with his
calm, deep hold of the supernatural life, attracted her
with an attraction that never lost its power over her.
While holding with clearness all dogmatic theology,
and pursuing with great fearlessness all truth, with a

CATHARINE TAIT. 135
mind free from that narrow antagonism which so
often impedes the search after truth, he had felt the
attainment of personal holiness (regulated by the law
of duty) and personal union with Christ, in His
perfect holiness, to be the bond of union in our
intercourse one with another, and had himself in a
remarkable manner from his childhood made holi
ness the aim of his life.
' To a mind like Catharine's, full of living sympathy
with the High Church movement, you can under
stand the joy of meeting one who was in the full
vigour of the life of that movement, while deepened
and chastened by his aim after holiness.
' We parted, and years passed on as each followed
the path of life appointed for us. Each had felt the
keen touch of suffering in the depths of our being.
' Our next meeting was in London House long
after. We met as if we had never parted. I was
deeply touched to find that Catharine had followed
every step of my husband's life ; we had both laid
up our treasures within the veil ; we, as Keble says,
" over the grave our Lord had met.'' We had now
a new bond of sympathy — the life within the veil
had become to us a great reality — and her home
from that day was most home-like to me.'
One more passage we have to give ; it is part of a
letter from the sister of Mr. Fortescue : —
'At the time when we first became intimate, the
young mind (which afterwards developed into' so
much strength) was essentially in the attitude of a

136 CATHARINE TAIT.
learner, listening, pondering, observing, gathering in
rather than distributing abroad — with temper and
manner meeting the outer world, so winningly bright
and playful that we familiarly called her "our Kitten,"
whilst, indeed, to those who saw below the upper
current, there was manifest in her whole self a force
and indefinable something which made us often
wonder what the full development of character, or the
work prepared for her to do, might be ; but there was
no waste of gathered strength in word or action till it
was called forth by a different position in family life
and more responsible duties. Meanwhile, on this trans
parently truthful mind, intent on the pursuit of truth
as a guide to the life she felt so strong within her, my
brother's influence was for the time undoubtedly great,
but came naturally from the circumstances severally
affecting each of them, and never from excitement
on her part or desire of control on his. The arrange
ments made for him on his marriage in 1838 provided
him with less work and more ease than he felt to be
consistent with the duties of his new calling, when
he took Holy Orders in 1839, and he soon after, by
permission of the Bishop, devoted himself with extra
ordinary energy to a sort of mission labour in a
neighbouring hamlet, — some four miles from his
home, which had been miserably neglected — where he
worked laboriously at considerable personal sacrifice
of means, time, and strength, preparing the people
to accept Church ordinances, and getting a church,
school, and parsonage built, to secure for them per-

CATHARINE TAIT. 137
manently the means of grace and of instruction. At
the same time, her character, which from infancy had
been holy, happy, joyous, was being deepened in its
earnestness, and her higher life quickened by a
message which she told me had seemed then lately
to have come to her direct from the source of it,
when on some occasion of keen enjoyment of the
earthly pleasures and blessings surrounding her, she
seemed to hear the words, " But make for the higher !"
The call met with ready and full response of heart,
but in the how there was some difficulty ; and becom
ing his frequent companion and assistant in his work
at Wilmcote, she saw in his self-sacrificing devoted-
ness a model she admired for the active service of
God, and for a time I believe she had a desire to
make his mode of life her example — which was
becoming more and more exclusive, and of increas
ing severity. On occasions of extra work, which
detained him till an inconvenient hour for return, or
found him too exhausted to do so, he obtained the
loan of some rooms in an unused farm-house, where
sometimes his wife or sisters would remain with him.
On one such occasion, when we were there together,
the accommodation was a cold attic with the barest
possible furniture, and I believe some potatoes or
other farm-store in one corner of it. She used frer-
quently to express to me at that time her satisfaction
in such renunciation of worldly comfort, with pleasure
and happiness furnished from such higher sources as
his work afforded, and once said — in her own warmth

138 CATHARINE TAIT.
of meaning — that were it left to her own choice, such
was the home she should prefer for life, could she
have the interests beside and beyond it which there
surrounded her. Her extreme loveliness, power of
attraction, fitness to adorn quite another kind of life,
and capability of enjoyment in every kind of innocent
pleasure the world can offer, made the declaration
most striking ; the more so, as though full of earnest
ness, it was perfectly free from excitement or love of
change or novelty. She would return to our common
life in her father's or brother's different homes, only
to adorn and enliven them, and make every member
of them happier by her bright cheerfulness and full
sympathy in every interest they afforded. She was
equally natural and lovely in each ; the oneness of
her purpose was felt wherever she was, — the one
purpose of her whole life, though now with the most
childlike and lovely simplicity, as afterwards with the
power of matured experience and enlarged circum
stances for its exercise. There was never the slightest
inflation from the reception of new ideas — or any
parade of them in the least eccentricities which might
betoken the adoption of them. In the most un
guarded moments I never heard her contrast one
system of life with another to the disadvantage of
either, never knew her bring persons with whom she
did not sympathise under censure or ridicule. It was
evidently great earnestness which was being acted
upon, held then as ever under control of the sober
judgment with which she was so gifted, keeping her

CATHARINE TAIT. 1 39
free from the extravagances of enthusiasm or blind
subjection to external influences. And she has told
me, that with all her admiration of such a life as my
brother was leading at Wilmcote, she was by no
means ever so committed to any ideal line of service
for God as not to be ready for any other which His
Providence might guide her to. And the different
sphere of work, which proved to be His purpose for
her, was accepted with the heartiest conviction of its
being His way of leading her to "make for the
higher," as she told me not long ago that she had
indeed found it to be, adding an expression of thank
fulness, especially for having been led to reject a
system of self-chosen discipline, and accept in its
place the discipline coming from God's own hand, in
the course of His providential dealings, though, I
believe, she always thought those previous years to
have been the intended preparation for what was
lying before her, in her future and far different ones.
'There was another way in which his influence
was brought to bear upon her, with more real and
abiding power, but also much arising from their
several circumstances at the time of its exercise.
She seemed to be feeling the want of definiteness as .
to the peculiarities of the Church of England in the
religious teaching she had received, while he was
feeling the necessity of imparting instruction with
great definiteness to a people who had been, through
negligence, almost severed from Church communion,
and given up to dissent of a bad kind. This had

14© CATHARINE TAIT.
made them great professors of religion, but had so
little influenced their morals that the magistrates
were wont to condemn the hamlet as the worst they
had to do with. The doctrine of Sacramental grace,
which he made the basis of all his teaching, and
which was comparatively new to her, was received
with unreserved thankfulness, and deeply influenced
all her after life. It seemed to fit, in a wonderful
way, the constitution of her mind and the need of
her soul when she first took it in. No one could
have known her at any time of her life without being
struck by the unusual degree in which she possessed
the power of always seeing the higher through the
lower, the invisible through the visible ; her sight of
things beautiful, beloved, or lovely, never seeming to
be bounded by that which her senses apprehended,
but carried on to the invisible and higher. And he ,
seems to have been the means ot guiding this power
into its highest exercise, by directing her to faith in
the pledged presence of God, in outward signs, for
the communication of grace, and special communion
with Himself; and for light and help thus received,
she felt towards my brother, as the instrument of
affording it, that grateful love and reverence which she
never lost, though he afterwards himself unhappily
lost the simplicity of the faith he then held and
taught, and gradually ceased to be the guide of many
who, having been led by him to this point, could not
follow him beyond it'
The following from the pen of the Bishop of

CATHARINE TAIT. 141
Gibraltar, Dr. Sandford, whilst it repeats the senti
ment expressed in the preceding letters, carries us on
a step further : —
' I knew Mrs. Tait from my earliest boyhood.
Some of my happiest memories in the days when I
was a child at Dunchurch are connected with her. . . .
Her family and mine were united by the ties of
intimate friendship ; and she and her sister used often
to gladden my father's home near Rugby by their
presence. It was a gala-day to us all at the quiet
and pretty Vicarage when Catharine Spooner came
to pay us a visit. She was staying with us shortly
after Dr. Tait had entered upon his duties as head
master of Rugby School ; and, when the work of the
day was over, often would the head-master be seen
galloping over to Dunchurch, to spend the evening
under my father's roof. We used at times after
dinner to read aloud Walter Scott's novels, or some
other interesting book, and we all felt pleasure when
Catharine Spooner took the book. On one occasion
we were reading "Agathos," and she made a false
quantity in pronouncing the Greek word "Agape,"
and was set right by the head-master. She was
very pretty and graceful in those sunny days, and
moreover had a sweetness, a freshness, and a charm
of manner which were peculiarly attractive. She won
the heart of every one at Dunchurch. Her lightest
wish was law to my brothers and myself. Nothing
would we not have done to win a smile from her, or
a kindly word. Her engagement to the head-master

142 CATHARINE TAIT.

was glad news to the home circle at the Vicarage,
and especially to my father and mother, who enter
tained for the head-master and his betrothed an
affection and reverence which in after years matured,
deepened, and strengthened. My father, on hearing
of the engagement, wrote to the head-master that he
was glad to find that he had taught Catharine the
right way to pronounce "Agape'' '

LIFE AT RUGBY.
1843-1849.
CHE was married at Elmdon Church, the Church
of her baptism,1 on the 22d of June 1843, and it
was characteristic of her that, early on her wedding
morning, she went as usual to her mother's room, to
read to her the Psalms and Lessons for the day.
The following extract from a letter of the Master of
Balliol, Dr. Jowett, dated December 6, 1878, has a
very touching interest : — ' The recollections of your
life and my own often come back to me, — the day
when you brought your beautiful bride to dine with
us in the common-room thirty-five years ago, and the
day which I spent, twelve years later, playing with
your children in the Deanery at Carlisle. . . . You
1 Elmdon Church, according to the Post-Office Directory, was
rebuilt in 1780 by her grandfather, Abraham Spooner, the Squire at
the Hall.

CATHARINE TAIT. 143
do not need me to tell you that we believe them to
be with God, where we soon shall be, and that for the
few years which remain we may find in the memories
of them the strongest motives, and a new power of
life. Mrs. Tait was universally respected and beloved
by those who did not agree with her, as well as by
those who did. I was struck by observing, when
you visited me at Oxford [in 1876], how little she
was changed from the days when I remember her at
Rugby. . . .'
The life at Rugby developed the stronger elements
in her character. A whole multitude of evidences tell
how she was worshipped by the boys, the chivalrous,
romantic admiration of her youth and beauty being
joined to their gratefulsense of her kindliness, and her
manifold acts of sympathy and affection, rendered to
them when they were in sickness, or in any way
needed her watchful care. The change from the
quiet Parsonage at Elmdon to the busy life at Rugby,
great as it was, must have been altogether surpassed
by that in the intellectual atmosphere. The tide of
ecclesiastical politics at Oxford was still at the flood,
and the constant visits of old College friends, bring
ing no doubt their controversies and speculations
with them, must have been a new experience. Some
of the masters, too (there were some ten families of
these), were very decided in their Liberalism — 'a
kind of Arnoldianism minus Arnold,' — whose depre
ciatory remarks (as she would think them) on Church
ways must have been very distasteful to her. The

144 CATHARINE TAIT.
situation might have been not without dangers to
an enthusiastic young woman.1 But any such dangers
melted away before the continual habit of prayer
which she brought with her. Hard and anxious
work for her it undoubtedly was, but she threw her
self into it with the keenest zest. And they were
seldom without friends in the house, both husband
and wife delighting, as they did all their life, in
having young people about them. A few sentences
may be quoted from a description of a visit to Rugby
in those days : — ' The shadow of Dr. Arnold's great
life hung yet over the school-house. His sons and
the other members of his family came and went.
His old pupils, as well as Dr. Tait's College friends,
were often there, and still the innermost central light
ot that charmed circle was the young wife herself.
She threw herself into all that was going on with the
calm energy of her vigorous healthful nature, and
found room in her heart for everybody. The sick in
mind, the sick in body, the distressed in circumstances,
the lonely, the suffering — all came within the range
of her sympathy. I can see her now, her hand full
of instructive or amusing books, wherewith to beguile
the lonely hours of the boys in the infirmary. She

1 The following amusing yet touching story deserves to be recorded :
— A University Don, who has since become strictly orthodox, was visit
ing Rugby, and gave utterance to some theological opinion or other
which scared and grieved her. Her precautionary measure was
prompt. She left the room, shut herself into a spare room and
repeated aloud the Apostles' Creed. We heard the story from a near
relative.

CATHARINE TAIT.

HS

constantly visited them, read and prayed with them.
It was her habit, too, to draw the young who might
be staying at the time in the house to unite with her
in works of charity and helpful love, in visits to the
sick and poor in the almshouses, in collecting the
money for clothing or shoe clubs, and so on. It was
thus that the listless, purposeless, self-pleasing young-
lady life was, by her gentle influence, directed into
useful channels.
' She gathered and used up all the spare moments of
the day, giving them to work or pleasant and profitable
reading, instead of wasting them. After the early ser
vice in the parish church, I used often to go to her
room to see if she was ready to come down to breakfast.
If there was any time to spare she would look at the
clock and playfully say, " We have just five or ten
minutes or a quarter ; let us read ! " and placing the
open book in my hand she would occupy herself with
the beautiful carpet she was working for the chapel.
And so in the hours of exercise and recreation she
was able thoroughly to enter into the spirit of enjoy
ment as she had before entered into her work. How
happy and young we were when, his arduous work
partly over for the day, Dr. Tait would take us long
drives in the neighbourhood of Rugby ! '
The following story is too good to be lost, and I
hope it will not be deemed too trivial for publication,
illustrative as it is of the quiet, unsophisticated life
of Elmdon Parsonage. During one of the Rugby
vacations, the master took his young wife to St.

146 CATHARINE TAIT.
Leonards, and there was a ball in the house in which
they were visiting. It was the first time she had
seen such a sight, and she broke out into admiration.
Her husband came up in the midst of it. ' Come,
let us try,' said he, and immediately flew round the
room with her in a waltz. ' Oh, it was delicious ! '
she said.
Here is another anecdote of the same period :
' There used in after days to be many a quiet joke
about a visit which the master and his wife once paid
to some relations in a Midland county. They were
taken to see an old uncle of their host, of whom all
the neighbours lived in terror. The old gentleman
showed them most politely over his grounds, and to
the amazement of their friends presented them, on
their departure, with a beautiful bouquet of the
choicest flowers from the treasured sanctum of his
greenhouse. He had never been known to do such
a thing before. The mystery was explained by his
taking their host aside, and saying with a radiant
face, " Monstrous fine woman, Mrs. Dr. Tait ! '"
No memoir would give anything like a true
impression of her which did not reiterate the one
trait which shone out above all others, namely, her
constant prayerfulness. It is with a view to doing
this that we insert the following letter from her
husband's niece : —
' The first recollection I have of Aunt Catharine is
her coming to the Cottage at Stirling shortly before
my mother's death in 1844, and we looked with

CATHARINE TAIT. 147
wonder at the new aunt. She gave me "Agathos"
and " The Rocky Island." As I hardly remember
my mother at all, I have never felt to any one as
mother, except Aunt Catharine, but from the time I
was with her at Carlisle up to the last day she sat
with me in my room here, with my own little children
round me, only two short weeks before her death, I
felt I could confide to her any difficulty or trial, sure
of sympathy and counsel, as I did then. How often
she has guided and helped and prayed with me as
no one else has ever done ! I think the time I like
best to recollect her is as I remember her at the
Deanery, surrounded by that flock of little ones, and
looking so pretty, like a Madonna, with her sweet
expression and lovely soft brown eyes, with a baby
on her knee, and teaching the others their little
hymns and prayers. Religion had always been a
burden on my mind, as a gloomy disagreeable thing,
till I learnt from the simple faith of these little
children to trust the love of God and Christ as a
matter of course, and to feel that the more simply
one can believe it all, the more real it becomes. I
have tried to bring up my own children in the same
way, and often find their sweet sayings a great help.
I remember being much struck when I was a very
little girl, — I think it must have been at Rugby, —
that just before you and she started to go off some
where, — I forget where, — she asked you to kneel
down to pray' for a blessing on your journey. Such
a thing as praying in the middle of the day had never

T48 CATHARINE TAIT.
suggested itself to my mind before. But it was not
only in spiritual things that she was so much to me ;
in my education she interested herself much. At
Alva she made me read Arnold's " Rome " to her
every day, as I had no governess there. She used
always to be reading scraps of poetry, and made me
especially fond of Trench's Poems, which she gave
me, and much of which she could say by heart. She
gave me a piece of advice when I first grew up and
left the schoolroom — " Now, you know you are sure
to be married off in a very short time, therefore read
as much as you can, for you never will have time
after ! " I am glad to say I took her advice, and I
have a list now of books of history, poetry, and
science which I read by myself during the two or
three years before I was married, and it is certainly
true that I have never had time since.
' How she always contrived to go on reading
through all her busy life has been a wonder to me.
' I don't think any man ever understands how much
a woman's life is frittered away in small things which
yet must be done. I don't think there was ever any
one like her in combining all the small things with so
many great undertakings, and doing everything so
well, and turning so rapidly from one thing to another
in the full rush of London life, and never seeming
overwhelmed with anything. I used to say one never
knew what one was in for when one went out driving
with her, for she took you One minute to call upon a
Duchess, and the next into the ward of a. hospital.

CATHARINE TAIT. 149

' I suppose one secret of her being able to get
through so much in the day was her extraordinary
bodily strength, which was really greater than falls
to the share of most women. Don't you think that
very great bodily activity, combined with such very
great spirituality and devotion, is a very rare thing ?
But I do not think there ever was any one the least
like her ! '
' I lost my mother while I was at Rugby School,'
writes one on hearing of the death of Mrs. Tait, ' and
through all the intervening years I have never for
gotten the tender sympathy of the Doctor's beautiful
young wife ; how she sent for me and soothed my
grief, telling me to look up to the Home above to which
my mother had been taken, and follow her there.'
The following letter also came to the Archbishop,
with no clew as to the writer. It is printed just as
received :—
'A little boy, eleven years old, called at the
head-master's house at the beginning of one half-
year to have his name entered in the Rugby School
Register. He was not at all a clever boy, but of a
very sensitive disposition, and was then in deep
distress at the recent loss of his only sister.
' The head-master, having made the formal entry,
inquired with kind dignity after the welfare of the
little boy's relations at home, severally ; and it was
with a very full heart and swimming eyes that the
little boy was able to allude to the departure of one
whom he so dearly loved. And when the dignified

150 CATHARINE TAIT.
head-master shook him kindly and silently by the
hand, he thought — he felt sure — that his childish
suffering was respected and sympathised with, and
never forgot the kind look with which the head
master bade him farewell. And when that head
master resigned his appointment, there was no boy
in the school who felt a livelier concern.
' That little boy is now a man of middle age, and
he cannot refrain from sending his sincere and
respectful tribute of profound sympathy to the kind
heart bowed down by the two grievous bereavements
of these past months. And while he prays the good
God to impart the effectual consolation to the
bereaved husband and father which He alone can
give, he ventures to hope that this simple expression
of sincerest condolence — which an old Rugbeian sends
to his former head-master — on the removal of her
whose kind, pleasant, thoughtful countenance, in the
corner of the School Chapel pew, was a familiar sight
to every Rugby boy, may bring some little thought
of satisfaction, though the name of the sender (which
is not material) be withheld.
' loth December 1878.'
Her husband's illness in 1848 has been already
spoken of at length. A letter which we have before
us gives many details, from which we select two.
First, it ought to be recorded, as illustrative of her
character, how, when he was in a most dangerous
state, she was able at the call of duty, quietly to leave

CATHARINE TAIT. 151
his bedside and settle the intricate accounts of the
School, which, without her help, were unintelligible to
his two brothers, to whom the settlement had been
delegated. And also we note the way in which, at
the worst crisis, she guarded him from the excite
ment of the political news which was convulsing
Europe during those anxious weeks.
Her strong will was happily more than balanced
by her loving affectionate nature, and by a depth of
tenderness that made her, though a most resolute, yet
a most sympathetic and tender nurse. She calmly
went through everything that had to be done, with
that calmness which strong affection in the midst of
danger seems to bring out and intensify ; no duty to
her children and her household was intermitted.
An old Rugbeian, attached to the British Embassy
at Paris, wrote the following letter after her death,
a pleasing sign of true affection not dimmed by
years : —
' Such a halo of dear and early memories come
crowding on my brain with the sad news which
reached my eyes this morning, that I cannot refrain
from giving you the heartfelt expression of my
deepest sympathy in the blow that has so suddenly
fallen upon you, — the heaviest trial that the almighty
power and wisdom of God could send to you. If
years of absence and separation have estranged me
from the ties of my early youth, the feeling for them
is perhaps all the stronger, and they return like the
bright dreams of spring in all their innocence and

152 CATHARINE TAIT.
freshness. It seems so short a time since as a boy
I was brought and placed under your care in your
little library at Rugby. How well I remember the
young wife and mother, and the sunshine of her
nature, a model for all women ! Oh ! in a life such
as yours has been, the loss of such a companion must
be hard to bear, even with the consolatory certainty
that you will one day meet again, never to be
separated. . . . May God grant you strength ! '

LIFE AT CARLISLE.
1849-1856.
T N the autumn of 1 849 the young mother (for she
was only just thirty years old), with three fair
children, removed with her husband to the Deanery
at Carlisle. A few bright letters from her lie before
us, chiefly about these children, for tlie watching of
their development and her desire to train them was a
fresh experience to her. ' To my mind,' says one
who saw her in her home there, 'it has always
appeared that it was not by advice, not even merely
by her example and the formation of early habits —
although none of all this was wanting, — but that she
led them from their very baptism to live the Christian
life with fier. She prayed constantly with them as
well as for them, and as soon as reason dawned, she
associated them with herself in such acts of love to

CATHARINE TAIT. 153
God and to others as were fitting to their tender
years. And thus she led them on, as it were, by the
hand to take their part beside her. Any one who
has seen her with these children must have been struck
by this. The result was evident. Their delight in
the service of God's House, the eager way in which,
before it began, they found out for themselves the
Lessons, and the hearty manner in which their infant
voices joined in the responses — the finger of the
youngest following carefully the sacred record as she
sat close nestled by that beloved mother, — I can see
all these things now ! And then their work on
certain days and hours, their eagerness and enthu
siasm about it, and other like things — what was it
all but her own saintly life bearing its lovely fruit in
these chosen little ones ?'
Hardly any records remain of the seven years that
followed, and we have little to add to the Arch
bishop's own sketch. Every member ofthe Cathedral
Chapter of that day, we believe, has died during the
twenty-six years that have elapsed. One or two very
dear friends remain — no more. Here is a portion
of a letter from one of the most highly esteemed of
them, namely, Principal Shairp of St. Andrews : —
' When Dr. Tait returned to the school-house and
Rugby work, his tenure of the Head-mastership did
not continue long.
' It was well for the restoration of his health that
he was enabled soon to pass from the busy school to
the comparative quiet of the Deanery of Carlisle.

154 CATHARINE TAIT.
' It was no doubt a relief to Mrs. Tait to see her
husband released from the strain of work which lay
on him at Rugby, severe enough, as it was, for the
strongest man in full health, too much for one whose
strength required a good space to recruit. But when
they passed to Carlisle, though it was to lighter
labours, it was by no means to idleness. They both
took with them the same habits of work and benevol
ence which they had begun at Rugby. Their pre
sence soon made itself felt in that retired northern
town, Dr. Tait making use of his position to promote
education and every other agency that he thought
for the good of the citizens and neighbourhood, and
Mrs. Tait setting herself as zealously to those quiet
charities which were her special interest.
'On my journeys to and from Scotland I stayed
several times at the Deanery. Mrs. Tait seemed then
full of happiness to see her husband in an honourable
place where he could still do good work, and yet
obtain the quiet which he still needed. One still
retains a vivid remembrance of the quaint old-
fashioned house, with its antique drawing-room
looking down over the original " Carlisle Wall," and
of happy evenings spent in it. This was before that
awful calamity which fell so suddenly and so
desolatingly on that home. The summer before that
they had spent with their children by the sea-side at
St. Andrews. It seems to have been a specially
happy summer, their whole flock being with them,
still without a break. The happy remembrance they

CATHARINE TAIT. 155
took with them of St. Andrews they never afterwards
returned to impair, by what would have been the too
painful contrast of a second visit. After their great
bereavement came I never again saw them in their
Carlisle home.
' Soon after Dr. Tait became Bishop of London we
removed from Rugby to Scotland, and for a good
many years our visits to the south were few. But
when we did visit at Fulham, and at Lambeth, it was
the same home as I had known at Rugby, under new
circumstances, but in nature and in spirit the same.
Old friends were met by the two who presided there
with the same old friendship, and life and larger
opportunities were still used for the same good ends.'
The following letter, written at this period, to one
dear as though she were a sister, is, as will be seen, a
letter of sympathy on the loss of a child. The writer
little thought how sorely she would soon need the
like sympathy, and in the hour of trial would be
mercifully sustained by such consolation as she liere
utters : — 'Deanery, Carlisle, Feb. 21, 1855.
' My DARLING * * *, — I must send a few lines to
tell how your sister's heart bleeds with you in this
your sad hour of grief. May our heavenly Father,
who has laid this trouble upon you, comfort you
under it, and enable you to bear it for the sake of
that dear Saviour who has indeed heard your prayers,
and given early to your child that heavenly inheritance
which He has purchased for him ! O my darling,

156 CATHARINE TAIT.
what a link you have with heaven ! and do you not,
in all your grief, realise your blessedness in being a
Christian mother? I wish I was by you, — such
thoughts seem to pour out towards you. You will,
I know, find comfort when you think your darling
one will never now bring dishonour upon that holy
name by which he was called.
'But, dear, dear weeping mother, I know your
grief; I can picture quite what it can be, and my
heart feels it with you. And how does our dear
Saviour feel with you, who in all our afflictions is
afflicted ! But no more — only my tender sympathis
ing love.'
And now the course of this narrative brings us to
that event which was the centre-point of her life, a
life-long sorrow. Such sorrows nothing can take
away. ' Nature softening and concealing,
And busy with her hand of healing, '
can indeed assuage them. Divine grace gives strength
to bear the burden — else would it not have been sent,
— but a heavy sorrow, bereavement and shattered
earthly hopes must always be. And yet all the
while pain and suffering are felt to be holy when we
remember that the Father comes to us through them.
It is one of the most touching and solemnising
features of her correspondence, to trace all through
the three-and-twenty years that followed the calamity,
the manifold allusions to it, and each remembrance
touched with some fresh ray of light from heaven.

CATHARINE TAIT. 157
Then the cup was again held to her lips, bitter as
ever, and she drank it in unshaken faith and trust ;
but Nature was exhausted now, and she immediately
drooped and died.
A very few days after her first great sorrow had
fallen upon her, she committed to writing her
recollections of it, for the perusal only of her family
and a few dear friends. On December 20, 1874, she
wrote, unknown to any one, a memorandum, ad
dressed to her son, which was only found in one of
her drawers after her death. From that paper the
following words are extracted : — ' I wish to say to
dear Craufurd and our children that, after your father
and myself have left you, and have, through the
merits of Christ, joined your dear sisters in our
Father's house, it may be well for you to publish the
little book which contains the account I wrote soon
after they left us, of that time of trial. As the
suffering is one which must recur over and over again
while the world lasts, it may speak a word of help
and comfort to those upon whom a similar burden is
laid, and who are feeling that it is too heavy for them
to bear. To them I would, say, O tarry thou the
Lord's leisure ; be strong, and He shall comfort your
hearts, and put you your trust in the Lord. In the
darkest part of our sorrow these words were never
absent from me, and I have found how truly they
spoke. I think we suffered at that time as much as it
was possible to suffer, and yet our life has been full of
blessings since ; and the great comfort we have had

158 CATHARINE TAIT.
in the dear children spared, and those given after our
others were taken, has made us to know and to trust
in God's unending love. Our children have cheered
us and helped us in our pilgrimage, and have been
the joy and comfort of our heart, and we have before
us the prospect of a speedy reunion with our loved
and lost ones.'
These words speak for themselves. In the spirit
of them, in the tender hope which they breathe that
the narrative may whisper loving sympathy and godly
comfort to other mourners, the Archbishop has been
pressed to give it at once to the world, and in the
same hope has consented. Just as it is, it is printed,
The Editor has shrunk from touching it, but has
placed the manuscript in another hand to be copied
for the printer. But first of all, it will help the reader
if we here insert the names of the children who had
been given to her at that time.
Catharine Anna (' Catty'), born March 15. 1846.
Mary Susan (' May'), „ June 20, 1847.
Craufurd, „ June 22, 1849.
Charlotte (' Chatty '), „ September 7, 1850.
Frances Alice Marion, „ June 29, 1852.
Susan Elizabeth Campbell, „ August I, 1854.
Lucy Sydney Murray, „ February 11, 1856.

CATHARINE TAIT. 159
MRS. TAIT'S NARRATIVE.
(WRITTEN AT HALSTEAD.)
T^ARLY in October 1855 we returned with our
dear Craufurd from Ireland, where we had spent
about six weeks. Our five girls were at Allonby, and
we felt most impatient to see them. We arrived at
about nine o'clock at night, and our darling Catty
ran out to meet us, full of the most intense happiness
at our return. Sweet May had been suffering from
asthma, and was not allowed to breathe the night air,
so she waited for us in the house, looking most calmly
happy as we folded her in our arms. We went
up-stairs at once to see the little ones. Frances was
awake, and highly delighted to see us ; I bent over
little Chatty, who awoke while I was watching her,
and looked up with a face of heavenly beauty and
joy I never can forget. I found it difficult to tear
myself away from her, even to look at my baby, her
joy and mine was so great at meeting again. Susan
was asleep in her bath-bed in another room. I went
to give her one fond kiss, thought her much grown,
and then went down-stairs to tea ; and we heard from
dear Catty and May what they had done during our
absence. This was our meeting, and I did not part
again from our darlings, until we were called by Flim
who gave them to part with them for ever in this
world.

160 CATHARINE TAIT.
The next day was Sunday, and great was our
happiness at taking them again to church — the four
eldest — in the morning. Frances used to say that
when she went back to Carlisle, she would be big, and
her nurse would take her to church. We took Catty
only in the evening. How sweet she was, and how
happy, as, returning from church, she asked much
about the stars, and she seemed to feel the most
intense delight in the contemplation of them. May
had tea ready for us, and we spent one most happy
hour before they went to bed.
We stayed with them ten days, to enjoy them,
before returning to our busy life at Carlisle, and it
was a happy time. Nothing could equal their delight
in the sea and its shells and sea-weeds, nor ours at
watching their joy. The blackberries were ripe, and
we took them out at times in the carriage and put
them down, and when our drive was over, came for
them. We fancy we can see them now, with their
little baskets quite full, and each little face brighter
than the other, in their innocent joy. At length the
time came for returning to settle ourselves at Car
lisle. We went with rather anxious hearts, as we
heard that scarlet fever was bad in the town ; still, it
was the path of duty, and we felt we ought not to
shrink from it.
Being settled in the Deanery, we returned to our
usual life there. Each morning, a quarter before
eight, Craufurd and Chatty used first to come to me,
learn their verse of a Hymn and Psalm, and then

CATHARINE TAIT. 161

say their prayers. Chatty generally left after that,
though when she liked,- she used to stay for the
others. Frances used to come to say her little verse
and her sweet prayer ; then, with a merry bound,
would she kiss her mother, and run off to breakfast,
for which she was always in a hurry. She was the
most artless innocent babe, and would say in a
voice we hear now, 'Forgive me all my dear sins.'
She never lived, sweet lamb, to understand what
sin was ; washed in her Saviour's blood, called by
His name, signed with His sign ; she, my pretty
merry prattler, soon after left us for His presence.
What will she, ' my earthly child,' as I used to call
her, be like when we see her again ?
At that time Chatty was learning the Morning
Hymn in which this verse occurs : —
' Saviour, to Thy cottage home
Once the daylight used to come ;
Thou hast oft-time seen it break
Brightly o'er that Eastern lake.'
Each time when she came to that verse, she, 'my
heavenly child,' as I used to call her, would stop, and
with her sweet finger point to a picture (on the other
side of my bed) of our Saviour's childhood, and say,
'That is the cottage home, Mamma.' She knows
more about it now, sweet lamb, than we do. Catty
and May used generally to stay in their own room at
this time and say their prayers together, learn their
Hymn and Psalm, then come to me to say them.
After this they used with Craufurd to read a portion
L

162 CATHARINE TAIT.
of the Bible, then I said a short prayer with them, and
they went to their breakfast. We had prayers about
nine, and papa used to question them on what he had
read, to which they used to reply very nicely. The
three eldest then went into the schoolroom for an
hour. Chatty, Frances, and Susan used to be our
sweet and merry companions at breakfast. When they
became, as they often did, too noisy, clinging Chatty
would beg to stay, ever longing to be near her mother,
and boisterous little Frances would ask for her bit of
bread and honey, and be off to fill the nursery with
her merry laugh and play. Susan, my lovely baby,
used always to stay till the church-bell began. On
Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saints' Days, also on
every birthday, any that liked used to accompany
us to the Cathedral. I always found two, more fre
quently four, ready when I came down. On other
days they used to play in the garden and Abbey
grounds, and what a merry party always came round
to claim a kiss when we came out of church ! It was
my busy time, and I could not stay much with them
then, as I had either home business to do, or school,
infirmary, workhouse, or poor to attend to. We had
days and times for each, and these sweet girls used
to think how they would love to help when they grew
older ; in many ways they did help me already.
Saturday was their own day. I used to spend from
half-past eleven or twelve in the schoolroom, hear all
the lessons of the week, question closely on the
history, which I had to read on purpose (it was won-

CATHARINE TAIT. 163
derful how much they knew), look over all exercises,
copies, etc., and hear the music learned in the week.
Great was the delight these Saturdays gave them, and
who can tell the joy they were to their mother !
Chatty was my own little pupil till December, when
Cousin Nannie took her quite, and after reading, etc.,
ind work with me, she would creep into the school
room with her sweet, pleased look, and there she also
has left her unfinished copy-book.
Soon after our return from Allonby, Catty and
May asked me one morning to come for a moment
into the schoolroom, and then with a proud, happy
look they gave me their first embroidery for Craufurd's
trousers, which they had done while we were in
Ireland. Sundays were days of great happiness with them.
They would often, before we were up, come in, the
five together, with their bright, happy Sunday look,
take their place beside us, and chant with clear voice,
' This is the day the Lord hath made,' etc., then say
all together a Sunday Hymn, 'Put the spade and
wheel away,' ' Do no weary work to-day,' then the
I22d Psalm, ' I was glad when they said,' etc. After
their prayers I would explain the Gospel or Epistle
to the three eldest. At family prayer we sang a
Hymn ; they always had the books ready, and I had
looked forward to my dear Catty and May, when
spring came, playing the Hymns for us to sing to.
They could already play several, and I was anxious
that they should in this be able to take my place.

164 CATHARINE TAIT.
When we went to breakfast, Catty and May, in turns,
would conduct a Sunday school, of all the rest.
They used to arrange it in beautiful order — in summer
when warm enough, in the garden, or when this
could not be, up the little steps leading to their
Father's dressing-room ; and we, from our room,
would hear their sweet voices sing Hymn after
Hymn and chant Psalms. They then said Hymns
and Psalms they knew, and Catty would always have
some nice book ready to read which the little ones
could follow. We had either the school or teachers
to attend to at this time, so that I could not be with
them. When we returned, the four were ready for
church. After church they dined at our luncheon,
and dear little Frances was always of the Sunday
party. When I had time, I heard them say their
Catechism, and at two went for a class at the night-
school, and coming back would be greeted by five
bright faces ready to take their places beside me at
church. After church, for an hour and a half, unless
when at tea, they were with us ; this was the longed-
for time. The little ones saw Sunday pictures, and
then we read some book — ' The Pilgrim's Progress '
last summer ; we sat all together in the Abbey,
outside the Deanery door, to read it, and people who
came to walk there used to look with pleasure at that
happy company. I can see little Chattyls look of
delight as she ran for the big book, and found the
place. After our return from Ireland we read the
' Infant Pilgrim's Progress,' and had begun ' Naomi,'

CATHARINE TAIT. 165
by Mrs. Webb. Shall I ever forget their delight
when they found that this Jewish girl was to become a
Christian, and that the aged woman whom she met,
and who instructed her, was Mary, the sister of
Lazarus ! They seemed in a wonderful manner to
realise the blessedness of such converse. About that
point in the book our Sunday readings came to an
end by the five being taken to that land where Mary
is, and by it being given them at once to taste the
fulness ofthe blessings which even in dim shadow gave
them such joy. When Craufurd and I next read that
book we must think of them as talking with Mary
the sister of Lazarus, and perhaps wondering when we
also shall join them. After dinner was their time
with their Father ; each one in turn would climb on
his knee and say the Hymn and Psalm they had
learned for Sunday. When the little ones were gone
to bed, the elder children would sing Hymns and
chant Psalms till their bed-time came.
On ordinary days they were ready for their gover
ness at half-past eleven till dinner-time ; the happy
faces in that schoolroom, the quiet industry and
regular progress in- all they had to learn, we shall
never forget. At half-past one they dined with us,
then drove or walked ; about four they came in and
went at once untold to prepare the lessons for the
next day. The delight of these darlings was to do this
in their Father's study ; they would lie down with
out disturbing him, and dearly did he love the little
hum which, like a sweet song, soothed him in his

166 CATHARINE TAIT.
own work. After their tea, for an hour before our
dinner, they had a happy time with me.
Many and many are the books we have read
together at this time, and much was the work accom
plished ; the book left unfinished is ' The Young
Voyager,' by Reid; the works left half done were
two shirts for Craufurd by Catty and May, my
Chatty's beautiful patchwork, and little Frances's
beads as she last strung them. I remember now
with sad delight the untiring energy with which this
little company would work for the poor. Catty and
May requested at Christmas to make a shirt for a
poor man whose daughter was blind ; in a fortnight
it was done and given by their own dear hands when
the person came for it. Chatty had made several
pillow-cases, which Craufurd and Frances would tear
paper to fill. Little Frances always came down at
dinner, and would sit quite quiet by me at table with
her toys or pictures. How pretty she used to look,
dressed for the evening, with her ' lots of light hair '
in rich curls down that fair neck, in her white frock
and blue sash. Chatty would take her place when
she went, — lovely Chatty, sweet picture of heavenly
beauty. After dinner Catty, May, and Craufurd
would crowd round their Father to hear him read
Shakespeare, and would charm him with the intelli
gence with which they would follow it and seem to
recognise at once the historical characters. He had
finished to them 'King John,' and has left off in
' Richard 1 1.'

CATHARINE TAIT. 167
The weeks passed rapidly between our return
home and Christmas. We had many friends iwith
us constantly all this time. They came to see the
exceeding brightness of that home which, being too
bright for this sad world of sin, was soon to be
clouded. The work of that earthly home was soon
to be ended for five of that happy company ; their
Heavenly Father has taken them to that ' house not
made with hands, eternal, in the heavens,' and
we who are left desolate without them here, often
long to know what is their occupation there.
Early in December, their Uncle, Colonel Tait,
came to say good-bye before his return to India.
He loved the children dearly, and we put them
all in a row that he might look from one sweet
face to the other ; he pictured to himself how
he would find them grown on his return home.
He gave them each a present, which we had
hoped all would be able to show him when he came
back. From the day he left them they blended
his name in their prayers, earnestly asking that
God would give them a happy meeting with him
again. On the Saturday before Christmas our usual party
from Scotland came, and a very happy Christmas we
had ; little did any of us anticipate that this was to
be the last on earth for so many. Catty and May,
assisted by Cousin Nannie, worked hard in their
play-hours to get dolls and a cradle ready as a sur
prise for the little ones. They were in great delight

168 CATHARINE TAIT.
helping me to choose Christmas presents for all. In
the morning they sung our Christmas Hymn at
prayers, then we went to early Communion, and all
those bright faces greeted us on our return ; after
wards they went with us to both the other services,
and quite entered into the holy joy of the day. , Both
the services ended, all were summoned to the study,
— friends, servants, and children ; the latter came
in in a row, holding by each other's dresses. The
table was then uncovered, amid shouts of joy ; the
children carried the presents prepared to every one,
and received many presents themselves. The five
little girls had each from us a doll, Craufurd 'The
Young Voyagers.' After our dinner the happy group
came in, said their Christmas Hymns and Psalms,
then helped their Uncles to cut the bun they had
brought with them from Scotland. We then all went
up to the drawing-room, and the choristers came to
sing with us Hymns and Carols for an hour or so,
after which the choristers received their Christmas
presents and went down to their supper, returning
for family prayers. I looked at our tired little ones
as they went happy to bed, and heard from them
what a happy Christmas Day they had had, Will
the poor old Deanery ever see such bright days
again ?
They enjoyed much these Christmas holidays, and
spent much of their time with us. New Year's Day
our darlings gave for us to the poor the clothes we
had prepared for that day ; this was a great pleasure

CATHARINE TAIT. 169
to them. Towards the end of January we had our
Night-School Feast, and keen was the enjoyment ;
no one present will ever forget the dear children on
that day. The day after, their Father went to Edin
burgh for a fortnight, and I with Cousin Nannie took
these darlings into close companionship. He returned
for Lent on Shrove Tuesday. As we were all
gathered round him after dinner, the medical man
came in to tell us of our Bishop's sudden death.1 I
had taken the little ones away when I saw by his
face he had some sad news. The shock was great,
and cast a sadness over us. The following Sunday I
took my darlings to church, morning and afternoon,
for the last time ; little Chatty sat close beside me to
look over my book, and her face of heavenly bright
ness was kept fixed on mine, that she might join in
the Psalms, which she could not read quick enough
to follow them herself. Dear Catty helped Craufurd
to attend by pointing out all the service to him.
They all seemed to me very attentive, and it was a
great cause of thankfulness that they did seem so
really to love God's service on earth. My May said
to me after Chatty's death, ' I could not help looking
at you, dear Mamma, that last Sunday, and wonder
ing when dear Mamma's place would be empty in
church.' Ah ! my May, you were never again to be
by Mamma in church. Most Sundays we went, after
church, to see the progress made in rebuilding the
'Bishop Percy, our kind friend.

i7o CATHARINE TAIT.

Cathedral,1 but we did not go that Sunday. In the
evening I read with them as usual, but felt poorly. I
was able to remain with them till their bed-time ; my
darling Catty stayed a little longer with me than
the others. She looked distressed when she thought
I was not well, so I folded her in my arms and sent
her to bed. Ah! my Catty, what you would have
suffered if God had taken your mother from you that
night ! But no ; that fearful parting has been ours ;
now, when death comes, it will restore us to our
darlings again. After they had left us that night, I
talked to dear Cousin Nannie till their Father came
up tired from his last Sunday night-class. When he
had finished his tea, I asked him to take me into the
nursery. I watched a few minutes beside my Chatty,
Susan, and Frances in their three beds side by side,
kissed them each, and dear Craufurd in his corner
bed, then went to my darling Catty and May in their
own room, watched and kissed them for a few
minutes with tender anxiety, then went rapidly to
my. own room, never again to visit that unclouded
nursery. When next I went there, one bed was gone,
and its little inmate lay alone in my room, waiting
for her last quiet resting-place. That night, soon
after one, our little Lucy was born, February nth,
1856. Next morning their Father went with the
same happy heart he had so often gone with before,
to tell his darlings of their new treasure. Great was
1 The Cathedral was at this time being restored, and the ordinary
service was held in the Fratry or Chapter-house.

CATHARINE TAIT. 171
their delight. He took them the same day to see
their little sister, as I was not strong enough to be
allowed to show her to them. Susan clapped her
baby hands, and said, ' Pet, pet.' After the first
week was well over, they again were a good deal with
me ; the little ones would come in turns to my break
fast — first one, and then two, and then three at a
time, and sit by me on the bed. Dear Catty and
May came on the Sundays and read some book to
me while I had breakfast. On the week-days these
dear girls would creep in whenever opportunity
allowed, and read to me. I see them now sitting on
the box beside my bed, one with her work, the other
with her book, reading in a clear, sweet voice, and I
watched their good intelligent faces with delight, and
felt that I needed no one else except their dear
Father to cheer the hours of quiet recovery. On
Sunday, the 24th, third in Lent, I was on my sofa
for the afternoon. Dear May had a little attack of
asthma, so she and Craufurd stayed to read the
service with me, that we might join in it while it was
going on in church. That week, as I was stronger,
they began to gather round me again for their after
noon work and reading. They were very good, and
we all enjoyed greatly these times. Aunt. Lizzie
came to stay with us at this time, and found the
little party gathered round me. She could hardly
realise that we had so many, but I told her it was
indeed true that we now had seven, and each a full
source of joy. Sunday, 2d March, fourth in Lent,

172 CATHARINE TAIT.
was a day of gladness such as we shall never know
on earth again. With my breakfast came my Catty.
May and Craufurd took their place each on my bed,
read and talked with me till time to go to church.
As they left to get ready, Chatty opened the door to
get a Prayer-Book, and seemed to me in her exceed
ing beauty like a vision for a brighter world. She
kissed me, and then ran off to church, saying, ' It is
my turn to stay with you this afternoon.' Little
Frances, finding the coast clear, came to see pictures
on my bed ; she looked from one to another. When
she came to any solemn picture, she said, ' You will
tell me about that sad picture when I grow bigger.'
'Am I growing bigger, dear Mamma ?' None ofthe
pictures would pacify her till I could find for her the
one of the Good Shepherd carrying and leading the
lambs. When once this was found, she was content
to go to bed and leave me alone to seek from the
Good Shepherd blessings for those little ones, which
I know He has now given them in rich abundance.
For the afternoon service, Catty, Craufurd, and Chatty
stayed with me, and read the service, the latter look
ing over my book. When this was ended, we sang
some Hymns. Chatty said, ' I know quite well, " Oh!
that will be joyful, when we meet to part no more !"
" Behold a Stranger at the door." ' Catty chose the
latter, and we sang it. I then showed them the
Sunday pictures. Taking up one of St. Stephen, I
said he was a martyr. Chatty said, 'What is a
martyr ? ' I said, ' One who was called upon to die

CATHARINE TAIT. 173
for Jesus Christ.' Craufurd said even little children
were martyrs. I, putting my arms round Chatty, said,
'Yes, even such little ones as Chatty died gladly,
that they might go to be with Jesus.' She looked
up with a look I never shall forget, it was so sweet.
Yes, my little lamb was ready for her Saviour's call !
Before the week was half over, she was with Him.
I read ' Naomi ' to the other children for a little
time, and then they all placed themselves in a row in
the passage, to have the great pleasure of seeing dear
Mamma walk again — for the first time since little
Lucy's birth — into the drawing-room. I was too
tired to wish them good-night separately, and Catty
and May sang one sweet Hymn before they went to
bed. On Monday dear Chatty and Susan were on
my bed together at breakfast, full of fun as I played
with them ; but, as Chatty was lifted off to go out, I
said to her nurse I thought her pale. They all drove
out together, and their Father rode after them and
gave them leave to get out and play with their dear
little playmates the Wordsworths. Alas ! little ones,
it was your last play together, but quite as bright as
any that had gone before. When they came home,
I came to the drawing-room, and found them ready
for me to read to them. Catty and Chatty sat upon
two chairs side by side ; the elder was helping the
little one with some patchwork she was anxious to
finish. A pleased and most sweet look of love
lighted up. the face of each. I watched them for a
few minutes, and said to some one who was near me,

174 CATHARINE TAIT.
'Did any one ever see two such sisters ?' and a vision
of brightness never to be realised came over me, of
life going on with these most sweet daughters, for
every one of whom seemed to open a field of unusual
promise. It has opened in brightness indeed, but
they are hidden for a season from our eyes. When
I had read for a time, I said, ' My Chatty, you look
tired.' She said, ' I am, dear Mamma,' and, kissing
me, went off to her little bed. Catty and May stayed
in turns and read to me while I had dinner. Next
morning, when Mrs. Peach came with my breakfast,
she told me that May had a bad cold, and would stay
in bed, and that Chatty had been sick, and was not
well, but she had given her some medicine, and
would keep her quiet, and that in a few hours she
thought she would be well. She continued a little
poorly all day, and at four in the afternoon, when I
went to the drawing-room, I asked Mrs. Peach to
bring her to me, as she was then up. When she
came she looked little, and seemed weak and hot,
also a look about her eyes gave me a feeling of
anxiety. I put her little chair beside me, and Catty
gave her a parcel containing the little book, 'The
Woodman and his dog Caesar,' which we had got for
her as a reward for having learnt so quickly to read.
She was pleased with it, looked at the pictures, but
seemed very languid, as if she could not bear noise.
I put her on the sofa, and she went to sleep. When
she awoke I took her in my arms ; she was very hot,
and seemed quite poorly. I sent for Mrs. Peach, and

CATHARINE TAIT. 175
said she should not return to the nursery. (Ah !
sweet lamb, you had seen your nursery for the last
time.) We agreed that a little bed should be made
by the side of my bed, which was done. She was
put. to bed, and soon went off into so sound a sleep
that we felt hopeful that morning would find her
much as usual. When she was gone the other
children came, and we had our reading, ' The Young
Voyagers,' — the last reading. I went to bed at ten,
but could not sleep ; why, I know not Their Father,
who had been dining out, came to see me and to
pray with me before he left me. We neither of us
felt uneasy about our Chatty. Yet a sadness seemed
resting upon me. She slept most of the night, but
was rather restless at times, and thirsty when awake.
All night I lay listening to each sound she made, and
Mrs. Peach came to her several times and gave her
a drink, which she took nicely, and did not seem to
have a bad sore throat Once or twice in the night
I heard her say ' Where ? where ? ' as if angels told
her of a brighter home ready for her. Towards
morning, but still in a deep sleep, she raised herself
in her little bed, and in a voice which told its tale to
my poor heart, she said the following prayer, her
usual prayer for night : — ' O my God, teach me to
love Thee. O my God, teach me to pray. O my
God, keep me from sin. Pray God to bless me,
make me a good and holy child, and keep me to Thy
heavenly kingdom. Forgive me all my sin. Teach
me to know and love my Saviour Jesus Christ, who,

'76 CATHARINE TAIT.
when on earth, suffered little children to come unto
Him, and whose child I was made at my baptism..
Bless my dear father and mother, my dear brother
Craufurd, and my sisters. Bless my dear little baby,
for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. Our Father,' etc.
' Now I lay me down to sleep,
I give my soul to Christ to keep ;
Sleep I now, wake I never,
I give my soul to Christ for ever.'
She lay quiet for a little time, and then in a voice
of exceeding clearness she said the poem she had
been learning the day before.
I felt much alarmed, and a weight of sorrow came
on my heart ; it was the first time that a sense of
danger for any of my children came over me. I
heard her Father come into his dressing-room, and
rapped for him to come to me. He came at once,
and was much distressed and astonished to find me
crying. I said, ' Our Chatty is ill ; I am not easy
about her : will you send for Mr. Page ?' He tried
to comfort me, and said he would not go to the
School, but would remain and see Mr. Page. After
our morning prayer he left me, and my darling
awoke ; she seemed better, looked like herself. I
said to her, ' My Chatty, you have said your prayers.'-
She said, ' No, dear Mamma, but may I say them
with you ?' She then said them, much the same as
what she had said in her sleep, but waited for my
prayer before she ended. My prayer for each of
them ever was — ' O Lord, bless this dear child to-day,
keep her to Thy heavenly kingdom. Prepare her for

CATHARINE TAIT. 177
all Thou hast prepared for her ; order all the circum
stances of her life and death as Thou shalt see best
for her ; only keep her Thine for ever, and suffer her
not for anything the world can give to fall away
from Thee, and give us grace and strength to bring
her up for Thee.'
I little thought that in a few hours after I was to
kneel to give her up to that dear Saviour for ever ;
but so it Vas. She seemed tired when she had
finished her prayer, and lay back to rest, but when
her breakfast came she sat up and seemed to enjoy
it. Dear Catty came in to see me and ask how
Chatty was. Chatty looked pleased to see her and
said, ' Would you like a bit of my bread and butter,
dear Catty ?' I did not wish her to go near, and said,
'No, darling, but- she shall find you your doll.' She
seemed pleased, at the thought of her Christmas doll,
and said Catty would find it in her drawer. When
found, I laid it beside her ; she looked at it for a few
moments and then took no more notice of it. Mr.
Page came, looked at her, asked if she had had
measles. Upon our saying 'Yes,' he said, 'Then
most likely she is going to have the scarlet fever ;
separate the other children.' From that moment
they were placed in rooms at the far end of the house,
and had no communication with those near Chatty.
She sat up when Mr. Page was gone, and said in her
clear voice, ' Mr. Page has been here.' The bell for
morning service was over, and being their usual time
for going out, she said, 'Peachie, where are the others ?'
M

178 CATHARINE TAIT.
' They are gone out, dear.' ' I want to go to them,' she
said, creeping gently down her little bed. Mrs. Peach
said, ' No, Chatty dear,' and lifted her into bed. She
lay quiet for a few minutes and then sat up and began
to look at the pictures she was so fond of, and soon
after, looking at me in a strange, wild manner, began
to open her mouth in a fearful way. I was alone with
her, and rang for Mrs. Peach, who came in a moment,
gave her a drink, and would not let me see her till
the spasm was over; she then moved her bed to the
bottom of mine, and she lay quite quiet while I
finished my dressing. Mrs. Peach then helped me
into the next room to nurse the baby, and her Father
came and sat by our darling. A weight was on our
hearts, a fear of coming ill. She looked most sweet
as I left the room, and a moment after, looking up at
her Father, she said, ' I must go away.' Yes, darling,
away from your happy home on earth to that much
brighter home above, to that portion of those heavenly
mansions ready for us : and not long to be separated
from those sweet playmates of your earthly home,
who had made it so dear to us ! I had not been with
baby five minutes when I heard a noise that alarmed
me in the next room, and giving the poor baby to
Cousin Nannie, I ran to my Chatty. What was the
matter, at first, I could not make out, until Mrs.
Peach said, ' Dear Chatty is in a fit.' We had every
assistance that could be given at once ; she was put
into a bath, and I cut off the sweet soft hair I loved
so well to stroke. She seemed, to a certain extent,

CATHARINE TAIT. 179
to come to herself, but never altogether. Mr. Page
saw her constantly, and Mrs. Peach never left the
side of her darling We kept a watch of agony, but
strove to have no will but His who had lent us this
little lamb. Dear Cousin Nannie, who had loved
this little one with a most tender love, and dear
Aunt Lizzie, watched with us during those sad hours.
About six o'clock I was absent from the room, when
Mrs. Peach came to me, and said Chatty had known
and kissed her. I went soon to her, and she gave
one sweet kiss. She was frequently sick, and would
say in a gentle voice, ' Sick again ;' but between times
she lay quiet, and did not seem to suffer. So went
on these anxious hours, Between ten and eleven I
put on my dressing-gown to nurse my baby, and
while I was weeping over her, her Father came in.
I told him I feared we must part with our Chatty,
and that if it was brain-fever we ought not to wish
her life. He did not seem at that time quite to think
that she must go. I went back to her room much
exhausted, as I had but little strength ; those around
feared for me, and begged me to get a little rest.
Mrs. Peach looked at me and said, 'You have a
husband and many more children, for their sake do
rest' In order not to increase their anxiety I
consented to go for a short time, but before leaving
her I knelt down beside her to seek for strength to
give up this darling, should this be her call home. I
lay down a few moments, and thought now, most
likely, her journey was almost over, how easily she

180 CATHARINE TAIT.
had run her race, and continued as much as I could
in prayer for her. Her Father came in ; he knew now
his darling must go, and his dear heart was torn with
bitter grief. A sudden call at the door took us again to
our room, in which our Chatty lay ; she was just about
to breathe her last, when we all knelt down, and he
read the prayer commending her spirit to Him who
had but lent it to us, and who now had come to take
her to Himself. It was one o'clock in the morning of
Thursday the 6th of March that this precious one left
us. The case had been a very startling one, but as
none of the usual symptoms of scarlet fever had
appeared, I clung to the hope that it was brain fever,
and tried thus to quiet my anxiety about the other
children ; also, they had been separated so entirely
and at once, that unless they had all taken infection
together, we thought we need not fear. Still anxious
thoughts would come. Our spirits were calm that
night, yet full of anguish, and her Father rose early
to go with heavy tidings to his happy nursery. It
was but three weeks since he had taken the happy
tidings of little Lucy's birth, and he knew not how
he should tell them of their loss. He found his dear
Catty combing her long hair ; May was in bed, in
their own little room ; Craufurd, Frances, and Susan,
dressing in the nursery. He took all, except little
Susan, into Catty and May's room, and told them
that their little Chatty was gone from them, that the
Good Shepherd had come for her, and taken her in
His arms to heaven. Catty and Craufurd cried very

CATHARINE TAIT. 181
much ; dear May was very still ; she did not say
much, — her quiet mind seemed at once to embrace
the gain of death. It was necessary for me to keep
my bed most of that day. We went in quite early
to see the lifeless form of our beloved child. There
she lay in the room in which I had given her birth ;
but that day I felt indeed the spirit was gone, and
the little form before us looked so different now the
bright spirit which had breathed through it, and given
it such exceeding beauty, had flown to a region far
more suited for it than this world of sin and sorrow.
After praying beside her, we went back to our own
room, and I to my bed. We then determined, as we
knew not what might be before us, that we would
have the baptism of our sweet babe in private before
our mourning family that day. It had been fixed for
the 1 3th, dear Catty's birthday, if I was strong enough
to go out, and had earnestly been looked forward
to by all the children. When dear Chatty had been
brought to me poorly on Tuesday, I said, 'Chatty,
darling, I hope you will be quite well before Catty's
birthday.' I remained in bed till the afternoon, trying to
realise all that had happened, feeling the greatness of
our loss, also the blessedness of having our sweet
little one in heaven. At four o'clock I dressed and
went into the drawing-room. All the darlings were
brought to me before the servants came up. Catty
and Craufurd clung to me as if they never would
bear to leave me again ; they were weeping bitterly.

1 82 CATHARINE TAIT.
I had to invite my sweet May to take her place on
my lap. Frances came next, a little graver, but still
merry as merry could be. What did she know of
death ? I took her on my lap, pressed her to me, put
back her long light curls and said, ' O my Frances,
how glad I am you are such a sweet earthly child !'
Then came my baby Susan, looking so like Chatty
that as I took her in my arms I said, ' Surely you
were given constantly to remind me of my Chatty.'
The little one looked at me and with her joyous baby
voice said, ' Chatty, Chatty ; Pet, Pet' All were now
ready for the baptism, and the servants came. Mrs.
Peach brought in the little baby, put her in my arms,
and held Frances herself; Miss Godding, our gover
ness, had Susan ; Catty, May, and Craufurd were all
close by me. One place alone was empty, and this
we felt was bitterness enough, but it made us cling
more entirely to those still left. Their Father came
in, read the Service, and baptized his babe, gave her
back to me, and after the thanksgiving for the
reception of this our little 'Lucy Sydney Murray'
into Christ's Church on earth, we all joined, though
with bitter tears, in thanksgiving for the reception of
our sweet Chatty into Christ's Church in heaven. It
was a sweet, solemn service, and one that I felt sure
the elder children would ever remember with a holy
and blessed awe. When all was over, the little ones
were taken to bed, and I was left alone with my three
darlings, Catty, May, and Craufurd. We were trying
to feel as cheerful and happy as we could. I was

CATHARINE TAIT. 183
much struck with their simple loving faith, and their
earnest desire to comfort us. Dear Catty said,
'Mamma, would you read us "The Lost Jewels"?'
It seemed to have made a strong impression on her
mind. All heard it with the deepest interest, and I
then read to them the following poem : —
' " What shall I render Thee, Father Supreme,
For Thy rich gifts, and this the best of all?"
Said the young mother as she fondly watched
Her sleeping babe ! There was an answering voice
That night in dreams ! " Thou hast a tender flower
Upon thy breast, fed with the dews of love :
Lend me that flower, such flowers there are in Heaven."
But there was silence, yea, a hush so deep,
Breathless and terror-stricken, that the lip
Blanched in its trance ! " Thou hast a little harp,
How sweetly would it swell the angels' hymn !
Yield me that harp." Then rose a shuddering sob,
As if the bosom by some hidden sword
Was cleft in twain ! Morn came, a blight had found
The crimson velvet of the unfolding bud,
The harp-strings rang a thrilling strain and woke,
And the young mother lay upon the earth
In childless agony ! Again the voice
That stirred the vision : " He who asked of thee,
Loveth a cheerful giver, " — so she raised
Her gushing eyes, and ere that tear-drop dried
Upon its fringes, smiled, and that meek smile,
Like Abraham's faith, was counted righteousness.'
Their Father was at dinner ; they wished for him to
hear it. I said they should ask him to come when
he had finished, but could Catty bear to see him cry?
— a cloud on his dear face ever brought such grief to
her. He came, and she would have both read to him
again. Friday, I had at the same time a little sweet
talk with them, and felt now that we had a distinct

184 CATHARINE TAIT.
schoolroom and nursery, three in each ; the little link
between the two was gone. Our little funeral was to
be on Monday. Everything was arranging beauti
fully for it to be conducted with as sweet an atmo
sphere of love and hope as we could throw around it.
Only those who knew and loved the little one were
to have any part in taking her to her quiet resting-
place. The children were most anxious to follow
her, and so it was to be, if I was strong enough,
which I quite hoped I should be. Before that day
came we had to learn a solemn lesson, that we can
not choose the circumstances of our grief. Saturday,
I felt much stronger. We were having the picture
taken of our darling. She looked most lovely, but
was to be closed in her coffin that night. The chil
dren were to gather flowers from their own little
gardens to be put in her hands. This they did early
in the afternoon. About four I went into the
nursery, for the first time since the night of Lucy's
birth. They were all in high play, sleeves and frocks
turned up. They looked the very picture of health
and happiness. I sat and watched them a little time,
and thought, that of all they would at their games
miss Chatty the least. It is Mamma that will miss
you, sweet gem. I told them after tea to come
down to the study, and bring their flowers for Mrs.
Peach. They all came and gathered round us.
Cousin Nannie and Aunt Lizzie, as well as their
Father were present. Miss Godding had sweet
Susan in her arms. Mrs. Peach brought in the

CATHARINE TAIT. 185
flowers sent by Mrs. Wordsworth, as her little offer
ing of love to that child she had loved so well. Mrs.
Peach had made a beautiful wreath. I said, It is like
her birthday wreath. Catty stood near Mrs. Peach,
who was going to put the wreath on Catty's head for
the others to see. Her Father pulled her away, say
ing rapidly, 'No, not on Catty!' a feeling evidently
coming to his heart that to connect his eldest born
with death was more than he could bear. They
brought forward little Susan, and the wreath made
for Chatty was put on her head. Alas ! the flowers
which she was to wear also were in that basket.
Cousin Nannie looked at her in her loveliness, and
said to herself, ' Are they ready to give you up also ?'
I hardly took notice of this little scene at the time,,
but it has been told me since. . . . Mrs. Peach
received the flowers they had made ready, put them
in the basket, and went away. Again we remained
with the three elder children. Catty was in floods of
tears, but finding sweet Hymns for me to read ; and
we shall never forget her look, nor how in heart and
mind she seemed to follow her Chatty to that
heavenly home. Her Father was distressed at see
ing her grief, and took her into the schoolroom to
talk and pray with her ; he then took each of the
others in turn, and seemed greatly to enjoy that
sweet communion with them. About ten o'clock I
went to the nursery, hoping to see them all asleep.
Little Frances was in Catty's bed wide awake. I
said, 'My Francey, are you not asleep ?' She looked

186 CATHARINE TAIT.
up and said, 'I've never had my 'scut' I sent
Martha down for her biscuit, and stayed a minute
or two to see if she was quite well. I went into the
sleeping nursery ; one little bed was gone. Craufurd
and Susan were fast asleep ; Catty was not. I said,
'Darling, are you quite happy?' She said, 'Yes,
dear Mamma, I shall soon be asleep.' I took her in
my arms and kissed her, then laid her gently down
to sleep. I had anxiety in my own mind about her,
lest the presence of death should impress her over
sensitive mind too much. I went to my own room,
and got ready to have our last look at that little form
which was that night to be closed from mortal sight.
Her coffin was on her little bed, and she lay within
it, looking most lovely, with the wreath of flowers
round her head, another on her breast, and others
placed all over her. All had been thus arranged by
the loving hand of her who had taken the sweet one
from her birth, and now, with a heart torn with
sorrow, had performed for her the last sad offices.
Catty and May's little offerings were in her two
hands, Craufurd's on her breast. We knelt beside
that form in agony, for it was hard to part with her ;
but strength was given: we felt Whose hand had
given, and now had taken her. We know that we
shall have her again, though not in this world.
Sunday morning came. My husband said* he
would read as much of the Service at home as he
thought I should have strength for. I was to be
ready by half-past eleven. He said ' What shall we

CATHARINE TAIT. 187
do about the dear children? Shall they have their
Sunday-school ?' I said, ' Leave that to themselves.
After prayers dear Catty came to him and said, 'Papa,
might we stay with you this morning and have our
Sunday-school, while you are at breakfast ? and may
we keep Susan ?' Leave was given for both. Catty
was mistress. She put May first, then Craufurd ; left
Chatty's place vacant ; then Frances, and last of all
little Susan, whom they did not usually keep in their
class as she was so young. The sweet babe with a
merry laugh looked at the vacant place and said,
' Chatty ! Chatty !' and would run to occupy it herself.
Catty tried to make her understand that she must
not go there. It was in vain : Chatty's place and
no other would little Susan occupy. At the time
fixed I came into the drawing-room, feeling pretty
well, but tired from dressing. My husband read
the Litany with the whole household, then, seeing
me tired, he sent the servants away. I said, ' Will
you get down the large Bible, and let the dear
children read the Lessons ?' He put it down on a
chair for them, and they sat on three little stools,
their voices sounding so sweet as they read the holy
words. Just then there rushed to my heart a feeling
of separation from them which I could not bear, and
an intense faintness. They were at once sent out of
the room, and help procured for me. What was com
ing ? New trial, that I felt sure of — more separation.
Was I, by a sudden stroke, to be taken and they left ?
It seemed to me likely to be so that Sunday ; its hours

188 CATHARINE TAIT.
passed solemnly, as I walked about the passage lean
ing on my husband's arm, or lay on the sofa, unable
to fix my thoughts. I was better towards evening ;
Miss Godding came in with my Susan in her arms,
radiant in beauty ; she said, ' I could not let her go to
bed until you had seen her.' I kissed her and said, ' I
must not see any more to-night ; it is too much for
me, I cannot bear it.' The child had been at tea in
Mrs Peach's room, and running down the passage
shortly after, she had turned round. Mrs. Peach
caught a glimpse of her face, lighted up with the
beauty of heaven, now very near her, and said to
herself, ' Is that one meet for heaven ?' She was put
to bed in perfect health, and in a few minutes was
fast asleep. Cousin Nannie had been much with the
others ; it had been to all a heavy anxious day.
Towards evening she went with them to the school
room ; she said, ' Would it not be nice to sing some
thing ?' Catty said, ' O yes ! so nice !' flew out of the
room, found the book she wanted, opened it at this
hymn, and all together they sang it with an earnest
ness of voice and manner which will not soon be
forgotten : —

' Here we suffer grief and pain,
Here we meet to part again,
In heaven we part no more.
Oh 1 that will be joyful,
Joyful, joyful, joyful !
Oh ! that will be joyful,
When we meet to part no more.

CATHARINE TAIT. 189
All who love the Lord below,
When they die to heav'n will go,
And sing with saints above.
Oh ! that, etc.
Little children will be there,
Who have sought the Lord by prayer,
From many an Infant School.
Oh ! that, etc.
Teachers, too, will meet above.
And our parents, whom we love,
Shall meet to part no more.
Oh ! that, etc.
Oh, how happy we shall be !
For our Saviour we shall see
Exalted on His throne. Oh ! that, etc.
There we all shall sing with joy,
And eternity employ
In praising Christ the Lord.
Oh ! that,' etc.
Their Father heard them all say their prayers to
gether that night. Towards evening I again felt very
faint, and with a feeling of exceeding dread upon me.
Mr. Page was sent for at my desire ; he told me I was
well, and so were all the rest, he was thankful to find,
and going down-stairs with the Dean they continued
some time talking, as both considered an immediate
change would be good for us all. Meantime I went
to sleep, and awoke in the morning at first feeling
well, but in a few minutes the faintness and the dread
returned again. It was the morning of my Chatty's
funeral. I felt I dare not go. Mr. Page came in,
and the Dean with him. The former said, 'It will be
too cold for. you to go, and I think the children had

190 CATHARINE TAIT.
better not Before I had time to reply, he said, ' Do
you know the child Susan is ill ?' I said ' No ; is it
fever ?' He said, ' I fear it is.' At once I felt quite
well myself, and this came like light to my mind, ' We
are in God's hands.' I inquired about the other
children. They were all well, separated again at once
with every care. If permission could be got, they
were to go to another house with their governess.
Meantime they were in the dining-room, and no one
from the nursery was to go near them. Mrs. Peach
had the charge of dear Susan, and was nursing her ;
the rash was coming out in a nice, healthy form, and
Mr. Page thought she was likely to do very well.
I sent word to Mrs. Peach that I should remain quiet
in bed till the funeral of my darling was over ; that
then I should dress and go down to the other chilr
dren, and I would not see my Susan till everything
was arranged for them, as I should not like to see
them when I had once been with her. I heard after
wards that little Susan had slept well till between one
and two, when she awoke sick. Miss Godding lifted
her out of her little bed and gave her to Craufurd,
while she ran for Mrs. Peach. The sickness passed
away, and she seemed pretty well, but would not go
back to her own bed, so Craufurd was put with
Frances, and she lay in Miss Godding's arms. Mrs.
Peach left them, but soon went back. All were asleep,
except little Susan, who was wide awake, and looked
lovely ; she was lying quite quiet in Miss Godding's
arms, and, hearing Mrs. Peach coming, s^id, 'Peachie,

CATHARINE TAIT. 191
Peachie.' About five Miss Godding sent word to Mrs.
Peach that the child seemed hot and poorly. Mrs.
Peach went at once to her, got little Frances out of
the room as soon as she awoke, and sent them all
down-stairs to the schoolroom under the care of their
nursery-maid. She then dressed little Susan, and sat
with her in the day-nursery by the fire. The rash
came out nicely, and the child seemed to have it well.
At twelve o'clock I heard the carriages come to take
my Chatty to her quiet resting-place. I got up and
went to my window, and saw the little coffin carried
out. Her Father and Aunt Lizzie followed it, then
Mr. Page. In heart and mind I followed, but not
in body ; joined in the silence of my own chamber in
that solemn Service, and then strove to realise the
gain for my beloved Iamb, and sought for strength for
what might yet be before us. Meantime the little ones
had, from the schoolroom window, seen their Chatty
taken away ; then dear Catty called them together,
and finding the Service, the sweet babes all joined
together in it by themselves. When I came down
to them an hour afterwards, dear Craufurd said, ' We
read the Service together, but it was so short that
Catty read us the two last chapters ofthe Revelation ;'
thus did the darling girl, of her own accord, try to
raise them all to the thoughts of that unseen world
on which one of their little company had entered. It
was a sad meeting I had with these dear children, for
very heavy was the weight on my heart as I looked
at them, and felt that death might be among them.

192 CATHARINE TAIT.
They asked at once eagerly about Susan. ' How
is she, dear Mamma?' 'Going on well, I trust,
darlings.' 'What is the matter with her?' 'I fear it
is scarlet fever,' I said. 'Was it scarlet fever that
Chatty died of?' ' Yes,' I said, ' I suppose it was now
Susan has it, though we hoped it had not been so.'
'Will Susan die?' Craufurd said; 'for you know
scarlet fever is quite like a plague, and carries off
whole families.' It alarmed me a good deal that they
should have that impression, and I spoke to them
as cheerfully as I could, telling them that that was
not often the case, that dear Susan was doing very
well, and I trusted it would please God soon to make
her quite well again. I said they should now all go
out, and in a few minutes all were in the. garden and
at play, ' as full of joy as if on earth were no such
thing as death.'
Meantime I had safe beds brought down-stairs for
them, as the messenger could not return from
Keswick, whither we hoped to remove them, till
between ten and eleven. After dinner I looked in ;
all were asleep ; then, for the first time, I went to my
sweet babe. She did look lovely,— her beautiful eyes
bright with fever, her chestnut curls in clusters round
her head, and a light from heaven on her darling face.
When she awoke, and saw me, she clasped her hands,
and said, 'Mamma, Mamma,' and then asked for
' Chatty, Chatty,' and ' Pet, Pet,' — which was the,
name she had given the baby from the first moment
she saw her. She seemed to think, since she missed

CATHARINE TAIT. 193
Chatty from her nursery, that I had her, as well as
baby, who had never yet taken her place in the
nursery. Mrs. Peach looked very tired, and I took
the sweet one in my arms, and asked if she would not
put her into her little bed, for I said, ' I am sure she
will sleep better, as she is not accustomed to be
nursed.' We got the little bed moved in. Mr. Page
came, looked at my Susan, and said, ' That child is
doing very Well ; she could not have it better.' We
were cheered by this account, and I promised soon
to go to bed. When he was gone, as I hushed her in
my arms, I sung a lullaby to her, and she joined in it
in quite a loud, sweet voice, keeping both time and
tune. I then left her, and went to our own room to
go to bed. The Dean was with me, and while we
were praying together after the sorrow and anxiety
ot the day, Mrs. Peach came to the door to say the
Dean was wanted. I waited a few minutes, and as
he did not return, went to little baby in the nursery
close by, and asked what the Dean was wanted for,
and where he was. The poor nursery-maid seemed
as if she could not tell me. At length she got out,
' In the nursery.' I ran there also, but only to find
my Susan in a fit. When all seemed doing well, it
had come in a moment, and, after Chatty's case, hope
left us at once. Everything that man could do was
done. Mr. Page was with us in a few minutes, and
tried everything, but in vain ; the little lovely one lay
unconscious, first in Mrs. Peach's arms till three in the
morning, when she was quite exhausted from her long
K

194 CATHARINE TAIT.

and anxious watch, and then in mine. The little
body was quite stiff, the arms and legs twitching,
the eyes open, but no sight for anything more in this
world. At five o'clock Mrs. Peach took her again, and
I, feeling very ill, went to my own room and lay down.
At seven, her Father came to tell me he thought our
darling would not be with us many more minutes.
I rose in haste, and went with him. It was a sight
full of agony ; the conflict with death was long.
Between six and seven more hours we kept our sad
watch, expecting every moment that all would be
over. It was between one and two when our darling
little Susan left our poor home on earth to join her
Chatty in the Fold above. She died on Tuesday,
March nth, and in sadness and bitterness of heart
we went together to the drawing-room and sat there.
I never saw my little lamb again. A few hours
after, when her Father saw her laid on her little bed,
calm and peaceful, the face had regained some of the
beauty it had lost in the conflict with death. I never
have been able to realise how the other darlings bore
the tidings. We were now entirely separated from
them, as at seven o'clock in the morning they had
been taken to another house. How greatly did this
necessary separation increase to us the agony! I
longed for communion with- those darlings, I longed
to strengthen and cheer them, and anxious, most
anxious, I felt as to what my Catty might suffer, as
I knew she would realise all that was going on, and
would long to come to me and her Father for help

CATHARINE TAIT. 195
and comfort. But we left her and all of them in
God's hand, who had thus come among us, and was
taking to Himself our beautiful ones, whom we had
had such delight in training for Him.
On Wednesday the 12th, soon after three o'clock,
our little Susan was laid in the same grave which
had received her Chatty on the Monday. From one
window in my room I saw her carried out, and from
the other I saw my darlings at Mr. Gipps' house
opposite, looking at me with faces I can never forget,
After a few minutes of watching each other we both
withdrew to read again that solemn Service.
Thursday was my Catty's birthday ; she was ten
years old. Ten years of untold happiness had been
ours since she first came. She had opened to be all
that our fondest wishes could desire, and what a field
of promise lay still before us ! It is impossible to
tell the help she had been with her sisters and dear
Craufurd, — how they were guided by her, and how
gentle and sweet her influence was with them. Most
happy and holy had all her birthdays been. She
used to stay by herself, first with me, and then with
Papa, for a little prayer and a few words to help our
darling on her heavenward way, and then she always
went with us to church — dear child ! All this she
could not have on her last birthday, but in other
respects she had, even though sad, a happy birthday.
We allowed her to go with Miss Godding and choose
a desk which she wished for as her present from Papa.
I sent her a Sacred Poetry, which I knew she would

ig5 CATHARINE TAIT.
love, and other friends were very kind in sending her
little presents. The children had a little feast at
their tea, and I went to the window with Papa to
look at them. They all looked well and happy, and
earnestly we trusted it might please God to spare
them ; and that in a few days it might be safe for us
again to be with them, and that we might move them
to a happy country home, and watch over them with
greater love and tenderness. Our schoolroom, the
three we had brought with us to Carlisle, were still
with us, and we knew what a treasure we had in them.
We looked sadly on our little Frances as we felt that
one on each side of her was gone ; still, she was very
bright, too young to miss them, and baby was given
to take, as it were, little Susan's place on earth, and
we could think calmly, though sadly, of those two
sweet ones bearing each other company in the
kingdom of their Saviour in heaven, and perhaps
watching over the beloved ones they had left.
Darling Francie had been anxious for some little
time that I should teach her to read and to work,
and I pictured to myself the comfort I should find in
this occupation. But this was not to be. Friday, I
watched them from the Deanery windows as they
walked together in the Abbey, and in the afternoon
went to look at them through the window of Mr.
Gipps' house. All sprang to the window and held
up the pictures they were painting for us to see.
Little Frances was very anxious that we should
admire her donkey, but Mamma's eyes were fixed on

CATHARINE TAIT. 197

her, and sweet she looked, and very well. We wished
them all good-night, and early in the morning re
ceived good accounts of them all. It was Saturday,
March 15th. After our sad trouble I felt most
anxious again to go to church. I had been absent
four Sundays ; so we talked together about this, and
wondered if it would be right — if we might venture —
and determined to refer the matter to Mr. Page,
who would soon come in.
On Wednesday, just before the funeral of our little
Susan, we had removed dear Cousin Nannie to a nice
quiet lodging near, in which she could be kept out ol
the fearful currents of air which we now kept in the
Deanery to prevent infection ; also it seemed desirable
to disperse as much as possible, as, though we hoped
the best, no one could tell what might be before us.
About eleven o'clock that Saturday morning the
Dean came back to the drawing-room and Mr. Page
with him. I was just beginning to ask about our
going to church, when he said, 'No, dear, that is
taken out of our hands, for we fear Frances is ill.'
She had been sitting on Catty's knee after breakfast,
hearing a story, when she was taken with sudden
sickness. My Catty turned very pale and called
Miss Godding. Kind Miss Godding immediately
took the little one up to a separate room, and sent
for Mr. Page, having got a nurse to stay with the
others. Mr. Page found dear little Frances looking
pale. She heard the others at play in the room
under hers, and asked if she might have some of

198 CATHARINE TAIT.

Catty and May's beer (this was what she would
always call the port wine which Mr. Page had given
them as medicine twice a day, to strengthen them),
that she might be well and go and play with them at
lions. Mr. Page said she should remain as she was
a few hours, that we might know if it was to be fever
or not ; if it should prove so, he advised us to place
her in our own room, as being so very large and airy,
and having also been thoroughly fumigated and
cleaned, and kept open ever since our darling Chatty
had been taken from it on the Monday. It was got
ready, and with anxious hearts we waited. After a
few hours we were told the rash was coming out
nicely ; but, alas ! it was indeed the fever ! What a
new field of anxiety did this open to us, for now it
was evident that the separation to another house had
been of no avail. Mrs. Peach went over and brought
the dear little Frances to the room got ready for her.
Miss Godding took a warm bath, changed all her
clothes, washed her hair, and again resumed the
charge of her schoolroom children.
I was ready to receive my pet, who was in great
spirits, and delighted to come again to us. She asked
me at once about the pictures she had seen that last
happy Sunday, and wanted to know if they would
be hers. Again I fondly hoped that we might nurse
her not only in sickness, but in recovery, and thought
how nice it would be to show her pictures and talk
to her. This bright little child had become of great
value indeed to us from the others being gone, and

CATHARINE TAIT. 199

we knew well how great a pet she was with our
darling Catty. I cut off at once the dear child's
beautiful long light hair ; having kept one lock, I
burned the rest. She was pleased at having it cut,
and said when she was big she would have lots of
long black hair, but she would not like hair so very
black as Miss Godding's. She was excited with
fever, and talked almost without ceasing. I gave her
her Christmas doll to keep her quiet, and she was
delighted with it, laid it cosy up beside her, and
everything given to her the doll must share. When
I was gone out of the room, she said to Mrs. Peach,
' Peachie, do you know that Chatty and Susan are
gone to God ? and if I am good I shall go also, —
Catty told me so.'
We made her bed fox her, and laid her down, tried to
keep her as quiet as we could, and waited anxiously,
fearing les;t the disease should attack the head, as it
had done with the other two. She continued quite
herself all Saturday, but very much excited, talking
over everything she could remember in her little life,
asking when her new birthday would come, and
drawing in her own mind pictures of what it would
bring her, and the feast she would make with the
others. Her birthday has come and gone since then !
but it was not given to us on it to see her happy
face, or to know the joys into which our darling has
entered. She heard from her bed a dog bark, and
said to me, 'Mamma, is that Mr. Merryman's dog?'
She had seen Merryman acting with his dog at St

CATHARINE TAIT.

¦ Andrews the year before, and it was delightful to us
to see how cleverly the little creature would act the
dog to make us laugh.
Towards evening she went into a nice sleep, and
on Sunday morning when I went to her she was
quite quiet, and in rather a torpid state ; she was
intensely covered with the rash, and the fever was
running high, but it now seemed likely to be of a
much more natural character than with Chatty and
Susan, and we hoped the best About ten o'clock
that Sunday morning Jane came to tell me that dear
Catty, May, and Craufurd were having their Sunday-
school in the window of Mr. Gipps' house opposite.
I went to look at them. It was their last. Sweet
Susan, who had taken Chatty's place the Sunday
before, had since Tuesday been with her in heaven ;
and now, was Frances to follow? and how would it
be with the others ? All this our hearts began
anxiously now to inquire.
It was Palm Sunday ; dear Catty was greatly dis
tressed that she could not go to church, and asked
earnestly if they were not to be allowed to go at all
this Passion Week. For some years she and dear
May had gone every day of that holy week, and
loved also, especially in that week, to work for the
poor, and what they then made, they gave at Easter
to the poor. That week they were making, each of
them, a little frock for the baby of our late cook ;
they are still unfinished. In consequence of my con
finement there had been some delay in getting the

CATHARINE TAIT

print, and, full of energy, they came to me a few
days before the illness began, and said, ' Mamma, the
baby will be grown up before we make its frocks.'
They worked very hard the days they were at Mr.
Gipps' house, and the morning my Catty was taken
ill she said, ' Miss Godding, will you sit in my room,
and get ready my frock-body, and then if I am a littler-
better this afternoon, I can work at it ?'
When the Sunday-school was over that Sunday
morning, and the people began to go to church, Miss
Godding called them to read the Morning Service ;
dear May was suffering that day from asthma, and
sat on Miss Godding's lap. My Catty said in the
evening, when she was alone with Miss Godding, ' I
am afraid I was not very good to-day, for I could
not help looking at dear May, and thinking of her as
she sat on your knee, when you read the lessons.'
Ah, my Catty ! did you fear a separation from your
May, from whom you never had been parted, and
now never never shall be ?
About three o'clock that afternoon Mr. Page came
in to see little Frances, and said he wished to call in
fresh advice, — not that he felt anxious about her, but
that after the death of the other two it would be a
greater satisfaction to have some one to watch her
case with him. He wished for Dr. Christison from
Edinburgh, and we telegraphed for him, but found
that he could not reach Carlisle till twelve next day.
We then sent over to Brampton for Dr. Graham, who
came that evening and saw the little girl. He did

CATHARINE TAIT.

not think her very ill, and quite agreed in all that
was being done for her. She lay oppressed with ill
ness all that day, and was most good and sweet.
She would rouse herself at once to take either food or
medicine when desired, and when she had taken as
much as she could would say, ' No more, thank you,
^iarling Mamma.' She had a restless night, and
when morning came she said, as on each other
morning, ' Now, Peachie, it is morning ; I should like
to say my prayer.' We had a more comfortable
account of her that morning, and when Dr. Christison
came he said she had a sharp attack of scarlet fever,
but he quite thought the child would do well ; he
approved of all that was being done. The opinion of
Dr. Davy, who saw her that day, was the same. We
went over to the other children, to cheer them
through the window by this account. They were in
good spirits, and we all hoped that a few rnore days
would see our darling out of all danger. The Dean's
brothers in Edinburgh were anxiously waiting for
Dr. Christison's report. He gave much more hope
than fear to them, ' But,' he added, ' it is a treacher
ous disease — none more so.' About ten o'clock, when
the doctors came in, she was quiet, and they did
not seem uneasy about her. Her Father and I were
keeping watch with Jane till one, when Mrs. Peach
would take our place. Soon after the doctors left
she became highly delirious, and so restless we could
not keep her in bed ; this lasted for some hours,
and we became so much alarmed that when Mrs.

CATHARINE TAIT. 203

Peach came we determined again to send for Mr.
Page. He came, and had her put in a hot bath.
She was so weak that I thought she would sink
under it, but when taken out she seemed better,
and went into a sweet sleep. We also left her, and
much exhausted went to bed. Tuesday she was ill,
very ill, highly delirious, and worn out with fatigue.
About four I had been out for a little drive, and went
to look at my other darlings ; they had been with our
kind friend Mrs. Dixon to the gardens at Knells, and
had brought back some beautiful flowers. My Catty
said, ' Oh, Mamma, we brought them for you.' I said,
' Keep them for me, darling, I could not bear them
now ; please God we are a little happier at Easter,
I shall so like them.' But when Easter came it
brought no flowers to us. I went in and stayed a
few moments alone with my little Frances ; she was
asleep and quietly so. I knelt down beside her ; her
life was in the balance, but Who was directing it ?
Should I take the choice upon myself, and crave at
any cost the life of this sweet child now so very
precious to us ? I thought of the Home in Heaven
to which Chatty and Susan were gone, and then
thought of the very brightest home I might hope to
secure for this little lamb on earth. If her Home in
Heaven was ready, should I wish to keep her here ?
No ! I knelt and asked Him who could see all that
was before her and us, to do as he saw fit with this our
blessed child, and I knew that He would strengthen us.
Night came, and a very anxious night we had, sit-

204 CATHARINE TAITI
ting with her till about two in the morning, and then
leaving her with Mrs. Peach while we sought a little
rest. At eight o'clock next morning Mr. Page came,
into our room, and with quite a happy look said, ' That
child is better.' Our hearts were full of thankfulness,
and earnestly we trusted our cup of sorrow was over,
and that a little joy and hope would come to us.
After a little time I rose and went to her, having a
good account of our three darlings in the other house.
Alas ! she seemed to me no better, but rather worse.
Mrs. Peach said, ' I do not think her so well— a change
came on as soon as Mr. Page had seen her.'
She continued very restless and suffering all day,
but so patient and good ; at times highly delirious.
The only thing she would take that day was ice,
which she called ' Papa's goodies,' but the dear little
voice was clouded much, and the throat very, very
bad ; still she could swallow. At four o'clock the
other children returned from a drive with Mrs. Dixon
and Aunt Lizzie. I went over with their Father to
see them. Catty looked most beautiful ; we could
not take our eyes off her. It seemed now as if every
look of health was of untold value to us. Aunt Lizzie
came and walked with us, and told us that while out
driving some one had stopped the carriage to ask
after Frances. When Catty heard her spoken of as
in danger, she closed her eyes and lay back in the
carriage — that sweet face clouded with an expression
of untold sorrow, as if she could not bear it. She
said. shortly afterwards, 'Does any one ever recover

CATHARINE TAIT. 205
from scarlet fever ?' and Aunt Lizzie said that while
walking with her she clung much to her, and would
not loose her hand. Miss Godding has since told me
that that night, when the others were gone to bed, my
Catty asked that she might read again the chapters
Papa had read to them when he told them of their
Chatty being taken from them. She did read the
last two chapters of Revelation, and thus closed her
days of health.
After looking at them for a few minutes through
the window, we returned to dear Frances, whose rest
lessness was now intense. Dr. Davy, who saw her
that evening with Mr. Page, thought she would re
cover. About eight o'clock we were sitting by her ;
she was worn out with fatigue, and kept saying to
herself, ' Oh, I am so tired ! I am so tired !' Then I
heard her say, as she fell off to sleep, ' Our Father
which art in heaven.' Often, very often, we prayed
beside our little lamb. She fell off to sleep, but the
first hour was a restless and pained sleep, sad to
witness ; it little by little became calm and very
quiet, so that I lay beside her and slept also, while
her Father watched at the other side. At ten o'clock
Mr. Page came in, looked at her for some time
as she slept, and felt her pulse. O how we longed
to hear him say, ' This sleep is all we can desire ; she
will awake better' ! — but no ; he said, ' Can you rouse
her, and give her a little port wine ?' I did so, and
with her little head on my arm tried to give her
some. She made a great effort to take it, but said

2o6 CATHARINE TAIT.
' I can't, I can't' It was too true ; she could not
swallow. She had never refused before. Still I
hoped it might be that we could not rouse her enough,
and that after more sleep she might awake and take
what was necessary for her. Mr. Page said with a
grave but very kind voice, ' This is a very important
night for her ; if you can give her at any time a
little wine, do so.' I felt at once that he meant to tell
us hope was over, and went to Mrs. Peach (who had
only been able about two hours before to leave her
for a short rest) to tell her all that had passed. She got
up at once ; as we entered the room the quick, short
breathing which precedes death came on. Her Father
was not prepared for this change ; he said at once,
' Oh ! something can be done ; run for Mr. Page.' He
had only just reached home, and returned immedi
ately. We saw by his look that nothing could be done ;
he watched her a little time, and then desired us to
raise the sofa, and that that would ease her breathing.
We did so, and she sank to sleep. I walked about
the room in agony, not only because I knew now
that this precious jewel must go, and that our home
must ever miss this merry blessed little one, who had
shed such brightness upon it for four years, — my
will was subdued enough to feel that at our Father's
call we could give up this one also — but we had
jewels of untold value still untouched, and how I
feared for them ! A feeling was on my heart, ' Is all
this to prepare us for something much worse ?' It was
indeed an hour of agony untold, but at length I was

CATHARINE TAIT. 207
calm, and able again to kneel beside my dying child.
She slept, and did not suffer ; no fear was hers, no
agony! the conflict was over, and Christ Himself
near her and us, to take her in His arms and lead
her to His Home above, safe with the sweet com
panions of her nursery. I knelt beside her, with
her Father close by. Mr. Page, Mrs. Peach, Jane,
and Elizabeth all knelt, while her Father again read
from the Visitation Service the Commendatory
Prayer. Mr. Page then left us, and we continued our
silent watch one other hour. I held the little burning
hand in mine, kneeling beside her, until it became
cold, and the eyes, closed now in death, awoke in
Heaven. She left us soon after one o'clock on the
morning of Maundy-Thursday, March 20th.
Again we left the chamber of death, and sought
our own room, perhaps in greater anguish and
anxiety for those yet left us, than even for that
bright little one who had joined our Chatty and
Susan. We had the three in heaven, our little babe
to begin our nursery with again, the three eldest, our
dear, dear companions. For them we feared. How
would they bear the shock ? How should we tell
them of it ? Earnestly we prayed that God would
now stay His hand and spare to us the rest. We
sought His guidance and protection for them. No
doubt He heard that prayer, though He could not
grant us what we so earnestly asked for.
We then considered what to do, for morning would
soon break, and the closed windows and bell would ,

208 CATHARINE TAIT.
tell the sad tale. We determined to ask our kind
friend Mrs. George Dixon (who for somedays had
expressed a kind anxiety that we should send Catty,
May, and Craufurd to her) to come over early and
take them to her house for the day, and then to tell
them how it had pleased God to take their Frances
also. Accordingly the Dean wrote to her to this
effect, and then gave orders that the windows should
not be closed, nor the bell tolled, until they were
gone. About four in the morning we went to bed,
and slept till six. At seven the Dean got up,
anxious to watch for the removal of his three
darlings from Mr. Gipps' house. I was alone in bed,
and there came to me a feeling of agony and terror ;
all seemed going from us, and at once. I was above
their schoolroom, from which, a few days before, I
used to hear the happy, merry voices. Now I heard
distinctly a sound of terror. A loud distinct swell
from the notes of their piano, and immediately after
the little voices seemed calling, ' Papa ! Papa !' I knew
it was not so, yet distinctly I heard it, and jumping
out of bed, ran to my Husband. He could not come,
so then I said, ' Mrs. Peach, do come and bring the
baby.' She came and sat with me a little till my fear
left me, and I asked earnestly if the children were
gone, and if they had yet been told. No one seemed
to know, and nothing could be seen of them, only we
saw Martha in the window opposite. Mrs. Peach
brought me my breakfast, which I tried to eat, and
said, ' Ah ! we know now what it is to eat our bread

CATHARINE TAIT. 209
in heaviness and sorrow of heart.' I then said, ' Have
you heard yet of the other children ?' She said, ' I
have not had the heart to ask.' Soon after the Dean
came in and Mr. Page — oh with what tidings ! — Catty
was ill ! She had been sick. Mr. Page promised that
we should go to her. I asked where she was, and
found she was still at Mr. Gipps' ; the others were
gone, and would remain with Mrs. Dixon. Mrs. Dixon
had received our note as soon as she was called ; rose
immediately, with much sorrow for us, and went to
fulfil the sad office intrusted to her. The children
awoke as usual, got up, asked eagerly after little
Frances, and were told that nothing had yet been
heard from the Deanery. Catty, while dressing, felt
very sick and faint. Miss Godding immediately put
her to bed, sent Martha with the others down-stairs,
and sent off for Mr. Page. He came at once, and as
he reached the door said, ' Who is it ?' Miss Godding
said, ' Catty.' He said, ' Oh ! not Catty.' But, alas !
it was. He saw her, ordered her an emetic, and
desired she might be kept very quiet.
The others, meantime, were down-stairs alone, and
the nurse saw dear May come and lead Craufurd
alone into the dining-room, and shut the door ; she
crept round to the window to see what they were
doing ; they were kneeling sweetly together at prayer.
At this time Mrs. Dixon came. It was a fearful
shock to her to find Catty ill, she had left her so very
well the evening before. She found that Mr. Page
had given orders that we should not be told about
O

210 CATHARINE TAIT.
Catty till he came again. She took the remaining
two back with her, told them about their Frances,
and kept them as happy as she could that day.
Next day, alas ! she was ill herself from anxiety and
distress about us, but after a little time, through
God's mercy, her attack passed away. Mr. Page
came again soon to see dear Catty; she had been
very sick ; and he found her pulse so much reduced
as to cause immediate alarm. He gave her cham
pagne and water, which revived her, and she soon
seemed in a more natural state. He came to tell us,
and wished her Father to go to her ; but what could
be done about the sad news we had to tell ? I urged,
at first, strongly, that she should be told, and her
Father consented to go over and break it to her as
gently as he could, and then that I should soon go to
her. He went to her. Miss Godding had been
sitting quietly with her, and as soon as the sickness
had passed away, she said, 'Miss Godding, it is
Thursday in Passion Week, will you read me some
of the Service?' The Epistle and Gospel were read
to her, and she then said, ' The especial lessons have
begun, I can find them ;' and, taking the Bible in her
own hand, she found them, and gave them to Miss
Godding to read to her.
When her Father came in she seemed delighted to
see him, and asked at once how Frances was. Miss
Godding answered so as to evade an answer, and
following him out of the room said she felt surf that
to tell her would be fatal. He went back and payed

CATHARINE TAIT. 211
With his darling, and then returned to me. I had
been meantime to see the form of my little Frances,
as it lay in my room, with a look of unclouded inno
cence and beauty. I dared not stay too long, as
what I craved for now was calmness of spirit to
enable me to take my watch beside my first-born, —
that child who had called forth within us all that can
be called forth of heavenly love and happiness, — that
child who had fulfilled our every wish, and who
helped us with the others, and did her work in a
way wonderful to contemplate. She and May grew
together in the most undivided and beautiful way;
must they also be separated? Who can tell the
agony of our spirits ? By the form of our little child
we knelt, and sought for calmness and strength,
whilst we earnestly sought that the life of our Catty
might be granted to our prayers. I then went over,
and with calmness, as if I had never been absent
from her, took my place beside her. She was very
glad to see me, threw her sweet arms round my
neck, and asked me to pray with her, which I did.
Her hair was all loose about her, that beautiful hair.
I knew it must come off, and said, ' My Catty, is not
your hair very hot ? shall I cut it off?' She calmly
said, ' O yes,' and turned first to one side and
then to the other while I cut it off, feeling all the
time as if by this act I was giving up my child. I
kept a little hair in water and burned the rest. I
then sat down beside her; she was quite herself.
She said, ' Dear Mamma, must I get up to-day and

CATHARINE TAlT.

have my bath ?' I said, ' No, darling, that would
not be good for you.' She said, ' I do not think I
could stand.' She then asked about Craufurd and
May, where they were, and if they would not come
back to sleep with her. I said No, she must be kept
quite quiet. The doctors came ; I went down-stairs
to get my directions, and with deep sadness I said
to Mr. Page, ' It is difficult to go to work again with
no hope.' He said I must not say this, that there
was no cause for it ; her age was much in her favour,
and he quite hoped now that the disease would be
in a milder form. She was now better than she had
been a few hours before. I remember little more
that day ; she slept a good deal, awoke to take what
she was ordered ; and I, exhausted, lay down and
slept beside her. At night Miss Godding and the
nurse kept watch. She had a very fair night, and all
slept a good deal. Good Friday morning came, and
found me again beside her. Her Father came to the
door, but feared to come in lest he should excite her,
and had every hope she would do well. She seemed
much stronger than the day before. Dr. Davy saw
her at one o'clock, and- gave me most comforting
hope that she would do well. I tried now to get all
the hope I could. I felt that when that quite went,
my strength would go also. She had very early in
the morning asked for the Service for Good Friday,
and Miss Godding had read most of it to her. I
prayed with her, as I always did when I had been a
little time away from her ; it seemed the only stay

¦ CATHARINE TAIT. 213
we had, for we felt now that human help could not
reach us. I then sat beside her, the Prayer-Book in
my hand. She said, ' Could you read me the Epistle
and Gospel ? I have not heard them ;' and then,
after I had read a portion, she said, ' Dear Mamma,
shall you go to church to-day ?' I said, ' Not this
morning, darling, but this afternoon. I am going to
thank God for giving us our little Lucy, and for
making me well again.' Alas ! I dared not tell her
what other sad office we were going to perform. She
then said, ' Will you read me a little of my book ?' and
taking up a book that lay beside her, she found the
place herself and gave it to me. I could hardly read
it ; it was some story about a little child telling of
the death of his brother, and it said — ' God wanted
another angel to be in heaven, and so he called my
brother, and I have had to play alone since then.'
I soon stopped, saying, ' Darling, it is not good for
you to have much reading at a time.' She said after
wards to Miss Godding, ' I should like to be read
to, but dear Mamma does not think it good for
me, so I had better not.' It was ever thus with
my Catty : she would always bend her will to ours
at once. About two o'clock in the afternoon of
Good Friday she sank to sleep, and I left her with
Miss Godding and the nurse, and went over to the
Deanery and put on my robes of deep mourning
for the first time, not only now for Chatty and
Susan, but for Frances also, and to follow her to her
little grave. I could not bear to see another carried

214 CATHARINE TAIT.
out and wait in agony at home. No, I felt that by
going I might gain a little strength, and that it would
comfort us to go together to give to the keeping of
our Saviour the little one we had loved so well, and
who now must sleep with her Chatty and Susan till
He clothes their mortal bodies with the full beauty
of immortality. We feared any sound for our Catty
that would tell her what we were again going through,
so we would allow no bell to toll, no carriages to come
to the door. The great gate of the Abbey was kept
closed as at night, and when three o'clock came, we
crept out as quietly as possible from the Deanery
with our little funeral.
Sweet Catty, did an angel tell you that your
Frances also was among the blessed redeemed whom
you ever loved to think of and sing about ? We had
not dared to tell you, but I believe that God Himself
had revealed to you the tidings of joy. She slept,
but as the coffin which contained the form of her
beloved ^Frances crossed the threshold of our door,
she raised herself in her bed, and with a loud voice
said, 'Jesus cried, Lazarus, come forth. And he that
was dead came forth, bound hand and foot with grave-
clothes ; and Jesus said, Loose him, and let him go.'
When she had said this, she lay quite still in a deep
sleep. Sadly and solemnly did we meantime follow
the lifeless form, and with the same blessed words of
comfort and hope laid her in the very grave containing
her Chatty and Susan, and then returned to church
to give thanks to God for my own deliverance and

CATHARINE TAIT.

2I5

the birth of my little Lucy. This was indeed a time
of sad contrast to any before. When I went, after
May's birth at Rugby, Catty was with me. After
Craufurd, Catty and May were both beside me, so
each time had one more been added. In August
1854, Catty, May, and Craufurd had knelt beside me
while dear little Chatty and Frances watched close
by, over the little Susan then brought to be baptized.
We returned home in sad anguish of heart, and walked
together about our garden. I said to my husband,
' Oh, surely God is not going to take from us all our
children !' He said, ' O no ; I feel almost sure God
will spare us the rest : He will give us back our dear
Catty. When Easter dawns, I believe and trust that
hope will come back, and we shall see her really
better.' We could not contemplate the possibility of
our Catty being taken. She was sleeping quietly, and
I went to my room to nurse my dear babe. Mrs.
Peach brought her, and I said, ' Now I have had the
courage to put on these robes and follow my Frances
surely this will be the last ; God will spare us Catty !'
Then, when alone, earnestly did I crave, from Him
who only could help, that thus it might be. When
calm and quiet enough to resume my place beside
her, I went back to her room. Her sleep was now
a kind of torpor, though she would rouse when de
sired to take medicine or food. The fever was in
creasing upon her. Her Father still only came to
the door, but lived in prayer for his first-born. I
stayed with her till about one in the morning, and

216 CATHARINE TAIT.
then left her to the kind care of Miss Godding, who,
with others, was to remain with her that night also.
Soon after I had left she roused a little, and said to
Miss Godding, ' It is Easter eve ; will you read me
some of the Service ?' Miss Godding told her it was
not morning, but she said, 'It is past twelve, it is
Easter eve ; I should like to hear it.' Some portion
was then read to her. Looking up earnestly she
asked, 'How long did our Saviour remain in the
grave ? was it three days ?' and then in the same kind
of way she said, as if questioning herself, ' What is it
makes Easter so happy ?' She sank into a heavy
kind of torpor, and the report which reached us next
morning was not one to quiet our deep anxiety. We
both went to her. To her Father the change seemed
fearful. What ravages disease had made upon that
dear face, so brilliant a few days before ! Fear began
now with both of us to take the place of hope. We
watched and prayed together by her and with her.
He often went out pf her room, and every one he met
with that cared for her, he asked to join in prayer for
her. He sent to all the churches to ask that prayer
might be made for her and for us. He reminded me
how his own life had, when hope seemed over, been
granted to the prayers of the Church offered for him ;
and how, when Easter dawned, not only hope but joy
had been given to us, when we had both thought
that nothing but agony lay before me. He still clung
to the thought that Easter now would bring us hope.
The day went on ; the doctors came about four. I

CATHARINE TAIT. 217
could see Mr. Page was very uneasy ; he well knew
the value of this life we were watching. He desired
us to take her out of bed, and sponge her with
vinegar and water. This we did, but the skin was
burning and dry. He then desired us to give her
a vapour-bath by bottles filled with hot water, and
wrapped in damp flannel put all about her ; but
alas ! no relief to the fever ; no moisture on the skin.
We watched and watched in silent agony, doing
all we could, and still feeling that this precious gift
was in God's hand, and He could give her back. We
stayed with her long, but rest we must have. Mrs.
Peach took our place, and we left her. Easter
morning came, but with it no hope ; she was much
the same ; no joy, no ray of joy or comfort came ; all
seemed dark as night. I watched the people as they
came from the Easter Communion early on that day.
I had never been absent before on that day since my
Confirmation, but there was no place for us that day.
Mr. Page was there, and when he returned was sent
for to Mrs. Dixon's ; the news he brought from there
hardly seemed to increase our agony, it was so great.
May was ill ! Sweet May, during the last days the
only ray of brightness that ever came across me was
of you and Craufurd, still sweet companions. Good
and holy May, if you were spared Craufurd would
still have one to guide and help him. I ever seemed
to feel that he would not be taken ill.
Now, indeed, our cup seemed full. What should
we do ? Mrs. Dixon was very ill herself that day,

218 CATHARINE TAIT.
May must be brought over to the Deanery ; that we
determined at once, and had her nursery got ready for
her. The Easter bells began to ring. Oh how they
sounded in my ears that day ! Still, there was comfort
in the thought that many who might with Easter joy
join in those services would pray for us. What Easters
had we had together, but now they were over !
When the services we loved so well had just begun,
I left my Catty's room and came to our nursery to
receive my May-flower. She had awoke in the
morning well and happy, but was taken sick before
she had quite finished dressing. She immediately,
with the calmness and quickness of thought that
always marked the character of this most sweet girl,
said, ' Martha, keep Craufurd away from me ; do not
let him come near me,' and then returned to bed,
knowing evidently very well what was the matter
with her. Mrs. Peach went over to Mrs. Dixon's and
brought her in the carriage wrapped in blankets.
She seemed pleased to find herself with us again ;
her eyes looked very bright, and the fever gave her
a brilliant colour.
May had the gift of exceeding brightness of beauty,
which almost everybody loved to look upon, but few
knew with what earnest goodness it was accompanied.
She seemed, like dear Catty, ever to have walked
straight to heaven. Yes, we seemed to feel day by
day how certainly these two dear sisters had chosen
for themselves the narrow path ; and truly they had
found the ways of religion to be ways of pleasant-

CATHARINE TAIT. 219
ness, and all her paths to be peace. With Catty
there had been some of the struggle which attends
the Christian course, and most surely the victory.
With May it seemed as if heaven ever lay about
her, the perfection of childhood's faith which sees
no sorrow or difficulty in the way to heaven.
The Dean had gone over with Mrs. Peach to have
a look at Craufurd, who, when he saw him, but might
not come near him, and a minute after saw his Ma}
carried out, burst into a flood of bitter tears. Poor
child, he felt lonely and desolate indeed. What
should we do with him ? A change he must have.
After much anxiety and agony of thought, we
determined to send him that day to Stanwix, to
Cousin Nannie, who, with the kind friends in whose
home she was living, would watch over him tenderly,
and make him a? happy as they could.
I saw our darling May put in bed, and knelt dowr
beside her to offer her to the care and keeping of her
dear Saviour, in this her time of need. She asked
earnestly after Catty, and then lay quietly down. I
had left the room for a few minutes, and her hair had
been meantime cut off. I felt it at the time a great
relief that I had not to do it. It seemed to give a
kind of hope to me that she at least would be brought
safely through. When I came to her from time to
time during the next sad days, I always found her
veiy quiet ; sleeping a good deal, but most entirely
herself ; when awake, ever anxious for a little prayer
and one fond kiss. Poor lamb, she never knew or

220 CATHARINE TAIT.
guessed the agony of our hearts. How that day
passed with my Catty I hardly know now, though
we were constantly with her ; only leaving her to find
some vent for our suffering, and to pray with a very
agony of prayer, that, if possible, the bitter cup put in
our hands might be taken from us. It seems to me,
so far as I can recall, three hours that she lay insen
sible. It was determined on that day that we should
call in Dr. Barnes, and also send to London for Dr.
Goodfellow. Night came ; the fever was still higher
and higher. We left her towards morning, and slept
from the very agony of our grief.
Easter Monday dawned, and we awoke, longing
that it might bring us hope. Her Father went over
at once to the other house. The doctors were there ;
he returned to me. I saw at once how it was. He
said, ' Catty is no better, and her throat has begun to
swell.' All my strength left me ; I felt as if I could
not live without her; and the agony I felt for his
suffering was harder to bear than anything else.
God was with us to strengthen us even in that dark
ness. I went down-stairs, and Mr. Page came over to
me ; I felt as if I could not go to her, all my strength
of body and spirit was gone. He gave me wine, and
said, ' Go to her, she is quite sensible, it will comfort
you both ;' he could not give me hope, still he would
not quite despair. Her Father went to her, and then
came back and said, 'Do come to her!' At length
God heard my cry for help, and gave me calmness
and a little strength. I went over to her then. She

CATHARINE TAIT.

lay on that bed of suffering ; she threw her precious
arms round me, but could not speak. She knew
what we were suffering ; no words were needed
to communicate between her mind and ours. She
could ever read at once in our face what was passing
within. She had long seemed to us the connecting
link that had kept us all together, in as sweet a bond
of love as is ever given to a family on earth. Her
Father said first, ' I have prayed with her ; will you ?'
I prayed much as we were used to pray together ; it
was by those prayers her soul had been trained for
heaven. I knew she could, without effort, follow them,
and so she did ; her whole soul seemed absorbed
in the prayer that God would bless her, would keep
her to His heavenly kingdom, etc. She followed
every word with her sweet lips, her hands meekly
folded. After our prayers, I said a Hymn she had
loved, not only herself, but to teach the little ones : —
'Jesus, Saviour, Son of God,
Who for us life's pathway trod,
Who for us became a child,
Make me humble, meek, and mild.
I Thy lamb would ever be ;
Jesus, I would follow Thee ;
Let me love what Thou dost love,
Let me live with Thee above.'
She followed every word of it, then she turned
round and looked at us, her eyes full of love. Her
Father said, 'O my Catty, we do so love you,
you have been such a treasure to us, — everybody
loves you, my child ! ' A look and sense of love more
than we or any earthly love could give her burst on

CATHARINE TAIT.

her dear soul, now nearly ripe for hea.ven ; she turned
and looked with a look we never can forget, at us,
and then upward towards heaven, and pointed there
distinctly with her finger. While looking she seemed
to see it open before her, and its light rested upon
her enough even for our dull senses to perceive in
part. While pointing upward I said, 'She sees in
heaven her Chatty, her Susan and Frances.' When
I mentioned the name of the latter, of whom before
we had not spoken to her as taken from us, a brighter
light came upon her, and again she pointed clearly
and distinctly, and then with an earnestness no words
can convey, stretched forth both her hands to be
taken also, as if she saw, as most surely she did see,
the angels waiting to convey her also to that place
in the many mansions of our Father's house — into
which three of her darlings had entered. I looked at
Mrs. Peach and said, ' She wants to leave us ; she
also wants to be taken home!' Her Father burst
into floods of tears : she beckoned him to her, and
stretching forth her dear hand she wiped the tears
away, which she could never bear to see on his face,
and tried in every way to comfort him. While she
felt the gain to herself she did seem to feel for us.
At this time — but I cannot recall the exact moment
— I said to her the Hymn she and dear May used to
love to sing with me every Sunday evening, and part
of which they had taught Craufurd after they were
parted from me : —
' Brother, thou art gone before. '

CATHARINE TAIT. 223
I altered it to' Little ones, ye are gone before us,' etc.
Her little lips followed all the time, and her eyes
seemed looking into that world unseen. Often now
it brings back to me a vision of my two sweet girls
with their arms round each other, chanting with all
their hearts and with their bright clear voices this
Hymn in the days of their health.
Her Father said, ' You know how she loves Easter,
can you say some part of the Easter Service to her ?'
I sang to her the Easter Anthem, and again her little
lips followed. I said, 'Darling Catty, when you
were a very little girl I watched by dear Papa on a
day like this, when all hope seemed taken from us,
but prayer was made by us and the Church for him,
and he was given back to our prayers, and perhaps
it may be God's will to give you back to us, my
darling, for prayer is indeed made for you, — yet God
knows what is best for you and us.' She felt that
she was going, but she still clung to hope that even
at the very last God would hear our prayers and
give her back. No ; this was not to be, but God
gave us this blessed hour of triumph over death to
comfort us. It did not last, for her sufferings again
became intense, so intense that as far as we could
tell she was insensible, and we could only watch and
pray beside her. In the afternoon I felt a wish I
could not resist to see my poor Craufurd from a dis
tance. We ordered the closed carriage, and I went up
and looked at him ; it calmed and quieted my spirit

224 CATHARINE TAIT.
a little even to see him and know that he was well
and not unhappy. When I went back to my Catty
she was still tossing about in sad suffering. Her
Father kept watch with Miss Godding and Mrs.
Peach. How we passed through the next few hours
I really do not know, so intense was the agony.
They are hours which I suppose every one who has
had exceeding brightness of life has to pass through ;
they are hours which burn into one's soul, and leave
their heavy impress through all that remains of time ;
but no doubt, if Christ goes with us through them,
they will produce blessed fruit to all eternity. God
grant it may be so for us, and for all who kept that
watch with us ! We continued constantly in prayer
with her, though she seemed no longer to hear or able
co join : but I think she was sensible, and no ray of
doubt or fear seemed to cloud her mind. About ten
o'clock the doctors came ; they had not before, with
all their fears, given quite up hope, — now they saw it
was over, and that we must know it. Poor Mr. Page
could not tell us, he felt too keenly for us, and gladly
would he and all who knew us have snatched that
cup of anguish from us ; but it could not be, — our
Father's hand had given it, He only could strengthen
us to drink it. Dr. Graham told us that a very few
hours would end that conflict. I had early in the
day, when we feared what might be coming, gone
round to every one in the Deanery, and implored
them that should the accounts of our dear child
become worse during the day, they would all be most

CATHARINE TAIT. 225
careful not to let any sound of such tidings reach
dear little May, who lay very ill in the third day of
her fever, but quite herself, and very calm. The
nurse was at that time, when the sad news did come,
sitting alone with her, and no tidings reached that
dear child of what was going on. So far as I could
make out, she slept calmly and quietly that night.
Mr. Page returned after a few minutes, bringing
Elizabeth from Mrs. Dixon's, — she could no longer
bear the separation, and earnestly desired to see her
dear god-child once more ; at the same time all our
servants came into the room, men and women. The
exceeding bitterness of that hour seemed to touch
every soul, and with loud and bitter crying all knelt
down around her bed. Her Father prayed with them
all for this his most precious treasure ; during the
days of her illness how he had called upon all to
pray for her ! and now before all he had to say, ' Thy
will be done,' and to kneel and give her up. He
read the Prayer of Commendation, and when all rose
from their knees they left us, and again time went
slowly on. She became quieter, and settled off to
die. Mrs. Peach sat beside her and Miss Godding ;
we could not — we went down-stairs, and then came
up again, knelt down beside her, and prayed for her.
At length the agony was too much for me : my
strength gave way ; I could not stay beside her ; I
could not stay down-stairs. Miss Godding took me
over to the Deanery, and laid me on my bed and lay
down beside me. I suppose I must have slept, for
P

226 CATHARINE TAIT.
as the clock struck four I sat up in bed, and in a
very agony of prayer seemed to follow the soul of
my child through its parting conflict. I then prayed
for those who had strength given them to be with
her to the last. After that I again became un
conscious till her Father came in to tell me all was
over. ' Yes,' I said, ' she went at four.' It was so —
at four on Easter Tuesday, her baptismal morn,
steadfast in faith, joyful through hope, and rooted in
charity, she had so passed through the waves of this
troublesome world that she had come to the land of
everlasting life. That day ten years I had stood
with her in my arms at the font, and given her into
her Father's arms, who had baptized her in the name
of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, who had signed
her with the sign of the cross, in token that she
should never be ashamed to confess the faith of
Christ crucified, and to continue His faithful soldier
and servant to her life's end. Yes, with earnestness
of joyful love we had laid our new-found treasure at
our Saviour's feet that day, unflinchingly seeking that
she might be His, and now with the fulness of
sorrowing love we had laid her at His feet for ever
My dear Mother, who stood by us rejoicing ol
Easter Tuesday 1846, no doubt welcomed her with
joy unspeakable on Easter Tuesday 1856. Now she
was gone home ; she is blessed for ever. A few days
before her illness began, she said to Miss Godding,
' I do hope I may go to Church on my baptism day !'
Blessed child ! your wish was granted you indeed.

CATHARINE TAIT. 227
At about six o'clock Miss Godding went, at my
wish, to send my Husband. She found him still in
that sad house. I threw my arms round him, and
said, ' Can you submit ?' Yes, he could even do this,
and he could strengthen me. . How could I have
borne all without his help and his prayers ? We saw
her once more together about four o'clock on the
afternoon of Easter Tuesday. She lay with a wreath
of white flowers round her dear head, and a sweet,
quiet, thoughtful look on her face, — she seemed to me
so like her beloved Father ; we knelt beside her and
prayed as best we could. The next day no bell
tolled, no carriages came to the door ; the Abbey gate
was kept locked ; no sound was allowed to reach our
darling May, and we stole out again to bear to its
last resting-place the body of this beloved one.
The Dean's brother James was with us now, and
other friends came to show their respect and love to
this our dear eldest daughter,— this dear girl who
we had fondly hoped would so soon have taken her
place beside us in all the duties and business of our
life. But God had willed it otherwise. On our
return home, we all met together to receive our Easter
Communion in our sad and solemn house. We
needed it indeed to help us over this heavy part of
our journey, and to enable our breaking hearts to
realise that there remaineth a rest for the people of
God. Now arose the question in our heart, How would
it be with our dear May ? Would she remain with

228 CATHARINE TAIT.
us ? and might we hope to build up our stricken
family again with May and Craufurd, two dear
companions, and little baby ? or would she refuse to
stay after her Catty had winged her flight to heaven ?
My Husband had said, when standing by Catty,
' How will May bear it ? She has never been
separated from her, and no one has ever been able
to speak of the one without the other.' Catty and
May went together in all things. I had then said,
' Perhaps they will not have to be separated.' Still
we did fondly, earnestly hope that May might be
spared. We knew she would soon be happy again ;
she would dearly love Craufurd, and they would
work and play together ; she would be a sweet nurse
to little Lucy, and a dear companion to us. Then
we remembered how simply and easily at all times
she submitted to God's will. About two years ago,
when walking at Rockcliffe with the dear child, her
Father had said, ' I should like to have a house for
you out here in the country.' Sweet May, looking
earnestly at him said, 'Oh, but we must have the
house where God has put us.' It was the great
reality of her life, and would not fail her now.
She had since Sunday, when her illness began, lain
very quiet in her bed, sleeping a good deal, taking all
that was required of her, very patient, regular and
devout in her own prayers, and being so glad whenever
we could come and say a little prayer with her ; she
was also read to a little at a time Every one thought
;she would do well. Dr. Goodfellow, who had reached

CATHARINE TAIT. 229
Carlisle from London a few hours too late to find
dear Catty alive, now took his constant watch with
Mr. Page over. our sweet May. Dr. Barnes was also
in constant and watchful attendance. The night
after dear Catty's funeral was the fourth night of fever
with May. Towards the morning of Thursday she
became delirious, and this went on increasing with
the fever all day to a fearful extent. Towards evening
we could hardly hold her in bed ; there were again
hours of untold trial ; her delirium was that of a pure
and holy child, still it was heartrending to witness.
Hours, long hours, we listened to it, fearing that it
would wear her out, and that she must sink under it
without even again knowing us. Towards morning
She became quieter, and slept. Friday, we were told
the first crisis was over. Scarlet fever had run its
course ; the rash would now die away, and a few days
would determine how it would leave her. The fever
still ran high, and she was quite delirious. Saturday
she was no better ; it would not be a simple case, it
was leaving ill effects — what, no one seemed to know,
until late on Saturday erysipelas appeared all over
the face and neck. Her head became better, and
she knew us, though she was not quite herself.
Towards evening the doctors seemed much more
satisfied about her, but it had been a day of intense
trial, and had told upon her Father, who was very
unwell that night, and kept his bed next morning,
to the great increase of my anxiety. I think it was
during the course of that night that dear May called

230 CATHARINE TAIT.
Mrs. Peach or the housemaid, both of whom were keep
ing watch by her, and said, ' I have had such a curious
dream : I dreamt we were all together at Stanwix
Church, but I shan't tell you what I thought after
that' She then said something about a dear little
boy she had seen at Stanwix Bank — the name of the
house where dear Craufurd was staying, though she
knew not he was there. She then said, ' Will you
find and read to me the Hymn called "Victory in
Death"?' They did not know where to find it, so
she said, ' It is in the book we gave Jane at Christmas.'
The book was found ; she said, ' Give it to me,' and
taking it, found the Hymn herself, and had it read to
her several times : —
' Away, thou dying saint, away,
Fly to the mansions of the blest ;
Thy God no more requires thy stay,
He calls thee to eternal rest.
Thy toils at length have reached a close,
No more remains for thee to do ;
Away, away to thy repose,
Beyond the reach of evil go.
Away to yonder realms of light,
Where multitudes redeemed with blood
Eojoy the beatific sight,
And dwell for ever with their God.
Go, mix with them and share their joy,
In heaven behold the sinner's Friend,
In pleasures share that never cloy,
In pleasures that will never end.
And may our happy portion be
To join thee in the realms above,
The glory of our Lord to see,
And sing His everlasting love 1'

CATHARINE TAIT. 231

It was a Hymn quite unknown to me ; it was her
own choice, sweet child, — she had found and loved
it for herself ; and almost always in health, this dear
girl would find and choose Hymns about death.
From her earliest babyhood, death had seemed to
my May a great and blessed reality, the way by
which she was to attain her real life. When little
more than three years old, soon after we went to
Carlisle, in driving one day, I heard her in high talk
with Catty on some subject. They were sitting in
a little seat behind, and I turned round and asked
what it was they were talking about. May said,
' Mamma, Catty says you would be very sorry if I
was to die, but I am sure you would be very glad,
for you would know that I should be so much
happier.' Nothing but sin seemed to convey any
sense of sorrow to May's mind ; her earnest desire
for everybody to be good was very touching.
After that Hymn had been read to her she said,
' Now will you read to me grandpapa's Hymn ?' I
had once told her that he was very fond of Watts'
Hymn, ' How fair has the day been !' Her love and
veneration for her dear grandpapa (my father) was
another beautiful feature in my little May, and yet
she only saw him from time to time. One day,
some years ago, I found her in tears, and she said,
' Mamma, I was thinking about my dear grandpapa.'
Another time she said, ' Oh, Mamma, I do so want
to see my dear grandpapa,' and she seemed always
pleased to think that he had christened her.

232 CATHARINE TAIT.
Frequently during her illness she asked Miss
Godding to say to her the poem of 'The Better
Land,' and she quite seemed to drink it in.
That Sunday morning I went to her and read a
little of the Bible ; she then asked if she might have
' Emma and her Nurse ' to read to herself. We
could not get it for her, as it had been lent, so we
gave her ' Henry and his Bearer,' and she read a great
deal of it through that day. At half-past eleven I
read the greater part of the Service to our family^
when I returned to her again, I perceived a shortness
of breathing which I did not like. At night when
the doctors came to see her, thinking now that every
hour she would gain ground, symptoms had appeared
which made Dr. Goodfellow determine to remain in
the house that night ; next morning they told us
they now feared the very worst, but that a few hours
would decide. If the disease had assumed the form
they feared, she probably would not live. The hours
passed on, and instead of losing she seemed to gain
ground ; it became evident that what they feared
was not the case. About six o'clock, after long
examination, Dr. Goodfellow told us it was now
evident what form the disease would take ; abscesses
were forming, it might be some time, but if her
strength could be kept up, he had every hope she
might yet do well. He was obliged to leave her that
night, and indeed there was no cause for his stay, —
she could not have a tenderer or more watchful eye
over her than Mr. Page, and it was touching to see

CATHARINE TAIT. 233
how the little girl clung to him, and seemed to look
forward to his visit. Yes, dear May, everything that
man could do for you to keep you here was done ; all
who knew us felt how precious your dear life was, it
had a fourfold value now your four dear sisters were
taken, — and truly I may say that prayer was made
for you and for us daily, by hundreds all over the
kingdom. So clearly do we see in all this the finger
of God — He made it so clear to us that He would
not grant this precious boon, — that we can contem
plate more calmly, perhaps, the fortnight of your
suffering than any other part of our bitter trial.
The next week was one of hope more than fear ;
she was removed each day from one nursery to the
other. She often sat for about half an hour on Mrs.
Peach's knee. She could take as much food as was
necessary for her ; the mind did not wander ; she
was calm and quiet, very patient and very obedient.
Miss Godding and Mrs. Peach, assisted at times and
in turns by the others in attendance, were wonder
ful in their unwearied and devoted nursing. Miss
Godding kept up a brightness and cheerfulness about
that sick-bed I can never forget. And Mrs. Peach
— what a task was hers, for those dear children whose
lives she had watched over, and who were entwined
round her heart almost as much as if they had been
her own ! The Dean and I were constantly with her,
but we did not do much in the way of nursing ; almost
everything seemed at stake for us in that bed of suffer
ing. The abscess formed rapidly, and discharged to

234 CATHARINE TAIT.

a fearful extent ; still not more than Mr. Page thought
she could bear. ' The only thing,' he said, ' I do not
like is, that the pulse still keeps up as high as ever,
and I fear lest it should be caused by some internal
mischief; also, no moisture ever seems to come upon
the skin ; the little hands are dry and hard always.'
She was very good and calm, constant in her
prayers, and asking frequently for a little prayer
from both of us. She did not refer to her darlings
taken from her, except once, when she awoke up
and said, ' I thought we were all together again ;' and
sometimes in the slight delirium which preceded sleep,
she would say, ' I want to go to them, I want to go to
them.' She did not know that her Catty was taken,
and would frequently ask about her; everything
she fancied herself she begged that half might be kept
for Catty. When Miss Godding came to her first,
she asked if she would nurse her or Catty. When
delirious, Craufurd was the one she always called for
and talked about. She liked to be read to, and would
often try to read to herself, for at times she was quite
deaf. The early hours of the night, when I always
remained with her, though not alone, have left a
strong impression upon my mind. She had taken
a quieting powder, and used to sle.ep at that time,
perhaps ten minutes or half an hour together. One
night, I remember well, Miss Godding lay on the
floor beside her ; she slept nearly an hour. It was
the longest sleep I remember, and I knelt at my
prayers on the other side ; the greatness of eternity

CATHARINE TAIT. 235
in comparison to time came fully over me. I could
even rejoice in the certainty of that blessedness into
which my darlings had entered, and calmly could
I leave in the hands of my Saviour the future of this
sweet sufferer. Also, I could accept for ourselves the
present cup of suffering, feeling sure that the feelings
of intense happiness given us in these dear children,
now broken for this world, would be taken up and
perfected in that world which is to come. Sunday
came again, but we did not feel so hopeful as we had
some days before. I was sitting by the dear girl
with my Bible open. She asked me to read, and I
read to her a portion of the first chapter of the Acts.
She then said, ' Will you read to me the twenty-fifth
of St. Matthew ?' It was a very favourite chapter
with her, and she listened eagerly to it. She was
moved that day to a water-bed, which we hoped
might ease the suffering in her back, which often
made her give a cry of extreme pain ; when placed
upon it she seemed more easy. On Saturday,
Craufurd had sent her two eggs, an orange, and a
little note. She was highly delighted at receiving
them from him ; she said she would have one egg
herself, and Miss Godding should take the other to
Catty, also half the. orange ; as for the note, it must
be placed in her own hand, and when any one came
into the room, she called them, and said, ' I have had
a note from Criff; is it not nicely written ? Will you
read it to me?' And then she would say, 'How
kind he was to send it to me !'

236 CATHARINE TAIT.
On Sunday evening her Father was again very
poorly, and we had great anxiety about May, as Mr.
Page could not tell us the pulse had yielded, and
now many days had gone on. I stayed with her till
twelve, and then, being anxious about the Dean,
went to try to make him sleep. That morning I
went early to her room, hearing that in the night she
had thrown up a little blood. Mr. Page came, and
looked much distressed when he heard and saw this.
Alas ! it told its own tale. What he had feared was
true : internal mischief was going on. He went with
me to the Dean, who had awakened very poorly, and
then he said to us, ' May is worse.' It was a very dark
morning to me, for I was anxious about both my
husband and May. I went with a heavy heart and a
slow step from the one to the other, and to poor little
baby, who I felt would soon be our only daughter
upon earth, though I felt I could not give up hope
about May. Between eleven and twelve o'clock she
asked to be moved in her bed. Miss Godding and
Mrs. Peach raised her. Such a change came over
her ! Death was written on her face, and her breath
ing was hard. I ran to call her Father, who was still
in bed ; he rose instantly to come to her. Returning
to her room, I met Mrs. G. Dixon, who had heard she
was worse, and was come to inquire about this dear
little girl, for whom she felt a most keen interest, as
she had been with her the last few days of health, and
had been taken ill in her house. I told her how ill
she was, and said, ' Would you like to see her ?' She

CATHARINE TAIT. 237
came with us to her room. No one thought she could
live five minutes. Her Father came in, and we all
knelt down beside her. The feeling in my mind was,
' She has glorified Thee in her life, and we will glorify
Thee in her death.'
Mr. Page came in, and thought the conflict would
soon be over, when as suddenly life seemed to return.
Her eyes resumed their brightness : she spoke to us,
and seemed quite herself. How we began now to
hope that life was indeed to be given back ; that the
worst was over, and the crisis past! This hope I
could not give up all that day or the next, though
she lay very, very ill, with a craving for food, and
yet not. able to keep anything on her stomach. The
sickness was incessant, and the craving heartrending
for us to see. At last she said, ' Everything makes
me sick.' Dear little patient girl, your sufferings
were soon to end ! Night came ; between twelve and
one I was sitting by her. She looked at Miss
Godding and said, ' Where's Catty ?' Miss Godding
did not answer at once, so she called me with a loud
voice, ' Mamma, Mamma ! where is Catty ? where is
Catty ?' It was the first time she had asked me ; I
said, ' May dear, the Good Shepherd has come and
taken your dear Catty.' She said with a voice of
astonishment, 'What!' I said, 'The Lord Jesus
Christ has taken your dear Catty to heaven. He has
taken her to Chatty and Frances and Susan ; shall
you like to go to her ?.' She became very silent, and
did not answer me, but her mind seemed satisfied —

238 CATHARINE TAIT.
she never asked again. A slight change ot symptoms
during the night gave me a little more hope ; in fact,
I felt that if it were possible, God would give us back
this child, so many, so earnest, so frequent were the
prayers for her. All the Tuesday morning I sat be
side her and her Father ; also Uncle James, who had
been with us all this time, came in on the Monday
night to see her. She knew him in a moment, and
said, 'Uncle James!' Her eyes looked as bright and
beautiful as when he had last parted from her in
full health. It made him and us very sad, for the
thoughts of all went back to the few weeks before,
when all the six, in great health and spirits, had
stood at the door to wish their uncles good-bye.
Aunt Lizzie also saw her several times these last
anxious days of her sweet life. As I was sitting by
her, on Tuesday morning, she took the Bible out of
my hand to read it for herself; it was open in St.
Matthew's Gospel, at the twenty-fourth chapter.
Miss Godding helped her to hold it, for she was too
weak herself; we could trace her little eye eagerly all
through the chapter. I said to her, ' May, what are
you reading?' She looked at me and said, 'About
the Last Day.' How calmly and with comfort came
to me the thought that that day would bring no
terror to my child, and again for her also I felt how
little could we see what was before her, but that He
was guiding her who could see and know all. In
His hand I was again able to feel that it was well to
leave her. I tried, but in vain, to make her ask for

CATHARINE TAIT. 239

her own life. When suffering from extreme thirst I
said to her, 'May, do you remember how thirsty
Ishmael was when under the tree, and how God gave
him back life when he asked for it ?' But no — she
would not ask for her life. She asked frequently for
hymns and prayers all through the day.
Mrs. G. Dixon sent her some jelly, which pleased
her much, and a little note ; she would have it put
with Craufurd's two notes.
Dear, dear Craufurd, this was a day of trial for
you. He had never been told of Catty's death ; they
feared so much that he might himself be taken ill
any day. Now the longest time prescribed by the
doctors had passed, and Mr. Page yielded tp my
desire that he should know of Catty's death, and also
of May's extreme danger. We left her room to write
to him. His Father and I both wrote, and put the
letters through lime and water. It eased my mind
that he should no longer be kept in ignorance of God's
dealings with us. I felt a craving desire to see him
again before he heard the bitter tidings. I used
to go every day up in the closed carriage to have a
peep at him, and I determined to go that day also.
I felt it would ease my mind, and her Father would
stay with her. I went to her and said, ' Dear May, I
am going to see Craufurd.' She begged that her love
might be given him, and thanks for his second note.
' Shall I ask Criff to pray for you, dear May, that if it
please God you may stay with us ? Should you like
to stay with us ?' She said, 'Yes.' Calling me back

240 CATHARINE TAIT.
she said, ' Will you see Mrs. Dixon, and thank her for
the jelly?' I said if I could see her I would thank
her. I drove up to Stanwix. Craufurd came running
out, his face beaming with delight to see me ; he
looked very well. I said, ' I have brought you some
letters, darling. Cousin Nannie will read them to
you.' He looked so pleased. I said, ' They are sad
letters, Craufurd,' and a cloud came over his dear
face, but he picked them up and took them in when
I drove away. I returned back to my sick child
again. She said at once, ' Have you thanked Criff?'
I said, ' Yes.' She then said, ' Have you thanked
Mrs. Dixon ? ' I said, ' I have not been able to see
her yet, darling.' She then called her Father, with
great earnestness, and said, ' Bring a paper and pen
and ink, I want to write to Mrs. Dixon.' She was quite
impatient till they came. ' Now,' she said, ' write,
" My dear Mrs. Dixon, I thank you very much for
that nice jelly." ' It seemed an effort to her to dic
tate, and I said, ' That will do, darling, for to-day.'
She then said, ' I want to write to Criff.' I said, ' You
must rest now, perhaps you may be stronger another
time, and then you shall tell us what to say.' . I then
went to nurse baby. When I came back Miss God
ding said, ' She has had such a smile upon her face ! '
I went to her, and she smiled at me, but oh, it was a
smile fearful to witness,, and fearful was the agony it
gave me. About half-past five she said, 'I am going
to say my prayers,' and dosing her eyes she con
tinued in prayer for some minutes, and then, in a

CATHARINE TAIT. 241
whisper which we could plainly hear, she repeated
the Creed. She then called her Father and said, ' I
have said my prayers and am going to sleep, will you
say a little prayer with me?' We knelt down and
prayed with her ; she then called me to say a prayer
with her, and said, ' Good-night, dear Mamma, I am
going to sleep.' We then heard her say to herself,
'May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the
love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost,
be with us all.' These were the last words that
we could hear. Up to this moment I had clung
to hope, but now Mr. Page came in and told us
that she could not stay with us many more hours.
Nothing more could be done. God was taking from
us the charge of this little one also. I said, ' Oh, Mr.
Page, I should so like to keep her ! ' But it could
not be, and I know now it is well.
Poor Mrs. Peach had just left her, after long and
incessant watching, and had gone for a little rest,
fearing she might at night need all her strength. I
went to her, told her how it was, and again she rose
to keep with us that watch of death.
Uncle James and Aunt Lizzie, hearing how it was,
came also. Jane and Elizabeth and the nurse were
in the room. All was quiet, and our spirits were calm
as we kept a watch of prayer and faith round that
little bed. The darling lay quiet and peaceful, as if
she was going to take her evening sleep ; her eyes,
bright and very beautiful, were fixed on us; she
seemed quite to know us, and sweet peace was on
Q

242 CATHARINE TAIT.

her dear face. She was going home, — she was not
to be separated from her beloved sisters. Mrs.
Peach sat close beside her, wetting her lips, Miss
Godding on the other side. Her Father and I knelt
hand in hand beside her bed; Uncle James and
Aunt Lizzie at the foot of the bed. Her Father
prayed with her, commended her departing soul to
her dear Saviour; then I said to her the Hymn
which she had chosen for her own comfort : —
' Away, thou dying saint, away,
Flee to the mansions of the blest.'
I did not shrink now from saying it to her, as I had
shrunk when first she asked for it. Then it had
been hard indeed to say,
' No more remains for thee to do, '
but now I knew it was well, and I turned my anguish
into prayer, — prayer that God would comfort us in
our extreme desolation, and strengthen us to bear
and suffer all His will, — prayer for my Craufurd, that
God would make up to him for these sweet sisters who
seemed so gently leading him in the way that he
should go, and that He would Himself guide him, and
comfort him, and keep him from all evil influence.
Yes, Craufurd ; ever remember the agony of prayer
for you in this sad hour. Until eight o'clock we con
tinued thus beside her, saying texts and verses that
she loved, and which she seemed to follow ; and then
her summons came, and the brightness of those beauti
ful eyes closed for ever on this world of sin and sorrow,

CATHARINE TAIT. 243
and opened in heaven. Thus were we called upon to
part with these five most blessed little daughters, each
of whom had been received in prayer, borne in prayer,
educated with prayer, and now given up, though with
bitter anguish, yet with prayer and thanksgiving.
Now, constantly, with our daily prayers, we say for
them this thanksgiving and commemoration : —
Lord, Thou* hast let Thy little ones depart in peace.
Into Thy hands, O God, we have commended their spirits, for Thou
hast redeemed them, O Lord, Thou God of truth. ,
Thou hast brought their souls out of prison ; and now they praise
Thee. Thou hast delivered them from the body of this death.
Thou hast said unto their souls, I am thy salvation.
Thou hast said unto them, To-day shalt thou be with Me in Paradise.
Now they feel the salvation of Jesus; now they feel the anointing of
Christ, even the oil of gladness wherewith Thou art anointed.
Thou hast guided them through the valley of death.
Now they see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
Thou, O Lord, hast commanded their spirits to be received up to
Thee in peace.
O Lord, Thou hast bid them come unto thee.
Lord Jesus, Thou hast received their spirits, and hast opened unto
them the gate of everlasting glory.
Thy loving Spirit leads them forth into the land of righteousness,
into Thy holy hill, into Thy heavenly kingdom.
Thou didst send Thy angel to meet them and to carry them into
Abraham's bosom.
Thou hast placed them in the habitation of light and peace, of joy
and gladness.
Thou hast received them into the arms of Thy mercy, and given
them an inheritance with Thy saints in light.
There they reign with Thy elect angels, Thy blessed saints departed,
Thy holy prophets and glorious apostles, in all joy, glory, felicity and
blessedness, for ever and ever. Amen.

END OF MRS. TAIT'S NARRATIVE.

244 CATHARINE TAIT.

'"PWO days afterwards the little child was laid in
the same grave with her eldest sister.
We have many letters and a few more details
before us of those sad days, but there is only one
which we shall quote ; it is written by Lady Wake :
— 'When the disease broke out she rose from her
couch, — giving her new-born infant, scarce a month
old, into the hands of a young girl, who was almost
afraid to touch it, having no experience of the sort, —
and gave herself up to the ceaseless anxiety and toil
attending the vain endeavour to check the progress
of the merciless fever. From the first hour the whole
time of the nurse who was Mrs. Tait's right hand in
the management of the children, and who had
watched over her recent confinement, had to be
given entirely to the sick-room. An elder servant,
on whom this work might naturally have devolved,
had herself been taken ill first of all ; there was no
one to watch over the baby but a comparatively inex
perienced nursery-maid-, and it was a touching sight
to see Catharine, from time to time, take it to her
bosom, soothe and nurse it, and then lay it down
again to return to her dying children, assured by the
doctor that infection could not be carried to the
infant. The records of that solemn time have been
preserved, when heaven and earth were met together
in those darkened chambers. Never was God more
glorified than by those dying children and their

CATHARINE TAIT. 245
sorely tried parents. Prayers, praise, and thanks
giving accorded with each young spirit, and there
was no jarring sound to break the stillness. " Thy
will, not mine, O God, be done ! " was all that could
be heard below.
' But what followed has been particularly impressed
upon my mind, as showing Catharine's wondrous
power over herself. When the last sick child, the
sweet little May, died, Catharine returned from the
solemn service at the grave where they laid her
beside her four sisters, all things being ready for the
departure from Carlisle ; she sat herself down in her
own room, and knowing that she must be some time
absent, if she ever returned, she quietly took in hand
the arrangement of the affairs of the poor women
whose subscriptions to the Mothers' Club were in her
keeping ; she went through them all, placing every
one's money with each little account to the proper
name, so that there might be no mistake or loss, and
having done all with a calm that showed she brought
her whole mind to bear upon it, she joined her hus
band, ready to set off with her little infant, now two
months old. And it is this same power that has
borne her through such various trials.
' Everything she accepted as coming straight from
God, and every act, great or small, was simply, as she
used to say with a smile, " part of the day's work." '
Her room, as the reader may imagine, always con
tained touching relics of those little ones. I spent a
good while among them a few days ago. Over the

246 CATHARINE TAIT.
mantelpiece is Grispini's graceful crayon drawing,
to which allusion has been already made (p. 1 22).
It is a study from photographs, and the two lines
from Dr. Newman's hymn run along the bottom of
the oval frame. There are also two or three old
photographs of the mother, — still in the first glow of
her beauty, with the thick festoons of hair which
were the custom of the time, — and the children
grouped round her, Catty with the serious, thoughtful
face which one would expect, and very like her father
in feature, and Craufurd shyly trying to hide himself
behind his mother's dress. There are also two oil
sketches of Chatty, taken after death, and a lovely
separate photograph of May. I should judge she
was the prettiest of them all. Her mother also pre
served this relic of May, — a copy of verses said to be
written by her a fortnight before her death. I do
not know whether this means that she was the author
of them, or merely that she copied them.1 They
seem to me, at all events the first two stanzas, too
finished and clever for a child of nine, but I give
them as copied from the manuscript : —
1.
I saw the early mowers pass
Along that pleasant dell,
And rank on rank the shining grass
Around them quickly fell.
1 An obliging anonymous correspondent has informed me that my
surmise was correct, and that the Verses are from Jane Taylor's
' Poems for Infant Minds.' They had been set to very pleasing music
by Dr. Curwen not long before the little girl wrote them, and pro
bably she may have sung them with her mother.

CATHARINE TAIT. 247

I looked ; and far and wide, at noon,
The fallen flowers were spread;
And all, as rose the evening moon,
Beneath the scythe were dead.
3-
All flesh is grass, the Scriptures say,
And so we truly find ;
Cut down, as in a summer's day,
Are all of human kind.
Man cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down. — JOB xiv. 25.
I am the Resurrection and the Life ; he that believeth in me, though
he were dead, yet shall he live.

rFHE bereaved father and mother returned for an
hour to the Deanery after the funeral, as Lady
Wake has already described, then fled from what
must have been to them as a city of destruction.
' They are in the safe keeping of God and His good
angels,' she wrote ; ' and now know the joy of His
people in the Kingdom of His glory ; and as for us,
we know to whom we have committed them, and
are sure that He is able to keep them for us.' The
words of her friend and parish priest at Rugby, John
Moultrie, in which he speaks first of two little ones
who play about him and gladden his eyes daily, and
then of a third son, were very dear to her, as they are
to thousands of others : —
' I have a son — a third sweet son — his age I cannot tell,
For they reckon not by years and months where he is gone to dwell ;
To us, for fourteen anxious months, his infant smiles were given,
And then he bade farewell to earth, and went to live in heaven.

248 CATHARINE TAIT.
I cannot tell what form is his— what looks he weareth now,
Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining seraph brow.
The thoughts which fill his sinless soul, the bliss which he doth feel,
Are numbered with the secret things which God will not reveal.
But I know — for God hath told me this — that he is now at rest,
Where other blessed infants be, on their Saviour's loving breast.
f know the angels fold him close beneath their glittering wings,
And soothe him with a song that breathes of heaven's divinest things.
I know that we shall meet our babe — his mother dear and I — .
Where God for aye doth wipe away all tears from every eye.'
From that day forwards parents and children
specially prayed together daily that the links which
bound them to the world unseen might never be
broken, that Christ at His coming might bring with
Him those who were gone, so that all again might be
united with the Lord. The lesson upon the son was
deep and lasting. The realised conviction that his
little play-fellows were gone to be with Christ, and
that there was a place prepared for him with them,
became, as he once told the writer of these lines,
the very education of the boy's life, and developed
into a faithful and gracious manhood.

A cross stands over the grave in Stanwix Church
yard, with an octagonal base, on five of the sloping
sides of which are the names of the five little ones,
with dates of birth and death. On the three remain
ing sides are the following inscriptions : —

CATHARINE TAIT. 249
HERE LIE THE MORTAL BODIES OF
FIVE LITTLE SISTERS
THE MUCH-LOVED CHILDREN OF A. C. TAIT
DEAN OF CARLISLE
AND CATHARINE HIS WIFE
WHO WERE ALL CUT OFF WITHIN FIVE WEEKS.

Redeemed from among men, being the first-fruits unto God
and to the Lamb. — Rev. xiv. 4.

He shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in
His bosom. — ISA. XL. 2.

On reaching Moffat, whither they had fled for rest,
Mrs. Tait wrote the following letter to a very dear
friend, who had helped them much at Carlisle in
those dark days : —
'My dear Mrs. Wordsworth, — I have much,
very much, to say, more than I now have strength
for. Thank you very much for your letter, and for
all your tender offices of love to my darlings. May
God bless you and yours for your kindness to them !
Our days of nursing are over, and theirs of pain,
and we can think of each of them as at rest. As yet
we hardly realise their exceeding blessedness ; our
agony is too deep for that, and consequently deadens
our faith; but in His own good time God will
strengthen us if we wait upon Him, as we will strive
to do. If we both live, and have opportunity, you
shall know all the particulars of those most sweet

250 CATHARINE TAIT.

deaths. It will touch you very deeply to hear about
them, yet I know you will like it. They were Chris
tian lives and Christian deaths, and our poor hearts
ask, what more could we desire ? But we feel the
loss, the void, and cannot answer. May's death was
calmly beautiful ; she did not suffer at the last as my
sweet Catty did, and none of them suffer now. Our
dear Craufurd is near us, looking well ; he is counting
the days and hours till he may nestle in our arms
again, which he hopes he may do on Monday. What
a trial it will be to him and to us when that out
pouring comes ! Pray for him that he may meet us
without danger, for the fear of infection makes us
very anxious. I feel my faith more tried for our
darling boy than for ourselves ; but God knows what
is best for him, and can supply his deep need. For
his sake I did crave and think May's life would be
granted ; but it could not be.
' The Dean sends his most kind love ; he is better
for the change. At present I do not feel so strong,
but hope soon to be stronger, and able to continue
nursing my baby, which I have much at heart.
' If you do not know Miss — — , will you kindly
call upon her in Victoria Place ? She only returned
two days before my confinement, so I did not see'her ;
but she most kindly wanted to come and nurse poor
little May when she heard of her illness ; and one
day when, with a sad heart, I was looking out to see
the people going into the Chapter-House for service,
I saw her looking at our poor Deanery with streaming

CATHARINE TAIT. 251
eyes. She is a stranger at Carlisle, and, I imagine,
very desolate.
' I am so thankful to hear your darlings are well.
May God keep and preserve them to you ! I did
for some time feel very anxious about them. — Yours
most affectionately and sadly,
Catharine Tait.
' . . . I longed earnestly to have been with you last
Sunday, for I feel the Sundays here more than I can
tell you ; but this also is a part of my present trial,
which I must bear; and God grant that He may
work all He means this deep sorrow to do within us.'
From Moffat they moved to Halstead, a residence
on Ullswater lent to them by a friend, and here they
remained during the summer, except that the Dean
often went over on the Sunday. A few relatives also
came and went, the Dean's brother and sister (Lady
Wake), and the Dean of Wells and Mrs. Johnson.
To a Cousin. — ' Their lives were dearer to us than
our own ; first our darling nursery lambs went away,
and then those two who were our help in everything,
the great joy and comfort of our lives. But God's will
be done. We can and will praise Him. We expect
to be in this lovely place, which Mr. W. Marshall
has lent us, all the summer. It is such a comfort —
so beautiful and quiet ; and we roam about on two of
his ponies. . . . Often at night, when I had hung over
each little bed, I used to feel this is too much for
earth ; but as then I could bring my gladness to my

252 CATHARINE TAIT.

Saviour's feet, so now I can lay my deep sorrow.' —
May 9.
May 10th, she writes : — ' I want to tell you we are
nicely settled here, and I think we shall enjoy it as
much as we can do anything in this now sad world
to us. The quiet and beauty of this country is a
great boon to our wounded spirits. I begin now to
long for more occupation than this beautiful place
gives.'

'This is your little E.'s birthday. May every
blessing be with her ! and if it please God, may you
see her grow year by year in health and strength,
and may she be all you can desire. How well it is
for us to know that a better, wiser Hand than ours
guides and guards our darlings towards the life
everlasting ! It is only when we enter there that we
are to know the fulness of joy they can give us,
when every tie which has been broken and wrecked
here will be united and perfected.'
We have already seen how they dreaded the sight
of the Deanery again. So deep was this feeling that
they gratefully accepted the kind request of a friend
to exchange houses with them during the ensuing
winter. However, they were not called upon to
consider what they would do as to residing there
next year, for in September came the appointment

CATHARINE TAIT. 253
of Dean Tait to the See of London. The next day
she writes, in answer to a near relative who had asked
to be allowed to read her narrative, ' Yes, you shall
see it I hope it will tell you much of God's dealings
with us, and picture to you that little company of
angels, first as they brightened our home on earth,
and then as they left us one by one for their home
in heaven. Think of them as their father ever
pictures them, — as a bright chain to draw our spirits
up to heaven. Yes, and by that agony has God no
doubt been making ready His servant to do much
work for Him on earth. You will, I am sure, feel a
holy awe with us at the new life which God's provi
dence seems likely to open up to us. I hope this letter
may be in time to convey to your dear father news
which I am anxious he should not learn first from
the papers. My dear husband received yesterday a
letter from Lord Palmerston, saying that he had Her
Majesty's commands to offer him the See of London
when vacant on the 30th. This he has accepted, and
being much occupied has asked me to convey the
tidings for him to your dear father. He and I feel
sure you will give us the help of your prayers. We
do indeed need them.'
Five days later she writes : ' We hope to go to
Carlisle, or rather to Rickerby, next Tuesday (the
Dean will rest quite quiet next Sunday), and remain
till the following Monday, so that Sunday, October
the 5th, will be our last Carlisle Sunday, and we
shall receive the Holy Communion once more in

254 CATHARINE TAIT.
our own Cathedral. We hope to go to Fulham to
see the Bishop the second week in October, and
then, as far as we can see, our destination will be
Brighton.'
IN LONDON.
1856-1868.
A T his first coming to London the Bishop took a
residence in Lowndes Square. The following
letter was written from that residence. It contains
an interesting little memorial of humble faithfulness,
and is therefore given : —
'6 L. S., Feb. 4, 1857. — . . . The little account
which you send is true, with this exception — the
Bishop's mother did not die till he was two years old.
The old nurse lived till he was leaving College. He
returned home in time to spend the last few days of
her life with her. She died with his hand clasped in
hers. The affection between them was very great.
Two Marys entered the service of the family about
the same time ; one still lives near them in Edin
burgh, the other died two years ago, after nearly fifty
years' service, and left a little portion1 to my husband
and each member of his family. She was quite a
character, and used to receive us with open arms
1 I have learned what the ' portion ' .was. The Bishop and his
sister, being apprehensive that she was in straitened circumstances,
used each to send her a ^10 note every year. She did not need it,
but with fine delicacy would not hurt their feelings by sending it back.
She put it all away, and left it to them in her will. — Editor.

CATHARINE TAIT. 255
every time we went to Scotland. He was with her
also on her deathbed.
'We are just on the move to London House. I
took Craufurd last night to the House of Lords to
see his father take his seat there. He was led up by
the Archbishop and the Bishop of Winchester.'1
They moved into London House in the first days
of March 1857. Probably the need of active exertion
helped to relieve the sorrowful recollections of the
time, for it was the first anniversary of their loss.
'London House, March 10, 1857. — I knew your
kind heart would feel for us as this bitter time came
round. Still, it is well. One is guiding us who can
guide us in sorrow and in joy, who appoints our lot
as He knows best. On the whole we are able to feel
content and calm ; the years of life will soon be over,
and then we shall know how well it is. I read the
account I had written to my dear husband last
Sunday when we were quite alone ; we had been to
Islington in the morning, and he preached ; in the
afternoon he seemed able to hear it, and though it
was full of agony to us both, it seemed a comfort.
I have not strength to write to you more to-day upon
this subject. I love to think that you and your
darlings watch over their sleeping-place. How sweet
to think that when the wakening comes we shall be
again all together ! We are having a little memorial
window in our chapel ; it will be in soon, and the
chapel ready. 1 The brothers Sumner.

256 CATHARINE TAIT.
'London House, April 3.
'My dearest Mrs. * * *, — In answer to your
kind letter, I would say that Mr. Purday1 told the
Bishop he thought medallions would be suitable for
the style of the Cathedral. If this is found correct,
we should very much like the same subjects as are
chosen for our own little chapel. The Blessing the
little Children, and the Good Shepherd and the
Lambs — both from Overbeck's pictures. Another,
Christ laying His hand upon a little child, holding
an open book in His hand. A very pretty window
with this subject was put into the Chapel at Rugby
during our stay there, and it was a great favourite of
our Catty and May ; they always had a picture of it
in their own room. The fourth we have chosen is of
our Saviour's Home in Childhood in the Carpenter's
Shop, — what my Chatty always used to call the
Cottage Home. We should also like any way in
which that verse could be introduced, " Yea, though
I walk through the valley," etc., and lilies in some
way, as she used always to say, " Yea, though I walk
through the lily of the valley, I will fear no evil," etc.
We feel sure that Mr. Harcourt would make the
best choice of the artist. We shall not receive our
window until a week, or possibly a fortnight, after
Easter. Then I shall long for you to see it. Mean
time we just begin to use the chapel, and find it a
great comfort. All the house looks very nice. My
1 The assistant of Mr. Christian, the architect of the Cathedral
restoration.

CATHARINE TAIT. 257
own room and dressing-room would interest you, full
of sweet memorials, among which we hope to live till
we meet our darlings again. A year is over now of
the time of our separation, and soon will come the
time for a glorious and blessed reunion.'
This is after a hasty visit to Carlisle on the way to
the Highlands : —
' Oct. 10th, 1857. — Thank you for the beautiful
flowers we found on the one only sweet spot we can
call our own. We feel sure you placed them there.
. . . When we return south we are to take possession
of our new home at Fulham.1 It will be a great boon
to us not to live in London. So beautiful a home
would at one time have brought us much joy, but
that is over.'
A parishioner of Fulham, who saw her for the first
time when they came to Fulham, wrote : — ' Mrs. Tait,
the new Bishop's wife, was at church this morning.
She is a very handsome woman, and had her son with
her, a pale and sad-faced little boy, dressed in a
black tunic'
'Dec. 2$d, 1857. — I am indeed deeply grieved to
hear that you have been so unwell since you reached
Brighton. I am thankful that you speak of yourself
as better, and I earnestly trust that it may please
1 Bishop Blomfield had died on the 5th of August.
R

258 CATHARINE TAIT.
God to give you strength and health. I feel much
comfort in knowing how entirely you are in the hands
of a loving Father, who will surely give you what is
good for you in sorrow, sickness, and weakness, as in
all bright time. I feel a great longing to see you,
and trust after you have been some time longer at
the sea you may be able to come to us here ; the
quiet beauty of this place and the song of birds even
now in the early morning would do you good. I
trust Mr. Wordsworth and the dear children will gain
much by the change.
' I send you a book which I think you will like ;
it comes with my love. I send you also a paper,
about the day our dear Bishop spent at Islington.
It will interest you. Will you kindly send it back
to me again, as I want to keep it ? He is well, but
ever busy. May his work be blessed! My sweet
Lucy is becoming quite a little girl. If you are able
to come, how my darlings will delight in having
yours ! The Bishop unites with me in affectionate
remembrance to you both, and sympathy. He goes
again to-night to preach at Bethnal Green.'

' I wish you could have been with us last night.
The Bishop preached to above a thousand of the
poorest of the London poor. I go with him again
to-night, leaving a large young party to carry on
games, which we have no heart to witness.'

CATHARINE TAIT. 259
In the September of 1857 her father had died, and
so the connection with the Elmdon home came to
an end. Her aunt Lucia O'Brien died in the follow
ing December. In that year also Colonel Tait, the
Bishop's third brother, returned in broken health
from India. There were a few days of extreme
anxiety, occasioned by Craufurd being seized with
small-pox. ' For a few hours,' she writes, ' my heart
knew the agony of fear, but it did not last'
'Fulham Palace, June 22d, 1858. — We came down
here last night for the day, and to keep Craufurd's
birthday. . . . The reality of the presence of those
dear ones in heaven seems daily to strengthen, and
we feel as truly one with them as with the dear ones
still given to us to train on earth. . . . Early in the
winter we hope another little one will be given to us.
. . . Little Lucy is such a boisterous, merry child.'
The baby was born on December 7th.
' On the 1 2th of January our sweet babe was bap
tized by her father at Fulham Church. She is named
Edith Murdoch. Craufurd and Lucy stood close
beside me as I placed her in her father's arms, and
her sweet heavenly sisters who have never seen the
little face on earth seemed to be near us. Her god
parents are the Dean of Westminster [Dr.- Trench],
and Mrs. Wildman, both with us, and my dear friend
Maria Jackson, not able from illness to be with us.
. . . On the 2 ist of January we took our dear
Craufurd to school to Mr. Powles of Blackheath,
whom the Bishop has known for long, and with

26o CATHARINE TAIT.

whom we have had several nephews. It will be
better for his character to be thrown with other
boys than to be constantly with us. God knows
how earnestly we pray that he may walk all his life
in the right way, and that God will give unto him
spiritual life.'
Her home-anxiety was heavily renewed in the
early part of this year. Her eldest daughter was
seized with brain-fever, and lay dangerously ill for
three days. ' I hardly knew how to bear the anguish,
but then hope came back, and now again I know
what it is to feel joy when I hold my two sweet little
daughters in my arms together, and ever think day
by day of the five for whom we shall never know
suffering or anxiety now. ... It seems strange to
have a little one they have never seen ; but to my
heart she brings joy.' Rather more than a year
afterwards the illness returned with violence to the
little girl, but again the danger passed away.
Colonel Tait died in March 1859. 'We earnestly
trust,' she says, 'that through God's mercy he has
joined our blessed ones in heaven. As we stood
beside his bed, and felt that life was passing rapidly
away, I earnestly prayed that those darlings who
had loved him, and prayed for him on earth, might
now be allowed to come and welcome him. It was
difficult to our brother to feel that death was really
come ; yet he seemed able to cling to his blessed
Saviour as his only hope. On Sunday the 13th I
stayed with him during the morning service, part of

CATHARINE TAIT. 261

which we read together. He joined earnestly in it.
I also read to him Trench's poem of Justin Martyr,
thinking it might say to him something which I
longed to say, namely, that it is only when we feel
the nothingness of earth that we begin to know the
joy we have as Christians. It seemed to comfort
him to hear it. Then we spoke of days gone by, and
dear friends gone from us. After church, the Bishop
came in and said to me, " It is our dear Catty's
birthday." " Yes," I said, " she is thirteen to-day ;"
— for until I join them again, I love to count their
earthly birthdays, and realise their age. And yet I
ever remember too that at the time when they passed
away all time ceased for them. The dear Colonel
seemed much touched when he heard it was our
darling's birthday, and he said, "Well, she is only
gone before you." He suffered a good deal on Sun
day and Monday, but continued to be with us down
stairs. On Monday night he walked up to bed,
weak, suffering, and weary. His servant remained
with him that night. I went in about four o'clock,
and said a prayer with him, as he seemed very ill,
and as soon as day broke we telegraphed for our
brothers and sisters. They came that afternoon to
find us most anxious, but by no means without hope.
Chatty [Lady Wake] determined to remain with him
that night, and this was a great comfort to him ; to
her he was able to express that he felt his Saviour to
be to him, at this time of need, his only hope. Mrs.
Peach, when with him, said, " Colonel, can you give

262 CATHARINE TAIT.
up the world ?" " Yes," he said, " I can now give it
up." On Wednesday morning he was much weaker,
but better able to take food, and the doctor had
hopes he would rally. Our dear Bishop had for
some months gone to him in the morning to read
and pray with him. He seemed quite to like his
coming, and to join in the prayers, though he never
said much as to his feelings. The Bishop was obliged
to go that day to Hampstead to preach. Very soon
after he was gone, at five o'clock, a change came
on our poor brother, and at half-past six the doctor
told us the end was near. He was not able to speak.
We were all of us round his bed. We said prayers
constantly with him, until at eight o'clock all was
over. He turned round on his bed, and his spirit
passed away. Little did our dear Bishop expect to
find all over on his return, but so it pleased God.'
'April ii, i860. — Craufurd is greatly enjoying his
holidays, and is very dear and good ; healthful in
body and mind. God grant him a manhood of use
fulness and holiness, if such shall be His will. Lucy
looks well and bright again, thank God, and Edith
just begins to learn the charm of walking alone,
which is a great triumph to her. Tell Reggie an
emu has been sent us from Australia, and is at Ful
ham. Next Wednesday we have our gathering of
all our clergy in the garden at Fulham. There will
be, probably, a thousand. I hope we shall have a
bright day.'
The juxtaposition of the emu and the garden-party

CATHARINE TAIT. 263

reminds us of a little scene which took place some four
years later. At one of these pleasant gatherings the
emu was turned out into the meadow to be inspected
by the guests. But the cows resented the intrusion,
and gave chase to the unfortunate bird. ' Hallo ! '
exclaimed Dean Milman excitedly, ' there goes
Colenso, and all the Bishops after him !' It was, we
think, on the same day that he saw Bishops Wilber
force and Villiers into a cab together, as they drove
off to attend some meeting. He approached them
as they started, and with much solemnity of manner
whispered, ' See that ye fall not out by the way !'
A letter of July 11, i860, announces the birth of
another little one, who is to be called Agnes. This
was her last child. She was christened on July 29th,
at the evening service, at the Palace Chapel, which
at that time was being used for the parish church, the
latter being under restoration.
'Fulham, July 29, i860. — To-day we have, through
God's mercy, laid our eighth daughter in the arms
of the Good Shepherd, and received her back to
nurse and train for Him. May she be united when
her journey is over with her dear sisters in heaven !
Our darling's god-parents are Sir William Page
Wood, Mrs. William Cowper, and Alice Tait. They
were all with us.'
'April 7, 1 86 1. — To-morrow closes the fifth year
since our little Mary entered into her rest, and joined
her sisters in the kingdom of her Father. I feel that
our sorrow has been turned into joy, — joy that these

264 CATHARINE TAIT.
darlings are safe ; that in a busy life, which might
press us down to earth, they are ever a tie to the
world unseen. I never wish them back to this world
of temptation ; we feel that they belong to us where
they are, and that we shall soon rejoice together. . . .
I trust God is guiding our son, and will enable him
to do some work for Him on earth. . . . Lucy is a
child of very strong character, and most dear. May
God give me grace to guide her in the way that is
good ! Her mind opens rapidly. She is a good deal
with me, and as I teach her to read and write my
mind goes back to years ago. I know that this
training, which seems for earth, may be for heaven.
When I remember, as I do daily, those weeks of
anguish, how strange it seems that our nursery should
again be full of joy ; yet so it is.'
'Dec. 1861. — I am sure your heart has felt with our
dear Queen in this time of awful trial. May God
comfort and strengthen her! . , , Craufurd is well,
and very good. As his time for going to Eton draws
on, he has a tutor to help him in some points in
which we want him to get on."
Craufurd went to Eton in September 1862. with
his mother's many prayers.
'Oct. 11, 1862. — The Bishop, after very anxious
consideration, has refused the Archbishopric of York,
feeling that his work really lies in London, and that
it would be a trial to him to sever himself from it.
I am very happy now his decision is made.'
'Fulham Palace, Dec. 31 [1862].— Craufurd keeps

CATHARINE TAIT. 265
me very busy reading with him. He is with us till
the 20th. Eton tells nicely upon him; he seems to
work well, and gained two ofthe three prizes given to
his form, which is large. He is as precious to his
mother as ever. May every blessing and comfort be
with you all this new year !'
'London House, Feb. 18, 1863. — I have sent by this
post a Sunday book for you to read with the boys.
Craufurd read it at Eton and liked it much. I am
going to send you a Sunday book for yourself, which
I think you will value, Denton on the Sunday
Gospels. The portion each week is always a pleasure
to me. It is so deep and full, and opens up the
portion of Scripture so fully. I want to know if I
sent you a volume of sermons the Bishop published
last year. I am reading with much interest Pusey on
Daniel.' In the following June Craufurd was seized with
scarlet fever. She immediately brought him home,
the little ones having been previously sent away.
There are a few lines in one of her letters express
ing her anxiety of spirit, which we can imagine for
ourselves. On his recovery she took him for change
to the house of his old nurse, Mrs. Peach, who had
gone with her husband to live in Staffordshire. But
the air was too strong for him, and brought on
asthma ; so at the end of a week she brought him
back to Fulham, where he quite recovered. From
that time there was no serious anxiety about his
health until the end. ' If he was a dear companion

266 CATHARINE TAIT.

in his childhood,' she wrote on this occasion, ' he is a
far dearer companion and friend now, both to his
Father and myself.'
In the August and September of the year 1864
the Bishop and his family occupied Bishop Ewing's
house at Lochgilphead.1
The following letter, addressed by the Bishop to
Lady Wake, has been partially printed in the Life
of Bishop Ewing. We think, however, it will bear
printing at length : — ' Bishopston, Lochgilphead,
September 2, 1864.
' You will probably like to know whether we are
having sufficient change from the ordinary routine of
Fulham and London House, and therefore I send
you this account of our doings on Tuesday and
Wednesday last, the two last days of August. On
Tuesday, at ten A.M., by special invitation of the
Lieutenant commanding H.M. Steamship on this
station, we went with a large party to Arran ; a good
day; its mountains and lake showing well, and all
things most agreeable. Luncheon on deck ; Brodick
Bay and the Duke of Hamilton's castle and garden
looking their best.
' A little delay at Arran for two of the party made
us later than we expected. Still all was prosperous.
Tea on deck — dancing — sailor's hornpipe — reels —
quadrilles — songs — guitar ; and then, as it got dark,
1 During this time Craufurd and his mother sat to Sant for the
portraits which hang in the dining-room at Addington.

CATHARINE TAIT. 267
and set in unfortunately for a rainy night, we all sat
together talking pleasantly under canvas, and scarcely
noticed how dark and very wet it had become. All
was very pleasant and snug, when the clock struck
(or the bell rang) eight. In a moment a cry,
"Breakers ahead"— "Stop her"— "Back her"— then
three tremendous bumps under our feet — a horrid
scraping noise ; the vessel was fast on the rocks, and
to all appearance, if she ever got off them, would
either swing over or would go down, from the hole
which we could not doubt was drilled in her bottom.
" All hands astern " — a frightful rushing of seamen
and marines, some of them half-dressed, turned out
of the berths into which they had just turned in.
The darkness intense, but breakers and land within
a hundred yards dimly visible.
'Every one behaved beautifully. The ladies as
composed as possible. Craufurd and Max took
Catharine under their care ; Craufurd only beseeching
Catharine — "Dear mamma, promise me that you
will lay hold of a table or anything that can float,
and cling by it." They then had a little prayer
together; but in two minutes the captain had
made up his mind : — " Lower the boat ; ladies and
passengers on shore." One lady, who was very
delicate, fainted, and the doctor determined for her
and her husband that it was best to stay on board.
Two journeys of the boat took all the passengers
and some six sailors ashore, but the landing was not
very easy. The sea was now running very high ; the

268 CATHARINE TAIT.
boat could not come within some yards of the rocky
beach. A middle-sized sailor, who was incautious
enough to insist on taking Catharine on his back,
came down like a shot in the water, and she waded
from the boat. The same fate befell young Auchin-
darroch, who insisted on carrying me — not from the
same cause, but because he stumbled into a hole.
But providentially, some time before half-past. eight,
we, that is, seven ladies of all ages, myself, Craufurd
and Max, Auchindarroch and his three sons, and
three other gentlemen, found ourselves on what we
supposed to be dry land — or at least land — without
any accident.
'The ladies, led by the gentlemen, stumbled up the
rocks, which were not steep, and the tide rising
rapidly kept following them with a tremendous
roaring. Ten minutes later, no boat could have lived
in the surf; and, when we bethought ourselves that
some covering would be desirable if it could be got,
Archy Auchindarroch swam to the ship and had a
tarpaulin thrown to him, which proved in the event
a godsend. And now Auchindarroch and another
gentleman began to reconnoitre the land.
' They soon returned, declaring it to be an island,
and a very small one — whether covered by the sea at
high-water or no, it was at first impossible to say —
but after a little exploring they found a grassy spot
at the top, which looked as if the sea never reached
it, and there a shed or large tent was erected with
the tarpaulin, and another smaller tent. This, of

CATHARINE TAIT. 269

course, took some time. Meanwhile, I stayed with
one sailor looking after the boat. The steamer was
looming over our heads, apparently brought nearer
and nearer to the shore by the tide, or seeming to
get nearer, from the wind blowing away the screen of
the darkness, and making the sight of the vessel
easier. It seemed to me as if it was on the point of
falling over as it rose in the darkness high above the
sea. And now our own boat, hauled up on the
rocky beach, was overtaken by the surge, and filled
with water, while it was tossed from side to side, and
was like to be shivered to atoms — the one sailor
and I vainly tugging at the cable to draw it up the
shore. The outcry we made soon summoned the
other sailors who were ashore ; and I shall never
forget their wild chorus as they tugged at the cable,
shouting a song very unsuited for such circum
stances, and keeping time by the chorus. At last
their tugging hauled the boat up, and it seemed to
be safe from the advancing tide.
' Soon afterwards the steamboat moved, the captain
(lieutenant) having, as we afterwards learned, sent
out an anchor in the other boat, and dropped it at
some distance, and then hauled the vessel off by it
We heard their cheering as they got off the rocks,
and saw no more of them that night, though from
time to time our lookers-out reported that lights
were to be seen, which they supposed belonged to
the vessel.
'And now we all gathered under the tarpaulin,

270 CATHARINE TAIT.
every one wet to the skin excepting me. For my
own part, the Colonel's excellent felt cloak, which I
had fortunately brought with me, was a wonderful
source of damp heat. It was obvious that, whatever
was to become of us in the morning, we must stay
where we were for seven hours till daybreak. All
agreed there was no house on the island. Some
maintained they had seen two sheep in the darkness;
but the existence of any living being but ourselves
on its inhospitable shore was stoutly denied by
others. Some thought we were on the Skate Rock,
but a gentleman (Mr. M'Kinnon) who had shot over
the Skate (famous for otters) declared he was certain
that it was not the said Skate. Some thought we
were about Ardlamont Point ; others that we were
far higher up Lochfyne. Meanwhile, the pelting rain
and utter darkness prevented any useful observations.
'The foresight of the doctor or some other kind
genius, had sent in the boat a bottle of sherry and
two bottles of rum ; and we kept all as close together
as we could — a strange group, as, lighted by the
boat's lantern, we crouched under the canvas, lying
on the damp boggy ground, or leaning against the
rock. We had scarcely crawled into this place and
begun to realise our position — some of us verging
on in life, and most of us accustomed to all "the
comforts of the Salt Market," and therefore some
what depressed — when a sailor proposed to keep up
our spirits by singing a song. It was well enough
in its way, and certainly tetter than the other which

CATHARINE TAIT. 271
they had sung in hauling up the boat, but not very
suitable for people who, through God's great mercy,
had just escaped from imminent peril of death. I
therefore proposed some hymns instead. We sang
the evening hymn, both Keble's and the other,
Jerusalem the Golden, and others used in the chapel
here, in which most of the party had been wor
shippers last Sunday. Then we had a short prayer
commending ourselves to God's good keeping ; and
prepared to keep each other awake as best we could,
for the seven hours before us, as it was voted dan
gerous for any to fall asleep in our soaking state.
I pulled out of my pocket John Shairp's poem
"Kilmahoe," and read aloud "The Sacramental
Sabbath." The Presbyterian minister of Lochgilp
head (who was one of the party) read the next canto
when I was tired. However, it seemed that some
thing livelier was needed to keep the party awake,
and the wonderful spirits of Archy Auchindarroch
(just come home from India with the 72d High
landers, as fine a specimen of a spirited young
soldier as I ever saw, who had really done wonders
for us on our leaving the vessel), were far more
effectual than the grave attempts of the minister and
myself. Auchindarroch too was a host in himself,
keeping everybody's spirits up, and letting nobody
fall asleep. His youngest son, ten years old, was the
only one who could not be kept awake.
'And thus passed, the seven hours. There were
endless speculations where we might be — anxious

272 CATHARINE TAIT.
questionings as to the ship — much thankfulness that
we had not all gone to the bottom, and somewhat
fearful forebodings as to what might be the effect on
elderly ladies and gentlemen, to say nothing of young
ones, from so unexpected a conclusion of our pleasure
trip. ' About three, some streaks of day were descried,
and at last our scouts announced that the vessel was
at anchor at no great distance. It was resolved that
the indomitable Archy Auchindarroch, with two sailors
and another gentleman, should row to the ship and
ascertain how matters stood. About four, certain tid
ings were brought to us that the vessel was safe — that
when she cleared the rocks, to the captain's surprise
and great relief, he found that, as she had struck on the
keel, no hole had been made in her iron bottom — at
least she had not let in any more water — though at
first she was reported to be letting it in, though slowly
' This intelligence put a happy end to our specula
tions as to the fate of our friends ; and also solved
for ourselves the question what we were to do.
Before, opinions had been evenly balanced between
landing on the Ardlamont shore, close to which we
thought ourselves, where there is no road, and beat
ing our way across country to the nearest point,
where we might be taken up by the "Iona" from
Glasgow (this was one plan) : and as the other alter
native, rowing across to the Tarbert side of the loch
and storming Stonefield House for breakfast. The
easier course remained, — to row back to the steam-

CATHARINE TAIT. 273
boat. Very thankful were we all when the captain
welcomed us back ; and the doctor gave us mulled
port to warm us. We all agreed that the captain
was right in sending us at once ashore in the great
uncertainty, — and though those, no doubt, fared best
who remained by the ship, still, for my own part, I
confess I was glad to have escaped the great anxiety
of hauling the vessel off the rocks, when the chances
were that she might have sunk at once like a kettle
with a hole in it, and none escaped but those who
could swim. All seem to agree that iron-bottomed
vessels are more difficult to deal with than wooden
in such circumstances.
' Soon we were making progress for Ardrishaig.
Before six A.M. on Wednesday we landed at the pier,
thanking God ; and for ourselves, were in bed at
Bishopston before the little girls had even found out
that we had not come home at eight the night before,
as we expected.
' Certainly you will agree that this is even more
unlike a quiet Fulham evening than the night of
which, with John and Lady Menzies, we spent six
hours, two years ago, amongst the bogs of Rannoch
and Loch Erichtside. But all is well that ends well.
No one seems to have suffered ; and it is not bad, for
any of us to be taught practically how near we may
be to the greatest danger when we are least thinking
of it— Ever affectionately, A. C. LONDON.'1

1 We have heard a somewhat amusing sequel to this very exciting
adventure. The Presbyterian minister made the best of his way home,
&

274 CATHARINE TAIT.

In the latter part of 1865 Mrs. Tait's letters display
a good deal of anxiety respecting the Bishop's health,
and on the 20th of March 1866 her fears were con
firmed, for he was seized with dangerous illness, after
preaching at St. Paul's.1 He recovered, however,
in April sufficiently to be taken to Fairlight, near
Hastings, and six weeks' residence there restored
him so far that he was able to return to Fulham and
resume his work.2 ' I am much enjoying, and with
deep thankfulness, my husband's quiet recovery,' she
wrote. In July the Cholera broke out in London,
and it was then that she began that special work with
let himself in, and went to bed. Next morning, his housekeeper, who
had been frightened out of her life, questioned him about his late
hours. ' Was I late, Ailie ?' said he, with a look of innocent surprise ;
'weel, perhaps I was, ray ther.' ' Late, sir 1 ' said Ailie ; 'deed an' ye
may say that ; why, it was braid daylicht.' ' Really, Ailie, now ye
speak on't, I misdoubt me it was vera little else.' Ailie pressed her
questions, but her canny master could only be brought to acknowledge
that he just thought he might have been ' a wee later than usual.'
Another trifle connected with the same expedition : — The passengers
urged upon the captain the desirableness of telegraphing at once to
the Admiralty, and so putting himself right there. He did so with
some trepidation. The First Lord at the* *ime was the Duke of
Somerset, who likes his joke, as the House of Lords appears to know.
He immediately telegraphed back the inquiry whether the Bishop of
London was steering 1 And the captain, rightly taking this as an
indication that the accident was not regarded with much gravity at
headquarters, was immediately at peace.
1 It was the Day of Humiliation for the Cattle- Plague.
! The family were constantly in the habit at all times of reading
together aloud in the evenings, sometimes Shakespeare, sometimes
Dickens, sometimes Macaulay or Green or Carlyle. At this time
they were reading Miss Austen's ' Emma ' together, and the Bishop
appropriated to himself the name of 'Mr. Woodhouse.' On these
occasions the children always made clothes for the poor, and many a
flannel garment did Mrs. Tait herself make at these hours.

CATHARINE TAIT. 275
which her name will be always associated. Her
husband has already told how she carried off the
orphan children to Fulham, and how this step was
the beginning of that movement which resulted in
the Orphanage in the Isle of Thanet. Ten years
afterwards she wrote thus of it : — ' Whatever work
I have been allowed to do for that Home has been
connected in my mind with the sweet band of my
children in heaven.' Some account of the progress
of this work has appeared in the Archbishop's, narra
tive. Other particulars will meet us in their due
place. In the month of September, when the epidemic
was over, they visited Elmdon once more, in order
to show their two eldest children the quiet scenes of
her childhood, and then started for Scotland. On
the day following their arrival at North Berwick, the
Bishop attended, at Garscube, the funeral of a near
relative, the young owner of the place, stayed there
a day or two, then returned to North Berwick. They
were days full of sadness to him. He preached there
on the following Sunday, had a long walk on the
sands with his brothers, and returned to evening
service. On the Monday he walked with Lord Stan
hope on the sands again, and was to start for Edin
burgh in the afternoon. Suddenly, soon after mid
day, a sudden and violent paroxysm of pain came on,
and in a few hours it was plain that a very serious
illness was again upon him. This lasted for eight
weeks, and he was in great danger. As soon as he

276 CATHARINE TAIT.

could be moved he was driven to Edinburgh. A
few days there gave him strength to undertake the
journey, first to London, then to Brighton, where
they spent Christmas with their children. Then
they returned to Fulham.
Our narrative so far has been a compilation almost
entirely from Mrs. Tait's own letters, and it needs
hardly to be said that we see here a personal life of
deep devotion, a life full of joyousness and hope, fed
from an inexhaustible Well of life, the natural fruit
of which was a continuous round of practical good
ness. It was not a life of dreamy piety, nor one of
fuss and show. There was always a yearning for
practical usefulness. For instance, in the first months
of her residence in London, she became a lady
visitor at Queen's College, Harley Street, and
attended the theological lectures. But she soon
found it impracticable to continue this, the tax upon
her time being too severe, and therefore she resigned
the duty altogether. But it was not thus with the
homes of the poor. 'At Fulham,' says one whose
home was among them, 'she was untiring in her
visits to the poor. She took a personal interest in
their families. At least once a week she spent some
time in reading to the old people in the Fulham
and Hammersmith Workhouse and in the Fulham
Refuge. The almshouses were an especial care, and
she fostered in her children thus early a reverence
and loving care for the aged, by teaching them to
sing hymns and read to the old ladies. One after-

CATHARINE TAIT. 277

noon a week, it was understood, was given by the
children to this duty.' From the same pen we have
some very pleasing illustrations of her considerate
kindness for those about her. We find it difficult to
quote all these, but one we will venture to transcribe.
The lady who writes was living with her aunts at
Fulham and acting as daily governess to her children.
' At the Christmas gatherings and garden-parties she
always asked my sisters and aged aunts to come
with me, thus giving pleasure to all of us, and at the
same time brushing aside what so often makes the
life of a governess in a large household very lonely.
When the American Bishops were in Conference at
Lambeth in 1867, and there were large parties at
Fulham, she asked my eldest sister and myself to
each one of them.'
Let us turn to another of her practical works.
The Archbishop has himself told us how she awoke
him one night to propound to him her scheme of
the Ladies' Diocesan Association. To his narrative
we are enabled to add a few particulars. It was in
the year 1864. The Rev. T. J. Rowsell, then Vicar
of St. Margaret's, Lothbury, in preaching at St.
Paul's, spoke of so many coming to London for the
season, doing no good, and getting none, but rather
leaving London the worse, and the further from
Christ. Mrs. Tait heard this sermon, and on the
following day sent for Mr. Rowsell, told him how
often she had felt what he had expressed, and added,
' We must do something ;' and then she propounded

278 CATHARINE TAIT.

her scheme. Invitations were sent to a number of
ladies to meet at London House, and bring any
friends with them. Three objects were propounded
to them as to be sought after : —
I. The spiritual benefit of the workers, by giving
some definite work to those anxious to strengthen
their own inner life by consecrated service.
2. The comfort and edification of the sick, suffering,
and lonely.
3. The encouragement of co-operation in good
works and almsgiving.
The chaplains of hospitals, penitentiaries, houses
of charity, and clerks of Boards of Guardians, were
communicated with, and asked if ladies would be
allowed to visit their respective institutions. The
movement was at once successful. Many ladies of
rank and influence became members, and devoted
systematically each week a portion of their time
from the occupations ofthe London season to visiting
their suffering or fallen fellow-creatures. The East
End of London, Bethnal Green, Stepney, etc., were
all arranged for, and funds were collected from the
West End to be distributed in the poor districts.
The ladies met for a religious service once a week
at London House. Mrs. Tait visited each centre
of labour in turn. With a view to training her
daughters to work with her in such deeds, she caused
the Ophthalmic Hospital and St. Martin's Workhouse
to be assigned to them, to be regularly visited with
a grown-up friend.

CATHARINE TAIT. 279
The first chaplain was Mr. Rowsell ; afterwards
the office was held, in the present Bishop of London's
time, by the Revs. W. D. Maclagan (now Bishop of
Lichfield), T. F. Stooks, and George S. Ram. The
latter gentleman still holds the office. From him and
from the lady who first acted as secretary, the above
particulars are derived. The following paper just
issued by the Association will tell its present con
dition under Bishop Jackson's care : —
LADIES' DIOCESAN ASSOCIATION.
1. The primary object of the Ladies' Diocesan Association is
to afford to Ladies residing or sojourning for a season in London
an opportunity of employing some of their time in Christian
duties and works of charity and kindness.
2. That Ladies, who from any cause are unable to take part
in active work, may yet promote the objects of tlje Association,
and retain their Membership with it, by giving or collecting
Alms, which may be brought to Miss Jackson at any of the meet
ings, or offered at Holy Communion on the Anniversary Day
at Fulham, when, if their object be not specified by the donor,
they will be distributed under the direction of the Bishop.
3. That those who desire to do so may thus work under the
sanction and direction of the Bishop of the Diocese.
4. Meetings are held during Lent and afterwards, at London
House, that information may be given respecting any new open
ings for work in Hospitals, Workhouses, etc., and for uniting
in prayer for God's blessing on the work of the Association.
5. Members are invited to introduce to Miss Jackson any
friends who are willing to become associated in this work.
Before quitting this subject we cannot forbear
quoting a few lines from a letter of condolence
addressed to Miss Tait on her mother's death. For
though it was written without a thought of publication,

280 CATHARINE TAIT.
it furnishes such a touching commentary on one of
the objects originally sought, that we are sure the
writer will not object to our making this use of it : —
'Years ago, when I was a Londoner, and joined
her band of workers, of which she was the soul and
spirit, sorrow came upon me, and I went down to
Fulham to say farewell and ask advice. Mrs. Tait
took me up to her room, and poured out her soul in
intercessory prayer for my case; and often since,
when mercies have surrounded me in my home
here, I have thought that that prayer brought my
blessings.'1 1 It is remarkable that another lady writes the following account of
a very similar interview, resulting in a like consolation, which took
place last summer, just after Craufurd's death. It is addressed to her
niece : —
' The short correspondence which you so kindly conducted with me
for her this summer, led to an interview at Lambeth which I cam.
never forget. I went to her under great distress of mind, and her
wonderful kindness in listening to me, a complete stranger, her practical
and experienced view of my difficulties, are all present to meat this
moment. I can well imagine the grief at the two Homes, for I always
found that her name acted as a charm ; and that the feeling towards
her was a very high and living influence with even the roughest of the
little girls.
' I had hoped.in ordering a supply of knitted stockings from Scotland
as a Christmas gift to the Orphanage, that she would have been con-
scious of my constant remembrance of her kindness ; those who will
receive the gift in her place know nothing of the hidden feelings with
which my visit there was bound up. But I hope that you will forgive
my sending it to you with those feelings, and with gratitude towards
her ; for her kind words fell upon a very sad heart.
'Our great and growing consolation is ever the knowledge that these
dear spirits who spent their lives here in proclaiming the Christmas
message of " good- will "towards their generation, are now" realising it
in a fulness of peace and joy in the presence of the Master Himself—
of which we have only a faint idea in this world of broken purpose.'

CATHARINE TAIT. 281
In the November of 1867 they came to the North
Foreland Lodge, and while they were there the owner
of the adjoining residence, Stonehouse, died, and the
Bishop bought the estate. In October 1868 they
took up their abode at Stonehouse again, and here
the vacant Primacy was offered to and accepted by
the Bishop.

CATHARINE TAIT.

LIFE AT LAMBETH AND ADDINGTON.
i 868-1 878.
IMMEDIATELY after the enthronisation the
Archbishop and his family went to Lambeth,
and at once Mrs. Tait set to work amongst the poor.
It was a very different place from either St. James's
or Fulham, for it contained scarcely any but poor
people. Among these she and her children visited
every week. They always visited also on Sundays at
the Lambeth Workhouse. ' I can never think of
the 1 2th of Hebrews without the voice of Mrs. Tait
coming back to me reading it so solemnly by my
bedside in hospital years ago. I can never forget
it,' wrote a poor working man after her death. But
the Orphanage was not forgotten. At her first visit
to Addington she consulted the Vicar as to the
possibility of finding a suitable site for a building
there. None presented itself, and before long it was
decided to build on the Archbishop's private estate at
Stonehouse. They went to Addington for a few days
at Easter, and rejoiced the villagers by visiting every
cottage, when every case of distress was taken note of.

CATHARINE TAIT. 283
It is a beautiful spot, but there was much scope to
be found there for Christian labour. There had been
no resident pastor within the memory of the oldest
inhabitant until 1868, when, through the endeavours
of Archbishop Longley, provision was made for one,
and a vicarage was built. The place indeed had been
long carefully and tenderly watched by the incumbent
of the adjoining parish, who had held Addington with
Shirley, and who had erected a large and beautiful
church at Shirley which was capable of being of use
to both parishes. Archbishop Howley had restored
the little church at Addington, and had built a school,
but there was no certificated teacher until the new
incumbent remedied this, and, with the aid of the
Archbishop and the other landowners, built a girls'
schoolroom. The church, too, had only two pews
allotted to the poor ; and a hamlet of some forty
cottages, about a mile and a half off, had no provi
sion. There was therefore much to be done. The
Vicar got leave to use a cottage in this hamlet which
had been shut up as unfit for habitation ; his wife
fitted it up, and he held a service on Sunday even
ings ; but his successor was enabled, by the help of
his neighbours, to make a large addition to the church,
and to build a pretty mission-room instead of the
tumble-down cottage. The hamlet surrounding it
became a favourite resort of the three girls, who came
to know every man, woman, and child in it ; it would
be hard to find a happier spot in England.
The profusion of heather and wild-flowers all over

284 CATHARINE TAIT.
the Park was something quite new for them, and as
delightful as new. The gardens and conservatories,
too, are very beautiful, and accordingly attention was
at once given to them. ' She was an extraordinary
lady for business,' writes the head-gardener ; ' in fact,
few could compete with her in the general knowledge
of a garden and farm. She keenly liked to see a
well-cropped kitchen garden, and never was so
pleased as when sending away hampers to those who
needed. She had a wonderful system of making the
most of everything, and when she was about, there
was very little vegetables wheeled to the pigs.
Everything was made the best use of, and she took
particular care that all should get as nearly as pos
sible alike, and would ask who got hampers last.
Then she would go to work, and arrange that the
large hampers of useful vegetables should go to the
people with large families, and the choice things to
the sick. It was pretty hard sometimes to make
ends meet, but nobody could help finding pleasure in
doing it. . . . Well, then, with the flowers. There
was scarcely ever a hamper of vegetables ordered,
but flowers were mentioned with it. She would give
the school-children a few pence to go and get prim
roses, and violets, and wild hyacinths, sometimes for
church decoration at home, and in the London
churches, sometimes for the London and Croydon
hospitals. . . . She was always looking out too to
have a number of poor people in the Park to gather
up the fallen sticks for firewood, which, as she said,

CATHARINE TAIT. 285
was cleaning up the Park as much as a charity. If
she saw a fire of rubbish and brushwood, she would
stop to ask if there was nothing burned that would
do for firewood for the poor people.1 In the Home
Farm, too, she quite knew what she was about. And
although many people would make suggestions, she
generally used her own practical judgment. She
knew how many pounds of butter ought to be made
out of a given quantity of milk, and would always
have a punctual account. For many years she
managed her poultry arrangements without the aid
of any agent but the person in charge. Any profits
at the end of the year were divided between the
manager and her charities. The young ladies were
encouraged to buy and feed a pig each, and when it
was sold, the profits were part of their contribution
to the Orphanage. . . . When anything went wrong,
as things sometimes will in the best establishments,
she would not employ anybody to put things right,
but did it herself with that beautiful firmness and
authority that nobody could feel displeased. When

1 She told the Vicar one day that he was to be sure and see that she
did not act the part of Harry Gill to the poor's Goody Blake. It is
hardly necessary to repeat here, what is well known to all who are
connected with Lambeth, that the grounds of the Palace are utilised
to the best advantage to the poor neighbours.
The great park-like meadow is divided into five plots, which are
apportioned in such a way that some thirty-five cricket clubs get each
a turn or two in it per week, and rifle corps, athletic sports, school
treats, tennis-players, all are considered. The invalid poor are
allowed to walk in the' grounds also on producing a recommendation
from the minister in the neighbourhood.— Ed.

286 CATHARINE TAIT.

the storm was over, it was understood that an offence
must not be repeated, but it was never brought up
again. She made her own bullets, and fired them
herself, and allowed no one to interfere between her
and her subordinates.'
' In the simple and natural piety of her household,'
says a former chaplain, 'it was modelled on the
pattern of a country parsonage ; in its large hospi
tality, it was an Archbishop's palace.' The follow
ing thoughtful words are from the pen of a layman
who visited her from time to time : — ' Nothing was
more characteristic of her than her way of spending
Sunday. When you met her in the early morning,
her very face seemed to tell you it was her day of
days. Hers was not a merely negative observance of
the day, in the spirit of the Jewish Sabbath — " Not
doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own
pleasure, nor speaking thine own words." Rather,
it was the natural outcome and complement of her
week-day life — the under-current of her daily life
welling to a higher level and allowed freer course by.
hindrances being put aside for a time. There was
full measure of outward observance, of services and
sacraments and "Church-blest things;" but it was
all according to the "perfect law of liberty," and
without a particle of strictness. She honestly tried
to give up the day, whole and entire, to God and His
special service, or to the service of His poor and
suffering creatures, in some form or other, but with
out giving place either to superstition or scrupulosity,

CATHARINE TAIT. 287

and without judging others, or expecting them to do
what she thought right to do. None but those who
have been privileged to share one of those Sundays
can realise the atmosphere of home affection and
divine love that pervaded them. For the secret
charm of her life and character was her perfect
simplicity and straightforwardness in just trying
with God's help from moment to moment "to do
her duty in that state of life to which He had called
her." Her nature was not to be striking or original.
Evenness and thorough Christian simplicity were its
characteristics. Each new duty, each new position,
she undertook, with diffidence and misgiving indeed,
but with a sure reliance on help which never failed
her. This simple, straightforward, self-regardless
way of taking things as she found them might have
caused, perhaps, in lapse of time, some degree of
apathy or hardness in her disposition, had it not been
for her natural overflow of sympathy, deepened by
the grace of God. In her brightest, merriest
moments, the slightest hint or indication of another's
sorrow or suffering would instantly change her look,
and voice, and manner, and bring to bear the succour
of a most " subtle-paced counsel in distress, winning
its way with extreme gentleness." '
Seyeral letters which are before us dwell upon this
happy observance of Sunday. That old practice of
hers, begun at Rugby, or rather at Elmdon, of
instructing her household on the Lord's Day, was
continued down to the end. Always after dinner,

288 CATHARINE TAIT.
too, the daughters, standing by her or her husband's
side, repeated some hymn or piece of sacred poetry.
How this was continued until the very last day of
her life, we have already seen.
The early life at Addington was a very bright and.
happy period. The three daughters were growing up,
and Craufurd was in the full swing of his studies at
Oxford, and his letters of this period, which lie in a
great heap before us, are delightful to read. They
are full of the keenest enjoyment of life, — of his
cricket, and skating, and riding ; full too of his studies
and Oxford politics. And all through runs a full
stream of genuine, unaffected, but deep piety. You
never miss it. Though it is never obtruded, you find
every topic which is broached, brought to be weighed
in the balances of the sanctuary. He tells his mother
the special subjects of his prayers, remembers his
father's Ordinations at the Ember seasons, looks
forward to his own Ordination with trembling hope.
Their happiness, as has been noted above, was again
broken in upon in November 1869, when, two days
after going to Stonehouse, the Archbishop was
suddenly seized with dangerous illness, and for many
days lay at death's door. Craufurd came imme
diately, and though he managed to bear up bravely
before his sisters, he gave way in the evening to his
overpowering grief. For the next two days all was
ready for Holy Communion when the last summons
should come. ' On the third day,' says one who was
there, ' I went into the dining-room, where Mrs. Tait

CATHARINE TAIT. 289
had just come down to breakfast alone. It was the
only time I ever saw her give way to despair. I was
going to write some letters for early post for some of
their friends, and I asked what report I should give.
" It does not matter, dear, what you say," she replied,
with a gush of tears, " for before the letters get there
all must be over." The next day, Sunday, there was
a ray of hope,, and her spirits immediately rose. The
girls went in to see the patient, and each, according
to their wont, repeated her hymn ; the youngest was
wonderfully brave, though she quite broke down as
soon as she got out of the room.' Sister Nora from
St. Peter's, Kilburn, came to nurse him, and did it
most efficiently. The following Sunday was the first
in Advent, and the Archbishop was so far better that
all the family assembled at nine o'clock in his bed
room for the celebration of the Holy Communion.
On the 2 1st of December — his fifty-eighth birthday
— he was able to be dressed for the first time, and on
that day Mrs. Tait laid the foundation-stone of the
Orphanage. It is one of the most characteristic
features of her life that we come just at this moment
upon a very touching record, which, however, circum
stances preclude us from giving in detail, of her
ministering to one who was sick and weary, and sorely
in need of sympathy and help. The account is
written with the sufferer's own hand.
The year 1870 was a year of slow recovery. In
November they went to San Remo. We need not,
probably, say that during the journeys family prayer
T

290 CATHARINE TAIT.

was never omitted, nor was the daily religious lesson.
Thence they went successively to Mentone and to
Cannes. They returned home, as the Archbishop
has already said, on the eve of Ascension Day. One
letter we have here from a lady, who, at that time,
was acting as governess to the children. The follow
ing passage is characteristic, as exhibiting the unity
of the whole life. It might describe the life of the
young mistress of Rugby over again. ' I had caught
a violent cold at San Remo. When I arrived at
Mentone the Archbishop and Mrs. Tait had not
returned from their afternoon drive. Craufurd and
Mr.  helped me up-stairs, and I must have fainted
after this, for when I opened my eyes again Mrs.
Tait was sitting by the sofa on which I was lying,
the tears running down her cheeks. How could I
ever forget those long days of sickness which followed,
— the tender motherly care, the three or four visits a
day, the prayer by my bedside, the short Scripture
reading ? Craufurd used too to come of an evening
to our sitting-room, where my pupils were tending
me, and spend many an hour in reading to me all the
home news. Of course I knew that my illness was
an added burden, and a very heavy one, but I was
never allowed to feel this.'
On the return to England in 187 1 the Orphanage be
came one of Mrs. Tait's first cares. There is nothing
to add to the Archbishop's own narrative, but this
is a convenient place to say a few words about the
working of the Orphanage by the St. Peter's Sisters.

CATHARINE TAIT. 291

It forms no part of the editor's duty to attempt
any abstract discussion about Sisterhoods. But I
venture to say this, — I have lived for some years
almost within sight of the Orphanage, and have seen
something both of the work of the Sisters and of its
results. The girls who have left the Orphanage have
turned out well ; if there have been exceptions, they
have been very rare. The children came, be it
remembered, from the very poorest classes in the east
of London. They left to take situations as domestic
servants, and they have approved themselves well
trained. It is a very pleasant sight from time to time
to see one and another of them come back on a visit,
as a young wife, bringing her baby with her.
Of course it was inevitable that differences of
opinion on some points would arise between Mrs.
Tait and the Sisterhood. But there was nothing at
any time which put any strain upon Christian love
and unanimity of sentiment, for both were engaged
in an altogether unselfish work. It was her custom
always, and in every department, to uphold authority,
and to break off any connexions rather than give
half-confidence ; and all the time that the Sisterhood
worked the Orphanage they could always trust both
her and the Archbishop to support them in any
difficulty that might arise, and so all worked well.
But the feeling arose amongst the Sisters themselves
that another system might better meet the wants of
the Institution, and they retired in 1878, carrying
with them the respect and love of the Archbishop's

292 CATHARINE TAIT.
family, when the present excellent superintendent,
Miss Gould, entered upon her work.
I shall venture now to introduce a paper of con
siderable interest. It comprises the reminiscences
of the Mother Superior of the St. Peter's Sisterhood ;
and so she can speak for herself : —
'Our intercourse with our dear friend Mrs. Tait
began in 1861, when she (Mrs. Lancaster) who has
also passed away from among us, the foundress of
our Order, went with me to see the Bishop of London
at Fulham, to ask his sanction and blessing on the
work which was then to be begun by us in his
diocese. ' I remember her kindly and keen interest in our
scheme, and the promise of cordial sympathy when
our Home should be opened.
'During its first years she often visited us, and
brought her friends to see it, joining in our anniver
sary festivals, and occasionally coming to our services
at other times, and to hear sermons and meditations
in our dear little chapel at Brompton, which she
greatly admired and appreciated.
' In 1866 the cholera broke out, and we sent a band
of Sisters and other workers to help in the great
distress which it occasioned in the district of Ratcliffe.
' There dear Mrs. Tait's sympathy followed us, and
she was deeply interested in the Sisters' work, and
in their courage in facing the terrible scenes around
them. ' She drove down there one day with the Bishop,

CATHARINE TAIT. . 293
to encourage and comfort, by their presence among
them, the sore-stricken hearts of those whose homes
— if such they could be called — were left desolate by
this awful visitation.
'They came to our rooms — which were over a
shop in one of the narrowest streets in this densely-
peopled district — to express their interest in our
work ; and she won all hearts there by her gentleness
and sweetness.
'Their carriage, standing at our door, was sur
rounded by a crowd of the very poorest of the people
and the dirtiest of the children, but, as well as her
over-full heart would let her, she said kind words
to all, and her eyes brimmed over with tears at the
sight of the wan and suffering faces.
'A few months afterwards, Mrs. Tait drove one
day to our Home at Brompton to beg that one of
our Sisters would come and take the charge of the
little house which, as the result of that day's visit to
the east, had been opened by her for the so-called
" Cholera Orphans."
' It was not, strictly speaking, a work for our Order,
but we could not refuse the Bishop's call or her very
earnest pleading, and so a Sister was found willing
to go back with her ; and thus began our charge of
a work which, small and unknown as it was then,
has since become a very important one among the
charities of the day. We worked for five years at
Fulham, ever cheered in the many difficulties we had
to encounter by her kindness and advice. She was

294 CATHARINE TAIT.

ever patient, ever pitying, and the tears would come
to her motherly eyes at the sight of the little help
less creatures who crowded round her on her visits to
the Home. It would be impossible to recount in
detail the acts and interests of our work with those
orphans. For twelve years we watched, and prayed,
and worked for them side by side. During these
years the little house at Fulham was abandoned, and
the large and costly buildings at Broadstairs built
and taken possession of. In the move to so large
a place many difficulties had to be met, especially
during the first three or four years, when the expenses
of building and supporting so large a work were so
much greater than she had at all intended or desired.
But her unfailing courage and hopefulness were a
marvel to us.
' Her personal interest in the children was most
remarkable. They were never to her an " Orphanage ,•"
they were a group of little individuals, craving her
care, her love, and her interest. She never forgot a
child ; and as her various claims and duties caused
often long absences from any personal intercourse,
this was the more surprising. Nor was this all. She
not only knew each child, and recollected generally
all we felt about them — their character in the Home,
their place in school, their general standing and con
dition, — but she remembered who they were, what
friends or relations they had — the little home-story
which to each little one was dear. She would soften
a rough girl, who had been giving trouble to school-

CATHARINE TAIT. 295
mistress and to Sisters, by asking, with a tone of
tender sympathy, after the aged grandmother or the
little cripple brother — a happy tact bringing these
soft spots to her mind as soon as she saw the child.
Her exceeding hopefulness was very beautiful to see.
She never despaired of any one ; never would give
any one up, however bad they were.
' She had a firm belief that all evil in them (be it
in child, or worker, or servant) was a passing stage,
a temporary cloud, which we must wait for, must,
to use her frequent expression, "tide over," and all
would be well.
' Another great beauty in her was her reliableness.
She was always the same to us. Did we meet her
in the crowded gatherings at Lambeth Palace, in the
busy school or workroom of the Orphanage, or in the
solitude of the sweet garden and shrubbery at Stone
house, where she would tempt a tired Sister for a re
freshing stroll with her, her gentleness, her affection,
her courtesy, and trustful hopefulness were always sure.
' In matters especially concerning the Sisters' life
at the Orphanage her thoughtful tact tided us over
many difficulties. It could not but be that in a place
so conspicuous and open to the public as a Home
founded and built by the Archbishop must be, we
were in a somewhat difficult position ; and more than
once we were subjected to not very pleasant criticisms
by those who felt themselves justified in censuring us
and our lives, as they appeared to their casual exter
nal observation. Mrs. Tait gave us all the sympathy

296 CATHARINE TAIT.
and freedom she could herself, and it was painful to
her to see that others were less liberal than herself.
' Her own large, wide heart could embrace all ;
she had room for all, — kind words and good wishes
for all who were trying to do God's work in the
Church, — and these narrower and less generous
critics were distressing to her.
' And so with the children : she upheld the Sisters
to them, supported the authority of servants or
workers appointed by us, with unvarying considera
tion and force ; and this even when, as has in the
course of twelve years sometimes been the case, the
persons employed or the orders given were not to
her taste or quite in accordance with her judgment.
There is not one who has worked with her that does
not retain a grateful and affectionate remembrance
of her in our mutual intercourse.
' It would be impossible, in the limits of this little
sketch, to give any adequate idea of Mrs. Tait in her
daily life, even as it was seen by us. Her excellent
judgment, her habits of business, and accuracy in
accounts, and in the details of business connected
with the building and arranging these large works,
were very remarkable. But far beyond them yet
shone out her perfect exemplification of the law of
charity — in word, in thought, in deed ; ever putting
kindly interpretation on things. She literally "suf
fered all, and was kind, was not easily provoked,
thought no evil, bore all things, believed all things,
hoped all things, endured all things."

CATHARINE TAIT. 297
 _i  —  : 
' We owe much to her example, much to her lov
ing intercourse. In her departure from among us we
feel that we have lost a true friend, a faithful associate,
a cordial and generous co-worker ; but the remem
brance of her beautiful life will never fade from our
memories ; and there are many among our band who,
while they shed tears for the loss of her bright
presence, will always thank God for having known
and worked with her.'
Some expressions in the above letter induce us to
linger upon one aspect of her life on which little has
hitherto been said. The influence of her early
Evangelical training and of the Tractarian movement
upon her early years have been dwelt upon. But
there was a third factor in the formation of her
thoughts and opinions ; her husband's changed posi
tion brought her into contact with so many men,
laity as well as clergy, of high culture and of every
shade of opinion. Probably the result was to deepen,
if that were needed, her consciousness that she had
her own province of earnest and useful labour. Cer-s
tainly, whilst she clung more and more as years
went on to every conviction and principle which had
grown dear to her, she. seemed also able to realise
that other persons had convictions too, and reasons
for them. One day, Craufurd, when a boy, said to
her, 'Mother, I don't think you and father think
always alike' Both parents laughed. 'Have you
found that out, my boy ?' said she. Nothing but good
followed from such diversity. She knew her own

298 CATHAPINE TAIT.
sphere, and found full scope for her energies within
it She could not have taken the same views as the
Archbishop about the Essays and Reviews case, or
Natal, or some of the Ritual questions, but she felt
that these matters were out of her province. ' Dur
ing the many years that I was Chaplain or Commis
sary,' said the Bishop of Gibraltar, ' I never knew
her interfere.' And the Superior of one of the Sister
hoods writes these weighty words, which it is but
fair to quote at length : —
' She passed through all the different phases of her
life perfectly true to her own convictions, yet loyal
and dutiful to her husband. She could appreciate
and understand his way of viewing things, even when
it differed from her own, and I have seen her indig
nation roused to the utmost at some unfair criticism,
or imputation of motives to him, which she knew to
be perfectly untrue to his whole being. I know few
things in which her example is more worthy of note
than the way in which she could apprehend the truth
and beauty of another's mind, while seeing the same
truths herself from a different point of view.'
A ND now as the great sorrow — I feel that I might
more truly call it the crowning victory — of her
life in this world begins to loom in sight, though as
yet in the distance, we have to go back and gather
up the materials which we have for the life of
Craufurd. We will begin with Eton days, and
continue the narrative unbroken to the end.

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CRAUFURD TAIT. 299
' At Eton,' says one of his school-fellows, ' he was
a thoroughly manly boy, full of life and spirits,
entering heart and soul into all fun and games. He
was not very brilliant at cricket, but quite the best
football-player for his size. He was one of the
school eleven, and a first-rate fives-player, as he
showed by being second for the school fives, beating
much older and stronger competitors.
'As is always the case, his great spirits were a
temptation to him, and at one time he began to fall
into that hasty thoughtlessness in word and deed
which may lead to sad evil in a high-spirited boy ;
and I often think there must have been a time
when his parents saw signs of this, and committed
their boy to God with more earnest prayer than
ever.' 1
He was very popular at Eton, as afterwards at
Oxford. His love of fun and his unflagging good
spirits would account for this in part, but he was
always characterised — no man ever more so — by a
remarkable absence of self-consciousness. He was
the most modest of men, simple of character, and
wonderfully unselfish. He would sometimes tell
amusing stories of his passionateness as a child, and
1 His sister told me he had once shown her, with much dismay, a
very sharp letter from his father about his thoughtlessness. Perhaps
it is not to be wondered at that I have not met with it. He told me him
self that he only got into one serious scrape at Eton. I believe it was
for playing a practical joke, which unfortunately took effect by accident
on one of the masters. He was able to plead ' first fault, ' and thereby
escaped penal consequences. — Ed.

|?oo CRAUFURD TAIT.
those who knew him best saw in him always a
temper naturally headstrong and impulsive. He
knew it himself, and fought against it, and overcame
it. The writer of these pages, however, never saw
him lose his temper. His eagerness took a legitimate
turn when it led him to throw himself with all his
heart into whatever he undertook. His popularity
at Eton was attested by the exceptionally large
number of leaving-books he got from his friends, and
yet once more by the large number of school-fellows
who stood beside his grave.
He was confirmed by his father at St. James's,
Piccadilly, on Maundy-Thursday 1865, and on Easter
Day received, at the Chapel-Royal, his first Com
munion. There is a very earnest letter which he
wrote to one of his cousins on the event, and among
his papers is a letter from one of his godfathers,
Dean Goulburn, written at the same time, and
containing two valuable suggestions. He exhorts
him first to try to form the habit of thinking
(meditating) on the short passages of Holy Scripture
he reads daily, following the method which the Dean
has attempted to explain and illustrate. Secondly,
he urges him to enter upon a serious examination of
his whole past life since he can remember anything.
He encloses a pastoral letter (written for the school
boys at Rugby) which he thinks may help him in
this self-examination. 'It is meant to be used, as
you will see, very slowly and deliberately, not to be
read through at a sitting.'

CRAUFURD TAIT. 301
The Dean writes to his mother: 'He is a very
dear boy, and I have no difficulty in understanding
how much you and the Bishop must treasure him. I
will see him again, if all be well, and we both live,
when he comes home for the Easter holidays, and, as
you suggest, give him some directions for prayer.'
Such as he was at Eton, such he was at Oxford :
sociable, genial, welcomed everywhere, yet not en
snared by his popularity. All his intimate friends
were chosen by himself from men like-minded. He
was an exemplary correspondent. Heaps of his
weekly letters to his mother are before us, and they
exhibit this steady light, — that of a young man fond
of boating, and riding, and cricket, fond too of
company and fun, but at all times practising modera
tion and self-restraint, doing his appointed work, and
forgetting himself and his own merits. The letters
of congratulation too which came pouring in on his
taking his degree — there are between two and three
hundred — all exhibit a kindred spirit of earnestness
and respect for what is good. He must have
developed in every way at Oxford, in character and
mental power. He did respectably at Eton, as far
as passing the required examinations was concerned.
But he had no special taste or aptitude for scholar
ship. In no sense was he a precocious boy. His
letters are much fuller of boating and riding than of
books. But higher things than either are never lost
sight of. His father's Ordinations, the University
sermon, events passing in the Church and the world

302 CRAUFURD TAIT.
— he takes an interest in all, and then he comes
to little matters of detail, none the less important
to the parties concerned because they are little ;
thus : —
' The Bishop of Winchester preached the University
sermon to-day. He gave us a very striking sermon
on the text, Truly Thou art a God that hidest
Thyself, O Thou Saviour of Israel. The Archbishop
of Syra and Tenos was there, and his two Archi
mandrites. They gave him a D.D. yesterday. . . .
Mr.  's school children are going to Addington
to-morrow for their school feast. Will you please
see that Ferguson goes to put up their swings for
them, or they will most likely kill themselves by
fixing them on rotten boughs ? '
This quiet settled thoughtfulness steadily increased
as he grew older, and he took an ardent interest in
his studies. But his extreme diffidence of character
was such that he always declared he should never do
anything in the schools. When he passed in
' Moderations ' his father wrote him the following
letter. How he treasured it was shown in the fact
that he stowed it away in an inner recess of his
writing-desk, where it was found after his death : —
•Lambeth Palace, $djune 1869.
'My dearest Craufurd, — I am very glad you
have your Testamur. You deserved it for your
work, and now I hope you will rest convinced that
you really can do in a quiet way everything you

CRAUFURD TAIT. 303

work for, and not disparage the good abilities God
has given you.
' You have passed everything you have wished as
early as you could. And now you have full time for
History and Divinity. God bless you. . . . — Affec
tionately yours, ' A. C. CANTUAR.'
He was, no doubt, greatly encouraged and com
forted by this letter, though he certainly was never
able to think highly of himself. He determined to
take up Law and History for his special subject, but
his, work was greatly interrupted by his father's
illness in 1869. He used to rush backwards and
forwards to Addington as much as he could, but he
worked hard, though he sometimes declared that ' his
head was like a sieve.' He was also away in the
October term of 1870 and the spring of 1871. But
he had learned from his mother to save all the odd
minutes. And so it was that while engaged in
dressing or in any pursuit that would not allow of his
handling a book, one of his sisters was pressed into
service to read to him. He never wasted any time.1
The final examination drew on, and his letters are
full of trepidation.1 He certainly did not expect to

1 " May 26. — I had a most agreeable day yesterday, looking on at
a cricket match, doing nothing and trying to think of nothing ; but
there is a horrible feeling within me of having quite forgotten dates,
and the facts are fast following them into the land of oblivion. I
begin to-morrow morning at 9 A.M., and go on till Saturday after
noon. ... I dare not think of what may happen in the schools, or
how I shall ever be able to get down the little I do know. I have

304 CRAUFURD TAIT.
fail, for he knew how hard he had worked. However,
he went into the schools and did his best,1 and then
immediately rushed away to give some help to the
studies of a cousin who needed it. The list came out
at last, and to the delight of his family, his name,
as we have seen, was in the first class. Here is his
letter to his father in reference to the congratulations
from home ; —
' Many thanks to all for their kind letters. No one
could be more surprised than I was, except my coach
and my examiners, at my success. I will talk over
things when I get home on Saturday evening. . , .
I know I ought to answer all the letters separately,
but as I have only half an hour before putting on my
gown, I must ask you to thank everybody for me,
especially Mr. Sandford for his very kind letter.'
A few months later (October 1872) he tried for a
fellowship of All Souls, but did not succeed. ' I find
a large and most distinguished field entered,' he
writes, — ' six Christ Church men, four Balliol men ;
all but two of them first-class men, and some of them
old veterans :  took his degree in '68, and 
in '69. And only one place !'

never yet been able to write an answer in less than an hour and a
half, and they give us twelve questions for three hours, of which one
ought to do eight. I wish it was over, and I had got a fourth. Excuse
this ebullition of bad feeling. The thing will soon settle itself, and I
cannot do better than I can. . . . Any cheering letters during this
week will be gratefully received.'
1 ' I was very glad to find, to my surprise, that when I appeared
before the examiners I lost all my nervousness.' — Letter to his Mother.

CRAUFURD TAIT. 305
Though he failed, the following letter from one of
the electors must have been extremely gratifying to
his parents : — 'All Souls, Nov. 5, 1872.
'The Archbishop and Mrs. Tait will be sorry to
hear that their son has not been elected Fellow here.
But I think they will be gratified to learn, and I
think I shall not be trespassing upon our rule of
secrecy, in making known that the unanimity and
enthusiasm with which young Tait was spoken of for
his personal qualities surpassed the praises of all
other candidates within my experience of more than
thirty elections.'
All was open now for the special preparation for
his Ordination. And as a most important part of
that preparation, as well as to refresh and recruit him
after his Oxford labours, his father wished him to
visit the scenes of the Sacred History. Accordingly
he went Eastwards for nine months, leaving England,
November 19th, 1872, in company with his future
brother-in-law, Randall Davidson, and being joined
at Alexandria by three other College friends, G. J.
Courthope, G. W. Horner, and C. Hankey.
It has been already noted that he was a model
correspondent, arid his Eastern letters to his parents
and sisters are all marked with one desire, to show
those at home, so far as he can, all that he is seeing
himself. Every place that they stay at is carefully
noted,, so that they can find it on the map, and if it
u

306 CRAUFURD TAIT.
is not so marked he gives data by which they can
fix it. In one place, after a description of their
journey through the Sinaitic Peninsula, and a minute
discussion on the identification of the Biblical locali
ties, he writes, ' I am afraid that all this about the
Exodus will not be very interesting to you without a
big map to explain it, but it is the subject which
engrosses our thoughts here, and as I wish to let you
know what we are doing, I must mention it. When
we all, please God, meet again, I will explain more
fully.' They show too that the thought of his coming
Ordination was never absent from his mind, that this
tour was intended by him to be part of his training.
He illustrates everywhere from the Histories he has
with him. The unrestrained enjoyment of his young
friends' society is never in the way of serious duty,
and in fact it is clear that the solemn issues of life
were not forgotten by any of them in this pleasant
tour. A few characteristic extracts will be given
from the voluminous manuscripts. The Eastern
letters consist of one hundred and twelve very
closely-written quarto pages of forty-eight lines each.
First, here are a few lines from a letter to his father
on reaching Alexandria : —
' I was very much delighted to find that we went
close to the shores of Greece yesterday morning.
The sunrise was glorious over the Morea, and all day
long we coasted the shore till four o'clock. We
passed Navarino quite close, and saw Cape Matapan
distinctly, although it was further off. I was very

CRAUFURD TAIT. 307
much surprised at the inhospitable appearance of the
coast (which, I suppose, accounts for Grecian history
lying almost entirely on the east coast), and also by
the great number and variety of the little mountain
chains, which rise one behind the other, and give ;i
splendid variety of light and shade. The Italian
coast was not nearly so interesting. I recognised,
on board, young Buckland by his likeness to his
brother, who was at Eton with me. There is an
American, Mr.  , who says he was flogged out of
his father's house at sixteen without a dollar, and
now he has 5,000,000.' On the ist of December,
they landed at Alexandria. 'We had lovely calm
weather for our last day and night, but my faith in
my sailing power is gone. Specimens of all races
and nations, from jet black to pale yellow, and in
every variety of costume, swarmed up the sides of
the vessel, and attacked us on all sides with shouts
and gestures. They seemed to have picked up a few
words of every language in Europe. In the middle
of our troubles on landing we saw Courthope's manly
form towering over a crowd of Arabs who were
carrying the things from the "Candia" on shore.
He had arrived with Hankey and Horner the night
before, and was quite at home, ordering the natives
about in English, and when necessary carrying them
out of the way. We saw " Pompous Pillow," as the
guide called it, and Cleopatra's Needle. The gardens
here are lovely, quite unlike anything at home ; the
dates and flowers especially are delightful, but there

308 CRAUFURD TAIT.
is no attempt at order. Colonel Staunton insisted
on getting up a game of cricket for us on their
asphalt ground, so we went and played. They have
a very good Arab professional, and all the fielding is
done by Arab boys, whose dress and colour is very
pretty. We went to the first station on the Cairo
Railway for some snipe-shooting, but only succeeded
in bagging five snipe, which we plucked, cooked, and
ate for lunch. The country was all flat, and up to
our knees in mud, and the walking was heavy, but
the lights were beautiful and the Arab towns most
interesting. . . . We had the luck to catch a luggage-
train back, and travelled on sacks of cotton seeds.
The guards exchanged compliments with us, giving
us sugar-cane to suck while we gave them cigars.
' Cairo. — We had service in the church, which is
very nice — built, I am glad to say, in Eastern style.
There was a very good congregation, and many
communicants. No sermon. I thought so much of
you all at church at St. Peter's, and rather wished I
was with you ; but the service and music were very
good. Davidson and I went to deliver one of Sir
Moses Montefiore's letters. The head of the Jewish
rabbis lived in a small room up-stairs, in the back
part of a house in a small street, situated in the worst
part of the town. But when we got to his room there
was a divan, and signs of Hebrew lore in the shape
of books. His appearance was venerable, though
somewhat dusty, and he could read, though he took
a long time getting through the letter. After some

CRAUFURD TAIT. 309
conversation, a sort of sweetmeat was brought in,
compounded of honey and vegetable marrow, with
spoons and water. I did not at all understand how
to eat it, but .luckily selected the proper method,
namely, took a large spoonful and then drank some
water. ' Called on Lord Harrowby, who was most kind,
but he compared the howling dervishes to a bad
Cathedral choir, much to Hankey's disgust. We saw
the Mosque of Mehemet Ali, a fine modern building,
imposing from its size and proportions, but spoilt by
the cloudy look of the alabaster of which it is built,
and by the lamp, which spoilt the effect of the dome.
The multitude of small birds that live in the chande
liers seemed strange to us, but make a pleasant sound.
The mosques seem left to go to ruin. The pulpits
are curious in shape, consisting of a gate, a stair
running at an angle of 45° up to the wall, and the
place to preach from at the top covered with a small
sounding-board. They are generally exquisitely
carved. It is so strange to see the state of semi-
decay into which they allow the mosques to fall ; the
woodwork all fallen down, and the roof off. I
suppose the reason is there are so many of them that
they think that when one is too bad they can go to
another ; and in this climate a roof is no object
except to keep off the sun, and they can always find
shade in some corner. I have never seen more than
three or four persons at prayer at one time, and
strangely enough the people who come are just those

310 CRAUFURD TAIT.
who stay away from church in England, and vice
versd. For two-thirds of the worshippers have been
private soldiers, and I have only seen one woman.
'Dec. 5. — I have been poorly for two or three days,
and to-day was regularly laid up, and lay and groaned
while the others went to the Pyramids.'
The letters are full of minute descriptions for the
benefit of his sisters, and frolicsome stories of the
party's bargainings. They go up the Nile very
slowly, for their crew seem to have been a lazy lot.
Four miles an hour with a favourable wind was good
travelling. But they had plenty to occupy them,
even when there was no shooting to be had. ' I have
been perfectly happy ever since I started ; our party
is most harmonious, and we are fortunate in our
books. I have read Eothen, and am reading Raw-
linson's Herodotus, Champollion's Letters, Lane's
Egyptians, and Stanley's Sinai and Palestine. This
is our first Sunday on board, and I miss the church
very much, although we have had two services among
ourselves, at 1 1 A.M. and 9 P.M. I read a chapter of
Goulburn's Personal Religion and one of Stanley's
Sermons in the East
'Dec. iyth. — At Bibbeh, a small town on the east
of the river. The place itself is not remarkable in
any way ; but in it there is a Coptic Church dedicated
to our English St. George. By some pious fraud the
Christians succeeded in convincing the Moslems, who
would otherwise have destroyed the church, that St.
George was a valiant and successful Moslem warrior •

CRAUFURD TAIT. 311
and so even the Mahometan population go and pay
their respects to his shrine. We were very much in
terested by our visit to this church, as we managed
to exchange a few ideas with the priests in Greek.
They treated us most cordially, even going so far as
to give us coffee in the church. The building was of
the lowest order, and in the very worst repair. The
priests did not seem at all ashamed bf it, but I never
saw so dirty a church, and we carried away many
unpleasant companions. There was a small school
just outside the church ; the children looked happy,
and seemed to be writing with care ; but it was very
empty. . . One of our crew has a bad leg, and I
am doctoring him with cold-water bandages, for
which he seems most grateful.'
The following passage is amusing enough : —
'Dec. 18th. — Wind steady from south ; so, in spite
of our efforts to compel our Rais to go on, we only
made three miles, reaching Magacha. We have how
ever been quite repaid for our delay by our evening
with the Pasha. Elias having failed to get us
donkeys to go to Benimessay, a place eight miles
from here, where we are going to shoot, advised us
to apply to the Pasha. So four of us went, and had
a formal interview with that dignitary. He was a
bigger swell than we had expected, being Pasha of
Mineh, and head of this part of the country. His
name was Sheheem Pasha, and he had been all over
Europe for the Viceroy, having just returned from
England, where he had been buying Armstrong guns

312 CRAUFURD TAIT.

for the Government here. He was most polite to us,
offering to take us in his private train to Benimessay,
and to telegraph to a Mr. Cather (whom we said we
knew, having an introduction to him from a friend of
ours who was up the Nile last year) to tell him to
expect four friends to dine and sleep. This would
have been a little strong to a perfect stranger, so we
declined with thanks, and said that we regretted that
the Pasha had to set off by train, as we had hoped to
see him at dinner on board the Luxor. This piece
of politeness on our part was too much for him ; so
first he asked us to dine with him in his Arab style,
but afterwards said he would keep his train waiting
and bring his "toasted sheep" on board, and dine
with us. This rather took us aback ; but Elias, who
was really the person most interested (as by our
contract he pays for any occasional guests that we
like to ask), was not the least put out. He hurried
back to the boat, told our cook to get dinner at once,
an hour before the time, and all was ready before his
Excellency arrived, with washed hands. We had a
most excellent dinner ; the toasted sheep and Arab
pudding were both very good, and on our side,
Gaetano (our cook) surpassed himself.
'The Pasha was a most interesting man, as a
specimen of a man in authority here. He could not
speak any foreign language, so all the conversation
had to pass through Elias's mouth, which was very
awkward, but we soon got used to it, and got on
very well.

CRAUFURD TAIT. 313
'The Pasha offered —
' 1. To lend any of our friends a private Dahabeah
that he has at Cairo.
' 2. To have us tugged by a Government steamer,
or put on a train for us.
' 3. To write letters for us to several people on the
river higher up.
'4. To send at once for a certain Mr. Black, whom
G. J. C. had heard of, and mentioned in the course of
conversation. '5. To receive us with open arms at Mineh, his
headquarters. 'During dinner some servants arrived with a
present of oranges, and after he had gone away,
another came laden with lettuce, etc. N.B. — Both of
these presents came out of the garden of the Pasha
of the place, whose duty Sheheem P. had taken for a
few days.
' We talked about various subjects, amongst others
Napoleon Hi., whom he disliked because he had
helped on the Suez Canal, which he tried to prove
was a very bad thing both for Egypt and England.
To the former, because the price of cotton had fallen
(I failed to see the connexion) ; to the latter because
it made India more available from Europe. He even
went so far, in talking of Napoleon HI., as to say that
God had punished him because he had a bad heart.
'The Thames Tunnel seemed to have impressed
him more than anything else in London ; and when
I asked him if he had seen the British Museum, he

314 CRAUFURD TAIT.
said he had, and then gave an accurate description
of Madame Tussaud's Waxworks, which he had mis
taken for it.'
Every temple is most carefully described, and his
sisters are told where they may find all about it, and
about the hieroglyphics. The party was unable to
go beyond Philae, as the Viceroy had pronounced
Nubia to be visited with cholera. This appears to
have been merely a pretext In order to prevent the
English from learning what he was doing on the
Upper Nile. There was no help for it, and they
returned to Cairo. Here are two extracts from the
return diary : —
'The life on board our Dahabeah has been as
happy as is possible. The climate has never varied
to either extreme, and there is just a right propor
tion of exercise and rest; so that one would get
attached to the life, even if there was nothing to see.
The only drawbacks have been (i) our ignorance of
Arabic, which rather shuts us off from the modern
Egyptians ; (2) our inability to read the hieroglyphics,
which takes off much of the interest of the ancient
records ; (3) the quarantine at Philse, which prevented
our seeing Nubia. However, this was not an un
mixed evil, for we have been able to come down
more quietly, and we have not, I believe, missed any
object of interest. We had four days at Thebes, and
saw everything again except the tombs of the kings,
besides much that we missed going up. I do not think
we should have been able to make out much more

CRAUFURD TAIT. 315
without any knowledge of hieroglyphics, if we had
stayed longer. For we knew all the architectural
effects, and made out the historical sculptures in the
week that we were there, going up and coming down.
It is very hard at first to realise the extreme antiquity
of the buildings and tombs, and the grandeur of the
empires of Rameses il, etc., but one gets gradually
accustomed to it. The tombs tell so much of the
private every-day life of the people, and the temples
of their religion, and the conquests of their kings,
that their history becomes clearer than if we read it
in modern books.
' We turned up by How, where Sheik Saleem, " the
holiest man on all the Nile " (as the dragoman called
him) lives. The crew thought that our disappointments
about the quarantine, etc., were owing to the curses
he launched after us on our up journey, and were
very anxious to be allowed to give him the presents
they had brought from Cairo for him, so we gave
them leave, and went ourselves to see him. I never
saw such a disgusting old creature. He is a mad old
fanatic, who has sat on one bit of carpet near the
river for thirty years (as far as I could make out), with
out ever putting any clothes on, washing, or brushing .
his hair. His body was all covered with sore places,
and thousands of flies were crawling all over him.
He wanted us to give him an amber mouth-piece for
his pipe, and take his bone one in exchange, but as
this would have been giving him £1 for 2s., we
declined with thanks. Our captain, who is a very

316 CRAUFURD TAIT.

devout Moslem, quite believes in this old fellow.
This idiot-worship is the most painful part of the
Moslem creed, and made us very thankful that the
days of St. Simon Stylites are passed. I suppose,
however, that it is not fair to compare the two, as the
Saint did fast and mortify himself as much as possible,
while the Sheikh seems to be excused prayer, and to
live much better than he would if he was a common
peasant. There was another horrible-looking old
man waiting to take the Sheikh's place when he dies.
This man had no eyes, and was so thin as to look
like a living skeleton.
' The principal religious festivals that we have seen
have been : i. Moslem — The howling dervishes. 2.
Coptic — A baptism. 3. Mixed — Exorcising the
devil by Moslem women in a Coptic convent, by
virtue of the power supposed to exist in the bones of
a Coptic saint, Theodore. I will describe the last
first. We were looking through windows high above
the people, and could see everything. The whole
floor was covered with women, Copts and Moslems,
of all ranks. The Viceroy's harem come here if they
feel the possession within them. There were only
four men, as the disease is not common among men.
They were all talking and laughing to each other,
and apparently quite well until the Moslem exorcists
(two young women) began to play on their tam
bourines. But then in a moment the most extra
ordinary scene commenced. The possessed, who
were mostly young women between the ages of

CRAUFURD TAIT. 317

fifteen and twenty-two, some of them with babies in
their arms, threw themselves about in the most
dreadful way. Some bowed backwards and for
wards, beating their breasts, throwing off their outer
garments, and tearing their hair; others stood up,
bowed their bodies, danced wildly about, and dashed
their heads against the walls.
' Their friends did what they could to quiet them,
placing pillows for them to beat upon, and holding
them when they could ; but they kept on until the
music stopped, and then sank down exhausted. As
soon as the music began again, they started off.
This ceremony takes place every Wednesday, and
patients come on four consecutive Wednesdays ; if
they can in that time get the better of their fits they
are cured. (This was as near as I could make out
from our Coptic guide, who spoke a little English.)
About half of the congregation threw themselves
about ; some of the others were only friends, but
some were patients who were able to control them
selves. The most curious thing was that the babies
did not seem to be a bit frightened. Of course some
friend held them while their mothers were in the fit.
All this was so like the possession described in the
Bible, that I cannot help thinking that it is the same
disease. I should say it was a nervous illness,
allowed to run to these extremes by people un
accustomed to control their passions. How far they
are cured by the vent afforded by these ceremonies I
cannot pretend to say.

318 CRAUFURD TAIT.
' Last Sunday morning we went to several Coptic
churches to try and make out their services. We
saw different bits of the Mass at several churches,
and so far as we could make ,out it consisted of the
Psalms, Gospel, and prayers. We were not present
at the actual Celebration, as we had to hurry back
for the English service. They have two languages
for their service, Coptic and Arabic. All the more
sacred portions are in Coptic, viz., the actual Celebra
tion (which is in Coptic alone), the Psalms, Gospel,
and some prayers (which are all translated afterwards
by a deacon for the benefit of the people, who know
little or no Coptic), while the "Memories" of the
Saints (i.e. histories of various non-biblical Coptic or
early Christian Saints), and the exhortations, are in
Arabic only. The congregations were nowhere large
— generally about twelve persons, — but there are far
more churches than are needed. Within a suburban
walk of old Cairo there are five Coptic, two Greek
churches, one Roman Catholic church, and one Jewish
synagogue. 'The baptism was a curious ceremony, entirely
conducted by the priest, who stopped to talk to us in'
the middle of the service, without meaning to be the
least irreverent. The child was dipped bodily into
the font, and then anointed all over by the priest,
who used similar words to those used in our service.
The baptism went on at the same time as the Mass,
but in a side chapel, and was chiefly attended by
women and children. After the Mass is over, if the

CRAUFURD TAIT. 319
parents wish it, a further ceremony is gone through.
The priests and deacons go in procession round the
church with banners and rude music of cymbals and
triangles. The priest then stands before the door of
the Iconostasis in front of the altar, and the child is
held before him while he repeats several prayers over
it, and makes the sign of the Cross on its face with a
small taper-holder and three tapers that have been
burning in his hand during the procession, and are
just put out. We have seen a great many Coptic
churches, but their interest depends entirely upon
their age, as they have no architectural merit, and the
pictures are simply absurd. The monks seem deter
mined not to let them want the glory of antiquity,
as one was said to have been standing when Joseph
and Mary took refuge in Egypt : and we were shown
the spots where they sat, in a crypt below the church.
This is the second church in the B.C. date that we
have met in Egypt. They do not seem to see the
absurdity. ' We went on Friday, . 4th, to several mosques
that are more strictly closed against infidels than the
general run, and had to take a soldier with us.
Only one was of general interest, the others were old
and poor, but this one, El-Azar, is the great theo
logical college of Egypt. It was a curious sight;
hundreds of students were scattered, or rather packed,
all over the floor of the courtyard and covered
chamber of the mosques, — some sleeping, others
eating, others swaying their bodies backwards and

320 CRAUFURD TAIT.
forwards while they read their books, or learned
from their slates, and in the vestibule were several
barbers shaving or greasing the heads of students.
All this was going on within the sacred walls, where
no one may enter with shoes on his feet. I must
say the one advantage that the mosques here seem
to possess over our churches is, that they are truly
the houses of the poor. They are always open for
people to say their prayers in, and they afford a
refuge for the night to the houseless poor.
' I have still to describe the performance of the
howling dervishes. The one we saw took place in a
small mosque outside the walls of Cairo, towards Old
Cairo, on Friday at three. It lasted about an hour,
and was the most extraordinary scene I have ever
witnessed. When we went in, about twenty-five or
thirty men, of whom ten, perhaps, belonged to the
college, and the others were volunteers (dressed in
their ordinary clothes, not in the white clothes and
peaked caps ofthe order), were seated on the ground
in a circle, bowing their heads and repeating the words
" Allah, ill' Allah." They continued to do this, inter
rupted by occasional shouts and changing the word to
"Allah," "Ho," and others that I could not distin
guish, for about fifteen minutes. They then stood up
and took off their heavy garments, shouting and bow
ing all the time. Very soon after this change of posi
tion they began to work themselves into a state of
frenzy. Words were exchanged for a sort of sigh,
which made a great noise, while it enabled them to take

CRAUFURD TAIT. 321

breath for their violent exercise. One dashed into the
middle of the ring, and twisted round sixty times a
minute, with a kind of waltzing step, while one of the
older men also came forward, and threw his body
backwards and forwards, to keep time for the ring of
tossing bodies. They touched the ground every bend
with their long hair, and increased the rapidity of
their movements to keep time with the music of a
tambourine, a pipe, a; horn, and some drums, played
by boys and old men, but never for a moment did
they cease from their howls. The whole scene was more
like the sport of a set of raving demons than a religious
ceremony. My ideas of the dance of the priests of
Baal on Mount Carmel fell far short of what I actually
saw here. What made it more revolting was, that
men of all ages performed in it, from old grey-haired
patriarchs to boys of eleven (though these last were
employed in playing the instruments). One old
man had shaved half his head, while from the other
half his grey hair streamed out as long as Lucy's.
'While they were throwing themselves about in
this way, black and grey hair mingling in a sort
of wave, and almost all were worked up to a state of
frenzy, some even foaming at the mouth, G. J. C. un
wittingly passed before the niche pointing to Mecca,
towards which the semicircle (for it was not a com
plete ring) of faces was turned. In a moment, one
ofthe dervishes rushed from his place to punish him ;
but, luckily, he was so dizzy that he dashed himself
against the wall and fell down in a fit.
X

322 CRAUFURD TAIT.
' The Sheikh, who had not joined in the howling
himself, but had directed the others, was very angry
at what G. J. C. had done ; but as he saw it was a
mistake he took no more notice. Another dervish soon
fell down in a fit, and then they stopped about half
an hour in all. Many did not become conscious for
some seconds. They took great care of the men in
fits, — one old man folding their arms over their chests,
while others held them, from hurting themselves.
The whole scene was most distressing, when we con
sidered that it was a religious ceremony, in honour
of the true God. It was difficult in any way to
realise the idea which is said to underlie the whole,
viz., that by these means their souls are drawn up
out of their bodies, and allowed to hold communion
with God.'
The party went carefully through the desert, with
the Bible, as we may say, always in their hands,
visiting Sinai, Akabah, and Petra,1 and entered
Palestine. Here is another bit from the account of
their quitting the desert : —
' About one mile from Akabah, we turned off east
from the Arabah, which runs straight up from the
Gulf tp the Dead Sea, into Wady Ith'm, up which in
all probability the Israelites journeyed, from Ezion-
Geber " to compass Edom." Here we saw traces of
the Roman road from Petra to Elath, that is, forts,;
and here and there portions of the road or aqueduct,
1 He seems especially to have been fascinated with Mr. Palmer'*
' Desert of the Exodus. v

CRAUFURD TAIT. 323
built most likely to turn the floods away from the
road. In our second day's march the Wady opened
out into a plain called in the maps Kaweiweh, where
we camped near Mohammed Guds' encampment.
On the third day we left this plain (it is quite uncul
tivated, though covered with grass and rich flowers)
and went into the mountains, and on the fourth day
(Sunday, March 25th) reached the hill above Petra
on the east. We had seen many signs of ancient
cultivation, terraces for vines and olives or water-
citrons ; but all is deserted now, except the slopes
immediately above Petra, which yield a poor crop
of barley to the Fellaheen. We were obliged to
travel, both through this Sunday, and the heat, to get
out of the dangerous country. We had one whole
day in Petra itself ; certainly it repaid us for all the
bother and expense of getting there. The Sik, a
narrow passage like a ravine, through the most
gorgeously coloured sandstone rocks, was itself the
most curious place I had ever seen ; but the valley of
Petra is even more strange, for there the curious for
mation of the rocks is rendered ten times more won
derful by the rock-hewn tombs and habitations, while
the whole scene is rendered beautiful by the colour
of the cut stone, contrasted with the luxuriant vege
tation which flourishes in every corner of the valley.
The only thing that we regretted was, that the olean
ders were not in flower, as the whole valley is covered
with them, and must be perfectly lovely as a garden
when they are out.

324 CRAUFURD TAIT.
' The actual architecture was disappointing, being
all of a very debased Roman period ; so that even
the best facades owed their beauty entirely to their
position and colour. Leaving the valley early in the
morning of the 25th, we passed by the foot of Mount
Hor, which we did not ascend, because the view
would have been quite spoilt by the haze, which was
brought on by a Khamasseen wind, and the Moslems
would not allow us to enter Aaron's Tomb, which
they hold very sacred. From here we descended
quickly by Mount Taizebah into the Arabah, and
reached Ain Weibeh (Robinson's Kadesh) early on
27th. After this we soon left the Arabah, ascending
the Mount on the east by a steep pass called Lufah.
The country now began to get gradually fertile. At
first we crossed a large plain thickly studded with
flocks, then we came to patches of corn in the valley,
and finally a few houses, and south of Hebron to
regular mountain cultivation, with occasional olive
groves. We had now left the desert, and on March
30th reached Hebron in a heavy shower, the, firs,t we
had had since we left Ayun Musa thirty-eight days
before. This morning we had passed Maon, Carmel,
and Ziph, and were now in the Holy Land. We left
Hebron on Tuesday, April ist, and reached Jerusalem
that evening, passing the reputed site of Abraham's
tent under the oak at Mamre, Solomon's Pools, and
the valley where, perhaps, he planted his gardens
of rare trees mentioned in Canticles. An aqueduct
used to convey the water from the pools into the

CRAUFURD TAIT. 335

Mosque of El Aksa, on the site of the Temple. A
few years ago this aqueduct was repaired by the
Turkish Governor, but was again broken through by
the Fellaheen in 1868. A Jew told me that Sir
Moses Montefiore intends to repair it again and carry
the water into the Jewish quarter ofthe city.'
At Bethlehem they witnessed a violent quarrel
between the Greek and Latin monks, and, what was
pleasanter, they visited by night the traditional site of
the angelic appearance to the shepherds. Most of the
cities of Southern Palestine were visited, and in the
Church of the Holy Sepulchre they saw the ' miracle '
of the Sacred Fire. One of the most interesting
passages is the account of the Passover. He had with
him a long account, copied from Lightfoot's ' Horse
Hebraicse,' which he kept in his hand during the
ceremony, and has carefully annotated in the margin,
marking fresh details and deviations. They also
went into Philistia, but were disappointed with this
region. Here is an interesting note on Ascalon : —
' Ascalon stood on a very strong position between
a semicircular mound of rock and the sea, and must
have been a very important town. After I had seen
it I quite understood how great a mistake the
Crusaders in the first Crusade made in letting it slip
from their hands as they did, because of the quarrels
between Raymond and Godfrey, as it naturally
became the base of operations for the Egyptians, who
sent troops there every year. The outer wall still stands
in places, and by keeping out the sand has allowed

326 CRAUFURD TAIT.
the inside to be cultivated as a regular garden, which
makes a pleasing contrast with the sandy district all
round. The modern Jaffa (Joppa) stands in a good
position, a hill running a little into the sea. It greatly
reminded me of the old town of Mentone. There
are no authentic ruins, although we were shown the
" House of Simon the tanner," now a small mosque,
and standing in a likely position, but not old. The
oranges, lemons, pomegranates, etc., in the gardens
are scarcely more luxuriant than on the Riviera.'
Returning by Beyrout, Smyrna, Athens, Rustuk,
and Vienna, he reached England in the early spring,
and was ordained on the second Sunday in Lent
1874. He was deeply impressed by the Ordination
sermon, Which was preached by Mr. Capel Cure from
Colossians iv. 17, for he speaks of it very strongly
and affectionately in his letters.1
His father has told how earnestly he threw himself
into his work at Saltwood. He set about it, accord
ing to his wont, quietly and modestly, forgetting
himself, but zealous for Christ and his Church. Salt-
wood itself is a quiet, pretty village, not offering great
difficulties ; but he also accepted the charge of a poor
1 Since writing the above, another letter has come into my hands,
from which I extract a few words : — ' Thank you for your thoughts and
prayers. The service was all that I could have wished, except for my
father's absence: Mr. Capel Cure gave us such a good, hearty, straight
forward sermon, saying just what I longed to hear, straight from his
heart, using his own remembrances and later experience, warning, cheer
ing, and comforting us. He is going to publish it, and I hope you will
get a copy. I need not ask you to continue to pray for me that I may
be able to "stir up the grace that I have received.'"

CRAUFURD TAIT. 327

district in the neighbouring town of Hythe, containing
900 persons. ' Not nine of them, 1 suppose, had ever
been to church,' he wrote, 'so I shall have lots to do.
I hope, by having mission services among them, to
get hold of them gradually. . . . Mrs. Morris is every
thing that a landlady ought to be, seems very fond
of me, and is devoted to my dog Nigger.'
'March 29th, 1874. — The cold winds have rather
touched me up, and given me a slight attack of
asthma, but not enough to interfere with my duty ;
and last night, after a smoke, I slept fairly. . . . We
shall be very busy this week with services ; but I only
preach one written sermon, that is, on Good Friday
morning, in the church. To-night, Wednesday, and
on Easter Day, I give extempore addresses in the
Pedlinge Mission Room. I have visited all my
immediate parishioners, i.e. the Pedlinge side of the
parish. They are very nice, quiet country people,
tolerably well off, almost every cottage having land
attached to it, while the Saltwood people have allot
ments. ' There is little illness among my parishioners. One
poor girl is going up to the Consumptive Hospital in
a few days. Her name is Robins — such a nice girl.
I wish Lucy would ask after her there. One other
Philpot, has very bad asthma, and the doctor wants
to send her up to Brompton too ; but she does not
like to leave home. I am afraid she is consumptive
rather than asthmatic. I have only two other cases
of illness, one man who is recovering from congestion,

328 CRAUFURD TAIT.
and a woman who is not seriously ill. Most of
those who were ill when I came here are better. . . ,
The Rector works very hard, has been at five services
to-day.' A day or two afterwards : — ' My little chapel
at Pedlinge was a blaze of flowers on Easter Day ;
all brought by the people. We have seventy people
every service, in a room built for fifty, and must
enlarge it.' ' Saltwood, April ^oth.
[His two younger sisters are with him.] They are
very happy and comfortable here, and are a very
great source of enjoyment to me. The house holds
us all beautifully. Our day begins with breakfast at
7.30, and ends with tea and supper at 7.30 — so there
is lots of time. We dine at one. ... I am busy in
Hythe now, trying to stir up the people to come to
my mission services, which will commence on Sun
day. But I find, as I feared, that most of the good
people go to chapel, and I am left chiefly the bad
ones to work upon. Get Lucy to write to me soon.'
There is a letter, dated the same day, from the
elder of the two sisters, giving a full account of her
brother's work day by day, — of his visits, services,
and subject of his sermons. TO HIS RECTOR.
'May 18th. ... We had a very pleasant Sunday.
Edith took my class, and Agnes read in the after
noon. There was a fair congregation in the morning,

CRAUFURD TAIT. 329
and twenty communicants, including  and  ,

who have been ill, which was cheering. I was obliged
to take summary proceedings against young  ,
who was disturbing the whole of the chancel by
carrying on some sort of barter with young  . I
went and brought him down to sit in front of me just
before I began the Litany. I think it had a good
effect on the general conduct of the boys. ... In the
afternoon there was a very good congregation, both
from Saltwood and Hythe, as the day was lovely.
In the evening I had about ninety people at Hythe ;
a few more red-shawled mothers and babies-in-arms,
and no dissenting ministers that I knew of, which is
an improvement. At present I don't get any young
men, and fear I shall not do much among them till
mackerel-fishing is over. . . . F  is, I think, really
better, though very weak. I have seen him every
day until yesterday. He seems to listen to what
one says, and to join in prayer, but cannot talk much.
I took your advice about my two sermons on Thurs
day and Sunday, preaching the same extempore in
the evening, and think it was good practice. ... I
shall expound a Psalm, and so not let it interfere
with my reading. I had a nice cheerful letter from
my father this morning. — Your affectionate son and
curate, 'Craufurd Tait.'
'Saltwood, May zid, 1874.
' Lucy and I are very happy together, doing a sort
of amateur man and wife. This morning, as I had

330 CRAUFURD TAIT.
no sermon to prepare, we read F. Godet's Commen
tary on St. John's Gospel, recommended by Dr.
Lightfoot to me ; I find her help invaluable, as I am
not good at out-of-the-way French words. After
early dinner we walked down to Hythe together.
She practised the harmonium for my mission services,
while I visited my district. Then our horses met us
at Hall's, and we had a delightful ride to Lyminge,
and back by Pedlinge, visiting my only country
patient. Supper at eight, and Lucy taught my boy.'
' Saltwood, July 13/A.
' I am enjoying my Monday morning after rather
a hard Sunday. Canon Jenkins lost his sister on
Friday, so I went over to Lyminge again yesterday
morning, and took his services, and a funeral in the
afternoon in the parish church, and in the evening
had my service in Hythe. I am glad to say the
congregation is improving. We had over one hun
dred. I took both the Wednesday and Thursday
evening services last week, so that in eight days I
preached seven times, — three written, four extempore.
Unfortunately for me, some of my Hythe people
have taken to coming to Saltwood Church in the
afternoon, and then going on to Hythe in the evening,
so I have had to give up my practice of delivering
the same sermon extempore in the evening which I
read in the afternoon.'

CRAUFURD TAIT. 331
'Saltwood, Aug. 21th, 1874.
[He is going to drive from Saltwood to Adding
ton.] ' I want to leave here on Saturday week,
September 5th, so as to give the mare a Sunday's
rest on the way. I shall leave her with John some
where for the two nights, and come back myself for
the Sunday duty. . . . Can you let me have Lucy
for the drive ? I would make other arrangements to
suit her. Let me hear soon. It will make all the
difference in the world to the pleasure of the three
days.' ' Saltwood, March 6th, 1875.
' My thoughts and prayers are with you at this sad
time of the year [anniversary of Chatty's death].
I am glad to have the little book you gave me,
with the days of my dear sisters' departure marked.
Tell my father that I do distinctly remember his
coming into the school-room at Carlisle to tell me of
dear Chatty's death. It is one of the few incidents
of that sad time that remain in clear memory. I
have just finished my watch over the closing days of
a poor woman in Hythe, in whom I was much inter
ested ; the girls will know about her, — her name was
Mrs. Dray. Certainly a clergyman's life brings the
reality of the other world very clearly to one's mind,
and takes much out of the sadness of sorrow and
bereavement. Now that it has come so near the
time that I must leave Saltwood and my work here,
it seems to have double attraction for me, and I shall

332 CRAUFURD TAIT.
be very, very sorry when I have to go. . . . At my
first celebration of the Holy Communion, last Sunday
at eight, there were only three communicants. But
I am glad to say  was one of them. The poor
attendance at church in the country is a great trial.'
After his death his successor at Hythe wrote to a
friend of the Editor, and in the course of the letter,
after speaking of the great sorrow to his parents, he
adds, ' I was wonderfully struck with the results of
his ministry when I succeeded to his work at Hythe.
You have heard, I daresay, how indefatigable he was
in visiting the poorer ones, and how intimately he
knew them. I don't think many of them knew he
was the Archbishop's son, but he was everywhere
loved for his own sake.'
On leaving Saltwood he became one of Mr.
Maclagan's curates for a few months at Newington,
his object being to see something of London work
under a good worker. Then he returned home to,
act as domestic chaplain to his father. A Bishop on
this occasion jocosely wrote : ' In addition to rooms
at Lambeth and Addington, I should suggest a
travelling-van with a green door and brass knocker,
also a chimney. So may the Capellanus of the
period make personal acquaintance with the diocese.
In the Weald I think you would want two horses
and a Secpalo*; £77-77-0?, or a leader, for the " Backbone
of Kent," up Hollingbourne or Boxley Hills.'
May one pause for a minute here, and correct what

CRAUFURD TAIT. 333
is probably a widely-spread notion as to the nature of
a chaplain's work ? Many, I think, imagine that a
chaplain is a sort of tame cat, proud of his connexion
with the Bishop,1 and with nothing particular to do
except to make himself agreeable ; that, in fact, he
has to play the part of ' young Levite,' which, accord
ing to Macaulay, was played in the Stuart days by
the chaplain to the country squire, only, instead of
nailing up the apricots in summer and playing
shovelboard with the squire on wet days, he has
to play lawn-tennis with the ladies, or balance the
farm accounts. What is the reality ? I have many
a time seen letters enough arrive by a single post to
fill a large basket. They have as soon as possible to
be read and arranged, and directions are given for
the answers. Many are of course routine letters, but
each requires, none the less, an acknowledgment or
reply, perhaps a long one. And the same post may
bring a closely written budget from some Colonial
Church, involving long and intricate inquiries ; com
munications respecting a proposed Bill in Parliament ;
a packet of printed matter submitted by the author for
approval or criticism ; a scheme for the establishment
of a new Bishopric ; or the detailed account of a
squabble between a rector and his curate or his choir.
All these, and a hundred such cases, has the chaplain
to deal with, under the direction of his chief, not only

1 Craufurd himself describes in one of his letters how, when travel
ling,- he met a clergyman, ' brother-in-law and chaplain to Bishop
A  , a warning to me, for he talked of nothing but the Bishop.'

334 CRAUFURD TAIT.
in letters — for half the parties concerned insist on an
interview, wherein they propound their views, not
only on the subject before them, but on Church
matters in general. Besides all this there are the
daily communications and business transactions with
the various Church Societies, or with Government
officials; material has to be prepared and facts
collected for public meetings ; search to be made
in the files of bygone correspondence, and sometimes
new ' subjects ' to be mastered and questions set to
aid the examiners in the periodical examinations of
candidates for Holy Orders. Time must also be
found for the composition of sermons, both for the
Palace Chapel and for churches in the neighbour
hood. So goes on the day's work till the post-houn
It is now dark, when at length the weary man turns
out for some fresh air, — 'prowling like a beast of
prey,' as the sister of one said to me, and coming in
little refreshed. There is not a harder-worked clergy
man in the diocese than the Archbishop's chaplain.
But to return : Craufurd, though he had much such
a life as this, sought, as I have said, for any oppor
tunity of ministerial work.
He was not very successful, in the Editor's judg
ment, in the lectures which he occasionally gave to
his people on his travels or other experiences. It
was his old fault, diffidence, which stood so much in
his way. He seemed afraid of launching out into
any flight of imagination or originality of opinions,
and always anxious only to express in the simplest

CRAUFURD TAIT. 335
terms exactly what he had seen. His preaching,
however, was thoroughly successful. His delivery
was somewhat monotonous, and he had a peculiar
intonation, but it was perfectly natural, and just as
he invariably spoke, — a clear, soft tenor.
The matter was always worth listening to, for it
was original, thoughtful, very earnest and solemn,
and therefore very telling. Young preachers might
have learned from him one secret of ministerial
success, namely, — Take care that you believe what
you say. In a discussion which has lately been going
on respecting sermons, one writer has uttered a
golden thought, — ' Say exactly what you mean, and
give up preaching the moment you cease to mean.
Given an adequate knowledge of theology and
divinity, this rule always holds good.' Craufurd
Tait's sermons illustrated this principle ; they were
suggestive, full of thought, attractive, just because he
had something to say. If one were asked — To what
school of thought did he belong ? the question might
be difficult to answer. Perhaps one might say that
he was a Churchman of Mr. Maclagan's type. But
in truth Craufurd Tait wanted to belong to no school
at all. He aspired to be a learner, not a party leader ;
not to strive nor cry, nor to let his voice be heard in
the streets. A man may avoid controversy to spare
himself trouble. It was not so here. He did it
because he was humble of heart, respectful to those
older than himself, anxious to receive of God's Spirit
from any whom he found able to teach him. He

336 CRAUFURD TAIT.

could gather children around him, and win them by
his loving ways, and as a good steward of the manifold
grace of God, could distribute that which he had
received, and thereby deepen his own knowledge of
God. It was this ' more excellent way ' which
enkindled in all those who knew him such bright
hopes of his future, which made them feel that he
was so wise, so promising, so likely to be an ornament,
a pillar of the Church which he loved. He had had
some personal anxieties in the early part of 1877,
which induced his father to recommend to him another
foreign tour, and he determined to go to America.
The journey was accomplished, and for more reasons
than one his journals have a special and most touching
interest and value. First, they give the history of
his last weeks of health. But, and this is the deepest
and best consolation to those who loved him so dearly,
it is good to read how he used these weeks, how eager
he was that the opportunity thus afforded him should
not be lost, but should be turned to account for future
usefulness in his labours for God. To this end he
was always alive to any peculiarities of national and
ecclesiastical life amidst which he was thrown. A
multitude of letters have been received from his
American friends since his death, which show how
greatly they were attracted by his character. And
this attractiveness arose from the fact that while in
his refinement, and manliness, and openness, and love
of sport he was like other young Englishmen of his
own class in society, there was something in his

CRAUFURD TAIT. 337
ecclesiastical training and the deep undercurrent of
thoughtful religious earnestness, to which they were
not accustomed in the ordinary specimens of his
young countrymen who hurry through America every
year. And they must have been attracted by this
also : — It was no unusual thing for them to see young
English clergymen, full of zeal and goodness, whilst
bearing the outward marks of belonging to this
ecclesiastical party or to that ; but here was a young
man whose chief characteristics were those of a manly
Christian gentleman of genial manners and widely-
extended sympathies, of whom it was impossible to
doubt that his deepest yearnings were to be a faithful
minister of Christ.
The party sailed from Liverpool in the middle of
July in the Cunard S.S. ' Bothnia,' Capt. Macmillan.
'July 31, 50 miles east of New York. — We have
several intelligent Americans on board, who have
been most kind to us. Dr. Adams, who preached
after our service on Sunday, is a very superior Pres
byterian ofthe Norman Macleod school. He is on the
Revision Committee of the New Testament, and head
of a Theological College in New York. Mr. Chandler
is a most interesting New-Yorker of great intelligence.
We have had a good many discussions on the
American Constitution, our information mostly taken
from De Tocqueville's "Democracy in America."
. . . The ocean is grand in its desolation. We
have seen nothing but two whales, two ships, and a
few porpoises and Mother Carey's chickens.'
Y

338 CRAUFURD TAIT.
' Our fellow-passengers are from every part of
America, and are very interesting to talk to. One
Californian, who was wrecked three years ago off
Nova Scotia, and was saved with some 300 people,
after eight or ten hours, while 800 were drowned, has
cheered us very much with a harrowing account of
his adventures.'
They landed at New York on the 1st of August,
and immediately on landing attended service at
Trinity Church (' a poor church with a fine reredos').
He was received with great kindness by the 'rec
tor, Dr. Morgan Dix, and his charming wife.'
' Drive through Central Park, a very lovely piece of
artificial gardening.' '  Hotel vast, but empty
and expensive.' Of one kind friend with whom he
dined he playfully says, ' He talked from the Rocky
Mountains to Lady Hester Stanhope in Lebanon,
from the primeval beasts of New Jersey to the Adam
Street Cellars in the Adelphi. I almost felt as if I
had to sit out Biggar and Parnell, although the dinner
was excellent, and the conversation very amusing.'
'August 3.— Hotel bill 70 dollars!!' 'Called on
Mr. Rutherford, and was much interested in his
photographs of the moon, spectroscope, and other
astronomical machines. He is a nice-looking and
intelligent old gentleman. Called also on Bishop
Smith. He is eighty-four, and Mrs. Smith eighty.
Had some talk about the Reformed Episcopal
Church, started by Bishop Cummins, late Assistant
Bishop of Kentucky. Bishop Smith says they have

CRAUFURD TAIT. 339
money, a college in Chicago, and would like a cathedral
in Philadelphia. . . . Had a lovely sail upon the Hudson
river ; the wooded hills on the banks are very beauti
ful, and grander than the Rhine. Saw the Parade,
with the Military College, and sat out wr.tching the
perfect lights on hills and river till dark. The boats
are capitally adapted to this purpose, having two
decks, drawing only five feet of water, and making
twenty miles an hour. Next morning, after being
obliged to refuse many invitations, we went on the
boat again, and had a splendid run up to Catskill.
The river is less shut in after leaving the high lands,
but the banks are very beautiful, and thickly dotted
with houses. After Poughkeepsie, the Catskill Moun
tains came in sight, and form a beautiful feature in
the scene. We reached the landing place at four
P.M., and commenced a long jolt in the " Stage," of
fifteen miles up to Mountain House. At the foot of
the mountains we got out and walked the last four
miles, reaching at 8. 50. The stage took till 9.40.
The scenery is thickly wooded, with small clearings
and farms. There is a wonderful variety of trees
and plants. It must be very cold and lonely in
winter at those farms. . . . The air was bright and
cool as we looked out next morning, and the view
from the hotel delicious. We can see sixty miles of
the course of the Hudson. At eleven [it was Sun
day] we had service in the drawing-room, conducted
by a Dr. Hawley, who preached a very good practical
sermon oa every-day religion. Afterwards we four

340 CRAUFURD TAIT.

had the Holy Communion in our room. We had
great difficulty in getting any wine, as none is allowed
out of the bar at odd times. In the afternoon we
walked with Mr. Harding to Newman Ledge (called
after Newman Hall), above Sleepy Hollow. The
views are very pretty, though the wood has rather a
gaunt look from having been burnt. The rock runs
in ledges, over one of the higher of which a glacier
has scraped in ages past. Saw several new plants.
In the evening Archie read the Service and the
Lessons. I went to bed early, as I was feeling seedy,
but awoke better in the morning, and joined a party
in a picnic to Haine's Waterfall.
'Aug. yth. — Woke after a ten hours' sleep, feeling
refreshed and better than I had been ; but unfor
tunately my nose bled for about an hour, which made
me feel rather weak. ... A lovely drive down to
Catskill, just missing a heavy shower ; on to Albany
by boat ; thence by train to Saratoga. . . . Walked
through the great hotels, the Grand Union and
United States, each able to hold 1 500 persons ;
Congress Hall about 1000. The gregarious habits
of the Americans are very amusing. The gorgeous
parlours, fitted with satin, are filled with Westerners
dressed to the nth, who spend their time in displaying
themselves, listening to music, dancing, and drinking
the waters. These hotels are fitted with shops, ball
rooms, billiard-rooms, baths, and each has its own
private band! Archie is really a delightful com
panion, and everybody we meet is ready to welcome

CRAUFURD TAIT. 341
us, and do all they can for us. New York is
nominally empty, but the majority of citizens are in
town living in their " empty " houses. I have found
also several old Eton and Oxford friends settled as
business men in New York. . . .'
'Aug. 8th.— Off at 9 A.M. to Ticonderoga by train,
dined on board the Lake Champlain steamer ; train
to Baldwin ; steamer down Lake George to Caldwell ;
stage to Glenn's Falls ; train back to Saratoga. It
was a trip well worth doing. The lake is skirted
with mountains running up to 3000 feet, clothed
with wood to the water's edge, and there are numer
ous little wooded islands scattered all over it. It is
a favourite way of spending the summer holiday to
live on one of these tiny islands, either in a log
cottage or a tent, and fish. The road from the lake
to Glenn's Falls is made of planks, and runs between
newly-enclosed land. In many parts of the clear
ings stumps of the trees are still in the ground, and
the fences are made either of grubbed roots, or else
of planks roughly put together. In the towns the
trains run right down the streets, regardless of
children and drunken men (if there are any of the
latter, for as yet I have seen none), and as they do
not go fast in the streets, I have seen people get off
at their own doors.'
The diary is full of entries of introductions to kind
friends and hospitable receptions. The manager of
the railway handsomely franked the party on at least
one long journey.

342 CRAUFURD TAIT.
' On the way to Niagara, August 9, we fell in with
a very cocky American boy of thirteen, who talked
about Bishop Alexander's Bampton Lectures. . . .
Governor Robinson told me that the excitement
about wages was rife in New York State, as well as
elsewhere, and if they had not had 20,000 men
under arms there would have been rioting as in
Pennsylvania. 'Aug. 10th. — We reached Niagara about ten a.m.
Walked over to Clifton House, and got a grand view
of the Falls from the Suspension Bridge, then back
to the American side; and we all explored Goat
Island, where the view of both the Falls is splendid.
We stayed long on the island, and tried to realise
them, and revelled in the sound of many waters.
From the Sister Island we got a very fine view of the
Rapids. As we stand far out in the stream, the river
looks like a sea, it is so broad and troubled; and
when you think that in a few seconds all this mighty
mass will be hurled down a sheer hundred and sixty
feet, you cannot take it in for ever so long. All
except  undressed and went under the American
Falls, into the Cave of the Winds, and had a glorious
shower-bath. The effect of the water dashing over
one from the rocks above into the whirlpool beneath
is stunning. At first one hardly dares to look up, but
as the eye becomes accustomed to the spray, the
colours come out, and the rainbow effects are
wonderful. ' [Sunday] Aug. 1 2th.— Chippewa Church. A plain

CRAUFURD TAIT. 343
service, by a Mr. Macklem, with a special sermon in
honour of the new organ (this day opened) by a dear
old gentleman whose name I forget. We returned
to Mr. Sutherland Macklem's, who sent us back to
the Clifton House. Macklem was at Toronto College,
and afterwards an unattached at Oxford, ending as a
gentleman commoner of St. Mary Hall. He is about
my age, and has a very attractive little wife with a
nice baby. In the evening we went to Clifton Church,
lower down the river on the Canadian side.'
After a last look at the Falls, they started on
August 13th for Chicago. 'Called on Dr. Adams
and Mr- Crerar, to whom I had a letter from Tom
Pelham. They were most kind, and took us up to
the top of their stores to show us the extent of the
fire. The Doctor had lost four houses, and Crerar
all that he had. A friend of his had, he said, saved
his wife, seven daughters, and a pocket-handkerchief.
The fire desolated four miles of city. Now all has
sprung up again, and the new business city is more
striking than any that we have yet seen. The
buildings are so substantial, and the architecture so
good. ' Lake Michigan is here quite like a sea, sixty-eight
miles by some hundred. ... In the evening we went
by train to call on the Bishop, Dr. M'Laren. He
told us that Chicago' was the native heath of the
Reformed Episcopal Church, — a Mr. Cheney having
been here ejected from the American Episcopal
Church for mutilation of the Baptismal Service, and

344 CRAUFURD TAIT.

having gone over with his congregation. The Bishop
says they have seen their best days ; that he doubts
if the College will ever be built, as it is merely a
speculation. ' Our hotel is full of mechanics come from Omaha
for a political meeting. It is very curious to find
one's-self in a magnificent dining-room, sitting at
table with people like our gardeners and lodge-keepers
at home ; but they are certainly quite as well behaved
as we are in their own way. I like the republican
independence of the people in America. No one
ever expects to be tipped, but renders any services
of courtesy as between equals. This is better both
for the class of tippers and tipped than our system.
'Aug. i$th. — We were taken to see the stock-yards,
— a somewhat unpleasant, yet most interesting sight.
We were fortunate in arriving just after they had
finished the actual slaughter of pigs for the day, so
that we saw the porkers go through all the stages
after they had been killed. The arrangements by
which they are rolled from hand to hand, and then
transported from room to room, hanging from tram
ways in the roof, are such as would only have occurred
to an American mind. One room is at a temperature
of 70°, the next at 40°. As they pass from hand to
hand they assume different forms, and the different
portions are set apart for different uses, until at last
they issue from the packing-house, part to feed the
soldiers in the West, part to go to every portion of
the world. They say that they have packed as many

CRAUFURD TAIT. 345
as 5000 pigs in one day at that one house. The
skilled labour is chiefly in the carving of the different
joints after the fashion of the different countries.
For instance, they produce both " Cumberland hams "
and "North Staffordshire bacon." I was surprised
to see children from eight to eleven years old working
here. . . . The cattle-market is the largest in the
world. In the afternoon we visited a large fashionable
Church, of no architectural merit. The Rector is
said to have an income of ^3000 a year from seat-
rents, but with no curate. These Episcopal churches
are on the congregational system, and have no definite
parishes. ' We went on to see a " grain elevator," one of the
characteristic things of Chicago. The grain is
spaded out of trucks, raised to the height of 80 or
100 feet, weighed, run down into vast bins, weighed
again, and run into the ships at the rate of 400 bushels
a minute ; all done by machinery. Chicago is the
largest collecting centre in the world for farm-produce'
On August 16 they came to Cleveland, which is
described as a very beautiful town, and deserving its
name of the ' City of Forests.' Next day they went
to Buffalo, thence to Toronto. Here he nearly broke
down, and had to give up some of his planned
excursions. ' I was feeling unwell, with sharp pains
now constantly present for three days.' Next day
he writes, ' Still fit for nothing, so kept quiet' And
the next day again, ' Pains as bad as ever ; lay in
bed till one. Joined in morning and evening service

346 CRAUFURD TAIT.
from my bedroom. Archie preached in the morning
at the Cathedral, and in the evening met a Ritualist
confessor at Howlands Church.' He now consulted
a doctor, who declared the pains to be rheumatism,
and gave him some lotion- which relieved the pain.
On August 20 they started by boat for Montreal.
' Lake Ontario is not very interesting, but we had a
lovely sunset, almost like the Nile sunset. At two
A.M., as I could not sleep, I dressed and went on deck.
Then I felt tired and went to sleep again. The sail
through the 1000 islands is pretty, but no more. The
river widens and contracts in a wonderful way. At
one point it reaches eight miles. ... In the afternoon
we passed down the rapids, the first of which, Le
Sault, is rather fine, and the last La Chine, decidedly
exciting, as the rock appears above the water. We
were steered down this by an Indian pilot. The St.
Lawrence has disappointed me much, not in the
grandeur of its stream, but in the tameness of its
bank-scenery, though in one place you get a distant
view of the Adirondack Mountains. As we ap
proached Montreal the Roman Catholic Churches,
with their gilded spires, became a feature in the scene.
We passed under the Tubular Bridge, a great but
ugly work, at seven, and went to the  Hotel
(ugh ! ugh !) for the night. I was soon awoke by an
invasion of Norfolk Howards, of whom I slew thirty.'
At Montreal they spent a short time pleasantly
with Bishop Oxenden's family, and duly saw the
sights. Then fye went to Ottawa to marry a cousin

CRAUFURD TAIT. 347
and gives a bright, cheerful account of it all. Then
they passed on to Quebec by the boat, — ' boats good
every way, clean, good table, cheery waiters, pleasant
captain, ditto scenery,' reaching it at 6 A.M. on Sunday
morning, August 26. His cousin preached at St.
Matthew's Church in the morning, 'very pleasant
service, cheerful and bright,' and himself at the
Cathedral in the evening. ' A very dull service,' he
writes, ' black gown, etc. A fine set of silver plate,
presented by George III. to the church. He also
gave one-seventh of the Crown land to endow the
Protestant clergy in Canada, but the Presbyterians,
at the commencement of the century, disputed the
right with the Episcopalians, and so both lost it.'
Thence through Newport, ' a much more pictur
esque country, broken with woods, and hills, and
rivers — the people looking very clean, contented, and
happy,' they came to Mount Deception. The others
climbed it, but-he was too unwell himself, and further,
' I was afraid of getting my only coat and boots wet.
Last night I had to come down in Turkish slippers,
to the discomfiture of the accurately-dressed inhabi
tants. Next day (Aug. 30) we started by rail for the
summit of Mount Washington ; the ascent occupies
three hours and a quarter. The first part of the rail
road runs through a thickly-wooded plain, sloping to
the foot of the mountain. There we changed into
the cogged cars, and went sheer up the face of the
mountain, rising an average of 1 in 15, and at one
place 1 in 3. The railroad is a wonderful triumph of

348 CRAUFURD TAIT.

engineering science and skill. I travelled on the iron
bar in front and saw everything. The evening was
lovely, and the sunset views beautiful. You can see
right away to the Green Mountains and to the sea-
coast of Maine.1 The evening air was very cold, but
the hotel was well heated throughout with warm
water. We saw the moon rise, and then went to bed
about ten to get up at 4.30 for the sunrise. I am
now deep in " Alton Locke," which is full of thrilling
interest to me, and explains the fierceness of some of
our Radical friends.'
'August 31. — A. glorious sunrise, quite clear and
beautiful in its calm orange tints. We had a lovely
drive down too. The road zigzags down the rough
bare rock, with splendid views of the whole range of
mountains ; then it is buried in trees, the under-wood of
which has a very striking effect in varying the colour,
while the wood does not altogether conceal glimpses
of the surrounding mountains which shut in the
glen. There were fourteen of us packed into a New
England wagon with four good horses.'
On the 2d of September they were at Boston,
and he ' officiated at Trinity Church, — westward
position.' Here he made the acquaintance of Dr.
Schereschewsky, Bishop-elect of China. In the even
ing he went to Christ Church, 'empty, though in
the midst of the poor. Met Mr Newton, incumbent
of St. Paul's Church, a Broad Churchman, who gave
me " New Tracts for New times.'"

1 Keith Johnston gives the height as 6620 feet. — Ed.

CRAUFURD TAIT. 349
They saw Bunker's Hill from the Cemetery, and in
the course of the next two days many relics of
Washington, and much else, — schools, historical curi
osities, Young Men's Christian Institute, etc. ' From
the Public Library any Bostoner can get any book
he wants. Thousands of books are lent every day.
, . . We went to see a base-ball match, St. Louis v.
Boston. There is not so much science in the game
as in cricket, but the fielding is very quick and good.'
They went to Cambridge, lunched with Mr. Long
fellow and his daughter, smoked and drank iced soda
with him. ' He is a most agreeable old man, made
us feel quite at home in a few minutes, and talked
upon all sorts of subjects. He had been at Lambeth
in Archbishop Longley 's time, and described the
conferring of his degree at Oxford and Cambridge.
He knew Aubrey de Vere, and incidentally said a
good deal about poetry. His ancestors had come
from near Leeds, and he was interested in talking
about Yorkshire to Wilson. He showed us over the
buildings at Cambridge, — very pleasant, round shady
quads.' On September 9 they were at Newport, and
attended 'Trinity Church, the oldest church in
America.' In the morning, ' the American chaplain
at Rome preached a very good sermon ;' in the even
ing ' a coloured clergyman preached a very curious
sermon, chiefly quotations.' Next day there was a
Polo-match, at which 'the Bishop of Rhode Island was
present,' and a fancy ball, ' which I did not attend.'

350 CRAUFURD TAIT.
They returned to New York on the 15 th of
September. Next day they attended Trinity Church ;
' a very good choral service, with a good sermon by
Dr. Dix, only I thought he forced too much Churchism
out of the Psalms of David. We intended to go to
Grace Church in the evening, but found all the
churches had afternoon, not evening, services, so we
went to St. Mark's, where we heard a very clear,
sensible sermon from Dr. Rylance, on " Jael's Bloody
Deed." He partly adopted Mozley's explanation,
partly my father's ; denounced the Speaker's Com
mentary, and recommended Dr. Adam Clarke. . . .
During this Ember Week those at home have been
much in my thoughts and prayers.'
Several pleasant days were spent sight-seeing at
New York and in the neighbourhood, where Bishop
Potter and Mr. Hamersley were very kind to him.
They were going into the anthracite coal region,
which he wanted to visit, because he was told that he
would learn much about the Labour controversy
which was raging ; but his friend was not well, and
they had to give it up. 'The New York school-
buildings are not so good as at Boston, and the range
of subjects is not so large ; still the schools are very
good. The boys' school had a thousand boys in it.
We heard them examined in history, and I had to
make a speech to them after Professor Ward had
spoken. In the girls' school the drill was even better
than in the boys', and the singing and recitation
very good. Archie spoke to them. Several of the

CRAUFURD TAIT.

35i

higher class girls seemed very much over-worked.
We went to the Boys' College, under General Webb,
and had some interesting talk with the Professors.
This College is supplied by the best boys from the
Grammar-schools, and corresponds to the . Normal
College for girls, which we could not see. In the
evening we saw Sothern act in The Crushed Tra
gedian, a poor piece, well acted, but with a low
moral tone.
' Sept. 20th. — Called on the Mayor, and saw the
Telephone. In the afternoon went with Mr. Cyrus
Field to Irvington, a lovely place on the Hudson.
Met two clergymen at dinner. Next day one of them
drove me to Sunnyside, Washington Irving's quiet
little home. Mr. Field's boys took me on the lake, and
Mr. Field drove me to see Washington Irving's grave.
All the family have been wonderfully kind.'
On September 23d he preached in the morning at
the Church of the Holy Comforter, Poughkeepsie,
and in the evening heard a "very striking and
thoughtful sermon from a Dr. Cady.'
' Sept. 26th. — To New York Convention ; a very
learned sermon by Dr. Glass, on the modern view of
the evidences of Christianity.' The next day he went
again. ' The Bishop introduced me to the Convention,
who all rose and bowed, to my infinite discomfort.
A discussion on shortened services.
'Sept. 29th. — Dined with Dr. and Mrs. Morgan
Dix. Met the Bishop and Miss Potter. An oyster
dinner in my honour. Dr. D. is very delightful when

352 CRAUFURD TAIT.
you know him. Met General M°Clellan and the
Bishop of Georgia.
' Sept. ioth.—M 7 A.M. tried to go to the Church
of the Holy Communion ; but it was not open.
Turned into the R. C. Church, which was crowded
for mass. The people were very devout. At nine
went to the Sunday-school. At 10.30 attended an
ordination of one priest at the Church of the
Transfiguration, of which Dr. Houghton is rector;
Dr. Seymour preached on the Ministerial office. In
the evening preached for Dr. Wildes, secretary of
American Church Congress. After service, Mr.
Carter, the organist, played some beautiful sacred
music in the pretty little church, which has some
very good glass by Heaton and Butler.'
On the 2d of October as they went to Boston,
' found ourselves the guests of the Hospitality Com
mittee. At ten attended the opening service of the
Convention in Trinity Church. Some forty-eight
Bishops were seated in the apse, and it was a very
impressive service. I read the Lessons. Bishop
Williams of Connecticut preached an able sermon,
bringing in the questions of Labour and Capital and
the Church  I met several old friends
among the Bishops— Pittsburg, Indiana, Kentucky,
New York, Ohio, Tennessee,— and made many more
friends, notably Bishop Williams of Connecticut,
whose handsome figure may be seen at most times
in the smoking-room, either lobbying or telling good
stories. He seems to have more influence than any

CRAUFURD TAIT. 353
other Bishop, having taught many of them. It is
impossible to keep count of all the clergymen to
whom I am introduced.
' Oct. 4th. — A bad night — late in the morning.
To the House of Clerical and Lay Delegates in
Immanuel Church ; Dr. Burgess, the President, made
me come and sit by him. Each set of delegates,
four clerical and four lay; sit together in two pews ;
their places are marked by little flags. . . . Sat on
from 10 to 1.30. . . . Met Bishop Huntington, an
interesting, handsome man, about sixty, who had
once been a Unitarian Professor at Harvard. At
7.30 an opening missionary service, with sermon by
Dr. Schenck. The secretary asked me to come
robed. In the smoking-room several clergymen told
stories of negro life, "Elder Clarkson and the
Apostate rite of Conformation," etc. etc.
'Oct. $th. — Prayers in Immanuel Church at 9.30.
Afterwards I went to the House of Bishops, where
after a short time I was met by Bishops Williams
and Bedell, and introduced formally into the House.
Bishop Smith welcomed me, and I delivered a
message of affectionate remembrance to the indi
vidual members from my father, and of sympathy
and prayerful hope from the Church at home to the
Convention. In the evening Dr. Potter brought me
an answer from the House of Bishops to carry to my
father. In the evening, after dining with Bishop
Bedell and Mr. Jones of Cleveland, and talking to
Bishop Williams in the smoking-room, I went to the
z

354 CRAUFURD TAIT.
Missionary Meeting and heard Dr. Twing report on
Domestic Missions.
'At 10.15 I was presented to the House of
Deputies by Dr. Schenck, and had to make a short
speech. A long speech on the facilitating the for
mation of missionary dioceses. As for the money
difficulty, he said he " never heard of any difficulty
about money among the Apostles, unless it were
that Judas got hold of it. " It is interesting to watch
the forms of the House, and to see how prominent a
part the laity take. There are judges, generals, lead
ing politicians, and literary men, among the lay
deputies. . . .
' At 4.45 went to Brookline, met Bishops Whipple,
Clark, Williams, Wilmer of New Orleans, Lee, Chief-
Justice Waite, Judge Taylor and his wife, Dr. and
Mrs. Potter, Mr. Secretary Fish and Mrs. Fish, Dr.
Vinton, and Mr. Morgan, a London banker. The
dinner was a most interesting one, and after smoking
had begun, Bishop Whipple told a story about the
man who, when in danger of drowning, " dipped " to
bale the ship, instead of "snivelling about his own
soul." Certainly under such circumstances, Laborare
est orare. Bishop Quintard told us of an old woman
who stole a goose. The minister meeting her on her
way to Holy Communion, exhorted her to repentance
for this evil deed. The old lady (who was no disciple
of Zaccheus, for she had the goose at that moment
safe in her cupboard) impressively replied, " Do you
think that I am going to let that goose stand be-

CRAUFURD TAIT.

355

tween me and my Saviour ? " Bishops Williams and
Wilmer also were very amusing. ' x
' Oct. yth. — Morning and evening service at Mr.
Storr's Church. Bishop Kip and I assisted. Bishop
Williams preached in the morning on the manliness
of Christianity — (i) providing for body, mind, and
soul, (2) exercising reason and faith, (3) guiding by
great principles, not by minute regulations.
' In the afternoon Bishop Williams gave a mission
ary address on Red Indians, Haytian Negroes,
Mexicans — full of interest and power.
'Oct. 8th. — Drove into Boston, called on Mr.
Phillips Brooks, had most interesting talk with him.
Said good-bye to Bishop Smith, asking him to send
my father's letter of invitation to Bishop Holly (the
Haytian Bishop). Bishop Whipple sent loving
messages to my father ; Dr. Leeds of Maryland
also. Bishop Kerfoot sent a copy of Longfellow's
Poems to my sisters. Bishop Wilmer of Louisiana
gave me the kiss of peace. Train to Hartford
through some very prettily wooded country, bright
with the Fall colours. Spent from three to seven at
Hartford with Professor Hart and President Pynchon,

1 The American Bishops seem rather fond of stories which reflect
on the Antinomianism of some of the sects, e.g. one Bishop in his
visitation comes to a great convict establishment and offers his services
to officiate. 'No need of you here, sir,' says the head jailer; 'we
have eight preachers safely locked up, who are brought out each
Sabbath to minister to their fellow-prisoners.' 'Take away my de
pravity,' said an old member of a congregation to his minister, — ' Take
away my depravity, and you rob me of all my hope.'

356 CRAUFURD TAIT.

who wants to get copies of the special services and
prayers for Founders' Day at Oxford.'
They visited Yale College, of which he formed a
moderately good impression, and Girard College at
Philadelphia, — 'a splendid white marble Grecian
building, which holds some iooo orphans, and edu
cates them from five to sixteen years. They are
taught French, Spanish, etc. No clergyman or
minister to be admitted within the walls by Girard's
deed of trust. No religious exercises are allowed
except the reading of the text of the Bible. They
have evidently more money than they know what to
do with. Within the enclbsure wall they have built
several other Grecian buildings, and are now putting
up a chapel in which they may not have service.'
' Oct. 14th (Washington). — To church both morning
and evening at Epiphany Church. A nice service
with a good quartett choir, which, however, I cannot
approve of, for they make the singing quite Petherish1
and uncongregational. The sermon was on the
Sermon on the Mount. In the evening the choir
was amateur, and the singing more congregational,
but it was spoilt by an attempt to sing Spohr's " As
pants the hart." Both service and sermon were too
bold, I thought. The latter was extempore, on the
relations of Christianity to Metaphysics.'

1 Pether was a butcher in his father's first parish, who constituted
the sole choir, and sang the hymns in solo in front of the gallery every
Sunday. His name has consequently become a synonym in the family
for any elaborate music somewhat out of place.

CRAUFURD TAIT. 357

Thence at length they went to Georgetown, pass
ing through a district chiefly inhabited by blacks,
'It was a new and strange sight to me to see black
ladies stooping down to pick up their trains, black
ministers, black schoolmasters, black pupils.'
At Washington they were present at the opening
of the Supreme Court, and were struck with the de
corum thereof. 'Very different from Baltimore,
where every member ofthe court, judge, jury, counsel,
and witness, all were chewing tobacco.'
They visited also the House of Representatives ;
were driven by the Chief Justice to the Soldiers'
Home, which he describes as ' a lovely spot,' and were
also courteously received by the President and Mrs.
Hayes. ' He is a very pleasant man, and she most
agreeable. . . . Mr. Roosevelt told me that Hayes
wishes (1) to heal the remaining soreness in the South,
(2) to introduce a standard of money, (3) to reform
the Civil Service, and that he will succeed.' x Hence
they returned to New York, were once more hospit
ably received at Grace Church Rectory, and ' spent a
very merry evening' there, the night before leaving.
' On the 17th they sailed for England in the ' Bothnia.'
1 The state of things which the Northern Central Government
inflicted on the South at the close of the war, and which President
Hayes set himself to remedy, rankled in the heart of some ofthe Southern
Bishops. One told how the black recorder or judge of a town in
his diocese, appointed by the Central Government, wrote the name of
his office as that of Jug, — 'the spelling,' said the Bishop, 'being
symptomatic of the habits of the functionary.'
On one occasion this same Bishop landed from the steamer, and
seeing a black man lounging about the pier, gave him his portmanteau

358 CRAUFURD TAIT.
We desire here to introduce two letters from across
the Atlantic. The first is from Dr. H. C. Potter,
nephew of the venerable Bishop of New York.
' My dear Sir, — The Rev. Craufurd Tait came to
Newport (which has been for some years my summer
home) during the month of September 1877. On
board the steamer which brought him and his travel
ling companions to this country he had made the
acquaintance of the family of a friend and neighbour,
at whose table I first met him. His name opened to
him a great many American homes and hearts, and
We should have been eager to welcome him for his
father's sake if hot for his own. But it was impos
sible to know him, though ever so slightly, without
being attracted by his hearty and unaffected enthu
siasm, and still more by his pure and ingenuous char
acter. His interest in everything distinctively Ameri
can was at once keen and kindly, and where it would
have been natural for him to find some fault in our
unfamiliar ways, he seemed to discover only a fresh
occasion for a friendly and intelligent curiosity.
' Except to meet him at brief intervals at a friend's
house, I saw little of Mr. Tait after he left Newport,
to carry, and a few cents for his trouble, which he gladly took. ' Do
you know who that was to whom you gave your portmanteau ? ' said a
friend. ' It is the new Mayor of tho town appointed by the Central
Government.' The Bishop was indignant, and when next he saw the
Governor ofthe State, he remonstrated on such appointments. ' My good
friend,' was the reply, 'you may be very glad that it was not the man
whom I was urged to appoint Mayor ; for if he had got your portman
teau, he would not only have carried it, but opened it to see what he
could take out.'

CRAUFURD TAIL

359

until the meeting of our General Convention in Bos
ton in October. On that occasion he brought the
greetings of the Archbishop of Canterbury to the
American House of Bishops, and as secretary of that
body, it was my office to arrange for his reception.
Those who witnessed the scene will not soon forget
it. The House had been engaged in a discussion of
exceptional gravity, and one could feel that it turned
its attention with something of an effort from the
business before it. It is doubtful if, in all its history,
it had ever been addressed by one so young. Indeed,
the contrast between the venerable presiding Bishop,
bent with the weight of more than fourscore years,
and the youth who stood before him, was strangely
impressive. With singular modesty, but with the
most entire self-possession, Mr. Tait discharged the
duty which had been assigned to him, and delivered
the greeting with which he had been charged. His
words were brief, but they were spoken with such
rare aptness and simplicity, that when he had ended
every one who heard him was alike won and charmed.
At the conclusion of the more formal proceedings,
the Bishops gathered around him, and the greetings
with which they welcomed him indicated the happy
impression which he had made.
'On the same day, I think, he was introduced to
the House of Deputies and addressed them, and on
the following Saturday I found him the guest of a
friend (the Hon. Robert Winthrop), with whom I spent
a week during the sitting of the General Convention.

360 CRAUFURD TAIT.
In connection with this visit we were much together,
and his evident enjoyment in out-door life led to our
spending many hours in walks through the neighbour
hood of Brooklyn. It was October, and the charm
of an American autumn was something which
kindled in Mr. Tait a constant enthusiasm. It led
him to talk of his own country, of his work, of the
ministry, and of the present and future of the English
Church. In regard to this last, his viev/s were singu
larly mature for one so young; and in all that he
said there was a strain of mingled gentleness, hope
fulness, and courage, which had a peculiar charm.
In his intercourse with the household whose guest
he was, he made the same marked impression, and
when he took his departure there was a common
feeling that no small measure of sunshine had gone
with him.
' This was the last occasion on which I saw him.
But he was the guest of my family in New York
immediately before he sailed for Liverpool, and on
my return, a week after he had gone, it seemed
almost as though he were there still. The Rectory
was full of the atmosphere of his presence. My little
son talked of no one else, and for a long time the
traditions of what Mr. Tait did and said were among
the staples of our household words.
'There must have been something very rare in a
nature which could make so strong and so gracious
an impression. I was not insensible to those natural
graces of disposition, first inherited, and then wisely

CRAUFURD TAIT. 361
and tenderly nurtured, which were so considerable an
element in his character; but besides these, there
was the constant evidence of a life made nobler and
sweeter by the grace of the Master. His bearing,
when he officiated (as I heard him at St. Paul's,
Brooklyn) in public, and those unconscious disclosures
of himself which one makes in allusion to matters of
more sacred interest, — these things betrayed a nature
to which the indwelling power of the Holy Spirit was
a blessed and gracious reality.
'The tidings of his death were an equal surprise
and grief to all pf us here who had known him. He
had come and gone so swiftly, that it would not have
been surprising if he had been easily forgotten. But
he was not, and hearts on this side the Atlantic that
had quickly learned to love him, sorrowed in a com
mon and widespread sympathy with those to whom
he was most dear. For myself, I shall always be
thankful that I was privileged to know him, and the
memory of his sunny presence, and his pure and
manly and ingenuous character will be one of the
most valued recollections of my life.

'H. C. P.

¦' Grace Church Rectory,
' New York, St. Matthias' Day 1879.'

The following extract too is interesting. It is from
Mr. Hamersley, whom Craufurd met in America : —
'I went to Lambeth Palace to see the Lollards'
Tower (to be seen, according to guide-book, three

362 CRAUFURD TAIT.
times a week — eleven to one), but was refused
entrance by the janitor. I submitted to the dis
appointment, and inquired after the family, giving as
my reason that I knew Mr. Craufurd Tait in America.
This announcement changed the demeanour of the
janitor, who forthwith said that his wife would show
me the Tower. On the way to the Tower we passed
through the Palace, and when showing me the photo
graph of the Pan-Anglican Council, the janitor's wife
left me to tell Miss Tait that a friend of her brother's
was in the Tower. Miss Tait came to see me, and
also introduced your sister-in-law. The next day,
much to my surprise and gratification, I received an
invitation to dinner at Lambeth, and sat by the side
of Mrs. Tait, who in the providence of God has since
been called to meet her son. The kindness of the
Archbishop and his family will ever be cherished as
one of my happiest memories.'
The Dean of Westminster, on his return from
America last November, wrote the following on his
way back : —
'Wherever I went I found that your dear boy's
name was mentioned with the deepest affection. All
the little stories about him were treasured up in the
different houses where he had been received — in
Boston, Newport, New York, Philadelphia, In Mr.
Winthrop's room his photograph was pointed out to
me as a cherished memorial. Dr. Potter of New
York gave me an affecting description of his modest,
engaging, ingenuous appearance in the House of

CRAUFURD TAIT. 363
Bishops, — instantly overcoming the technical scruples
and hostile prejudices with which some of them had
been inclined to regard your communication to them.
It is indeed a fragrant memory, which will not die in
America any more than in England.'

A FEW weeks pass ; and he is in his last illness.
The writer of these pages saw him in November,
a very few weeks after his return from America. As
we left the house my wife said to me in a tone of
dismay, ' How very ill Craufurd looks ! he seems to
me in a very bad way.' It was more likely to be
noticed by one who saw him but seldom than by those
who were much in his company. By Christmas, his
mother, as the Archbishop's narrative has told us,
was greatly alarmed, and he grew rapidjy worse.
But the five months which were to elapse before
the, end came were so blessed and marked by the
finger of God that they who survive him have no
recollections more sweet and dear than of that period.
Day by day his father prayed in the little chapel at
Addington, 'Visit him with Thy salvation.' And
day by day in the sick-chamber the prayer was
abundantly answered, as was most expedient for him.
The sufferer was cheerful and bright always, able to
' Leave all things to a Father's will,
And taste, before Him lying still,
E'en in affliction, peace.'
The breaking of the hopes which he had formed

364 CRAUFURD TAIT.
concerning his work at Notting Hill was but the
beginning of the cross. Like all God's children, up
to the highest Example of all, he had to learn
obedience by the things which he suffered, and to be
weaned from the world day by day. Just once, when
a relapse came after a time of steady improvement,
he said to his sister, somewhat sadly, ' It seems rather
hard to die, after getting so much better.'
A week before he died, whilst the arrangements
were being made for his journey to Broadstairs, a
fresh gleam of hope seemed to come ; he talked quite
cheerfully about recovery to a friend who was walking
by his bath-chair. The same friend has told us how
on a previous occasion, on entering his room to get a
book, he found him on his knees, and apologised for
disturbing him. ' It doesn't matter at all,' Craufurd
replied simply ; ' prayer is so much a part of one's life
that a little interruption of that sort makes no differ
ence.' His life had become a great prayer, never
strained, but constantly abiding in the will of God.
His natural character, as has before been said, was
somewhat impetuous and headstrong ; one sees signs
of it in some of his letters, even up to the time of his
illness. The sickness became the minister of God's
grace to purge it out.
On Saturday the 25th of May he left Addington
for Stonehouse.
He bore the journey well, and seemed none the
worse. On Tuesday afternoon he had a violent fit
of sickness, but it passed off, and he seemed better in

CRAUFURD TAIT. 365
the evening. In the morning he was not so well. In
the afternoon the symptoms grew more and more
unfavourable, but he was still bright in conversation,
and rallied his old nurse, who was attending him,
on her early recollections of him. He talked with
his youngest sister also over a passage — the 4th
chapter of the Hebrews — which they had been read
ing together. His father had gone out, and on his
return to the house shortly after five was met by
Mrs. Tait, who announced that a sudden change had
taken place for the worse, and that if the Holy
Communion were not administered at once it would
probably be too late. The holy service therefore
began, all whom he loved best on earth being present.
The patient followed the service all through with a
bright and beautiful aspect. He was disturbed once
by a fit of coughing, and his father paused. ' Go on,
go on,' he said. There was no more interruption,
and a solemn, thrilling hush followed the blessing.
There came a paroxysm of pain, but it passed off.
' It feels just like going to sleep,' he said quietly, as
his eyes lovingly looked into the faces round him.
Presently he said to his father, ' Say the Commenda
tory Prayer,' and the last request was fulfilled.
Suddenly he clasped the hand of one who was sitting
by his pillow, and turned on his side. There was no
sign of pain, but it was all over. The warfare was
accomplished. It was six o'clock ; not two hours had
elapsed since the first alarm was given.
What more was needed to such a gracious life?

366 CRAUFURD TAIT
It was full and complete in Christ. Who will venture
to say that if he had lived to threescore years and
ten his influence would have been greater than it
will be now ? The corn of wheat has fallen into the
ground and died, and we believe that the promise
will be fulfilled ; that it will therefore bring forth
much fruit. Felix opportunitate mortis, for those who
knew him, pondering over that deathbed in years to
come, will realise more and more that his goodness,
meekness, guilelessness, purity of heart, are not
memories of the dead past, but living powers which
remain alway, though the bodily form with which
they were wont to associate them shall be seen no
more. One who knew him from childhood has said
to us — ' There was not a school-fellow, nor a friend,
nor a servant, nor a farm-labourer who knew him
who did not love him, such was the charm of his
character.' But he, as do all Christ's servants, leaves
them a rich inheritance — not merely the memory of
his good example, but the assurance that his love to
them lives on, and will know no end, fed and
increased as it is by that love of God which now
flows forth toward him and in him, everlastingly.
His tutor wrote after his death : ' If I did not teach
very much to dear Craufurd, I learned many lessons
from his unfailing brightness and frank kindness.
... My language is that of all who knew him. We
mourn for him as for a son.'
On the day of his Baptism at Rugby, his godfather,
the Dean of Wells, who all through his life loved him

CRAUFURD TAIT. 367
tenderly, had given him a Bible, with this inscription,
' Ps. cxix. 19. — I am a stranger in the earth, 0 hide
not thy commandments from me' He lived to see his
wish fulfilled, to see how as his godson grew to man
hood the commandments of God became his steadfast
rule of life.

/^\N Tuesday afternoon, June the 4th, a large
number of those who had loved him best —
clergy of the diocese and of the Church elsewhere,
relations, dependants, parishioners, and very many
school and college friends — have gathered themselves
in the sweet churchyard of Addington. The rustling
ofthe breeze among the tall elms, tempering the heat
of the bright sun, and the tinkling of a distant sheep-
bell, are the only sounds which break the stillness,
save the voice of the priest, — ' Earth to earth, ashes
to ashes, dust to dust.' Glances almost involuntary
are cast at the central figures in the group by the
grave ; but all is perfectly calm, and the Lord's Prayer
sounds so earnest and heartfelt as each voice firmly
takes it up. The service comes to an end, so does
the hymn that follows — 'Brother, thou art gone
before.' No one moves, but the foremost mourner
has stepped forward, a wonderful repose of sorrow
stamped upon each feature, and his voice hardly fal
ters as he pronounces the Benediction. All linger a
few minutes longer ; most are praying silently, and

368 CATHARINE TAIT.
all feel that they know what the prayer of each is.
Then the crowd slowly disperses, not to leave him
there, but to carry him with them in that communion
and fellowship which they will hold with him until
the day of restitution of all things, as often as they
strive to live the life of faith in the Son of God.
The bereaved mother stood for one moment alone
when the burial was over, and said in a low but
intensely earnest and thrilling voice, heard only, it is
believed, by one young relative, ' I believe in the re
surrection of the dead.' Such an expression of faith
was in unison with the whole mode of her religious
life. There is little to add to her husband's account
of the six months that followed. 'None but my
God and I know what I have suffered,' she softly
said to a trusted friend. She by no means shut
herself up with her grief. She 'endured, as seeing
Him who is invisible,' and went about her daily
work courageously as ever. But the change which
sorrow wrought upon her countenance, the furrowed
cheeks and rapidly whitening hair, told what had
else been almost untold. I did not see her very
often after her bereavement, but two little circum
stances will live in my recollection for ever. The
one was on a Sunday, when she came privately with
the Archbishop to hear her future son-in-law preach
in Margate Church. At the Holy Communion we
sang Dr. Bright's lovely Hymn,
'And now, O Father, mindful ofthe love.'
I could not help watching her as she sang it. She

CATHARINE TAIT. 309
seemed absolutely unconscious of any presence but
the Divine. And as she came to the last two lines,
' In Thine own service make us glad and free,
And grant us never more to part from Thee,'
her face was peace itself. The other was on St.
Peter's Day, when the American Bishops came to
Canterbury. That morning was Commemoration at
St. Augustine's Missionary College, at which the
Bishop of Western New York preached an exquisitely
moving sermon. Mrs. Tait was deeply impressed
with Skeats' beautiful chorale, ' The righteous souls
that take their flight,' and again that sublime expres
sion of a hope all but fulfilled was seen upon her
countenance. She spoke of this chorale so strongly
afterwards that my wife after her daughter's marriage
copied it out that the three daughters might sing it
to her as a trio. But this was never to be. In the
afternoon there was an immense gathering at the
Cathedral. We will quote the Bishop of Pennsyl
vania's account of it, from an address which he de
livered to his clergy on returning home : —
' At three in the afternoon of this day the Bishops,
to the number of thirty or forty, met in the Chapter-
House of the Cathedral. Having robed there, they
walked in procession through the cloisters and
through the west door of the nave, the choristers and
the Cathedral clergy chanting the Psalms appointed
for this occasion. The Cathedral was filled with
thousands of people, assembled to witness the impos-
2 A

37° CATHARINE TAIT.
ing and unwonted spectacle, for never before had so
many Bishops met within its walls.
'On the centre of the altar-steps was placed the
patriarchal chair of St. Augustine, a plain stone
cathedra, and in it the ninetieth successor of St.
Augustine in the See of Canterbury took his seat,
and addressed the assembled Bishops, saying, " My
brothers, representatives of the Church throughout
the world, engaged in preaching the Gospel of Jesus
Christ wherever the sun shines, I esteem it a very
high privilege to welcome you here to-day to the
cradle of Anglo-Saxon Christianity. I am address
ing you from St. Augustine's chair. This thought
carries us back to the time when that first missionary
to our Anglo-Saxon forefathers, amid much dis
couragement, landed on these then barbarous shores.
More than twelve centuries and a half have rolled on
since then. The seed he sowed has borne an abun
dant harvest, and this great British nation, and our
sister beyond the ocean, have cause to render thanks
to God for the work begun by him here." His clear
and strong address was closed by the following words
to the American Bishops : —
'"My brothers from across the Atlantic, — you
especially from the great Republic, — to you a par
ticular welcome is due from me. Partly for our
Church's sake, partly for my sake, partly also for
something you discerned in himself, you welcomed
one very dear to me last autumn. The bond that
unites us is not the less sacred because so many

CATHARINE TAIT. 371

hopes of earthly joy have withered and disappeared,
God unite us all more closely in His own great
family. And now let us to prayer." '
The Bishop of Louisiana, Dr. Wilmer, of whose
sweet aged face many of us retain so happy a recol
lection, was staying at Lambeth, and was impressed
in these last days of her life, as other friends had
been in the days of her youth, with Mrs. Tait's
unfailing desire to make religion the very essence of
her daily life. 'I delight,' he said to a Church
dignitary, from whom I received it, ' in my stay with
these people. From the early service in the morning
to the late prayers at night, life seems always in God's
presence' Another American prelate, as he watched
her unflagging courtesy, as she ministered — pale and
sorrow-stricken — to the multitude of guests, remarked
that he could scarcely believe that such fortitude and
self-constraint were possible. They were only so by
an effort too great for heart and brain. Her mind
was steadfastly set upon that world unseen from
which her thoughts now never wandered far. Yet on
the evening before he left Lambeth Bishop Wilmer
sat beside Mrs. Tait at dinner. He spoke of the
deep pleasure he had received by his visit, and of the
improbability of his ever seeing England again. ' I
hope it may be otherwise,' said Mrs. Tait, • and that
we may, if it please God, meet in ten years at this
table.' ' No,' said the Bishop, ' possibly my brother
here,' turning to the Bishop of Nebraska, ' but not I.'
And so they parted. And on the selfsame day, she

372 CATHARINE TAIT.
in Edinburgh, he in America, passed away, to meet
again in the sanctuary and presence above.
And now we have little more to add. What there
is centres round two spots.
The first is Lambeth Chapel, the graceful building
of the roystering Archbishop Boniface of Savoy. ' It
is strange,' writes Mr. Green, 'to stand at a single
step in the very heart of the ecclesiastical life of so
many ages, within walls beneath which the men in
whose hands the fortunes of English religion have
been placed from the age of the Great Charter till
to-day have come and gone ; to see the light falling
through the tall windows and their marble shafts on
the spot where Wyclif fronted Sudbury, on the lowly
tomb of Parker, on the stately screen-work of Laud,
on the altar where the last sad communion of San-
croft originated the Nonjurors. It is strange to
note the very characteristics of the building itself,
marred as it is by modern restoration, and to feel
how simply its stern, unadorned beauty, the beauty
of Salisbury and of Lincoln, expressed the very tone
of the Church that finds its centre there.'1 The
restoration here referred to is the roof which was
erected by Mr. Blore during the Primacy of Arch
bishop Howley. Of what has been done since Mr.
Green wrote, a few words have to be said.
Lambeth Chapel is a shrine specially dear to the
American Church. Here Provoost and White and
Madison were consecrated. Here, in 1867, the
1 Stray Studies, p. 114.

CATHARINE TAIT. 373
American Bishops were most lovingly welcomed by
Archbishop Longley ; and one of their number
preached the opening sermon at the first Lambeth
Conference. They won all hearts at that time by
their manly, unaffected simplicity, as well as vigour.
'I believe,' said the Archbishop of Dublin to the
present writer, ' that they are about the ablest body
of men I ever met.' They on their part were moved
with delight at the heartiness of the reception, and
sent over, as a thank-offering to the Mother Church
of England, the handsome alms-dish which ornaments
the Lord's table at Lambeth.1 When the next Con
ference met, although the shadow of death hung over
the Palace, they found a welcome extended to them
none the less hearty ; and they again resolved on
making an offering to the Chapel. The restoration
of the Chapel was in progress. The windows which
had been filled with stained glass by Cardinal Morton
had been broken during the troubled times of the
Reformation, so that Laud found them, to use his
own words, 'shameful to look upon, all diversely
patched like a poor beggar's coat' He carefully
restored them, but the storm of popular violence rose
again until no trace of their beauty was left. For two
centuries they remained, restored indeed to decency,
1 It bears in the middle, on the front side, the following inscription :
 ' Orbis Peteri Novus Occidens Orienti Filia Matri 1 87 1 ; ' on the
reverse side, running round the circumference, ' Ecclesia Anglicans
Matri per manus Apostolicas Reverendissimi Georgii Augusti Selwyn
Dei Gratia Episcopi Lichfieldiensis pacts et benevolentia internuncii
ejusdemque auctoris hoc pietatis testimonium filii Americani dederunt.

374 CATHARINE TAIT.
but with all their loveliness destroyed. In the work
of restoration therefore the replacing of the stained
glass was one of the first objects in view, and happily
the means of doing this were accessible. It was
known that the broken windows had been copied from
pictures in the Biblia Pauperum, and to these
accordingly the artists, Messrs. Clayton and Bell,
betook themselves. In each case the two side-lights
contain representations of types, of which the Antitype
is in the centre. The centre light of one of the
windows on the south side was undertaken by the
American Prelates. The other window is erected by
many friends to the memory of Craufurd, and under
neath it is the following inscription : —
3In 39*1110*8 at *¦«
REV. CRAUFURD TAIT, M.A.
ONLY SON OF
ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY,
AND OF CATHARINE TAIT.
Simple, pure, manly, energetic, kindly, because in all things truly
Christian, he won the hearts of young and old, rich and poor. He
was loved and respected at Eton, at Christ Church, and in his Curacy
at Saltwood, in his visit to the East, and to the United States of
America, and here, as his father's Chaplain.
Faithful during his brief earthly ministry, he was gently summoned from
his home below, with all its duties, enjoyments, and hopes, to his real
home in the immediate presence of Christ. Many friends of all degrees
and ranks have united in dedicating this window as a memorial of love.
Bom at Rugby, spared in the fever which desolated his father's home
at Carlisle in his childhood, he died at Stonehouse, Thanet, in the
twenty-ninth year of his age, on the eve of the Lord's Ascension, May
29th, 1878. As for me, Twill behold Thy Presence in righteousness,
and when I awake up after Thy likeness, I shall
be satisfied with it. — Psalm xvii. 16.

CATHARINE TAIT. 375
The subjects ofthe two windows are — (i.) Craufurd's
Memorial : in the centre, Mary Magdalene and Christ
in the Garden — the incredulity of St. Thomas — the
Ascension ; in the on,e side light, Gideon — Enoch ;
in the other, Jacob wrestling with the Angel — Elijah.
(2.) The American window : centre, the Consecration
of Matthias— the Gift of Pentecost — the Last Judg
ment ; side lights, — Solomon's Judgment — Moses
receiving the Two Tables, — David and the Amalekite
— Elijah's Sacrifice.
The other portions of the restoration comprise a
very rich arrangement of mosaics on the East Wall,
and the replacing of the rough floor by a tile
pavement. And now at Lambeth Chapel, as we may say, Mrs.
Tait yielded up her work as the Primate's wife. We
have read in his Memoir the account of that solemn
day of Holy Communion, and the Marriage ceremony,
and the quiet Evening Prayers. On the following
day she left England, never with mortal eye to
behold it again. The memory of that wedding day
is as of the distant past. The far-off look — far as
Addington and Stanwix Churchyards, far as heaven,
— the pale, wistful, and almost aged face, which
seemed the personation of her husband's last sermon,
'sorrowful, yet alway rejoicing;' the earnest notes
uttering Keble's hymn, ' The voice that breathed o'er
Eden,' now as with the strength of gladness, now
faltering and breaking down, — those who were there

376 CATHARINE TAIT.
will long remember all that. We saw little more of
her that day. When we bade her farewell for ever
in this world she was just returning from seeing her
child's departure. She kissed my wife affectionately,
and with her usual habit of saying kind things, spoke
of the help she had rendered in her bringing up, and
added, ' We shall see you soon at Stonehouse ; you
will be there to welcome the bride home.' This was
the 1 2th of November.
On the 7th of December — it was her newly married
daughter's twentieth birthday — all of her that could
die was laid to rest in Addington Churchyard, beside
her boy, not now under the summer sun, but in a
cold misty afternoon. The chief mourner walked up
meekly to the coffin in the chancel, and gently kissed
the head of it, and joined the choir in singing, ' Lead,
kindly Light,' and spoke the Benediction at the grave.
The Archbishop of York took part in the service,
and there were present the Bishops of London,
Winchester, St. Albans, Rochester, and Dover, and
the Deans of Westminster, Durham, and Windsor.
The latter brought four wreaths from the Queen and
Royal Family, and an autograph letter of sympathy
from the Queen. The funeral ended, the family,
including the newly-married daughter, who with her
husband had hurried back from Florence, to meet her
father at Lambeth, went down, as on the 4th of June,
to Stonehouse the same evening.
Letters innumerable of affectionate sympathy and
respect followed them thither. Not one was more

CATHARINE TAIT. 377
touching than the Queen's, — simple and womanly.
The other members of the Royal Family also, and
the Empress Eugenie, sent kind messages. Most
touching perhaps of all, — the Princess Alice wrote,
coupling her expressions of sympathy with a gentle
allusion to her own recent sorrow. It was the last
letter she ever wrote. On the same afternoon, on her
return from witnessing the departure of a friend, she
was attacked with the illness which had carried off
her child, went at once to her bed, and arose from it
no more.
It is a difficult task to attempt to give any idea of
the sympathy which was so abundantly manifested ;
yet in pursuance of the intention with which this
book has been published, namely, the communication
to others of that consolation wherewith the com
forters themselves have been comforted of God, the
Editor has gathered into a very brief compass a few
of the loving words. And first, here are some
extracts from the letters of English Bishops : — ' I have
little right to intrude on your Grace at such a time,
but I cannot forbear expressing to you my sympathy
with your great sorrow. It was impossible to know
your late wife without loving her, for she was full of
love herself, and showed it in every word and deed,
nay, even in her very manner and countenance. I
recall full many instances of her thoughtful kindness
towards myself, and my experience is that of all who
came within her reach. It is not too much to say
that she is a loss to the whole Church, not only on

378 CATHARINE TAIT.

account of her great works of charity, but she bound
together those who, but for her good influence, would
never have acted together, or even would have been
estranged from each other, and her gracious and
courteous manners were the true reflection of a most
sympathetic heart. I need not assure your Grace
that your family and yourself are not forgotten in our
prayers. In the prayer for the Church militant this
day, I thought how well it applied to her bright
example, and to those who mourn their unspeakable
loss.' . . .
' I can never forget her touching goodness to me,
during what was to me a time of heavy depression
and pain, mental and bodily. Her life was, I verily
believe, made up of such acts of sympathy, the more
abundant when her own heart was riven, as though
she was afflicted for the consolation of others. Your
Grace was remembered in this house with affectionate
prayers and with tears.' '. . .
' I have been so much drawn within the circle of the
loving influence of her who has been called away, that
I cannot help giving expression to my own deep sorrow
for her loss, and for your Grace's heavy trial.' . . .
'The impression left here by dear Mrs. Tait and
yourself1 is most touching, and indeed I know of no
member of our Church who has awakened anywhere
so deep and true an affection as she has done.' . . .
' Believe me that we all loved her whom you and we
1 During a short visit they had made.

CATHARINE TAIT. 379
have " lost awhile," and that we shall the more love
and honour now him and those whom she has left
here to follow her hereafter.' . . .
' The whole Church mourns with and prays for you.
But those who had, as we have had, the privilege of
knowing and loving her who has been taken from
you, join in those prayers with a deep and affection
ate earnestness.' . . .
' The sad tidings came to-day with a sense of per
sonal bereavement. We Bishops have never failed to
receive at Lambeth more than hospitality,' the wel
come of a hearty and sympathising friendship from
one who was not content to do the duties of a hostess ;
we recognised the influence of a kindly, Christian
heart.' . . .
' She who is gone presented to my mind the per
fect ideal of sympathy. I have never forgotten meet
ing her in St. Giles' nearly twenty years ago, when
my first great grief was overshadowing me. She was
so overflowing with a delicate and tender pity, full of
exquisite tact, but also with expression which went
far beyond mere words.' . . .
'The years which roll on will comfort you with the
thought that she still lives in you, and waits for
you. ' Oh, I am so sorry for you ! Yet I know how the
blessed Saviour is far far more sorry, and helps you
to understand it, and makes you calm and quiet in
the sense of His presence. You were like a sermon
to us all on Saturday, only such a sermon as never

38o CATHARINE TAIT.

has been preached by the lips of men. God was so
evidently wrapping you round in His everlasting arms,
and nerving you to give us that Benediction which we
shall never forget till we die. ... The prayers and
love of thousands of loyal, tender hearts are yours— a
possession that makes rich. Your daughters are still
at your side, and yet closer to you the holy, kind pre
sence of One who says to you, " Fear not ; for she is
with Me, and I am with thee." ' . . .
' The answer of God to your own soul is so much
deeper and stronger than anything which my unworthi-
ness has ever yet been able to realise, that I am half
ashamed of writing to one so revered by me in words
that are truly presumptuous through their powerless-
ness at such a time. But we are all bound to let the
sound of our afflicted sympathy with you be just
heard, because in magnis tentationibus juvat solitude
sed tamen ut in propmquo sint amici' . . .
' I can only fall back on the thought of Him who
as upon this day1 entered into the secret of all the
sorrows and all the mysterious desolations in the
hearts of the children of men. That He will not be
wanting to any whom He calls to walk in His foot
steps, least of all to those whom He bids walk very
near to Him, this must be our comfort, and confi
dence, and strength.' . . . ' You know I can go back to
my school-boy days, and can see you now riding off
to Dunchurch on your chestnut horse, while we specu-
: Written on Christmas Day.

CATHARINE TAIT. 381
lated on the rumours afloat that Miss Spooner was
likely to come to the School-house. . . . My sister
and I must ever remember Mrs. Tait's great kind
ness to us, as we were launching forth upon our new
life here, and it seems to us as if another link with
the past was broken, another friend lost out of sight
while we remain "in faith to muse
How grows in Paradise our store."
' It will be long before her many good works will
be forgotten among men. For she was a true Chris
tian woman, and loved to serve God by serving her
fellow-creatures. Your friends can do nothing to
comfort you but give you their prayers, their
sympathy, their loving recollections of all her good
ness. May God our Father comfort you with His
exceeding comfort !' 'I know that every one of the
hundred to whom you endeared yourself during
those most interesting weeks of July, feels the loss
you have sustained as a personal grief.' . . . 'We
cannot grieve for her, for in such a troublous world it
is a blessed thing to think of any servant of our
Master entered into rest, her work done, her conflict
over, the end of her faith received.' . . . ' The loss of
last May was to her (we see it now) the first warn
ing note of her final summons — the beginning of the
end to a life full of compassionate sympathy and of
ungrudging Christian labour. The buoyant, hopeful
spirit, which had so often upborne her safely over the
waves of severe personal trial, had, too plainly,

382 CATHARINE TAIT.
yielded at last to the prolonged strain of hoping
against hope for a life justly dear, not to parents
only, nor to sisters, but to all who knew and loved
your son. In Christ she has now found her rest with
him, as also with those who, through long years, had
been stretching out to her their childish hands across
a Cumbrian grave, from the unseen land, radiant with
the resurrection hope.'
From the American Bishops also came a like burst
of affectionate kindness. 'Among all our Bishops
whom I have seen, there has not been one who has
not testified in a most touching way to his sorrow
over this mournful event. One and all were struck
with the beautiful courtesy and self-command which
she manifested under circumstances of such recent
and severe grief. The staff which has been taken
from your hand was certainly " Beauty," as well as
" Bands." '
Though I have not put the names of the respec
tive writers of the above letters, I desire to do so in
the case of a few other letters. I frankly avow that
my object is to show how men who differ in lesser
matters, but are entirely at one in loving the Lord
Jesus Christ in sincerity, also united in words of love
and comfort here. ' Palace, Salisbury, 5th Dec 1878.
' MY DEAR ARCHBISHOP— I cannot refrain— as one
of your very oldest English friends— from saying to
you how deeply and truly I sympathise with you in

¦ CATHARINE TAIT. 383
your heavy sorrow, and how earnestly I pray that
the sustaining grace of the Holy Spirit may comfort
and support you under it. You have with you the
true prayers of thousands, and none truer and more
heartfelt than mine.
' I only beg that you will not reply to my note,
which I am half ashamed to trouble you with. God
bless and support you, my dear old friend. — Ever
believe me, yours affectionately, ' George Sarum.'
* Auckland Castle,
Dec. a,th, 1878.
'My heart bleeds for you, my dear friend, — blow
upon blow — and both so terribly painful. O what a
blessing and comfort that you and they whom you
mourn have known Him who is the Life — and so
death is to them to be with Christ — they are "not
lost, but gone before," and your weary pilgrimage can
be gladdened by the thought that you shall soon
meet them again in your Saviour's presence.
" We expect a bright to-morrow,
All will be well ;
Faith can sing through days of sorrow,
All, all is well."
That the same wise and loving Father's hand, which
has so grievously wounded you, may pour abundantly
into your heart the healing balm of peace and hope
is the earnest prayer of— Yours most truly,
' C. DUNELM.'

384 CATHARINE TAIT. ' Clewer Rectory,
id Sunday in Advent.
' My dear Sir, — I have been unwilling to be
silent, and yet not liking to venture any direct
expression of the deep sympathy which affects me
and many here at the most touchingly sad bereave
ment of the Archbishop and his family. Mrs. Tait
was a most bright and delightful visitant here from
time to time, and her large and loving sympathies
embraced us as it did all the Church's works. It is
the greatest blank we could know beyond our own
immediate circle and fellow-workers.
' We share the gloom which it has pleased God to
suffer to fall so sadly everywhere, how greatly in your
own home! I thought you would kindly mention
my having written among the very many who have
sought to express, as far as they could, their sym- -
pathy, — Believe me, dear Sir, very truly yours,
' T. T. Carter.'
' Deanery, Carlisle,
Dec. ^d, 1878.
' My dear and most reverend Archbishop,—
I cannot help telling you how much and how deeply
I feel for you, and sympathise with you,— a com
panion in your sorrow, your brother in adversity.
We offered prayers for you this morning, which went
up to Heaven from this old scene of your joy and
sorrows, gone by for ever.
1 To Rev. R. T. Davidson.

CATHARINE TAIT. 385
' Your heavenly Father must love you much, or He
would not chasten you so sorely, opening the wounds
again and again. ... It would give me most tender
pleasure to be allowed to share your sorrow ; but
this old place would be too much for you, otherwise
if you could rest a night here when you return South,
my widowed daughter, who now lives with me, would
take great care of you. May our blessed Lord sup
port and cheer and comfort you ! May you come up
out of this fiery furnace burnished as fine gold !
May the Son of Man be with you ! Cheer up, my
venerable friend : a few more weary steps and we
shall be with our happy loved ones !— Yours humbly
and affectionately,
' F. Close.'
*2 Grosvenor Gardens, S.W.,
Dec. 5*4,. 1878.
' My dear Lord Archbishop, — Much as I wish
to do so, I should not venture to send you this letter
of deep and heartfelt sympathy, if I did not remember
some words in your letter to myself — a letter the kind
ness of which I shall never forget You said in that
letter that the sympathy and prayers of Christian
people had been a great comfort to you in a time of
very heavy sorrow.
'Your Grace can hardly realise how deep and
widespread is this sympathy.
' I was with Canon Gregory when I heard of it, and
we, by a natural impulse, knelt down together to ask
1 B

386 CATHARINE TAIT.
God to be with you. As I came back I met a
clergyman who told me that he and some friends
had just been praying earnestly for you. A third
said, " I can't get it out of my thoughts. The Arch
bishop will have strength from God to bear it, but oh,
what a loss it will be to him !"
' When I got back to my parish I found that one
of my curates had of his own accord asked the
prayers at the Early Celebration.
'These are instances out of many of the deep
sympathies and earnest prayers by which you and
your children are encircled, and I know that God
will give the strength hour by hour, my dear Lord
Archbishop, and help you to realise how near she is,
and to thank Him for that noble, earnest life, and in
time even to be glad that she is safely guarded by
her Lord Himself from all the pain and trial of this
life. I dare not intrude more upon your Grace, but
I could not be silent. If it does nothing else, my
letter will assure you of the prayers of one whom
God has called to carry a like cross. — Your faithful
and grateful servant,
' Geo. H. Wilkinson.'
' Lower House of Convocation,
Jerusalem Chamber, 20th Feb. 1878.
' My dear Lord Archbishop, — ... I am one
of those whose memory retains very vividly impres
sions received ia the beginning of 1843, when your
Grace's happiness was so fresh, and when we sixth-

CATHARINE TAIT. 387
form boys — at least I can speak for myself — gained
a most delightful experience of the exquisite kindness
with which the wife of our head-master could second
and support his constant efforts to befriend and help
us in all ways open to him. We know how bright
and winning a presence was that which presided over
the School-house hospitality ; and we can unite these
old personal remembrances with all that we have
heard, during years past, of the services rendered by
her whom your Grace has lost, to various works of
religion and charity. I hope that in saying thus
much, I have not said anything which had better
have been omitted. I have too sincere a sense of
your Grace's goodness to me when I was your pupil,
and often since, not to be anxious to avoid any rude
touching of such a wound as your Grace has received.
One feels sure that He who has willed that your
Grace should receive it, will visit you the more effec
tually with all the influences of His own healing
hand. — I am, my dear Lord Archbishop, your Grace's
in all gratitude and duty,
'William Bright.'
' My dear Archbishop, — I do not know how to
express to you my sincere grief at the affliction with
which you have been visited. I have known your
dear, excellent wife so long, and can trace back so
many grateful memories of her kindness at my many
visits to you, from Rugby days onward, that I seem
to understand how precious her life must have been

388 CATHARINE TAIT.

to you and her children. May the good God and
Father of our Lord and Saviour support you and
yours in this most heavy sorrow. It will be, I am
sure, the prayer of hundreds and hundreds, and your
own old and personal friends will desire to offer it
earnestly, constantly, and most affectionately for you.
As your tribulation is great, so may your consolation
too abound, and by the help of many prayers for you,
and by the gifts of the nearer and dearer Presence
of the Spirit of Grace and Love and tenderest com
passion. 'You will feel that your dearest wife has rejoined
the darling son that you both mourned together ;
that her many loving tokens will follow her ; that
she carries away to her rest and peace the gratitude
of many poor and suffering ones whom she delighted
to help and comfort when they were suffering.
'About the last interview which I can recall —
and which I do recall very vividly — is when I went
with her, when you were last in Oxford, to Miss
Liddell's quiet, solitary grave. Afterwards we had a
little walk in Christ Church Meadow, when she asked
with great interest about the religious state of Balliol,
and as I well remember, spoke brightly and hope
fully about what might yet be done. Often and often
have I mentioned to others how I felt a great reality
in your family prayers, first impressed upon me in
my visit to you at Carlisle. The hymn which, under
her guidance, was sung at that gathering, morning
and evening, seemed to me to bind in one, master,

CATHARINE TAIT. 389
mistress, servants, very strikingly; and I could not
but feel how bright an example she showed of a
Christian head of a household, by being a constant
and steady worker herself.
' Oh ! all these reminiscences must seem to you to
be a very inadequate tribute to her gifts and excel
lencies and affection. Still you will feel, I am sure,
from many of your friends' letters, how that she was
appreciated and greatly esteemed, and by how many
loved. ' Once more, my dear Archbishop, accept my truest
arid most affectionate sympathy. My poor prayers
shall be offered for you and for your daughters ; and,
be assured, that when I am, as I trust to be, one who
follow her remains to their last resting-place, I shall
yield to few, outside your own family, in my true
regard and grateful recollection of her, and in my
earnest supplication that you may be strengthened
from on high under this sorrowful trial. — Ever most
sincerely yours, ' E. C. WOOLCOMBE.'
'Birmingham, 3d Dec. 1878.
'MY Lord ARCHBISHOP,— Forgive me the pre
sumption, of which I am conscious that I am guilty,
in venturing to write to you in this moment of anguish.
Since I read the announcement in this morning's
paper of the sudden calamity which has fallen on your
Grace, I have had ringing in my ears the words of
the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews : " Whom

390 CATHARINE TAIT.
the Lord loveth He chasteneth, and scourgeth every
son whom He receiveth. If ye endure chastening,
God dealeth with you as with sons ; for what son is
he whom the father chasteneth not ?"
' Stroke upon stroke has fallen on your Grace, and
even strangers cannot hear of these constantly recur
ring troubles without profound emotion and sym
pathy. Accidental circumstances have made the last
two sorrows which have fallen upon you very vivid
to me. When I was at Yale (Connecticut) a year
ago, my friends told me of the singularly pleasant
impression produced by Mr. Tait, who had been there
just before me ; soon afterwards, I heard of his death.
Last week when passing through the new buildings
of the University of Glasgow, I happened to see your
Grace with a troop of young friends about you ; and
now this morning appears the announcement of a
fresh and overwhelming trouble.
' In the way of sorrow, apart from sin in those you
love — from which worst of all troubles may God
preserve your Grace, — there seems nothing left to be
endured. The forms of anguish which arise from
bereavement are exhausted. No new experience of
grief seems possible. The cup has been drained to
its dregs. In the presence of the Cross on which the
sins of the world were atoned for, all theological and
ecclesiastical differences by which Christian men are
separated vanish and are forgotten ; and there are
human sorrows so great, that in their presence too
everything is forgotten except that the sufferer is in

CATHARINE TAIT. 39 r

sore need of the consolation and strength of our
common Father in heaven. This is my only apology
for writing to your Grace at such a time as this ; and
I earnestly trust that your Grace will not think it
necessary to acknowledge this letter. — I am, my
Lord Archbishop, your Grace's obedient and humble
servant, ' R. W. Dale.'
The Rev. Canon Oakeley, whose affection for the
Archbishop, formed at College many years ago, has
never been broken by the differences which have
parted their communion of worship, telegraphed,
'You are much in my thoughts in your great
affliction.' The following, from the Dean of Durham, was
written later, after the Archbishop and his family
had visited Saltwood again : — 'Deanery, Durham.
' I feared that the visit to Saltwood must be a great
trial to you, but it must be a comfort to you now to
have gone there ; and if the remembrance of dear
Craufurd's short and beautiful life were almost over
powering, you had yet the support of more friend
ship and affection than often falls to the lot of man.
One cannot have seen much of life without seeing
that keen sorrows and great happiness are almost
needed for each other, and that it is impossible (and
might be unfortunate) for men to have the highest
blessings, unless they were to be taught to bear their

392 CATHARINE TAIT.

loss. One must look back, as we get old, on life;
and I cannot but regard yours, where so much of
domestic sorrow has been mixed with the deepest
domestic happiness, as having been in reality a truly
blessed one.'
Equally touching are the letters of the laity.
Take this from one who has filled high office in the
State: — 'When my wife and I saw you and Mrs.
Tait at Alloa, we little thought that we should not
meet again in this world ; and we shall long cherish
the memory of that Communion. . . . All that we
can do is to pray (as we indeed shall from the bottom
of our hearts) that the needful strength and comfort
may be given to you and to your children.'
This comes from an influential member of the
House of Commons : — ' How difficult it is for any
one who has not yet been called to pass through
such deep waters, to realise the kind of help which is
needed. And what a blessing it is that though
human sympathy may fail, there is One who, having
borne all our sorrows, knows exactly how to heal
them. I was so thankful to hear that you anticipated
an early resumption of your work, and I pray that
God may support you in it. I often think of
Schiller's beautiful idea that toil and sympathy are
the two earthly comforters given to all mourners.'
From one of the Judges : — 'The old words are the
best and the truest, if one only can say them heartily,
" The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away : "
the rest is difficult to say at first, perhaps even to you.

CATHARINE TAIT. 393

I only want to say, if you will let me, that I feel for
you, and pray for you with all my heart.'
From a zealous church-worker : — ' It is no figure of
speech to say that the world is indeed the poorer by
her loss. It can ill afford to spare one of that band
(which is after all such a little one) endowed with
sympathies so deep and wide-spreading as hers, and
gifted with the power of giving them practical effect,
filled with zeal, energy, and resolution so indomit
able, and yet armed with that prudence and discretion
which avoids all the pitfalls besetting the path of
good -will.'
The following comes from a relation in Australia :
— ' Her influence for good has been widespread, —
even here, in this far-off land, men who were boys at
Rugby speak with affectionate remembrance of " dear
Mrs. Tait," and her unfailing kindness, especially
shown to them in sickness. I accompanied her
many times, both in London and at Fulham, on her
loving missions to the sick poor in hospitals, to work
houses and to homes ; and the tender pity with which
she entered into their troubles and sorrows made a
deep impression upon me, and seemed to touch the
hearts of many, and raise them above their sad
surroundings. ' One visit I vividly recall — to the House of Mercy
connected with All Saints' Church, Margaret Street.
On passing through the ward for incurables with the
Mother, a poor woman, dying of cancer, was lying in
agony, the drops of suffering pouring from her face.

394 CATHARINE TAIT.

Mrs. Tait turned to me, saying, " I cannot pass this
poor creature by, do you go on and see the House,
and join me afterwards ;" and she went and sat
down by the bed of the sufferer. On returning, I
was surprised to see the change wrought , by comfort
ing words and warm human sympathy. The poor
woman's face wore a look of peace, the peace of God,
who mercifully stilled the anguish, and gave — for a
time — rest.'
To these Memorials may fitly be added the fol
lowing sonnet, written by a very old and loved friend.
The thought is of course inspired by the fact of Dr.
Newman's Hymn being sung at the grave : —
31 n S$*moriam— C. %.
Ah ! * kindly Light ' that leads the mourners on,
Through mist and cloud, to yon eternal clime
Where life and growth are measured not by time,
And full-orbed Love crowns love on earth begun.
Weep not, sad hearts, for her, who now hath won
The crown of joy that fadeth not away,
Where, in the light of everlasting day,
Lost 'angel-faces' wait her near the Throne.
Weep not, hut pray, for those to whom are left
The toil and burden of the lonely years,
Life's sunset sky of all its glow bereft,
And distant hopes as yet half-seen through tears ;
So, living as she lived, in faith and hope,
May they, and we, yet climb the mountains' cloud-girt slope !
E. H. P.

CATHARINE TAIT. 39f

HP HE blessed Easter-tide has again come round as
we walk through Addington Churchyard. Loving
young hands have laid camellias on the graves of
which these pages have had to tell, and on other
dearly cherished graves also. The beautiful park
and gardens have begun to put on their spring loveli
ness. And memory calls back all the more sorrow
fully, as the sun sets this bright Sunday, the dear
faces, the old familiar faces, once by our side.
Through the churchyard, the gardens, the elm
avenue, by the great ' ribbon border,' and the cedars,
— every turn of the path steeped in sweet recollections ,
— we enter the house as the sun goes down. Pre
sently we are in the chapel ; the evening prayers are
coming to an end ; the chief pastor's voice closes the
service : —
' 0 merciful God, the Father of our Lord Jesus
Christ, who is the Resurrection and the Life, we meekly
beseech Thee, O Father, to raise us from the death of
sin to the life of righteousness ; that when we shall
depart this life we may rest in Him, as our hope is
those we mourn do. . . .'
He speaks the words of faith, and hope, and bene
diction, and all is hushed. And we feel in the midst
of that stillness that ' the peace of God which passeth
all understanding ' is no figure of speech, but a deep
and everlasting reality.

PRINTED BV T. AND A. CONSTABLE, PRINTERS TO HEK MAJESTY,
AT THE EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY PRESS.

YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

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