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PEOSE EEMAINS 
 
 OF 
 
 ARTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
PKOSE EEMAINS 
 
 AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 WITH A SELECTION FEOM HIB LETTEES 
 AND A MEMOIE 
 
 EDITED BY HIS WIFE 
 
 Hontron 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK 
 1888 
 
 The right of translation is reserved 
 
 If 
 
/I zos^^'ir^ 
 
 LL 
 
 COr 
 
 UNIV 
 
 iSiT 
 
 V 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTIISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STBEET SQUAKB 
 
 lONDOK 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGK 
 
 Memoir op Akthue Hugh CLotraH . . .1 
 
 Letters prom 1839 to 1836. Bugby . . 57 
 
 Letters prom 1836 to 1849. Oxpoed 75 
 
 Letters prom 1849 to 1852. London . 141 
 
 Letters prom 1852 to IS.'^S. America . 187 
 
 Letters from 1853 to 1861. London . . 216 
 
 A Consideration of Objections against the Re- 
 trenchment Association at Oxford during the 
 Irish Famine in 1847 .283 
 
 Lecture on the Poetry of Wordsworth . . 305 
 
 On the Formation of Classical English : An Extract 
 
 from a Lecture on Deyden 325 
 
 Lecture on the Development op English Literature 
 
 from Chaucer to Wordsworth . ... 333 
 
 Eevibw op some Poems by Alexander Smith and 
 
 Matthew Arnold . 355 
 
VI PROSE REMAINS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lbttees of Paebpidbmus ... . 381 
 
 A Passage upon Oxfoed Studies : Exteacted feom a 
 Eeview of the Oxfoed Univeesitt Commissionees' 
 Rbpoet, 18.')2 . . . . . 399 
 
 BXTEACTS feom A REVIEW OF A WOEK ENTITLED ' CON- 
 
 sideeations on some Recent Social Thbokies' 405 
 
 Notes on the Religious Teadition . . . . 415 
 
MEMOIE 
 
 OF 
 
 AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Arthue Hugh Clough was born at Liverpool, January 1, 
 1819. He was the second son of James Butler Clough. 
 His father belonged to an old Welsh family, who trace 
 themselves back to Sir Eichard Clough, known as agent at 
 Antwerp to Sir Thomas Gresham. His mother's name was 
 Anne Perfect. She was the daughter of John Perfect, a 
 banker at Pontefract in Yorkshire, of a respectable family 
 long established in that place. 
 
 Sir Eichard Clough, we are told, was related on his 
 mother's side to John Calvin. In his own county of Den- 
 bigh he was evidently a man of considerable position. He 
 built two houses, PMs Clough and Bachegraig, about the 
 year 1527. He married first a Dutch lady, by whom he 
 had a son, Richard, who carried on the name, and to whom 
 he bequeathed Pl§,s Clough. He married, secondly, Kath- 
 arine Tudor, heiress of Berain, and descendant of March- 
 weithian, lord of the Welsh tribe of Is-aled. She was a 
 relation and ward of Queen Elizabeth, being great-grand- 
 daughter of Henry VII. ; and the Queen's consent is 
 mentioned as having been required for her marriage. Sir 
 Richard Clough was her second husband ; and the story is 
 ' B 
 
a LIFE OF AETHUB HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 told that he, as well as Morris Wynn of Gwydir, accom- 
 panied her to her first husband's funeral, and that Morris 
 Wynn when leading her out of church requested the favour 
 of her hand in marriage, to which she answered that she 
 had already promised it as she went in to Sir Richard 
 Clough ; but added that should there be any other occasion 
 she would remember him. After the death of Sir Richard, 
 accordingly, she did marry him, and afterwards married, 
 fourthly, Edward Thelwall, of Plas-y-Ward. She is said 
 however, to have preferred Sir R. Clough to her other 
 husbands ; and a curious picture of her exists, a companion 
 to a somewhat remarkable one of Richard Clough, holding 
 a locket containing his ashes in one hand, and resting the 
 other on his scull. 
 
 By this lady. Sir R. Clough had only two daughters, 
 one of whom married a Wynn, and was the ancestress of 
 the family of Lord Newborough, which still possesses May- 
 nau Abbey, given to her by Sir R. Clough. The second 
 daughter, Katherine, married Roger Salusbury, and received 
 from Sir Richard the house and property of Bachegraig, 
 which afterwards came into the possession of Mrs. Thrale, 
 her lineal descendant. 
 
 His son Richard inherited Plas Clough, where his de- 
 scendants continued to reside. In the beginning of the 
 eighteenth century, the family was represented by a Hugh 
 Clough, who had thirteen children, one of whom, called also 
 Hugh, was Tellow of King's College, Cambridge, and is 
 buried there : he was a friend of Cowper the poet, and is 
 said to have been something of a poet himself. Hugh died 
 unmarried ; but three sons and one daughter of the first 
 Hugh married, and left large families. One son, Roger, 
 thirteenth child of Hugh Clough, married Ann Jemima 
 Butler, a lady possessed of considerable estates in Sussex, 
 to which she was co-heiress with her sister, who married 
 Roger Clough's elder brother Richard. He did not, how- 
 
LIFE AT CHAKLESTOK' 3 
 
 ever, leave much to his children, for he was of a liberal and 
 profuse turn, and he had ten children, of whom James 
 Butler Clough was the third. This son was the first of his 
 family to leave the neighbourhood of their old house in 
 Wales. He removed to Liverpool, where he settled and 
 went into business as a cotton merchant, and where his 
 four children were bom. When Arthur was about four 
 years old, his father migrated to Charleston, in the United 
 States, where he passed several years, and this was the 
 home of Arthur's childhood till he went to school. We 
 give here a few recollections furnished by his sister, the 
 next to him in age in the'family, which bring before us the 
 scenes in which his childhood was passed, and the influences 
 which even then began to tell strongly upon him. 
 
 ' The first distinct remembrance,' she says, ' that I have 
 of my brother is of his going with me in a carriage to the 
 vessel which was to take us to America. This must have 
 been in the winter of 1822-23, when he was not quite four 
 years old. My next recollection is of our home at Charles- 
 ton, a large, ugly red brick house near the sea. The lower 
 storey was my father's office, and it was close by a wharf 
 where from our windows we could see the vessels lying by 
 and amuse ourselves with watching their movements. 
 
 ' In the summer of this year (1823) we went to the 
 North, and stayed some time in a boarding-house at New 
 York, and afterwards with some friends who lived on the 
 banks of the Hudson, and had a large and pleasant garden. 
 It was here, I have heard, that Arthur learned to read. 
 In the autumn we returned to Charleston, having made the 
 passage there and back by sea. 
 
 'The two following summers (1824 and 1825) we again 
 visited the North ; both times we went to New York, and 
 the first year on to Albany and Lebanon Springs, and the 
 second time as far as Newport. After our return to 
 Charleston in the autumn my father was obliged to go to 
 
 B2, 
 
4 LIFE OF ARTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 England, and he took witli him my eldest brother Charles, 
 who was old enough to go to school. Arthur and I and my 
 youngest brother George remained in the red brick house 
 at Charleston with my mother and a faithful old nurse. My 
 father was absent eleven months. Then Arthur became my 
 mother's constant companion. Though then only just seven, 
 he was already considered as the genius of our family. He 
 was a beautiful boy, with soft silky, almost black hail', and 
 shining dark eyes, and a small delicate mouth, which our 
 old nurse was so afraid of spoiling, when he was a baby, 
 that she insisted on getting a tiny spoon for his special use. 
 
 ' As I said, Arthur was constantly with my mother, 
 and she poured out the fulness of her heart on him. They 
 read much together, histories, ancient and modern, stories of 
 the Greek heroes, parts of Pope's " Odyssey " and " Iliad," 
 and much out of Walter Scott's novels. She talked to him 
 about England, and he learnt to be fond of his own country, 
 and delighted to flourish about a little English flag he had 
 possessed himself of. He also made good progress in 
 French. He was sometimes passionate as a child, though 
 not easily roused ; and he was said to be very determined 
 and obstinate. One trait I distinctly remember, that he 
 would always do things from his own choice, and not merely 
 copy what others were doing. 
 
 ' In the summer we went down to Sullivan's Island, 
 and lived in a sort of cottage built upon piles. Here we 
 could walk on the shore and gather shells, and we also had 
 a garden. We amused ourselves by watching the steamers 
 and sailing-vessels that came over from Charleston. Some- 
 times we had visits from friends of my father, often bring- 
 ing over letters for my mother ; but, on the whole, we lived 
 very quietly, learning our lessons, and looking forward 
 joyfully to the time of our father's return from England. 
 We went back to Charleston in the autumn. This was a 
 weary time for our dear mother, who was continually 
 
CHILDHOOD 5 
 
 expecting and longing for our father's return. We, too, 
 were always on the watch for the first sight of the ship on 
 the bay. One November morning, while we were at our 
 laaeons with our mother, there came a hasty ring at the 
 bell. We wanted to look out and see if visitors were 
 coming. We were not fond of visitors, and generally used 
 to run off to our nursery at sight of them, but our mother 
 would not let us peep this time ; we must attend to our 
 lessons, she said ; she was sure it was only a negro man 
 with a message. And then the door opened and our father 
 was in the room, catching up our mother in his arms, for 
 she was nearly fainting, while we skipped about for joy, 
 and shouted to our mother that she had called our father a 
 negro man. Then came the unpacking of trunks, and all 
 the presents sent to us by our relations in England, and the 
 news of our brother Charles. 
 
 ' After my father's return it was a very happy time for 
 Arthur. He still went on reading history and poetry with 
 our mother. About this time, I believe, he read with her 
 some of Robertson's " Charles V.," and the struggle in the 
 Netherlands in Watson's " Philip II. " ; also the lives of 
 Columbus, Cortez, and Pizarro. He used also to say the 
 Latin grammar to my father in the early morning, and do 
 sums in the office, lying on the piled-up pieces of cotton' 
 bagging which were waiting there to be made into sacks for 
 cotton. Here, too, we used to play and tumble about upon 
 the cotton heaps. One of our games was playing at the 
 Swiss Family Robinson, in which I remember Arthur was 
 always Ernest, because Ernest liked reading and knew so 
 much. In hot weather, Arthur used to lie on his bed in the 
 afternoon, reading the " Universal Traveller " and " Captain. 
 Cook's Travels," in the purchase of which he had one day 
 expended all his savings. They were both full of pictures, 
 and he used to tell us that he dreamt of the places he had 
 been reading about. He also used to go out with my father 
 
6 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 when he had business to do on the wharves and on board 
 the ships, and sat with him and my mother in the evenings 
 and saw the occasional visitors who came in, such as the 
 captains of the merchantmen with whom he had dealings, 
 and heard their stories. 
 
 ' In the summer of 1827, we again went to Sullivan's 
 Island. It was a pleasant time, especially as we now had 
 our father with us. We lived in a large rambling house, 
 with a pleasant verandah in which we had a swing, and a 
 large garden fenced in with a hedge of yuccas, called there 
 Spanish bayonets. The house had once been an inn, and 
 was built in two parts. My father and mother slept in a 
 room over a great billiard-room, only reached by an open 
 staircase or by a little open path across a roof; and when 
 great storms arose, as often happened, my father used to 
 carry us in his arms, back over the open space into the more 
 protected part of the house. 
 
 ' The walks on the sand were delightful to us children. 
 It was the finest white soft sand without a vestige of shingle 
 on which we used to play ; and I remember that Arthur 
 even then was too fastidious to take off his shoes and 
 stockings and paddle about as we did. The whole island 
 was like a great sandbank, with little growing naturally on 
 it but a few palmettos and low woods of myrtle. Our walks 
 along the sea often took us as far as Fort Moultrie, which 
 in our time was a red brick fort with a dry ditch round it, 
 without the earthworks which have since become famous. 
 A high bank of sand lay between it and the sea ; and, after 
 crossing this, we came to a few desolate houses half buried 
 in sand, which here lay in great heaps. Here and there 
 grew a few palmettos, which the high tides or autumn 
 storms too often carried away, and when we came to look 
 for a favourite tree, to our great grief, we found it gone. 
 These sands were the haunt of innumerable curlews whose 
 wild screams seemed to make the shore more lonely 
 
DESCRIPTION OF CHAKLESTON 7 
 
 still. A beautiful grove of myrtles rose farther along 
 the shore. 
 
 ' The other end of the island was the inhabited part. 
 There was the pier busy with its arrivals and departures of 
 steamers, and sailing boats going to and fro between the 
 island and the city, and covered with numerous carriages, 
 old-fashioned gigs and waggons, mostly with hoods or some 
 sort of protection from the sun, and a seat for the negro boy 
 behind. The bay was gay, too, with many fishing-boats 
 belonging to the gentlemen who had a fishing club, which 
 met at a house among the myrtles ; and many rowing,-boats 
 also, chiefly rowed by negroes. Arthur often went out with 
 my father on the water. 
 
 ' Six miles ofi" lay Charleston, on a peninsula, between 
 its two rivers, the Cooper and the Ashley. The first sight 
 of it showed a long line of wharves made of palmetto logs 
 fastened together into a sort of wall, stretching perhaps 
 half a mile along the bay, and lined with the ships and 
 smaller craft that frequented the port. As you approached 
 from the water you heard the songs of the negroes at work 
 on the vessels. Beyond the wharves was a battery or 
 public walk, supported against the sea by a substantial very 
 white wall formed of oyster shells beaten fine and hard. 
 This species of pier extended nearly a mile along the sea, 
 and was a favourite resort both for walking and driving in 
 the summer. It was all roughly done, as most things were 
 in the South, but the sunshine and clear skies made it bright 
 and cheerful. The city was not regularly built like the 
 Northern towns. In the lower part indeed the houses were 
 mostly built close together in rows ; but in the upper part, 
 where the wealthier people lived, it was full of villas mostly 
 standing in gardens, all built with verandahs, and many 
 with two, an upper and a lower one. In the gardens grew 
 many flowering trees, such as the almond, occasionally the 
 orange, the fringe tree, a gay shrub with a very abundant 
 
8 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 ■white flower, and the fig ; and these hung over the garden 
 walls into the streets. The streets, too, which were for the 
 most part unpaved, were often planted with trees for the 
 sake of shade. Here and there one came on a large old- 
 fashioned mansion, that at once showed it belonged to the 
 times before the Revolution. 
 
 ' From Charleston, Sullivan's Island was to be seen in 
 the distance, beyond the battery, and on the right James 
 Island, marked by a long low line of wood. Between these 
 two islands, commanding the entrance. Fort Sumter was 
 afterwards built, not far from James Island. On the left 
 was Fort Pinckney, built on a small island or sandbank 
 near the city. 
 
 ' In 1828 we all returned to England. We sailed from 
 Charleston early in June. We greatly enjoyed the voyage ; 
 being the only children on board, we were exceedingly petted, 
 and the unusual sights impressed our imagination. I re- 
 member very well the sea-weed floating in quantities on 
 the Gulf Stream ; also we saw a waterspout, and grander 
 still — but happily for us only in the distance — an iceberg. 
 When at last we came in sight of the South of Ireland, we 
 were met by the Irish fishermen coming out to sell us their 
 fresh fish. Then came the slow creeping up the Channel 
 against a head-wind, and then a calm, till one night the 
 wind' sprang up, and in the morning we found ourselves in 
 Liverpool. 
 
 ' We then went to stay with an uncle in the country, 
 where we met my eldest brother, and found ourselves among 
 nine or ten cousins of difierent ages. This was quite a new 
 experience to us. Arthur could not enter into the boys' 
 rough games and amusements, and missed the constant 
 companionship of his father. We travelled however for 
 some months from one relation's house to another, and by 
 degrees Arthur became more sociable. 
 
 ' In October Arthur went to school at Chester, and my 
 
CHAEACTERS OF HIS FATHEB AND MOTHER 9 
 
 father, mother, George and I sailed again to Charleston. 
 This was practically the end of Arthur's childhood. 
 
 ' Our father was most affectionate, loving, and watchful 
 over his children. It was from him that we received many 
 of the smaller cares which usually come from a mother, 
 especially on the long voyages, during which my mother 
 suffered greatly, when he took the care of us almost entirely, 
 and comforted us in rough storms. This watchful and 
 tender care for the feelings of others Arthur inherited in 
 the largest degree from his father. My father was very 
 lively, and fond of society and amusement. He liked life 
 and change, and did not care much for reading. He had a 
 high sense of honour, but was venturesome and over sanguine, 
 and when once his mind was set on anything, he was not to 
 be turned from it, nor was he given to counting conse- ■ 
 quences. My mother was very different. She cared little 
 for general society, but had a few fast friends to whom she 
 was strongly attached. In her tastes and habits she was 
 rigidly simple ; this harmonised with the stern integrity 
 which was the foundation of her character. She was very 
 fond of reading, especially works on religious subjects, 
 poetry and history ; and she greatly enjoyed beautiful 
 scenery, and visiting places which had any historical associa- 
 tions. She loved what was grand, noble, and enterprising, 
 and was truly religious. She early taught us about God 
 and duty, and having such a loving earthly father, it was 
 not difficult to look up to a Heavenly one. She loved to 
 dwell on all that was stern and noble. Leonidas at 
 Thermopylae, and Epaminondas accepting the lowliest offices 
 and doing them as a duty to his country ; the sufferings of 
 the martyrs, and the struggles of the Protestants, were 
 among her favourite subjects. There was an enthusiasm 
 about her that took hold of us, and made us see vividly the 
 things that she taught us. But with this love of the terrible 
 and grand she was altogether a woman clinging to and 
 
10 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 leaning on our father. When he left us Arthur became her 
 pet and her companion. I cannot but think that her love, 
 her influence, and her teaching had much to do with forming 
 his character.' 
 
 From Charleston, as appears from what precedes, 
 Arthur Clough went, in November 1828, to school at 
 Chester ; and, in the summer of 1829, he was removed to 
 Rugby. His eldest brother, Charles, was with him at both 
 schools, but Charles left Rugby before him, as early as the 
 year 1831. 
 
 During these first years he was a somewhat grave and 
 studious boy, not without tastes for walking, shooting, and 
 sight-seeing, but with little capacity for play and for mix- 
 ing with others, and with more of varied intellectual 
 interest than usual with boys. He seems to have had a 
 fondness for drawing ; and he was perpetually writing verses, 
 not remarkable except for a certain ease of expression and 
 for a power of running on, not common at that early age. 
 The influence of Dr. Arnold on his character was powerful, 
 and continued to increase. We find him mounting rapidly 
 through the lower forms and beginning to get prizes. It is 
 also clear that, besides this application to his actual work, 
 he exerted himself with great energy in the endeavour to 
 improve the school and to influence his companions for 
 good. This remarkable interest in Rugby matters is partly to 
 be explained by the fact that he had no near home interests 
 to distract his attention ; partly it must be referred to that 
 strong sense of moral responsibility which Arnold, first 
 among schoolmasters, seems to have impressed upon his 
 pupils. 
 
 Too early a strain seems to have been put upon him, 
 especially as he had not till 1836 any home to go to in his 
 holidays. Of kind and afiectionate relations, who received 
 him hospitably, there were plenty. His uncles, the Rev. 
 Charles Clough, then Vicar of Mold, and the Rev. Alfred 
 
SCHOOL LIFE AT EUGBY 11 
 
 Clough, then Fellow of Jesus College, Oxford, always 
 showed him the greatest kindness ; and he had a large con- 
 nection of friendly cousins, his visits among whom gave him 
 many opportunities for journeys into Yorkshire and in 
 different parts of Wales. How lively a recollection he 
 retained of this period of his life, and of the incidents of 
 his holiday excursions, may be gathered from the picture 
 he has painted in ' Primitise,' the first tale of ' Mari Magno.' 
 He did thus enjoy much variety, but he lacked rest ; and 
 his family instincts and affections were so strong, that he 
 evidently suffered greatly through his separation from those 
 nearest and dearest to him. That a great strain and sense 
 of repression were upon him at this time is clear from a 
 letter written after the interval of twenty years. The self- 
 reliance and self-adaptation which most men acquire in 
 mature life were, by the circumstances of his family, forced 
 upon him in his early youth. 
 
 In July 1831, his father and mother, sister, and 
 youngest brother, came over for a visit from Charleston, 
 and he spent his holidays with them ; after which he went 
 back to school, this time without his eldest brother. His 
 sister remembers how their stay was unexpectedly prolonged 
 till the beginning of the following Christmas holidays, by a 
 delay in finding a ship, and how Arthur, hearing this, 
 rushed off to Liverpool to spend their last two or three days 
 together, bringing his new prize, Johnson's ' Lives of the 
 Poets,' in his bag, to show his mother, to whom it was 
 his greatest enjoyment to pour himself out. His mother 
 suffered greatly from the voyages, and from the uprooting 
 consequent on such great changes ; and she resolved never 
 again to come to England till it should be her home. 
 His fiather paid one more visit to England, alone, in 1833, 
 when he took his three sons to London and over to Paris. 
 
 At school Arthur continued to prosper. He gained a 
 scholarship, open to the whole school under fourteen, the. 
 
12 LIFE OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 only one which then existed. He was at the head of the 
 fifth form at fifteen ; and as sixteen was the earliest age 
 at which boys were then admitted into the sixth, he had 
 to wait a whole year for this. It was probably a mis- 
 fortune to him that this rule prevented his advance through 
 the school, and his proceeding at once to Oxford, as he was 
 much exhausted by the intense interest and labour he ex- 
 pended on his moral work among the boys, and also on the 
 ' Rugby Magazine.' This was a periodical which absorbed 
 much of the writing powers of the cleverer boys, and to 
 which he contributed constantly, chiefly poetry. For a con- 
 siderable time he was also its editor. Besides this he took 
 an active part in some of the school games, and his name 
 is handed down in William Arnold's ' Rules of Football ' 
 as the best goal-keeper on record. He was also one of the 
 first swimmers in the school, and was a very good runner, 
 in spite of a weakness in his ankles, which prevented his 
 attaining proficiency in many games. He made at this 
 time several close and intimate friendships, and gained a 
 very high character among his schoolfellows in general ; a 
 sign of which is given by the story told by some of them 
 at the time, that, when he left school for college, almost 
 every boy at Rugby contrived to shake hands with him at 
 parting. ' The grace of his character when he was a boy,' 
 says one of his friends, ' can be estimated by nothing so 
 well as by the force with which he attracted the attachment 
 of some, and the jealousy or encroachment of others.' 
 Another says : ' I always said that his face was quite an- 
 other thing from any of those of our own generation ; the 
 mixture of width and sweetness was then quite as marked 
 as it was later.' Dr. Arnold also regarded him with in- 
 creasing interest and satisfaction ; and, as another friend 
 describes, at the yearly speeches, in the last year of Clough's 
 residence, he broke the rule of silence to which he almost 
 invariably adhered in the delivery of prizes, and congratu- 
 
UNDEEGHADUATE LIFE AT OXFOED 13 
 
 lated him on having gained every honour which Rugby- 
 could bestow, and done the highest credit to his school at 
 the University. This was in allusion to his having just 
 gained the Balliol scholarship, then and now the highest 
 honour which a schoolboy could obtain. Some months 
 previous to this (in July 1836), his father, mother, and 
 sister came over from America, to settle in Liverpool ; and 
 thenceforth Arthur was no longer without a home in Eng- 
 land. His sister describes him as she then saw him, after 
 an interval of five years, as a blooming youth of seventeen, 
 with an abundance of dark soft hair, a fresh complexion, 
 much colour, and shining eyes full of animation. Though 
 kind and affectionate as ever in his family, they now found 
 him changed in mind ; eager and interested in many fresh 
 subjects ; full of growing force, and of the fervour of youth- 
 ful conviction. With boyish vehemence he stood forth on 
 all occasions as the devoted disciple of his beloved master. 
 Dr. Arnold, and the exponent of his various theories of 
 church government and politics. 
 
 In November 1836 he had gained the Balliol scholarship, 
 and the October following he went into residence at Oxford, 
 There he soon made friends with 'some of those with whom 
 he became afterwards intimate — Mr. Ward, Sir B. Brodie, 
 and Professor Jowett ; — a little later, with Dr. Temple 
 and Professor Shairp ; and, later still, with Mr. T. Walrond 
 and the two eldest sons of Dr. Arnold, whose names fre- 
 quently occur in his correspondence. 
 
 Now came the time which we regard as essentially the 
 turning-point of his life. He began his residence at 
 Oxford when the University was stirred to its depths by 
 the great Tractarian movement. Dr. Newman was in the 
 fulness of his popularity, preaching at St. Mary's, and in 
 pamphlets, reviews, and verses continually pouring forth 
 eloquent appeals to every kind of motive that could in- 
 fluence men's minds. Mr. Ward one of Clough's first friends 
 
14 LIFE OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 at Oxford, was, as is well knnwn, among the foremost 6i 
 the party ; and thus, at the very entrance into his new 
 life, he was at once thrown into the very vortex of discus- 
 sion. Something of the same fate which, as a young boy, 
 forced on him a too early self-reliance and independence in 
 matters of conduct, followed him here ; and the accident of 
 his passing from the Rugby of Arnold to the Oxford of 
 Newman and Ward, drove him, while he ought to have 
 been devoting himself to the ordinary work of an under- 
 graduate reading for honours, and before he had attained 
 his full intellectual development, to examine and in some 
 degree draw conclusions concerning the deepest subjects 
 that can occupy the human mind. This must be felt to 
 have been a serious disadvantage. As his friend Mr. Ward 
 himself says with much feeling, when looking back on that 
 time after many years, ' What was before all things to 
 have been desired for him, was that during his under- 
 graduate career he should have given himself up thoroughly 
 to his classical and mathematical studies, and kept himself 
 from plunging prematurely iato the theological controversies 
 then so rife at Oxford. Thus he would have been saved 
 from all injury to the gradual and healthy growth of bis 
 mind and character. It is my own. very strong impression 
 that, had this been permitted, his future course of thought 
 and speculation would have been essentially different from 
 what it was in fact. Drawn as it were peremptorily, when 
 a young man just coming up to college, into a decision 
 upon questions the most important that can occupy the 
 mind, the result was not surprising. After this premature 
 forcing of Clough's mind, there came a reaction. His 
 intellectual perplexity preyed heavily on his spirits, and 
 grievously interfered with his studies.' 
 
 Another cause, also, which rendered him less able 
 to endure the various demands made upon him in his 
 new life was, that the strain of his school-work and 
 
TIME OF GEOWTH AND CHANGE 15 
 
 interests at Rugby had evidently considerably exhausted 
 him. 
 
 Any reader of that marvellously vivid book, the ' Apo- 
 logia ' of Dr. Newman, will understand the trouble of 
 spirit into which an impressionable nature must have been 
 thrown by the storm that was raging round him, and by 
 contact with such powerful leaders. The appeals made at 
 once to the imagination, to all the tenderer parts of human 
 nature, and to the reason, combined to render this struggle 
 peculiarly intense. For a time Clough was carried away, 
 how far it is impossible with any approach to certainty to 
 say, in the direction of the new opinions. He himself said 
 afterwards, that for two years he had been ' like a straw 
 drawn up the draught of a chimney.' Yet in his mind the 
 disturbance was but temporary. His own nature before 
 long reasserted itself, proving, by the strength of its re- 
 action, how wholly impossible it was for such a character 
 to accept any merely external system of authority. Still, 
 when the torrent had subsided, he found that not only had 
 it swept away the new views which had been presented to 
 him by the leaders of the Romanising movement, but also 
 that it had shaken the whole foundations of his early faith, 
 and had forced him to rely upon his own endeavours in the 
 search after that truth which he still firmly believed in'. 
 
 This spirit of doubt and struggle, yet of unshaken as- 
 surance in the final conquest of truth and good, comes out 
 strongly in the poems written about this time, and contrasts 
 markedly with the boyish effusions of the Rugby period. 
 It is this which forms the very essence of the scepticism of 
 which he is accused, the truth of which charge, in a certain 
 sense, we do not attempt to deny — nay, we believe that in 
 this quality of mind lay his chief power of helping his 
 generation. But his scepticism was of no mere negative 
 quality — not a mere rejection of tradition and denial of 
 authority, but was the expression of a pure reverence foj 
 
10 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 the inner light of the spirit, and of entire submission to its 
 guidance. It was the loyalty to truth as the supreme good 
 of the intellect, and as the only sure foundation of moral 
 character. 
 
 He was absolutely truthful towards his own soul. The 
 experiences he had gone through forced him to look religious 
 questions full in the face, and he could no longer take any 
 dogmatic teaching on trust. He ignored no difficulties, he 
 accepted nothing because it was pleasant — he could retain 
 faith in nothing but his own soul. But that he did retain 
 this faith — faith in the intuitions which he regarded as 
 revelations of God to him, in absolute faithfulness to duty, 
 strict adherence to intellectual and moral truthfulness, 
 single-minded practice of all social and domestic virtues — 
 is not only true of his outward life, but is shown, as far as 
 concerns his moral and intellectual convictions, even in the 
 poems which most strongly testify to the struggle and the 
 darkness in which he often found himself. In illustration 
 of this point we may mention in particular the ' Summum 
 Pulchrum,' ' Qui laborat orat,' and the ' New Sinai.' The 
 often- quoted lines in ' In Memoriam ' might almost be 
 supposed to have been written for him : — 
 
 Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds. 
 At last he beat his music out. 
 
 Such scepticism — scepticism which consists in reverent 
 waiting for light not yet given, in respect for the truth so 
 absolute, that nothing doubtful can be accepted as truth 
 because it is pleasant to the soul — was his from this time 
 forth to the end of his life. Some truths he doubtless con- 
 ceived himself to have learnt to know, in the course of his 
 life, but his attitude was always chiefly that of a learner. 
 The best key for those who care to know his later thought 
 is to be found in the fragment on the ' Religious Tradition ' 
 contained in the present volume. But the scepticism which 
 
TIME OF GROWTH AND CHANGE 17 
 
 assumes a negative position from intellectual pleasure in 
 destructive arguments, which does not feel the want of 
 spiritual support, or realise the existence of spiritual truth, 
 which mocks at the grief of others, and refuses to accept 
 . their honest experiences as real, was never his. He never 
 denied the reality of much that he himself could not use 
 as Spiritual nutriment. He believed that God spoke differ- 
 ently to different ages and different minds. Not therefore 
 could he lay aside his own duty of seeking and waiting. 
 Through good report and through evil report, this he 
 felt to be his own personal duty, and from it he never 
 flinched. 
 
 To return to dough's early days. It would not, we 
 think, be true to say that he abandoned all his early belief ; 
 he still, no doubt, preserved much of his old feeling, and 
 was in no sense hostile to existing institutions ; but 
 certainty as to anything resting on personal or traditional 
 authority was gone for him. 
 
 The result of this disturbance of mind was naturally to 
 distract his attention from his immediate studies, and to 
 make his labour less productive. Yet he did read hard, 
 even more so, perhaps, than most men of his time ; and one 
 of his friends records that the only bet he ever remembers 
 making in his life was seven to one that Clough would get 
 a first. His habits are said to have been at this time of 
 Spartan simplicity : he had very cold rooms in Balliol on 
 the ground floor, in which he passed a whole winter without 
 a fire ; and he used to say that, now that he was working 
 in good earnest, this was an excellent plan for keeping out 
 visitors, as nobody else could stand it for more than a few 
 minutes. He disclosed but little to any one of the mental 
 struggle within him, but his family were aware that some 
 great change was going on in him, and were anxious about 
 his health, which evidently sufiered ; one sign of which 
 was the falling ofi" of his thick brown hair. He is described 
 
 c 
 
18 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 by his friends at this time as 'a most noble-looking youth.' 
 One of them says, ' I remember well the first time I saw hiiji, 
 just after he got the Balliol. I had no acquaintance with 
 him for years afterwards, but I never lost the impression of 
 the beautiful eyes which I saw opposite to me at dinner in 
 Balliol Hall.' He had, as we are told, a very high reputation 
 as an undergraduate ; and among his contemporaries and 
 those immediately succeeding him, many were found to say 
 that they owed more to him than to any other man. We 
 quote, again, some passages from the affectionate remem- 
 brances of Mr. "Ward : ' Certainly I hardly met any one 
 during my whole Oxford life to whom I was so strongly 
 drawn. Among the many qualities which so greatly at- 
 tracted me were his unusual conscientiousness and high- 
 mindedness and public spirit. As regarded himself, his 
 main desire (so far as I could see) was to do what he felt 
 to be right ; and as regarded others, to stand up for the 
 cause of God and of right principle. This latter view — the 
 duty of making a stand in society for good principles — was 
 one especial characteristic of Dr. Arnold's pupils. Many 
 think that he impressed it on them too prominently, so as 
 to expose them to a real danger of becoming priggish and 
 self-sufficient; but certainly I never saw in Clough the 
 faintest trace of such qualities as these. Closely connected 
 with this were his unselfishness and unworldHness. The 
 notion of preparing himself for success in a worldly career 
 was so far from prominent in his mind, that he might with 
 some plausibility have been accused of not thinking about 
 it enough. But his one idea seemed always to be, that he 
 should to-day do to-day's duty, and for the rest leave him- 
 self in God's hands. And as to unselfishness, his self- 
 abnegating consideration for others may be called, in the 
 best sense, feminine. Then his singular sweetness of dis- 
 position : I doubt if I have anywhere seen this exceeded. 
 I have known him under circumstances which must have 
 
ME. WARDS EECOLLECTIONS 19 
 
 given him great vexation and annoyance, but I never saw 
 in him the faintest approach to loss of temper. 
 
 ' Intellectually he struck me as possessing very unusual 
 independence, and (if I may so express myself) straight- 
 forwardness of thought. He was never taken in with shams, 
 pretences, and traditions, but saw at once below the surface. 
 On the other hand, he was perhaps less remarkable for 
 logical consecutiveness. But at that time the Oriel fellow- 
 ship was universally accounted, I think, the best test in 
 Oxford of intellectual power ; and he obtained that fellow- 
 ship the first time he stood for it. I took part myself in 
 examiniiig him for the Balliol fellowship, and I do not 
 remember to have seen so much power displayed in any 
 examination within my experience. 
 
 ' As regards his ordinary habits at the time, since I was 
 a fellow and he only an undergraduate, I cannot speak with 
 perfect certainty ; but my impression is that from the first 
 he very much abstained from general society. Ihis was 
 undoubtedly the case at a later period, when his intellectual 
 perplexity had hold of him ; but I think it began earlier. 
 I remember in particular that every day he used to return 
 to his solitary room immediately after dinner ; and when I 
 asked him the reason for this, he told me that his pecuniary 
 circumstances incapacitated him from giving wine parties, 
 and that therefore he did not like to wine with others. I 
 think also there was a certain fastidiousness of taste and 
 judgment about him which prevented him from enjoying 
 general society. 
 
 ' The opinion both of tutors and undergraduates un- 
 doubtedly was, that there was an unusual degree of reserve 
 in his demeanour which prevented them from understand- 
 ing him ; but they all — certainly all the tutors, and I 
 believe all the undergraduates — greatly appreciated his 
 singularly high principle and his exemplary spotlessness of 
 life.' 
 
 c2 
 
20 LIFE OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 We give another sketch of him during his undergraduate 
 period, furnished by Principal Shairp. ' It was towards the 
 end of 18i0 that I first saw A. H. Clough. As a freshman 
 I looked with respect approaching to awe on the senior 
 scholar of whom I had heard so much, stepping out on 
 Sunday mornings to read the first lesson in Balliol Chapel. 
 How clearly I remember his massive figure, in scholar's 
 surplice, standing before the brass eagle, and his deep feeling 
 tones as he read some chapter from the Hebrew prophets. 
 At that time he was the eldest and every way the first of a 
 remarkable band of scholars. The yotinger undergraduates 
 felt towards him a distant reverence, as a lofty and profound 
 nature quite above themselves whom they could not quite 
 make out, but who was sure to be some day great. Profaner 
 spirits, nearer his own standing, sometimes made a joke of 
 his then exceeding silence and reserve, and of his unworldly 
 ways. But as he was out of college rooms and reading 
 hard for his degree, we freshmen only heard of his repu- 
 tation from a distance, and seldom came in contact with 
 him. 
 
 ' It must have been early in 1841 that he first asked me 
 to breakfast with him. He was then living in a small 
 cottage, or cottage-like house, standing by itseK, a little 
 apart from Holywell. There he used to bathe every morning 
 all the winter through, in the cold Holywell baths, and read 
 liard all day. There were one or two other freshmen there 
 at breakfast. If I remember right, none of the party were 
 very talkative. 
 
 ' I have heard that about that time he wrote one day in 
 fun an oracle, in the style of Herodotus, to his brother 
 scholar, who was reading like himself for the Schools. The 
 Greek I forget ; the translation he sent with it ran some- 
 thing like this : — 
 
 ' Whereas of Lancashire 
 
 Shall in the Schools preside, 
 
ORIEL FELLOWSHIP 21 
 
 And Wynter' to St. Mary's go 
 
 With the pokers by his side ; 
 Two scholars there of Balliol, 
 
 Who on double firsts had reckoned, 
 Between them two shall with much ado 
 
 Scarce get a double second. 
 
 ' This turned out only too true an oracle. Since the 
 beginning of class-lists, the succession of firsts among Balliol 
 scholars was unbroken. And few Balliol scholars had 
 equalled, none ever surpassed, Clough's reputation. I well 
 remember going, towards the end of May or beginning of 
 June, with one of the scholars of my own standing, to the 
 School quadrangle to hear the class list read out, the first 
 time I had heard it. What was our surprise when the list 
 was read out, and neither of our scholars appeared in the 
 first class. We rushed to Balliol and announced it to the 
 younger Fellows who were standing at their open window. 
 Many causes were assigned at the time for this failure — 
 some in the examiners, some in Clough's then state of 
 spirits ; but whatever the cause, I think the result for 
 some years shook faith in firsts among Clough's contem- 
 . poraries. It made a great impression upon others ; on 
 himself I fancy it made but little. I never heard him 
 afterwards allude to it as a thing of any consequence. He 
 once told me he was sick of contentions for prizes and 
 honours before he left Rugby.' 
 
 Thus he missed his first class, of which perhaps the 
 worst result was that for the time it seriously distressed his 
 parents and his friends, especially Dr. Arnold, who had 
 looked forward to his achieving great distinction, and whose 
 well-known dislike of the Tractarian movement made him 
 doubly grieve at what he regarded as indirectly one of its 
 consequences. Clough himself seems always to have felt a 
 solid confidence in his own powers, and perhaps to have too 
 
 ' Head of St. John's, and at that time Yioe-chancellor. 
 
22 LIFK OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 little regarded the ojitward means of displaying them. 
 Perhaps, too, he was sonaewhat conscious of that inaptitude 
 to put himself forward to the best advantage, which many 
 of his friends have noticed, and accepted it with his usual 
 stoic philosophy. At any rate his failure did not long 
 produce the effects he most feared, of want of pupils ; for 
 through Dr. Arnold's kindness he was soon provided with 
 profitable employment in teaching a number of Rugby boys 
 who were kept at home at Liverpool by the breaking out of 
 fever in the school. During this time he stayed at home 
 with his family. In the autumn he returned to Oxford, and 
 tried for a fellowship at Balliol. In this he was unsuccess- 
 ful. He continued, however, to reside at Oxford, and 
 supported himself on the exhibition and scholarship which 
 he still held. In the spring of 1842 he was elected fellow 
 of Oriel, which was in every way a great and cheering 
 success to him. It healed the disappointment which his 
 former failure and the judgment of others on it had caused, 
 and seemed to give him a new life. It is clear by this de- 
 termination of his to abide by Oxford and to seek his career 
 and his living there, that he had as yet formed no definite 
 views at variance with the principles of the Church. He 
 had come, we believe, to see the unimportance of many 
 things commonly insisted on ; his intellect could no longer 
 sfccept the ordinary formulas of religious opinion ; but he 
 was not provided with any other scheme to set up ; his 
 habits and his affections all clung to the old ways ; then and 
 many years afterwards he continued to feel that real 
 liberality, width of view, and mental and moral cultivation 
 were more commonly found among those nursed in the 
 Anglican Church than in any exclusive sect, and probably 
 the idea of any violent move, of quitting the home in which 
 he had been reared, had never yet crossed his mind. His 
 pleasure in his success in obtaining the fellowship was much 
 enhanced by the satisfaction which it gave to Dr. Arnold, 
 
ELECTED FELLOW OP OKIEL 23 
 
 and in a practical way it was doubly valuable, because more 
 troubles were now thickening round him and his family. 
 Money difficulties pressed hard on his parents at this time ; 
 his help was much needed, and was unsparingly given. For 
 some sketches of this period and a little later we will again 
 quote Mr. Shairp's words. 
 
 ' In the November of the same year he tried for a Balliol 
 fellowship, but was not successful. Tait,' however, was 
 strong in his favour, and, I believe, some other of the 
 Fellows. T remember one of them telling me at the time 
 that a character of Saul which Clough wrote in tliat ex- 
 amination was, I think he said, the best, most original thing 
 he had ever seen written in any examination. But Oriel 
 had at that time a way of finding out original genius better 
 than either Balliol or the Schools. In the spring of 1842, 
 Arthur Hugh Clough was elected fellow of Oriel, the last 
 examination I believe in which Newman took part. The 
 announcement of that success I remember well. It was on 
 the Friday morning of the Easter week of that year. The 
 examination was finished on the Thursda.y evening. I had 
 asked Clough and another friend, who was a candidate at 
 the same time, to breakfast with me on the Friday morning, 
 as their work was just over. Most of the scholars of the 
 College were staying up and came to breakfast too. The 
 party consisted of about a dozen. We had little notion 
 that anything about the examination would be known so 
 soon, and were all sitting quietly, having just finished break- 
 fast, but not yet risen from the table. The door opened 
 wide ; entered a fellow of another college, and, drawing 
 himself up to his full height, he addressed the other candi- 
 date : " I am sorry to say you have not got it." Then, 
 " Clough, you have ; " and stepping forward into the middle 
 of the room, held Out his hand, with "Allow me to con- 
 
 ' Afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, at that time fellow and 
 tutor of Balliol College. 
 
24 LIFE OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 gratulate you." We were all so little thinking of the fellow- 
 ship, and so taken aback by this formal announcement, that 
 it was some little time before we knew what it was all 
 about. The first thing that recalled my presence of mind 
 was seeing the delight on the face of Clough's younger 
 brother, who was present. 
 
 'In the summer of 1842, while I was reading in a 
 retired part of Wales with two or three others, Clough, then 
 wandering through the Welsh mountains, one morning 
 looked in on us. I took a walk with him, and he at once led 
 me up Moel Wyn, the highest mountain within reach. Two 
 things I remember that day : one, that he spoke a good deal 
 (for him) of Dr. Arnold, whose death had happened only a 
 few weeks before : another, that a storm came down upon 
 the mountain when we were half-way up. In the midst of 
 it we lay for some time close above a small mountain tarn, 
 and watched the storm-wind working on the face of the 
 lake, tearing and torturing the water into most fantastic, 
 almost ghostly shapes, the like of which I never saw before 
 or since. These mountain sights, though he did not say 
 much, he used to eye most observantly. 
 
 ' Early in the autumn of 1843, Clough came to Grasmere 
 to read with a Balliol reading-party, of which I was one. 
 He was with us about six weeks, I think staying till towards 
 the end of September. This was his earliest long vacation 
 party, all things on a smaller scale than his later ones by 
 Loch Ness, or on Dee-side, but still very pleasant. He 
 lived in a small lodging immediately to the west of Gras- 
 mere church ; we in a farm-house on the lake. During these 
 weeks I read the Greek tragedians with him, and did Latin 
 prose. His manner of translating, especially the Greek 
 choruses, was quite peculiar ; a quaint archaic style of lan- 
 guage, keeping rigidly to the Greek order of the words, and 
 so bringing out their expression better, more forcibly and 
 poetically, than any other translations I had heard. When 
 
READING PARTY AT GRASMERE 25 
 
 ■work was done we used to walk in the afternoon with him 
 all over that delightful country. His " eye to country " was 
 wonderful. He knew the whole lie of the different dales 
 relatively to each other ; every tarn, beck, and bend in them. 
 He used, if I remember right, to draw pen-and-ink maps, 
 showing us the whole lineaments of the district. Without 
 any obtrusive enthusiasm, but in his own quiet manly way, 
 he seemed as if he never could get too much of it — never 
 walk too far or too often over it. Bathing too formed one of 
 his daily occupations up in a retired pool of the stream that 
 afterwards becomes the Rotha, as it comes out of Easedale. 
 One walk, our longest, was on a Saturday, up Easedale, 
 over the Raise by Greenup, Borrowdale, Honister Crag, 
 under the starlight, to Buttermere. In the small inn there 
 we stayed all Sunday. Early on Monday morning we 
 walked, by two mountain passes, to a farm at the head of 
 Wastwater to breakfast. On the way we crossed Enner- 
 dale, and up the pass close under the nearly prependicular 
 precipices of the Pillar — a tall mountain, which is the scene 
 of Wordsworth's pastoral of "The Brothers.'' From the 
 head of Wastwater, up past the great gorge of the Mickle- 
 door, to the top of Scawfell, then down past the east side of 
 Bowf ell towards Langdale Pikes, and so home to Grasmere. 
 As we passed under Bowfell a beautiful autumn afternoon, 
 we lay a long time by the side of the lovely Angle Tarn. 
 The sun, just before he sunk beside Bowfell, was showering 
 down his light, which dimpled the smooth face of the tarn 
 like heavy drops of sun-rain. Every now and then a slight 
 breeze would come and scatter the rays broadcast over the 
 little loch, as if some unseen hand was sowing it with golden 
 grain. It was as memorable an appearance as that different 
 one we had seen a year ago on Moel Wyn. These things, 
 though Clough observed closely, and took pleasure in, he 
 did not speak often about, much less indulge in raptures. 
 ' Some of our party were very good hill-men. One daiyy 
 
2S LIFE OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 five or six in all set out on a race from our door by 
 Grasmere Lake to the top of Fairfield. He was the second 
 to reach the summit. His action uphill was peculiar ; he 
 used to lay himself forward almost horizontally towards the 
 slope, and take very long strides which carried him quickly 
 over the ground. Few men, so stout as he then was, could 
 have matched him up a mountain. 
 
 ' Shortly after this time at Oxford, somewhere that is 
 between 1843 and 1845, I remember to have heard him 
 speak at a small debating society called the Decade, in which 
 were discussed often graver subjects, and in a less popular 
 way, than in the Union. Having been an unfrequent 
 attender, I heard him only twice. But both times, what 
 he said and the way he said it, were so marked and weighty 
 as to have stuck to memory when almost everything else 
 then spoken has been forgotten. The first time was in 
 Oriel Common-room ; the subject proposed — " That Tenny- 
 son was a greater poet than Wordsworth." This was one 
 of the earliest expressions of that popularity — since become 
 nearly universal —which I remember. Clough spoke against 
 the proposition, and stood up for Wordsworth's greatness 
 with singular wisdom and moderation. He granted fully 
 that Wordsworth was often prosy, that whole pages of the 
 " Excursion " had better have been written in prose ; but 
 still, when he was at his best, he was much greater than any 
 other modern English poet, saying his best things without 
 knowing they were so good, and then drawling on into pro- 
 saic tediousness, without being aware where the inspiration 
 failed and the prose began. In this kind of unconsciousness, 
 I think he said, lay much of his power. One of the only 
 other times I heard him speak was, about the same time, 
 when a meeting of the Decade was held in Balliol Common- 
 room. The subject of debate was — " That the character of a 
 gentleman was in the present day made too much of." To 
 understand the drift of this would, require one to know 
 
SPEECHES AT THE DECADE 27 
 
 how highly pleasant manners and a good exterior are rated 
 in Oxford at all times, and to understand something of 
 the peculiar mental atmosphere of Oxford at that time. 
 Clough spoke neither for nor against the proposition ; but 
 for an hour and a half — well on two hours — he went into 
 the origin of the ideal, historically tracing from mediseval 
 times how much was implied originally in the notion of a 
 " gentle knight " — truthfulness, consideration for others 
 (even self-sacrifice), courtesy, and the power of giving out- 
 ward expression to these moral qualities. From this high 
 standard he traced the deterioration into the modern Brum- 
 magem pattern which gets the name. These truly gentle- 
 men of old time had invented for themselves a whole 
 economy of manners, which gave true expression to what 
 was really in them, to the ideal in which they lived. These 
 manners, true in them, became false when adopted tradi- 
 tionally and copied from without by modern men placed 
 in quite different circumstances, and living different lives. 
 When the same qualities are in the hearts of men now, as 
 truly as in the best of old time, they will fashion for them- 
 selves a new expression, a new economy of manners suitable 
 to their place and time. But many men now, wholly 
 devoid of the inward reality, yet catching at the reputa- 
 tion of it, adopt these old traditional ways of speaking and 
 of bearing themselves, though they express nothing that is 
 really in them. 
 
 ' One expression I remember he used, to illustrate the 
 truth that where the true gentle spirit exists, it will express 
 itself in its own rather than in the traditional way. " I 
 have known peasant men and women in the humblest 
 places in whom dwelt these qualities as truly as they ever 
 did in the best of lords and ladies, and who had invented 
 for themselves a whole economy of manners to express them, 
 who were very ' poets of courtesy.' " 
 
 ' His manner of speaking was very characteristic, slow 
 
28 LIFE OF AETHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 and deliberate, never attempting rhetorical flow, stopping 
 at times to think the right thing, or to feel for the exactly 
 fitting word, but with a depth of suggestiveness, a hold of 
 reality, a poetry of thought, not found combined in any 
 other Oxonian of our time. 
 
 ' It must have been in the autumn of 1845 that Clough 
 and I first met in Scotland. One visit there to Walrond's 
 family at Calder Park I especially remember. On a fine 
 morning early in September, we started from Calder Park 
 to drive to the Falls of Clyde. We were to spend the day 
 at Milton Lockhart, and go on to Lanark in the evening. 
 Besides Walrond and Clough, there were T. Arnold, E. 
 Arnold, and myself. It was one of the loveliest September 
 mornings that ever shone, and the drive lay through one of 
 the most lovely regions in south Scotland, known as " the 
 Trough of Clyde." The sky was bright blue, fleeced- with 
 whitest clouds. From Hamilton to Milton Lockhart, about 
 ten miles, the road keeps down in the hollow of the trough, 
 near the water, the banks covered with orchards, full of 
 heavy-laden apple and other fruit trees bending down till 
 they touched the yellow corn that grew among them. There 
 is a succession of fine country houses, with lawns that 
 slope towards Ume trees that bend over the river. It was 
 the first time any of us but Walrond had been that way, 
 and in such a drive, under such a sky, you may believe we 
 were happy enough. We reached Milton Lockhart, a 
 beautiful place, built on a high grassy headland, beneath 
 and round which winds the Clyde. Sir Walter Scott, I 
 believe, chose the site, and none could be more beauti- 
 fully chosen. It looks both ways, up and down the lovely 
 vale. 
 
 ' As we drove up, near ten o'clock, we found the late 
 Mr. J. G. Lockhart (Scott's biographer) walking on the 
 green terrace that looks over the river. The laird himself 
 being from home, his brother was our host. Soon after we 
 
SCOTCH WANDERINGS 29 
 
 arrived, his daughter, then very young, afterwards Mrs. 
 Hope Scott, came out on the terrace to say that breakfast 
 was ready. After breakfast she sang, with great spirit and 
 sweetness, several of her grandfather's songs, copied into her 
 mother's books by herself, when they were still newly com- 
 posed. After listening to these for some time, her brother, 
 Walter Scott Lockhart, then a youth of nineteen or so, and 
 with a great likeness to the portraits of Sir Walter when a 
 young man, was our guide to an old castle, situated on a bank 
 of one of the small glens that come down to the Clyde from 
 the west. It was the original of Scott's Tillietudlem in " Old 
 Mortality." A beautiful walk thither ; the castle large, roof- 
 less and green with herbage and leafage. We stayed some 
 time roaming over the green deserted place, then returned 
 to a lunch, which was our dinner ; more songs, and then drove 
 off late in the afternoon to the Falls of Clyde and Lanark 
 for the night. It was a pleasant day. Clough enjoyed it 
 much in his own quiet way — quietly, yet so humanly in- 
 terested in all he met. Many a joke he used to make about 
 that day afterwards. Not he only, but all our entertainers 
 of that day, Mr. J. G. Lockhart, his son and daughter, are 
 now gone. 
 
 ' In the summer of 1847, Clough had a reading party at 
 Drumnadrochet, in Glen Urquhart, about two miles north 
 from Loch Ness, where, about the beginning of August, I, 
 along with T. Arnold and Walrond, paid him a visit. Some 
 of the incidents and characters in " The Bothie " were taken 
 from that reading party, though its main scenes and in- 
 cidents lay in Braemar. One anecdote I specially remember 
 connected with that visit. On our way to Drumnadrochet, 
 T.- Arnold and I had made a solitary walk together from the 
 west end of Loch Rannoch, up by Loch Ericht, one of the 
 wildest, most unfrequented lochs in the Highlands. All 
 day we saw only one house, till, late at night, we reached 
 another on the side of the loch, about six miles from Dal- 
 
30 LIFE OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 whinnie. It was one of the loveliest, most primitive places I 
 ever saw even in the most out-of-the-way parts of the 
 Highlands. We told Clough of it, and when his reading 
 party was over, later in the autumn, he went on our track. 
 He spent a night at the inn at the west end of Loch Ran- 
 noch, called Tighnalyne, where he met with some of the 
 incidents which appeared in " The Bothie." He also visited 
 the house by the side of Loch Ericht, a small heather- 
 thatched hut, occupied by one of the foresters of the Ben 
 Aulder forest. He found one of the children lying sick 
 of a fever, the father I think from home, and the mother 
 without any medicines or other aid for her child. He 
 immediately set oflf and walked to Fort William, about two 
 days' journey from the place, but the nearest place where 
 medicines and other supplies were to be had. These he 
 got at Fort William, and returned on his two days' journey, 
 and left them with the mother. He had four days' walk, 
 over a rough country, to bring medicines to this little child, 
 and the people did not even know his name. On these occa- 
 sions in Scotland, he told me that he used to' tell the people 
 he was a " Teacher,'' and they were at once at ease with him 
 then. I doubt whether he ever mentioned this to any one 
 but myself, and to me it only came out casually. 
 
 ' If I am not mistaken, it was from this place that he 
 took the original name of what is now Tober-na-Vuolich. 
 In this year he visited the West Highlands, and went 
 through " Lochaber, anon in Locheil, in Knoydart, Moy- 
 dart, Morrer, Ardgower, and Ardnamurchan." In the 
 first edition this line was — " Knoydart, Moydart, Croydart, 
 Morrer, and Ardnamurchan." But he discovered afterwards 
 that Croydart was only the way that the Gael pronounce 
 what is spelt Knoydart. During this wander he saw all 
 the country about Ben Nevis, westward to the Atlantic — 
 
 ' Where the great peaks look abroad over Skye to the westermost 
 Islands, 
 
VISITS THE WEST HIGHLANDS 31 
 
 He walked " where pines are grand in Glen-Mally," and 
 saw all the country which in a few lines here and there he 
 has pictured so powerfully in " The Bothie.'' The expres- 
 sion about Ben Nevis, with the morning sprinkling of snow 
 on his shoulders, is absolutely true to reality. 
 
 ' In this expedition he came to Glenfinnan, at the head 
 of Loch Shiel, the place where Prince Charles met the 
 Highland clans, and unfurled his standard. Here there 
 used to stand a nice quiet little-frequented inn, where one 
 could live for weeks undisturbed. But at the time when 
 plough reached it, a great gathering was being held there. 
 The Queen had gone to Loch Laggan, and the ships that 
 escorted her to Fort William were lying at the head of 
 Loch Linnhe. McDonald of Glen Aladale had invited all 
 the officers of these ships to have a day's deer-stalking on 
 his property of Glen Aladale, down the side of Loch Shiel, 
 and to have a ball at the Glenfinnan Inn after their day's 
 sport. Clough came in for the ball. It was a strange gather- 
 ing — the English sailors, officers, a few Highland lairds. High- 
 land farmers and shepherds, with their wives and daughters, 
 were all met altogether at the ball. Clough and one of his 
 reading party were invited to join the dance, and they 
 danced Highland reels, and went through all the festivities 
 like natives. The uproar was immense, and the ludicrous 
 scenes not few. He often used to speak of it afterwards, 
 as one of the motliest, drollest gatherings he had ever 
 fallen in with. 
 
 ' Often afterwards he used to speak of his Scotch ad- 
 ventures with great heartiness. There was much in the 
 ways of life he saw there that suited the simplicity of his 
 nature. Even when Englishmen would laugh at the bald- 
 ness of our Presbyterian services, he would defend them as 
 better than English ritualism and formality.' 
 
 To these reminiscences of Principal Shairp's may be 
 added some notes supplied by Professor Conington, of his re- 
 
92 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 collections of the speeches made by Clough in the debates of 
 it society at Oxford, called the Decade. Mr. Conington was 
 himself the secretary of the society at the time of which he 
 speaks. ' The first occasion of my meeting Mr. Clough at the 
 Decade,' lie says, ' was on February 14, 1846, when I myself 
 brought forward the subject for discussion. The subject was 
 — " That means ought to be adopted by the Legislature for 
 recognising formally the social and political importance of 
 the manufacturing interest." Sir Robert Peel's change of 
 policy about the corn laws had just been announced, and 
 those of us who were on the movement side were naturally 
 more or less enthusiastic in favour of the manufacturers, 
 who appeared to us as the winners of a great social victory. 
 My proposal, if I remember rightly, was to the effect that 
 they ought to be made peers, just as great landowners 
 were. In this the bulk of the members present at that 
 meeting do not seem to have concurred with me ; but I 
 . had Mr. Clough's support. I do not recollect thoroughly a 
 single sentence of his speech, but I can recall his com- 
 manding manner, and the stately serene tones in which he 
 delivered a kind of prophecy of the new era which in a few 
 days was to be inaugurated, and told us that " these men " 
 (the manufacturers) "were the real rulers of England." 
 The next occasion was some months afterwards, on June 9, 
 1846, when the question for debate was — " That any system 
 of moral science, distinct from a consideration of Christi- 
 anity, is essentially imperfect." Mr. Clough is reported as 
 having spoken for this motion in part. He eventually 
 moved a rider, which, with the motion, was unanimously 
 accepted — " But the existence of moral science is recognised 
 and presupposed by the idea of a revelation." The only 
 point which remains on my mind is an application by him 
 of the text " comparing spiritual things with spiritual ; " 
 " that is," said he, " comparing the spiritual things in a 
 revelation with the spiritual things in one's own mind," 
 
SPEECHES AT THE ' DECADE 33 
 
 'I see there were five other occasions, in 1847 and the 
 early part of 1848, on -which Mr. Clough appeared at the 
 Decade during my membership. One dwells in my memory 
 ■with tolerable distinctness — -a speech made in a debate on 
 March 6, 1847, the subject being— "That the study of 
 philosophy is more important for the formation of opinion 
 than that of history.'' I see that he made five speeches on 
 that evening. I have entered him as supporting the 
 motion " with qualifications," a common mode of registering 
 opinion in our debates : but I remember that, as the debate 
 grew warm, his qualifications seemed to disappear, and in 
 the speech which T happen to recollect, few if any of them 
 were visible. " What is it to me," he said, " to know the 
 fact of the battle of Marathon, or the fact of the existence 
 of Cromwell ? I have it all within me." Correcting him- 
 self afterwards, he said, " I do not mean that it is of no 
 importance to me that there should have been such a battle 
 or such a person ; it is of a great deal : but it is of no 
 importance that I should know it." 
 
 ' The only other occasion when I recollect anything of 
 Mr. Clough which seems worth recording was a conversa- 
 tion which I had with him in the autumn of 1848. He 
 had given up his fellowship, and was living for a few weeks 
 in small cheap lodgings in Holywell Street, Oxford, where 
 I remember finding him without a fire on a cold day. His 
 " Bothie " was just about to be published, and he gave me 
 some account of it, particularly of the metre. He repeated, 
 in his melodious way, several lines, intended to show me 
 how a verse might be read so that one syllable should take 
 up the time of two, or, conversely, two of one. The line 
 which he instanced (altered, I think, from " Evangeline ") 
 was this : — 
 
 White I naked | feet on the | gleaming' | floor of her | chamber. 
 
 This was new to me, as I had not risen beyond the common 
 
 D 
 
34 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 notion of spondees, dactyls, and the rest. So I asked for 
 more explanation. He bade me scan the first line of the 
 " Paradise Lost." I began, '" Of man's :' iambus." "Yes." 
 
 " ' First dis-' " There I was puzzled. It did not seem 
 
 an iambus or a spondee : it was nearly a trochee, but not 
 quite one. He then explained to me his conception of the 
 rhythm. The two feet " first disobe-" took up the time of 
 four syllables, two iambic feet : the voice rested awhile on 
 the word " first," then passed swiftly over " diso-," then 
 rested again on " be-," so as to recover the previous hurry. 
 I think he went on to explain that in the next foot, " dience 
 and," both syllables were short, but that the loss of time 
 was made up for by the pause required by the sense after 
 the former of the two, and that finally the voice rested on 
 the full- sounded word " fruit." Possibly this last impres- 
 sion may really be the result of my own subsequent use of 
 the clue which he then gave me. But a clue it was in the 
 fullest sense of the term : it gave me an insight into rhythm 
 which I had not before, and which has constantly been my 
 guide since both in reading and writing.' 
 
 In June 1842 occurred the death of Dr. Arnold, which 
 was a severe shock as well as a great grief to Clough from 
 its suddenness as well as from the intense reverence and 
 afiection he felt for him. ' He was for a long time more 
 than a father to me,' were his own words, and no doubt the 
 sensitive boy, exiled from his own family in his childhood, 
 clung with even more of filial feeling than is common to 
 the teacher to whom he owed so much. He heard the news 
 at Oxford, and came home immediately, seeming, as his 
 sister describes him, completely stunned by the blow, in- 
 capable of realising or speaking of what had happened, and 
 unable to rest. He soon left home, and wandered away 
 among the "Welsh hills, where Mr. Shairp tells us of their 
 meeting. 
 
 Later in the summer he had some pupils in Ireland, but 
 
DEATH OF HIS FATHER 35 
 
 left them to come over to bid farewell to his brother George, 
 who sailed for America in October 1842. He was deeply 
 attached to this his youngest brother, whose lively spirits 
 combined with most affectionate devotion to him had done 
 a great deal to cheer him even in his darkest moments. 
 And this was, as it proved, their last meeting. The poor 
 young fellow, only just twenty-two, was struck down by 
 fever at Charleston, when away from all his own family, 
 and died there, after a very few days' illness. His father 
 had sailed for America, intending to join him, before the 
 news of his illness reached England, and arrived in Boston 
 only to hear that all was over. The shock was a dreadful 
 one to the unhappy father, and came with a double force, 
 because he relied on his son's help at this moment in a 
 period of great anxiety concerning business. He never 
 recovered the blow, and in the following summer, in 1843, 
 he returned home much shaken by grief and very ill in 
 health, and after lingering on for a few months, during 
 which time he was most tenderly nursed by all his family, 
 including Arthur, he also died. 
 
 During his father's illness, and the years that immedi- 
 ately followed, Arthur spent much of his time with his 
 own family ; and when he was*away from them, he always 
 took an active part in all plans and arrangements for their 
 comfort and happiness. He had never become estranged 
 in any way from his home, as is often the case with sons 
 and brothers whose calling separates them from their 
 families. Essentially tender and domestic in his feelings, 
 and full of consideration for others, it always seemed 
 natural to him to enter into their interests, and to under- 
 take trouble and responsibility for their sakes. 
 
 In 1843 he had been appointed tutor as well as fellow 
 of Oriel, and he is spoken of as being remarkably effective 
 in this capacity. ' A most excellent tutor, and exceedingly 
 beloved by the undergraduates,' one of those who best knew 
 
 d2 
 
36 LIFE OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 has called him. But little need be said of this period. He 
 led a quiet, hardworking, uneventful tutor's life, diversified 
 with the reading parties, which have been commemorated 
 in the ' Bothie.' This was the time when most of the poems 
 in the little volume called ' Ambarvalia ' were written. He 
 took a warm and increasing interest in all social questions, 
 and in every way he seems to have been full of spirit and 
 vigour. To his younger friends and pupils he especially 
 endeared himself. Mr. Walrond says : ' My Oxford days 
 seem all coloured with the recollection of happy and most 
 instructive walks and talks with him. We used to meet 
 every day almost, though at different colleges ; and it was 
 my regular Sunday holiday to breakfast with him, and then 
 take a long ramble over Cumnor Hurst or Bagley Wood. 
 When I recall those days, the one thing that comes back 
 upon me most, even more than the wisdom and loftiness 
 and suggestiveness of his conversation, is his unselfishness 
 and tender kindness. Many must have told you what a 
 gift he had for making people personally fond of him ; I 
 can use no other word. Por myself, I owe him more than 
 I can ever tell, for the seed of just and noble thoughts 
 sown, for the pure and lofty type of character set before 
 me ; but the feeling of personal attachment is the strongest 
 of all.' Another friend of this period says : ' In him I felt 
 I had an example of a nobleness and tenderness of nature 
 most rare, and one, too, who, since I was an undergraduate, 
 had always given me not only sincere love, but wise and 
 sincere counsel in many difficulties. What he would think 
 on any doubtful point was indeed often in the mind of 
 many others with me. Often, too, I have remembered 
 that, by his taste, I was first led to read and take pleasure 
 in Wordsworth.' 
 
 Thus his life passed on with much of cheerful and active 
 interest and work. Yet it would seem, from his letters, 
 that he was living at Oxford under a sense of intellectual 
 
LIFE AS TUTOR 87 
 
 repression. He appears at one time to have doubted about 
 undertaking the tutor's work, but to have overcome the 
 doubt. He evidently regarded teaching as his natural 
 vocation, and he had great enjoyment in it ; but the sense 
 of being bound by his position to silence on many important 
 subjects probably oppressed him. At intervals he expresses 
 vague inclinations to leave Oxford, and seek work else- 
 where ; but the difficulty of finding this, and the undefined 
 nature of his objections, appear to have hindered him. At 
 this time, in order to secure the comfort of a near relative, 
 he entered into a pecuniary arrangement, by which he bound 
 himself to pay 100?. a year, on condition of receiving a con- 
 siderable sum at the death of one of the parties to the 
 negotiation. This was looked on as an event certain to 
 occur very soon, but, in fact, it did not come to pass for 
 fifteen years ; and this liability, very easily borne while his 
 circumstances were prosperous, became a drag upon him 
 when he had no longer any assured income. Thus, though 
 everything in his outward circumstances combined to make 
 it desirable for him to remain in his present position, yet by 
 degrees his dissatisfaction with it became too strong to be 
 endured. His was a nature ' which moveth all together, if 
 it move at all ; ' and, once entered upon the course of free 
 inquiry, nothing could stop the expansion of his thought in 
 that direction. His absolute conscientiousness and intense 
 unworldliness prevented the usual influences which slacken 
 men's movements from telling upon his. 
 
 It is not very obvious what eventually decided him to 
 quit Oxford at the precise moment when he did so. In the 
 year 1847 he was powerfully stirred by th^ distress in 
 Ireland at the time of the potato famine, as may be seen 
 from the pamphlet on ' Retrenchment ' ; and the general 
 ferment of his nature, as well as the ripening of opinions in 
 his own mind, probably tended to make him more open to 
 change. Emerson also visited England in this year. Clough 
 
38 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 qeoame intimate with him, and his influence must have 
 tended to urge him on in the direction in which he was 
 already moving. With another friend, also, whose general 
 dissatisfaction with European life was strong, he was at 
 this time very familiar. We are, therefore, disposed to 
 think that it was some half accidental confirmation of his 
 own doubts as to the honesty and usefulness of his own 
 course, which brought him at last almost suddenly face to 
 face with the question whether he ought to resign his tutor- 
 ship. After a correspondence with the head of his college — 
 in speaking of whom he always expressed a strong sense of 
 the uniform kindness which he had received from him under 
 these trying circumstances — he eventually gave up his tutor- 
 ship in 1848 ; and this done, though his fellowship had not 
 yet expired, he began to feel his whole position hoUow ; and 
 six months later (in October 1848) he resigned this likewise, 
 and thus left himself unprovided with any present means 
 of making a livelihood, and with the burden of the annuity 
 to which we have alluded still hanging on him. The 
 sacrifice was greater to him than to many men, because he 
 had no natural aptitude for making money. His power of 
 literary production was always uncertain, and very little 
 within his own control. His conscientious scruples inter- 
 fered with his writing casually, as many would have done ; 
 for instance, we are told that he would not contribute to 
 any paper or review with whose general principles he did 
 not agree. He was, therefore, constrained to look out for 
 some definite post in the line of education ; and from the 
 best chances in this department he had cut himself adrift 
 by resigning his fellowship. He did, nevertheless, take 
 this step, apparently with a certain lightness of heart and 
 buoyancy, in singular contrast with what might be expected 
 to be the feeling of a man taking a decision so important to 
 his future life. It is clear that he 'broke away with delight ' 
 
HIS FIEST POEM 39 
 
 from what he felt to be the thraldom of his position in 
 Oxford. 
 
 Immediately after laying down his tutorship, he made 
 use of his leisure to go to Paris, in company with Emerson, 
 where he spent a month in seeing the sights of the Revolu- 
 tion. 
 
 It was in September of this year (1848), when staying 
 at home with his mother and sister in Liverpool, that he 
 wrote his first long poem, the 'Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich.' 
 This was his utterance to the world on quitting Oxford, and 
 not the theological pamphlet which was expected from him. 
 In later days he would often speak of the amusement it had 
 been to him to think of the disappointment which the 
 appearance of these lively verses would produce among 
 those who looked for a serious vindication of his conduct. 
 Some further explanation of his feeling will be furnished by 
 an unpublished letter, which we subjoin : — 
 
 ' My objection in Kmine to subscription would be, that 
 it is a painful restraint on speculation ; but beyond this, to 
 examine myself in detail on the Thirty-nine Articles, and 
 say how far my thoughts upon them had passed the limit of 
 speculation and begun to assume the form of concretion, 
 would be not only difficult and distasteful to me, but 
 absolutely impossible. I could not do it with any approxi- 
 mation to accuracy ; and I have no wish to be hurried into 
 precipitate declarations which, after all, might misrepresent 
 my mind. It is fair to say that the points in question with 
 me would not be subordinate matters ; but at the same 
 time I feel no call to the study of theology, and for the 
 present certainly should leave these controversies to them- 
 selves, were they not in some measure 'forced upon my 
 notice. Of joining any sect I have not the most distant 
 intention.' 
 
40 LIFE OF ABTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 This year he spent chiefly at home ; and, in the winter 
 of 1848, he received an invitation to take the Headship of 
 University Hall, London, an institution professing entirely 
 unsectarian principles, founded for the purpose of receiving 
 students attending the lectures at University College. His 
 tenure of office was to date from October 1849, and he 
 determined before this to take his first long holiday of 
 travel, and to go to Rome. Thus his visit coincided 
 accidentally with the siege of Rome by the French ; and 
 this, though it deprived him of many opportunities of travel 
 and sight-seeing, was historically and politically of very 
 great interest to him. This was the scene and the time 
 during which he wrote his second long poem, the ' Amours 
 de Voyage.' 
 
 In October 1849 he returned to enter on his duties at 
 University Hall. His new circumstances were, of course, 
 very different from those of his Oxford Hfe, and the change 
 was in many respects painful to him. The step he had 
 taken in resigning his fellowship isolated him greatly ; 
 many of his old friends looked coldly on him, and the new 
 acquaintances among whom he was thrown were often 
 uncongenial to him. The transition from the intinlate and 
 highly refined society of Oxford to the bustling miscel- 
 laneous external Hfe of London, to one not well furnished 
 with friends, and without a home of his own, could hardly 
 fail to be depressing. He had hoped for liberty of thought 
 and action ; he had found solitude, but not perfect freedom. 
 Though not bound by any verbal obligations, he found him- 
 self expected to express agreement with the opinions of the 
 new set among whom he had fallen, and this was no more 
 possible to him here than it had been at Oxford. His old 
 prestige at Oxford availed him little in London ; it has been 
 remarked by his friends that he often failed to show him- 
 self to the best advantage, and this was doubly the case when 
 he felt himself not understood. This was without doubt 
 
LIFE AT UJS^IVEKSITY HALL 41 
 
 the dreariest, loneliest period of his life, and he became com- 
 pressed and reserved to a degree quite unusual with him, 
 both before and afterwards. He shut himself up, and went 
 through his life in silence. 
 
 Yet here too he gradually formed some new and valuable 
 friendships. Among these, his acquaintance with Mr. 
 Carlyle was one of the most important ; and to the end of 
 his life he continued to entertain the warmest feeling for 
 that great man. It was part of the sensitiveness of his cha- 
 racter to shrink from going back on old impressions ; and 
 though he always retained his affection for his early friends, 
 yet intercourse with fresh minds was often easier to him than 
 with those to whom his former phases of life and thought 
 were more familiar. In the autumn of 1850 he took ad- 
 vantage of his vacation to make a hasty journey to Venice, 
 and during this interval he began his third long poem of 
 ' Dipsychus,' which bears the mark of Venice in all its 
 framework and its local colouring. 
 
 We have now mentioned, at the dates at which they 
 were composed, all his longest works — the 'Bothie,' the 
 ' Amours de Voyage,' and ' Dipsychus.' No other long 
 work of his remains except the ' Mari Magno,' which is pro- 
 perly a collection of short poems, more or less united by one 
 central idea, and bound together by their setting, as a series 
 of tales related to each other by a party of companions on 
 a sea voyage. The ' Ambarvalia,' poems written between 
 1840 and 1847, chiefly at Oxford, though without any set- 
 ting at all, have something of the same inward coherence. 
 They are all poems of the inner life, while the ' Mari 
 Magno ' poems deal with social problems, and the questions 
 of love and marriage. His voyage to America, again, pro- 
 duced a cluster of little sea poems, closely linked together 
 by one or two main thoughts. 
 
 It has often been a subject of surprise, that with such 
 evident powers and even facility of production, Clough 
 
42 LIFE OP AKTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 should have left so little behind him, even considering the 
 shortness of his life, and that for such long periods he should 
 have been entirely silent. We think the best explanation is 
 to be found in his peculiar temper of mind, and we might 
 say physical conformation of brain, which could not work 
 unless under a combination of favourable circumstances. 
 His brain, though powerful, was slow to concentrate itself, 
 and could not carry on several occupations at once. Solitude 
 and repose were necessary for production. This, combined 
 with a certain inertia, a certain slowness of movement, con- 
 stantly made it hard for him to get over the initial diffi- 
 culties of self-expression, and would often, no doubt, cause 
 him to delay too long and lose the passing inspiration or 
 opportunity. But, once started, his very weight carried 
 him on, as it did in the ' Bothie,' ' Amours,' and ' Dipsychus,' 
 and ' Mari Magno.' 
 
 Besides this, much in the very quality of his poetry will 
 explain this scantiness of production. His absolute sin- 
 cerity of thought, his intense feeling of reality, rendered it 
 impossible for him to produce anything superficial, and 
 therefore actually curtailed the amount of his creations. 
 His excessive conscientiousness winnowed away so much 
 as to leave often a sense of baldness. His peculiar habits 
 of thought also, his sense of being constantly at variance 
 with the ordinary sentiments of those who surrounded him, 
 his incapability of treating the common themes of poetry 
 in the usual manner, his want of interest in any poetry 
 which did not touch some deep question, some vital feel- 
 ing in human nature (always excepting his love for the 
 simple beauty of nature), all combined to diminish his range 
 of subjects. He had to enter on a new line, to create a new 
 treatment of old subjects, to turn them over and bring them 
 out in the new light of his critical but kindly philosophy. 
 This, in ' Mari Magno,' he had begun to do, and the rapid 
 production of these last poems makes us believe that this 
 
HABITS OF WEITIIfG 43 
 
 new vein would have continued had he lived, and that we 
 should have received a further expression of his views about 
 the daily problems of social life. 
 
 Looking now to the facts of his life, we see that there 
 were in it very few intervals during which he enjoyed the 
 combination of favourable circumstances necessary to enable 
 him to write. He never was free, except during those short 
 intervals, from the pressure of constant hard practical work. 
 He was constantly under the necessity of using his power 
 of work for the purpose of immediately making a living. 
 His conscientious efforts, first to relieve his parents from 
 the burden of his education, and then to assist them, have 
 been related before. As fellow and tutor his earnings were 
 freely contributed, and no doubt the desire of doing this 
 was one great reason for undertaking the tutor's work at 
 Oriel. It is true that this was a time of comparative wealth, 
 but it was earned by hard labour of a practical kind, and it 
 has been already shown that during this period he made a 
 pecuniary engagement which burdened him for many years 
 after. Thus his duty to others never allowed him for any 
 interval to cast himself on his fortune, and run risks for a 
 while for the sake of freedom and opportunities. To many 
 men this burden would have been lighter, but he was a 
 heavy moving vessel ; he could not turn and set his sails 
 to catch light favouring winds. He could not use spare 
 half-hours to write well-paid reviews or popular articles, or 
 even poetry. The demand for his wares seemed to spoil 
 the supply. That it should be profitable, seemed to make 
 it impossible to him to write. Thus he was driven to 
 harder, less congenial work, simply because it was positive 
 and certain. Nothing, for instance, would have been more 
 grateful to him than after leaving Oxford to be free for a 
 few years to roam about the world before settling to a new 
 vocation, but this was never to be thought of. No doubt 
 there is another side to the picture ; the real acquaintance 
 
44 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 with life and men, which this entire acceptance of various 
 positions taught him, not only gave him valuable training, 
 but furnished him with materials which in a mind of his 
 calibre would, we doubt not, have come out in some literary 
 form. But for the time they simply choked his power of 
 production, and no doubt prevented the utterance of many 
 thoughts on religious and other subjects. 
 
 After two years at University Hall, the founding of a 
 new college at Sydney induced him to seek a change, and 
 he presented himself as a candidate for its principalship, a 
 post which Dr. WooUey eventually obtained. This would 
 have brought him a safe income, and one on which he could 
 afford to marry. He had great hopes of success, and this 
 tempted him to engage himself to be married. But very 
 soon after he had done this the appointment was decided 
 against him, and he was at the same time obliged to give 
 up University Hall. His prospects were thus less hopeful 
 than ever. Yet the stimulus which he had received sup- 
 ported him in the struggle to obtain some kind of position 
 in which he might gain a livelihood. His friends en- 
 deavoured to procure an appointment for him in the 
 Education Office ; but the downfall of the Liberal Ministry 
 destroyed all his chances for the time. Then, after much 
 deliberation and inward hesitation, he resolved to go out to 
 America, and try what opening he might find there, as a 
 teacher or a literary man. But to leave England, to make 
 a new beginning in life, and to pull himself up again, as it 
 were, by the roots, was not an easy matter to one of his 
 tenacious temperament. Some expression of the feelings 
 which possessed him comes out in the poems written on 
 shipboard. Eventually he sailed, in October 1852, and 
 settled at Cambridge, Massachusetts. There he was wel- 
 comed with remarkable cordiality, and formed many friend- 
 ships which lasted to the end of his life. Still his position 
 was too solitary to be cheerful, but he appreciated very 
 
EXAMINER IN THE EDUCATION OFFICE 45 
 
 highly the hopefulness and the moral healthiness of the 
 new country, and he always retained warm feelings of 
 admiration and affection for its citizens. 
 
 At Cambridge he remained some time without much 
 employment, but by degrees he gathered a certain number 
 of pupils. He also wrote several articles at this time in 
 the ' North American Review,' and in ' Putnam's Magazine,' 
 and other magazines, and before long undertook a revision 
 of the translation, known as Dryden's, of Plutarch's ' Lives,' 
 for an American publisher. Thus he carried on a great 
 deal of work, and was gradually making himself an assured 
 position ; and he would probably have felt no difficulty in 
 settling down in America as his home, had not the offer of 
 an examinership in the Education Office, which his friends 
 obtained for him, come to draw him homewards again. The 
 certainty of a permanent, though small income, the pro- 
 spects of immediate marriage, and his natural affection for 
 his own country, decided him to accept the place, and give 
 up his chances in America, not without some regret, after 
 he had gradually brought his mind to the idea of adopting 
 a new country. His genuine democratic feeling rejoiced in 
 the wider diffusion of prosperity and substantial comforts 
 which he found in America ; at the same time he would 
 doubtless have suffered greatly from the expatriation, and 
 would probably have always regretted his exclusion from 
 what he calls ' the deeper waters of ancient knowledge and 
 experience ' to be found in the old country. 
 
 In July 1853 he returned to England, and at once 
 entered on the duties of his office. Henceforth his career 
 was decided for him. He was freed from perplexing ques- 
 tions as to choice of occupation. His business life was 
 simple, straightforward, and hard-working : but it was 
 made up of little beyond official drudgery, and the fact of 
 his entering the public service so late diminished his pro- 
 spect of reaching higher posts. His immediate objects, 
 
46 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 however, were answered ; and in June 1854 he married. 
 For the next seven years he lived quietly at home ; and 
 during this time three children were born to him, who 
 formed his chief and unfailing delight. No events of any 
 moment marked this period ; but it was one of real rest 
 and contentment. It is hard to speak of happiness which 
 has vanished from the earth ; yet what comfort remains 
 lies chiefly in the thought that now at last his life did reach 
 a sort of culmination, that a great-hearted man did for a 
 short time find his natural repose in the pleasures of a home, 
 and that he was able, for a short space at least, to devote 
 his great faculties freely to the service of others. Up to 
 this date we may almost say that he had been too free from 
 active and absorbing employment for his own happiness. 
 Circumstances had forced him to try different schemes and 
 to engage in various undertakings with very moderate suc- 
 cess, and the want of definite and continuous occupation 
 left his mind free to deal restlessly with the great insoluble 
 problems of the world, which had for him so true a vitality 
 that he could not dismiss them from his thoughts. After 
 his marriage there was none of this enforced and painful 
 communing with self alone. He had plenty to do ; and 
 the close relations into which he was brought with various 
 members of his wife's family kept him actively employed, 
 and tasked his sympathies to the full. All the new duties 
 and interests of domestic life grew up and occupied his 
 daily thoughts. The humour which in solitude had been 
 inclined to take the hue of irony and sarcasm, now found 
 its natural and healthy outlet. The practical wisdom and 
 insight into life, for which he was distinguished, were con- 
 stantly exercised in the service of his friends ; and the new 
 experience which he was daily gathering at home made 
 many perplexed questions, both social and religious, clear 
 and simple to his mind. In this way, though he did not 
 cease to think about the problems which hitherto had 
 
MAREIED LIFE 47 
 
 occupied his leisure, he thought about them in a different 
 way, and was able, so to speak, to test them by the facts of 
 actual life, and by the intuitions and experience of those 
 whose character he valued, instead of submitting them only 
 to the crucible of his own reflection. The close and constant 
 contact with another mind gave him a fresh insight into his 
 own, and developed a new understanding of the wants of 
 other people, so that the results of many years of medita- 
 tion grew distinct and solid. Having thus passed from the 
 speculative to the constructive phase of thought, it is quite 
 certain, from little things which he was in the habit of 
 saying, that, had he been permibted, he would have ex- 
 pressed his mature convictions in works of a more positive 
 and substantial kind. But, unfortunately, he was too 
 wUling and too anxious to take work of every sort, and to 
 spend himself for others. Therefore he soon became in- 
 volved in labours too exciting for a constitution already 
 somewhat overtasked, nor was he ever able to yield himself 
 wholly to the healthful indolence of private life. To a 
 period of wasting thought and solitude succeeded one of 
 over-strenuous exertion ; bracing indeed, but, for a man of 
 his sympathetic temperament and laborious past life, too 
 absorbing and engrossing. What, however, must always 
 be remembered is, that Clough was happy in his work, and 
 happy in his home life. It would be easy, were it necessary, 
 to show from his poems how strong in him was the sense 
 of family feeling, how tenderly and delicately he appreciated 
 the family relations, how fond he was of children and young 
 people, how naturally he enjoyed domestic life. Nor can 
 any one doubt that in work itself he found full satisfaction, 
 especially in such work as made him helpful to others, and 
 brought him into vivid human contact with his fellow- 
 workers. Both of these sources of satisfaction, home life 
 and congenial work, had hitherto been denied him. Now 
 they were largely given to him, and, had his strength 
 
48 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 been equal to the demands which were made upon it, a 
 long life of happiness and usefulness was clearly open to him. 
 
 Besides the work of the office, the translation of Plutarch, 
 begun in America, absorbed a great part of his scanty 
 leisure during five years after his return from America. In 
 the spring of 1856 he was appointed secretary to a com- 
 mission for examining the scientific military schools on the 
 Continent. He visited, in consequence, the great schools 
 for artillery and engineers in France, Prussia, and Austria. 
 The travelling lasted about three months, and besides being 
 very interesting and agreeable, it afibrded him much occu- 
 pation during a considerable time afterwards. Another 
 employment, which frequently fell to him, was the examin- 
 ing of candidates in his own special subject of English 
 literature, sometimes for Woolwich, sometimes in his own 
 office. But the work in which he took the deepest interest 
 was that of his friend and relation, Miss Nightingale. He 
 watched over every step in her various undertakings, 
 afibrding her assistance not merely with advice, and little 
 in his life gave him greater satisfaction than to be her 
 active and trusted friend. 
 
 We see that his life, though uneventful, was full of 
 work, and we can also understand why this period of his 
 life produced no poetical result. The conditions under 
 which he could create were at this time wholly wanting. 
 He had not time or strength or leisure of mind to spend on 
 his natural gift of writing ; and to his friends it must ever 
 be a source of sorrow that his natural vocation, what he 
 himself felt as such, was unfulfilled. He himself always 
 looked forward to some time when greater opportunity 
 might be granted him, when the various experiences of 
 later Hfe, the results of his later thought, might ' assort 
 themselves upon the brain,' and be given out in some 
 definite form. In the meantime he waited, not impatiently 
 or unwillingly, for he was slow to draw conclusions, as he 
 
PERSONAL CHAEACTEE AND INFLUENCE 49 
 
 ■was also patient in hearing the views of others, and ready 
 in his appreciation of them. Yet his mind did not fail to 
 exercise a powerful influence upon others. All who knew 
 him well will bear witness to the strong impression left by 
 his character, and by the force and originality of his in- 
 tellect. He was not prompt to give out distinct opinions 
 or answers to theoretical questions, but he seldom failed to 
 find a practical solution to any immediate difficulty, whether 
 mental or practical. His mind turned more and more to 
 action as its natural relief ; and in his family circle his 
 gentle wisdom and patience and great tenderness of feeling 
 caused him to be constantly appealed to in all difficulties. 
 It was indeed only in the intimacy of daily Uf e that the full 
 charm and grace of his nature was felt, the intense lovable- 
 ness of it, the tender unselfishness, and the manly courage 
 with which he met the difficulties of Hfe, and helped others 
 through them. His was a character not easy to describe, 
 whose charm was so personal that it seems to evaporate 
 when translated into words. He was a singular combina- 
 tion of enthusiasm and calmness, of thoughtfulness and 
 imagination, of speech and silence, of seriousness and 
 humour. Ordinarily somewhat slow of utterance, he often 
 seemed, as a friend said of him, ' to be choked by his own 
 fulness.' His own words in the ' Bothie ' not unaptly 
 described him — 
 
 Author forgotten and silent of currentest phrases and fancies ; 
 Mute and exuberant by turns, a fountain at intervals playing ; 
 Mute and abstracted, or strong and abundant as rain in the tropics. 
 
 On special occasions he would pour out the accumulation of 
 his mind, but most often the stream remained hid, and only 
 came to the surface in his poetry, or in little incisive phrases, 
 most apt to engrave themselves sharply on the minds of his 
 hearers. He had a strong sense of humour, and was always 
 ready to look on this side of the daily incidents of life ; and 
 
 E 
 
50 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 his friends will long remember his genial smile, and his 
 hearty, almost boyish, laugh. This brightness, and the sunny 
 sweetness of his temper, gave cheerfulness to what might 
 otherwise have been too serious a temperament, for though 
 not specially anxious in personal things, yet the habit of 
 his mind, his high-wrought conscientiousness and suscepti- • 
 bility of feeling, rendered him liable to be deeply impressed 
 by the sad things of the world, the great difficulties 
 especially of modern social life, which were in truth to him 
 ' a heavy and a weary weight.' 
 
 It has been remarked that in his later poems there is 
 no distinct expression of the peace he had attained. It is 
 true we find in them rather a freedom from disturbance 
 than a positive expression of belief. But his peace was 
 not the result of a crisis, of a sudden conversion, which 
 often pours itself out in words ; it was the fruit of years 
 of patient thought and action, it was a temper of mind. 
 He felt no impulse to speak of it. He turned his mind to 
 the practical questions of the world, as appears in these 
 later poems, which instantly began to flow forth as soon as 
 his brain was relieved from the constant pressure of work. 
 
 With so much of inward peace, absolutely free from 
 envj or jealousy, not depressed by the want of outward 
 success, given in so much larger measure to many of his 
 contemporaries, capable of looking at outward things from 
 a truly philosophic height, gifted with genuine humour, and 
 open in his soul to all kindly natural feelings, endowed with 
 a rare power of inspiring unclouded affection, he could not 
 but enjoy a high degree of happiness. It has been called a 
 Droken Ufe. Broken indeed it was, by death, too soon 
 for the work he might have done, too soon for any full 
 comprehension of him by the public, or by any but his 
 near friends, too soon for those who loved him and de- 
 pended on him. But not too soon for the realisation of a 
 great and manly character, for the achievement in himself. 
 
FAILING HEALTH 51 
 
 of the highest and purest peace ; not too soon to give to a 
 few who really knew him the strongest sense of what he was 
 in himself. It was easiest to describe him by negatives, yet 
 perhaps no one ever made a more concrete positive impress 
 sion on those who knew him. As one of his friends said, 
 ' I always /eZi his presence ; ' and truly he was above all a 
 power, a warm supporting presence. His poems tell us of 
 his perplexities, his divided thoughts, his uncertainties ; 
 those who remember him will think rather of his simple 
 directness of speech and action, the clearness of his judg- 
 ment on any moot point ; above all, it is remarkable how 
 unanimous all those who knew him are in expressing their 
 feeling of his entire nobleness, his utter purity of character. 
 It seems impossible to speak of him without using these 
 words. 
 
 But now this happy and peaceful though laborious life 
 was approaching a too early close. There was never to be 
 any complete opportunity given here for showing to the full 
 what his best friends believed to be in him, and what his 
 poems partly reveal. Probably ever since very early youth 
 he had been subjected to a too severe moral and in- 
 tellectual strain. His health, though good, had never been 
 strong, and after 1859 it began to cause anxiety to his 
 family, when a series of small illnesses and accidents com- 
 bined to weaken his constitution. In the summer of 1860, 
 he also suffered the loss of his mother. After a lingering 
 illness of several years, she died of paralysis, a disease to 
 which several of the family had succumbed, and which was 
 so soon after to strike down her son. 
 
 His usual autumn holiday, this time spent chiefly in 
 Scotland, failed of its usual good effect in reviving him, and 
 finding himself seriously out of health, he obtained six 
 months' leave from the Council Office. He then underwent 
 several weeks' treatment at Malvern, which appeared to 
 improve his health. Afterwards, in February 1861, he 
 
 E 2 
 
82 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 removed to Freshwater, in the Isle of "Wight, and here, 
 though at first in a suffering state, he soon improved and 
 regained his spirits, and for the last time really enjoyed his 
 family life with his wife and children. He was naturally fond 
 of children, and to his own little ones he was a most tender 
 and devoted father ; he never tired of strolUng about 
 with them, carrying them on his back along the country 
 lanes, and listening to their just beginning talk. The 
 pleasures of the country had always had a strong hold upon 
 him, and the opening spring in that sweet spot brought 
 many pleasant sights ; many walks among daffodil and 
 snowdrop beds, and discoveries of ferns in sheltered nooks. 
 He always rose early, and was often seen strolling over the 
 downs before breakfast. At this time he returned to his 
 old employment of translating Homer, the only form of 
 versification which he had not laid aside altogether during 
 his office work. This became now a great pleasure to him. 
 At this time too he wrote two or three of the miscellaneous 
 poems. Here also it was a source of great enjoyment to 
 him to be near friends whom he especially valued, and 
 whose society gave him just the intellectual stimulus he 
 needed for enjoyment. 
 
 But this pleasant time came too soon to an end. Though 
 himself unwUlLng to move from a place where he felt happy, 
 and where he had experienced an improvement in his 
 health, he was warned that the good would soon be ex- 
 hausted, and that the climate was too relaxing for warmer 
 weather. Further change of air, and still more change of 
 scene, were ordered, and in the middle of April he went 
 alone to Greece and Constantinople. Apparently he greatly 
 enjoyed this journey, and no sooner was he again at leisure 
 and in solitude than the old fountain of verse, so long dry 
 within him, reopened afresh. During this journey he wrote 
 the first and perhaps the second of the Mari Magno stories. 
 In June he returned for a few weeks to England • he 
 
JOURNEYS TO AUVEEGNB AND THE PYEENEES 53 
 
 seemed unable to bear any protracted absence, and to 
 long for his home ; yet he consented to quit it again in 
 July and go to Auvergne and the Pyrenees. There he was 
 fortunate enough to join, though but for a short time, his 
 friends Mr. and Mrs. Tennyson, whose companionship made 
 his solitary wanderings pleasant, and to it he owed probably 
 more than pleasure, some of the stimiulus which produced 
 the poems which were his last creations. While travelliag 
 in Auvergne and the Pyrenees he composed all the remain- 
 ing Mari Magno tales, except the last, which was conceived 
 and written entirely during his last illness. In the south 
 of France he remained till the middle of September, when 
 he went to Paris to join his wife. Their three little 
 children had been left in England ; he had very much 
 wished to come home and see them before starting on a 
 further journey, but in the present state of his nerves it was 
 considered desirable to avoid any unnecessary emotion, and 
 he unwillingly yielded this point. He felt the privation 
 very keenly, though he shrank from any words, and he 
 could hardly endure to hear about the children whom he 
 had not been allowed to revisit. In this way it unfortunately 
 came to pass that he never even saw his youngest chUd, a 
 little girl who was bom after he left England the second 
 time. In Paris he spent a few days and then set out to 
 travel through Switzerland to the Italian lakes, intending 
 to stay some time at Florence, and reach Rome before the 
 winter. He was then able to enjoy much, though he could 
 bear but little fatigue. They stopped at Dijon to see the 
 beautiful Puits de Moyse and the sculptures in the 
 Museum by the same hand ; and then crossed the Jura 
 from Salines to PontarUer and Neufch&tel. Between 
 Salines and Pontarlier was then still a beautiful drive in 
 the diligence over low grassy hUls crowned with pine woods. 
 At Pontarlier .they rejoined the railway; a striking line, 
 seen as they saw it by moonlight, a ' chemin tr^s accidente,' 
 
54 LIFE OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 keeping half-way up the liill-side, equally steep whether 
 looking up or down, and continually darting in and out 
 through numerous tunnels. After this came three pleasant 
 vetturino days over the Simplon, one spent in the long 
 drive up the Valais, monotonous but pleasant, with occa- 
 sional walks and halts to gather the deep blue gentians and 
 mountain pinks on the wayside. The next day, on which 
 they crossed the pass, a sudden deep snow came on, unusual 
 so early in the year as September ; many little avalanches 
 fell, and it was with some difficulty they reached the crest. 
 Then on descending the slope of the great alpine wall, into 
 the country of the sun, everything changed suddenly, the 
 snow disappeared, and all seemed bursting into rich vege- 
 tation. Arthur enjoyed this part of the journey excessively ; 
 first the beautiful Pass of Gondo, full of waterfalls and cas- 
 cades, then the descent lower down on Domo d'Ossola, 
 among walnut and chestnut trees. The sense of southern 
 beauty and richness seemed to penetrate him with enjoy- 
 ment. The third day's drive to Stresa on Lago Maggiore 
 was also full of pleasure. At Stresa they rested a few days 
 and made expeditions to Isola Bella, Orta, and Magadino ; 
 but here he became slightly unwell, and hurried on to Milan, 
 thinking it would be more bracing. He did apparently 
 improve, and took pleasure in visiting the pictures and 
 churches, but never recovered himself ; and they continued 
 their painful journey, during which he grew gradually worse, 
 to Florence, where they expected to meet friends, and where 
 they found good medical help. Some days were better than 
 others, and at Parma he spent a few hours among the 
 pictures of Correggio with great enjoyment. The last day 
 before entering Florence they had a drive of several hours 
 over the Apennines, coming down on Pistoia. It was a 
 lovely sunny day ; the hills were covered with young chest- 
 nuts and flowering arbutus ; the air was fresh and soothing, 
 and he seemed to revive on the heights, but looked with 
 
HIS DEATH AT FLOEENCE 65 
 
 dread on the valley lying beneath, with its white towns 
 shining hot in the sun. 
 
 They reached Florence early in the day of October 10. 
 That afternoon Arthur went to the Boboli Gardens, and to 
 look at the grand arches of Orcagna in the Piazza del 
 Granduca. The next day too he attempted to walk as far 
 as the Cathedral and the Baptistery, which were close to 
 the hotel. But on the 12th, when a permanent lodging 
 had been found, he went to bed, unable longer to resist the 
 fever. He had suffered much rheumatic pain, in the liead^ 
 but it very soon gave way to treatment, and after this he 
 did not suffer much. The fever, a sort of malaria, had its 
 course, and appeared to give way. During the first three 
 weeks he seemed perpetually occupied with a poem he was 
 writing, the last in the volume of his poems ; and when he 
 began apparently to recover, and was able to sit up for 
 several hours in the day, he insisted on trying to write it 
 out, and when this proved too great an effort he begged to 
 dictate it. But he broke down before it was finished, and 
 returned to bed never to leave it again. A few days before 
 his death he begged for a pencil and contrived to write 
 down two verses, and quite to the end his thoughts kept 
 hold of his poem. Fortunately it had all been completed 
 and written out in pencil in the first stage of his illness, 
 and was found after his death in his notebook. It seemed 
 a comfort to him to have his mind preoccupied and relieved 
 from the weight of illness and anxiety by this creative in- 
 stinct. 
 
 The fever left him worn out, and then paralysis, with 
 which he had been threatened, struck him down. On the 
 13th of November he died, in his forty-third year. 
 
 Three days before his death his sister reached him from 
 Engla.nd. He knew her, and was glad to see her near him, 
 but he was too weak to realise the parting that was coming. 
 
 He lies buried in the little Protestant cemetery, just 
 
66 LIFE OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 outside the walls of Florence, looking towards Fiesole and 
 the hills which he loved and which he had gazed on as he 
 entered Florence, little thinking he should leave it no more. 
 ' Tall cypresses wave over the graves, and the beautiful 
 hills keep guard around ; ' nowhere could there be a lovelier 
 resting-place. 
 
 The memory of Arthur Clough will be safe ia the hearts 
 of his friends. Few beyond his friends have known him at 
 all ; his writings may not reach beyond a small circle ; but 
 those who have received his image into their hearts know 
 that something has been given them which no time can 
 take away, and to them we think no words will seem fitter 
 than those of the poet, happily also his friend, which have 
 cherished the memory of another beautiful soul : — 
 
 So, dearest, now thy brows are cold. 
 We see thee as thou art, and know 
 Thy likeness to the wise below. 
 
 Thy kindred with the great of old. 
 
KUGBY 
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 FROM 1829 TO 1836. 
 RUGBY. 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 Chester : May 15, 1829. 
 Dear Anne, — I received your kind letter by the barque 
 ' Melantho,' after an extrenaely long voyage. Charles received 
 one on the same day from uncle Charles, intimating that 
 we were to spend our vacation at Easter with him at the 
 vicarage. During the Easter holidays, which we spent 
 very pleasantly at Mold, I had plenty of leisure for drawing. 
 Two men were hung here lately for robbing an old clergy- 
 man. We have bought a book entitled 'The Newtonian 
 System of Philosophy,' which treats chiefly of the power 
 and weight of air ; the cause of volcanoes, earthquakes, 
 and other phenomena of nature, such as lightning, the 
 aurora borealis ; also a description of the sun, planets, 
 their moons or satellites, constellations, comets, and other 
 heavenly bodies ; likewise of air-guns, balloons, air-pumps ; 
 also a very pleasing one of snow, hail, and vapours. It 
 also describes electricity and magnetism, and gives a brief 
 account of minerals, vegetables, and animals. 
 
 The summer vacation is now just approaching, after 
 which time we shall be conducted either by uncle Alfred 
 or uncle Charles to Rugby, which is not far from Leaming- 
 ton, at which place cousin Eliza is at school. 
 
 Were you not grieved to hear that magnificent building 
 
58 LETTERS OF AETHDE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 York Minster had been partly destroyed through the de 
 structive means of fire 1 
 
 To his Mother. 
 
 Eugby : May 15, 1830. 
 Deae Mamma,- — I am glad to tell you that both Charles 
 and myself have been removed out of the third form into 
 the lower fourth ; we enjoyed uncle Alfred's company (he 
 was steward to the Easter Meeting at Rugby) and also the 
 speeches and holidays very much. There were four prizes. 
 There was also a prize for boys in the fifth form, which 
 was gained by Stanley for an English essay ' On Sicily and 
 its Revolutions.' These were all recited by their different 
 writers on Wednesday in Easter week. After the four 
 first had repeated their poems and read their essays, Stanley 
 came forth and read his essay. Unfortunately the prizes 
 had not arrived, and therefore Dr. Arnold was obliged to 
 postpone the delivery of them. One morning, however, at 
 prayers, we saw a great many books in extremely handsome 
 bindings ; and after prayers, Dr. Arnold gave them to those 
 for whom they were intended. 
 
 School House, Eugby : May 28, 1833. 
 .J.I have gained one place in the form by this ex- 
 amination, and I shall certainly be in the sixth form next 
 half-year. I am now seventh, and ten at least of the 
 Prseposters leave either now or at Lawrence Sheriffe.' 
 
 To his Brother George. 
 
 School House, Eugby : October 13, 1834. 
 My dear Georgt, — ^You say you do not like your school 
 even so well as you did last year. I believe that it is worse 
 
 ' Meaning the day of Lawrence Sheriffe, which is the foundation 
 day of the school. 
 
RUGBY 69 
 
 than many places, but even here at Rugby, the best of all 
 public schools, which are the best kind of schools, even here 
 there is a vast deal of bad. It was but a few nights- ago 
 that a little fellow, not more than thirteen at the very 
 most, was quite drunk, and that for the second time in the 
 last year. I do not know that there is here much of the 
 low mean spirit (which I fear you have so much of), but it 
 must be remembered that Rugby is far better off in this 
 way than most schools. 
 
 To his Mother. 
 
 Jesus College, Oxford : July 9, 1835. 
 
 The exhibitioners this year are Lake, Penrose, and Gell. 
 We had an extremely pleasant time up at Rugby at the 
 examination, as the Oxford vacation was just beginning, 
 and we had six or seven old Rugbeians down, and in so busy 
 and exciting a time their company was a great relief. I 
 had not been very well after Easter all along, but I believe 
 that time did more to make me well than all the physic, 
 which has lengthened the doctor's bill to a most boa-con- 
 strictor-like size. I have been in one continued state of 
 excitement for at least the last three years, and now comes 
 the time of exhaustion. When you all come over next 
 year, and I get home at last, I do think this will end. 
 
 I must send you our ' Rugby Magazine,' which I beg 
 you wUl patronise with all your might, though I suppose 
 your canvassing materials in America are rather small. 
 
 To his Brother George. 
 
 School House, Eugby : September 13, 1835. 
 
 . . . Only remember — don't be indolent, George ; you 
 
 recollect what I told you about that family failing. Idle, 
 
 I do not think you will be ; but take care you never say, 
 
 ' It is too much trouble,' ' I can't be bothered,' which are 
 
60 LETTEKS OF ABTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 tolerably old favourites of yours, and, indeed, of all who 
 have any Perfect blood in them. 
 
 . . . No doubt you will feel very much the loss of any 
 one to talk to about religion, but let this, my dear George, 
 only make you keep more close to God ; and i still — for I 
 know that our weakness does often want more direct and 
 visible aid than this, and ttiat our minds are too imperfectly 
 brought to righteousness and goodness to be continually 
 talking even with our kiad Pather God, just as you would 
 wish to talk to those of your own age sometimes, and not 
 always to those above you only, however much you might 
 love them — if you do still want some one to talk to, you 
 have only to write to me, and I shall be sure to answer you 
 within a week or two. Remember, too, that if the school is 
 bad, it is no reason, no excuse for you to do as they do. 
 Remember, they are not many, and Jesus said that a little 
 leaven leavens the whole lump : now, do not think that I 
 am telling you to put yourself forward as a kind of apostle 
 or missionary to them. Only go on without fearing or 
 shrinking in any point from your duty ; do not mind their 
 knowing that you are trying to serve God. 
 
 The magazine prospers ; it will probably be out on the 
 1st October. ' Egmont' will appear, and one or two other 
 things of mine. I assure you I have enough to do. I 
 sometimes think of giving up fagging hard here, and doing 
 all my extra work in the holidays, so as to have my time 
 here free for these two objects — 1st. The improvement of 
 the school ; 2nd. The publication and telling abroad of the 
 merits of the school by means of the magazine. 
 
 5'o the same. 
 
 School House, Bugby : October 11, 1835. 
 
 Simpkinson left me last Monday for Cambridge, and his 
 absence has made me head of the school house, which is an 
 
KUGBT 61 
 
 ofiB.ce of considerable trust and great difl&culty. Indeed, you 
 could not do better than try to win the liking and esteem 
 of your schoolfellows by being as kind to them as you can. 
 T hope I am tryiag earnestly to do the same. But there is 
 one danger in this occupation which assails me, at least, 
 very often ; and that is, the danger of carrying our wish too 
 far. And remember always, that to be liked is not the 
 thing we should wish for on its own account, but only 
 because it will make it more easy for us to do good to those 
 who like us. Try, my dear George, to be as active in this 
 good work as you can be ; only take care that you have a 
 few moments to yourself with God every day, so that you 
 do not forget Him in your more active employments ; if you 
 do these two things I do not think you will be likely to fall 
 into any more stupors, as you call those states of mind, 
 which I very well know and have often experienced. As 
 soon as you feel anything of the kind coming on, go and do 
 something, no matter what, which will employ you actively. 
 Perhaps, if you do some kindness to a schoolfellow, or resist 
 him in some evil practice, you will feel this go down very 
 rapidly. You never told us how your school-work is 
 getting on ; do you do any Euclid now ? I have not heard 
 from America lately ; the last letter I had was from my 
 father, dated at Saratoga. Tell me when you write all 
 about No. II. of the ' Rugby Magazine.' It is very much 
 liked here, better than the first, and we have had intelligence 
 of its being thought very well of in the literary circles in 
 London. I only hope it will not decay under my hands ; 
 for I have got the management of it almost entirely by 
 myself. 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 School House, Rugby : October 10, 1835. 
 
 My oldest and only friend, Simpkinson, is just gone to 
 Cambridge, and there are also two or three more gone whom 
 
62 LETTERS OF AETHUE HU&H CLOUGH 
 
 I knew and loved better than the rest ; so that I am now 
 quite alone, and am doomed so to remain for two long years. 
 I see, however, quite plainly that this is far better for 
 me, for now I shall not fag so much, as being of necessity 
 thrown much more with other fellows, and wishing now 
 most earnestly to know as many as possible ; for there is a 
 deal of evil springing up in the school, and it is to be feared 
 that the tares will choke much of the wheat. There is a 
 great deal of good in* the top of the school, but then it is 
 what may be called disagreeable good, having much evil 
 mixed with it ; especially in little' matters. So that from 
 these persons good is disliked. I am trying, if possible, to 
 show them that good is not necessarily disagreeable, and 
 that a Christian may be, and is likely to be, a gentleman. 
 
 Monday, October 12. 
 The nights (that is, after locking-up time) are getting 
 very long, beginning as they do now from a quarter-past 
 six ; so that I have a great deal of time in my study, and 
 am almost more by myself than I wish. Sometimes, when 
 I am thus alone, I long very much indeed to have you all 
 over here ; for before Simpkinson left, Rugby was almost 
 like a home to me, and now I feel the want of a home far 
 more than I ever did before ; so that I cannot tell you how 
 welcome next summer will be to me. Even the holidays 
 without you seem a thing to be looked forward to very 
 much, which they never did before, except last half-year, 
 when I was unable to work. I am very tolerably well now, 
 and think I have recovered altogether, though I verily 
 believe I shall not be able ever again to fag so much ; indeed, 
 I shall never wish to do so in the same way. You will 
 understand a good deal of the way ia which fagging hard 
 is so frequently ruiaous both to body and mind, from an 
 article in the ' Rugby Magazine,' No. III., which I hope 
 you will like as much as the people on this side the Atlantic 
 
EUGBT . 63 
 
 (I mean the article entitled ' A Schoolboy's Story ') ; I think 
 you will see a good deal in that to explain it. 
 
 By this time, I suppose, you are back in Charleston, and 
 ere long I shall have heard the full account of your trip to 
 Lake George. I had a great deal of pleasant travelling 
 myself in the summer, particularly in that part of my 
 journey which took me from Oxford through Cheltenham 
 and Shrewsbury, to Beaumaris. I met a very curious 
 animal in the coffee-room at the Shrewsbury inn, a German 
 merchant's son from Bremen. He was very ignorant and 
 very intelligent, so that he was also very amusing. At one 
 time he made me think him half an idiot, at another he 
 seemed quite clever. Probably he had never been out of a 
 counting-house in his life before ; at any rate, his observa- 
 tion must have been very limited, for I went to show him 
 Lord Hill's column, and as we were walking up to it he 
 said, ' Well, that is very beautiful, very big,' and a moment 
 or two after, ' and it gets bigger as we come nearer ! ' 
 
 To J. P. Gell, Esq. 
 
 School House, Rugby: October 24, 1835. 
 
 I do wish that I could be acquainted and intimate with 
 a great many fellows, but I really have not time; and 
 here is another advantage on the side of evil, that bad 
 characters are also idle, whereas good characters are 
 industrious, so that when a fellow wants a companion he is 
 much more likely to pitch on a bad than on a good one. I 
 am afraid that writing or thinking much about these things 
 does me harm. I only wish you would write to me about 
 it, for your letters always put me more on my legs. Do you 
 remember what Arnold says (Sermons, vol. iii. Introduc- 
 tion) about the enduring value of the ancient philosophical 
 and historical works ? Well, I really think that letters from 
 
64 LETTEES OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 fellows who have left act much in the same way, keeping 
 one's mind ' fresh and comprehensive.' So spare not pen 
 and paper when you can spare time. 
 
 To the same. 
 School House, Rugby : November 9, 1835. 
 
 ... I have to take care lest the excitement should 
 carry me away ; for though assuredly there is no Simpkin- 
 son here, nor Vaughan, nor Burbidge, yet it is most easy 
 to find excitement, on the one hand, fagging, and on the 
 other, in associating with fellows for their good, which is 
 a more dangerous employment than I looked for ; there is 
 such an excess of acquaintance and such a lack of friends 
 here ; nobody to look up to in one's common school-dealings, 
 and so much to look up to at times in Arnold, that it is no 
 
 easy matter to ' keep a level temper,' as young used 
 
 to say. Sometimes all seems so very bright, the little good 
 one has done seems so great, and the good one hopes to do 
 so certain, that one gets quite elevated ; then there soon 
 follows the exhaustion, and I think it is no use trjdng ; and 
 in the meantime copies, &c., have been accumulating and I 
 am obliged to set to, though the true cure of such a state 
 is forcing oneself to try even against hope. Besides, there 
 are all the letters from Oxford and Cambridge, than which 
 more exciting things were never created, 
 
 I don't know which to think the greatest, the blessing 
 of being under Arnold, or the curse of being without a home. 
 
 To his Mother. 
 Finch House, near Liverpool : December 1835. 
 
 To-day is Monday, and during the last eight or nine days 
 I have had as many changes of place and companions as I 
 ever remember, and have had a right busy and exciting time 
 
EUGBT 65 
 
 of it. On Friday evening before last our great examination 
 closed, and I was not a little disappointed, thinking that I 
 ought to have done better. Then on Saturday one of my 
 Oxford friends came down (Lake), and this of course made 
 a great change, and raised my spirits as high as before they 
 had been low. In the evening the class-paper came out and I 
 found I had got all I had hoped for, and also that I was 
 head of the form in composition marks, thus securing two 
 prizes ; then I dined at Arnold's, and had a very pleasant 
 evening. Then followed all the misery of the last night — 
 noise, noise, noise of preparing, and wishing good-bye, &c., 
 till twelve o'clock and after ; followed at two o'clock by the 
 still greater noise of going. After my two hours' sleep, I 
 had a busy morning of breakfasting with my tutor, of paying 
 off window-bills, &c. &c., packing up, &c. &c. ; and so on till 
 twelve o'clock, when I dined out, and returned to the school 
 at three o'clock calling-over, wished the fellows good-bye, 
 and waited for the coach till four in the school field. 
 In a short time your old friend the Oxford and Leicester 
 Regulator — ^vulgarly termed the Pig — transported me to 
 Leicester, and here I found myself in a completely new 
 world, at a house I was strange to, with my old school- 
 fellow Burbidge correcting the proofs of No. III. of the, 
 ' Rugby Magazine.' Next day at 10 p.m. we were joined 
 for an hour by two more Cantabrigians (Vaughau and Gell), 
 which was very delightful indeed. Well, not to trouble you 
 with a further account of what we did at Leicester, on Friday 
 night after walking for two and a half hours along Leicester 
 streets (for the coach should have started at half-past ten 
 and did not till one o'clock), I began a long journey to 
 Liverpool. After one of the coldest and bitterest nights I 
 ever remember, and a day not much less so, I found myself 
 about 3 P.M. at the end of the lane by the fifth milestone. 
 I must go a little further and tell you what we are going 
 to do these holidays. George is now in Chester ; he is 
 
66 LETTERS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 going to Mold on Thursday, the 24th inst., -where I shall 
 join him the same day. Hence after a few days we shall 
 proceed to Min-y-don ' for ten days, and thence again he 
 will return here, and I shall probably go to Chester. 
 
 I suppose we shall have a regular rambling time of it, 
 which I dare say will be pleasant enough in its way ; but 
 I cannot tell you how very, very much I long for next 
 summer, even on this ground only, that then we shall have 
 done' with this way of living. I am quite well now, and 
 shall be, I hope. I have not been so hard at work this last 
 half-year, and that may have something to do with it. But 
 I think it is a good deal owing to my having to go about 
 with other fellows more than I used to do, and this will be 
 the case for sometime now. I have, however, to look for- 
 ward to a very busy half-year ; but as it will not be my 
 last half-year, I need not be very anxious about it or ex- 
 cited in it. I shall have another Easter and another Exhi 
 bition time after this ; but I must do my best to be ready 
 for next November, when I shall go up for the Balliol 
 scholarship. At any rate, my dear mother, it is no long 
 time now before July comes, and time passes very quickly, 
 at least I find it does to me now. It seems now that there 
 is nothing wanting to make my earthly happiness complete, 
 so far as it can be complete, that will not be given me next 
 summer, though indeed even now I can see some flaws in 
 it. But there will be so many and such friends at Cam ■ 
 bridge and Oxford, and so happy a situation at school where 
 I know that I am loved by many, and where I am ever 
 living under and gathering wisdom from a great and good 
 man. Such a prospect makes one tremble, for it seems to 
 be too fair for earth : at least it makes one resolve to do 
 all to fix one's affections on things above, lest God should 
 see that such fortune was too great for one, and that one 
 could not bear it. 
 
 ' Near Conway, a house on the seashore belonging to an uncle. 
 
EU6BT 67 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 Mold Vicarage : December 30, 1835. 
 
 I have some difficulty in prevailiiig on George to do 
 what he does not like {i.e. read) for an hour and a half in 
 the day. But I hope and believe he is much better at 
 school than he is in the holidays : indeed I think it is very 
 natural' he should be so. And it is -wonderful what a 
 degree of kind and affectionate feeling he has ; only fancy, for 
 six or seven years he has been treasuring up his money in the 
 savings' bank, and now it is all spent to buy me a watch. 
 On Christmas day I found a little paper box on my plate 
 at breakfast, and on opening it first came a quantity of 
 brown paper, then a note, then the ribbon, and at the 
 bottom a gola watch. 
 
 The examination went off very well for me last half- 
 year. In regular work four first-classes, in composition, 
 divinity, classics and history ; I might have got two more 
 in modem languages and mathematics. In extras I got 
 two first-classes, which was all I tried for, and which will 
 give me a prize. I shall also get a prize for being among 
 the four first in the composition of the half-year in the 
 sixth ; which means the Latin, prose and verse ; Greek, 
 prose and verse ; English, prose and verse, which we have 
 done in the half-year. 
 
 To J. N. Simpkinson, Esq. 
 
 Stanley Street, Chester : January 18, 1836. 
 
 I am most utterly busy now at Niebuhr for November, 
 which time is very much in my thoughts. The bare idea 
 of missing is horrible, and I have not done a page for the 
 magazine as yet, though I have great hopes of writing a 
 good deal. As to Q., you know he invited me to his house 
 
68 LETTEKS OP AKTHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 this winter, so I suppose he has taken a great fancy to me. 
 He is disagreeable sometimes, and is rather narrow-minded, 
 or rather narrow-notioned ; and having said so much 'con,' 
 I might say a great many ' pros,' but it is this very nar- 
 rowness of ideas which prevents one loving him. Such 
 people have no idea that it is anything approaching to a 
 duty to make oneself agreeable ; they have a great deal too 
 much of the itch to become martyrs and undergo persecu- 
 tion. Even two or three years under Arnold have not 
 wholly eradicated this notion in Q. himself ; but if he goes, 
 as I believe he does, to Balliol, he will, I trust, soon lose it, 
 as I think he is sure to be admitted into the High Arnold 
 set that is just germinating at Balliol under the auspices of 
 Stanley and Lake. . . . You know how differently a boy 
 regards home when he has once been to school. The kind 
 of passive and almost apathetic feeling (to indulge in a bull) 
 which he before had becomes high, steady and active feeling 
 and principle. I will not say that my feelings towards him 
 are so personal as they are to some others, because they are 
 so closely connected with Arnold, but I am very much at- 
 tached to him. ... I verily believe my whole being is soaked 
 through with the wishing and hoping and striving to do the 
 school good, or rather to keep it up and hinder it from fall- 
 ing in this, I do think, very critical time, so that all my 
 cares and affections and conversations, thoughts, words and 
 deeds, look to that involuntarily. I am afraid you will be 
 inclined to think this ' cant,' and I am conscious that even 
 one's truest feelings, if very frequently put out in the light, 
 do make a bad and disagreeable appearance ; but this how- 
 ever is true, and even if I am carrying it too far, I do not 
 think it has made me really forgetful of my personal friends, 
 such as, in particular, Gell and Burbidge and Walrond, and 
 yourself, my dear Simpkinson. 
 
RUGBY 69 
 
 To the same. 
 School House, Rugby : February 13, 1836, 
 
 ... I am sure this constant writing of letters is not 
 really a waste of time. Everyone of us has much he needs 
 to receive, and there are few who have nothing to give ; and 
 I, for one, cannot speak too highly of the good I have got 
 from others in this way ; it is such a constant correction of 
 each other's wild and foolish tendencies of mind, opinion, 
 &c. I wish I could have come to Cambridge very much ; 
 but I do not agree at all in your second reason, viz. that it 
 would make me discontented with the Balliol prospect. If 
 I do get the sfcholarship, I shall not long one bit for Cam- 
 bridge ; no, nor do I think I shall do so if I don't get it. 
 It is the very thing for which you uphold Cambridge which 
 makes me prefer Oxford. At Oxford we only form part of 
 a large set, and there is more hope there that a little leaven 
 will leaven the whole lump, which is, I think, more useful 
 than your scheme. To be sure, there will only be Stanley, 
 Lake, Fox, Arnold, and myself ; but then there are a great 
 number of very nice men, with whom, I hope, we shall get 
 more acquent, and this will be better. Do not think I under- 
 rate the blessing of Rugby friends ; I am only anxious to give 
 others that blessing. I have a great deal more to say, but 
 I must go to. the Be Corond, i.e. first lesson, so good-night. 
 
 Combe's' shop is delicious. So is the new Irish Title 
 BUI — atuitore Lord John Russell — at least I am told so. 
 So also is the fact that, malgri scandal, libels and lies, 
 ' Morning Herald,' ' Times,' and ' John Bull,' the school is 
 above 300. So also, I doubt not, will be the reading of 
 ' Knight's Quarterly,' which I have just got. So also (this 
 is indeed a climax) will be Easter. 
 
 ' The Rugby bookseller. 
 
70 LETTERS OF AKTHCJE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 To his Mother. 
 
 School House, Rugby : March 1836. 
 
 . . At last the prizes are over, and the last haK-sheet 
 of the Magazine, No. IV., is also sent off, I believe ; and 
 you can hardly fancy the feeling of this freedom, most 
 unusual indeed to me. As for the prizes, I have this 
 Easter got one, the Latin verse ; and a second for each of 
 the others, viz. the Latin prose and the Greek verse, so that 
 I shall still have two to try for next year ; so that, of 
 course, I am very well satisfied. I have been very well, 
 too, on the whole ; indeed I may say exceedingly well, not 
 withstanding all the hard work, and happy too, though 
 sometimes in rather low spirits, for I stand much alone in 
 the school now, and I am afraid it is anjrfching but good for 
 me to be alone ; but I hope I am conquering these fits, and 
 I do not think they come nearly so frequently or so strongly 
 as they used to do ; and when you are come over and 
 settled, I think they may cease altogether ; if they do not, 
 it will not be my own fault. 
 
 Dr. Arnold, I am afraid, you know too little about yet 
 to give him and his concerns much interest for you. Only 
 if any rumours of ill-conduct as head-master here have 
 crossed the Atlantic (I believe they have got a great way 
 through the ' Times ' and ' John BuU ' newspapers), I might 
 as well teU you that the Trustees of the School met last 
 week in London, all being present except three of the 
 twelve, and wrote a letter to the Doctor, saying that they 
 had the most complete confidence in him ; that the school 
 was going on as well as could be expected, and that the 
 discipline was perfectly humane. Lord Aylesford, one of 
 the absentees, wrote still more complimentarily to him. It 
 is, indeed, a marvel how any one could think of circulating 
 such utter falsehoods and absurdities as have been sprea 
 
RUGBY 71 
 
 about by different papers for the last three months. The 
 school is certainly at this moment not at its very highest 
 state of excellence, such as it was in two or three years 
 ago, but there is a very great deal of goodness and talent 
 springing up, I hope and believe. 
 
 From some cause or other, immense numbers left last 
 Midsummer, and wiU again this coming one ; and the 
 sudden elevation this causes of a large number into the 
 place of trust and authority renders the spirit of the high- 
 est class more childish and less sensible and manly than it 
 used to be. These are things which no one can calculate 
 on, though of the most material consequence to the well- 
 being of the school, and only show the extreme difficulty of 
 education. Only fancy, out of the thirty-two first in the 
 school I suppose just half (if not more) will go ; and thus a 
 full half of the sixth will be new and quite inexperienced, 
 many of them quite young. Perhaps I let these things 
 grow too much into everything else. Yet it is very fine 
 and striking to see many of the best and cleverest Oxford 
 and Cambridge men stiU watching with great interest all 
 the little changes in the school, and still helping those that 
 remain with their experience and wisdom. 
 
 I shall not be sorry to go to Oxford now, for I find 
 Stanley and Lake like it very much ; and I dare say Dr. 
 Arnold will be a bishop before long. I only hope it may 
 not be just yet. I must, however, do my best to go there as 
 I wish, viz. with a Balliol scholarship ; and that not only 
 for the honour's sake, though the honour is the greatest 
 part of it, but for the 301. per annum which, with an 
 exhibition, will, I trust, all but pay my way at Oxford, as 
 Balliol is 20Z. or 301. cheaper than any other college, I under- 
 stand. What may come after this I know not ; this is 
 enough to look to as yet. And I mean, if possible, to have 
 a quiet month for reading at Finch House before you come 
 over. 
 
72 LETTERS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Our Easter time is just beginning. Two of our Uni- 
 versity people are down already, Burbidge and Lake, and 
 Gell and Simpkinson are to be here next Wednesday. 
 From ttat day to its namesake of the first week after 
 Easter, I suppose there will be little or nothing done but 
 walking and talking. 
 
 To J. N. Simpkinson, Esq 
 
 Eugby: 1836. 
 
 You must not be angry at my turning back from the 
 turnpike. I don't understand Arnold's saying what he did 
 to Vaughan, for surely, at that rate, C. or S. (I don't 
 mean to be invidious on either university) might, if they 
 ever came here, take fellows over by wholesale, without 
 asking leave, for of course they are in the same position, 
 relatively to schoolboys, as you or Vaughan. And I was 
 thinking of a good deal of mischief that D. and others had 
 done at Easter among the fellows by taking advantage of 
 their being ' gentlemen at large,' so that on the whole you 
 may see that I had something more like reason, at any rate, 
 than mere scrupulousness about the letter of the law ; though, 
 indeed, the letter of the law is a very good thing, as the 
 spirit is apt to vary with the interpreters, but what is 
 written is written. I assure you I should have liked no- 
 thing better than to have gone with you to Dunchurch, and I 
 reproached myself very much for not having asked Arnold, 
 as I had meant to do, at first lesson. 
 
 Do you know that to-morrow the most liberal, or rather 
 radical, measure is to be brought forward, of throwing open 
 the Island to the fags 1 I am not quite so liberal as to 
 vote for that, but I am afraid it will succeed. The reason 
 of the attempt to open it is the establishment of these 
 new gymnastic afiairs — swings, vaulting-poles, and all- 
 
EUGBY 73 
 
 kinds of monkey-trick instruments, which excite a great 
 desire in the fags for this privilege. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Liverpool : July 16, 1836. 
 
 Do you know I believe I am become quite a convert to 
 the Cambridge set's superiority, though, after all, Cambridge 
 can never be equal to Oxford in the grandness of the idea 
 of it ? One may fancy Cambridge a very excellent and 
 useful big place of education, but Oxford is the place for 
 the education of statesmen and great political men ; and 
 the influences of Oxford and its place in relation to the 
 commonwealth is far higher for good or for evil. Suppose 
 Oxford became truly good and truly wise, would it not be 
 far more important, and a far greater blessing than Cam- 
 bridge in the same condition 1 And in this consists the 
 superiority I used to stick up for of the Balliol set, because 
 I believed them truly wise, and withal full of the Oxford 
 public and political and national feeling. But to live in, 
 and among, and as mere society, you are doubtless better 
 and more delightful. 
 
 August 8. 
 
 What a delightful thing it must be, being so near Fox 
 How ! I cannot, indeed, conceive any one calling ' the Dr.' 
 Tom, even at Fox How. 
 
 Eugby : September 23, 1836. 
 
 We are all getting on very pleasantly this half-year, 
 and the school looks remarkably harmless, and everybody 
 inclined to do their best and behave well, which is very 
 delicious. We are not, however, by any means full — not 
 more than 286, which will probably be raised to the full 
 complement next half. Of course, we have quite a new 
 
74 LETTERS OE AETHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 sixth, and certainly an improvement. The night-fagging is 
 at last abolished totally, except half an hour at the begin- 
 ning. We have our supper in the most gentlemanly 
 fashion, in the room together, on a tray with plates and 
 knives, and we buy very good cheeses ourselves, and make 
 a very sociable meal of it. And at last the dream of former 
 days is becoming a reality : the Sixth Form Room is to be 
 furnished ; Arnold gives us 51., and the Trustees advance 
 the rest, except a small sum raised by immediate subscrip- 
 tion. Also, at last, the new window is put up, and looks, 
 I think, very beautiful. I am very happy and comfort- 
 able, and working pretty well. 
 
OXFORD 75 
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 FHOM 1836 TO 1849. 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 To his Father. 
 
 Oxford : November 26, 1836. 
 I HAVE just come out from Balliol, of which college I am 
 now a scholar. The examination concluded this morning 
 about twelve o'clock, and it has just been given out I have got 
 the head one, which also includes an exhibition added to it 
 to make it more valuable, as of themselves the scholarships 
 are not worth much. We have had a long and laborious 
 examination, but I am quite well, and not much tired, at 
 least I do not feel so at present. I stay up here till next 
 Wednesday, as the inauguration is on Tuesday evening. 
 
 To J. N. SimpMnson, Esq. 
 
 Rugby : December 9, 1836. 
 I am sitting in Arnold's drawing-room, of all places in 
 the world, for my nine days at Oxford have so tired me, that 
 after vainly trying yesterday to return to regular work, to-day 
 I have resolved to stay out and rest myself ; and as there 
 are to be, I believe, half a score fellows in the sick-room, 
 Mrs. Arnold kindly took me in here. The examination was 
 on the whole, I think, neither very favourable nor yet un- 
 favourable to me, and it pleased God that I should be in 
 
70 LETTERS OF AETHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 health and strength and good spirits, and not much excited 
 during the days of the work. I could not but feel, from 
 what I heard and saw, that I had a very good chance 
 among them, and that in one or two things I had the 
 advantage. 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 BaUiol College : October 16, 1837. 
 
 Behold, I am in Oxford, safe and sound, capped and 
 gowned : have attended chapel twice, once with and once 
 without surplice ; have been to HaU (signifying dinner in 
 Hall) ; also twice to a wine party ; also to call on the 
 Master, and to the University Sermon this morning ; so 
 that by to-morrow evening, when, I hope, my books will be 
 arrived and arranged on my shelves, and when also, I trust, 
 I shall be furnished with a kettle and set of tea-things (for 
 as yet I have been dependent on the bountiful hospitality of 
 my friends), I shall be pretty completely settled. I came 
 up with Stanley and with two other Rugbeians on Friday 
 evening, and got established in my rooms that night. They 
 consist of one small and one smaller room, both, however, 
 considerably larger than my study at Rugby, in the attics 
 of No. 4 Staircase, Outer Quadrangle. 
 
 To J. P. Gell, Esq. 
 
 Hope Street, Liverpool : January 16, 1838. 
 
 Did the intelligence arrive in your parts of Arnold's 
 wonderful victory in the Senate of London University ? i.e. 
 the introduction of an examination in the Gospels and Acts 
 into the Degree Examination, which must seem a strange 
 novelty in that godless place. It must have been a very 
 grand thing to see him get up among all those people and 
 declare that they must do something to show that they 
 
OXFORD 77 
 
 were Christians and that it was a Christian University. I 
 do not know what would become of the various shades of 
 Whigs now existing in the University if Hawkins were to 
 be made a Bishop. These people, however, have done a vast 
 deal of good at Oxford, where anything so ' ungentlemanly ■" 
 .and ' coarse ' and in such bad taste as Evangelicalism would 
 never be able to make very much way. It seems just the 
 sort of religious activity and zeal which one would expect 
 to develop itself in an age of activity and shaking up in 
 such a place as the University of Oxford. 
 
 I am great friends with Brodie, and still more so, I 
 think, with Ward, whom I like very much. I have seen 
 more of him and of Lake than of any one else. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Oxford, BaUiol College: Aprils, 1838. 
 
 Do you not envy me my idleness ? you, who, I suppose, 
 are in the miseries of entering the Trinity College Examina- 
 tion. I have got through all my trouble, and am now fully 
 at liberty to lie in bed, go to the newsroom, read reviews 
 and novels, learn to skiff, and finally to insult you and 
 Simpkinson. 
 
 It is supposed that but for this Hertford, which has 
 turned out so iU for us, all knowledge of Latin in the Uni- 
 versity of Oxford would have been by this time quite extinct, 
 except as surviving in College graces and University oaths,; 
 those also not understood. 
 
 I wish that you were at Oxford ; it is, I am sure, so 
 much better a place than Cambridge, and you would have 
 the great advantage of a good chance of becoming a disciple 
 of o /teyos NeavSpos, whom I Hke much better than I did, 
 and admire in many points exceedingly. 
 
78 LETTERS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 To the same. 
 
 BalUol : May 8, 1838. 
 One thing, I suppose, is clear — that one must leave the 
 discussion of Tct NcavSpcoTriKa, k.t.X., all snug and quiet 
 for after one's degree. And it is no harm, but rather good, 
 to give oneself up a little to learning Oxford people, and 
 admiring their good points, -which lie, I suppose, principally 
 in all they hold in opposition to the Evangelical portion of 
 society — the benefit and beauty and necessity of forms — the 
 ugliness of feelings put on unnaturally soon, and conse- 
 quently kept up by artificial means, ever strained and never 
 sober. I should think very likely, too, their anti-Calvinistic 
 views of justification were, if not just, at least very useful 
 to lead us to the truth. I should be very sorry ever to be 
 brought to believe their further views of matter acting on 
 morals as a charm of sacramentaUsm, and the succession- 
 notion so closely connected with it. All this and their way 
 of reading and considering Scripture — such a contrast to the 
 German fashions — rests, I suppose, entirely on their belief 
 in the infallibility of the Church down to a certain period, 
 to which they are led by a strong sense of the necessity of 
 some infallible authority united with a feeling of the insuffi- 
 ciency of the New Testament. Indeed, I think a good 
 deal of what they say as to this latter point is stronger than 
 anything I ever heard against it. Newman is now giving 
 lectures on the Mystical Power of the Sacraments, and seems 
 to have stated the objection t6 it Scripturally in a very fair 
 
 and candid manner. If I had said a quarter of this to , 
 
 he would have set me down at once for a thorough-going 
 convert ad Newmanismum. But you will not be so rash ; 
 and you remember that you asked me to write about it. 
 
 It is very striking that there is a German divine among 
 the large assortment living and thinking here, who has come 
 to a mystical view which is no less difficult than Newman's, 
 
OXFORD 79 
 
 though not in form the same. Olshausenis his name. His 
 notion is of a mysterious union of our bodies with our Lord's, 
 though not by the bread and wine. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Bugby : September 1838. 
 
 Arnold is coming with Bunsen to Cambridge next Christ- 
 mas holidays ; about the time, I suppose, of your going up 
 for your degree. He is quite well again, being restored by 
 Bunsen's visit. I think, for myself, I would give two years 
 of my life to come to have back the last one I spent at 
 Rugby. Many of the big, unruly fellows who are troubling 
 the school so much now, and were in my time only showing 
 the beginnings of their badnesses, quite haunt me at times ; 
 but that cannot be helped, so one can only hope earnestly 
 fer Theodore, who seems indeed very brave and manly. 
 One sees very little of Arnold here, and indeed to talk with 
 him almost nothing. 
 
 Balliol: November 18, 1838. 
 
 You must know when you modestly requested me to 
 answer your letter by return of post, that I was then in the 
 midst of preparations for my little-go, which fiery ordeal I 
 have passed through now nearly three weeks. Also that 
 Congreve and I have come to the conclusion that time in 
 fee simple does not exist in Oxford, but only on credit, and 
 that with heavy interest. 
 
 Stanley was as much delighted as you were with Whately, 
 and was greatly rejoiced too at finding you so unusually 
 (for a Cambridge man) like an Oxford man. There is, I 
 suppose, no doubt much more interest in such matters (theo- 
 logical, ecclesiastical, political, &c.) here, than with you ; 
 though the society sees is much the most inquiring, at 
 
80 LETTERS OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 any rate, on them, than any in Oxford, and it is not a very 
 large set. The Newmanistic undergraduates mostly shut 
 their ears and call it blasphemy, but not quite universally, 
 and of course they, though they will not Hsten to anything 
 else, have a scheme of church government, &c., which they 
 uphold, not to say anything about understanding or appre- 
 ciating it. 
 
 If you were to come here (as I hope you will after your 
 degree is done with), you would at once have Ward at you, 
 asking you your opinions on every possible subject of this 
 kind you can enumerate ; beginning with Co vent Garden 
 and Macready, and certainly not ending tUl you got to the 
 question of the moral sense and deontology. I don't quite 
 like hearing so much of these matters as I do, but I suppose 
 if one can only keep steadily to one's work (which I wish I 
 did), and quite resolve to forget all the words one has heard, 
 and to theorise only for amusement, there is no harm in 
 it. Hawkins, Provost of Oriel, in a very good University 
 Sermon last Sunday, on the Duty of Private Judgment as 
 opposed to the Right, seemed to say that undergraduates 
 were to mind their Latin and Greek and nothing else ; or 
 nearly so. And many people here speak of the Union as 
 an institution of very doubtful usefulness. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Oxford: 1838. 
 
 We have been up here just a month and a day, enjoying 
 for the last week of it most glorious weather, greatly to 
 the increase of hunting and boating, and to the decrease of 
 reading. Among other incidents I have had the pleasure 
 of twice meeting the heresiarch airoTaTos, namely, John 
 Henry Newman, once at a dinner-party, and once at a 
 small and select breakfast. I was introduced, and had the 
 honour of drinking wine with him ; on the strength of all 
 
OXFORD 81 
 
 which of course, as is one's bounden duty, I must turn 
 Newmanist. As a first step in which process, I should 
 rebuke you for the heresy of your last letter, dated (more 
 shame to me) Nov. 22. I hoped very much you would 
 come here after your degree was done, but if you continue 
 to rest on Milton's Christian Doctrines for one leg, and 
 Calvin's Institutes for the other, I recommend you to walk 
 away on them as fast as you can from this seat and citadel 
 of orthodoxy. It is difficult here even to obtain assent to 
 Milton's greatness as a poet ; quite impossible, I should 
 think, if you are unable to say that you ' do not know 
 anything about his prose writings.' Also you must be 
 ready to give up that ' irreverent ' third book. Were it 
 not for the happy notion that a man's poetry is not at all 
 affected by his opinions, or indeed character and mind 
 altogether, I fear the ' Paradise Lost ' would be utterly 
 unsaleable, except for waste paper, in the University. 
 
 Concerning the Newmanitish phantasm, as some people 
 term the Church, I do not know very much ; but perhaps 
 you may be enlightened a little, and even softened, by the 
 knowledge that Newman (I believe, decidedly in words, and 
 certainly his real notion is such) holds the supremacy of the 
 avrrj KaB' avrtjv elXiKpin^s Sidvoia, but says that submission 
 to a divinely-appointed body of teachers and governors, to 
 wit, bishops and presbyters and deacons, is the course that 
 is pointed out to us by the aforesaid etXiKptvrjis SiAvoia : inasr 
 much as it is evident to the reason from the circumstances 
 of the case, &c., that the preponderance of probabilities is 
 for this view, viz. that Christian privileges and covenanted 
 salvation have been attached to the use of certain forms 
 and sacraments whose only qualified administrators are the 
 Apostles' successors, the clergy ; and that these gifts and 
 graces cannot be obtained except through the medium of 
 these divinely-appointed priests. All persons, therefore, 
 who wilfuUy refuse to receive God's blessings through this 
 
 G 
 
82 LETTERS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 channel are guilty of very great sin, and put out of the 
 covenanted privileges of Christians. ' Are not Abana and 
 Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the rivers of 
 Judah ? may I not wash in them and be clean ?- ' Such is, 
 I believe, the doctrine which, they say, is but a proper carry- 
 ing out of the argument of Butler's Analogy. I think its 
 proper answer must be in the lives of good men out of the 
 influence of any such ordinances, though when any one 
 speaks of such they at once cry ' name,' which it is perhaps 
 difficult to do. As for Milton, he is rejected altogether 
 because of his divorce notions and his neglect of devotions, 
 as stated in Johnson's Kfe of him. Doddridge is often 
 mentioned, but I believe there is some charge against him 
 also. This disquisition, counting the Greek, must, I think, 
 make this letter a due member of the proportion proposed 
 in your last — viz. : — 
 
 As your letter : a repartee : : this : something digestible. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Oxford: April 18, 1839. 
 I found that at Rugby I had been quite set down among 
 theological gossips as a Newmanist, but the impression was 
 
 pretty well removed by the time I came away. P , as 
 
 usual, flowed with a continuous stream of German divinity 
 and Biblical philology. 
 
 Whit-Sunday, May 30. 
 June 12th is Commemoration Day ; I hope we shall 
 have one Rugby prize between the five attempts made by 
 Stanley, Lake, and myself ; and indeed I believe Congreve 
 and Arnold have also made one apiece ; but the English 
 poems are this year fifty in number, and better than usual 
 in quality, according to Keble, and as mine was rather 
 worse than usual I have but little hope of proving a prize 
 
OXFORD 83 
 
 gooseberry ; indeed I am afraid I possess none of the 
 necessary qualifications you enumerate. 
 
 I have been reading five books of Plato's Republic, and 
 ■wish to examine you in return as to whether you be a 
 Platonist. 1st. Do you believe that iracra jota^i/o-is dm/yinyo-t? 
 ecTTt ? 2ndly. Do you agree to dividing human nature into 
 TO <j>i\6crotfiov, TO iTTiOv/xoaSis, and to iTriOvixrjTiKov 1 3rdly. 
 Do you believe that all wickedness is olkovo-iov and 8i' 
 ayvoiav 1 4thly. Do you agree to this assertion, ' That the 
 world will never be happy till philosophers are kings, or 
 kings philosophers ' 1 5thly. Do you think it would be 
 advisable to turn H.M.'s colony of Van Diemen's Land 
 into a Platonic Republic ? the <^uXaKts whereof should be 
 
 educated at College ? (the blanks you must fill 
 
 up yourself ; Queen's College, Vandiemensville, is what I 
 conjecture). 
 
 If you have not hitherto studied this wondrous book I 
 recommend you to cast aside those heterodox and heretical 
 authors, Calvin and Milton, and immediately commence 
 upon it. Plato, not being a Christian, is quite orthodox ; 
 in fact, Sewell says that his Republic is realised in, and 
 indeed is a sort of prophecy of, the Catholic Church ; 
 Coleridge meanwhile declaring it the most wonderful antici- 
 pation of Protestant Christianity. You must really come 
 to Oxford, overcoming circumstances and cacoethes and 
 everything else ; as otherwise I have no prospect whatever 
 of seeing you. It is also advisable that you should see the 
 Arch-Oxford-Tractator before you leave this part of the 
 world, that you may not be ignorant on a topic doubtless 
 interesting even to the remote barbarians in Yan Diemen's 
 Land. It is said that Romanists are increasing, Newman- 
 ists increasing, Socinians also, and Rationalists increasing, 
 but all other kinds of men rapidly decreasing ; so that on 
 your return to England perhaps you will find Newman 
 Archbishop of Canterbury and Father Confessor to the 
 
 g2 
 
84 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Queen ; Lord Melbourne (if not burnt) excommunicated, 
 and philosophers in the persons of the Apostles' apostolically 
 ordained successors fairly and Platonically established as 
 kings. The seeds of which contingent revolutions it is 
 requisite that you should come and contemplate in Oxford. 
 You will also have the opportunity of seeing Conybeare 
 Pater issuing fulminatory condemnations of the Fathers at 
 the heads of astonished Newmanists from St. Mary's pulpit ; 
 himself in shape, conformation, and gestures most like one 
 of his own ichthyosauri, and his voice evidently proceeding 
 from lungs of a fossil character. Again, you wiU see 
 Chevalier Bunsen, Poet Wordsworth, and Astronomer 
 Herschel metamorphosed into doctors of civil law ; a sight 
 worthy, especially in the second case, of all contemplation. 
 Furthermore, there will be boat-races, with much shouting 
 and beer-drinking ; a psychological study of great interest. 
 Cum multis aliis, quae nunc describere longum est. Nil 
 mihi rescribas, attamen ipse veni. 
 
 May 2, 1839. 
 
 I hope you will carry out with you, or send home for, a 
 good Germanised Cambridge scholar or historian, as that 
 (next to Paley's ' Horse Paulinse ' and ' Rationalistic 
 Divinity ') is the great bulwark against Newmanism. And 
 I have to tell you that Bishop Broughton, your diocesan to 
 be, has lately been sending to Oxford to beg for contribu- 
 tions of spare books, /iaXia-Ta fniv new, but if not, old, to set 
 up a clerical library in Australia. Such opportunities of 
 disseminating Patristical and Ecclesiastical views are never 
 missed by the ardent Newmanistic spirits, old and young, 
 specially the latter. Whereby, unless the convict Clerisy 
 be slower than their convict parishioners in their intellec- 
 tual development, Newmanism is not improbably already 
 founded in the far East on the foundation of Kerr and 
 Bramhall, St. Ignatius, St. BasU, and the Oxford tracts. 
 
OXFOED 85 
 
 Pray come ; and write and let me know. I said in my 
 last — Nil mihi rescribas, attamen ipse veni. But Latin is 
 of course to be taken rhetorically and figuratively, and ' nil 
 mihi rescribas ' means only — Come, if you can, before your 
 letter. 
 
 To J. N. Simphinson, Esq. 
 Oxford : Die Celeberrimi Laurentii Sheriffii, 1839. 
 
 I wish you would recommend me some book to give Gell ■ 
 before he goes to Tasmania. I should not like to give him 
 anything ephemera], which is a fault attaching itself, I 
 suppose, even to ' Carlyle's Essays,' which are just published 
 though I admire him extremely in general, and these essays 
 even more than the ' Revolution.' Has he got a ' Boswell's 
 Johnson ' ? I suppose so. Carlyle says Johnson is the last 
 of the English Tories ; all since him have been but Toryish 
 men. He has got an article on Boswell which is extremely 
 beautiful ; likewise on Burns, which is so too. He is cer- 
 tainly, however, somewhat heathenish ; but that, it seems 
 to me, is the case with all literature, old and new, English 
 and foreign, worth calling literature, which comes in one's 
 way. 
 
 I truly hope to escape the vortex of philosophism and 
 discussion (whereof Ward is the centre), as it is the most 
 exhausting exercise in the world ; and I assure you I quite 
 makarise you at Cambridge for your liberty from it. 
 
 To the samie. 
 
 Tuesday, December 21, 1839. 
 
 Q 's Newmanistic tendencies are, I am afraid, as 
 
 certain if not as strong as you represent. He is so deter- 
 mined on having a conscious system that these tendencies 
 
86 LETTERS OF AKTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 are, I think, not unnatural. I hope you do not think me 
 much perverted. The resistance, when there is occasion for 
 it, against proselytisers is of the most vague unsystematic 
 kind, resting in the most unstable way on intuitions, 
 idealities, &c. <fec., but I am not conscious of being in any 
 wise leavened by them. 
 
 What do you think I have been bestowing the firstfruits 
 of Christmas idleness upon ? The first part of ' Die Leiden 
 des jungen Werthers,' and really with more satisfaction and 
 admiration than I expected ; or rather, I have found all 
 the power and little of 'the extravagance I looked for. I 
 have read, too, with great pleasure, Schiller's ' Votiv-Taf eln ' ; 
 at least, about half of them. Here is one — 
 
 Hast du etwas ? so theile mir's mit, und ich zahle was recht 1st. 
 Bist du etwas 1 o dann tauschen die Seelen wir aus. 
 
 Again — 
 
 Allen gehort was du denkst, dein Eigen ist nur was du fuhlest ; 
 Soil er dein Eigenthum seyn, fiihle den Gott den du denkst. 
 
 I have but little appetite for work, mathematical or 
 classical ; and there is as little compulsion to it, and as 
 much enticement from it, as is possible in our ways of life 
 at Oxford. 
 
 November 24, 1839. 
 
 Whence oomest thou, shady lane 1 and why- and how 1 
 
 Thou, where with idle heart, ten years ago, 
 
 I wandered, and with childhood's paces slow 
 
 So long unthought of, and remembered now ! 
 
 Again in vision clear thy pathwayed side 
 
 I tread, and view thy orchard plots again 
 
 With yellow fruitage hung, — and glimmering grain 
 
 Standing or shocked through the thick hedge espied. 
 
 This hot still noon of August brings the sight ; 
 
 This quelling silence as of eve or night. 
 
OXFORD 87 
 
 Wherein Earth (feeling as a mother may 
 After her travail's latest bitterest throes) 
 Looks up, so seemeth it, one half repose. 
 One half in effort, straining, suffering still. 
 
 This I wrote in some cornfields near Liverpool, on one of 
 our few fine days. 
 
 To J. P. Gell,Esq. 
 
 New Tear's Day, 1840 (To Hobart Town, V. D. L.) 
 Liverpool: January 16, 1840. 
 
 Of the three principal theological appearances spoken 
 of for this past autumn, two have appeared — ' Arnold on 
 Prophecy,' as you know, I suppose, and two fresh volumes 
 of ' Froude's Remains ' ; the third, ' Julius Hare's Sermons,' 
 are still only in preparation. Oxford is, as usual, replete 
 with Newmanism and Newmanistic gossip, from which it 
 is one blessing for you that you are preserved. I saw a 
 letter from Arnold, dated Pox How, January, in which he 
 said that not the schoolhouse only but the school would 
 be, he believed, full next half-year. 
 
 To J. N. Simpkinson, Esq. 
 
 26 Castle Street, Liverpool : August 27, 1840. 
 
 The English verse disappointment, as you suppose, was 
 no heavy burden to bear, and if Burbidge has sent you the 
 specimen line he threatened to do, you will say that it 
 should have been no disappointment at all. I have been 
 since the vacation three weeks at Grasmere with Ward, not 
 very far from Thorney How ; the rest of the time here 
 studying the ethics, &c., for November. I shall go for a 
 day or two to Rugby at the beginning of October, and 
 then to Oxford about a fortnight before term commences, 
 to effect the removal I must undergo from College to 
 
88 LETTERS OP ARTHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 lodgings ; indeed, I should go earlier for the sake of 
 better reading, but my two brothers are going out to 
 America together (the younger for the first time), and will 
 hardly be off sooner than October. 
 
 That I have been a good deal unsettled in mind at times 
 at Oxford, and that I have done a number of foolish things, 
 is true enough, and I dare say the change from Rugby life 
 to its luxury and apparent irresponsibility has had a good 
 deal of ill effect upon me. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Oxford : Feb. 16, 1841. 
 
 I should like much to have heard Carlyle's complaint 
 against Coleridge. I keep wavering between admiration of 
 his exceedingly great perceptive and analytical power, and 
 other wonderful points, and inclination to turn away alto- 
 gether from a man who has so great a lack of all reality and 
 actuality. By the bye, there is a new and very striking 
 portrait of him just published by Holloway, which I have 
 seen in our Coleridge's rooms, and which, he says, is said 
 by those who knew him to be the best by far there exists. 
 
 We had a two days' visit from Arnold just before the 
 half-year began. I thought he was not in very good spirits ; 
 but he was certainly not out of heart. 
 
 Oxford is now in fuU enjoyment of the Carnival. You 
 have no idea how fast things are going here Homewards. 
 The more need, therefore, for Hare's defence of Luther, who 
 is in terrible ill-odour here. Is it ever to appear ? I have 
 some idea of going to London at Easter, to get some lectures 
 of Lowe, my tutor of Easter Term, who is now established 
 there. 
 
 I heard the other day that Walrond was to come up to 
 try for our scholarship. Burbidge has spoken a good deal 
 of his coming here instead of to Cambridge. I told him that 
 
OXFORD 89 
 
 I thought your discipline infinitely superior in the way of 
 instruction ; and so, I feel sure, it must be, though I am 
 "willing we should be thought superior in other points. 
 
 To his Sister. 
 [After failing to obtain a first-class in the scliools.] 
 
 Oxford : Sunday, June 6, 1841. 
 
 You must not trouble yourself about my class. I do 
 not care a straw for it myself, and was much more glad to 
 get it over than I was disappointed at hearing of its result. 
 I suppose a good many, whom I ought to wish to gratify, 
 are disappointed a good deal, and it will perhaps leave me 
 without an adequate supply of pupils this summer ; but I 
 have already an offer of one for a month, and do not 
 despair of two or three more before term ends. Other- 
 wise it does not matter, I think, at all ; and I can assure 
 you it has not lessened my own opinion of my ability, for I 
 did my papers not a quarter as well as my reading would 
 naturally have enabled me to do ; and if I got a second 
 with my little finger, it would not have taken two hands to 
 get a double first (there's for you !) Neither must you 
 think that it is about my class that I have been bothered 
 during the last year, and that I must therefore be dis- 
 appointed. I can assure you that it was principally about 
 other things altogether, though you need not read or say 
 this to my father or mother, unless you think it will do any 
 good, which I suppose it won't. 
 
 I did not like going up last October, though I dare say 
 I should have done better then, because I had not read 
 what I ought ; but after having so read, I had so much less 
 care about it than I ought to have had, that I mismanaged 
 everything in every way I could. 
 
 Besides, you know the object of honours is to make men 
 
90 LETTBES OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 read and not to make them distinguished ; and if I have read, 
 it is all the same whether I am distinguished or not, and, 
 so far as I am concerned, perhaps better. The disappoint- 
 ment has been general ; two or three certain firsts, besides 
 myself, are in the second, and two or three hopeful ones in 
 the third. Balliol has, however, got two of the four prizes. 
 So we are getting up again in the world. 
 
 I only wish I might go home, but. if I don't stay here 
 every day to eat bread and butter out of the College buttery 
 till Wednesday fortnight I shall lose QOl. "Wherefore you 
 and I must both be patient. 
 
 Commemoration is to be a week earlier, as Prince Albert 
 and the Duke are to be here at that time. 
 
 I had a delightful walk to Braunston and Rugby, and 
 still more so back here — about fifty miles, and mostly 
 through fields and green lanes — quite a new way, and far 
 pleasanter than the old one. 
 
 Oxford : June 1841. 
 I am glad my explanations have relieved your disappoint- 
 rpent, though I hope you will not blab my bravado any 
 further. However, it is not perhaps so great as you may 
 think, for I do not doubt there are many in every examina- 
 tion who are capable of as much and fail much in the same 
 way as I, only nobody knows. I am not sorry to lose 
 reputation, for it is often a troublesome companion. Did I 
 tell you that my friend Ward has been turned out of his 
 tutorship for TJltra-Newmanism ? 
 
 To J. N. Simpkinson, Esq. 
 
 Oxford: July 11, 1841. 
 . . . And now to thank you for the kindness of your 
 letter. You will have seen that I am inclined rather to 
 care too little than too much about it. My papers, I am 
 
OXFORD 91 
 
 quite sure, deserved no more than a second, and so I was, 
 too, at the time ; there can be no question as to the fair- 
 ness of the decision. At the same time, knowing as I do 
 how far my papers were from representing my acquirement 
 and my usual ability of writing upon that acquirement, I 
 can measure more than any one else how much was in my 
 average grasp. As for the causes of this mismanagement, 
 I do not feel very guilty about them, though it does not 
 therefore follow that I ought not so to feel. The only real 
 loss that I care about is that of pupils whom I should have 
 been glad to have had this summer for the money's sake, 
 and now I hardly expect to get any. 
 
 To Rev. J. P. Gell. 
 
 Liverpool : October 8, 1843. 
 
 I do not think I am particularly inclined to become a 
 Puseyite, though it is very likely my Puseyite position may 
 prevent my becoming anything else ; and I am ruminating, 
 in the hope of escaping these terrible alternatives, a pre- 
 cipitate flight from Oxford, that is, as soon as my exhibition 
 expires, for I cannot think of sacrificing 60Z. on any con- 
 sideration, Also, I have a very large amount of objection, 
 or rather repugnance, to sign ' ex animo ' the thirty -nine 
 Articles, which it would be singular and unnatural not to 
 do if I stayed in Oxford, as without one's M.A. degree one 
 of course stands quite stUl, and has no resource for employ- 
 ment except private pupils and private reading. It is not 
 so much from any definite objection to this or that point, as 
 general dislike to subscription, and strong feeling of its 
 being a bondage and a very heavy one, and one that may 
 cramp and cripple one for life. 
 
 What to do, if I don't stay at Oxford, is a very different 
 question. I do not dislike the tutor's work at Oriel, but 
 without taking an M.A. I cannot go on with it ; and if, 
 
92 LETTERS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 as I supposed, I give up both this and residence, where to 
 go and what to do will be a perplexity. However, I shall 
 do nothing (Sctte avriKiarov ti TraQtiv before this time year ; 
 though, as to the tutorship, I shall probably have to decide 
 before this reaches you. 
 
 I have employed this Midsummer vacation half in going 
 abroad, and half with pupils at Grasmere. I left England, 
 July 1, with Walrond ; went to Havre, Paris, Lyons, 
 Marseilles, Genoa, Leghorn, where Burbidge joined us ; 
 with him we went to Pisa and Florence, and from Florence 
 made excursions to the monasteries of Vallombrosa, Camal- 
 doli, and Laverna. I was then ill for about a week at 
 Florence ; left Walrond and Burbidge, and started for 
 England. I went by Bologna, Parma, and Piacenza, to 
 Milan ; saw the Cathedral, the most beautiful building I 
 ever beheld, as also the Leonardo da Vinci, which is, I 
 think, the most beautiful painting. Then I crossed the 
 Simplon, went up the Rhone, over the Grimsel Pass, and 
 one or two others in the Bernese Oberland, and so to Thun 
 and Berne, and thence by Basle and the Rhine home. I 
 liked Switzerland much better than Italy myself, princi- 
 pally, perhaps, because it was so exceedingly hot, and so 
 impossible to enjoy exercise, in the latter ; perhaps, also, 
 in some degree, from being continually lionised about 
 galleries and the like, which is far less agreeable than walk- 
 ing through the beauty of a country. 
 
 I went off directly after my return to Grasmere, where 
 I had a party of pupils waiting for me, and there passed six 
 weeks of a very pleasant mixture of work and walking 
 about. Stanley was at Fox How for the last three weeks, 
 working at the memoir. 
 
 We have all been reading a grand new philosophy-book, 
 ' Mill on Logic ' ; very well written at any rate, and ' stringent 
 if not sound.' 
 
OXFORD 93 
 
 To Rev. T. By/rhidge. 
 
 Oxford: June, 1844. 
 
 I have just received your letter with a rejoinder to my 
 anti-non-interference philippic. Of course I do not mean 
 that if a labourer has at present his proper proportion for 
 twelve hours' work, he should have the same sum for ten. 
 But I do believe that he has not his proper proportion, 
 that capital tyrannises over labour, and that Government 
 is bound to interfere to prevent such bullying ; and I do 
 believe, too, that in some way or other the problem now 
 solved by universal competition or the devil-take-the- 
 hindmost may receive a more satisfactory solution. It is 
 manifestly absurd that, to allow me to get my stockings a 
 halfpenny a pair cheaper, the operative stocking-weaver 
 should be forced to go barefoot. It is, surely, not wholly 
 Utopian to look for some system which will apportion the 
 due reward to the various sets of workmen, and evade this 
 perpetual struggle for securing (each man to the exclusion 
 of his neighbour) the whole market. 
 
 I have got two beautiful white water-hlies floating in a 
 green dessert dish beside me. Enviest thou not, O Sicilian 
 Shepherd ? or hast thou thyself also such treasures ? 
 
 To Rev. J. P. Gell. 
 
 Liverpool r July 13, 1844. 
 
 I believe my last letter was written at the end of last 
 long vacation. I remember I was at that time in doubt 
 about signing the Articles; I did, however, sign them, though 
 reluctantly enough, and I am not quite sure whether or not 
 in a justifiable sense. However, I have for the present laid 
 by that perplexity, though it may perhaps recur some time 
 or other, and in general I do not feel perfectly satisfied 
 about staying in my tutor capacity at Oxford. 
 
94 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 I suppose Stanley's memoir will someho-w or other have 
 reached you. 1 found the letters more interesting even than 
 I had expected, and the biographical part as good, though I 
 think in some parts it is wanting. It is very judicious in 
 keeping the right mean between reserve and exposure. 
 
 I have in the last ten days also seen the monument, 
 which is placed at a considerable height, so as to rise above 
 any one's head in the pew, in the north division of the east 
 wall, looking down the chapel. I think I should have pre- 
 ferred it on one side ; the figure, also, though from the 
 recumbent position it is of less matter, is sadly devoid 
 of likeness ; the design in other respects is good, and I Uked 
 Bunsen's epitaph better than I thought I should have done. 
 
 The chapel looks very well with its five painted windows ; 
 the St. Thomas is, though modern, as good, I think, as the 
 old ones. They are making alterations in the quadrangle. 
 Tait wants the schoolhouse fellows to have single studies 
 throughout, and is in consequence building fresh studies 
 over the cloister opposite the writing-school. 
 
 I am considerably inclined just now to set to work at 
 Political Economy, for the benefit of the rising generation, 
 and to see if I cannot prove the Apostle of anti-laissez- 
 faire. 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 Patterdale : July 26, 1844. 
 
 I cannot say that I believe that the walk to the Orme's 
 Head, however beautiful, was equal to what we have here ; 
 but then I am very fond of lakes, and not very partial to 
 the sea. There is no part of Wales equal to this, except the 
 immediate districts of Snowdon and Cader Idris, and I am 
 not sure that they are. 
 
 Yesterday we went to Helvellyn, meeting a party from 
 Fox How, Ambleside, and Grasmere at the top. I have 
 been up three times before, so that I had no objection to see 
 
OXFORD ■ 95 
 
 the hills as they were yesterday, namely, in a good deal of 
 haze, and by no means distinct. 
 
 To Rev. J. P. Gell. 
 
 Patterdale : July 31, 1844. 
 
 I came to Fox How about three weeks ago to meet 
 Matt, and stayed one day. Wairond joined us here after 
 the first week ; at the end of the 5th I depart, go home to 
 see my father, who has just got home from America, after a 
 visit by the way, superinduced by south-easters, to the 
 vicinity of the Hebrides, and then I go to coach two pupils 
 in Yorkshire for a month or five weeks. The vacation then 
 will be ' weUy ' (as they say here for ' well-nigh ') run out, and 
 I shall then presently return to my tutoriaHties at Oxford. 
 
 Your request for a sermon cannot be acceded to. I am 
 not, nor am likely as yet, to be aught but a laic, and lay 
 sermons I leave for Johnson and Coleridge. You must, 
 therefore, be content with such poor and scanty sermones 
 repentes per hurmi/m as you get in my rare epistles. You 
 shall have one when I go into orders — oh, questionable 
 when ! 
 
 What, according to your experience, is the best division 
 of the day in this country ? The question centres in that 
 other momentous question, ' What is the properest hour to 
 eat V We began with — ^breakfast, 8 ; work, 9.30 to 2.30 ; 
 bathe, dinner, walk, and tea, 2.30 to 9.30 ; work, 9.30 to 11. 
 We now have revolutionised to the following constitution, 
 as yet hardly advanced beyond paper : — Breakfast, 8 ; work, 
 9. 30 to 1.30 ; bathe, dinner, 1.30 to 3 ; work, 3to 6 ; walk, 
 ad infinitum ; tea, ditto. 
 
 M. has gone out fishing, when he ought properly to be 
 working, it being ncE^rly four o'clock, and to-day proceeding 
 in theory according to Constitution No. 2 : it has, however, 
 come on to rain furiously ; so Wairond, who is working 
 
96 LETTERS OF AKTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 sedulously at Herodotus, and I, who am -writing to you, 
 rejoice to think that he will get a good wetting. 
 
 To the saime. 
 
 Oriel : Nov. 25, 1844. 
 
 Your letter reached me just at the time of my father's 
 death. In August, when I wrote, he was improving, and 
 our alarm had ceased ; but he had a relapse not long after, 
 and for a month before the end we were in full expectation 
 of such a result. He died on October 1 9, a few hours after 
 the arrival of my eldest brother from America. 
 
 Your letter was in answer to mine written exactly twelve 
 months before, when I was in doubt about subscription to 
 the thirty-nine Articles. It certainly was very curious 
 getting an answer to feelings which were of a year's stand- 
 ing, especially as I had ^ro tempore ( perhaps tewjpori serviens) 
 laid them by almost completely ; and indeed you know 
 already that I signed without demur, and have been work- 
 ing away in the thoroughly terrestrial element of College 
 tutorism, not to speak of Mendicity Societies and the like. 
 Nevertheless, I still consider the old scruple to be a sort of 
 St. Paul who ought not to be put off by any, in however 
 high place, to a more convenient season, or at any rate 
 ought to have a convenient season found him before long. 
 And I can't profess myself one whit appeased by your burst 
 of wonder and opposition. So the sooner you come home 
 the better, otherwise you will perhaps hear of some very de- 
 sperate step, though of becoming an Independent minister 
 I certainly have no present thought or desire. 
 
 My own justification to myself for doing as I am doing 
 is, I fear, one which would be as little approved of by you 
 as my objections on the other hand. However, it is simply 
 that I can feel faith in what is being carried on by my 
 generation, and that I am content to be an operative — to 
 
OXFOED 97 
 
 dress intellectual leather, cut it out to pattern, and stitch it 
 and cobble it into boots and shoes for the benefit of the work 
 which is being guided by wiser heads. But this almost cuts 
 me out of having any religion whatever ; if I begin to think 
 about God, there arise a thousand questions, and whether 
 the thirty-nine Articles answer them at all, or whether I 
 should not answer them in the most diametrically opposite 
 purport, is a matter of great doubt. If I am to study the 
 question, I have no right to put my name to the answers 
 beforehand, or to join in the acts of a body and be to prac- 
 tical purpose one of a body who accept these answers of 
 which I propose to examine the validity. 
 
 I will not assert that one has no right to do this, but it 
 seems to me to destroy one's sense of perfect freedom of 
 inquiry in a great degree ; and I further incline to hold 
 that inquiries are best carried on by turning speculation 
 into practice, and my speculations no doubt in their earlier 
 stages would result in practice considerably at variance with 
 thirty-nine- Article subscription. Much as I like, fond as 
 I am of Oxford, and much as I should hate the other ele- 
 ment undisguised, I verily believe that, as a preliminary 
 stage, it would be far better to be at Stinkomalee (the 
 London University acknowledges that agnomen, I believe). 
 Amongst the irreligious, I should have Abdielitish tenden- 
 cies ; here, what religion I have I cannot distinguish from 
 the amalgamations it is liable to, and I am, right or wrong, 
 as matter of fact, exceedingly averse to act on anything but 
 what I have got from myself, or have so distinctly appro- 
 priated as to allow my original tenants as it were time and 
 space to state and vindicate their claim against the new 
 comers. 
 
 Without in the least denying Christianity, I feel little 
 that I can call its power. Believing myself to be in my 
 unconscious creed in some shape or other an adherent to 
 its doctrines, I keep within its pale ; still, whether the 
 
 H 
 
98 LETTEES OP ARTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 spirit of the age, whose lacquey and flunkey I submit to be, 
 will prove to be this kind or that kind, I can't the least 
 say. Sometimes I have doubts whether it won't turn out 
 to be no Christianity at all. Also, it is a more frequent 
 question with me whether the master whom I work under, 
 and am content to work under, is not carrying out his 
 operations himself elsewhere, while I am, as it were, obey- 
 ing the directions of a bungling journeyman no better than 
 myself. 
 
 As the great G-oethe published in his youth the ' Sorrows 
 of the Young Werther,' so may I, you see, the great poet 
 that am to be, publish my ' Lamentations of a Plunkey out 
 of place.' You, perhaps, will say the lamentations are 
 more out of place than the flunkey. And certainly Flunkey 
 hath no intention of giving notice to quit just at present, 
 nor of publishing lamentations at all. Thou, however, in 
 thy wisdom, consider the sad examples and perplexities that 
 encounter said flunkey amidst all the most flunkeyish 
 occupations of his flunkeydom, and in the hope that at this 
 time next year* he will still be engaged in these same occu- 
 pations, transmit to him advice and good counsel as to 
 those same scruples and perplexities. In the meantime he 
 must dress and put on his livery for dinner. 
 
 [Hxit Flunkey. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Liverpool : April 2, 1845. 
 Easter vacation should furnish forth a letter, more 
 especially as I anticipate a singularly busy Easter Term, 
 since one of our three tutors is to be examiner in the 
 schools. First of all ; you will be glad to hear that Matt 
 Arnold is elected Fellow of Oriel. This was done on Friday 
 last, March 28, just thirty years after his father's election. 
 Mrs. Arnold is of course well pleased, as also the venerable 
 poet at Rydal, who had taken M. under his special protecv 
 
OXFORD 99 
 
 tion. Mrs. Arnold I saw at Fox How ; she was looking 
 remarkably well, though the party seemed strangely small, 
 all the boys being away. 
 
 The beauties of Parson's Pleasure, where we were wont 
 to bathe in the early morning, have been diminished by the 
 unsightly erection, by filthy lucre-loving speculators, of a 
 bathing-house, and I have therefore deserted it. But a 
 substitute is to be found. 
 
 If you do not come soon, I shall perhaps have fled from 
 my tutorial bower and committed something avYiKia-ov. 
 
 To 
 
 August 17, 1845. 
 
 About the National Debt, I believe the ' Prospective ' 
 reviewer is wrong. Arnold, according to the beat author- 
 ities on such matters, is quite right in regarding it as a 
 grievous burden. I can't see that it can be otherwise, but 
 people have fancied it rather a blessing than the reverse. 
 The article on Blanco White seems to be temperate enough ; 
 with the Inquisition hanging over him, he could not be 
 otherwise than he was — he could not but fancy throughout 
 his life that he was being bullied into a sham belief. At 
 the same time I believe there is a vicious habit of poking 
 into intellectual questions merely for the fun of it, or the 
 vanity of it, only not quite so common as people make out. 
 At any rate, taking it easy and acquiescing in anything is 
 much more common. Perhaps every clergyman is not 
 called upon to fit himself for cases like Blanco White's. 
 How could it be ? 
 
 To Rev. T. Burbidge. 
 
 Calder Park, Glasgow : August 31, 1845. 
 It is too hot to go out (72° in the shade), and in Scot- 
 land we are too sabbatic to read anything but sermons. It 
 
100 LETTERS OF AKTHUfl HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 remains therefore that I retire to my room and do as I am 
 doing. We returned yesterday from our Highland expedi- 
 tion. We went by steamer up Loch Fyne, across the Mull 
 of Cantire in a canal boat, and again in a steamer among 
 the multitudinous isles, the skirts of the Hebrides, up the 
 great fiord of Loch Linnhe, -which narrows gradually, and 
 at the headland of Ardgower is transmuted into the inland 
 lake, a salt Winandermere, of Loch Eil, at the head of 
 which stands Fort William, where begins the Caledonian 
 Canal. This, our most northerly point, we attained on 
 Monday. Tuesday was devoted by the rest to Ben, by me 
 to fffera-Nevis. The former hid his head in a cloud — the 
 latter arrayed his woody sides for me in glorious light and 
 shade (! !) 
 
 It is really the most beautiful glen I ever saw. I went 
 seven miles up, and was still far from the end. You first 
 go up what appears a sort of glorification of Grisedale ; 
 then a sudden turn at right angles leads you into a sort of 
 magnified Hartsop — the birch-wood and ashes being here 
 accompanied with the native Scotch fir. And at the bottom 
 all along rolls a stream of the clear water over rocks and 
 stones of porphyry, which give it a most glorious yeUow-red 
 colour. 
 
 In the evening we moved southward by land to Balla- 
 hulish, on Loch Leven ; thence the next morning by Glen- 
 coe, a magnificent pass into a moorland country, wherein 
 are the sources of some feeders of the Tay, running eastward. 
 We descended into the glen of Loch TuUa and the Orchay, 
 which leads oif to Loch Awe ; Loch Awe is very fine but 
 rather cold. Ben Cruachan, which rises above it, is a very 
 fine peaked mountain. We crossed over and reached In- 
 verary for bed. On Thursday, we passed through Glen- 
 croe, descended on the fine salt Loch Long, crossed the four 
 miles intervening, and found ourselves on Loch Lomond, six 
 or seven miles from its head. We went up it about three 
 
OXFORD 101 
 
 miles in a steamer, to ' the rough falls of Inversneyd,' 
 crossed a high moor of five miles, and found ourselves at 
 the head of Loch Katrine, rowed twelve miles down, and 
 were landed in the Trosachs. On Friday T. A. and T. W. 
 crossed the hills to Loch Ard, and I went up the lake, and 
 there took a pony and joined them in a roundabout way, 
 passing a very beautiful water called Loch Chon. I came 
 back and slept at Inversneyd > they remained and attended 
 a highland-reel party in a shoemaker's hut at Loch Ard, 
 and after staying up dancing and drinking milk and whisky 
 till half-past two, rose at half-past four, walked eleven 
 miles to a hasty breakfast with me, and then took steam 
 down to the foot of Loch Lomond, and so by Dumbarton 
 we came home, dirty, and dusty, and bankrupt. Loch 
 Katrine and Loch Lomond are both like Ullswater ; the 
 former less beautiful the latter, I think, more so. Both 
 are less cultivated ; Loch Katrine quite wild, and the little 
 landlocked lakelet at its foot, cut off by the Lady's Island 
 and one or two promontories, is exceedingly beautiful. 
 The heather also is a great accession to the Highlands. So 
 endeth my story. 
 
 At present there are staying here young Walter Scott 
 Lockhart, who is just leaving Cambridge to join the army 
 in his uncle Sir Walter's regiment ; also his sister. Young 
 Walter is thought a good deal like his grandfather, but, 
 though far from dull, he is anything but literary, and is 
 going out to join his uncle's regiment in India, rather 
 against his father's wish, as he is heir to Abbotsford and 
 to Milton Lockhart, where his father's elder brother lives, 
 and where they are now staying. 
 
 September 5. 
 
 On Wednesday morning we started for the Falls of 
 Clyde. We breakfasted at Milton Lockhart, lionised 
 Craignethan Castle, the original of Tillietudlem, returned 
 
102- LETTERS OP AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 to luncheon, and to songs from Miss Lockhart, and after 
 this went on to see Stonebyres, Cora Linn, and Bonnyton, 
 the three falls, which are all very fine — nothing new in 
 feature, but remarkable for size. "We slept at Lanark, and 
 came back to breakfast here. 
 
 The ' Quarterly ' was at Milton Lockhart, and I had some 
 conversation with him ; he spoke of the prevalence of in- 
 fidelity, even among the country folk of Scotland, saying, 
 that all the small farmers in that neighbourhood were avowed 
 unbelievers. He ascribed it greatly to Burns. Chalmers, 
 he said, was once in a factory at Glasgow, and began to 
 talk to some of the workpeople in his way, when he was 
 interrupted by an old woman, who told him that he ' needna 
 go oa ; there are nae Christians in this ward, Doctor.' 
 
 In Monday's ' Times ' appeared a letter written by 
 Ward to the ' Oxford Herald,' announcing his intention of 
 leaving the English Church at last ; and implying the like 
 on Newman's part, that indeed being his own ground for 
 changing his opinion. His defence of his position in the 
 English Church had rested, he said, on the facts — 1st. 
 That the said Church allowed Romanist teaching. — 2nd. 
 That Romanisers (like Newman) found themselves feel con- 
 tinually better satisfied with the resolution of remaining in 
 the English communion. The late decision of the Eccle- 
 siastical Courts had, he said, destroyed the former ground, 
 and Newman's change the latter. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Calder Park : September 11, 1845. 
 
 We went to Edinburgh on Tuesday ; saw the Castle and 
 Holyrood, including Queen Mary's apartments and Rizzio's 
 blood, the Calton Hill, and Flaxman's statue of Burns, 
 which I admired much. 
 
 We went to dine and sleep at Houston, the house of 
 
OXFOED 103 
 
 Shairp, and lionised the grounds of Hopetoun next day, 
 which lie on the Forth, over against Dunfermline gray, &c. 
 &c. I liked the place very much ; it is a tall, perpendicular 
 house, four storeys and attics ; such peep-hole windows in 
 thick stone walls ; all manner of useless little rooms on all 
 manner of unequally disposed levels ; a stone staircase from 
 bottom to top. Wainscotted partition walls, and old folks 
 by the dozen looking down on you therefrom ; among the 
 rest, Archbishop Sharpe, who seems to have been of the 
 family, but is hardly acknowledged, as they are now Pres- 
 byterians. And the second flower of Yarrow, really a 
 beautiful face, though in the picture rather faded, who lived 
 at Houston with her sister, who had married its owner. 
 The garden, moreover, of flowers and kitchenry without 
 distinction, with high hedges of beech and yew, &c., run- 
 ning hither and thither about it, was very pleasant. 
 
 To Rev. J. P. Gell. 
 
 Liverpool : September 21, 1845. 
 Is it news to you that Ward has at last gone over to 
 Rome, wife and all ; is at this present moment at St. Mary's 
 College, Oscott, having just received confirmation ? New- 
 man, it is said, will not go over finally till Christmas, but 
 his intention to do so is definitely announced. It is thought 
 that his immediate followers will not be many ; ten or twelve 
 subordinates and Oakeley is large allowance. But a great 
 many will be rendered uneasy by his departure, and one 
 may look out for changes in one way or other : it will be 
 ' dropping weather ' in the Romanising line for some time to 
 come, I dare say. Newman's Apologia, entitled ' Notes of 
 the Church,' is expected to appear soon. So also the volumes 
 of the reprint of Arnold's Lives, in the ' Encyclopaedia 
 Metropolitana.' The miscellaneous volume, including the 
 Church Reform and Catholic Emancipation pamphlets 
 
104 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 the Sheffield and Hertford letters and other minora, has been 
 out for a month. The Catholic Emancipation I had never 
 read till to-day ; to-day I did so with great delight. My last 
 reading before that was (strong meat) the ' Life of Blanco 
 White ' : almost wholly from his own papers ; a very striking 
 production, which has called out a review from Gladstone 
 in the 'Quarterly,' and a more powerful one by Mozley 
 in the ' Christian Remembrancer ' (Puseyitic extreme). For 
 me, almost it persuaded me to turn Unitarian, that is, for 
 the moment ; and even now I feel no common attraction 
 towards the book and the party who have brought it out, 
 viz. the high Unitarians, such as Miss Martineau's brother, 
 a preacher here ; Mr. Thorn, his colleague, the editor of 
 book, &c., and others. They have a review, the ' Prospec- 
 tive,' ' Aspice, Respice, Prospice ' (sic) being the motto, in 
 each of the eight numbers of which Arnold's volume, the 
 Life, the Fragment on the Church, and the last miscellaneous 
 volume have received an article ; and in their particular 
 section of the people they are, I should think, doing a great 
 deal of good. 
 
 I renewed my acquaintance at the Lakes this year with 
 Hartley Coleridge. The only thing worth recording from 
 his lips is a saying which he repeated as his father's, that 
 etymology is in danger of death from a plethora of prob- 
 abilities. 
 
 To Rev. T. Burhidge. 
 
 Liverpool: September 23, 1845. 
 I have been reading 'The Improvisatore,' a Danish 
 novel translated by Mary Howitt. You know I hate Corinne. 
 This is in the Corinne high beauty-beatification style, Italy, 
 art, and love k I'sesth^tique ; but the thing is rendered truth- 
 ful and sober in Dano-Gothic colouring. But this kind of 
 book makes me long for genuine live-and-act story, such as 
 the ' Rose of Tistelon,' which I recommend you. 
 
OXFOED 105 
 
 Item. — I have bought a Cowley, rather a scrubby 18mo, 
 but the first edition after his death. I think Co-wley has 
 been Wordsworth's model in many of his rhythms, and some 
 of his curious felicities. 
 
 I told you, perhaps, that I had some thoughts of laying 
 down my toga tutoria and going abroad for a year with a 
 pupil ; nor has the plan evaporated wholly as yet. 
 
 Oxford : September 28. 
 
 I went to Rugby on my way. The school is in number 
 490. They have built a new schoolroom at the back of the 
 fives court, between the chapel and the stables.' 
 
 Jowett comes hither, having been Stanley's companion 
 in Germany. They saw Schelling, who spoke to them of 
 Coleridge with high praise, saying that it was an utter 
 shame to talk of his having plagiarised from him, Schelling. 
 
 To Ms Sister. 
 
 Oriel : October 1845. 
 
 What shall be done in the summer ? Shall we go to 
 Switzerland together, see the Italianlakes and Milan, taking 
 the Seine and Paris one way, and the Rhine and Belgium 
 the other ? Alas ! I fear there will be no money to spare. 
 Potatoes and all ' bread-stuffs ' are like to be terribly dear ; 
 and we shall have to live on butcher's meat for lack of 
 cheaper food. Or have you laid in a stock of rice ? Govern- 
 ment, it seems, will not open the ports for foreign corn : 
 the free-traders are outvoted in Privy Council, and for the 
 present, at any rate, we must let our neighbours buy for 
 themselves without any interference of ours. 
 
 Moreover, I think it very likely I may give up this 
 tutorship (quod tamen tu tacere debes), and as private 
 tutor I could not, without more work than I should like, 
 
108 LETTERS OF AKTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 make the same sum per annum which I now receive from 
 the College. 
 
 To Bev. T. Burhidge. 
 
 Oxford: October 19, 1845. 
 
 There is a good article (a portent) in the ' Quarterly,' 
 pronounced to be MUman's, on the ' Relation of Clergy to 
 People,' against priestcraft and authority, and extolling 
 marriage ; it is really very well done. 
 
 There is also (a portentous portent) another article not 
 at all to be despised, on the ' Moral Discipline of the Army,' 
 specially in regard of Chaplains ; in a postscript to which 
 announcement is made that certain improvements have just 
 been ordered by Government, as for instance the building' 
 of chapels for barracks. 
 
 The poet Faber, men say, will go, but the ultra-Puseyites 
 in general seem inclined not to take headers a la Ward, 
 but to sneak in and duck their heads till they are out of 
 their depth. 
 
 Liddell, it appears, is standing for the Moral Philosophy 
 chair. I hope he will get it ; he is a man who will work, and 
 who will be listened to. 
 
 October 28. 
 
 I have, however, in the last three days found time to 
 read 'Jeanne, par George Sand,' the most cleanly French 
 novel I ever read, and not cleanly only, but pure. If I 
 knew French well enough, and was not a college tutor, I 
 would translate it, and I believe it would take ; for one 
 thing, the hero is an Englishman, and by no means a com 
 mon, but a very veritable hero. 
 
 31st. 
 
 Liddell, thank Heaven, is elected Professor of Moral 
 philosophy. The election brought Vaughan up, and we 
 
OXFORD 107 
 
 had the pleasure of seeing him. He is very agreeable, 
 converses very weU, and I wish sincerely he was up here 
 always. 
 
 November 1. 
 
 Potato-disease, and abolition of corn-laws — at any rate, 
 immediate opening of ports for foreign com, which ports it 
 may be found somewhat hard to close again ; panic in the 
 railway market gradually dispelled again, not unlikely how- 
 beit to reappear ; such is the news of the week. Cobden 
 sounds a note of triumph at Manchester, and dubs Hudson 
 with the title of ' King of Spades,' in joint allusion to his 
 innumerable army of navigators and his gifts at shuffling and 
 card-tricks. O'Connell, called upon by the Saxon press to 
 do something more for his starving countrymen than vapour- 
 ing at the Conciliation Hall, comes out with a 10 per cent, 
 tax on all landowners, and 50 per cent, on absentees. 
 London, meantime, fearless of lack of funds, proposes to 
 adorn itself with a grand verandah system — at least for all 
 shopping streets. A very desirable plan, I think. I have 
 often wondered that the hint of Chester rows had not been 
 taken long ago. 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 Oriel : November 23, 1845. 
 
 Another convert is gone over to Rome — Faber, the poet, 
 who used to excite admiration when preaching some seven 
 years ago at Ambleside ; and at Cambridge a flitting from 
 the Camden is expected. 
 
 The Irish Colleges are to be, I believe, at Belfast, and 
 certainly at Cork and Galway. This last would be wholly 
 Roman Catholic, I suppose, otherwise I should like it, for 
 the country near it is very beautiful. There is a great 
 lake, some forty mUes long, Lough Corrib, the upper part 
 of which they say is like Wastwater. 
 
108 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Belfast would be chiefly Presbyterian ; at any rate, 
 Protestant. Cork is to be under a Dr. Kane, a chemist 
 and I fancy a very able and sensible man. I think it 
 possible I may some day find myself at one of these places. 
 I don't much mind which. But they won't be ready for two 
 years, I should think. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Kugby: December 23, 1845. 
 
 I hope you will forgive me. I am not coming home 
 before Monday. It appears that P. Newman (Newman's 
 brother) is coming here on Friday ; and 1 am very desirous 
 to see him, and my hosts urge me to stay. 
 
 F. Newman, by-the-by, is the author of the paper in the 
 ' Prospective Review,' on Arnold's Miscellaneous Works. 
 I really think I ought not to miss this opportunity of seeing 
 him ; so I trust you and mother will forgive my truancy for 
 once, though I fear that you will have but a meagre Christ- 
 mas party. 
 
 To Rev. T. Bwrhidge. 
 
 Liverpool : January 19, 1846. 
 Price has been writing a letter or two in the ' Balance,' 
 a newspaper set up on principles which may be described 
 as Amoldite out of Evangelical, a somewhat mongrel 
 progeny, perhaps, with more of profession than fervour ; 
 and the paper is certainly weak, though certainly at the 
 same time well meaning. It wishes to become a sort of 
 Sunday newspaper for all sorts of people, gentle and simple, 
 nobleman, and serving man, and working man. Gurney, I 
 believe, is editor ; Lord Robert Grosvenor and some others 
 have promised to pay the piper for a while. Gurney puts 
 poems into it. I wrote a letter myself which is to appear 
 in its columns next week. Another newspaper, ' The Daily 
 News,' is placarding itself for issue on the 21st, the literary 
 
OXFORD 109 
 
 department under the direction of Charles Dickens. Is 
 ' Bo2 ' proposing to reform the press 1 to combat, a printer's 
 ink St. Michael, the Dragon immorality of the ' Times ' 1 
 It is open to conjecture. But perhaps it is only a quiet 
 little job in the money-making way. Half a dozen new 
 newspapers are commencing their career ; it is almost like 
 a railway mania. 
 
 An evening or two after I wrote I met Martineau 
 accidentally. I liked him greatly. He talked simply, 
 courteously, and ably, and has a forehead with a good deal 
 of that rough-hewn mountainous strength which one used to 
 look at when at lesson in the library at Rugby not without 
 trembling. 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 Oxford : February 1846. 
 
 I have only just time to sign my name. My lectures 
 go on from ten till two these days. Just at this time, too, 
 there are numerous parties — breakfasts, namely, and dinners 
 — which cut me out of the usual odds and ends that do for 
 letter-writing. I have been very gay this week ; there is 
 always a sort of carnival at Oxford, and this year it hap- 
 pens to coincide with the end of the Rugby holidays. We 
 had several Rugby masters up — Tait, Arnold, Congreve, and 
 Bradley, &c . ; and on Tuesday there was a Rugby dinner, 
 which was very successful and pleasant. 
 
 Concerning marriage, what you say is true enough, but 
 to fall in love without knowledge is foolery ; to obtain 
 knowledge without time and opportunity and something 
 like intimate acquaintance is, for the most part, impossible ; 
 and to obtain time and opportunity is just the thing. 
 Then, again, there comes the question of reconciling marriage 
 with one's work, which for me is a problem of considerable 
 difficulty. It is not every one who would like to be a 
 helpmate in the business I am likely to have. 
 
IJO LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Castleton Braemar : i August 9, 1846. 
 
 Our house is very comfortable, and affords us two sitting- 
 rooms, one of which is conceded to my special use. The 
 other has a nice look out up the Glen of Clunie, a little 
 stream which dashes through the granite just beside us, and 
 gives us a pool to bathe in. But the country in general is 
 not what I require for full delight. The hills are round, and 
 somewhat tame, though beautifully clad with heather. The 
 Dee, which is the great river of the district, into which the 
 Clunie runs, is very pretty, and indeed beautiful, three 
 miles higher up. And the mountain excursions still farther 
 off, in the region of Benmacdhui and Cairngorm, will I dare 
 say prove satisfactory. The kirk to which we went this 
 morning is fairly administered, but not very much attended. 
 I fancy more go to the Free Kirk ; and there is also a 
 Roman Catholic Chapel in the village, and a good many of 
 the poorer folks are Papists. I have given up the idea of 
 the school at Birmingham, having settled to stay out my 
 time at Oxford. 
 
 You must remember what a great advantage for inter- 
 course with the poor is given by any sort of cultivation^ 
 music, drawing, dancing, German, French, <fec. &c. They 
 feel this distinction very sensibly, and carry their liking of 
 a lady almost to the vice of liking a. fine lady. 
 
 To the same. 
 Castleton Braemar: September 10, 1846. 
 Our neighbours continue to send us grouse and venison, 
 which reduces our butcher's bills. To-morrow three weeks 
 
 ' Clough at this time was with a reading party, which furnished 
 him with many of the scenes and characters afterwards reproduced 
 in his poem of the Bothie. 
 
OXFORD 111 
 
 I expect to have done. I mean, however, to get a little 
 rambling to make up for the somewhat poor scenery of this 
 Valley of Dee, and I fear shall only pay you but a brief 
 visit before I go up to Oxford, about the 15th of October. 
 We are enjoying fine weather, sunshine and moonshine both, 
 but perhaps a little cold, though bathing continues as usual. 
 To-night we all go to a party at General Duflf's to see 
 Highland dancing. 
 
 September 26. 
 On Wednesday we had a regular flood, and it has been 
 raining more or less ever since, with intervals, however, 
 yesterday, of very respectable sunshine. Our two sports- 
 men (did I tell you two pupils were gone up the hills ?) 
 have returned, bringing a few grouse and a haunch of venison 
 (not their own killing this last) from our neighbour the 
 Duke of Leeds. 
 
 The spring of 1847, as will be remembered, was the 
 time of the Irish famine. The distress caused by it, not 
 only in Ireland, moved Clough greatly, and stirred him to 
 write an appeal to the undergraduates at Oxford, of which 
 the substance is given in the next chapter. 
 
 To 
 
 March 28, 1847. 
 
 Perhaps what you say is true about the Unitarians in 
 general, but in this particular case I think they were not 
 very far wrong in declining to have any service. I think 
 it presumptuous to set down the famine to Divine dis- 
 pleasure, and not particularly wise to have a holiday (for 
 such it was in general) at the very time when people ought 
 to be working hardest to produce all they can to make up 
 for the loss. Let people save and curtail their enjoyments 
 as much as they please ; that's a very different thing, and 
 
113 LETTERS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 a thing which I hope the good self-humUiating fast- 
 observers will not forget, now the fast is over. 
 
 The object of the new education measures is merely to 
 assist schools, by pensioning masters and mistresses in their 
 old age, and assisting clever boys in getting instructed for 
 the business of teaching, and all that the Government re- 
 quire in return is the right of inspection ; and any school 
 which declines to receive assistance may refuse to be in- 
 spected. The Dissenters are bigoted fools, in my judgment. 
 It is the very least which Government could do. 
 
 My Scotch plans are still somewhat uncertain, as the 
 accommodation at Drumnadrochet is dearer and also less 
 comfortable than we had expected. 
 
 To J. C. Shairp, Esq. 
 
 March 1847. 
 
 Thanks for your letter. I can only say that I have 
 made up my mind against leaving this till my sixth year 
 ends and turns me out. 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 Oriel : May 1847. 
 
 You will see that the adorable Swede, Jenny Lind, has 
 enchanted all the world. I greatly rejoice at it, and think 
 I must go and see her. I have promised to go and see Tom 
 at Whitsuntide, and so I dare say I shall do the thing then. 
 Have you seen the lady's picture ? Look and see if you 
 can find a not very beautiful but very pleasant and true- 
 looking face, lithographed. 
 
 I have not read ' Emilia Wyndham,' but I did read a 
 long time ago ' Two Old Men's Tales,' by the same author, 
 and they certainly were, as I am told ' Emilia Wyndham ' 
 is, too pathetic a great deal. I don't want to cry except 
 for some good reason ; it is ' pleasant, but wrong,' in my 
 
OXFORD 113 
 
 mind. A novel ought to make you think, and if it does 
 that, the more vivid it is the better, and of course it follows 
 that now and then it will make you cry ; but I am not 
 aware that Mrs. Marsh does make you think. 
 
 Schiller made the same impression on me, when I used 
 ■to read him in St. James's Terrace, which he does now on 
 you. Coleridge has been to me the antidotive power ; he 
 was a philosopher and a firm believer (so far as one can 
 make out) in Christianity, not only as a doctrine, but as a 
 narrative of events. My own feeling certainly does not go 
 along with Coleridge in attributing any special virtue to 
 the facts of the Gospel History. They have happened, and 
 have produced what we know, have transformed the civili- 
 sation of Greece and Rome and the barbarism of Gaul and 
 Germany into Christendom. But I cannot feel sure that a 
 man may not have all that is important in Christianity even 
 if he does not so much as know that Jesus of Nazareth 
 existed. And I do not think that doubts respecting the 
 facts related in the Gospels need give us much trouble. 
 Believing that in one way or other the thing is of God, we 
 shall in the end know, perhaps, in what way and how far 
 it was so. Trust in God's justice and love, and belief in His 
 commands as written in our conscience, stand unshaken, 
 though Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, or even St. Paul, 
 were to fall. 
 
 The thing which men must work at will not be critical 
 questions about the Scriptures, but philosophical problems 
 of Grace, and Free Will, and of Redemption as an idea, not 
 as a historical event. What is the meaning of ' Atonement 
 by a crucified Saviour ' 1 Sow many of the Evangelicals 
 can answer that 1 
 
 That there may be a meaning in it, which shall not only 
 be consistent with God's justice, that is, with the voice of 
 our conscience, but shall be the very perfection of that 
 justice, the one true expression of our relations to God, I 
 
114 LETTEES OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 don't deny ; but I do deny that Mr. M'Neile, or Mr. Close, 
 or Dr. Hook, or Pusey, or Newman himself, quite know 
 what to make of it. The Evangelicals gabble at it, as the 
 Papists do their Ave Marys, and yet say they know ; while 
 Newman falls down and worships because he does not know, 
 and knows he does not know. 
 
 I think others are more right who say boldly, we don't 
 understand it, and therefore we won't fall down and wor- 
 ship it. Though there is no occasion for adding, ' there is 
 nothing in it,' I should say, until I know, I will wait, and 
 if I am not born with the power to discover, I will do what 
 I can with what knowledge I have — trust to God's justice, 
 and neither pretend to know, nor, without knowing, pre- 
 tend to embrace ; nor yet oppose those who, by whatever 
 means, are increasing or trying to increase knowledge. 
 This is not very clear, perhaps, but one can't correct in 
 letter-writing. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 [On hearing of a case of stealing among school-children.] 
 
 Oriel : May 31, 1847. 
 Sad indeed it is to hear of the evil doings of the children ; 
 and what you are to do with them, I really can't say. 
 However I wouldn't exaggerate either the sin or the evil. 
 With the education (so to call it) that these children get at 
 home, what is to be expected from them ? And really in 
 some children pilfering is a matter of mere fancy or habit 
 — a sort of trick, like biting their nails or shaking their 
 legs. Of course, it is necessary they should know that the 
 thing is wrong, and also why it is wrong ; the former is 
 not much use without the latter. 1 am convinced it is very 
 bad foe children to be frightened into believing themselves 
 to have done wrong and to be very wicked. But you might 
 easily show them that people can never live with each other 
 
OXFORD 115 
 
 in the world without respecting the rules of property ; that 
 it would come otherwise to the strongest or the cunningest 
 taking away what other people had earned by their own 
 hard work, and that they would see to be really wicked, 
 whereas they can't exactly see at present that what they 
 do is so very wrong ; you can easily spare the things, and 
 don't much mind the loss ; you are very rich (compared to 
 them) and very kind and liberal ; what can it matter ? 
 
 You must know that a friend of mine (not naturally 
 scrupulous) stole a book from a shop when he was at school, 
 was never found out, has never paid for it in any way, has 
 it on his bookshelf still, and makes no diflB.culty about his 
 friends knowing how he came by it (not that he did it by 
 way of bravado at all, which is another kind of thing). 
 Well, I don't think worse of him on the whole for this ; I 
 respect him for his present frankness ; and though I think 
 he ought to have gone afterwards and told the bookseller, 
 and paid him, yet I don't think it's very much matter. 
 
 Well, you know better about the way the children and 
 their parents would take it ; but, for my own part, I should 
 speak out to them all, tell them what has happened, say 
 that the thing must not go on, you must give up the class 
 if it continues, but that you don't mean to disgrace any of 
 them for it at present. Explain why stealing cannot be 
 allowed, and why people are wrong in stealing. If you 
 
 choose, tell them that Elizabeth has confessed, and 
 
 let her say that she is sorry for it, and sees that it is wrong ; 
 and ask those who have done the same to confess, and 
 promise to take care in like manner. Or, if you think this 
 would be too public a disgrace, can't it be done privately 
 without publishing the names ? or you may give the general 
 
 exhortation without noticing either E or the other 
 
 thefts. 
 
 You needn't, I think, insist on restitution. Say that 
 you don't want the things back (you've got the locket, I 
 
116 LETTERS OF AETHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 suppose) ; that you will put up with the loss. I hope you 
 will excuse all this lengthy advice, which I dare say, or 
 rather I am sure, mother, and I dare say you, will not think 
 quite high-principled ; but it is quite my conviction. 
 Frighten a child, and it cries, and is perhaps in an agony ; 
 but afterwards it says to itself, ' Well, indeed I can't see 
 that it's wrong,' and does it again. You frighten it again, 
 and again it is in an agony. And so it gets into a way of 
 living by the fear of man (at best), instead of by its own 
 sense of right and wrong, and that is not likely to keep it 
 safe under temptation ; indeed, one can hardly wish that 
 it should. 
 
 I advise you to go on the 8th to Westmoreland. Wed- 
 nesday fortnight will see me at home. Thursday will bring 
 me with mother on my arm to Lake-land, where we wiU lie 
 upon the grass and forget. 
 
 To 
 
 June 1847. 
 
 As for your making the marriage, I trust it was made 
 elsewhere, where they say all true marriages are made. 
 All you did was to hinder an unnatural divorce ; i.e. you 
 made the wedding, perhaps, in some degree. And if she 
 loves him, why all the better, whatever comes of it — pain 
 and grief, suicide and murder, all the tragics you can think 
 of. After all, pain and grief (for suicide and murder we 
 will dismiss as unnecessary) would be far better than that 
 life-in-death with papa and mamma in Street, or else- 
 where. 
 
 Meantime, I would not, I think, trouble them with any 
 advice. Laissez-faire, laissez-aUer. 
 
OXFORD 117 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 Drumnadrochet : ' July 26, 1847. 
 
 I think I shall wait upon Providence till the end of my 
 time at Oriel ; though undoubtedly there are temptations in 
 the Liverpool Mechanics. 
 
 My pupils are . getting attached to this Glen Urquhart. 
 I continue to think it anything but beautiful. But Loch 
 Ness offers a good deal. Yesterday I went to Foyers. It 
 is by far the highest of the Scotch waterfalls, and there 
 is a pleasant, quiet, sabbatic country-inn,^ overlooking the 
 whole lake, with our highest hill, Mealfourvonie, just over 
 the water, and with the Foyers river less than a mile off. 
 
 To J. G. Shairp, Esq. 
 
 Glenfiiman Inn, Fort William : September 1, 1847. 
 
 Excuse a blotted sheet. I am out of the realm of 
 civility, being in your own weU-beloved West, at Glenfinnan 
 on Loch Shiel. The mountains are extremely fine, but 
 not the weather ; the waters glorious, specially the rain, 
 which comes in upon my paper as I write, the window 
 above me being exposed to a raving, raging south-wester. 
 
 1 have been as far as Arisaig, a poor place, curious per- 
 haps, but nothing more. On the way, I saw Loch Aylort 
 and Loch na-Nuagh (salt), and Loch Aylt (fresh), all of 
 them fine. At Glenaladale's house of Borradale, Charles 
 Edward landed. It stands off Loch na-Nuagh. 
 
 Glenaladale is the great man here : he marches with 
 
 ■ This was the scene of another reading party — 
 ' Up on the side of Loch Ness, in the beautiful valley of Urquhart.' 
 
 2 ' The inn by the Foyers Fall, where 
 
 Over the loch looks at you the summit of Mealfourvonie.' 
 
 The Bathie, Part iii. 
 
118 LETTERS OF ARTHUB HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Lochiel close by, and the lake separates him from Sir James 
 Riddell of Ardnamurchan, and Colonel Maclean of Ard- 
 gower. He is to have a deer-stalking party to morrow, 
 Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence, and other majestarian officers. 
 
 This place is certainly very beautiful ; scarcely however 
 sufficiently exalted out of the lake-country style to meet my 
 expectations of the genuine West. But whether I shall 
 explore, as you suggest, all the lochs up to Loch Broom, 
 viz. Aylort, na-Nuagh, na-Gaul, Morrer, Nevish, Houm, 
 Alsh, Carron, Torridon, Gairloch, Ewe, and Maree (on re- 
 ferring to the map I find that I have missed two — the rest 
 I may say I know by heart), whether I shall do more than 
 learn the names by heart is more than doubtful. 
 
 Did you ever see a waterfall turned inside out, downside 
 up 1 The south-wester is doing this to one opposite the 
 window. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Liverpool : October 3, 1847. 
 
 I wrote to you last from Glenfinnan. I enjoyed myself 
 greatly in that Hesperian seclusion, though I did not go and 
 see Skye, nor yet Loch Hourn, nor yet Loch Nevish, nor 
 yet Loch Morrer, but only Loch Aylort and Loch na-Nuagh, 
 and a strange solitary place called Loch Beoraik, where, 
 verily, I think Saxon foot had never been before. Also, 
 I have seen and rowed up Loch Ericht. DaUungart, where 
 you and T. slept, I also have slept at. With mine host on 
 Tynaline, in Saxon called Georgetown, I held discourse 
 concerning Saxon swindlers, &c. 
 
 I came back here yesterday. If I could have forced 
 myself sooner out of the Highlands, I would have quitted 
 Liverpool, and come to Rugby sooner also ; but I could 
 not. Woe's me, but one doesn't like going back to Oxford, 
 nor coming to Liverpool either ; no, nor seeing the face of 
 hat and coat-wearing man, nor even of elegantly attired 
 woman. 
 
OXFORD 119 
 
 To R. W. Emerson, Esq. 
 
 Oriel College, Oxford: November 26, 1847. 
 
 Dear Sir, — My sister, who has had the pleasure of meet- 
 ing you in my friend Mr. BoUey's house, emboldens me to 
 take what otherwise I should consider an unwarrantable 
 liberty. 
 
 But Oxford perhaps may have some interest for you. 
 Our University has not perhaps a very large influence in 
 the world of letters and learning, but it has even now, I 
 think, a good deal to do with the thinkings and doings of 
 our upper classes ; and at any rate has a good deal of 
 character of its own. 
 
 If you should think it worth whUe to visit the place it 
 would give me very great pleasure to show it you. I have 
 resided here ten years, and am a Fellow and tutor at Oriel 
 College, so that I may account myself qualified as a 
 cicerone. 
 
 Your name is not a thing unknown to us. I do not say 
 it would be a passport in a society fenced about by Church- 
 Articles. But amongst the juniors there are many that 
 have read and studied your books, and not a few that have 
 largely learnt from them and would gladly welcome their 
 author. At any time before or after our vacation any 
 notice, however brief, would find me prepared to show you 
 all the hospitality in my power. 
 
 To J. C. Shairp, Esq. 
 
 51 Vine Street, Liverpool: January 1848. 
 Last night I saw you in my dreams, sternly interrogat- 
 ijig, ' What hast thou done with all those many commissions ? 
 and wherefore tarries in thy purse the postal penny ? ' 
 
 The scribbling puerities is not very strong on me at 
 present. I'm not going to write history, nor poetry neither 
 
]20 LETTERS OF AKTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 — not a blessed verse, I believe, have I manufactured since 
 October. But it's history, is it, that you and Walrond 
 recommend ? — etev — but I don't think it will do. 
 
 Meantime, did Macpherson really say ' The Bothie ' had 
 paid ? I have been in distress about the worthy bibliopole, 
 and hardly know whether I can trust your report. 
 
 I am reading the ' Inferno ' with John Carlyle's transla- 
 tion, which seems good, and is certainly useful to me. I 
 recommend the ' Inferno ' to you ; it will burn out your 
 rose water, old boy, for a time, but the spring is with you 
 indestructible. 
 
 I think you people are making great donkeys of your- 
 selves about 's freedom of speech. Go to the Bible, 
 
 thou prude ; consider its language, and be wise. Consult 
 also Shakespeare, Milton, Dante, also . . . and in fact 
 ' all great poets.' 
 
 To T. Arnold, Esq. 
 
 Oriel: January 31, 1848. 
 
 In England we go on in our usual humdrum way ; 
 the ecclesiastical world agitated by all manner of foolish 
 Hampden-rows : of the confused babble about which all 
 quiet people are infinitely tired. I have given our Provost 
 notice of my intention to leave his service (as tutor) at 
 Easter. I feel greatly rejoiced to think that this is my last 
 term of bondage in Egypt, though I shall, I suppose, quit the 
 fieshpots for a wilderness, with small hope of manna, quails, 
 or water from the rock. The Fellowship, however, lasts for 
 a year after next June. 
 
 I had not, I think, seen the Rajah Brooke when you 
 departed. I liked him extremely ; met him once at break- 
 fast with Stanley, and once in the evening with our Pro- 
 vost ; quite a kingly man, clear-sighted and simple-minded, 
 full of will and purpose, but without a grain of self-will or 
 ambition. Stanley says that he deprecated English, or 
 
OXFORD 121 
 
 indeed European, colonisation in Borneo as bad for the 
 natives. He had had two thousand offers, but declined 
 generally, saying the time was not yet come. 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 [In answer to a remonstrance against his intention of resigning 
 his Fellowship.] 
 
 February 20, 1848. . 
 
 Be not afraid : I love my mother earth, and ' in the air 
 will never float ' ' Until I get a little boat,' and of a better 
 build than the famous ' Crescent Moon.' 
 
 No, but remember withal, that no man moves without 
 having one leg always off, as well as one leg always on the 
 ground. Your stationary gentleman undoubtedly has both 
 for a basis, and much good may his double pedestal do him. 
 
 and go shufiiing along, lifting their feet as little 
 
 as possible from the earth. There are also horses, are there 
 not, called ' daisy-cutters ' ? not, as I am told, the best 
 breed. 
 
 The mere carnal understanding, I grant you, goes on its 
 belly in the shape of the serpent. While this and other 
 reptile faculties grovel on the ground, imagination and 
 fancy, with the eagle and the butterfly, move in liquid air. 
 But the vivipara, my friend, 'in whom should meet the 
 properties of all,' must do neither, or both. Expect there- 
 fore from me, if not the stately march of the sublimest 
 mammalian type, at any rate nothing worse than the per- 
 saltum locomotion of the kangaroo. 
 
 However powerful my centrifugal force, I shall be 
 certain to be recalled by the at least equally powerful 
 gravitation of hunger and thirst, not to mention nakedness. 
 
 The spirit truly is centrifugal, but the flesh centri- 
 petal ; wherefore man, being a compound, revolveth in a 
 sphere. Under cover of which theory I retreat to my bed. 
 
122 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 To T. Arnold, Esq. 
 
 Oriel : Febraary 25, 1848. 
 
 Diis aliter visuin — so my packet had to lie by a month. 
 Meanwhile, Willie has gone to India, and the French have 
 begun a new revolution. Possibly my letter may bring the 
 news. 
 
 Switzerland has had its revolution, and Naples also ; 
 Tuscany and the Sardinian States have in consequence got 
 new constitutions, and the Pope has turned off his cardinals 
 and replaced them by lay ministers, and it is said is prepar- 
 ing a constitution. Surely the Frenchman mustn't be 
 behindhand ! One can hardly talk of other things when 
 one once gets on this topic. 
 
 Well, and when shall I see you again ? 6 Qebs olSar. 
 Will you hire yourself out as a common labourer ? I hope 
 not ; but one may do worse, undoubtedly ; 'tis at any rate 
 honester than being a teacher of XXXIX Articles. I 
 rejoice to see before me the end of my servitude, yea, even 
 as the weary foot-traveller rejoices at the sight of his 
 evening hostelry, though there still lies a length of dusty 
 road between. But what will follow I can't say. The 
 chances of going abroad will very likely be cut off, for we 
 may shortly see Muropam flagrare hello : the Austrians 
 driven out of Lombardy by French bayonets. Alter erit 
 turn Lodi, and another Areola shall crown delectos heroas 
 with, we will hope, a better-used victory. But the French 
 armies are not quite apostolic, nor do I put much faith in 
 Michelet's holy bayonets as preachers of any kind of Gospel. 
 
 To J. G. Shairp, Esq. 
 
 March 16, 1848. 
 Another three weeks wiU see me at the end of these 
 tutorial — what shall I call them 1 — wearinesses, now at any 
 
OXFORD 123 
 
 rate. But whither the emancipated spirit will wing its 
 
 flight can't be guessed. Paradise, or purgatory, or t 
 
 the limbo of meditation, the penal worms of ennui, or the 
 paradise of ? Vanitas vanitatum — omnia vanitas. 
 
 There is a story-book called ' Loss and Gain,' ascribed 
 to ^Newman, truly or falsely as the case may be. You may 
 read and see, if you please. 
 
 Edward has been here to breakfast — a phantom of the 
 ancient glories. If it were not for all these blessed revolu- 
 tions, I should sink into hopeless lethargy. 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 Oriel : April 18, 1848. 
 
 I am glad you liked the Blumen-Frucht-und-Dorn- 
 Stiicke. If there is any fault in Richter, it is perhaps that 
 he is too sentimental ; but it is a great comfort to get a 
 little taste of that sweetmeat now and then ; and in him 
 you have it always not in its merely luscious form, but 
 tempered with agreeable acids and delicate laurel-leaf 
 bitters. 
 
 Up here at Oxford I keep in general company very 
 quiet ; insomuch that I heard yesterday that people not 
 unf requently take me for some Kttle time after introduction 
 to be no less than a Puseyite ; but at the same time, I 
 could sometimes be provoked to send out a flood of lava 
 boiling hot amidst their flowery ecclesiastical fields and 
 parterres. Very likely living in this state of suppressed 
 volcanic action makes one more exasperated than one should 
 be when any sort of a crater presents itself. Natheless, there 
 is wisdom in withholding. 
 
 Tell mother not to finish all her furnishings, and get 
 'everything handsome about her' before I come home, 
 which will be about the 1st of May, for then I shall be 
 able to stay if I please for three weeks or more, as my 
 tutorship will be in the hands of another. 
 
124 LETTEKS OF ARTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Paris : Thursday, May 11, 1848. 
 
 The only events since I wrote on Tuesday have been my 
 visit to the Theatre de la R^publique to see Rachel in 
 ' Phfedre,' and the arrival of Emerson. With the former I 
 was a little disappointed, but I am .going again to study 
 the thing. I have been to see the Jardia des Plantes, and 
 the column erected to the honour of the revolution of July 
 1830, on the site of the Bastille. It was here that the 
 Republic was solemnly inaugurated in February, and here 
 I think it was they burnt the throne. 
 
 George Sand's newspaper, the ' Vraie R^publique,' dis- 
 approves of the new Provisional Government (Arago, Marie, 
 Garnier-Pagfes, Lamartine, and Ledru-RoUin) altogether, 
 though privately she is friendly with and indeed attached 
 to Lamartine. 
 
 People are comiag up from the country to the great 
 national fete of Sunday next, and of course they all want 
 to go to hear the debates. The weather is splendid ; the 
 sun glorifies us by day, the moon by night. 
 
 Sunday, May 14. 
 I don't expect much good will come of this present As- 
 sembly. It is extremely shopkeeperish and merchantish in 
 its feelings, and won't set to work at the organisation of 
 labour at all : but will prefer going to war to keep the 
 people amused, rather than open any disagreeable social 
 questions. The Socialist people are all in the dumps. 
 
 Tuesday, May 16. 
 
 P.S. — Yesterday was a day of great peril and disorder : 
 an ^meute. The Chamber was invaded and turned out by a 
 mob, and the hall occupied by them for two hours. At last 
 
OXFORD 125 
 
 the national guard turned them out. A new government 
 had been named by the mob, and some of the chiefs went 
 off to the H6tel de Ville, a mile off, to set it going. How- 
 ever, the national guard followed and put it down. Lamar- 
 tine came with Ledru-Rollin' and rode along the quays to 
 finish the work, with dragoons and cannon. I was at his 
 side for a quarter of a mile, and saw him of course distinctly. 
 There was no firing, and scarce any fighting. The whole 
 thing is put down for the present ; and I am glad it is, on 
 the whole. The cry was ' Vive la Pologne ; ' but the object 
 was to get rid of the Assembly, and set up a more demo- 
 cratic set of people. From 11 a.m. to 9 p.m., or even later, 
 there was nothing to be seen but crowds and excitement ; 
 fifty or sixty are arrested. 
 
 To Rev. A. P. Stanley. 
 
 Paris : May 14, 1848. 
 Sunday, the fSte as should have been. 
 
 I am still a stranger to the Assembly. The difficulty is 
 extreme. Miss Jewsbury got a diplomatic ticket for two 
 or three hours : she describes them as very good sensible- 
 looking men. She has never been in the House of Commons. 
 
 Lamartine's culmination is said to be over ; his declared 
 desire not to part with Ledr u- RoUin is the commonly supposed 
 cause of his sinking to the fourth place in the votes. But 
 some say that the bourgeoisie, to shirk the organisation of 
 labour question, are eager for war, and Lamartine, having 
 proclaimed 'Paix k tout prix,' is therefore thought an obstacle. 
 On all hands, there is every prospect, on dit, of war. To- 
 day the rumour ran that the armies had entered Piedmont, and 
 to-morrow comes the Polish question. The Socialists, i.e. 
 the leaders, for the most lament this extremely. The people 
 of course are excited about Poland, and either are indifferent 
 to the Socialist ideas or are blind to the certainty of these 
 
126 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 questions being then indefinitely adjourned. The boys (17 
 and 18) of the garde mobile are infected 'with bourgeoisitic 
 loyalty, also the new members of the national guard. The 
 Socialists simply deplore the whole result ; regard the whole 
 thing as at present a failure — a bourgeoisitic triumph. ' Mais 
 attendons.' ' Voila, mon cher,' the socialistic statements as 
 received by me into arrect ears last night from a dis- 
 tinguished St. Simonian. 
 
 The Champ de Mars was not by any means ready 
 yesterday mornirig for the postponed f§te : when I went I 
 found there only the great statue ' La Republique en platre,' 
 and a few boards, ifec, and not many men at wort. There's 
 been thunder and lightning, and 'grandes eaux,' not of 
 Versailles, so perhaps it's as weU. Yesterday I had the 
 pleasure of hearing the ' rappel ' ; a foolish, unnecessary 
 order, on account of a quiet Polish petition presentation, and 
 now no one acknowledges to having signed it. However, it 
 made row enough at the time. The Socialist party is too 
 weak to attempt anything ; in fact they profess that the 
 bourgeoisie is eager to attack and slaughter them. How- 
 ever, I did see some St. Antoine-ish giants in bonnet-rouge 
 and blouse, who had a very who's afeard 1 appearance, 
 arguing with and defying well-dressed multitudes in the 
 Rue de Rivoli, about the rappel time yesterday. Citizen 
 Blanqui had, I confess, a certain hang-dog conspirator 
 aspect, which did him no credit. 
 
 Lamartine continues to live in his own house, and is 
 not going to the Elys^e Bourbon, nor the other men to the 
 Petit Luxembourg. The Assembly will go on till the next 
 revolution, probably. 
 
 ' Les journaux du soir ! ' ' Voil4 " T/a Presse,'' dernifere 
 Edition du soir!' . . . '"La Stance," demandez "La 
 Seance," " L' Assembl^e." ' . . . ' Colfere du pfere Duchesne. ! 
 . . . le pfere en colfere ! — cinq centimes, un sou.' . . . ' " La 
 Patrie," voilk " La Patrie !'"... ' Les Editions du soir, 
 
OXFORD ]27 
 
 derniferes nouvelles de Pologne !'...' L'insurrection de 
 Madrid, par le citoyen Cabet, " Le Populaire ! " — cinq cen- 
 times, un sou.' ' Demandez " La Presse ; " grande colore 
 du pfere Duchesne, le pfere Duchesne est en veritable colfere ! 
 le pfere '...'" Le Nation&,l," demandez " Le National ! " 
 " L'Assembl^e Constituante ! " ' 
 
 L , attache of the English press, is of opinion that 
 
 if the money hold out till confidence in a new government gets 
 itself fairly established, all will be well. The people mean 
 to wait and see if their condition is to be mended ; if so, 
 well, whatever the form of government ; if not, ' we must 
 go into the streets again.' 
 
 You know I am a bad hand at lionising. I do little 
 ■ else than potter about under the Tuileries chestnuts, and 
 here and there about bridges and streets, pour savourer la 
 r^publigiie. I contemplate with infinite thankfulness the 
 blue blouses garnished with red of the garde mobile ; and 
 emit a perpetual incense of devout rejoicing for the purified 
 state of the Tuileries, into which I find it impossible, mean- 
 time, to gain admittance. I growl occasionally at the sight 
 of aristocratic equipages which begin to peep out again, and 
 trust that the National Assembly will in its wisdom forbid 
 the use of livery servants. But there is not very much 
 to complain of generally : olie cannot better express the 
 state of Paris in this respect, than by the statement that 
 one finds it rather pointed to be seen in the streets with 
 gloves on. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Paris : May 19, 18i8. 
 
 Ichabod, Ichabod, the glory is departed! Liberty — 
 Equality and Eratemity, driven back by shopkeeping 
 bayonets, hides her red cap in dingiest St. Antoine. Well- 
 to-do-ism shakes her Egyptian scourge to the tune of ' Ye 
 are idle, ye are idle ' ; the tale of bricks will be doubled : 
 
128 LETTERS OF AKTHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 and Moses and Aaron of SociaKsm can at the best only pray 
 for plagues ; which perhaps will come, paving stones for 
 vivats, and &ieutes in all their quarters. 
 
 Meantime, the glory and the freshness of the dream is 
 departed. The very garde mobile has dropped its dear 
 blouse and red trimmings for a bourgeoisie-prsetorian uniform, 
 with distinctive green hired-soldier epaulettes. The voice 
 of clubs is silenced : inquisitors only and stone walls of 
 Vincennes list the words of Barbfes. Anti-rappel Courtais 
 no longer hushes the drum which, as he said, vexes the 
 people ( ' cela f ache le peuple ' ) ; conciliatory active Caus- 
 sidiere gives place to a high-shop successor. Wherefore, bring 
 forth, ye millionaires, the three-months-hidden carriages ; 
 rub clean, ye new nobles, the dusty emblazonries ; ride 
 forth, ye cavalier-escorted amazons, in unfearing flirtations, 
 to your Bois de Boulogne. The world begins once more to 
 move on its axis, and draw on its kid-gloves. The golden 
 age of the Republic displays itself now, you see, as a very 
 vulgar parcel-gilt era ; nevertheless, in all streets and 
 gardens, proclaims itself ' L'Ere Nouvelle ! ' ' La Liberte ! ' 
 ' La R^forme !'...' Vraie R^publique !'...' Grande 
 Seance de 1' Assembl^e Nationale : dix centimes, deux sous ; 
 seuleraent deux sous.' ' Arrestation ! ' ' Demandez " La 
 Presse " ; la lettre du citoyen Blanqui !'...' Demiers 
 soupirs du pfere Duchesne ! ' 
 
 Saturday, May 20. 
 To judge from ' Galignani's ' extracts, the English papers 
 are as usual exaggerating. I don't believe the affair of the 
 15th was anything like the conspiracy described in the 
 ' Times ' and ' Chronicle.' 
 
 Monday, May 22. 
 The weather performed a most dramatic change ; and 
 Sunday morning, the day of the f§te, dawned all glorious. 
 There was a noise of drums as early as four o'clock. I got 
 
OXFORD 129 
 
 up about six, and found myself on the Place de la Concorde 
 at a quarter to seven, with a considerable crowd. 
 
 The deputies did not leave the Chamber till half-past 
 eight. They sat on the steps mostly, with their scarfs, (fee. 
 About half-past eight they came down and headed the pro- 
 cession. There were parties from the departments, in and 
 out of uniform, with each its flag. Poland, Italy, and Ger- 
 many mustered a considerable show. There were not above 
 six or seven ' noirs affranchis,' and under a green flag, pro- 
 claiming in front ' L'Irlande,' and behind ' Club des 
 Irlandais,' walked about three of our fellow-subjects of the 
 sister island. ' Les blesses ' were noticeable, and ' les vieux 
 de la vieille.' There was a great deal of confusion, march- 
 ing and counter-marching, and there was a full half-hour's 
 interval in the procession before ' le char ' came up ; and it 
 was an ugly afiair when it did come. The ' jeunes fiUes ' 
 looked pretty in their white dresses, with the tricolor 
 streaming from the left shoulder, and artificial oak- wreaths 
 in their hair ; pretty en masse, but individually not by any 
 means remarkable either for face or figure. Moreover, they 
 were declassicised by their use of parasols. I don't think 
 they and the char got fairly to their work's end till one 
 o'clock. I passed and proceeded to the Champ de Mars, 
 where, a little after twelve, went up the tricolor balloon, 
 but in a rather disorganised condition. My modesty pre- 
 vented my getting through the exterior circle of national 
 guards ; so that I did not come into the presence of the 
 Government and Assembly, which I believe I might have 
 done. But the perpetual gun-firing gave me a head-ache, 
 and I retired early. The illumination in the Champs 
 Elys^es was extremely pretty ; the whole avenue was like 
 a great ball-room, with double rows of pendant chandeliers 
 and continuous festoons of ' lampions ' on each side. The 
 crowd was enormous. It was funny in the afternoon to see 
 the classical virgins walking about with their papas and 
 
 K 
 
130 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 mammas, people of the under-shoemaking and back-street 
 shopkeeping class. A good many of them got into the en- 
 closure round the Bourse, and were, about 6 p.m., dancing 
 (without music) with gardes mobiles, and other indiscrimi- 
 nates. 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 Paris : May 22. 
 
 There is no prospect whatever of any immediate recur- 
 rence of disturbances. The old leaders and conspirators 
 are either arrested or in concealment. Within three months' 
 time, I have little doubt there will be another ^meute. But 
 for the next month I think the Assembly is quite secure, 
 and if only it contrives to find out its wise men, it may 
 survive all troubles, and gradually regenerate the nation. 
 But in this if a great deal of difficulty is involved. There 
 are very few English here, but a good many Americans. 
 
 To Rev. A. P. Stanley. 
 
 4 Eue Mont Thabor : May 26, 1848. 
 It is quite certain that the Government are hampered 
 extremely by the old Gauche Dynastique, Odillon-Barrot et 
 C'^, who are adroit debaters, and frighten down the new 
 men. Lamartine thinks it impossible to do the thing with- 
 out Ledru-RoUin, and the democracy who trust in him ; 
 and in many ways he would wish to conciliate and even 
 confide in the bonnet-rouge. But the old Gauche, with the 
 garde boutiquifere to back them, think they may carry 
 things with a high hand ; and in the Chamber are not unsuc- 
 cessful. Yet it is wholly impossible that a Gauche-Dynas- 
 tique Republic should succeed ; Lamartine would be a fool 
 as well as knave to support such a chimera. It is very 
 possible that he may have to go out for a while, of course 
 with Ledru-RoUin ; but unless Thiers comes in to the Cham- 
 
OXFORD 131 
 
 ber and aggravates the mischief by lending his real oratori- 
 cal power to the Gauche, and indeed I hope even in that 
 contingency, it is very probable Lamartine will gradually 
 discipline the inexperienced new members into a good work- 
 ing majority. I don't hear any one say Lamartiae has 
 been paying his debts ; I suppose Ledru-EoUin has. 
 George Sand has gone into the country. She says that the 
 air of Paris seemed ' lourde ' to her, after hearing the ' a-bas ' 
 of the national guard, and after the arrests of so many 
 generous-minded men. Pierre Leroux was arrested, but 
 is released. 
 
 Saturday, May 27. 
 
 So you see, I rely on the wisdom of Iiamartine's tactics, 
 however untriumphant at present; not that I imagine he 
 has got the solution of the labour problem, or that mere 
 well-meaningness and generous aspiration will suffice. But 
 at present no man can absolutely affirm that by any definite 
 plan more is attainable. 
 
 The new elections, you know, are on the 5th ; I shall 
 stay till that night at any rate. The cry, ' To your Clubs, 
 O Israel ! ' is commencing. Thiers and Girardin will pro- 
 bably get in, but not for Paris. I have just heard them 
 crying, ' Lettre A'Henri Cinq au President de I'Assemblee : 
 cinq centimes, un sou.' For the last time but one I return 
 from Rachel's 'Marseillaise.' To-night there is some 
 ' rappel '-ing going on somewhere. 
 
 Have you seen in any of the papers revelations of the 
 purposes of the Constituent Committee ? An Assembly of 
 750 ; and a President by universal suffrage ; gratuitous 
 education, and right of work. So I read in the ' D^mo- 
 cratie pacifique,' with corroboration. 
 
 The coalition of the more democratic Clubs amongst the 
 representatives will be, I presume, a great assistance to the 
 Government. You know that two, one in the Rue des 
 
 K2 
 
133 LETTERS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Pyramides, the other in the Palais National, amounting to 
 200 repr^sentants together, and one containing Camot and 
 another minister, the other presided over by Dupont de 
 I'Eure, have united, and a third is expected to send in its 
 adhesion. 
 
 I have just been to the Club de la Revolution, ci-devant 
 Barbes. They had a lively and almost fierce debate about 
 ' fusion.' Were they to ' fusionner ' with the National ? 
 Advances having been made and ill received, should they 
 be renewed ? News of Barbfes' condition and behaviour in 
 prison were given, and received with clamorous Vive 
 Barbfes ! ! Said Barbfes, I hear, is a man of wealth, enjoy- 
 ing, usually in prison, 4,000^. a year. 
 
 I am grieved to hear of the mutilation of our statue. 
 But I should myself accept the most deformed renovation. 
 The list of Chartist petitioners (so to call them) was for- 
 warded to me here, costing about three francs. We, I pre- 
 sume, might easily make up a list of five points : AboUtion 
 of Subscription ; Reconstitution of Fellowship ; New Heb- 
 domadal Board ; Extra-Collegial Matriculation ; and Per- 
 manent Commission. 
 
 Monday, May 29. 
 They are going to remodel, perhaps destroy, the ateliers. 
 I hope not destroy, for I conceive the system to be good, if 
 it were only well managed. At present, undoubtedly, there 
 are great irregularities. Alexandre Dumas has written a 
 Protest against the Decree of Banishment (of the Royal 
 Pamily), which his friend ' La Liberte ' declines to insert (so 
 declareth A. D. in the ' Assemblee Nationale ' ) for fear of 
 pecuniary loss. The ' Assemblee Nationale ' is a vile Gui- 
 zotin journal, conducted, I hear, by the man who perjured 
 himself about the pistols in the famous duel case. De 
 Tocqueville voted for the Decree. OdiUon-Barrot shirked ;^ 
 Louis Blanc, apparently, against it. 
 
OXFOED 133 
 
 Paris : May 30, 1848. 
 
 Paris is tranquil and dull. The bourgeoisie, which had 
 at first awkwardly shuffled on the blouse, is gradually 
 taking heart to slip on its fine clothes again ; and perhaps 
 ere long will unbutton the breeches-pocket. 
 
 To-morrow there is to be an 'interpellation' in the 
 Assembly about the Neapolitan business. One great 
 subject under discussion in the Bureaux (where most of the 
 work is done) is the ' projet de divorce,' simply restoring, I 
 believe, the provisions of the Code Napoleon, which in 1816, 
 on the return of the Bourbons, were in like manner simply 
 erased. 
 
 Divorce is allowed for ' sevice,' and for incompatibility 
 of temper under restrictions ; e.g. the husband must be 
 above twenty-five, and the wife above twenty-one and 
 under forty-five : and consent of parents must be obtained. 
 Nor can divorce for this cause be allowed except after two 
 (or three) years of marriage. I see it stated that the 
 Bureaux are not favourable. But the great subject of 
 subjects is of course the question of the ateliers nationaux. 
 The statistics published in the ' Constitutionnel " are of 
 course utterly repudiated by the other party, and indeed 
 they are partly withdrawn by the ' Constitutionnel ' itself. 
 But there must be a great deal of irregularity and unfair 
 dealing. For the real ouvriers out of work, a franc a day 
 throughout, plus two francs extra for two or three days' 
 work, is not, if a man has a family, very extravagant. 
 But lots of porters, e.g., are on the list. 
 
 Wednesday, May 31. 
 
 Last night I visited the Club des Femmes, presided 
 
 over by a Mme. Niboyer. Alas, poor woman ! she has a 
 
 terrific task ; not to speak of having to keep women silent, 
 
 she has to keep men, or say beasts, in order. The place is 
 
134 LETTERS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 filled with them, and a more grievous spectacle of the un- 
 politesse of Frenchmen I never saw ; but I believe it has 
 been a good deal worse. However, Mme. Niboyer is a 
 woman of considerable power and patience, and she works 
 through it, though to what effect I don't know. Perhaps 
 it may be useful for Frenchmen to see a woman face them, 
 and present herself before them not for purposes of flirta- 
 tion. I got disgusted with raj male neighbours, and came 
 away before it ended. The subject was divorce. The feel- 
 ing, I think, was against the present project, the cries 
 certainly so. 
 
 :fedition du soir. 
 
 To-day has produced three remarkable documents : — • 
 
 1st. The Government exposition of the events of May 
 15, with which may be read Lamartine's speech of Tuesday 
 
 night. The blame is left on De Courtais and the 1st 
 
 Legion of the National Guard ! Notice towards the end 
 the phrase ' Y a-t-il eu de complot ? Qui sont les coupables ? ' 
 — questions left at present unsettled. 
 
 2nd. The candidature of our friend A. Dumas. It is 
 due to the Marquis Alexandre to give his own words : ' Ce 
 qu'il faut k la Chambre, c'est des hommes qui parlent 
 hautement leur pens^e. Des hommes qui la soutiennent 
 avec la plume, avec le bras, si besoin est. Je crois avoir 
 prouve par la guerre que je fais depuis deux mois a la re- 
 action et a la terreur que je suis de ces hommes. Voulez- 
 vous de moi pour repr^sentant ? ' Al. Dumas.' 
 
 3rd. The candidature of A. Dumas's friend JoinvUle, 
 who is proposed by a shopkeeper, who gave his name, dating 
 from the Rue Bergfere. 'The Assembly has expatriated 
 him ; true ; but the people made the Assembly ; ergo, if 
 the people choose JoinviUe. . . .' q. e. d. 
 
 The elections (eleven for the Seine, i.e. Paris) are con- 
 sidered very uncertain ; there is all kind of division. 
 
OXPOED 135 
 
 Caussidiere, perhaps 1 D' Alton Shee, not unlikely ; Chan 
 gamier. Not Emile de Girardin, nor Thiers ; nor, I 
 presume, any socialist, such as Pierre Leroux, Thores, 
 Proudhon Cabet. 
 
 Here is a ' mot ' on the situation : ' Les seuls hommes 
 possibles sont incapables ; et les seuls capables sont impos- 
 sibles.' Another clever suggestion is that there s hould 
 always be a Provisional Government, as the only security 
 for permanence. 
 
 Remembrances to all my concitoyens at Oriel ; how 
 many tricolor noeuds shall I bring ? 
 
 To the same. 
 
 June 6, 1848. 
 
 I am safe again under the umbrageous blessing of con- 
 stitutional monarchy, at Long's Hotel, Bond Street. I 
 left Paris yesterday. The Republique was ' as well as can 
 be expected.' Of the city of Paris my report must be ' left 
 voting' — voting, and reading in huge attroupements the 
 new edict against attroupements. To-day was to tell the 
 fate of the candidates, and to-morrow commences the 
 reorganisation of the ateliers nationaux. 
 
 To T. Arnold, Esq. 
 
 Liverpaol : July 16, 1848. 
 
 When I last wrote to you, the three days of February 
 were still echoing, and now the four days of June have 
 scarcely ceased to reverberate ; between which times a 
 good deal has happened both to myself and to the world in 
 general. 
 
 For myself, I went to Paris on the 1st of May, and stayed 
 there five weeks ; saw the opening of the Assembly, the 
 emeute or ^chauffourde (as they prefer calling it) of the 
 
136 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 15th, and the f^te of the following Sunday. After the 15th 
 the sky was certainly overcast, but in my first fortnight, and 
 in a degree through the whole time, I was in extreme 
 enjoyment, walked about Jerusalem and told the towers 
 thereof with wonderful delight ; the great impression being 
 that one was rid of all vain pretences, and saw visibly the 
 real nation. The sentry posts were all occupied by men in 
 blouse, of the national or mobile or republican guard, and 
 the Tuileries gardens full of the same blue blouse ; whUe 
 the Palace itself showed occasionally on its balcony some 
 convalescent ' bless6 de fdvrier,' helped along, as he took the 
 air, by wife and child. All things quite ' decently and in 
 order,' without any visible repressive external force ; indeed 
 for two days between the resignation of the Provisional 
 and its reappointment as the Executive Committee, there 
 was no Government whatever, barring of course the As- 
 sembly. 
 
 Lamartine (I saw him and Ledru-RoULn ride to the 
 H6tel de Villeon the 15th) seems certainly to have been defi- 
 cient in definite purpose and practicality ; but I fancy he 
 and his colleagues hardly had a fair chance ; they had no 
 time to get th§ Assembly into working condition, hampered 
 in it as they were by Odillon-Barrot and Co., who are very 
 skilful debaters, before the people began to get angry and 
 suspicious. The four days of June I dare say you have 
 heard spoken of in a somewhat shrieky accent. But the 
 cruelties are unquestionably exaggerated, and are attribut- 
 able to the forgats, ■v^ho naturally mixed with the ouvriers, 
 and there are many opposite traits recounted. The story 
 of the cantiniferes selling poisoned brandy was not verified 
 by the examination before magistrates, or by the analysis 
 of the chemists. I confess I regard it in the same light as 
 a great battle, with, on .the whole, less horror, and certainly 
 more meaning, than most great battles that one reads of. 
 
 However, there is no doubt that France's prospects are 
 
OXFOKD 137 
 
 dubious and dismal enough, and one is almost inclined to 
 think that the outbreak was premature ; with their ideas 
 so far from ripe, the French had better, if possible, have 
 endured a little longer the immorality of Louis-Philippe's 
 government ; but yet, on the whole, one accepts the thing 
 with gratitude. It will, I think, probably accelerate change 
 in England : and perhaps you may yet live to see some kind 
 of palingenesy effected for your repudiated country. Bavfi' 
 av TTODpiiiOev iSi)ifji]v, 
 
 The next topic is Emerson, whom I left yesterday on 
 the deck of the Halifax steamer, and saw pass rapidly down 
 the Mersey on his way home. 
 
 He came to Oxford just at the end of Lent term, and 
 stayed three days. Everybody liked him, and as the orthodox 
 mostly had never heard of him, they did not suspect him. 
 He is the quietest, plainest, unobtrusivest man possible ; will 
 talk, but will rarely discowrse to more than a single person, 
 and wholly declines 'roaring.' He is very Yankee to look 
 at, lank and sallow, and not quite without the twang ; but 
 his looks and voice are pleasing nevertheless, and give you 
 the impression of perfect intellectual cultivation, as com- 
 pletely as would any great scientific man in England — Fara- 
 day or Owen, for instance, more in their way perhaps than 
 in that of Wordsworth or Carlyle. I have been with him a 
 great deal ; for he came over to Paris and was there a month, 
 during which time we dined together daily : and since that I 
 have seen him often in London, and finally here. One thing 
 that struck everybody is that he is much less Emersonian 
 than his Essays. There is no dogmatism or arbitrariness 
 or positiveness about him. 
 
 Next to myself, is, I suppose, accounted the wildest 
 
 and most ^cervel^ republican going. I myself, k propos of a 
 letter of Matt's, which he directed to Citizen Clough, Oriel 
 Lyceum, Oxford, bear that title par excellence. 
 
138 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Waterhead : September 4. 
 
 I have been visiting Fisher in Patterdale, where he has 
 his first reading-party. He got a first-class duly and 
 honourably at Easter, Trarpos d/ietVtov, outdoing his coach. 
 
 I believe I shall probably, in about six weeks' time, 
 publish, conjointly with Burbidge, a volume of poems.' 
 Some of them I hope you will Uke, but I don't think much 
 will come of it. I don't intend writing any more verse, but 
 have a notion for essays. I gave my Tutorship up at Easter, 
 and I seriously think of doing the same with the Fellowship 
 in October at latest. 
 
 To 
 
 Oxford : October 23, 1848. 
 
 My relations wrote kindly and temperately {on hearing 
 of the resignation of the Fellowship), on the whole ; made the 
 most of conscientiousness, but were alarmed with ideas of 
 extreme and extravagant views. 
 
 My little book, I hope, will be out in ten days. 
 
 To T. Arnold, Esq. 
 99 Holywell, Oxford : November 6, 1848. 
 I have given up the Fellowship, though the Provost still 
 forbears to go through the formal step of officially announc- 
 ing my resignation ; so that I am loose on the world, and, 
 being just out of my old place, I am ready to look at every 
 new place, and likely enough to go to none. Even if litera- 
 ture does look likely, I confess I should like to knock about 
 the world a little bit more before I do much in that way ; 
 yea, though I am all but thirty already. I am extremely 
 jolly meantime, rejoicing in my emancipation. I stay up 
 here ; it is now three weeks within twenty-four hours since 
 
 ' Tbis volume appeared in 1849, under the name of Ambarvalia. 
 
OXFORD 139 
 
 I resigned ; and people don't cut me at all. I dine at some 
 high tables, and generally (retaining my gown, for I don't 
 wish to volunteer to cast that off) I am treated as a citizen. 
 I have an invitation to stand for the Headship of the 
 new University Hall (on the Oxford and Cambridge College 
 system) to be attached to University College, London. My 
 poem, ' The Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich,' in about two thou- 
 sand hexameters, ' A Long- Vacation Pastoral,' has appeared, 
 and has tolerable success in Oxford ; but that its local 
 allusions might readily give it. 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 December 1848. 
 
 It is far nobler to teach people to do what is good 
 because it is good simply, than for the sake of any future 
 reward. It is, I dare say, difficult to keep up an equal reli- 
 gious feeling at present, but it is not impossible, and is 
 necessary. Besides, if we die and come to nothing it does 
 not therefore follow that life and goodness will cease to be 
 in earth and heaven. If we give over dancing, it doesn't 
 therefore follow that the dance ceases itself, or the music. Be 
 satisfied, that whatever is good in us will be immortal ; and 
 as the parent is content to die in the consciousness of 
 the child's survival, even so, why not we ? There's a 
 creed which will suffice for the present. 
 
 A belongs, I see, to the new High Churchites, who 
 
 walit to turn all the quiet people adrift ; it is the New Plot ; 
 but so long as one isn't obliged to sign articles, or go to 
 daily service, or prayer-meeting, or the like, I don't see why 
 one should excommunicate oneself. As for the Unitarians, 
 they're better than the other Dissenters, and that's all ; but 
 to go to their chapels — no ! 
 
140 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 To B. W. Emerson, Esq. 
 
 February 10, 1849. 
 
 My dear Sir, — How could I tell you of my Pastoral-to- 
 be when it had not been thought of ? It was only begun in 
 September, and when I left you in July on the deck of your 
 steamer, I had no thought of that or any other new poem. 
 I hope ere this a little volume, half belonging to me, half to 
 an old school-friend, will have reached you : this does con- 
 tain old things, the casualties of at least ten years. 
 
 You may fancy how truly welcome all your kind praise 
 of the first of them has been to me ; so far as praise goes I 
 hardly venture to accept it, but as recognition I heartily 
 feed on it. Meantime, in England I shall hot be troubled 
 with a very onerous weight of celebrity. Mr. Kingsley, a 
 chief writer in ' Fraser,' devoted the whole of a cordial 
 eulogistic article to the ' Pastoral,' and has made it tolerably 
 known ; but the ' Spectator ' was contemptuous ; and in 
 Oxford, though there has been a fair sale and much talk 
 of it, the verdict is, that it is ' indecent and profane, immoral 
 and (!) communistic' 
 
 Will you convey to Mr. Longfellow the fact that it was 
 a reading of his ' Evangeline ' aloud to my mother and sis- 
 ter, which, coming after a reperusal of the ' Iliad,' occasioned 
 this outbreak of hexameters ? 
 
141 
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 FROM 1849 TO 1852. 
 LONDON. 
 
 To the Rev. ' 
 
 January 4, 1849. 
 
 My Dear Sir, — After a good deal of thinking and some 
 advising, I find that I have only to repeat what I stated at 
 your house. 
 
 I do not feel myself competent to undertake the conduct 
 or superintendence of any prayers, nor can I in any way 
 pledge myself to be present. Any attendance I might give 
 would simply be that of a private person — no way official ; 
 it would be as that of a junior member of a family at 
 domestic worship ; it would be a matter of conformity, not 
 of individual choice ; my own feeling, meantime, being to 
 leave it, as I understand the Quakers do, to spontaneous 
 emotion ; and so I confess I should prefer any arrangement 
 which would make my absence not unnatural, as might for 
 instance be the case if prayers were combined with a Greek 
 Testament lesson not given by me. 
 
 Meantime, I am sure I should have every disposition to 
 facilitate devotional arrangements. In fact, I should not un- 
 willingly concede that it might be better that your Principal 
 
 ' After resigning his Fellowship and Tutorship at Oriel, Clough 
 had accepted the Headship of University Hall in London, alnd this 
 letter was written iii consequence of a request which had been made 
 him by the authorities. 
 
142 LETTERS OF AETHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 should be one who could officially join in them, as indeed it 
 might be best could all your students be expected to attend. 
 But, whether better or worse, I had conceived your institu- 
 tion was to be one on which this maturer form would not 
 be fixed, one which would offer a locus stamdi and a home 
 for Theology and other subjects excluded from the College, 
 and would aspire to encourage moral and religious sympathy, 
 but would nevertheless leave all this to free, quiet and 
 spontaneous development. 
 
 I confess I see great advantages in this system, but 
 whether greater or less than those of the other, it is the 
 only one in which I myself can co-operate. Not that I 
 entertain any reluctance to attend the worship of others 
 than those with whom I have hitherto been connected. 
 Far from it. In Scotland I have always gone by preference 
 'to the Presbyterian churches ; I have continually been to 
 Mr. Martineau's chapel at Liverpool ; I have joined in the 
 prayers of Unitarian families. If obliged to do one or 
 other, I should probably go to Westminster Abbey rather 
 than to any either Scotch or English Presbyterian chapel. 
 But I have expressly testified my dislike to the Thirty-nine 
 Articles, and you yourselves are quite as likely to attach 
 to me such names as heretic, as I to apply that word to 
 you. 
 
 I need not of course say that I suppose I have on these 
 subjects, if not convictions, sentiments ; not assuredly a 
 definite theological creed, but what would be called religious 
 views — views which may prove very different from those 
 commonly entertained by Unitarians. But of course, too, 
 I can entirely disclaim everything approaching to a disposi- 
 tion to proselytise ; so far from it, I hardly expect to make 
 up my own mind as yet, and am not likely to meddle with 
 those of others. At the same time, what a man feels 
 for himself can hardly fail to affect his communications 
 with his neighbour, nor should I in any way feel bound to 
 
LONDOIf 143 
 
 suppress, because of the opinions of a young man's parents 
 and friends, anything which other reasons would not induce 
 me to withhold. Hasty talking would be grievous misdoing, 
 evasive dealing would vitiate everything ; but I should 
 hope to find other matters to occupy me with the students. 
 I believe I have only to add my thanks to yourself and 
 your friends for your kindness and courtesy during our 
 communications, and to subscribe myself. 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 A. H. Clough. 
 
 To T. Arnold, Esq. 
 
 Liverpool: February 15, 1849. 
 
 Alea jacta est ; I stay for the present here. I have 
 accepted the position at University Hall ; and commence 
 there in October, with a good deal of misgiving it must be 
 confessed ; but, on the whole, I believe myself right. I 
 am not so clear as you are of the rottenness of this poor 
 old ship here. Something, I think, we rash young men 
 may learn from the failure and discomfiture of our friends 
 in the new republic. The millennium, as Matt says, won't 
 come this bout. I am myself much more inclined to be 
 patient and make allowance for existing necessities than I 
 was. The very fighting of the time taught one that there 
 were worse things than pain, and makes me more tolerant 
 of the less acute though more chronic miseries of society; 
 these also are stages towards good, or conditions of good. 
 Whether London will take my hopefulness out of me 
 remains to be seen. Peut-gtre. 
 
 I like the Manchester people, of whom I have been 
 seeing a little, better than the Liverpuddlians. They are 
 more provincial perhaps, but have more character ; are less 
 men of the world, but more men of themselves. Your 
 sanguine friend still puts his trust in master manufac- 
 
144 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 turers, as in those olden foolish days, when the face of 
 Fortescue shone triumph in the Decade. Yet why be 
 troubled about politics and social matters ? 
 
 Here also, as on the Poirirua road, sweet odours of 
 human nature ascend to the heavens. To quit the country 
 for altogether is not, so far as I can tell, my vocation. 
 This may be TJr of the Chaldees, or even Egypt, but no 
 angel hath as yet spoken to me, either in dreams by night 
 or in any burning bush of the desert. 
 
 February 24. 
 To-day, my dear brother republican, is the glorious 
 anniversary of the great revolution of '48, whereof what 
 shall we now say ? Put not your trust in republics, nor in 
 any institution of man. God be praised for the downfall 
 of Louis-PhUippe. This, with a faint feeble echo of that 
 loud last year's scream of k bas Guizot, seems to be the sum 
 total ; or are we to salute the rising sun with Vive 
 I'Empereur and the green liveries ? Meantime, the great 
 Powers are to restore the Pope, and crush the renascent 
 (alite lugubri) Roman republic, of which Joseph Mazzini 
 has just been declared a citizen. 
 
 To his Mother. 
 Rome, Hotel d'Angleterre : ' April 18, 1849. 
 I am at Rome ; I stayed two days at Paris, where I 
 called on your American friends the Murats, and saw 
 Madame and her sister. She is now Mme. la Princesse, 
 and her daughter Mdlle. la Princesse. 
 
 There is no immediate expectation of any change in the 
 Government here ; the only difficulty is to get money. 
 
 ' The following letters from Rome were written during a tour he 
 took in Italy before settling at University Hall. It was in the course 
 of this tour that he wrote Amours de Voyage and Easter Day. 
 
LONDON 145 
 
 They are going to divide the lands of the Church in small 
 farms among the peasants ; but payment will not be made 
 for some time for these allotments. 
 
 St. Peter's disappoints me ; the stone of which it is 
 made is a poor plastery material ; and, indeed, Eome in 
 general might be called a rubbishy place ; the Eoman anti- 
 quities in general seem to me only interesting as antiquities, 
 and not for any beauty. The Arch of Titus is, I could 
 almost say, the only one really beautiful relic I have yet 
 seen. I have seen two beautiful views since I came, one 
 from San Pietro in Montorio, the other from the Lateran 
 Church, over the Campagna. The weather has not been 
 very brilliant. 
 
 April 21. 
 
 I have seen the Vatican gallery and Sistine Chapel. 
 To-day being the natal day of Rome, was to have been a 
 great feast, with illumination of the Colosseum, &c., but it 
 is impossible for the weather. 
 
 I see the ' Times ' tells very odd stories of Rome. Peo- 
 ple here tell you that it has been bought by Austria. At 
 any rate the story of the proposed sale of the Belvidere 
 Apollo to the Americans is as simply a joke, I am told, as 
 another story, that the Pantheon was sold to the English 
 for a Protestant chapel. 
 
 To F. T. Palgrave, Esq. 
 
 Rome: April 2.3, 1849. 
 In my way here I saw Genoa again, and visited the 
 Doria Palace, which had just been quitted by the victorious 
 Piedmontese soldiery, who had not, I am glad to say, 
 damaged the frescoes on the ceilings, as far as I saw (the 
 battle of the Titans, which I suppose is the finest, was 
 quite uninjured), but in other respects had played all sorts 
 
 L 
 
146 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 of furious and beastly pranks. The balcony with the fresco 
 figures of Andrea Doria and his family is a good deal 
 damaged, one or two cannon-balls have passed through, and 
 the soldiers have scratched it with their bayonets. The 
 furniture is all destroyed ; it belonged, they say, to the 
 Prince of Carignano, the King's uncle or cousin, who had 
 latterly taken the palace : gilded cupboards and tables, 
 japanned cabinets and chess-boards, porcelain vases and 
 French clocks, mingled their precious fragments on the 
 floors with relics of bread and other deposits, among which 
 empty bottles should be mentioned ; the Prince appears to 
 have had a fine assortment of Madeira. No other damage 
 is done in Genoa. 
 
 About 150 refugees came off with us in the Prench 
 steamer ; the government paid for them as far as Leghorn, 
 but at Leghorn they wouldn't have them, so they came 
 on to Civita Vecchia, and I see several of them about in 
 the streets ; they are incorporated with the other forces. 
 
 Yesterday was the most lively day I have had here. In 
 the morning a review in the Piazza before St. Peter's, 
 where Avezzana, the Genoese commander, who is also an 
 American citizen, and is now Minister of War, reviewed 
 about 10,000 men and twenty pieces of artillery. In the 
 evening a grand illumination of the Campidoglio, Forum, 
 &c., all the way to the Colosseum, which was the great 
 scene. When I entered, it was mostly dark, and a great 
 crowd filling it, a band somewhere above the entrance play- 
 ing national hymns. At the end of the great hymn, of 
 which I don't know the name, while the people were clap- 
 ping, viva-ing and encoring, light began to spread, and all 
 at once the whole amphitheatre was lit up with — the trois 
 couleurs ! the basement red fire, the two next stories green, 
 and the plain white of the common light at the top. Very 
 queer, you will say ; but it was really fine, and I should 
 think the Colosseum never looked better than it did, if not 
 
LONDON 147 
 
 then at least afterwards, when the plain light was left, and 
 the area got cleared. The same thing was done again for 
 the outside. 
 
 In the afternoon, I had paid my visit to Mazzini ; a 
 French envoy or agent was with him, and I had to acknow- 
 ledge the triumviral dignity by waiting almost an hour in 
 the ante-chamber. However, on the envoy's retiring, he 
 discoursed with me for half an hour. He is a less fanatical 
 fixed-idea sort of man than I had expected; he appeared 
 shifty, and practical enough. He seemed in excellent 
 spirits, and generally confident and at ease. He asked me 
 if I had seen anything of the pillaging, which the English 
 papers were acquainted with ; he said that any of the 
 English residents would bear witness to the perfect tran- 
 quillity, even greater than before, which prevailed in the 
 city (and certainly I see nothing to the contrary). 
 
 The ' Times,' he said, must be dishonest, for the things 
 it spoke of as facts were simply not facts ! emeutes where 
 ^meutes had never been thought of ; the only outbreak had 
 been at Ascoli, near the Neapolitan frontier, where a sort 
 of brigandage had been headed by two or three priests, but 
 easily suppressed. In Rome there were plots going on 
 amongst some of the nobles and priests, but they were well 
 known to the government. The temper of the people and 
 the Assembly alike was clearly against the restoration of 
 the temporal power ; on that point he believed the Right 
 would go heartily with the Left in the Assembly, and the 
 people be unanimous. The object at present was rather to 
 repress violence against the priest-party, or Neri, to which 
 some sections of the populace were inclined ; but this the 
 government was careful to do.' The feeling everywhere 
 is, he says, simply political or national. Communism and 
 Socialism are things undreamt of. Social changes are not 
 needed ; there are no manufacturing masses, and in the 
 lands there is a metayer system. You have heard perhaps 
 
 l2 
 
148 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 that they are going to divide church lands amongst pea- 
 sants ; this is true, but only of a portion, a surplus he 
 called it, after provision is made for the carrying on of the 
 services of each establishment. They have got about 22,000 
 troops, and mean to have 50,000, so as to be able to take 
 the field, at any rate not in mere desperation. But he ex- 
 pects foreign intervention in the end, and of course thinks 
 it likely enough that the Romana Reppublica will fall. 
 Still he is convinced that the separation of the temporal 
 and spiritual power is a thing to be, and that to restore the 
 Pope as before will merely breed perpetual disquiet, con- 
 spiracies, assassinations, &o. ; and he thinks it possible the 
 Great Powers may perceive this in time. The French 
 envoy had asked him if he would apply to France for pro - 
 tection ; he said. No, but that if France or any othe r 
 power offered protection, they would welcome it. 
 
 So much for Mazzini. Meantime, Rome is very peace- 
 able to all appearance, rather cold, however, and very rainy : 
 the illumiaation, which you should be told was in honour of 
 the Palilia, was put off one day in consequence. I do not 
 observe much enthusiasm for the Romana Reppublica : but 
 neither do I hear as much complaint as might be expected 
 from the shop folk and foreigners' jackals. The religious 
 customs seem to thrive still ; they kissed away yesterday 
 at St. Peter's toe as fast as they could have done in its best 
 days. Money, however, is scarce ; one pays 30 per cent, 
 for sUver, and Mazzini acknowledged that the financial crisis 
 was a great difficulty ; but, as he said, it was unavoidable 
 in revolutions. I get on but poorly in lionising, but have 
 at last to-day seen the Sibyls. How much of this is resto- 
 ration? how much is really Raphael? Michael Angelo's 
 Moses has ' met my views ' as much as anything I have seen. 
 Are the two figures beside it also by M. Angelo ? And tell 
 me what is M. Angelo's design for St. Peter's exactly ? do 
 the huge inside pilasters belong to him ? I think it utterly 
 
LONDON 149 
 
 lamentable and destructive that his plan was not carried 
 out. 
 
 Tell Blackett he really must defend S. P. Q. R. in the 
 ' Globe.' It is a most respectable republic ; it really (ipse 
 dixit) thought of getting a monarch, but couldn't find one 
 to suit. 
 
 To his Sister. 
 
 Rome : April 30, 1849. 
 Perhaps it will amuse you hereafter to have a letter 
 commenced while guns are firing, and I suppose men falling 
 dead and wounded. Such is the case on the other side the 
 Tiber, while I peacefully write in my distant chamber with 
 only the sound in my ears. I went up to the Pincian Hill 
 and saw the smoke and heard the occasional big cannon, 
 and the sharp succession of skirmishers' volleys — bang, bang, 
 bang — away beyond St. Peter's. They say the French have 
 settled down in three positions, and do not mean to enter 
 till the Neapolitans arrive. And the affair of to-day is pro- 
 bably only with their advanced guard : the Romans pro- 
 fess to have carried off four cannon and fifty prisoners, but 
 who knows ? 
 
 May 2. 
 
 600 prisoners and 500 killed and wounded, they say. 
 The French have certainly retired. But the Neapolitans 
 are at hand. 
 
 To his Mother. 
 
 Rome : May 11, 1849. 
 The war would seem to you very small if you saw it ; 
 and except for the nuisance of all galleries being shut, I 
 should be very well content. We are all safe and comfort- 
 able, with British flags hanging out of our windows ; and 
 
150 LETTEES OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Lord Napier, an attach^ of the British Embassy at Naples, 
 has been here, and is at present, I believe, at Palo, a port 
 between this and Civita Vecchia, where H.M.S. ' Bulldog ' 
 is lying, and has arranged with Marshal Oudinot that his 
 troops are to behave politely to us. Which troops came 
 again yesterday within three mUes, but have done nothing, 
 iind are said to be retiring. The Neapolitans, i.e. a detach- 
 ment of 7,000 men near Palestrina, are stated to have got a 
 severe licking from the corps of Garibaldi, about 5,000, the 
 day before yesterday. 
 
 The only awkward thing that has happened in the city 
 has been the killing of four or perhaps five priests by the 
 mob, soon after the news of the advance of the Neapolitan 
 army. Some say that one of them had fired out of a win- 
 dow and killed a soldier ; others, that they were found 
 making off to the Neapolitans. However, some, I don't 
 know the exact number, were killed in the street. Next 
 day the government sent out a proclamation, and I have 
 heard of no more outrages of this kind. Some plundering 
 by the troops has given trouble, but they seem to be sup-- 
 pressing it. 
 
 Meantime the gates are all shut, and the streets strongly 
 barricaded. The Pincian gardens, the great resort for 
 walking, are closed and fortified, and between the Trinita 
 dei Monti and Sta. Maria Maggiore, in one line of streets, 
 you can count, I think, six barricades, besides smaller ones 
 in the side streets. 
 
 My great affliction is that the Vatican is shut up. I 
 got into the Sistine Chapel, however, and St. Peter's of 
 course is open. These and the Pantheon are my resources. 
 Many of the churches are occupied as hospitals (the 
 Frenchmen who were taken up wounded are very kindly 
 and lovingly treated there, I am told ; and they have sent 
 back their prisoners without stipulation), anyi the Palaces 
 are mostly shut up. 
 
LONDON 151 
 
 May 16. 
 
 Two French commissioners arrived here yesterday, and 
 it is understood that France has more peaceful intentions 
 than appeared before. 
 
 May 17. 
 
 Hostilities are suspended between us and the French. 
 I shall be as greatly surprised as pleased if the two repub- 
 lics come to a good understanding. The people here will 
 not like to have the Pope except as Head of the Church, 
 and the French will insist on something more. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 May 28, 1849. 
 
 At last I have got my permit for the Vatican. Once 
 having seen a couple of lines from Mazzini, how the officials 
 skipped about for me ! I was ashamed really to take all 
 they offered me, good creatures. If I could have got this 
 paper before, it would have been much better ; but I had 
 great reluctance to obtrude myself on the Dictator, as the 
 ' Times ' calls him, and some difficulty to get at him at last, 
 he being, of course, ' moltissimo occupato.' 
 
 Bulbs from the fountain of Egeria I have no chance of 
 getting, nor shall I see TivoH, Albano, or Nemi, for it 
 requires a permit from the Minister of War, and I cannot 
 for shame bother the Dictator any further with my trivial 
 English-tourist importunities. 
 
 The Romans are content the French should remain at 
 Civita Vecchia, or even Viterbo (for the sake of health). 
 They sent them the other day an immense quantity of 
 cigars and snuff for a present. 
 
152 LETTEKS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 To T. Arnold, Esq. 
 
 Rome : May 24, 1849. 
 
 You will have heard of our driving back the French 
 (April 30), and amongst many lies would probably detect 
 the fact that the French never entered the town. Whether 
 the Roman Republic will stand I don't know, but it has 
 under Mazzini's inspiration shown a wonderful courage and 
 a glorious generosity, and at any rate has shaken to its 
 foundations the Odillon-Barrot Ministry, which I trust 
 may yet go to its own place. ' Peace be with all such !' 
 
 I live here, studying chiefly Michael Angelo, specially 
 in the Sistine Chapel. I believe the engraving of his ' Crea- 
 tion of Eve ' there, more than anything else, led me to Rome. 
 I conceive myself to understa.nd his superiority and Leo- 
 nardo da Vinci's to Raphael, who is only natural, while they 
 are intellectual : he produces with, and they out of nature. 
 The idea of St. Peter's has been wholly killed out of it, 
 partly by the horrid internal ornaments, but still more 
 completely by the change of the form from a Greek to a 
 Latin cross ; the latter belonging to Gothic, which Michael 
 Angelo rejects, because he asserts totality. There ! 
 
 To Rev. A. P. Stanley. 
 
 Rome : May 24, 1849. 
 Your historic soul shall be gratified — better late than 
 never — with an account of the fight of the 30th of April ; 
 fatto d'armi gloriosissimo. ' Yes, we are fighting at last.'' 
 . . . ' Meantime, the -iSlquians and Volscians, quitting 
 Algidus and concentrating their scattered forces on Velitras, 
 ventured under the walls of this stronghold to give battle to 
 the detachment of Garibaldians which the bold temper of 
 
 ' Amours de Voijage, canto ii. letter v. 
 
LONDON 153 
 
 their leader had brought up somewhat in advance of the 
 main body of the Romans. The enemy, driven after a 
 severe conflict into the town, acknowledged his discomfiture 
 by a retreat during the following night in the direction of 
 Terracina.' 
 
 There to be translated into the style of Livy ! 
 
 However, I forbear to proceed, for it is a fatiguing exercise, 
 and ere this goes, our history will have something newer to 
 record than the fuga del ReBomba of Sunday, 3 a.m., 30th 
 inst. 
 
 May 31. 
 
 If you are interested in our politics you should study 
 the letters to Lesseps by Mazzini. Only a vagrant artist 
 or two represent with me our country. Freeborn, British 
 Consul, abides with his flag ; but Lowe, the British grocer, 
 is at Florence. Piale, successor to Monaldini, is a huge 
 republican, and stands at comers in full civica uniform, 
 shutting up the reading-room. The Miss Pfyfiers also love 
 their country and hate the priest's ; but their betrothed 
 lovers being of the old Guardia Nobile, take the other line. 
 Papa Pfyfier (my landlord) follows these, but protests 
 against cardinalism loudly. Priests, by the way, walk 
 about in great comfort-^arm-in-arm with a soldier, perhaps ; 
 in cafds and legnos and all profane places they are seen 
 circulating as freely at least as government paper. Con- 
 fession is still administered openly with long sticks in St. 
 Peter's, and the Apostle's toe multitudinously kissed. The 
 Bambino also drives about to see the sick in infinite state, 
 and is knelt to and capped universally. 
 
 Wandering about alone and with the map I have been 
 twice hailed by the civicas as a ' spione,' but after some 
 prattle affectionately dismissed. The barricades are very 
 strong. A perfect agger Servianus and fossa Qiiiritium 
 crosses the road between the Palatine and Aventine ; and 
 
154 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 before the Porta del Popolo there is an immense work. In 
 the line from the Trinita del Monte to Sta. Maria Maggiore 
 there are five or six, besides laterals. The soldiers, so far 
 as one sees, are well behaved ; but the government has 
 been scolding a good deal. It is pleasant to my pastoral 
 soul to see them sitting by market-women and shelling 
 peas. I have only seen Mazzini once, but have been up to 
 his rooms three or four times. Anyone can go ; he is sadly 
 a.Sopv(j)opo^ for a rvpavvos, and I wonder no spirited Jesuit 
 has yet looked in with a pistol. 
 
 June 1. 
 At this moment comes a rumour to say that the French 
 are combinati with us. But no ; it proves that after getting 
 certain conditions accepted by the Romans, Lesseps had 
 them refused by Oudinot, so he is off to Paris to see about 
 it there. Meantime, I take it, Oudinot will only sulk with- 
 out fighting. 
 
 June 3. 
 On the contrary, just the reverse. They are at it, at- 
 at-at it, with small arms frequent and occasional cannons, 
 at the Porta San Pancrazio. We began at four this morn- 
 ing. Oudinot had said distinctly he would not attack 
 before Monday, but his Pa/risiaca fides brings him here this 
 present blessed Sunday. 
 
 11 
 After something like seventeen hours' fighting, entirely 
 outside in the Villa Pamfili grounds, here we are in statu 
 quo, barring a good many morti e feriti. 
 
 To T. Arnold, Esq. 
 
 Sunday, 10 A.M., June 3. 
 This is being written wliile guns are going off, there — , 
 there — , there ! For the French are attacking us again. 
 
LONDON' 155 
 
 May the Lord scatter and confound them ! For a fort- 
 night or more they have been negotiating and talking, and 
 inducing the government to send oflf men against the 
 Austrians at Ancona, and now here they are with their 
 cannon. It is a curious affair, truly ; the French Envoy 
 Plenipotentiary makes an accommodamento ; the General 
 repudiates it, and, without waiting even for advice from 
 Paris, attacks. 
 
 To J. C. Shairp, Esq. 
 
 Eome : June 2, 1849. 
 Concerning Roman politics, hath not G-od made great 
 newspapers, and appointed the ' Times ' for certain seasons ? 
 
 Which even though it lie. . . . But briefly, for P 's sake. 
 
 Lesseps, the envoy, agreed yesterday to four conditions 
 with the Roman government : the French army to go into 
 cantonments in the healthy districts hereabouts, hut not in 
 the city : guaranteeing these districts against foreign in- 
 vasion, but exercising no political power, till things should 
 be settled. But Oudinot repudiates. There — but for 
 the awful Kes which all the newspapers, specially the 
 ' Debats,' ' Constitutionnel,' and ' Times,' indulge in, I 
 would not have said a word thereupon. But they do lie, 
 indeed ! 
 
 June 3. 
 No ; your letter won't go to-day : for the French are 
 attacking us — there ! there ! ' But do Thou unto them as 
 unto the Midianites. my God, make them like unto a 
 wheel.' 
 
 10 P.M. 
 
 Seventeen blessed hours have they battled — ^3.30 a.m. 
 to 8.30 P.M., and the French, I am told, have been unable 
 to plant their cannon against the wall. The Villa PamfiU 
 
156 LETTERS OF AETHUR HUGfH CLOUGH 
 
 has been taken and retaken two or three times. But to us 
 only smoke and occasional flashes are visible. 
 
 Jtine i, Tuesday. 
 They can't get in ; they banged away by moonlight 
 most of last night ; but, as I see a French officer at Toulon 
 says, Oudinot is not the man. 
 
 June 5. 
 
 This is the third day, and they are still outside. The 
 Pancrazio untaken, and the Villa Pamfili in our hands still. 
 
 June 18, Monday. 
 Going, going, and to-morrow I shall be gone. We have 
 had a fortnight of gunnery, and what now, heaven knows : 
 perhaps more gunnery ; but to-day I hear hardly anything. 
 Yes — there is one. But we have been bombarded, think 
 of that ! It is funny to see how like any other city a be- 
 sieged city looks. Unto this has come our grand Liberty- 
 Equality-and-Fraternity Revolution ! 
 
 To F. T. Palgrave, Esq. 
 
 Rome : June 21, 1849. 
 Shall I date one more letter from Rome ? I hope to 
 get off to-day, but Frenchmen break down bridges. Here 
 we are in the nineteenth day of our siege, expecting im- 
 mediate assault, of which, however, I hear as yet no notice. 
 In the way of cannonade or fusillade, all at this moment is 
 silent. But the breach is fully big enough, and the last 
 breach was being made, they say, two or even three days 
 ago. Meantime all is tranquil within. The soldiers, I 
 think, will fight to the last, and then retire upon the castle 
 or into the mountains. And though I suspect some plotting 
 is at work, yet the whole basso popolo will fight, and the 
 
LONDOK 157 
 
 middle classes mostly, and the ' youth ' almost universally 
 will at least offer a passive resistance. It is curious how 
 much like any other city a city under bombardment looks. 
 One goes to the Ara Cell or the Palatine to look at the 
 firing; one hears places named where shells have fallen; 
 one sees perhaps a man carrying a bit of one. 
 
 The ' Monitors ' this morning says that the Temple of 
 Fortune has been damaged, and that a ball has entered the 
 roof exactly above the Aurora of Guido. 
 
 The Romans have suffered heavy losses in their sorties ; 
 but they seem to have obstructed the works a good deal. 
 The French papers spoke of ten days as the utmost space 
 required for preparation ; and on the 12th Oudinot an- 
 nounced himself ready to enter. 
 
 Assure yourself that there is nothing to deserve the 
 name of ' the Terror.' There may be timidity in the pas- 
 siveness of the Moderates, and I will not say that if they 
 tried resistance against the Government, they would not 
 be suppressed, force by force. But one sees no intimidation. 
 Since May 4 the worst thing I have witnessed has 
 been a paper in MS. put up in two places in the Corso, 
 pointing out seven or eight men for popular resentment. 
 This had been done at night ; before the next evening a 
 proclamation was posted in aU the streets, from (I am sure) 
 Mazzini's pen, severely and scornfully castigating such pro- 
 ceedings. A young Frenchman in a caf^, hearing his 
 country abused, struck an Italian ; he was of course 
 surrounded, but escaped by the interference of the national 
 guard and of the British Consul. The soldiers, so far as 
 I see, are extremely well behaved, far more seemly than 
 our regulars ; they are about of course in the streets and 
 caf^s, but mate no disorder. Ladies walk in the Corso till 
 after 10 p.m. Farewell ; I must go and see about my place. 
 
 Alas ! it is hopeless. I am doomed to see the burning of 
 Rome, I suppose. The world, perhaps in the same day, will 
 
158 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 lose the Vatican and me ! However, they won't get in yet, 
 I guess. 
 
 June 22. 
 
 It may have been merry in Dunfermline grey when all 
 the bells were ringing ; but here at Rome it is by no means 
 so. They are sounding the storm-alarm. Venit summa 
 dies. During the night the French made a general attack 
 from the Portese south to the Popolo north, and managed 
 to throw a body of 500 (?) men into a soUtary house within 
 the walls, at the south-west corner. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Rome : June 28, 1849. 
 
 I wrote on the 22nd, just after the misfortune of the 
 night of the 21st. I was not then certain of the fact, that 
 the passage of the breach was effected without a shot being 
 fired ; the 600 men of the Roman Kne who were there were 
 seized with a panic, and their commanding officer is said to 
 have told them to save themselves — anyhow, save themselves 
 they did, and only lost a barricade, which these poor brutes 
 had been working at for a month. A very fatal go, in- 
 deed ; but not so immediately fatal as was expected when 
 I wrote, and when all the bells were ringing. The batteries 
 of the new Roman line commanded the breach, and the 
 French have had to dig a trench to secure their advance. 
 
 In the following night (of Friday, 22nd) an immense 
 number of bombs were thrown ; they fell chiefly in the 
 Piazza di Venezia, Piazza Sant' Apostoli, and Via del Gesu. 
 I do not think much harm was done, and the people took it 
 cooUy enough. I found a crowd assembled about 9 p.m. in 
 the north-east corner of the Piazza Colonna, watching these 
 pretty fireworks, ' ecco un altro ! ' One first saw the 
 ' lightning ' over the Post-oflice ; then came the missive 
 
LONDON 159 
 
 itself, describing its tranquil parabola ; then the distant 
 report of the mortar ; and finally the near explosion, which 
 occasionally took place in the air. This went on all night. 
 But it has not been repeated in the same degree The 
 Consuls have remonstrated with Oudinot, but he, I believe, 
 pleads ' orders.' The operations meantime, till yesterday, 
 were unimportant, e.g. four cannon were got up on the 
 breach, but the Roman batteries say that they upset them. 
 On Sunday night, however, the 26th, there was another 
 general attack, and under cover of this the Erench got 
 their guns planted on the breach, and were playing with 
 these all yesterday upon our batteries of S. Pietro in Mon- 
 torio, which I fear will not be long tenable. 
 
 This morning I hear nothing I can rely on, and consi- 
 dering the bombs, I forbore to visit my look-out of the Ara 
 Cell. As for the feelings of the people, I can of course say 
 little. I fancy the middle-class Romans think it rather 
 useless work, but they don't feel strongly enough on the 
 matter to make them take steps against a government 
 which I believe has won their respect alike by its moderation 
 and its energy; perhaps, too, they are afraid of the troops, 
 under which term however do not understand foreigners, 
 unless you choose to give that name to the levies of the 
 Papal States in general. Visiting the Monte Cavallo 
 hospital the other day, where there are I think 200 men, 
 three Poles and one Frenchman were especially pointed out 
 to me, that I might say some words of French to them. All 
 the others I saw were Italians, from Bologna, Ferrara, 
 Ravenna, Perugia, and so forth. There was one Swiss. 
 Most of them had received their wounds on the 3rd. Nice 
 fellows they seemed, young, and mostly cheerful, spite of 
 their hurts. One had lost an arm and a leg ; another had 
 a ball in his hip, yet to be extracted ; ' and the like.' On 
 the whole I incline to think they will fight it out to the last 
 but chi lo sa ? 
 
160 LETTERS OE AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 We have a General Archioni, a Milanese noble, a fine 
 brave fellow, in the lodgings here, with his secretary and 
 capo del stato maggiore, and a soldier or two. He was 
 posted at the Yilla Ludovisi, and thither two days ago we 
 all went — fourteen, ' Mama ' and four daughters, and niece, 
 and their escort, a gay party of pleasure. 
 
 Festa di San Pietro : Friday, 29. 
 
 I have been this morning to the Colosseum, whence you 
 see the position very well and securely. The French 
 batteries are too strong for the Romans, I think ; they 
 respond but feebly. The Secretary of the General here 
 detected two nights ago some people making signals ; he 
 took some ' civicas ' and went and arrested them ; there 
 were three monks and two ' civicas ' in open communica- 
 tion with the French, while it was still daylight. A good 
 deal of this telegraphing goes on, they tell me. 
 
 The ' panic ' of the 21st seems to have been a good deal 
 felt as a disgrace ; these last few days they have been fight- 
 ing very bravely, I take it. The ' Moniteur ' this morning 
 states the number oi foreigners in the Roman service to be 
 1,650 ; 800 Lombards, 300 Tuscans, 250 Poles and French, 
 and 300 miscellaneous in Garibaldi's corps. The national 
 guard is 14,000 strong ; the army, I suppose, 20,000. A 
 bomb, I am thankful to say, has left its mark on the f agade 
 of the Gesu. I wish it had stirred up old Ignatius. Fare- 
 well. A. H. C. 
 
 Le Citoyeu malgrfi lui. 
 
 To M. Arnold, Esq. 
 
 Eome : June 23, 1849. 
 I advertise you that I hope to be in the Geneva country in 
 August, reposing in the bosom of nature from the fatigues 
 
LONDON 361 
 
 of art and the turmoil of war ! ! ! Qvdd Somce /aciam ? 
 What's politics to he, or he to politics 1 But it is im- 
 possible to get out, and if one did, Freeborn, Vice-consul, who 
 however is a Cacoone, says the French avan-posti shoot at 
 one. 
 
 July 3. 
 
 Well, we are taken ; the battery immediately to the left 
 (as you go out) of St. Pancrazio was carried by assault, on the 
 night of the 29th or morning of the 30th, while we in this 
 corner got bombarded by way of f eiut. The Roman line in 
 several cases has behaved ill, and certainly gave way here 
 rather early ; afterwards, however, under Garibaldi's com- 
 mand, it seems to have fought well, at least two regi- 
 ments, who are now off with him and his free corps to the 
 Abruzzi. 
 
 On Saturday morning (30th June) the Assembly resolved 
 to give in ; Mazzini &, Co. resigned ; and a deputation went 
 off to Oudinot. Sunday was perfectly tranquil ; yesterda,y 
 evening Garibaldi withdrew his troops from the Traste- 
 vere, and went off by the S. Giovanni. To-day they say the 
 French wiU enter. Altogether, I incline to thiak the 
 Roman population has shown a good deal of ' apathy ' ; they 
 did not care about the bombs much, but they did not care 
 to fight very hard either. The Lombards are fine fellows, 
 and the Bolognese too ; the only pity there were not more 
 of them. If you put the whole lot of them together, Poles, 
 Lombards, Tuscans, French, they would not exceed 3,000. 
 On the whole, the French were not very barbarous, but if 
 we had not yielded, I believe they meant to bombard us 
 really ; and as it was, their shells might have done irrepar- 
 able harm. 
 
 At noon to-day the Assembly proclaims the Constitu- 
 tion ! which it had just completed. 
 
162 LETTEES OF AUTHUR HUGH CL0U6H 
 
 To F. T. Palgrave, Esq. 
 
 Rome : July 4, 1849. 
 
 If you should happen to read in the ' Constitutionnel ' 
 that ' on Tuesday, July 3, ou/r army entered Rome amidst 
 the acclamations of the people,' perhaps you will not be the 
 worse for a commentary on the text. 
 
 On Monday evening Garibaldi, with all the free corps 
 except some Lombards under Medici, and with a good many 
 Roman troops in addition, set off for the Abruzzi. On 
 Tuesday at noon the Assembly proclaimed the Constitution 
 on the Campidoglio. I went there and heard it. There 
 were present perhaps 800 or 900 people. This done, I 
 presume the deputies dispersed, the labours of the Consti- 
 tuent being clearly completed. The French had already 
 begun their entry, and occupied the Ponte Sisto, and, I 
 believe, the Trinity dei Monti. About half-past four I 
 went out, and presently saw a detachment coming up from 
 the Palazzo Borghese to the Condotti. I stood in the 
 Corso with some thirty of the people, and saw them pass. 
 Pine working soldiers indeed, dogged and business-like ; but 
 they looked a little awk-ward, while the people screamed 
 and hooted, and cried, ' Yiva la Reppublica Romana ! ' 
 When they had got past some young simpleton sent a, tin 
 pail after them ; four or five faced round with bayonets 
 presented, whUe my young friend out away up the Corso 
 double quick. They went on. At this moment some 
 Roman bourgeois, as I fancy, but perhaps a foreigner, said 
 something either to express his sense of the foUy of it, or 
 liis sympathy with the invaders. He was surrounded, and 
 I saw him buffeted a good deal, and there was a sword 
 lifted up, but I think not bare ; T was told he got off. 
 But a priest who walked and talked publicly in the 
 Piazza Colonna with a Frenchman was undoubtedly kUled 
 
LONDON 103 
 
 I know his friends, and saw one of them last night. Poor 
 man ! he was quite a liberal ecclesiastic, they tell me, but 
 certainly not a prudent one. 
 
 To return to my own experience. After this the 
 column passed back by another street into the Corso, and 
 dispersed the crowd with the bayonet-point ; they then 
 went on and occupied, I take it, the Post-office, which I 
 afterwards found full of them. About six o'clock I walked 
 out agaia, and found the Monte Cavallo, the Palazzo Bar- 
 berini, and other places occupied. I thus missed the entry 
 of Oudinot and his staff. I got back only just to see the 
 final dragoons ; but an English acquaintance informed me 
 that in passing by the Caf6 Nuovo, where an Italian 
 tricolor hung from the window, Oudiaot plucked at it, and 
 bid it be removed. The French proceeded to do this, but 
 the Romans intervened ; Cernuschi, the barricade com- 
 missioner, took it down, kissed it, and, as I myself saw, 
 carried it in triumph amidst cheers to the Piazza Colonna. 
 I did not follow, but on my bolder friend's authority I can 
 state that here the French moved up with their bayonets 
 and took it from Cernuschi, stripping him moreover of his 
 tricolor scarf. One hears reports of as many as eight 
 Romans being killed for fraternising with the Gaul, and of 
 some of the French themselves having been assassinated. 
 My friend told me two shots were fired from a cafe in the 
 Corso when the troops passed that way at half -past four. 
 This morning I have been to the field of battle and looked 
 at the trenches. I condescended to speak with two French- 
 men, consoling myself by an occasional attempt at sarcasm. 
 They said the Romans did nothing at all when the batteries 
 were assaulted ; but the artillery had been well directed. 
 You see lots of villas, six or seven at least, in ruins. S. 
 Pietro iu Montorio is in a sad state ; balls have come in 
 and knocked great holes, and the east end is nearly in ruins, 
 but the paintings are most, if not all, quite safe — those of 
 
 m2 
 
164 LETTERS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Sebastian del Piombo certainly ; and Bramante's chapel is 
 wholly untouched. My French officer said the troops were 
 about 25,000. Almost all are in the city. The Eoman 
 forces are to withdraw immediately into cantonments 
 assigned by Oudinot, and guaranteed against the Austrian s. 
 The national guard will be disarmed, and then all will be 
 considered safe. On the whole, the French soldiers seemed 
 to me to show excellent temper. At the same time, some 
 faces I have seen are far more brutal than the worst Gari- 
 baldian ; and we have hitherto seen nothing so unpleasing 
 in the female kind as the vivandi^re. The Gaul is certainly 
 the stronger animal, but assuredly the greater beast. 
 
 The American banker tells me he was told that in the 
 morning the French were cheered. I rather doubt it ; but 
 1 believe the bourgeoisie in part are very glad it is over. 
 Naturally, for there was to have been a regular bombard- 
 ment ; so said my French friend. They had got a large 
 supply ready, just come from France. The priest is not 
 dead, and perhaps will survive ; but another, I hear, was 
 hewed in pieces for shouting ' Viva Pio Nono,' ' Abasso la 
 Eeppublica,' <fec. Oudinot's proclamation is expected every 
 moment. They say it will declare a stage of siege ; name 
 a military governor and commander of the garrison ; dis- 
 solve the national guard and the Assembly, and so forth. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Rome : July 6, 1849. 
 Medium of all desirable communication with my bre- 
 thren at home ! you shall receive one more despatch. I 
 think of going off to Albano, or some of these places, which 
 now one supposes will be attainable. Tivoli, they say, is 
 dubious. Garibaldi went off that way, and the French 
 have sent a detachment after him, with orders, one is told, 
 to give no quarter. 
 
LONDON 165 
 
 It is a sight to make one gnash one's very wisdom teeth 
 to go about the fallen J erusalem and behold the abomina- 
 tion of desolation standing where it ought not ; not that 
 the French misbehave, so far as I see, individually. They 
 appear to me to display considerable temper. Still one is 
 told that they earned off a lot of lemons, &c., the first night 
 without paying for them. One soldier, they say, was 
 stabbed by a Trasteverine woman at the Ponte Sisto for 
 insulting her. Any way, one sees how ' riling ' it is to be 
 conquered. 
 
 I am greatly rejoiced meantime that they have been 
 obliged to proclaim the state of siege. They make much 
 of the adhesion of the army. I don't exactly know how far 
 it has been given. Two regiments went off with Garibaldi 
 and one heard divers stories. However, with the alterna- 
 tive of dissolution and beggary, it is no marvel that the 
 Roman line, not a popular body, should consent to give its 
 service to any de-facto government. 
 
 Last night, for the first time, ' by order,' we were all 
 driven in at half -past nine. I found a bayonet point within 
 a few inches of me as 1 came along the Corso, while the 
 battalion was clearing it. 
 
 Has the ' Times ' correspondent told the funny way in 
 which they have shown their spite, by daubing out all the 
 French sign-boards ! 
 
 The natives do not universally quit the cafes when the 
 French come in ; at the Bon Gout in the Piazza di Spagna 
 they appear to be treated with polite indifference ; in the 
 Caf^ Nuovo, such unmistakable disgust was evinced that, 
 considering also its size and importance, for you know it is 
 a whole palace, and the great place of resort, they have seen 
 fit to shut it up and fill it with soldiers. Elsewhere the 
 enemies feed together, but with a pale very distinctly 
 marked between them. 
 
 Mazzini was still here yesterday. Galetti, president of 
 
166 LETTERS OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 the Assembly, and commander of the Carbineers, was taken 
 under American protection (as I hear) ; otherwise he would 
 have been arrested ; but the political arrests have been 
 limited to some half-dozen agitators. Ciceruacchio got off 
 with an American passport. You know the Assembly sat 
 on the day after the French entree ; Mazzini was present. 
 They passed some three or four decrees, and put them up 
 in the streets. Oudinot's proclamation dissolving the old 
 government came out an hour or two after. 
 
 I told you that Garibaldi lost his negro on the 3rd. ' II 
 Moro,' as they called him, was the son of a rich negro mer- 
 chant at Monte Video, who, though married and father of 
 a family, yet, for the love of the Italian captain, came over 
 to fi^ht by his side, which they say he never quitted. I 
 have seen each separately, but not together. There is a 
 Mrs. Garibaldi ; she went out with himi to the Abruzzi. I 
 hope the French won't cut them to pieces, but vice versi. 
 
 July 7. 
 
 Last night I had the pleasure of abandoning a cafe 
 on the entrance of the French. The Italians expect you 
 to do so. It was quite composedly done ; no bravado or 
 hurry. 
 
 Mazzini, on the 30th, after the capture of the bastion, 
 proposed to the Assembly that it, with the army, should 
 quit Rome, carry off the artillery, and occupy some strong- 
 hold. But the Assembly at first would not ; and after, 
 when it would, could not. The course actually taken was 
 repugnant to Mazzini's views, who was anxious to save 
 Rome from destruction, but at the same time to hold out 
 somewhere and somehow to the last. 
 
 The Chigi chapel, in Sta. Maria del Popolo, is a remark- 
 able case. Raphael's Jonah is untouched, but the statue 
 next it has been chipped in two places by a ball. Nothing 
 else is hurt. 
 
LONDON 167 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Kome: July 13, 1849. 
 
 We are all in admiration here of M. de Corcelles' state- 
 ment, that during the twenty-six days that elapsed of 
 the siege, not one bomb had been thrown into the city. I 
 dare say a large proportion of what were thrown were gren- 
 ades, but that there were bombs, in the strictest sense, is 
 undoubted. A military friend whom I can trust has seen 
 one, and I think I myself have. Moreover, the grenades 
 were large. And I presume M. de Corcelles will prefer 
 saying plainly that he was misLaformed, to the alternative 
 of professing not to have meant to deny grenades. On the 
 night of the 22nd, 150 missives of the bomb or the grenade 
 species are said to have been thrown into the town ; 130 
 were counted by an acquaintance of mine, a Roman ; at 
 the rate they were being plied while I was looking on my- 
 self, I cannot doubt some figure like this must be correct. 
 
 On the night of the 29th, a French officer told an English 
 gentleman the detachment in the Borghese grounds was 
 ordered to fire 120 shots into the Piazza di Spagna quarter, 
 as a feint ; they had no particular aim. but seeing a light 
 in a high window, they took it for their mark, and — hinc 
 nice laohrymcB — hence those balls and bombs, or, I beg 
 pardon, grenades perhaps, which frightened us out of 
 our propriety into the primo piano. 
 
 Mazzini, through the negotiation of Mr. Cass, the 
 American Charg^ d'afiaires, received a passport in his own 
 name from the French, and went ofi" viS, Civita Vecchia, 
 with a bearer of despatches from the same Mr. Cass, I 
 think, on Tuesday last, the 10th. He would go into Swit- 
 zerland. This is quite positive. 
 
 On Monday I was at Albano. The French, seventy 
 horse, came in that afternoon at four. The Spaniards 
 meantime had just the previous night occupied Genzano, 
 
168 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 three miles off. One hears that the French have turned 
 them out of it. 
 
 Two newspapers appear in Rome besides the official 
 gazette, called the 'Giomale di Roma' ; one of these, the 
 ' Costituzionale,' belongs to the prete interest ; the other, 
 ' La Speranza dell' Epoca,' to Mamiani and coterie. They 
 are under a military censure, but liberally exercised ; a 
 new appointment was freely commented on in malam 
 partem yesterday by this latter print. 
 
 The Principessa di Belgiojoso is still here, looking after 
 her feriti at the Monte Cavallo, who, as I think by Mr. 
 Cass's intercession, are allowed to remain there ; at first, 
 orders were given that they should be removed within a 
 week. Garibaldi is said to have effected a junction at Terni 
 with Forbes, an Englishman holding rank here of colonel, 
 I think, and commanding a small detachment. 
 
 Add to the list of fortunate escapes, that a ball struck 
 the fagade of the Palazzo Sciarra on the terzo piano. On 
 the secondo in front is the gallery, whose ample windows 
 give light to the famous Modestia e Vanita of Leonardo da 
 Vinci, the Violin Player of Raphael, Titian's Bella Donna, 
 and others, most of which, however, have been put into the 
 passage for safety. 
 
 Freeborn, the Consul, has got one bomb in his bank. 
 Do you know the difference between the two things, bomb 
 and grenade ? bomb has two handles, and grenade is a 
 hollow ball with a hole in it ; that is aU I know. Grenades, 
 they say, burst in the air ; otherwise they are as big as 
 bombs, and by no means innocent things. 
 
 ■July 14. 
 
 Giving the French and the ' Times ' credit for some 
 
 degree of truth-telling, the simple truth would appear to 
 
 be, that we have been grenaded, not bombarded. It is 
 
 possible that the cannon and mortars were pointed merely 
 
LONDON 169 
 
 to the breach, and that the bombs and balls that came in 
 were merely bad shots. But the obus (singular or plural) 
 must certainly have been pointed against the very heart of 
 the city, the Pantheon and Capitol ; and a discharge of 150 
 or more grenades in a single night is, if not a bombardment, 
 
 still My authority about Mazzini's movements is ' 
 
 Miss Fuller, an American, who was in immediate com- 
 munication with Mazzini and Mr. Cass, and who was a 
 party to the negotiation. She is now gone to Rieti. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Geneva : August 7. 
 
 I shall go and see Mont Blanc, among other duties (for 
 I am finishing my education before coming to town), and 
 move homeward by the Rhine. I saw the French enter 
 Rome, and then went to Naples, which I greatly enjoyed. 
 Thence direct by Genoa and Turin to this place, amd from 
 here by Interlaken home. I am full of admiration of 
 Mazzini. But, on the whole, ' FareweU, politics, utterly ! 
 What can I do ? ' Study is much more to the purpose. 
 
 This is a dull sky-and-water atmosphere, after the blue 
 sweaters of the south ; and the English locust of course 
 prevails in it. 
 
 To T. Arnold, Esq. 
 University Hall, London : October 29, 1849. 
 
 Well, here I am, and with Palgrave, who is breakfasting 
 with me in my hall, where we all — i.e. myself and my 
 eleven undergraduates (that should be thirty, and I hope will 
 be some day) — breakfast and dine daOy. Here, I take it, 
 I shall remain for some little time ; though even as you 
 talk of coming over here, so I, believing that I shall be 
 
 ' Afterwards best known as Margaret Fuller Ossoli. 
 
170 LETTERS OF AETHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 kicked out for mine heresies' sake, and doubtful of success 
 in literary doings, have sometimes looked at my feet and 
 considered the antipodes, reflecting however much on the 
 natural conservatising character of our years after thirty. 
 As I say, I have no confidence in my tenure. For intoler- 
 ance, O Tom, is not confined to the cloisters of Oxford, or 
 the pews of the Establishment, but comes up, like the tender 
 herb, partout, and is indeed in a manner indigenous in the 
 heart of the family-man of the middle classes. 
 
 Do we not work best by digging deepest ? by avoiding 
 polemics, and searching to display the real thing ? If only 
 one could do the latter ! — Emerson is an example, and also 
 Carlyle, and in his kind M.A. Yet ekocttos ex" ^ ^"■^'"^ 
 
 \i'ipuriJ,a and ov Travres ^^otpovcn tovtov tov Xoyov. Let B s 
 
 delight to bark and bite, if indeed God has made them so. 
 
 Interrupted by my one pupil — for you observe that 
 undergraduates all attend the University College professors, 
 and I only keep a hall, as an M. A. of old times did in the 
 days of professors at Oxford — and out of the eleven only 
 have one pupil — I now resume to say farewell. 
 
 To J. C. Shairp, Esq. 
 
 TJniversity Hall : October 31, 1849. 
 
 Tou and Walrond may read this,' but don't show it to 
 others ; nor, therefore, name it, as if you do, they'U importune. 
 You are nice discreet creatures, I know. 
 
 I wish you would come and see me on your way to Ox- 
 ford- London, generally speaking, is lonely — for evil at any 
 rate and partly for good. A loneliness relieved by evening 
 parties is not delightful, but I get on well enough in general, 
 looking forward always to the Long. If I do not get a 
 pupil for the Continent, I shall come up to Scotland. 
 
 You do not perhaps enjoy at Rugby a fine yellow fog 
 this morning. We do. 
 
 ' Amours de Voyage. 
 
LONDON 171 
 
 To F. T. Palgrave, Esq. 
 [On receiving a present of Goethe's works.] 
 
 University Hall, London: November 18, 1849. 
 
 Thanks many, specially perhaps for the note. I had a 
 great mind to say to you, ' As soon as you give me the 
 Goethe, we will cut.' Let us suppose that done, and look 
 forward tout-de-suite to a recommencement — ' Cut and 
 come again' being the true motto for all proper inter- 
 course. T think the best way of looking at a present is as a 
 thing to be much more valuable some time hereafter than 
 just now ; it is more properly a future than a present. 
 Cast thy Goethe upon the waters ; give with thy left hand, 
 and let not thy right hand of fellowship ask what thy left 
 doeth. 
 
 And so on, whereof enough. 
 
 To 
 
 It is a good deal forgotten that we came into this world 
 to do, not kindness to others, but our own duty, to live 
 soberly, righteously, and godly, not benevolently, philan- 
 thropicaUy, and tenderheartedly. To earn his own bread 
 honestly — in the strictest sense of the word honestly — to do 
 plain straightforward work or business well and thoroughly, 
 not with mere eye-service for the market, is really quite a 
 sufficient task for the ordinary mortal. 
 
 To T. Arnold, Esq. 
 University Hall, London : January 3, 1850. 
 Here I am, just about to recommence the crambe repetita 
 of psedagogy after a brief fortnight's holiday. Of what use 
 is pedagogy ? Some, I suppose ; and as much probably as 
 
172 LETTERS OF AUTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 any other occupation one is in the way of getting harnessed 
 to. Cast, therefore, thy syntax on the waters. But in the 
 meantime ctceA^e eis to Ta/xielov <rov, Koi KXctiras rfiv Bvpav aov, 
 
 K.T.X. 
 
 There is a great blessing, I sometimes think, in being 
 set down amongst uncongenial people, for me at least who 
 am over-provocable. Consider the coal upon the fire-place, 
 how it came to blaze thus : was it not concealed and com- 
 pressed for long world-ages, never expecting to see the light 
 again, far less that in its own self there was light, heat, and 
 joyfulness, having no sort of imagination that it should be 
 transmuted iato, or shall we say, wooed, wedded and incor- 
 porated with the subtle atmosphere itself 1 Consider, I say, 
 the long preparation of this strange marriage of coal and 
 oxygen air, and say, if you can, moreover, when was there 
 most real worthiness of existence, in the grimy or the blazy 
 period, in the imprisonment or deliverance of the gases, the 
 incarnation or apotheosis, the suppression or expression, &c. 
 &c. (fee. 1 
 
 Sunday, January 27. 
 As in old times at breakfast in Oriel, so here for an 
 afternoon walk and dinner I am waiting for M. and, I 
 believe, E. They tell me you like the 'Bothie' ; it was a 
 pleasant anticipation to me that you would, while it was 
 yet in swaddling-clothes. They have reprinted me at 
 Cambridge, Massachusetts ! 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 [In answer to some criticisms on ' Amours de Voyage.'] 
 
 Good heavens ! don't be afraid. You are a very gentle 
 beast, and of a good conscience, and roar me like any suck- 
 ing-dove. Parturiunt montes — you are not half trenchant 
 enough. Yet your criticism is not exactly what I wanted. 
 
LONDOK 173 
 
 What I want assurance of is in the way of execution rather 
 than conception. If I were only half as sure of the bear- 
 ableness of the former as I am of the propriety of the latter, 
 I would publish at once. Gott und Teufel ! my friend, you 
 don't suppose all that comes from myself ! I assure you 
 it is extremely not so. 
 
 You're a funny creature, my dear old fellow : if one 
 don't sing you a ballant, or read you a philosophic sermon- 
 ette, if one don't talk about the gowans or faith, you're 
 not pleased. However, I believe that the execution of this 
 is so poor, that it makes the conception a fair subject of dis- 
 gust. You cannot possibly be too severe and truculent 
 about the execution, and I agree quite as to the correctness 
 (which is the only question) of what you say ; except that I 
 am not sure that scenes and scenery would exactly improve 
 the matter. 
 
 But do you not, in the conception, find any final 
 strength of mind in the unfortunate fool of a hero ? I have 
 no intention of sticking up for him, but certainly I did not 
 mean him to go off into mere prostration and defeat. Does 
 the last part seem utterly sceptical to your sweet faithful 
 soul? 
 
 Your censure of the conception almost provoked me 
 into publishing, because it showed how washy the world is 
 in its confidences. There is a Roland for your OHver, my 
 boy. But I probably shan't publish, for fear of a row with 
 my committee. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 June 19, 1850. 
 
 It continues to strike me how ignorant you, and I, and 
 other young men of our set are. Actual Ufe is unknown 
 to an Oxford student, even though he is not a mere 
 Puseyite, and goes on jolly reading-parties. 
 
 Enter the arena of your brethren, and go not to your 
 
174 LETTEKS OF ARTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 grave without knowing what common merchants and 
 solicitors, much more sailors and coalheavers, are acquainted 
 with. Ignorance is a poor kind of innocence. The world 
 is wiser than the wise, and as innocent as the innocent ; and 
 it has long been found out what is the best way of taking 
 things. ' The earth,' said the great traveller, ' is much the 
 same wherever we go ' ; and the changes of position which 
 women and students tremble and shilly-shally before, leave 
 things much as they found them. Codum non animwm 
 mutant. The winter comes and destroys all, but in the 
 spring the old grasses come up all the greener. 
 
 Let us not sit in a corner and mope, and thiiik ourselves 
 clever, for our comfort, while the room is full of dancing and 
 cheerfulness. The sum of the whole matter is this. What- 
 soever your hand findeth to do, do it without fiddle-faddling ; 
 for there is no experience, nor pleasure, nor pain, nor 
 instruction, nor anything else in the grave whither thou 
 goest. When you get to the end of this life, you won't 
 find another ready-made, in wliich you can do without 
 efibrt what you were meant to do with efibrt heroi 
 
 To R. W. Emerson, Esq. 
 University Hall, Gordon Square : July 22, 1850. 
 
 Why I have let six months pass away without acknow- 
 ledging the copy of your ' Representative Men,' which I 
 received and read so thankfully, I do not know ; unless it 
 be that I was not willing to put an end at once to the 
 relation of debtor which resulted. To have a distinct claim 
 on one for a letter constitutes a sort of connection, even 
 with the Atlantic between us. 
 
 I am here at the end of my first session in London, not 
 much the worse, nor much the wiser. I am not sorry my- 
 self to be where I am : in very many ways, it is a greater 
 
LONDON 175 
 
 seclusion than the academic shacjes you took pleasure in 
 looking at, at Oxford. 
 
 To T. Arnold, Esq. 
 
 University Hall : July 23, 1850. 
 
 I am rejoiced to find you busy and in mediis rebus so 
 soon. Your population of course won't be very beautiful 
 and attractive, but all the truer to fact in general for having 
 plenty of alloy, and that is a comfort to a certain extent ; 
 earthly paradises being mostly milk-and-watery, and not 
 long to last. Van Diemen's Land with its convict basis has 
 got at any rate something of the tantum radice ad Tartara, 
 to begin with, and quantum vertice may come. In new 
 colonies, I suppose, no amount of bishops and archdeacons 
 can resist the general iudifferentist tendencies of the com- 
 mercial English middle-class, to whom the world is com- 
 mitted for the present. 
 
 I find, meantime, even the small amount of busiaess 
 which I have to do in this place beneficial to me, even the 
 bank-books and cash-accounts. 
 
 To J. C. Shairp, Esq. 
 
 Univeisity Hall : March 9, 1851 . 
 
 Ex nihilo nihil. He who does not come at all, does not 
 come with goose quills, and d, fortiori not with swan quills. 
 Thus the logicians. 
 
 You must, therefore, correct your exercises with your 
 own goose feathers. But, tell me. Have you got such big 
 boys this half-year that the ordinary-sized instrument will 
 not apply to their Latin prose 1 Why don't you come up 
 here and buy them for yourself ? 
 
 We are still, I believe, travelling about the sun, round 
 and round, and round and round, in the old foolish fashion. 
 It is certainly a very funny way for the anima mundi to 
 amuse itself. But chacun h, son gout. In the midst of life 
 
176 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 we are in. death, for suppose the anima mundi were to take 
 a fancy to do something else, to go backwards and forwards, 
 or even round the other way ! 
 
 Cudwith, I am told, has an admirable disquisition on ' A 
 Plastic Nature,' in a parliamentary sense, I suppose ; for 
 otherwise, would it not be pantheism ? But indeed that is a 
 mistake, for I hold it to be perfectly constitutional language, 
 entirely in the spirit of our institutions in (Church and 
 State, that is to say) Natural and Revealed Religion. 
 Consider these things ; watch and pray, that is the right 
 way, for self and friends, among whom, believe me, 
 
 A. H. C. 
 
 To T. Arnold, Esq. 
 University Hall, Gordon Square : March 16, 1851. 
 
 I sent you five or six copies of the poem you were so 
 friendly as to like so well. By the time they reached you, you 
 would probably have been properly disenchanted, with a view 
 to which contingency I fortified them by two Idylls of a 
 truer pastoral poet or poetess. These you may accept, for 
 the lack of better, as my wedding-present. The following 
 you may accept or not, as you please : — 
 
 On grass, on gravel, in the sun, 
 And now beneath the shade, 
 They went in pleasant Kensington. 
 
 Let it remind you of the ancient Kensington Gardens. 
 Fresh from the oven, it is, I assure you, tihi primo confiswni. 
 I am still resident in Gordon Square, and very little certain 
 whether I shall or not continue so. The work does, how- 
 ever, well enough. 
 
 May 16, 1861. 
 This has lingered, T believe, chiefly because I desired to 
 
LONDON" 177 
 
 add some self -introducing phrase to your wife, the precise 
 form of which was difficult ; so pray give what you think 
 becoming an ancient ally of her husband's — best wishes — 
 submission t For to a certain extent, even at this distance, 
 old friends have to make their graceful withdrawal. It 
 seems to me, at any rate on this side the water, that a wife 
 is a sort of natural enemy to a man's friends. 
 
 I, like you, have jumped over a ditch for the fun of the 
 experiment, and would not be disinclined to be once again 
 in a highway with my brethren and companions. But 
 Spartam nactus ,es, hanc orna. And you, I should think, 
 though amongst the poor sinful blackguards of yearly multi- 
 plying convicts and convictidse, may make some pretty 
 thing out of your Sparta. 
 
 Nothing is very good anywhere, I am afraid. I could 
 have gone cracked last year with one thing or another, I 
 think, but the wheel comes round. 
 
 To 
 
 January 1852. 
 
 I certainly am free to tell you that while I do fully 
 think that the Christian religion is the best, or perhaps the 
 only really good religion that has appeared, on the other 
 hand, as to how it appeared, I see all possible doubt. 
 Whether Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John wrote the 
 gospels, is profoundly dubious. St. Paul wrote his epistles, 
 I should think, pretty certainly, but he had seen next to 
 nothing. The religion of those epistles is very different 
 from that of the gospels, or of St. James's epistle. The 
 whole origin of Christianity is lost in obscurity ; if the 
 facts are to be believed, it is simply on trust, because the 
 religion of which they profess to be the origin is a good 
 one. But its goodness is not proved by them ; we find it 
 out for ourselves by the help of good people, good books, &c. 
 &.C. Such is my present feeling, and the feeling of many. 
 
178 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 But I don't urge it on any one, or mention it, except when 
 I am specially asked, and seldom then. You remember you 
 complained of my silence. 
 
 I mean to wait, but at present that's what I think. A 
 great many intelligent and moral people think Christianity 
 a bad religion. I don't, but I am not sure, as at present 
 preached, it is quite the truth. Meantime, 'the kingdom 
 of heaven cometh not of observation,' but ' is in ourselves.' 
 
 To 
 
 London : January 1852. 
 
 The single life, accordiag to the doctrine of compensa- 
 tion, has some superiorities, as, for example, that of being 
 more 'painful, which, in a state of things that offers but 
 little opportunity for elevated action, may be considered a 
 temptation to the aspiring temper. To live in domestic 
 comfort, toUing in some business not ia itself of any great 
 use, merely for the sake of bread for the household, does 
 look at times a little ignoble, or at any rate unchivalrous. 
 The Sydney project had some little relish of chivalry in it. 
 What I looked forward to originally, in case of not going 
 to Sydney, was unmarried poverty and literary work. 
 
 To 
 
 London : January 18.52, 
 People who have got at all accustomed to write as 
 authors are so incapable of writing, or even speaking, ex- 
 cept ' in character,' and will run through a whole list of 
 dramatis personse as occasion occurs, without giving you a 
 chance of seeing what they really are off the stage ; if they 
 try to be sincere, it often makes bad worse. There ! that 
 is one of the mischiefs and miseries of authorship which 
 deters me. Ten years hence, perhaps ! which would not 
 
LONDON 179 
 
 be at all too late ; but if never, no matter. I have myself 
 been rather spoilt by somewhat o«er-quicksighted men, 
 and thus have got into a perverse habit of hiding. Have 
 you looked at my sometime pamphlet 1 ' I should not 
 write it now, you must know, I am wiser ; but it meant 
 something at the time. 
 
 Pictorial-ness, yes ; that, when it becomes a wonderful 
 vision of all things, is the ' Spirit of the Universe.' The 
 pictorial attitude is not a good one for one's continuous 
 life, but for a season it transports one out of reality. 
 
 February 21, 1852. 
 
 I may perhaps be idle now ; but when I was a boy, be- 
 tween fourteen and twenty-two throughout, I may say, you 
 don't know how much regular drudgery I went through. 
 Holidays after holidays, when I was at school, after a week 
 or so of recreation, which very rarely came in an enjoyable 
 form to me, the whole remaining five or six weeks I used 
 to give to regular work at fixed hours. That wasn't so 
 very easy for a schoolboy, spending holidays, not at home, 
 but with uncles, aunts, and cousins. All this, and whatever 
 work, less rigorous through pretty regular, that has followed 
 since during the last ten years, has been, so far as external 
 results go, perhaps a mere blank and waste ; nothing very 
 tangible has come of it ; but still it is some justification to 
 me for being less strict with myself now. Certainly, as a 
 boy, I had less of boyish enjoyment of any kind whatever, 
 either at home or at school, than nine-tenths of boys, at 
 any rate of boys who go to school, college, and the like ; 
 certainly, even as a man I think I have earned myself some 
 title to live for some little interval, I do not say in enjoy- 
 ment, but without immediate devotion to particular objects; 
 on matters as it were of business. 
 
 ' On Retrenchment at Oxford. 
 
 N2 
 
180 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 A bad style is as bad as bad manners, and manners you 
 admit do mean something. Things really ill-written it does 
 one a little harm to read. Would you forgive bad music 
 because it was -well meant 1 discord because concordantly 
 intended ? 
 
 Sunday Morning, London : March 1852. 
 
 Shall I begin by recommending patience about all 
 questions, nioral, mystical, ifec. ? It is not perhaps simply 
 one's business in life to ' envisager ' the most remarkable 
 problems of humanity and the universe simply for the sole 
 benefit of having so done ; still we may be well assured 
 that only time can work out any sort of answer to them 
 for us. ' Solvitur ambulando' Meantime, in defence of 
 silence, I have always an impression that what is taken 
 to talk with is lost to act with; you cannot speak your 
 wisdom and have it. 
 
 It is rain, rain, rain, and universal umbrellas travelling 
 churchward. I meant to get another walk to Chelsea to 
 see Mrs. Carlyle : but the waters are covering the face of 
 the New Road, and the omnibuses, doubtless, would be 
 full. 
 
 All things become clear to me by work more than by 
 anything else. Any kind of drudgery will help one out of 
 the most uncommon either sentimental or speculative per- 
 plexity ; the. attitude of work is the only one in which one 
 can see things properly. One may be afraid sometimes of 
 destroying the beauty of one's dreams by doing anything, 
 losing sight of what perhaps one will not be able to recover ; 
 it need not be so. 
 
 As to mysticism, to go along with it even counter to 
 fact and to reason may sometimes be tempting, though to 
 do so would take me right away off the terra firma of 
 practicable duty and business into the limbo of unrevealed 
 things, the forbidden terra incognita of vague hopes and 
 
LONDON 181 
 
 hypothetical aspirations. But when I lose my legs, I lose 
 my head ; I am seized with spiritual vertigo and meagrims 
 unutterable. 
 
 It seems His newer will 
 We should not think at all of Him, but turn. 
 And of the world that He has given us make 
 What best we may. 
 
 What we are we know (says the beloved Apostle, does 
 he not ?), or at any rate, can make some sort of guess, which 
 is much more than we can about what we shall be : howbeit 
 we know, or rather hope, that if we have done something 
 here, it will count for something there ; nor will those be 
 nothing to each other there that have consorted faithfully 
 here. 
 
 Lay not your hand upon the veil of the inner sanctuary, 
 to try and lift it up ; go, thou proselyte of the gate, and 
 do thy service where it is permitted thee. Is it for nothing, 
 but for the foolish souls of men to be discontented and 
 repine and whimper at, that He made this very tolerably 
 beautiful earth, with its logic and its arithmetic, and its 
 exact and punctual multifarious arrangements, &c. &c. 1 
 Is it the end and object of all finite creation that senti- 
 mental human simpletons may whine about their infinite 
 longings ? Was it ordered that twice two should make 
 four, simply for the intent that boys and girls should be 
 cut to the heart that they do not make five ? Be content, 
 when the veil is raised, perhaps they will make five ! who 
 knows 1 
 
 April 3. 
 As for the objects of life, heaven knows ! they differ 
 with one's opportunities, (o) Work for others — political, 
 mechanical, or as it may be. (6) Personal relations, (c) 
 Making books, pictures, music, &c. (c?) Living in one's 
 shell. ' They also serve who only stand and wait.' I speak 
 
182 LETTERS OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 as a philosopher, otherwise fool ; but you may look at 
 things under some such heads. 
 
 It is odd that I was myself in a most Romanizing frame 
 of mind yesterday, which I very rarely am. I was attracted 
 by the spirituality of it. But what has hitherto always 
 come before me as the truth is rather that — 
 
 It seems His newer will 
 We should not think at all of Him, but turn, 
 And of the world that He has given us make 
 What best we can. 
 
 To 
 
 Bugby : April 11. 
 
 I am enjoying myself here. Jowett, the great Balliol 
 tutor, is here. This morning I walked out into broad and 
 breezy pasture-fields, eastwards, looking towards Naseby, 
 where perhaps we shall ride to-morrow. Rugby, you know, 
 lies not far from Naseby field, near the source of the 
 Shakespearian Avon ; a branch railway to Peterborough 
 runs up through the wide pasture-slopes, pretty well past 
 the very sources. We are on the blue lias formation, from 
 which, westward, you pass at Coventry into the red sand- 
 stone, which stretches away to Liverpool ; while eastward, 
 within four miles, the Northamptonshire villages are all 
 built of their native yellow -brown oolite. The Northampton- 
 shire peasantry, also, in their knee-breeches and fustian 
 gaiters, have a yellow-brown oolitish appearance. 
 
 In the Warwickshire physiognomy I can frequently 
 detect the dross of Shakespeare. You have another bright, 
 light-haired, sanguine, less bilious type, which perhaps 
 comes of the Northmen — for our villages all hereabouts, 
 Barby, Kilsby, Buckby, Naseby, including Rugby itself, 
 have the characteristic Danish by termination. 
 
LONDON 183 
 
 April 13. 
 
 Well, we went our long ride : not quite to Naseby, but 
 to the Hemplow Hills, a little short of it, starting at 2.30 and 
 returning at seven. All through fields with chains of gates, 
 broad grassy swells, where the Northamptonshire beef is 
 fed, or used to be, for London markets ; Shairp on his 
 hunter, the pride of his heart, leading the way, and opening 
 the gates, and commanding in chief. A party of six we 
 were — two ladies, Mrs. Arnold and Miss Shairp ; Conington 
 was one. At 7.30 we reassembled, to dine with Shairp. 
 Our course was eastward towards the sources of Avon ; the 
 wells of Avon are just below Naseby village, I believe. 
 The whole country is a sheet of pasture (rather brown at 
 present), over which you may well imagine King Charles 
 and his Cavaliers riding south-westward from Leicester, to 
 run their heads against the wall of Cromwell's army. 
 
 The country is singularly destitute of gentlemen's houses, 
 and has a solitary unoccupied appearance, with its wide 
 fields and its field-roads. A railway, however, with a single 
 line of rails, and, I believe, three trains a day, looking quite 
 afraid of what it is doing, runs up through them from Rugby 
 to Stamford. 
 
 To 
 
 London : May 24. 
 
 The flowers are a great deal too beautiful for me, and I 
 a great deal too unbeautiful for them. However, here they 
 are now standing in my unartificial arrangement, glorifying 
 this unfortunate apartment. I have not failed to find out 
 the scarlet azalea. I have put it in a wine-glass with the 
 lily, which, after all, is my chief friend. 
 
 How beautiful the falling leaves of flowers are I not de- 
 cayed, not even as yet decaying, but ripe, full to their fullest 
 of growth and adolescence. I cannot prevail upon myself 
 
184 LETTESS OF ARTHUE HUGH CLOCGH 
 
 to empty the wine-glass, the surface of whose water is 
 covered with fallen geranium petals, though there are still 
 buds enough opening and opened to make a fair show. The 
 kalmias still survive ; they will perhaps last tUl Thursday 
 — sufficiently, at least, to satisfy the eyes of a lover of fall- 
 ing petals. 
 
 People should not be very sceptical about things in 
 general. ' Wen Gott hetrilgt, ist wohl hetrogen.' There 
 are plenty of good things in the world, and good persons. 
 Fitness is a great deal, but truth is a great deal more. 
 If things are good, we ought to accept them as such ; 
 looking at them, and not thinking of our own fitness. 
 
 To R. W. Emerson, Esq. 
 
 London : June 17, 1852. 
 
 My dear Emerson, — I hope a letter from me will not 
 be a disagreeable visitor, though it is to be all about 
 business, and that entirely my own business. The 
 business is, that I entertain thoughts of emigrating to 
 your side of the water. University Hall has not flourished ; 
 T have left it some months. I am at present merely 
 Professor of English Language and Literature at L^ni- 
 versity College, here, the stipend for which honourable 
 position amounts to some 30Z. a year. Meantime, like the 
 rest of mankind, I wish to be married and am as good or bad 
 as engaged. Is there any chance, do you think, of earning 
 bread and water, if not bread and flesh, anywhere between 
 the Atlantic and the Mississippi, by teaching Latin, Greek, 
 or English ? 
 
 I am half loath now, after nearly three years' apprentice- 
 ship, to quit this great town. It is almost like beginning to 
 go down from a high mountain top which it has taken long 
 hours to get to. But I dare say it would be for the best. 
 
LONDOK .185 
 
 To 
 
 Weybridge : July 30, 1852. 
 
 Last night I came down here with Farrer, and walked 
 straight away from the station to Chertsey. We went to 
 St. Anne's HUl, where there is a fine view ; from it you 
 can see Richmond and Betchworth beeches : thence across 
 the ferry to Laleham, where Arnold lived before he went to 
 Rugby, and where I had never been. We found our way 
 to the house he used to occupy- — a solidish red-brick place, 
 with a narrow turn for a carriage in front, and a tolerable 
 garden alongside : it is unoccupied. We also looked in at 
 the church window, and made out the pulpit whence he used 
 to fulminate, and saw four gravestones ia the churchyard 
 over his mother, two sisters, and another, to me unknown, 
 relation. We got back through the meadows only about 
 
 9 P.M. 
 
 And this morning I have been to Chobham. I took the 
 Ordnance Map, and walked, I should say, about eight miles, 
 by road and by common, through sun and shade, specially 
 the former, and about half -past twelve found myself seated 
 under a beech avenue, looking out over wide heathy banks 
 to the westward, and to the southward into a sort of wide, 
 tolerably rich, and treey upper valley ; the avenue leading 
 to iron gates at the south-east end ; some clumps of Scotch 
 firs on the heath to the north, visible through the opposite 
 rows of beeches. Really a very pretty place indeed. I 
 walked down under the house, and on into the village, and 
 refreshed myself at a tavern called the Sun, and walked on 
 three miles to the railway, and so home. Certainly Chobham 
 is a remarkably nice place — so green and rich, close to the 
 very edge of the wide waste heath, and looking abroad far 
 over all the expanse from Bagshot to Epsom, and I know 
 not what more. The distance was dull in the heat of noon. 
 
186 LETTERS OF AKTHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 There is a letter from Emerson, with general encourage- 
 ment towards America, and urging a preliminary visit by 
 ' first ship.' 
 
 To R. W. Emerson, Esq. 
 
 London : August 6, 1852. 
 Your letter came, a welcome surprise to me, on Satur- 
 day last. My best way of thanking you is, I believe, simply 
 to accept your kind proposal. You will, I dare say, not 
 refuse to recognise thanks in that shape. My ' first ship,' 
 however, cannot, I fear, be earlier than the very middle of 
 October. Come, however, I shall, and avail myself of your 
 proffered hospitalities. 
 
 To 
 
 Min-y-don, Colwyn : August 1852. 
 
 I have been making farewell visits ' to my relations. I 
 have ridden seven miles and back to Conway, and walked 
 two miles and back to make a call ; all of which, however, 
 scarcely keeps me properly awake in this dreamy seaside 
 place, and dreamy late summer weather. I am continually 
 stopping to look out at the view through the window before 
 my table. I look out on the Little Oi-me's Head, with its 
 rounded weather-beaten limestone rocks. We are here half- 
 way between Abergele and Conway, the sea a hundred yards 
 ofi", with a bit of a lawn between, ending in a gorse hedge on 
 the top of a steep bank going down direct upon the shore, 
 in which bank now runs the line of railway ; the Little 
 Orme's Head, four miles ofi", closing the view of the coast. 
 
 ' Before going to America, in October 1852. 
 
187 
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 FROM 1852 TO 1853. 
 AMERICA. 
 
 To 
 
 On board the ' Canada ' : Friday, November 5, 1852. 
 
 Here you see my first written words on board H.M.S. 
 ' Canada/ which is tossing like fury against a dead-ahead 
 wiad. 
 
 Saturday night we passed Holyhead, Sunday coasted 
 Ireland, and passed the ' Asia ' steamer with all her sails set. 
 This day week we are to be in port, spite of head wind. 
 
 Sunday, November 7. 
 
 A very Sunday-like Sunday indeed : fair wind and 
 bright weather ; church service in the chief cabin, read by 
 the surgeon, with sermon by the Rev. Dr. Cook, of the 
 Presbyterian Established Church in Quebec : the lieutenant 
 in his uniform, and some ten or twelve broad-chested sailors, 
 in their blue woollen shirts, occupying the end of the cabin, 
 aft — fine fellows as need be seen. Since then, a deal of 
 promenading on the quarter-deck. I got sick of the pub- 
 licities, however, about two o'clock, and come down to my 
 cabin to scribble. Lowell, who is on board, is very friendly 
 indeed. Thackeray and I also get on. 
 
 We have on board a Dragoon officer and a young Engi- 
 neer officer, bound for Bermuda ; two American medical 
 students ; a young half -English New York candidate for 
 
188 LETTERS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 orders ; a Manchester youth, on his first trip to New 
 Orleans ; a Cambridge travelling bachelor, with his brother, 
 an Oxford man, knocked up with work in the University 
 crew, going to Montreal ; a Comptroller of the Customs in 
 Halifax, and perhaps a well-to-do Halifax merchant, both 
 well-bred Englishmen ; a south country merchant, also 
 English, with an American wife ; a Boston chronometer 
 maker ; a Virginian with wife, son, and little niece. 
 Sundry American brokers, &c. &c., make up our party. 
 
 November 8. 
 No sun to-day, and no observation ; but we are run- 
 ning thirteen knots ; and the sea is a very gentle beast, 
 and hardly rocks at all, and we are all good-humoured and 
 hungry. 
 
 November 9. 
 The ship is plunging like a porpoise. Last night came 
 on a sort of gale, with cloud and fog, and we moreover just 
 ofi" Cape Race, and, I believe, really running straight upon 
 it, which, you know, is a great mass of cliff 300 or 400 feet 
 high. However, we stopped and sounded, and stopped and 
 sounded again, and changed our course southward, and were 
 safe past before bedtime, but have been going slowly, with 
 a strong head wind. 
 
 November 11. 
 
 Off the coast of Nova Scotia. Last night at one o'clock 
 we got to Halifax. We had a very noisy night of it — 
 boxes going out and boxes coming in, and passengers ditto. 
 
 I have walked one lady about the deck for an hour, 
 and talked half an hour to another, and another half-hour 
 with Thackeray, who was laid up in his berth. I was 
 called on deck to see the ' Niagara ' steaming away eastward 
 from Halifax, some eight miles to the south of us. I am 
 
AMERICA 189 
 
 perhaps a little sick of the amount of intimacy which en, 
 forces itself upon one under the circumstances of f ellow- 
 passengership. It is to be ended, however, to-morrow. 
 
 There was speechifying and toasting at dinner yester- 
 day in the usual approved style. All our healths were 
 drunk at the lunch-dinner. Thackeray, of course, was 
 drunk ; then Mr. Degen proposed Lowell, the American 
 poet ; and Lowell, in returning thanks, proposed the 
 English poet — me ! — and all the people stared at this 
 extraordinary piece of information, and I made my very 
 modest speech, &c. &c. 
 
 I have been interrupted by a discourse on the Fugitive 
 Slave Law by a citizen of Hartford, Connecticut, who 
 takes, not the anti-slavery view, and affirms that the North 
 is quite satisfied. The Lowells meantime are fervent Abo- 
 litionists, 
 
 Tremont House, Boston : Monday, November 15, 1852. 
 
 Here I am an established Bostonian. Friday arrived 
 at sunset ; found Thackeray already at this hotel, and that 
 I had been inquired for. Supped with Thackeray & Co., 
 and went to bed. 
 
 Saturday. — Lady Lyell takes me to the Ticknors ; go 
 to Dr. Howe's office, close by here, and see him ; presently 
 in comes young Mr. Norton, and afterwards Mrs. Howe. 
 Leave letters on the Appletons and Abbott Lawrences. 
 In returning meet Norton, with whom I swear eternal 
 friendship ; he takes me and introduces me at the Athen- 
 aeum, and at a Club, and we walk and talk till 2.30. 
 
 Then I dine at the hotel, at the 'Ladies' Ordinary,' 
 with Thackeray and the Lyells ; then lionise with Thacke- 
 ray and his friend Crowe through the streets, till it is time 
 to go off to the railway, which at 6.45 carries me off to 
 Concord, to Emerson. Mrs. Emerson is out, with her 
 eldest girl. Old Mrs. Emerson, called ' Madam,' is sitting 
 
190 LETTERS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 in the room — a small, benevolent-looking, large-eyed old 
 lady, the original of Ralph Waldo. 
 
 Sunday. — Loads of talk with Emerson all morning. 
 Breakfast at eight displays two girls and a boy, the family. 
 Dinner at 2.30. Walk with Emerson to a wood with a 
 prettyish pool. Concord is very bare (so is the country in 
 general) ; it is a small sort of village, almost entirely of 
 wood houses, painted white, with Venetian blinds, green 
 outside, with two white wooden churches — one with a stone 
 fa9ade of Doric columns, however. Emerson's ancestor 
 brought his congregation here from Gloucestershire (I think) 
 in the year 1635. 
 
 There are some American elms, of a weeping kind, and 
 sycamores, i.e. planes ; but the wood is mostly pine — white 
 pine and yellow pine — somewhat scrubby, occupying the 
 tops of the low banks, and marshy hay land between, v&rj 
 brown now. A little brook runs through to the Concord 
 river. 
 
 At 6.30, tea and Mr. Thoreau ; and presently Mrs. 
 EUery Channing, Miss Channing, and others. 
 
 This morning I came away at a quarter to nine : a hard 
 frost. To-day I have seen Norton, and called on Charles 
 Sumner. To-morrow I am to dine with Norton, to meet 
 Eelton, the Greek Professor, at the Club ; and the next day 
 at his father's, and to call on Longfellow, who called on me. 
 
 I like Boston. There is a sort of park, ' the Common,' 
 with iron railings, and houses something like the Piccadilly 
 row above the Green Park, only all residences without 
 shops — one built by Governor Hancock, whose name is 
 first in the Declaration of Independence, quite an old- 
 fashioned George II. house ; the others later, of red brick, 
 with balustrading and carving, many of them. It is really 
 very tolerably English in the town. The harbour is very 
 pretty. It is like a very good sort of English country town 
 in some respects. 
 
AMERICA 191 
 
 People dine here at 2.30 regularly, and ask you to dine 
 then. Fashionable dinners at five. At evening parties you 
 are supposed to have had tea, and to want supper. 
 
 Alas ! I have not seen a garden yet in Massachusetts. 
 Emerson's little girl, however, brought in some small 
 ' pens^es,' which she called ' lady's delights,' and some other 
 little things that did for flowers. Edith is a very nice 
 child, and will be eleven next Monday. ' When I was 
 going to be nine years old I didn't know how I should feel.' 
 ' Well, and how did you feel ? ' ' Oh, I didn't feel anyhow.' 
 
 I had Abolition pretty well out with Emerson, with 
 whom one can talk with pleasure on the subject. His view 
 is in the direction of purchasing emancipation. I send a 
 bit of bark from a birch in Emerson's wood lot, the white 
 or papyra birch, from which the Indians make canoes. I 
 remember long years ago seeing these birches on a hill near 
 Lebanon Springs, up which we children were taken to look 
 out over a tract of country which we were told was Massa- 
 chusetts. 
 
 November 19. 
 
 I am to settle at Cambridge next Tuesday. I suppose 
 I shall by degrees find out the defects of the Yankee at 
 home, but certainly they are very kind. 
 
 Here, in Boston, I am ' the celebrated author of " The 
 Bothie," ' a whole edition of which was printed and sold, 
 they say, here. 
 
 Houses are sadly dear, one is told, both in Cambridge 
 and Boston ; and things in general are said to be expensive, 
 meat and drink excepted. Drink, however, in the shape of 
 wine and spirits, is actually forbidden. Temperance is 
 established by law. Only those who have stocks on hand 
 of their own can drink ; a few sellers, whose licenses have 
 not expired, can sell. But after that there will be no sell- 
 ing at all. This is called Maine Law, and is said to be of 
 
192 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 great beaefit in the country places, crime being greatly re- 
 duced. Dr. Howe gives no wine ; at Mr. Dwight's there was 
 sherry and Madeira, but hardly any was drunk : three very 
 small glasses apiece by the gentlemen — ^by the ladies none. 
 Wine and spirits are certainly not required where there 
 is so much stimulant in the air ; even tea and coffee may be 
 well dispensed with. The best drink for the climate, I think, 
 is cocoa. 
 
 November 21. 
 
 Yesterday Emerson gave a grand dinner, in honour of 
 my poor self apparently, at the Tremont House, where were 
 Longfellow, Hawthorne, Greenough the sculptor, Charles 
 Sumner, Theodore Parker, Ellery Channing, Lowell, and 
 five others — a very swell dinner, I assure you. 
 
 November 22. 
 
 I have been up and have called on Mr. Prescott and Mr. 
 Winthrop. Cambridge is three miles from Boston, with 
 omnibuses every quarter of an hour, and also a railway. 
 The cold increases ; snow is announced, but has not come 
 yet here, though it has in most parts. 
 
 Cambridge : November 24. 
 
 Here I am settled at Cambridge in my own apartments, 
 with all but my books about me : in-doors and out-of-doors, 
 north-west wind and hard frost. 
 
 To-morrow, which is Thanksgiving Day, the old Puri- 
 tan substitute for Christmas Day, I have promised to go to 
 church with the Nortons. The Congregationalists, Baptists, 
 and Unitarians all unite for the day, in the Unitarian 
 building. 
 
 A young lady, the other night, after I was introduced, 
 told me she had had the pleasure of looking at me (the 
 celebrated author !) at a party a few nights before. The 
 
AMERICA 193 
 
 force of compliment could no further go. I very much 
 doubt, however, whether the fact of my authorship has 
 reached the serene nostrils of the Boston magnates, though 
 Longfellow fully recognises the high merit of the Pastoral. 
 
 November 26. 
 
 In some respects this is a barren and shallow soil ; but 
 it is an immense thing to feel that you really are in all 
 likelihood wanted, whereas in London one was wasted in 
 occupying a place which some one else wished for. I shall 
 send you an American edition of the poor old ' Bothie.' 
 People here put it on their drawing-room tables, and think 
 it innocent enough, which indeed, believe me, it really is : 
 a little boyish, of course, but reaUy childishly innocent. I 
 read it nearly through the other morning, which I had not 
 done since the time of its first appearance ; but I had heard 
 it alluded to so much, I thought it my duty to see what it 
 was Uke. 
 
 Longfellow is a very good fellow ; he gave us quite an 
 English dinner yesterday. He had just received a present 
 of grouse, pheasants, and milk-punch from some one he 
 had been civil to, and issued immediately his invitations : 
 Norton, Felton, Lowell, and me. 
 
 November 28. 
 Here I am with my first Anglo-American pupil, aged 
 seventeen, at his first day's work. He is a descendant of 
 the old Governor Winthrop, of Cromwell's times. He is to 
 come three hours a day till July. But I should not wonder 
 if before that he were across the Rocky Mountaias, or 
 filibustering in Cuba, or sowing other wild oats a lajeune 
 Amdriccdne. Here, however, in bodily form, to the extent 
 of sis foot one, he is, turning Greek into English, neither 
 better nor worse, before me at the present moment. It is 
 agreeable after a fashion to be at work again ; and teach- 
 
 
 
194 LETTEES OF AKTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 ing Greek is a very innocent trade at any rate— as innocent, 
 I should think, as most. 
 
 Last night I went to tea at Mrs. 's. I like herself 
 
 very much ; not equally so some of her friends ; they do 
 the satirical and the sarcastic, and the ill-natured and the 
 fastidious, and the intellectual and all that, for which one 
 had better go back to London. 
 
 December 5. 
 
 This winter is extraordinarily mild : to-day a little hoar 
 frost, but bright sunshine all the same. The difference 
 here in general is, that there is bright daylight from 6^ a.m. 
 to near 6 p.m., even now just before the shortest day. You 
 know we are in the latitude of Rome. 
 
 Yesterday I walked, from three to six, towards the river 
 Mystic ; to-day across the river Charles (which is close here, 
 running under the low bank of Cambridge), towards Brook- 
 line and Roxbury, which was rather pretty ; but everything 
 is sadly bare — no hedges, and not many trees. The only 
 green trees now, of course, are the firs, which are much 
 like the spruce firs in England. There is a sort of jumper, 
 which grows high like a cypress, or even higher, and is 
 pretty. 
 
 Yesterday I had a walk with James Lowell to a very 
 pretty spot, Beaver Brook. Then I dined with him, his 
 wife, and his father, a fine old minister, who is stone deaf, 
 but talks to you. He began by saying that he was bom an 
 Englishman, i.e. before the end of the Revolution. Then 
 he went on to say, ' I have stood as near to George III. 
 as to you now ; ' 'I saw Napoleon crowned Emperor ; ' 
 then, ' Old men are' apt to be garrulous, especially about 
 themselves ; ' ' I saw the present Sultan ride through Con- 
 stantinople on assuming the throne ; ' and so on — all in a 
 strong clear voice, and in perfect sentences, which you saw 
 him making beforehand. And all one could do was to bow 
 
AMERICA 195 
 
 and look expressive, for he could only just hear when his 
 son got up and shouted in his ear. 
 
 December 14. 
 
 I am to read a lecture here on English literature, gratis ; 
 but if I should read it two or three times after that, I may 
 make it pay something worth speaking of. One lecture 
 may be read as much as a hundred times. It is rather a 
 distinction, though a barren one, to read it, as I shall, the 
 first time here in Cambridge ; at least the other lecturers 
 in the same course are Professors, and it was thought it 
 would make me known in College. 
 
 Look here at this little incident in illustration of 
 manners and customs. I find, in the middle of my small 
 breakfast, that there is no sugar, so I ring ; no one comes, 
 and I do without. About a quarter of an hour after comes 
 the Irishwoman, and says, ' Did ye want anything when ye 
 rang ? I was sorry I couldn't come just then. I thought 
 it was to take away, and I wasn't through my breakfast. 
 ' I wasn't through ' is the universal Yankee for ' I hadn't 
 done.' ' Are you through 1 ' for ' Have you done ? ' con- 
 tinually occurs. 
 
 A school for boys or girls is what all the good advisers 
 give as their best advice — Felton, Longfellow, G. Emerson. 
 I am content to do this till I am forty, at any rate. I 
 think often of the plan of joining somebody who is in the 
 trade already. But this seems not after Yankee fashion ; 
 everybody is for himself. Mr. George Emerson's school for 
 girls is conducted entirely by himself, with lady-teachers 
 under him. 
 
 Last night I met Miss Sedgwick, a vigorous-looking 
 lady of fifty, perhaps. James Lowell, who has written the 
 poems, is cousin to John Lowell, whose father founded the 
 Lowell Institution for lectures. One of the family was 
 the first setter up of manufactures here, and, as it were, 
 
 02 
 
196 LETTERS OF AUTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 founded the town of Lowell. There is a town Lawrence, 
 called after Abbott Lawrence, in like manner. 
 
 I felt to-day as if I could be content to settle down here 
 in America for good and all, very fairly indeed ; there is 
 less that is wrong here, on the whole, though less that is 
 great. I was just reflecting that it is better to be out 
 here, and be away from London ; and yet sometimes when 
 I was there, I thought it was dreadful to be torn away 
 from what I was learning and feeling and seeing. Now it 
 seems as if all my time there had been wrongly employed, 
 and that it is an excellent thing to have got away. How- 
 ever, it is more perhaps what one escapes than what one 
 gets. 
 
 Shall I tell you what an Old Hunker is ? — a high-and- 
 dry Tory ; and Democrats are the Radicals, the party now 
 victorious over the Whigs, who are the same as our Tories. 
 Ticknor, Prescott, and Co. are Old Hunkers ; Hawthorne 
 is a Democrat ; Emerson is a Free Soiler. If I were to 
 be anything (on the Slavery question) I should be a Free 
 Soiler, which only means that you won't have any new 
 Slave States. I wouldn't interfere with existing Slave 
 States, except to intimate that the central Government is 
 ready to assist in any measure any Slave State will propose 
 for getting rid of slavery ; i.e. to give compensation. I 
 believe the Fugitive Slave Law was a piece of truckling to 
 the South — quite an unnecessary concession. 
 
 January 3, 1853. 
 
 There is no stiffness here, I think. The s do the 
 
 grand a little ; and the s are exclusive, but not grand ; 
 
 and the Nortons are neither grand nor exclusive — very 
 kind-hearted and good. Charles Norton is the kindest 
 creature in the shape of a young man of twenty-five that 
 ever befriended an emigrant stranger anywhere. 
 
 I am not at all a distinguished literary man in some 
 
AMERICA 197 
 
 eyes here, remember ; and as for poets, ' there are four 
 poets in Cambridge,' said some one to me the other day — 
 ' Mr. Longfellow, and you, and Mr. Batcheldor, and Mr. 
 something else.' I had, however, to send an autograph to 
 Cincinnati ; two hexameter verses, observe. 
 
 Written by A. H. Clougli, for a reader at Cincinnati. 
 Witness his hand and seal this 26th of December. 
 
 Ladies here usually carve and bring you things,, even 
 at great suppers ; no man seems expected to carve for a 
 lady, and they don't get up when the ladies leave the 
 dining-room, nor open the door, except casually. Only in 
 omnibuses, and the cars — as they call railway trains — they 
 expect you to give your place up ; some, I believe, will even 
 ask. The worst thing is the service. Servants are very 
 indifferent — dirty, uninstructed Irish, who are very slow in 
 learning to be clean, and very quick in learning to be inde- 
 pendent, and ' I'm as good as you ' in their manners. 
 
 Some people here do manage very nicely, but mostly 
 there is the feeling that there is nobody to do things for 
 you. A meal is rather a matter of business than of enjoy- 
 ment. It is transacted. They don't sit over it like rational 
 beings ; they do it like washing their hands, or as people 
 dress who have got an engagement to be down to. 
 
 Last night I read miy lecture, and it seems to have done 
 very well. Afterwards I went to supper to James Lowell, 
 and stayed there from 8.30 to 1 A.M. Thackeray came at 
 ten ; Longfellow, Dana, Quincy, Estes Howe, Felton, Fields, 
 and another. Puns chiefly, but Dana is really amusing. 
 Thackeray doesn't sneer ; he is really very sentimental ; 
 but he sees the silliness sentiment runs into, and so always 
 tempers it by a little banter or ridicule. He is much farther 
 into actual life than I am ; I always feel that, but one 
 can't be two things at once, you know. 
 
 Here's a story — Mr. Dana of himself. Mr. Dana lectures 
 
198 LETTERS OP AETHUE HUGll CLOUGH 
 
 in a country town ; walks home to sleep, after it, with the 
 
 ' President of the Lyceum,' a country farmer. Dead 
 
 silence. Farmer : ' Mr. Dana, I blieve you wrote a book 
 once?' 'Yes.' 'Waal, I never read it myself j my f oaks 
 have, though.' Dead silence again : arrival home. The 
 wife, an invalid (accented thus in America), as farmers' 
 wives mostly are, hasn't been at lecture, and states her 
 sorrow, &c. Farmer : ' My dear ! b'lieve you've read Mr. 
 Dana's book.' Wife looks deadly blank, says at last, ' She 
 b'lieves she's heard speak of it.' They sit down, and the 
 apples are brought in. A little black-eyed, sharp-looking, 
 school-frequenting daughter comes in. Farmer : ' Susan 
 'Liza, ! you've read Mr. Dana's " Two Years before the 
 Mast."' Susan 'Liza (quickly) : 'No, sir.' Dead silence 
 till bed- time. 
 
 Here are some stories which Webster told of his youth. 
 His father was a small farmer in New Hampshire, and had 
 helped one of his neighbours, who afterwards removed and 
 went into the woods. Daniel was going in that direction 
 to College, and his father told him to inquire after these 
 people. He went, found them in a log hut, and said he 
 would stop Sunday with them, to which they were agreeable. 
 At supper-time the father of the family said to him that 
 for the present they were living upon grass. And grass 
 fried with lard did actually constitute supper, breakfast, 
 dinner, and every meal ; and, said Webster, ' It wasn't 
 so bad either.' At parting, the man said to him, ' Well, 
 Daniel, what are you going to be ? A minister 1 they're 
 all hypocrites. A doctor 1 they're all impostors ; and 
 lawyers, all cheats. No honest young man would be any 
 of these trades. But there is a trade I can tell you of, by 
 which you can make your fortune. There used to be one 
 or two in it, but I don't know of any in these parts now : 
 you'd have it all to yourself. I don't know how it's done, 
 but it's by larning, some ways. ' You'd best be a conjuror. 
 
AMEEICA 199 
 
 When a man loses his cow, the conjuror tells him where it 
 is ; don't know how ; by larniag tho'.' ' Which advice,' 
 said Webster, ' might have materially changed my after 
 life.' 
 
 Another story. Webster's father had a neighbour who 
 was an honest, well-behaved man, only given to drink. 
 Once when drunk he took his rifle and shot two friendly 
 Indians. The Indians demanded to have him given up, 
 and the people put him in jaU. But his friends thought it 
 hard he should be hung for killing Indians, and they broke 
 open the prison and sent him off to Canada. The Indians 
 vowed they would be revenged on him all the same. He 
 lived in Canada with his wife and children some time ; but 
 whether it was terror or conscience, at last he made up his 
 mind and left them, and went to the Indians and said, 
 ' It was I killed your two chiefs ; here am I, do what you 
 please with me.' So the Indians were astonished, and con- 
 sidered the matter, and said, ' No, you shall be our chief.' 
 And there he remained with them the rest of his days. 
 
 January 8. 
 
 Snow and sleighing in full force. The omnibuses are 
 all on runners in sleigh fashion ; wheels are everywhere 
 discarded. 
 
 January 10. 
 
 Thermometer down at 5° at sunset yesterday ; so must, 
 I think, have got down to — 5° during the night. 
 
 For me, I was taken yesterday to the College chapel, 
 where an eminent Unitarian preached on the parable of 
 the prodigal son, or rather, against the said parable. To 
 be sure there was joy, because it was so very uncommon 
 and surprising a thing when a sinner repented. It was a 
 thing that very rarely indeed came to pass. 
 
 I sometimes think that my course is one that must be 
 
200 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 walked alone, and that it is altogether too unpleasant and 
 poverty stricken for married happiness. I sometimes, 
 ■when I have heard people here talk, for example, of Theo- 
 dore Parker, as if he were the scum of the earth, think that 
 it will not do to keep silence. I have no particular love 
 for Theodore Parker ; but he is so manifestly more right 
 than the people who despise him, I cannot, I think, in 
 right altogether remain silent and acquiesce. It looked to 
 me as if orthodoxy (of the Unitarian kiad) was as bad for 
 me as any reaUer orthodoxy elsewhere. 
 
 Anecdotes of the old clergy here are very rife : they 
 were quite an aristocracy, and could do as they pleased more 
 than anyone else, which now nobody can at all. They were 
 appointed for life, with fixed incomes ; this is not the case 
 so generally now. Religious opinions contrary to the or- 
 thodox Unitarianism are represented as much disliked here. 
 
 Mrs. says Boston ladies suffer in their health 
 
 through the endless trouble of keeping servants doing 
 things properly and nicely ; that the only way to live is to 
 live rudely and simply. I think she is right. Ornament 
 in America is a failure. As England stands to France, so 
 America to England for ornamental things. 
 
 January 20. 
 
 I have just had a new pupU ; he is a very good feUow 
 and eager to learn, and a ' senior,' i.e. a fourth year student 
 in the College. I am also going to write an article on the 
 Oxford Commission in the 'North American Review.' 
 Another book matter is, that Little & Brown, the head 
 booksellers here, want me to help towards republishing 
 Langhorne's Plutarch. I am to have discretion to do it as 
 I like, and ^350 for the work. 
 
 My fancy at present is, if possible, to live here in a 
 humble way, take a few pupils, and do booksellers' work or 
 lecture, and so make up an income. I think it will be less 
 
AMERICA 201 
 
 fatiguing and less hazardous than setting up a school, 
 which any rumour of heterodoxy might upset. And I do 
 think that I can teach Greek better than most Yankee 
 Grecians. 
 
 January 29. 
 
 Yesterday evening out in a sleigh and four horses, with 
 seven ladies and one youth, making nine in all, to Jamaica 
 Plain, four miles off. I was put into a buffalo skin, which 
 indeed was desirable, though it was not very cold. Sleighs, 
 you know, are all open ; some are like great barges, carry- 
 ing thirty people inside, sitting all round, drawn by per- 
 haps eight horses. 
 
 There is living here in Cambridge a Greek named 
 Evangelinus Sophocles, who was bred up in a monastery, 
 I think, on Mount Athos, and afterwards in a branch of it 
 at Alexandria, What strange recollections he must have ! 
 
 February 4. 
 
 Sleep as much as you can, eat plentifully, but don't 
 drink wine or spirits much. Such is the rule they give for 
 New England living. 
 
 I don't think I shall ever do much work alone, not 
 from laziness, but really from having no proper rest to go 
 to after it. I feel as if I had a good deal of work in me, 
 but it takes time to bring it out ; and the mere drudgery of 
 the Plutarch, though not disagreeable, takes a deal of time. 
 
 I am, I know, sometimes carried away into a world of 
 abstraction when I write or study, or so forth. 1 believe 
 my ambition also, such as I have (it is only lately that I 
 have begun to believe that it exists in my composition at 
 all), tends in that direction. Yet I am always so glad to 
 come away from it. It is odd how much better I like this 
 Plutarch than I do anything which requires distinct state- 
 ment oi~ opinion. Yet it bothers me a good deal, for mend- 
 
202 LETTERS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 ing up an old translation seems often like putting new wine 
 into old bottles. They would hardly allow time, or else I 
 could almost believe it would be best even for my own sake 
 to spend time in translating it myself. 
 
 I, I am sure, have always been inclined to believe in 
 the good of the world, and have always acted on that 
 belief, except for a brief interval (just when I was in Lon- 
 don), and even then it was partly that I was afraid lest I 
 should be trusting my own vague hopefulness too unreason- 
 ably. Turn the thing over as we wUl, we can't make sure ; 
 but doubt as we will about things in particular, we can, 
 for the whole, feel sure. 
 
 Fires of wood are the pleasantest one sees here : there 
 is anthracite coal and another coal, which T bum mixed. 
 In many houses the rooms are heated only by the furnace, 
 which is found in almost all houses — a great stove down 
 below in the cellar, with pipes sent through the various 
 rooms, and what are called registers. What impairs the 
 beauty and youthfulness of the American women is, I be- 
 lieve, their hot fires and furnaces, and the dryness of the 
 heat given by the anthracite coal. But Mrs. Longfellow 
 looks as youthful as possible. 
 
 February 9. 
 
 Look in the ' Fraser ' of this month for some verses 
 about Napoleon and the Duke of Wellington ; Napoleon's 
 dying words ' Tete d'arm^e.' The Duke didn't say anything, 
 did he ? I went on that supposition. It has been beauti- 
 fully bright and sunny here to-day : there is always that 
 advantage here. The thermometer is down to 6° or 7° 
 to-night, I dare say. 
 
 I think I must have been getting into a little mysticism 
 lately. It won't do ; twice two are four, all the world over, 
 and there's no harm in itsbeing so ; 'tisn't the devil's doing 
 that it is ; il faut s'y soumettre, and all right. Some of my 
 
AMEKICA 203 
 
 companions are too much in the religiose vein to be always 
 quite wholesome company. This climate also is, I think, 
 mystical. 
 
 February 10. 
 Only ten pages of Plutarch done to-day. But at twelve 
 Emerson appeared, and after sitting awhile with me took 
 me off to dine in town with him. He is just come back 
 from the West. I go to stay Sunday with him, week after 
 next. I dined at his hotel, and sat in his room with him 
 talking till a quarter to five, and then came home to Plu- 
 tarch. 
 
 Drive deep the furrow in the sluggish soil, 
 E'en to the rock force in the labouring share ; 
 Earth, that with starveling ears mocks niggard toil, 
 To pain and strife will golden harvests bear. 
 
 This Plutarch is not a religious subject, fortunately. I 
 have rather the feeling that one day or other it will have to 
 be done, whatever I do now, and however undesirous I may 
 be. The only thing to keep one quiet is the perfect readi- 
 ness to be unquiet at any moment that may call for it or 
 occasion it. 
 
 February 18. 
 
 Two hours and a bit at an evening party. C'en est trap. 
 However, there were some few reasonable beings there. I 
 don't much like going to parties, or rather do not approve 
 of their profuse expenditure of one's finest spirits : however, 
 one must harden oneself. People are cleverer, and know 
 more over there, though perhaps they are more unworldly 
 and a;miable here. 
 
 WiU you think it wrong if I do what I think best in 
 itself, even if it don't seem the quickest way to get on ? 
 Apropos of this Plutarch, I feel sometimes as if I must not 
 
204 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 trifle away time in anything which is not really a work to 
 some purpose, and that any attempt to be happy except in 
 doing that would be mere failure, even i£ apparently success- 
 ful. It sometimes seems to be said to me that I must 
 do this, or else ' from him that hath not shall be taken 
 away even that which he seemeth to have.' There is no- 
 thing very terrible in this, but I cannot get myself to look 
 at things as mere means to money-making ; and yet, if I 
 do not, I seem in some sense guilty. It may be the san- 
 guine atmosphere of a new country has filled me with a 
 vain confidence of there being really something in me to be 
 done beyond mere subsistence. In London I felt myself 
 pretty well helpless to effect anything. 
 
 ' Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, 
 and all these things shall be added unto you.' Is there any 
 application for that, I wonder, nowadays ? 
 
 February 21. 
 
 Just back at Cambridge after my visit to Emerson. I 
 was rather sleepless there, but it is very good to go to him. 
 He appears to take things very coolly, and not to meddle 
 with religious matters of any kind. Since visiting him, I 
 feel a good deal more reconciled to mere ' subsistence ' ; if 
 one can only have a little reasonable satisfactory intercourse 
 now and then, subsistence may be to some purpose. But to 
 live in a vain show of society would not do long. The 
 Boston people have been too well ofi', and don't know the 
 realities. Emerson is really substantive. 
 
 Cambridge is a town or a city, or both, if you like. It 
 is a huge district, a parish (which here they call a town) of 
 several square miles, with roads stretching away here and 
 there and everywhere, andhousesall alongthem and off themi 
 It is called a city because it has a Mayor and Corporation ; 
 but it is more like a big suburban district, a sort of Clapham 
 or Highgate. There is scarcely anything that is a street. 
 
AMERICA 205 
 
 properly speaking ; but there are acres of roads with houses 
 along them, and cross lanes with houses too. 
 
 The College at Cambridge consists of a collection of 
 old red-brick buildings, with a library of modern granite. 
 There are students' rooms, much in our style, only humbler. 
 The boys at College live partly in lodgings, partly in halls, 
 under some little superintendence, much like College rooms ; 
 only they don't dine together, but all about, in families, (fee. 
 They learn French, and history, and German, and a great 
 many more things than in England, but only imperfectly. 
 
 Febraary 23. 
 
 Just returned from dinner with the Longfellows, where 
 I met Mrs. Stowe and her husband ; only I to meet them. 
 She is small, and quiet, and unobtrusive, but quick and ready- 
 witted enough. Her husband is a very pleasant, good- 
 humoured country minister, with keen black eyes. He has 
 been in England before ; she never. 
 
 I have done my article for the ' North American ' ; not 
 very well ; but that can't be helped ; it is not in a wrong 
 style of speaking, which is the main thing I care for. I have 
 put a pretty good tail to a poor body, Uke a squirrel. It is 
 very cold to-night, and the wind bloweth where it listeth in 
 this room of mine. 
 
 Are you aware that life is very like a railway ? One 
 gets into deep cuttings and long dark tunnels, where one 
 sees nothing and hears twice as much noise as usual, and 
 one can't read, and one shuts up the window, and waits, and 
 then it all comes clear again. Only in life it sometimes 
 feels as if one had to dig the tunnel as one goes along, all 
 new for oneself. Go straight on, however, and one's sure 
 to come out into a new country, on the other side the hUls, 
 sunny and bright. There's an apologue for you ! 
 
 Here is a little story about Napoleon told to me by 
 S. C, and told to him by some old soldier in Switzerland or 
 France, probably a courier. This man was one of the 
 
206 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 cuirassiers, and was in the Russian campaign, and at his 
 first battle was riding on to the charge, when suddenly he 
 found his kettle (they all carry their kettles behind them) 
 had dropped. So he jumped oflF, and was picking it up, when 
 somebody called out, ' H^ ; cuirassier, que fais-tu Ik ? ' He 
 looked up and saw the Emperor. Touching his hat (which 
 he did also in repeating it), ' Ah, votre Majesty j'avais 
 perdu ma chaudifere.' ' En avant,' replied the Emperor, ' les 
 Russes en ont.' 
 
 March 9. 
 
 Just returned from a little party, to which I went in a 
 very bad humour, but have returned in much better. A 
 pleasant tiny old house, the oldest in Cambridge, perhaps, 
 that is really a pleasure to one's eyes ; beams across the ceil- 
 ings, and solid wood-work, and so forth. I went at nine, and 
 back at half -past ten ; that also is the right thing. Tea, 
 coffee, and chocolate ; that also is sensible. 
 
 I am almost persuaded to be an Abolitionist, which, how 
 ever, is not true ; but I am a decided Free Soiler for the pre- 
 sent, and entirely give up the cause of the Fugitive Slave Law. 
 
 Emerson is the only profound man in this country. 
 There are some other nice people at Concord ; but for 
 society generally the advantage is greatly on the side of 
 Cambridge. Concord would be but dull, but the walks are far 
 prettier than here. It is nearly an hour's journey from 
 Boston. People don't the least despise one for being poor in 
 Cambridge, and indeed I recommend them not ! There are 
 
 two Miss ■ and their mother living here ; their father, 
 
 now dead, was American minister for many years at 
 
 and ; and now one Miss teaches French, and the 
 
 other music. My opinion is that the true position in this 
 country is that of comparative poverty. No sort of real 
 superiority of breeding or anything attaches as it does in 
 England to the rich. The poor man can get his children 
 
AMKEICA 207 
 
 educated at the public schools, to which the rich children go 
 also, for nothing, prepared for College even. And very 
 few people indeed are so rich by patrimony as not to be in 
 business. 
 
 What I mean by mysticism, is letting feelings run on 
 without thinking of the reality of their object, letting them 
 out merely like water. The plain rule in all matters is, not 
 to think what you are thinking about the question, but to 
 look straight out at the things and let them affect you ; 
 otherwise how can you judge at all ? look at them at any rate, 
 and judge while looking. I was just now looking into a book 
 of verse which I brought with me, at what is called there 
 li/ivoc dv/xvof; ; it wants a good deal of mending as it stands, 
 but it is on the whole in sense very satisfactory to me still. 
 However, we shall learn more together, I do not doubt. 
 The only way to become really religious is to enter into 
 those relations and those actualities of life which demand 
 and create religion. 
 
 In the years 1844 and 1845 I was in very great force, 
 and used to be taken for an undergraduate just come up to 
 College. I am wiser perhaps now, but I have lost a good 
 deal to become so. 
 
 March 16. 
 Here comes a letter from Carlyle, about my coming 
 home and about the Council Office. I tell him I shall be 
 very glad to come home, arxi very grateful to be brought ; 
 but I don't dwell on what must be an uncertainty. I should 
 like you, even if it were but for a little while, to see this 
 worthy Yankee-land. From the specimens I occasionally 
 meet with, I infer it to be a good deal the best part of the 
 American Republic. But I should like to see the West. 
 
 March 30. 
 This morning I went for a walk of an hour and a half to 
 
208 LETTERS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Fresh Pond, the pond where they cut the ice to go to 
 England, India, or wherever it may be. There are odd 
 birds here. The rooks fly to the South, and have just 
 reappeared ; that is, I have seen one. There is a bird about 
 as big as a starling, with a black head, and a slight tinge 
 of red on the breast ; this they call the robin. There are 
 little things they call sparrows, more like sedge-birds, I 
 think ; and black-birds with long tails, that hold Sun- 
 day meetings in the pines, bigger than ours. But the 
 prettiest bird I have seen is the blue-bird, rather less than 
 the robin, with blue back and wings, and a red-tinted breast, 
 somethiag like a bullfinch, only larger. 
 
 The extremely-respectables of Boston attend ' the Stone 
 Chapel,' an Episcopalian church of old time, whose mini- 
 ster, some thirty years ago perhaps, told his congregation 
 that he had become a Unitarian, and therewith resigned. 
 So they considered and consulted, and said, Well, they 
 liked him very much, and they thought they would turn 
 Unitarians too ; what was good enough for him was likely 
 to be as much as would do very well for them. So they 
 took the English liturgy (for moreover certain endowments 
 depended on the use of the Church liturgy) and cut off the 
 tails of the prayers, and pruned thiags here and there, 
 and lo ! they have a very handsome Common Prayer Book, 
 quite as good as any genuine one. And to this Stone 
 Chapel go all the fashionable Unitarian people of Boston, 
 in their best dresses, just as if they were Church of England 
 people, and are deeply attached to their liturgy just as if 
 it was the real thing. Is not that curious ? 
 
 Did I tell you of the aged Calvinist woman, who being 
 asked about the Universalists, said, ' Yes, they expect that 
 everybody will be saved, but we " look for better things " ? ' 
 
 April 1. 
 I went last night to Dana's, where was pretty nearly 
 
AMEEICA 209 
 
 all Cambridge j and where I had some port wine, I believe 
 the first I have seen since I came to America. He showed 
 us a copy of Hallam's works handsomely bound, received 
 by him in gratitude for his services in their behalf from the 
 negroes of Boston. He defended their cause in some of the 
 trials about the Fugitive Law. 
 
 Before the end of this month the Nortons depart, which 
 will reduce my stock of sociabilities materially. They go in 
 summer to Newport. 
 
 I have already established two decent walks, not to 
 mention a sort of half- hour stroll, at the end of which 
 there is a little spot where one can pause and be solaced. 
 On southern slopes there is positively a slight tinge of green. 
 The common, however, which is level, seems to me as brown 
 as ever it was. Mind you tell me as soon as ever the little 
 ferns begin to curl up out of the ground over with you. 
 
 April 4. 
 
 I have just had my little Ethics class, who seem to enjoy 
 themselves very well, and certainly relieve my inactive life 
 of Plutarchising very pleasantly. This sort of thing, the 
 class of six or seven, is what I have always got on best 
 with. I might get on as far as twelve or fifteen, but after 
 that it gets disagreeable comparatively. I got on famously 
 with some five of the youths at University College with 
 these same Ethics, in the year 1851. 
 
 April 6. 
 To-day is the annual Fast-day, so my little class in 
 Ethics goes to church instead and comes to me to-morrow. 
 People all go to church to-day, and it is a sort of Sunday. 
 Thanksgiving-day in November and Fast-day in March or 
 April are the two State religious observances in Massa- 
 chusetts. 
 
 I am going to send a bit of the Mayflower which grows 
 
 p 
 
210 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 chiefly about Plymouth, where the Pilgrim Fathers landed, 
 and it is called after their ship, ' The Mayflower.' They are 
 rare. The spring is beautiful here also, though so slow. 
 The American weeping elms are extremely graceful, with 
 their long pendent branches hung thick with buds. There 
 are sharpish frosts, however, at times, so that there is no 
 appearance of leaf as yet, except upon these Mayflowers, 
 which I think must have been specially sheltered or forced. 
 I saw, by-the-by, a great bittern at Concord ; it rose from 
 a pond, and makes an odd noise, on account of which they 
 call it the stake-driver. There were some Andromedas, just 
 budding, covering all the banks of the pond. 
 
 General Pierce's speech is not really at all aggressive ; I 
 believe he was forced to say something for his party, but he 
 kept within the lines pretty weU. They say that when he 
 read the passage about territories that must become theirs, 
 there was a general cheer ; and when he went on to say 
 that under his government no movement not perfectly 
 fair and just should be made, there was a dead silence. 
 Everett's speech is made a good deal of ; but I don't think 
 he's up to the mark, and I believe the old Whigs are quite 
 stranded. Circumstances may split the Democrats (Pierce's 
 people), and they may form into parties, one aggressive and 
 the other conservative. Free soil, perhaps. For they say 
 Mexico must be dropping in soon, and then there'll be all 
 the old question of Extension of Slave Area over again. 
 
 I am going to write an article in the ' North American 
 Eeview,' oij recent English poetry. I have been interrupted 
 in my regular quiet Plutarch work, which suits me much 
 better than reviewing Alexander Smith & Co. M. Arnold's 
 ' Tristram ' has been giving me pleasure. 
 
 I have been reading Mrs. Gaskell's ' Ruth ' ; it is really 
 very good, but it is a little too timid, I think. Ruth did 
 well, but there is also another way, and a more hopeful 
 way. Such at least is my feeling. I do not think she has 
 
AMERICA 211 
 
 got the whole truth. I do not think that such overpowering 
 humiliation should be the result in the soul of the not 
 really guilty, though misguided girl, any more than it 
 should be, justly, in the judgment of the world. 
 
 I really am very comfortably settled, on very easy 
 terms with the American world in general, and have no- 
 thing to complain of, except perhaps the fact which appears 
 to be true everywhere, that to get a livelihood one must do 
 work according to other people's fancies, instead of one's 
 own, which of course are the best, but under the circum- 
 stances must give way. 
 
 Do you know the Nortons have been so good as to offer 
 me house-room during their absence at Newport ? so in three 
 weeks' time you must conceive of me as embowered among 
 the pines of Shady Hill, about two-thirds of a mile from 
 this present Mrs. Howe's. It will be cooler too. July, 
 August, and the beginning of September are the hot months. 
 
 April 28. 
 I have had a sort of rheumatic cold. The east winds 
 come in, in the midst of the warmth, with damp icy chills 
 from the icebergs. I have had similar sensations in Italy. 
 This day four years I was in Rome, witnessing the battle in 
 which the French got beaten. 
 
 May 12. 
 Last night I went to a 'reception,' that is the next 
 thing after a wedding. At seven o'clock Miss ' , daughter 
 of a German, once Professor, was united to a German 
 merchant, in the presence of about seventy friends, in their 
 drawing-room. I went, and found the groomsman at the 
 door ; he took me up, led me to the end of the room, where 
 stood the newly-married lady, holding white flowers in her 
 hand. I made my bow, turned to the right, and presented 
 my congratulations to the lady's mother, and retired. And 
 
 P2 
 
212 LETTERS OF AKTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 so the thing went on for a couple of hours nearly. It is 
 quite the old custom, older a great deal than ours, which 
 only dates from the time when the law was passed enacting 
 that all marriages should be performed before twelve at 
 noon, some time in the middle of 1700-1800. 
 
 The most agreeable part of the proceeding was the 
 leave-taking of the young people, who were her friends, 
 which began towards the end of the evening. 
 
 On the whole, I do think that pupilising and writing is 
 my proper vocation, and that if I could afford to stick to it, 
 and do whatever work is offered me really well, I should in 
 time be well paid for it. People talk in their sanguine 
 way, but they don't know how hard it is for the unfortunate 
 solitary schoolmaster to get through his work from day to 
 day : they don't know how, with no real affection to recur 
 to when he is overworked, he is obliged to run no chances 
 of overworking himself ; how he must, as it were, use only 
 his left hand to work with, because he has to liold on with 
 his right for fear of falling altogether. This is not 
 indolence, and so forth. 
 
 Bile mit Weile : das war selbst Kaiser Augustus' Devise. 
 
 I send some lily of the valley, which does not grow wild, 
 however and is not native to America. 
 
 May 21. 
 A man who doesn't go much into the kind of society 
 where people have the chance of going backwards and for- 
 wards, and experimenting, and learning their own minds 
 and other people's minds, and correcting their views by 
 finding out the feelings of others, runs into mistakes more 
 flagrant and irretrievable than hundreds quite as bad really 
 which occur continually. Because he has lived quietly and 
 don« his daily duties, and not gone into dancing and flirta- 
 tion, he has known less about feminine feelings than worse 
 
AMERICA • 213 
 
 "men do, less perhaps also about his own. The mere man's 
 idea of a wife as a helpmate in duty is not in my judgment 
 an insult to womankind, though it may require modification 
 and correction. But if that were the worst sin committed 
 against womankind the world would be better than it 
 is ; and many women, it appears to me, have been misled 
 by their natural aversion to this into accepting worse things. 
 It is a sad thing for a man to feel that by his very steadiness 
 and self-sacrificing in doing his plain duty, he has cut him- 
 seH off from the happiness which women, alas ! are often 
 ready to accord to the indolent and self-indulgent. Indeed, 
 but I fear it is so, very often. 
 
 East winds and rain ; such is our present not at all 
 pleasant dispensation. September, October, November are 
 said to be the most agreeable months here, and April and 
 May the worst. People fly from Boston in the spring, if 
 they are at all consumptive. 
 
 Shady Hill, Cambridge : June 4. 
 
 I woke this morning in a sort of paradise. My room 
 here is a most delightful change from my late narrow crib, 
 consequently I awoke in a sort of ecstasy ; I have not been 
 in aliything like it since I left Combe. It looks south- 
 eastward, right away to Boston, which is full in sight, not 
 much above a mile and a, half off ; and the masts of some 
 shipping are visible, near where, I think, the steamers lie 
 for England. It is a great relief to get into a nice house, 
 with everything pleasant about one. 
 
 On Sunday I walked across a bit of wood and got into 
 a bog, which was all covered with the blue Iris. I picked 
 also some Andromeda and Kalmia. 
 
 This climate certainly is to my somewhat rheumatic 
 constitution extremely trying. Think of passing without 
 notice from 85° in the shade to a cold icy-damp east wind 
 
214 • LETTERS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 of 50°. At three o'clock the thermometer was 89° or 90° 
 in the shade. 
 
 June 15. 
 
 This is a blazing hot day, which makes me truly wish 
 myself in England. But it will pass, and indeed there is a 
 cool breeze ; but that gives one a chill at the same time 
 that one is melting with heat. The autumn is said to be 
 very pleasant, and I myself cared little for the winter. 
 But from the middle of March onward, God help one ! 
 
 I went to Longfellow's and had a very pleasant dinner ; 
 Emerson, Hawthorne, and C. E. Norton. Hawthorne goes 
 July 7. I am going to Emerson's next Saturday. I more 
 and more recognise his superiority to everybody I have 
 seen. 
 
 Energy is a very ordinary thing ; reasonableness is 
 much less common, and does ten times the good. Spurring 
 and lashing is not good ; one loses quite as much in sense 
 and sober discernment as one gains in anything else. 
 
 June 21. 
 It rained heavily in the night. To-day is pretty cool 
 and pleasant, and the rain-drops lie on the broad tulip-tree 
 leaves among the flowers which are now coming out, just 
 through my open window. I came back yesterday from 
 Emerson's, after a pleasant Sunday. I saw Hawthorne 
 again, and his children too, Julian and Una, and a little 
 thing about two years old. Concord is pretty in summer, 
 and a good deal cooler than Cambridge. I saw -also Mar- 
 garet Fuller's mother at Emerson's, and liked her. There 
 were visitors from New York, a young Englishman, and a 
 young German that has married a daughter of Concord, 
 both in the artist line, and living in New York ; and there 
 was quite a little crowd of people in the evening. 
 
AMERICA 215 
 
 June 22. 
 
 The hottest day of the year, 94° or more out of doors 
 and 86° in. But nothing is any real harm but the east 
 wind. 
 
 June 23. 
 Quite cold again, and I have a sore throat with the 
 change. 
 
 June 28. 
 The letter advising me to come home arrived this morn- 
 ing. I have telegraphed foi' my berth, and sail with this 
 letter from New York. 
 
216 LETTEES OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 FEOM 1853 TO 1861. 
 LONDON. 
 
 To Charles Eliot Norton, Esq.., Cambridge, Massachusetts. 
 
 On board the ' Asia ' : July 7, 1853. 
 Here we are, pretty well on our way across, about 2,200 
 miles from New York. 
 
 Mr. Slidell, of Louisiana, and a young man apparently 
 his companion, are perhaps the most unexceptionable 
 human beings that one sees. Some Spaniards from Mexico 
 and Cuba are also pleasant to look at, specially two little 
 boys. A maiden aunt and nephew from Burlington, New 
 Jersey, sit near me, and are not so bad. A horrid woman 
 from New York whines, or rather wheines, or whaines, or 
 even whoines just beyond, whom it is misery even to think 
 of. I feel convinced there is a purgatory for vulgar people. 
 
 Combe Hurst, Surrey : July 15. 
 
 Now I am here I find the case is altered a good deal. 
 Still I like America best ; and, but for the greater security 
 which one has in a fixed salary, would give up all thought of 
 staying here at once. At least I might take the place for a 
 time. It is a temptation, if I am to live the rest of my 
 life chez vous, to secure another year's schooling on this 
 side first ; ttoWo. Se SiiaffKOficvog, in short. 
 
 I like America all the better for the comparison with 
 
LONDON 217 
 
 England on my return. Certainly I think you are more 
 right than I was willing to admit about the position of the 
 lower classes here. I hope you will be able to get along 
 without anything like it, and in any case you have a great 
 blessing in the mere chance of that. Such is my first re- 
 impression. However, it will wear ofi" soon enough, I dare 
 say ; so you must make the most of my admission. 
 Thackeray, they tell me, is full of the kind-heartedness and 
 generousness of the Americans, and is faithful to his purpose 
 of writing no book. 
 
 July 20, 1853. 
 
 The thing is done ; and I am to try my hand in this 
 place. I go to the Education Office on Monday next. 
 With the prospect of being able to marry within the year, 
 I could hardly do otherwise. Yet I could not venture 
 with any comfort without the prospect of America beyond. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Counoil Office : August 29, 1853. 
 
 Really, I may say I am only just beginning to recover 
 my spirits after returning from the young, and hopeful, and 
 humane republic, to this cruel, unbelieving, inveterate old 
 monarchy. There are deeper waters of ancient knowledge 
 and experience about one here, and one is saved from the 
 temptation of flying off into space, but I think you have 
 beyond all question the happiest and best country going. 
 Still the political talk of America, such as one hears it 
 here, is not always true to the best intentions of the country 
 is it? 
 
 Everybody is away from town, except a -few stray 
 lawyers and newspaper contributors. I took a long walk 
 yesterday, calling at Highgate, on the Homers, with a 
 young Morning Chronicler, son of the Vicar of Conway, 
 a first-class man at Oxford, and Eellow of University. 
 
218 LETTERS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 We went on beyond Highgate to a place called Muswell 
 Hill, and thence near Oolney Hatch, near the Great Northern 
 Railway, and across the course of the New River to South- 
 well, where we got some luncheon, and then came back to 
 Hornsey, where we got an omnibus, after walking from 
 12.30 to 5. 
 
 I met the other day, at the Homers', Murray, the ci- 
 devant American, just come from Egypt, and starting for 
 Berne, where he is to have office : he is really very Ameri- 
 can. The Pulskys came in in the evening. I have met Mr. 
 Pulsky three times in the last twelve months perhaps — once 
 in England before I came away ; then at Mrs. Howe's, 
 Boston, with you ; and again yesterday, chez Mrs. Horner. 
 We meet with the utmost unconcern under the oddest 
 changes of circumstances ; it is really very cosmopolitan. 
 
 Well, I go on in the office — operose nihil agendo — very 
 operose, and very nihil too. London is dead empty, or 
 nearly so. The Lords are scampering through the last bills, 
 heaveii knows how many per night. The Commons are off 
 grouse-wards, and scarcely any one remains to ask one to 
 dinner or anything else. 
 
 I am very glad to be enrolled among the <p. (i. k's. What 
 can I do to express my sense of the honour done me ? I as- 
 sure you I am very glad of any tie with my sometime feUow- 
 citizens, if I may so call them. England, we who know 
 America agree, is more endurable because of one's knowledge 
 of America as a refuge. However, my employment in Eng- 
 land is in one respect, namely, in its entire freedom from 
 all spiritual despotism or surveillance, more agreeable than 
 what I used to have. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Council Office : September 21, 1853. 
 I sometimes get overpowered by the burden and weight 
 of European metropolitan life, and am driven in spirit to 
 
LONDON ■ 219 
 
 the solution of Transatlantic new life, but as to the letter 
 of such palingenesy I can't say. I like the quill-driving 
 very ■well. I did not know how tired I had become of 
 pedagogy or 6o2/-driving till I learnt something of it by 
 the change. Beyond that mere fact, however, I do not 
 know that there is much interest in composing sheets of 
 agenda. 
 
 I am very glad to hear something reasonable about 
 American politics. As for naturalisation, it seems to me 
 a little cloud that must cover a good space of the political 
 heavens before long. I think the old countries must aban- 
 don their present doctrine of inalienable right. It seems 
 fair, however, to allow some interval of time ; and in case 
 of ' rebels,' I should say no fully naturalised citizen, far less 
 a man going to be a citizen, can claim with any justice to 
 return to his old country and be protected by his new coun- 
 try. After full five years Kossuth could not without insult 
 go to Vienna, It would be quite enough that he should go 
 to Turkey or the Canton Tessin, which I would claim for 
 liim. 
 
 The old classical system by which closer ties of relation- 
 ship between this country and that, than between this and 
 some third, seems no bad one. Between America and Eng- 
 land, between the British American Colonies in particular 
 and the United States, one would be glad if there could 
 exist some isopolity : that a man might be a citizen in which 
 he pleased, and change' about as he chose. Treaties with 
 different countries might establish different degrees of privi- 
 lege very naturally. Had I remained with you, I would 
 gladly have become an American citizen ; but I should not 
 like to pledge myself to fight against England, except in 
 defence of my new country. It seems to me it would be 
 well if that degree of transfer were open to one. 
 
220 LETTERS OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 To B. W. Emerson, Esq. 
 
 London : Sunday, October 9, 1853. 
 
 People are beginning to return now to their beloved 
 metropolis. Here is a specimen of the sort of thing I used 
 to try and represent to you. I went out this morning to do 
 civilities, this being the only day of the week free for that 
 object. I went first to Mr. Frank Newman, with whom was 
 a certain Dr. Stamm, abroad on a mission to or from a new 
 Religious Union or League — ^he delivering himself of a sort 
 of Anima Mundi Religion ; Humanism, I think they call 
 it ; F. !N". fraternising from a Theistic distance. Thence I 
 got to old Mr. Crabbe Robinson with Liberalism and Abo- 
 litionism, (fee. Then I went across country and made a call 
 in Belgravia, where presently in came two ladies, one of 
 
 whom (called by Mrs. B.'s little girl Miss Lord , being 
 
 sister to Lord ) is a very fair specimen of aristocratic 
 
 tradition. Then I fell in in my walk with Carlyle ; and then 
 two or three other casualties, which I omit. However, 
 these changes of atmosphere do not affect me as they used 
 to do. On the whole, I do not think there is much here 
 you have to envy ; and there is a hopefulness and a belief- 
 fulness, so to say, on your side, which is a great compensa- 
 tion. 
 
 Your woods are in full beauty, I suppose, about this 
 time. There is something visible of autumnal richness even 
 here in the Regent's Park. 
 
 Thackeray is off to Paris. He seems restless and uneasy 
 after his Transatlantic travel. Europe feels small to liim. 
 
 To GJiarks E. Norton, Esq. 
 [On hearing of his father's death.] 
 
 London : October 13, 1853. 
 The news your letter brought was no surprise. The 
 change in your father between the day when you first 
 
LONDON 221 
 
 brought me to Shady Hill, and that when he bade me good- 
 bye before going to Newport, was too great not to give some 
 warning. And, quite recently, the accounts which I had 
 had made me expect that your next letter would be to this 
 purpose. 
 
 My own feeling is really, rather than anything else, that 
 of your happiness in having so long and so much enjoyed 
 the blessing of your father's society. This is all the more 
 striking to me, as I was parted from my father at nine years 
 old, and hardly had begun to know him properly again 
 before his death, soon after I had taken my degree at 
 Oxford. I am truly glad that my visit to America was 
 early enough to let me know your father. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 London : November 29, 1853. 
 It grieved me to the heart to think of my hostages being 
 returned ; and my books, &c. (much as I want them), being 
 already embarked. But thank you very much for discharg- 
 ing that painful duty. I send you M. Arnold's poems. I 
 myself think that the Gipsy Scholar is the best. It is so 
 true to the Oxford country. 
 
 December 9, 1853. 
 
 All news from your side is very acceptable ; political, 
 personal, and first-personal. I do a little Plutarch con- 
 tinually ; only a very little, I fear ; but it always brings 
 up some vision of the Common, or Shady Hill, or the Appian 
 Way, or the road across from your gate towards AUen and 
 Farnham's. Things go on slowly and rather dismally here 
 in the December fog. 
 
 Tell Child not to be too learned about his Chaucer, for 
 my sake ; and, above all, to make the verses scan. I hesi- 
 tate about recommending any indications of the metre in 
 
222 LETTEES OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 the typography. But a set of simple directions, emphatically 
 and prominently given at the outset {e.g. for the sounding 
 or silencing of the final e), will, I think, be essential. People 
 -won't read Chaucer against their ears. 
 
 There is a curious notion afloat among the German 
 extreme Radicals, that Russia is more hopeful than feudal 
 Western Europe ; that the life of the Russian commune is 
 pure democracy ; and except that every member is bound 
 to the soil, and cannot quit it except by placing himself 
 under the quasi-ownership of a seigneur, I believe there is 
 some truth in the statement. However, I don't think we 
 can aflrord to try. 
 
 Carlyle has, like Emerson, just lost his mother; like her, 
 I should think, rather a remarkable woman. He left the 
 Ashburtons' house in Hampshire just after I got there, to 
 go and see her at Ecclefechan, in Annandale. 
 
 Will you tell me, please, what is the amount of rate for 
 schools in Boston and Cambridge ? I am right, am I not, 
 in telling people that children of colour attend the schools 
 at Cambridge, but not at Boston ? 
 
 For a scrap of news — ■ 
 
 Over-worked, over-hnrried, 
 Over-Crokered, over- Hurrayed. 
 
 Such was the monody uttered over himself by the invalided 
 ex-editor of the ' Quarterly,' on retiring for an Italian se- 
 clusion. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 London : February 1854. 
 
 Here we are enjoying cool weather, with about as much 
 light per diem as you get in mid-winter, looking, therefore, 
 very cheerful and sunny. Meantime the Parliament is 
 going to begin its parliamenteering of the new year ; and 
 the Queen, who it was said was afraid her loyal subjects 
 
LOIfDON 223 
 
 might pelt her husband, is, it appears, not afraid, and is 
 going to open session in person. Many people, do you 
 know, really believed Prince Albert was actually sent to 
 the Tower ; and some repairs being in operation in one of 
 the turrets, a large number of people collected to look on, in 
 the belief that apartments were to be fitted up for H.R.H. 
 
 I read your article on Indian Canals with much pleasure 
 and interest. I think it is very well done, and I hope it is 
 all true. I fancy the Company have rather gained in public 
 estimation by their late ordeal of trial. 
 
 Bright, you see, has for the first time come out for the 
 secular system. It is a great accession to that cause, which, 
 however, I think myself cannot prevail for our country in 
 general. For the clergy in the country parishes are almost 
 always the only persons who really exert themselves, the 
 population in general being at present too apathetic to 
 think of managing these matters. But in the municipal 
 towns something perhaps could be done. And certainly all 
 through the land the secular schools should receive govern- 
 ment subsidies, from which at present they are excluded. 
 
 Convocation, you will perhaps observe, is allowed to sit, 
 and there really is to be an effort to set the old church a- 
 going again ; much to its own and other people's alarm. The 
 census, by which it appears that the church people, so far 
 as attending on Census Sunday went, are quite a minority, 
 has taken the world by surprise. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 February 20, 1854. 
 Many thanks for the 'Boston Daily Express.' I do 
 truly hope that you will get the North ere long thoroughly 
 united against any further encroachments. I don't by any 
 means feel that the slave system is an intolerable crime, 
 nor do I think that our system here is so much better ; but 
 
224 LETTEES OP ABTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 it is clear to me that the only safe ground to go upon is that 
 of your Northern States. I suppose the rich and poor 
 difficulties •will be creeping in at New York, but one ■would 
 fain hope that European analogies will not be accepted even 
 there. 
 
 Well, here we are going to war ; and really people after 
 their long and dreary commercial period seem quite glad : 
 the feeling of the war being just is of course a great thing. 
 The enlightened or official opinion of the Turkish troops 
 meantime is extremely low. 
 
 As for the poems, I really do think seriously of accept- 
 ing your benevolent offer, but I don't think I can set to 
 work to unravel my weaved-up follies at the present moment. 
 There are very few, indeed, that I can at all find pleasure 
 in seeing again. 
 
 Is it true, as is said, that Longfellow has resigned 1 If 
 so, he will come over here and run the gauntlet of idolising 
 young ladies, will he not 1 However, I think he is adroit 
 enough to steer through the Belgravian multitude without 
 much damage. 
 
 People talk a good deal about Whewell's book on the 
 ' Plurality of Worlds.' I recommend Pields to pirate it. 
 It is to show that Jupiter, Venus, Saturn, &c., are all pretty 
 certainly uninhabitable, being strange, washy limbos of 
 places, where at the best only mollusks (or in the case of 
 Venus, salamanders) could exist. Hence we conclude that 
 we are the only rational creatures, which is highly satisfactory, 
 and what is more, quite scriptural. Other scientific people, 
 on the other hand, declare it a most presumptuous essay, 
 conclusions audacious, and reasoning fallacious, though the 
 facts are allowed ; and in that opinion I, on the ground 
 that there are more things in heaven and earth than are 
 dreamt of in the inductive philosophy, incline to concur. 
 Meantime, it is thought possible that Whewell may rise to the 
 Episcopate on the wings of the orthodox inductive philosophy. 
 
LONDON 225 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Downing Street : May 9, 1854. 
 
 You will think I am perfide Albion itself. The fact is 
 I have been overwhelmed with work and imaginary respon- 
 sibility. Plutarch goes on, though with huge interruptions. 
 And I was very glad to see Felton. And I obeyed your 
 vermilion edict, and sent some verse by him ; if you do 
 think it worth while to be at the trouble, I will not be 
 ashamed. I have some few Elegiacs and Hexameters, 
 written at Rome duriag my visit there in the time of the 
 siege. 
 
 Politics here are rather colourless. Scotch education is 
 thrown overboard by a coalition between the landowners, 
 establishmentarians, and voluntaries, who have defeated 
 Government by eight votes. The Oxford Bill will pass 
 with a few scratches in committee rather damaging to it, but 
 not very momentous. Gladstone, I think, has done himself 
 great honour by refusing to borrow for the war, but the 
 bankers and great capitalists have been abusing him furiously- 
 By this time you are all scattering to the seas and the hills, 
 and Boston wiU be getting hot and empty, and the shadow 
 of the piues an object of exceeding desire, but for the 
 mosquitoes. 
 
 To R. W. Emerson, Esq. 
 
 Downing Street: June 10, 1854. 
 It is now nearly a twelvemonth since I fled in that 
 precipitate, half-voluntary manner from Massachusetts. 
 Another fortnight will complete the year : and another two 
 days from this will, in all probability, see me married. 
 
 You in the meantime, are in all the turmoil of a re- 
 newed slavery contest. From this distance it almost looks 
 
 Q 
 
226 LETTERS OF AKTHUJB HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 as if the aggression would be of more use in breaking down 
 the idea of compromise than of harm in its actual results. 
 
 I am going on here, working in the office in the ordinary 
 routine, which, however, after years of Greek tuition, is 
 really a very great relief. All education is in England, and 
 I think in America, so mixed up with religious matters, 
 that it is a great difficulty. 
 
 To C. E. Norton, Esq. 
 
 Lea Hurst, Matlock ; June 28, 1854. 
 
 Your letter of congratulation arrived, curiously enough, 
 on the very morning of our marriage, and was a very 
 pleasant incident of the day. Felton's letter, announcing 
 a variety of kind remembrances, came three or four days 
 after, and was, I assure you, a very pleasant surprise 
 indeed. This place strangely reminds me of Shady Hill 
 last summer ; though it is not really very like it, being a 
 house on a broad open bank, a considerable height above 
 the river Derwent, the valley of which it looks down as it 
 flows from Matlock to Derby. Nor have we any of those 
 scorching heats which had begun before I left you, now 
 twelve months ago exactly. I am doing Plutarch, and 
 living in an in-and-out-of-doors sort of way. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Combe Hurst : August 19, 1854. 
 
 I have almost chosen a house, and in six weeks expect 
 to be a householder, with goods and chattels, and the post 
 householder sedens atra cura. 
 
 Cholera is amongst us, as you see, and laying low lords 
 even ; Lord Beaumont (but not by cholera) in the last three 
 weeks, besides Lord Jocelyn. 
 
 Did you see the ' Examiner ' on Mrs. Stowe's ' Sunny 
 Memories ' 1 quite a severe article, and quite unnecessarily 
 
LONDON 227 
 
 so, I should say. The use of quite is a peculiarity which I 
 quite remarked myself, but I think you have quite a right 
 to use it as a substitute, if you please, for our less exact 
 ' very,' and in colloquial writing no one ought to object. I 
 don't see that the old-country English are to have the 
 exclusive right of introducing new expressions. 
 
 To R. W. Emerson, Esq. 
 
 Council Oflaoe, Whitehall : August 22, 1854. 
 
 My dear Emerson, — Your letter about a week ago was 
 very welcome, and the silver candlestick which came in 
 Felton's box of treasures was very much appreciated, and I 
 am to send the kindest possible thanks for it. I only hope 
 fortune may indeed some day waft us over, at least for a 
 visit, to your Northern Vinland. 
 
 Carlyle is, I believe, ruralising at Addiscombe, a few 
 miles out of London, which always does him a great deal of 
 good. I dare say we shall not meet tiU London begins to 
 consider itself alive again in October. 
 
 This country has, as you say, its concentrated civiliza- 
 tion to hold one to it — it seems waste of opportunity to 
 leave such a mass of old knowledge. But I think you are 
 better and more happily off in America, where the vastness 
 of the machinery does not destroy the sense of individual 
 purpose. The ship here is really so big that one cannot see 
 that it moves, or that any one of the Httle petty services 
 which people are for the dear bread's sake set to do, can 
 have any effect one way or another on its motion. If one 
 has a place or business here, one is only standing in some 
 other person's shoes, who really could very likely do the 
 thing as well. 
 
 You are so infinitely more plastic, again, as to opinions 
 than, except in talk, the English are. As for your politics, 
 certainly they do not look well at present, and one is afraid 
 
 Q2 
 
228 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 that New York may after all acquiesce in the/at* accompli, 
 and go back to its farm and its country-house without con- 
 cerning itself further. I am afraid the English theory is, 
 when one has done a wrong thing, to forget it as soon as 
 possible. Farewell ! 
 
 To F. J. Child, Esq., of Cambridge, Massachusetts. 
 
 Downing Street : September 2, 1854. 
 
 I hope the Chaucer is going on prosperously. I think 
 you should adopt means to make the metre quite obvious, 
 at any sacrifice of typographical prettiness. Yet I don't 
 like the grave accent, ' "When Zephyrus eke with his sotfe 
 breth,' and should almost prefer the ^, sot5, but that it seems 
 unmeaning to use a mark of quantity. Yet it is not a case 
 of accent, either. I think I should in one way or another 
 mark every syllable that would not now be pronounced, 
 grevgs and levfes and Emperourfe's daughter — the most cor- 
 rect mark would be e : Emperoure's ; sote. And I should 
 prefix to the whole a very plain and short statement of the 
 usage in these points. 
 
 I suppose there is not much doubt about a few general 
 rules, though Chaucer did not regularly observe them, as, 
 for example, the use of the 6 in adjectives after definite 
 articles, which it seems to me he omits occasionally, with 
 French adjectives, as if it was a matter of ear rather than 
 rule. So also with such Saxon dissyllables as tymg, which 
 is not invariably a dissyllable, I think. And yet it would 
 be worth while giving a list of such words as are liable to 
 be dissyllables. However, ere this, I dare say you have 
 settled all these preliminaries. I don't quite see what you 
 should do about the Miller's and the Reve's tales. I think 
 explanation might be a little retrenched there, so as to 
 leave them in the ' decent obscurity of a learned language. 
 
LONDON 229 
 
 They are thoroughly English stories, but I don't know 
 whether they are New English. They are just what would 
 be relished to this day in public-houses in farming districts, 
 but I can't say that I could wish them urged upon any 
 palate that does not already fancy them, and I don't much 
 admire the element in the English character that does relish 
 them. It is a great thing, no doubt, to do dirty work, and 
 the English are pretty good at it ; but when it ceases to 
 be work, it is a different thing, and I don't see much good 
 in it. 
 
 I think the Americans have the advantage of being less 
 ' farceurs ' than the British subject is apt to be. There is a 
 sort of servants'-hall facetiousness which predominates in 
 the cockney world, and finds its way into literature, which 
 I think deserves no sort of imitation or admiration. 
 
 I have just been taking a house in the extreme skirts of 
 the Regent's Park, not far from the Zoological Gardens, 
 with a canal underneath it, and some very un- Venetian 
 gondolas, called here coal-barges, passing to and fro upon it 
 in the foreground, while in the distance rise the suburban 
 Alps of 'Ampstead and 'Ighgate — ' Oh breathe on them 
 softly ' — and a little to one side swells the pastural eminence 
 of Primrose Hill. 
 
 To C. E. Norton, Esq. 
 
 London : September 1854. 
 I have never acknowledged yet, except per Professor 
 ChUd, Ph.D., your letter from Newport. Your description 
 was somewhat amusing, as, in point of fact, I have been in 
 Newport, and have not been in the Isle of Wight. I was 
 at Newport at the age of six or seven, and passed by it 
 moreover — scarcely, however, realising the scenes of my 
 infancy — in that swift transit commenced under your 
 auspices, from Boston vi4 Fall River to New York and the 
 • Asia ' steamer. 
 
230 LETTERS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 London is empty, of course, and only excited by the 
 terror of cholera, which is however, I believe, subsiding. 
 Positively, for two or three days last week, in the district 
 between Leicester Square and Oxford Street, north and 
 south, and Soho Square and Regent Street, east and west, 
 there were scenes not unlike those of the old Plague. It 
 has often been asserted that this was one of the great burying- 
 places of the old 1665 Plague, and this outbreak is by some 
 ascribed to this. However, virulent as it was, it was as 
 brief ; and fortunately, perhaps, it came just at the begin- 
 ning of a new Health Report week, so that it did not get 
 into the papers till it was pretty well over. 
 
 Tell me a little about politics, as the weather gets cooler. 
 I am at the mercy of the ' Times,' and don't believe that it 
 knows much about anything. Are there really any ' Know- 
 nothings,' and is it really a matter of importance ? That the 
 Whigs will not, as a body, join as yet in political alliance 
 with the Free Soil party, I suppose, is true. 
 
 I send a little volume, ' Scaliger's Poetics,' with Johnson's 
 autograph (pretty certain, I believe), for your own anti- 
 quarian appropriation, if you will have it. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Downing Street : October 2i, 1854. 
 
 I went over to Calais last Saturday night, to see 
 Florence Nightingale so far on her way to Scutari. She 
 has ten Sisters of Mercy proper, eight of Miss Sellon's, six 
 of a sort of Via Media institution, and ten other nurses 
 under her charge. 
 
 According to Lord Burghersh, the aide-de-camp, who is 
 just come home with despatches, Lord Raglan is everything 
 out there ; neither St. Arnaud nor Canrobert at all com- 
 pare with him. His advice carried it for landing where 
 they did, both the Frenchmen being for other places, which 
 
LONDON 231 
 
 experience afterwards showed would have been impossible. 
 His character has risen greatly in reputation. In the 
 middle of the fighting, when he rode up into very dangerous 
 places, looking after things, his aides-de-camp remon- 
 strated, and were answered by ' Be quiet, I'm busy.' 
 Fortunately he is so wise as to wear nothing but a plain 
 foraging cap, and so is scarcely observed. 
 
 You, meantime, must be thinking more of the Arctic 
 than of the Crimea. When I came over from New York 
 last summer, I remember the probability of some such 
 calamity happening being discussed on board the ' Asia,' 
 when we met the ' Andes ' right upon our track, fortunately 
 on a clear day. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Downing Street : November 1854. 
 
 About this time two years we were very likely walking 
 about the streets of Boston together ; at present, I may 
 call myself just re-established in London. We took pos- 
 session of our abode in the Regent's Park two nights ago. 
 
 There is an immense interest, or rather anxiety, about 
 our little army in the Crimea. I passed some recruits the 
 other day, and a man looking on said, ' They'll all be killed ; 
 every man Jack of them ; I'm sorry for it.' Generally the 
 feeling is of apprehension, or even worse, on the arrival of 
 untoward news. 
 
 To 
 
 Downing Street : January 18, 1855. 
 Of wars and rumours of wars we have of course enough. 
 The ' Times ' is blamed and believed ; the Ministry is blamed 
 and continued. I saw a Queen's messenger who had just 
 come from Constantinople with one set of despatches and 
 was just returning with another. The journey as per- 
 formed by Queen's messenger is, it appears, at the quickest. 
 
232 LBTTEES OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 from Consiantinople to Marseilles, six and a half days ; from 
 Marseilles to London, forty-seven hours. 
 
 This new Indian Civil Service scheme may, I dare say, 
 interest you. I rather regret that so little is made of 
 Eastern languages. I think Persian might be allowed as a 
 study almost co-ordinate with Latin and Greek, and quite 
 with French, German, and Italian, as at present valued in 
 the scheme. 
 
 To Professor F. J. Child. 
 
 London : January 31, 1855. 
 
 Here we are with, I am just told, the Tories in once 
 again. When they last came in, they drove me from 
 England into New England. I don't know how it will be 
 now. 
 
 Our Kterature, at present, is the war column in the news- 
 paper. The best military reports are those of the ' Morning 
 Herald,' I am told ; but Macdonald, the hospital corre- 
 spondent at Constantinople, has been more successful prac- 
 tically than ever newspaper correspondent yet had the 
 glory of being. 
 
 February 2. 
 This steamer, it appears, will not quite certainly tell 
 you ' under which ' Prime Minister we are to ' do our duty,' 
 but Palmerston must manage somehow we suppose. Yester- 
 day we believed that Lord Derby would be our king, and 
 Disraeli our foreign minister, Palmerston holding the war 
 department ; but that seems over altogether. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 London: May 3, 1855. 
 Last week we had Emperor and Empress passing by 
 here under our windows, with Queen and Prince, in the 
 
LONDON 233 
 
 midst of applauding multitudes, and certainly there is no 
 denying Louis Napoleon's courage. 
 
 Unless Sebastopol gets taken before long, it will, I 
 think, upset the present ministry, and perhaps the present 
 aristocracy along -with them ; and Laing, Layard, and 
 Lowe, if they can provide themselves with a sufficient Co., 
 may come in as the new parliamentary firm. The war, which 
 the great people, lords and statesmen, thought would be 
 unpopular in a few months, is more likely, I think, to become 
 a popular question versus lords and statesmen. There is no 
 murmuring at the new taxes, but a great deal at the old 
 politicians. 
 
 Here is an authentic anecdote from Vienna. The 
 French and English Plenipotentaries urged how natural 
 the arrangement would be that the Euxine should, like the 
 American lakes, be common to both nations ; to which 
 Prince Gortschakoff answered that he should not object to 
 that, were there only a Niagara at the Dardanelles. 
 
 To C. E. Norton, Esq. 
 
 London : September 14, 1855. 
 So we have at last taken the besieged city. We here 
 took it very unconcernedly, when the great news gradually 
 oozed out and then spread abroad, on Monday evening last. 
 It is, however, an immense relief, privately as well as 
 publicly, and I do not doubt is felt as such. I confess 
 to my own feeling that Russia should be let oflf easily. 
 What other power can bring North Asia into discipline ? 
 I could be thankful to see her hold some port or have some 
 means of exit to the Atlantic, now that she has learnt that 
 the maritime powers are strong enough to check her en- 
 croachments when they please. 
 
234 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 To Professor F. J. Child. 
 
 London : October 29, 1855. 
 
 I have been astonished and delighted at once to see 
 Shady Hill reposing itseK in St. James's Street. I had 
 hardly faith, I confess, to expect the removal of that 
 mountain to this side of our common sea. 
 
 I congratulate you on having achieved Spenser. I 
 hope I shall see the work. Let me confess to having never 
 yet read one quarter of the 'Faery Queen.' But you are a 
 much more literary nation that we. Few people, I fear, 
 will return in England to the study of Plutarch's Lives, 
 and ip working to the end of that attempt I can only look 
 forward to the readers of America. I hope it will be pretty 
 tolerably readable and correct when it does at last present 
 itself. Certainly, if I had tried to translate it myself, it 
 would have had a more Greek tone ; but I don't think we 
 any of us write so idiomatically now as my friends of 
 Charles II. 's time. 
 
 You see that we, that is our newspapers, after consider- 
 able bluster, mean decidedly to back out of any quarrelKng 
 with you. The ' Times,' I think, decidedly feels that it 
 took a wrong step, and is walking out of its front position 
 with all possible celerity. 
 
 I hear you have undertaken the kind labour of putting 
 my ' Reliquise ' through the press. If you like to add 
 epigraphs on fly-leaves, you might put before ' The Bothie ' : 
 
 Pauperis et tuguri congestum cespite culmen; 
 or, 
 
 Ite, mese, felix quondam peous, ite camen^ : 
 
 and before the Roman verses — 
 
 Navibus atque 
 Quadrigis petimus bene vivere. 
 
LONDON 235 
 
 To C. E. Norton, Esq. 
 
 London: July 11, 1856. 
 There is a severe review of Macaulay in to-day's 
 ' Times.' I myself like this better than the first pair of 
 volumes, chiefly, perhaps, because it has a more European 
 subject to deal with. I have only detected one error myself, 
 but it is a very Macaulayesque one. He speaks of 'the 
 oaks of Magdalen ' : they are elms. There was no occasion 
 to say anything but trees, but the temptation to say some- 
 thing particular was too strong. It makes one distrust all 
 his descriptions, and that of Glencoe certainly is thoroughly 
 exaggerated without being at all characteristic. 
 
 To Professor F. J. Child. 
 
 London: January 16, 1856, 
 
 I hope I shall get your Spenser ballads. I am not 
 enthusiastic, but the Chaucer I really think you may bring 
 to better shape than anyone has hitherto done. I like 
 ' Hiawatha ' ; and I think it is liked here generally, and 
 none the worse for being Indian. Are you really, any of 
 you, going to fight with your ancestors, about Costa Rica, 
 and the Clayton-Bulwer treaty ? I hope not ; not even the 
 ambitious Franklin Pierce himself. But Palmerston is a 
 sad haggler, and may, I dare say, go on insisting about his 
 Mosquito Protectorate, till he gets a warning. 
 
 I am examining among others for appointments in the 
 Engineers and Artillery, which are open to general competi- 
 tion, and the candidates examined inter alia in English 
 composition, literature, and history. Hence, I can more 
 than pay my income tax, and, like the farmers, rejoice in 
 the war. But at present we all more than half expect 
 peace. Louis Napoleon is said to be pacific. For many 
 
236 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 good reasons I also am pacific ; for if the war went on even 
 two years longer, we should kill Turkey with our kindness, 
 and have to encounter all the difficulties and disgrace of a 
 partition of her. The sick man is really very sick after 
 all, and doesn't get at all better, but rather worse. 
 
 To R. W. Emerson, Esq. 
 
 Council Office, Downing Street : September 12, 1856. 
 
 My dear Emerson, — Your copy of the 'English Traits ' 
 has just reached me. I am very glad to have it, for it is a 
 far prettier book than Mr. Routledge's, not to mention any 
 other circumstances. I think you praise us too highly. I 
 was anxious for more rebuke and profitable reprimand. 
 
 I don't think your friend who said that no ill-dressed 
 person ever came to church spoke within proper bounds. 
 The labouring country population do to a certain extent 
 come to church, and you may see old beggar-looking people 
 in the cathedrals on week-days. The rural population in 
 agricultural parts belongs to the Church and attends ' at 
 times.' It is the town church that is so entirely abandoned 
 to the upper and middle people. 
 
 Charles Norton showed me 'Leaves of Grass,' which 
 certainly seems remarkable, but is it not rather a waste of 
 power and observation 1 The tree is tapped, and not left 
 to bear flower and fruit in perfect form as it should. This 
 standing aside and looking on does not seem to me to be 
 the thing that really produces. 
 
 To Professor F. J. Child. 
 
 London : November 13, 1856. 
 I must send a few lines to thank you for the Spenser, 
 which I am very much pleased to have. I am only sorry 
 that the notes are so very unobtrusive. 
 
LONDON 237 
 
 How is Cambridge ? which Lowell reports so changed 
 that he should not have known it. I still retain a dollar 
 note, with the portraiture of the college buildings, flanked 
 by the faces of Judge Story and some other eminence ; but 
 all this I suppose, eminences included, will have become 
 obsolete by this time. 
 
 Here there is nothing very new, nor anything parti- 
 cularly true, to teU. Until the next French revolution all 
 things will continue. Meantime, omnes omnia mala dicere, 
 we anticipate no good. Charles Norton dines with us this 
 evening, valedictorily. 
 
 I have been reading pretty nearly through Crabbe lately. 
 Have you republished Crabbe ? If not, you ought to do so. 
 There is no one more purely English (in the Dutch manner), 
 no one who better represents the general result through the 
 country of the last century. His descriptions remind even 
 me of things I used to see and hear of in my boyhood. And 
 sometimes, though rarely, he has really the highest merit, 
 e.g. Ruth, in the ' Tales of the HaU.' 
 
 To Charles Norton, Esq. 
 
 London ; January 22, 1857. 
 
 We are here going on much as usual, occupied with 
 nothing else but commerce and the money market. I do 
 not think anyone is thinking audibly of anything else. 
 Some disaster, perhaps, in the realm of Dost Mahomed may 
 startle us out of our mercantile composure, but at present 
 the only danger we care to think about is that of being 
 garotted, and the main business of the new Parliament will 
 be to see about transportation of possible garotters. 
 
 I have read with more pleasure than anything I have 
 seen lately Kane's ' Arctic Explorations,' which is certainly 
 a wonderful story, and the book, moreover, very well got 
 up at Philadelphia. I think I did see Kane at Boston in 
 
238 LETTERS OF AKTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 the spring before he started ; I have a distinct image of 
 his figure. The whole narrative is, I think, very character- 
 istic of the difference between the English and the American- 
 English habits of command and obedience. 
 
 The first volume of Plutarch is to appear next month. 
 I think the later volumes are much better, or at least less 
 open to criticism. The life of Pericles was wretchedly 
 done in the Dryden, and ought to have been re-written. 
 Plutarch's best life is Antony, I think. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 London : August 1857. 
 
 I hope you really did arrive in Boston safe and sound. 
 Our parliament is at last going away. Indian news appears 
 to create no sort of alarm, scarcely so much as anxiety ; 
 for one reason, people Tuust take their holiday even from 
 their anxieties. The atrocities are of course felt pretty 
 strongly. 
 
 This town is hot, dusty, and of ill-odour, and very dif- 
 ferent from Westmoreland, where we were together last. 
 
 September 3. 
 
 News from India, I think, is getting to be felt more 
 seriously. 
 
 October 31. 
 
 Well, Delhi is taken, which is a happy thing, though 
 one dreads to hear of the details. Captures of cities are 
 horrible at the best, and this cannot have been at the best, 
 with wild Sikhs, and no quarter, and a wealthy and luxu- 
 rious metropolis. 
 
 If you have read the letters in the ' Times,' you will 
 have noticed IndophUus, i.e. Sir Charles Trevelyan (who 
 ought, in proper Greek, to call himself Philindus ; Indo- 
 phUus would be more properly ' beloved of the Hindoos '). 
 
LONDON 239 
 
 Leadenhall Street is full of the humane feeling, and would 
 back up Lord Canning's proclamation, and Mr. Grant's 
 Allahabad releases, with all its influence. It may be right, 
 but it is not discreet ; it is not possible yet to enforce clem- 
 ency. They should have waited till Delhi had fallen, and 
 Lucknow been relieved. So, at least, we think here. The 
 Company, however, is sadly at a discount, and will have 
 hard work to maintain any of its power. The War De- 
 partment, I believe, is very hard upon it. Sir Robert 
 Vivian, who commanded the Turkish Contingent, and who 
 is one of the directors appointed by the Crown, spoke the 
 other day of the outbreak at Meerut and Delhi as a thing 
 that ought to have been put down at once. He believes 
 there was no sort of general conspiracy on foot, and urges 
 the irregular and utterly indiscreet way in which the regi- 
 ments have mutinied, here and there, and at the worst 
 chosen times and places. Neill commanded a brigade 
 under him in the Crimea. He quite disapproved of Neill's 
 outrages on the caste feeling at Cawnpore. I confess I 
 don't. I think we may break down caste one way or other, 
 and aUy ourselves with the Sikhs and the Buddhists of 
 Nepaul, &c., whose religions are reasonable and compara- 
 tively unceremonial. 
 
 I don't believe Christianity can spread far in Asia unless 
 it will allow men more than one wife, which isn't likely 
 yet, out of Utah. But I believe the old Brahmin touch- 
 not-and-taste-not, and I-am-holier-than-thou-because-I- 
 don't-touoh-and-taste, may be got rid of. As for Mahomet- 
 anism, it is a crystallised theism, out of which no vegeta- 
 tion can come. I doubt its being good even for the central 
 negro. 
 
 To J. R. Lowell, Esq., Cambridge. 
 
 Downing Street: January 5, 1858. 
 You have just got half the ' Amours de Voyage ' (for 
 the ' Atlantic Monthly ') ; there will be two more reports, and 
 
240 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 then all will end in smoke. The poem has been suppressed 
 to the orthodox maturity of the ninth year, but, like poor 
 wine, it is, I fear, only the worse for not having been drunk 
 and forgotten long ago. 
 
 The ' Atlantic Monthly,' I hope, makes its way. I am 
 glad to see it so national, so little characterised by any 
 mercantile importations from our side. I have a great dis- 
 taste to the prevalent professional literature of the metro- 
 polis, a fungoid vegetation springing up on the rotting 
 remains of the giants of the old literary forest, whose honours 
 are no more. 
 
 To C. E. Norton, Esq. 
 
 London : March 26, 1858. 
 
 Many thanks for your kind inquiries after my wife and 
 family : they are very well, especially the ' family.' 
 
 Things have been tolerably eventful over here of late, 
 have they not ? I confess myself a sort of admirer of Orsini, 
 though I do not consider assassination good policy, and 
 therefore consider it wrong. 
 
 A Tory government, meantime, is a strange dispensa- 
 tion to live under ; happily it is only on sufferance. Lord 
 Palmerston, we consider, fell chiefly through his appoint- 
 ment of Lord Clanricarde. 
 
 The days of the Company you will, of course, have felt 
 to be numbered, on seeing Lord EUenborough gazetted as 
 President of the Board of Control. 
 
 To Professor F. J. Child. 
 
 April 10, 1858. 
 I am very glad there is a prospect of your coming over 
 here ; but doubtless you will transform yourself into a worm, 
 and be during your whole visit lost to sight in the MSS. of 
 
LONDON 241 
 
 the British Museum. Nevertheless, even so, pray do not 
 fail to come over. Charles Norton, I hope, is well through 
 the winter. By this time the snows are beginning, I suppose, 
 to disappear in your parts : in a month or so the Common will 
 begin to exchange its brown for its green suit ; there will 
 be buds in the Washington elm ; frogs will again be vocal, 
 and double-robins visible. 
 
 Do you see that the Frenchman who translated the 
 ' Canterbury Tales ' has found at Paris the original of the 
 'Squire's Tale,' 30,000 lines? I wonder if it is Hke 
 Spenser's, in any respect. 
 
 The great literary success of the last twelve months has 
 been Buckle's ' History of Civilisation.' Really, it is won- 
 derful what numbers of people have read this thick volume, 
 and what a reputation its author has gained by it. High and 
 low — and high quite as much as low — write in its praise. 
 Are you Buckle-bewitched in Boston, or do you retain a 
 sane mind ? 
 
 I do not suppose that anybody finds much natural 
 pleasure in my five-act epistolary tragi-comedy, or comi- 
 tragedy. I like Part III. rather better than its predeces- 
 sors myself ; but other people, I dare say, will not. I think 
 it wiUhave some merit in its conclusion ; but to that also, I 
 dare say, there will be no aifirmatiou but my own. How- 
 ever, so it was, and no otherwise could be. So much for 
 keeping poems nine years, instead of burning them at once. 
 
 Tennyson's two unpublished Arthur poems gave me 
 pleasure, and I am sorry they do not appear. Otherwise 
 England seems as unpoetical as between Chaucer and 
 Spenser. 
 
 To C. E. Norton, Esq. 
 
 London : April 17, 1858. 
 Perhaps the beginning of May will find you once more at 
 Shady Hill, for the brief North American interval between 
 the two penal fierce extremes of heat and cold. 
 
242 LETTBKS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Between the two Indian Bills, the Directors, it is 
 thought, will escape for the present, and survive a little 
 longer. I myself was not so absolutely unfavourable to 
 the Ellenborough BiU as the English world in general. T 
 desire much to see a franchise given to those who have 
 served. That offered to the five towns is perhaps impracti- 
 cable. My notion is to make a great Council of all who 
 have served in certain offices, and give them the appoint- 
 ment of half the Executive Council. But our people hate 
 all refinements of this sort. 
 
 Politics are almost at a dead lock with us. Palmerston 
 cannot come back with his own party alone to back him. 
 Lord John Russell has joined Milner Gibson, and has formed 
 a sufficient body of opponents in the Liberal part of the 
 House to make it impossible for Palmerston to get sufficient 
 support there. So that for the present the Derby people 
 stay, and are almost ashamed and indignant to stay, by the 
 help of Lord John and his Manchester allies. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 London : May 17, 1858. 
 
 Things here are in sad confusion. Lord Ellenborough, 
 who is really competent, has thrown himself overboard, and 
 cannot be by his best friends acquitted of a great indiscre- 
 tion. In India the enemy all abroad again, and a hot 
 weather campaign before us. Not, however, it seems by 
 Sir Colin's fault ; for he was bid to clear all the other dis- 
 tricts first, and not till then to attack Lucknow, but was 
 overruled by Lord Canning. John Mill, it is said, does not 
 consider Lord Canning's proclamation wrong ; but is very 
 sorry, on general grounds, to lose Lord Ellenborough. 
 
 Pray read Hogg's 'Life of Shelley.' It is a great 
 pleasure to see SheUey really alive, and treading the vulgar 
 earth — Hogg's transparent absurdity being the only inter- 
 vening impediment. 
 
LONDON 243 
 
 I am reading, too, Gladstone's ' Homer ' : it is very 
 direct and plain-sailing, and in that respect is an agreeable 
 contrast to German annotation. The working out of his 
 theory about Danaans, Achseans, Argives, and Hellenes was 
 to me satisfactory ; but at the end he goes oiF all at once 
 out of his depth into general ethnology. Gladstone's un- 
 compromising belief in Homer and the heroes, as real people, 
 gives the book a solidity and substance which is acceptable. 
 Carlyle said he read carefully Homer and the controversy 
 some years ago, and was quite convinced that ' Iliad ' and 
 ' Odyssey ' were written at different ages — the ' Odyssey ' 
 by one man, the ' Iliad ' not ; and he likes the ' Odyssey ' 
 best. He thinks anyone mad who holds the ' Iliad ' and 
 ' Odyssey ' to be written by one man. 
 
 While I wrote came a rumour, not from a private 
 secretary, that news had come from India that the pro- 
 clamation had been stopped at the last moment, at the 
 entreaty of Sir C. Campbell, Sir John Lawrence, Outram, 
 and Mansfield, who went on their knees to Lord Canning, 
 and besought him, in the name of England's honour, no less 
 than for the sake of present security. So that, if this be 
 true, Lord EUenborough is right after all. 
 
 To the same. 
 Cowley House, Oxford : May 2t, 1858. 
 Hither we came on the 1 9th on a visit. Yesterday we 
 went about walking, and seeing things and people — new 
 things and old people ; heard a lecture from Max Miiller on 
 the origin of the French language ; thence to the new Museum 
 in the Venetian style, by Woodward. I think Venetian 
 windows, whose beauty is their deep setting, might do for 
 you who have some sun to keep out ; for us, not. We want 
 light, and must place the glass too near the outer plane of 
 the walls to allow the proper effect to the tracery. 
 
 The M. P. s meet to-night for their great decision. Already, 
 
 B 2 
 
244 LETTBES OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 perhaps, the new evidence of the government despatches is 
 in their hands. A proclamation, it is clear, has been issued, 
 and an altered proclamation. A private letter tells us that 
 the Ministry may possibly have a majority of five or six — a 
 different story from that which prevailed when I began this 
 letter. Wednesday, the day of our coming here, intervened, 
 with the absorbing interests of the Derby. To be winner of 
 the Derby while in office as Prime Minister was, it is said, 
 Lord Derby's ambition, but would be, it was thought, too 
 high a felicity for any simply human Earl. Toxophilite's 
 defeat may, it is presumed, be the inevitable sacrifice that 
 may avert the parliamentary catastrophe. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Downing Street : June 23, 1858. 
 
 I have had, mirabile dictu, a letter from Emerson, who 
 reprimanded me strongly for the termination of the ' Amours 
 de Voyage,' in which he may be right, and I may be 
 wrong ; and all my defence can only be, that I always 
 meant it to be so, and began it with the full intention of 
 its ending so ; but very likely I was wrong all the same. 
 
 I cannot help wishing to preserve some Corporate Body 
 or Privy CouncU for India, to elect half the Ministers'CouncU, 
 though I have no liking for the constituency of 7,000 or 
 8,000 to whom Lord Stanley did propose to give this power. 
 
 Last night I heard Tennyson read a third Arthur poem : 
 the detection of Guenevere and the last interview with 
 Arthur. These poems all appear to me to be maturer and 
 better than any he has written hitherto. 
 
 As for wars and rumours of wars, I trust we need not 
 alarm ourselves at present. • I hope the French are at 
 heart pacific ; they cannot well afibrd the money for a 
 war, and though I believe they might inflict, if the chances 
 favoured them, immense damage upon us, in the end they 
 would find themselves the weaker vessels. Their population. 
 
LONDON 245 
 
 it is said by the statistical authorities, is decreasing', and 
 they ought to nurse their vitality carefully. It has not yet 
 recovered the losses of the wars of 1812-15. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Downing Street : Jnly 30, 1858. 
 
 We are cooler and less odorous than we were, and I 
 begin to hope that we may get to the end of August without 
 any terrible outbreak of cholera. Time has often been com- 
 pared to a river ; if the Thames at London represent the 
 stream of traditional wisdom, the comparison will indeed be 
 of an ill savour. The accumulated wisdom of the past will 
 be proved upon analogy to be, as it were, the collected 
 sewage of the centuries, and the great problem, how to get 
 rid of it. 
 
 In a commercial point of view, the publication of the 
 ' Amours ' has been a great event to me. This is the first 
 money I ever received for verse-making, and it is really a 
 very handsome sum. 
 
 October 1. 
 
 I have just read the ' Courtship of Miles Standish ' with 
 much pleasure. I think in one or two points the story 
 should have been difierently managed ; but it is a very 
 pleasant poem. 
 
 A perversion, as the Anglican people call it, seems to 
 me a very sad thing ; it is, according to all experience, so 
 irrevocable a change. I have known one or two instances 
 of a return out of the Babylonish Captivity, but they seem 
 rarely to happen. 
 
 The only remarkable phenomenon of the time is a con- 
 tinuous one, viz. the comet, which is a really wonderful, 
 portentous-looking, historical sort of comet, with a tail 
 sweeping a considerable space in the northern skies. It sets 
 at 9 P.M., but leaves its streamer behind it for some time. 
 
240 LETTERS OF ARTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Another continuous study with me is Earth's ' Africa,' 
 which is really worth reading, laborious though it be, and 
 needlessly filled up with daily records. Earth is, I believe, 
 gone back to Hamburg, his native place ; a little dis- 
 appointed, perhaps, with finding so little come of his long 
 toU. Livingstone published just after him, and took the 
 wind out of his sails. Yet there is more permanently 
 valuable and curious information in Earth, though living- 
 stone will do more himself in a practical way, we will hope. 
 
 There is as yet but a very slight ripple on the face of 
 our political waters. The interest taken in these matters 
 by the nation seems to grow less and less. People will not 
 mind if the other party come in, but they don't want Lord 
 Palmerston again ; and if these men don't play the fool in 
 some way, they may stay in. Your matters are more 
 serious. 
 
 India, I suppose, wUl keep us at the military boiling 
 point for some time to come (more's the pity, perhaps, if 
 only France were safely pacific !), and improvements in 
 organisation will slowly creep in : they are certainly much 
 wanted. In the medical department a good deal has been 
 efi'ected this year. 
 
 I am greatly ashamed of our English proceedings in this 
 France-buUying-Portugal case. So far as I can see, it has 
 been sheer timidity ; terror of being taken undefended 
 whUe India is still unsettled, and ought to disgrace us in 
 the eyes of all European nations. But there may be diplo- 
 matic explanations proving France in the technical right. 
 
 Bright and his speech at Birmingham deserve notice. 
 But I doubt whether he can rouse the towns ; and people 
 in general, i.e. the people who are more or less represented, 
 care little about it. I believe that a Reform would give us 
 a better and more rational House of Commons ; but many 
 things press. Reform takes up so much time, and gives so 
 much trouble ; how is the Government to be carried on 
 meantime, the government of India included ? 
 
LONDON 247 
 
 To the saTne. 
 
 London : January 26, 1859. 
 
 Child brought me your present of Emerson's picture, 
 which is really, I think, without any question, the best por- 
 trait of any Hviag and known-to-me man that I have ever 
 seen. It is a great pleasure to possess it. 
 
 Bright's agitation will bear fruits. The Ministerial Bill 
 would have been very different without this. Bright is 
 scoffed at in the metropolitan papers, and at all clubs. But 
 his hold on the country is such as no M.P. whatever, except 
 himself, possesses ; and in the main, the course he has taken 
 is right, I think. Lord Stanley seems to be a present 
 guarantee for the tolerable government of India ; but he, 
 of course, may go any day. I wish the Council were on a 
 surer basis : the self -electing plan can hardly be perma- 
 nent. 
 
 February 9. 
 
 They say it is to be peace. France is utterly indisposed 
 to fight ; so much so as to praise ' la sagesse Anglaise ' for 
 discrediting the sentimental Imperial oratory, and holding 
 fast to treaties a^ they are, and peace, with or without good- 
 will, upon earth. Moreover, the sinews of war are wanting. 
 Rothschild will not lend money to Austria, and only acts as 
 commission agent for the loan. 
 
 People are a little agog about the Bible-in-India ques 
 tioru Old Indians seem to be pretty tolerably unanimous 
 against having it read in the schools. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 London : April 1, 1859. 
 I am getting on with ' The Bothie,' acting on a criticism 
 which appeared to me correct, that the letters and sermonis- 
 ing parts were too long and least to the point. I believe I 
 
248 LETTEKS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 may have cut out something which for old acquaintance you 
 may regret, but the general effect to a new reader will, I 
 think, be improved ; and a reduction in the amount of dis- 
 quisition was certainly required. 
 
 Excuse this letter all about my own concerns. I am 
 pretty busy, and have time for little else ; such is our fate 
 after forty. My figure forty stands nearly three months 
 behind me on the roadway, unwept, unhonoured, and un- 
 sung ; an octavum lustrum bound up and laid on the sheK. 
 ' So-and-so is dead,' said a friend to Lord Melbourne, of some 
 author. ' Dear me, how glad I am ! Now I can bind him 
 up.' 
 
 Here is a jest of Lord Derby's to a friend who told him 
 he was in a great mess. ' Yes,' replied he, ' but Benjamia's 
 mess is five times greater than those of his brethren.' 
 
 We have been having deaths lately for our news, as for 
 example that of William Arnold, who, after lying iU for 
 some time at Cairo, started and sailed from Alexandria 
 just as one of his brothers was coming in to see him ; just set 
 his foot on Europe, and died, at St. Roque, a few mUes from 
 Gibraltar ; a great loss, I think, public and private. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 May 27, 1859. 
 
 As for the war, alas ! to whom can we desire success ? 
 Garibaldi is the only person I sympathise with. I hope he 
 will do something. But how can it end otherwise than ill ? 
 
 Here is the dictum of the Due de Malakhoff : ' Nous les 
 battrons, nous leur offrirons des conditions bien douces. lis 
 les refuseront. Puis, nous les battrons encore, et nous leur 
 ofirirons des conditions bien dures. Hs les accepteront.' 
 Meantime, the French feeling has become, it appears, uni- 
 versally warlike ; and the wise people think that the dynasty, 
 which must have fallen otherwise, will, unless the Austrians 
 drive all before them, be secured 
 
LONDON 249 
 
 I have never thanked you for your article on Sleeman's 
 ' Oude,' which came safely to hand, and which I fear is only 
 too favourable to British rule. Let us, however, hope for 
 the best, though the climate is so sadly against any fair 
 development of English qualities, and the war has left be- 
 hind it a fierce and insulting spirit. 
 
 Disraeli, in answer to some friendly regrets at his fall, 
 said it could only be a check for a time. But I think Pal- 
 merston may regain the general confidence of the country, 
 as he has in a great measure of the Liberal members, or at 
 any rate the Liberal statesmen, and may perhaps maintain 
 himseK, even if Lord John secede. The new Ministry will 
 be strongly Italian in composition ; Lord John and Glad- 
 stone in addition to Palmerston. It is almost to be feared 
 that they will outrun the national feeling, and go too much 
 in the track of Louis Napoleon. We who live nearer to 
 Louis Napoleon, with only the Channel, and not the whole 
 Atlantic to divide and protect us from him, do not feel quite 
 the same liberty to indulge the natural feelings of enthusiasm 
 in witnessing his aggrandisement in Europe, though it be 
 merely as a liberator that he afiects it at present One 
 thing I devoutly hope ; that, with French influence pre- 
 dominating in Italy, the Pope will go to the dogs, with all 
 his canaille accompanying. Evidently the conclave fear 
 this, and there is no doubt at all that instructions came 
 from Rome to the Roman Catholic leaders that they should 
 support Lord Derby, who would support Austria. It has 
 not been uniformly obeyed, but that the order was issued is, 
 I believe, certain. 
 
 To the sa/me. 
 
 London : July 22, 1859. 
 
 I shaU be very glad indeed of your notice of Plutarch in 
 the ' North American.' I hope the Lives will be readable 
 to the young public of your most reading country. Mean- 
 
250 LETTEES OP AKTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 time Plutarch has arrived here, and certainly looks very- 
 well ; but they have not put in all the errata I sent. I 
 hope the young America wUl read it. Young England, I 
 fear, is too critical, and thinks Plutarch an old fool. 
 
 Here we are reading the last bulletin of that wonderful 
 melodramatic genius Napoleon III., of which what can be 
 said ? ' L'Empire, c'est la paix ? ' Certainly one did not 
 desire the enfranchisement of Italy to be effected by his 
 means ; and one may hope, also, that the general result 
 will be to damage him and his dynasty. 
 
 Mill's ' Dissertations ' and Tennyson's ' Idylls of the 
 King ' are also before an admiring public. I certainly think 
 these IdyUs are the best thing that Tennyson has done. 
 
 We are having a burning July, and the length of our 
 day makes it in some respects worse than it would be in a 
 more southern latitude. But, after all, 90° in the shade 
 was not, I think, what we endured when I lived with you 
 at Shady Hill, six years ago. You should come here again 
 soon, and we will try and sweeten the Thames for you 
 ' during the current year.' 
 
 I think Louis Napoleon less formidable siuce the Italian 
 war, unless the army prove to have tasted blood and to be 
 greedy for more, in which case of course he must let them 
 have it. But I don't much believe in the love of the French 
 soldier for war ■ he wants to go to his pays again. 
 
 Dana has sent his book on Cuba, which is very pleasant 
 reading. And is ' he really gone off again to circumnavi- 
 gate the orbis veteribus notus t I have always felt an 
 instinctive desire to go round, and have coveted the 
 sensation of having ascertained the fact by one's own bodily 
 locomotion. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 September 9. 
 
 I begm a sheet just to say that we are leaving the house 
 
 in which you saw us, near the Regent's Park, and have taken 
 
LONDON 251 
 
 one on Campden Hill, Kensington, far to the west. It is 
 just under Macaulay's. 
 
 October 13. 
 
 Plutarch is too dear for the English ; however, a 
 favourable article, and really I think a good article, in the 
 ' Athenaeum,' has put a little wind in its sails. Plutarch is 
 not sought for here as a library book ; indeed, he is quite put 
 out of fashion by Thirlwall, Grote, and Co., and some effort 
 is needed to recall attention to him. 
 
 The Prench Emperor's ' allocution ' to the Cardinal at 
 Bordeaux is a slight improvement on his doings lately ; 
 perhaps a feeler to the country, for if he were not afraid of 
 the popular adherence to the Pope and clergy in Prance, I 
 suppose he would certainly take the holy father by the 
 temporal beard in Bologna. 
 
 Council Office : December 5. 
 
 We are here in a state of rifle fever, which I do not think 
 will be allayed by the imperial smooth words. Palmerston 
 is not to go to the Congress, and Prance, I fear, wUl do as 
 she pleases. 
 
 I was glad to have your account of Brown. His 
 behaviour before his death struck me quite in the way in 
 which you regard it : nothing could be plainer, and more 
 composed and upright. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Hastings: December 29, 1859. 
 I have been sent here for ventilation, after an attack of 
 scarlatina, which made me an inconvenient neighbour to a 
 little boy just born to us, who arrived on the 16th of this 
 month. This is dull enough, the old town with the old 
 churches in the hollow between the East Hill and the "West 
 Hill, the latter crowned by remnants of the castle, the new 
 
252 LETTKES OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 town stretching along the shore for nearly a couple of miles, 
 one row deep, with a handsome sea terrace all along. 
 
 Here my chief discovery has been a cottage improve- 
 ment society, so successful as to pay yearly dividends of 
 6 per cent. The working man is my doctor — Dr. Greenhill 
 — who is secretary. Most of these societies have been quite 
 failures as regards finance. The principles here are (1) 
 Repairing, not building ; (2) Rigorous collection of rents. 
 There is a benevolent society attached to the cottage society, 
 but it acts quite separately. Rent is rent, and charity, 
 charity. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 January 26, 1860. 
 
 Your artist friend, Stillman, has presented his credentials _: 
 he called at Campden Hill, and of course I was out ; but we 
 hope to see him on Sunday, to dinner, in the 'native 
 American' manner, at 2 p.m. 
 
 Marcli 3. 
 
 Stillman has commenced operations on my face, and 
 returns to the charge on Monday. He is making many 
 friends. We dined with him at Robert Mackintosh's a 
 week ago, which much reminded me of Longfellow's dinner- 
 table. I have read your critique on Plutarch in the ' Atlantic 
 Monthly ' carefully since I wrote, and find it very satis- 
 factory. The early lives are certainly faulty. I did not 
 feel as if it was done rightly till I was doing Otho and 
 Galba. The life which is most mine is that of Demetrius, 
 which is really almost mine. Dion, however, is just about 
 an average specimen. 
 
 When is Rowse coming over ? Will you give him a 
 letter to me 1 I continue to think his picture of Emerson 
 the best portrait I know of anyone I know. 
 
 How unsatisfactory the world in general is just now ! 
 The French having made a ' belle guerre ' for an idea, are 
 
LONDON 253 
 
 now bent on realising their ideas. The Pope, after all, 
 ■won't be sent a begging. Austria will yet bully Hungary 
 with the help of her big brother further east, and the big 
 brother, with the help of the smaller one, will have his own 
 bad way in Turkey, probably. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 21 Campden Hill Eoad : July l.B, 1860. 
 
 I had your letter, heaping coals of fire on my head, last 
 Monday. I enclose a fragment of the past, in token of my 
 having contributed somewhat to the pavement below in 
 respect of you. 
 
 To break one's toe is no fair reason against using one's 
 fingers, but it prevents one's walking, and impairs one's 
 energies in general. Rowse has done me very nearly. You 
 wUl, I hope, have a photograph, and I hope he won't spoil 
 it before he finishes. He has done Owen, and seems well 
 pleased with his work, but is sadly afflicted with Heimweh. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 July 20, 1860. 
 
 To-day I was at a breakfast party of statisticians, 
 attending the International Statistical Congress, and met Dr. 
 3ervis from your parts. Quetelet, the divine statistician, I 
 have also seen. He is getting rather feeble with age, and com- 
 plains of forgetting names. A certain Swede, un nomm^ 
 Berg, is said to be the aureus alter who will succeed to the 
 primacy. 
 
 Shall you see that Oxford traveller, the Prince of Wales ? 
 He is my grand-pupil. His Oxford tutor was my pupil. 
 We are lingering on here sadly, waiting for the end of 
 Parliament, and having no summer. People talk of a grand 
 fusion of the Conservative and Liberal-Conservative parties, 
 modern Tories and modem Whigs making one solid national 
 
254 LETTERS OF AETHUE HUGH CI.OUGH 
 
 defence against Bright and the Radicals. Things tend a 
 good deal that way, but unless Bright and the Radicals 
 become formidable indeed, personal jealousies will keep the 
 aristocratic parties in a state of separation. They have, 
 however, acted together this session, and have succeeded in 
 staving off Parliamentary Reform, and in some other things. 
 The future is quite obscure. I don't think, however, that 
 any Ministry will venture on an unliberal foreign policy, 
 though there may be some quiet rapprochement to the 
 Germans, Austrians even included. The nation generally 
 holds, I think, to alliance with the French in general, and 
 to support of Italy with or without the French. 
 
 Rowse went off yesterday for Southampton. His picture 
 of Owen is very good ; that of me is less successful. He 
 was interrupted in the midst of it, was delayed by sore eyes, 
 and then had to go to Owen ; but still it is a very good 
 likeness. 
 
 To the same. 
 Granton House, Edinburgh : October 11, 1860. 
 
 Your letter of the 24th came to me two days ago at 
 Glasgow, and was a very pleasant surprise. We were pass- 
 ing through, and I had not thought of receiving anything. 
 We have been spending a more than usual length of time 
 in holidays. We had a visit to Fryston in Yorkshire, and 
 after passing through the Highlands to Oban, made a three 
 weeks' stay in Morven (the Morven of Ossian or Macpher- 
 son), a very out-of-the-way district, whence we had some 
 difficulty in effecting a return ; the equinoctial gales having 
 delayed the steamer and broken up the roads. 
 
 We are staying here with Sir John MacNeiU, the 
 Crimean Commissioner and sometime Envoy in Persia ; he 
 has the charge of the administration of the Poor Laws in 
 Scotland. The Highland population is passing through the 
 stage of decrease. Emigration has been going on pretty 
 
LONDON 255 
 
 actively since the famine of 1846 and 1847, and lona, for 
 example, which had 500, has now 250 inhabitants. The 
 emigrants send hack money to bring out their friends, and 
 this will continue. Sir John MacNeUl, however, who has 
 had a great deal to do with it, expects that the population 
 will recover when the new methods of cultivation (or using) 
 the soil are established. Such has been the case in many 
 formerly Highland and now really Lowland places. 
 
 I am glad to hear of Rowse's restoration to life and 
 happiness in his native land. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Council Office: October 25, 1860. 
 
 I have just sent off the corrected 'Bothie' and two 
 copies of all the little poems. We have been here in town 
 for about ten days, but I think very likely we shall go to 
 Malvern for a week to complete our holiday, and for a little 
 gentle water-cure for me, who am a little out of order, and 
 not quite in vigour for the ten months' campaign shortly to 
 commence. 
 
 Louis Napoleon is said to be very cross, having offered 
 his company at Warsaw, and had it declined ; however, if 
 he is cross that way, all the better. But why does he keep 
 his paw on the patrimony of St. Peter, and exclude the law- 
 ful heir, Victor Emmanuel ? The popular feeling in France 
 is said to be very strong for Garibaldi, but there is some 
 considerable jealousy in the army, where Lamoricifere's dis- 
 grace touches professional vanity, and where Garibaldi is, I 
 suppose, not acceptable in himself. 
 
 Was not the Duke of Newcastle quite wrong to take 
 our young Prince to Richmond, where it is well known 
 there is a blackguard population ? They say here it is his 
 fault. However, it is no great harm, specially as it hap- 
 pened in a proud slave state. Just now you will be think- 
 
256 LETTERS OP AETHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 ing about Presidents, not Princes ; eight years ago, I think, 
 you were busy electing Pierce, and I was just starting per 
 ' Canada ' to visit you. 
 
 To the same. 
 Freshwater, Isle of Wight ; March 10, 1861. 
 
 I hope your being at home may be understood to prove 
 that you are a good deal stronger. I am a good deal better 
 myself, and have no very good excuse for not writing beyond 
 the advice which is given me to indulge in laziness. Had I 
 had six months' leave proclaimed to me from beforehand, 
 I should have naturally thought of going over to see you in 
 America ; but what with water-cure and other things I don't 
 think I shall even go abroad to the Continent for more 
 than a month. 
 
 I am glad to hear you speak so hopefully of your future ; 
 much, however, will I suppose in any case depend on the 
 good sense and character of your new President and his 
 advisers. I for my part should suppose that an attempt to 
 retake the federal forts would be unwise. You are strong 
 enough not to need it. 
 
 Emerson's new essays were to me quite as good as, if not 
 better than, any former volume. The reviews are no great 
 index of public interest unless you collect a good number. 
 There are now so many local reviews, and people with us 
 depend so very little on Athenseums and Literary Gazettes, 
 or even Saturday Reviews. An article in the ' Times ' is 
 the really important thing for a book to get with a view to 
 sale, but even that proves little as to people's interest. 
 There is a vast deal of anti-mysticism, and of a dense, super- 
 cilious, narrow-minded common sense, which of course speaks 
 pretty loudly. 
 
 To his Wife. 
 
 Athens : April 24, 1861. 
 
 This morning about six I got up, and found we had 
 just passed Cerigo, and had turned upnorth-eastward along 
 
LONDON" 257 
 
 the Peloponnesian coast. By half-past nine we had passed 
 Hydra and seen Calaurea, and were in sight of ^gina right 
 before us, and of Sunium on the right in the distance 
 Coming up from breakfast (half-past nine) we presently 
 came in sight of a low set of petty hills rising from a little 
 plain, and on one of the lowest saw the Parthenon. Pass- 
 ing ^gina and advancing towards Salamis we have this 
 right before us, Hymettus on the right, Pentelicus more 
 distant, Parnes beyond the plain, the bay stretching towards 
 Corinth on the left, Salamis hiding all the coast left of 
 Athens, and all very bright and sunny. We landed in 
 Piraeus about twelve, and came on shore in a boat and up 
 here in a vettura. I'm two pairs up, looking towards the 
 Acropolis. 
 
 April 28. 
 
 On Friday we went to Eleusis, through the pass of 
 Daphne ; there is scarcely anything left ; the little village 
 just about occupies the site of the great temple. There is a 
 little quay like a sickle running out into the water, and in 
 one spot some lesser ruins have been opened out. The bay, 
 which is completely shut in by Salamis, is beautiful, and so 
 is the plain, now green with young corn, and the mountains 
 of Parnes behind it. Dark poppies and small camomile 
 flowers abound everywhere instead of grass, and a good 
 many flowers quite strange to me. 
 
 April 29. 
 
 Last night I dined at the Wyses', and met General 
 Church, Mr. Finlay, Mr. Elliot, Secretary of Legation, 
 Captain Lambert, R.N. (of the ' Scylla,' which lies in the 
 Pirseus), who was at Marsala when Garibaldi landed, and 
 seems a fine hearty gallant sort of officer. An Austrian 
 Secretary of Legation and an Attache made up the party. 
 Captain Lambert spoke of the harbour. Phalerum they 
 say is the right harbour, it is so hard to tack into Pirseus. 
 Genera] Church spoke of seventeen tacks. But there is no 
 
 s 
 
258 LETTERS OF AETHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 trade at the back. Patras, said Sir T. Wyse, is the only- 
 place with a hack to it ; i.e. currants. 
 
 The weather has become perfectly fine, the sun hot, but 
 a fresh breeze blowing. In a fortnight, they say, all will 
 be brown. Just now the land is green with barley, into 
 which they turn the horses, partly cutting it, partly leaving 
 them to feed on as it stands, only shackling them. 
 
 This place is very pleasant to stay at, in the lounging 
 way. I walked to Colonus and the Academy, about a nule 
 and a half away, going north-east towards the Cephissus 
 and the ' Olive Grove.' You are let into a farm-house 
 garden, with all sorts of fruits and vegetables, quince-trees, 
 pomegranate-trees, orange-trees, ifec. ; and here also are a 
 few remains. I suppose the trees have never grown well 
 up again since Sylla cut them down.' There are a few old 
 olives, and about the farm newer trees, planes chiefly. Then 
 you cross a bare field to the bare hill or mound of Colonus, 
 where are two marble monuments to Ottfried Miiller and to 
 Lenormant. The view of the Acropolis is very good. 
 
 In the evening I rambled about, along the lUssus, 
 picked some maiden-hair from the rocks over the springs of 
 Calirrhoe, where we found women washing and donkeys 
 drinking, and so through some beer and wine gardens along 
 the water-side to the Stadium, a great hollow in the hill-side 
 where the foot-races were. 
 
 Tuesday, April 30. 
 Yesterday I went to Phyle, up on the hUls of Parnes ; 
 took four hours on horseback to get there, and nearly four 
 hours back. This is Greek Passion Week, and horses are 
 not easy to get ; my guide had a very poor one. Phyle is 
 romantic enough ; a very steep, rough horse- way leads to 
 it, and on one side of it, to Thebes. It is a fort with three 
 sides remaining, and two towers, and from the plateau you 
 
 ' Clough's Plvtarcli. Life of Sylla, vol. iii. p. 157. 
 
LONDON 259 
 
 see Hymettus and the plain witli the Acropolis far belo-w. 
 The road up rounds a shoulder of ^gialus, and then gets 
 wUder. You see goats about, nearly all black. The whole of 
 the mountains are pine-wooded — a light-green with a stone- 
 pine head ; they spring from the bare rock. There is a 
 thin herbage in places, with bare shrubs ; the biggest is the 
 irptvos, with little prickly holly-leaves, quite red when young 
 as now, and very close ; numerous flowers at Phyle, cistus,-, 
 thyme in blossom. The young pines look soft of foliage i I 
 jnistook them for deciduous trees. 
 
 To-day Mr. Pinlay called, and took me to the University 
 Library, and to the ^ovXevTrjpiov, where the /3ovXij were sit- 
 ting, and apparently at work. ' There are fifty JSovXevraL 
 Also we saw the Chamber, who seemed wholly idle. Thence 
 to the new Cathedral, not yet finished, and very gorgeous 
 (for so small a place) inside ; thence to his house, where the 
 visit ended by some Scotch marmalade, of which one takes- 
 a spoonful and a glass of water. 
 
 At the library I saw a new Greek translation of Plutarch,, 
 and of Homer, in verse. I also saw Mr. Finlay's Attic coins, 
 from the ararrip to the lowest. 
 
 May 1. 
 
 This morning I was called at ten minutes to four ; got 
 some caf^-au-lait and went down to Piraeus, "and embarked 
 on a Greek steamer, which at six started for Kalamakij a 
 little landing-place on the Isthmus, whence the road runs 
 over, four miles long, to New Corinth. As T started, on 
 the road to Piraeus, the light of sunrise (about 5.20) came 
 over Lycabettus, the sun actually rising over Hymettus 
 with the Parthenon between. People were then in the fields. 
 Acrocorinthus was visible pretty nearly all the way, and 
 latterly the mountains of Phocis, clouded, over the low: 
 Isthmus ; Megara just beyond, and Salamis very noticeable. 
 Old Corinth, or New Corinth the elder, nearly on the, site 
 of the . aaitique, was wholly destroyed by earthquake in 
 
 S2 
 
260 LETTERS OF AETHUE. HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 1857. To New Corinth, which is on the sea-side of the 
 Gulf of Corinth, the passengers are taken by omnibus and 
 cart, and embark for Patras. At Kalamaki I mounted a 
 horse with a Greek saddle, the most dreadful invention in 
 the world, which made it hopeless to reach Corinth and 
 return before the steamer returned to Athens ; however, 
 we went on as well as the saddle allowed, some way up 
 towards Acrocorinthus, a wild country, with a great deal of 
 low pine about, and with old quarries, and saw from the 
 higher part' the Gulf of Corinth stretching away to the 
 mountains of Phocis, heavily clouded, to the northern side 
 of it. When we got back it was just beginning to rain, and 
 it has rained hard ever since. I was fain to go into the 
 cabin, where I found however a resource in a Greek army 
 doctor (in fuU uniform, I only found out that he was a 
 doctor afterwards). He spoke French well enough. Tliis 
 rain is said to be very unusual. The morning from five 
 o'clock was delightful. Kalamaki is just at the north-east 
 extremity of the low level of the Isthmus, out of wMch 
 Acrocorinthus rises, almost by itself, and which is filled up, 
 north and south, as the space widens, by high mountains. 
 
 May 2. 
 
 The town is full of people buying and seUing for Trda-xa, 
 e.g. lambs ; there are flocks all about, on the Areopagus, 
 and also the outskirts. Wax candles also, beside the 
 usual marketings. 
 
 May i. 
 
 Yesterday was Friday, in Greek TrapatTKtvrj, and yester- 
 day in particular. Good Friday, ■^ fj.eyaX.rj Trapaa-Kevri, a great 
 fast, and everybody buying his lamb for the Pascha of 
 Sunday. 
 
 On Thursday I went up Pentelicus ; left this at eight, 
 
 ' From, the Acrooorinth watched the day 
 Light the eastern and the western bay. — Mari Magna. 
 
LONDON 261 
 
 got up by twelve. The view was clouded to the west and 
 north-west, but Euboea and the Euripus and Marathon 
 lay like a map below, also South Attica, with Andros, 
 Tenos, Ceos, and over Euboea, less distinct, Scyros. The 
 upper slopes of the mountain are clad with arbutus chiefly, 
 just going out of flower. There are marble quarries for a 
 great part of the way up, and one with a great grotto or cave 
 richly adorned with the common English maiden-hair, and 
 with a little of the true CapUlus veneris. 
 
 Coming down I stopped to lunch beside the monastery 
 of the Pan-agia ; bread and cheese and oranges, by a 
 beautiful gusliing water in a sort of cup out of a waU, tall 
 white poplars overhead, olives, and also large dwarf oaks 
 (fifteen feet high or more), the first I have seen. I looked 
 into the monastery court, in the middle of which is a huge 
 bay -tree. Mr. Psyllis, a Greek gentleman, a senator, whom 
 Mr. Finlay had introduced me to, happened to be there ; he 
 was spending his holiday there with some of his family, so 
 he talked to me, and presently gave me coffee, which Miss 
 Victoria, his daughter, presented on a tray to us, retiring 
 after so doing. Then he took me up a little outside stair- 
 case to a little set of rooms, and presented me to his 
 relation, the abbot or ijyow/ievos, Cyrillus AeXyepios, a fine- 
 looking elderly man, who lives there in two small rooms ; 
 one a sort of reception-room, where sometimes the king and 
 queen come, and therefore adorned with their pictures (two 
 common engravings) ; the other his bedroom and sitting- 
 room, where he had a little wood fire. He also asked me 
 to take coffee, so presently his domestic made it at this fire, 
 and presented it, with that well-known Turkish sweetmeat, 
 but made at Syra, and much nicer, and with a glass of water. 
 You take first sweetmeat ; secondly, coffee ; thirdly, water. 
 The monastery is very rich. 
 
 Last night (May 3) was a great night. The people at eight 
 crowd to the churches. In every church a bier is laid out 
 
262 LETTERS OF AKTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 with a great cloth over it, and a figure or representation 
 (sometimes a little embroidered map) of the Crucifixion. The 
 people all come in (in the chief church between files of 
 soldiers) and kiss the figure, and then perhaps go out. About 
 half -past nine the priests take up the bier and carry it out, 
 and the people follow after with lighted candles (st^ariques), 
 and go all about the streets. The chief procession had a 
 band of military music at the head, and lots of soldiers, then 
 some banners and crosses, and then, a little way behind, the 
 priests and the bier. All the streets are filled with the 
 people carrying lighted st&riques, and blue and red lights 
 were let off. 
 
 To-day is pretty quiet, only they are still buying lambs, 
 which are aU to be killed, poor things, this evening. 
 
 Sunday, May 5. 
 
 The paschal lambs were very generally sacrificed in the 
 •course of yesterday afternoon. About 4 p.m. L met their 
 skins walking about on the backs of sundry collectors of 
 lambskins here, as of hareskins with you, and on the doors 
 of the houses one might see here and there in the byeways 
 a skia ready for delivery. 
 
 In the afternoon I went up to the Parthenon ; the effect 
 of interval and depth in the columniation is far greater than 
 in any picture or imitation ; then out on a road towards 
 Phalerum with very good views of the Parthenon. Coming 
 back I met the lambskins on the backs of skin-collectors, and 
 hanging at doors, in the byeways by the Lantern of Demos- 
 thenes. 
 
 I was tired and a little out of sorts at night, and so did not 
 sit up to see the hullabaloo at 12 p.m., when the king and 
 queen, after attending divine service, come out upon a plat- 
 form and show themselves, in honour of the great event, and in 
 token that o Xpurros avianq. This morning I was disturbed 
 by worse than heathen Greeks howling away under my 
 
LONDON 263 
 
 window in a yard, and looking forth beheld four paschal 
 lambs over the embers, stuck through with poles, and the 
 heathen turning them, and singing strange words, among 
 which I thought I could occasionally detect ' Yesous.' 
 
 Wednesday, May 8. 
 The weather continues uncertain. Yesterday I went in 
 a boat from Pirseus out into Salamis Bay, past Psyttalea, 
 and then back and round the whole headland of Piraeus, to 
 see the little harbour on the other side, and the walls, of 
 which very nearly all the circuit can be traced by blocks 
 still remaining. The two harbours, Munychia and Zea, are 
 pretty little coves, both very small, Munychia extremely so, 
 with jetties of stone closing its mouth ; it is shallow and 
 deserted. The rain came on, so I came up by omnibus to 
 the aoTi, where the dances that should have been, round the 
 Temple of Theseus, were much interrupted. 
 
 Thursday, May 9. 
 
 In the afternoon, yesterday, I Vent to the Acropolis 
 from three to six, and looked at the sculptures on the left 
 hand as you go in. Note the minute comparative size of 
 the Erechtheum, which is also a good deal lower in site than 
 the Parthenon. I suppose the figures are perhaps seven 
 feet high. This small size shows very well from the terrace 
 under Lycabettus, where you see both. 
 
 I and two other gentlemen have agreed to go to Nauplia 
 by steamer on the 12th, and to ride thence to Corinth, return' 
 ing by steamer from the Isthmus on the 15th. The weather 
 is now beautiful, and seems to promise favourably. New 
 snow seems to have fallen on some of the hills near the 
 Isthmus. We are to go with Spiro Adamopulos, a well- 
 known trustworthy guide. 
 
 Pray can you guess what a <j>e(TOTr(oXeiov is, or a 
 KairvoiruiXeiov, or finally, a Trvev/ji,aTOTnaXelov 1 there are a 
 great many in Athens, but there are even more Katfxjitvtia. 
 
264 LETTERS OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 You know of course a woSTy/iaraTrotos, but what is a pairTijs ? 
 and should you know an omnibus as a Xeux^opdiov 1 
 
 Saturday, May 11. 
 
 I dined yesterday at the Hills', at three, meeting Miss 
 Bremer, who has been living here three years. She is a 
 little shrunk old lady, very quiet. In the evening I went 
 to a mixed soiree, consisting chiefly of Greeks, from nine to 
 near twelve ; music, with two professionals, Italians. I 
 talked a little to Miss Bremer, and to a Mr. and Mrs. and 
 Miss Dragoumi. Mrs. and Miss Dragoumi had come with us 
 in the boat : he conducts a Greek review. The music was 
 good, I think ; they get pianos from Vienna, and have some 
 good masters. They say the Greek girls marry at seven- 
 teen ; they learn French and music very well. Everybody 
 learns French ; a good many, English, to read ; everybody, 
 old Greek, to read a little. 
 
 Thursday, May 16. 
 
 I have got back, a little tired, but no worse. We had 
 a beautiful sail by steamer to Nauplia on Sunday ; it is a 
 iilthy place, and we left it gladly at six on Monday, on 
 horseback ; saw the ruins of Tiryns, TipvvOd re T€i)(i6£cr(rav, 
 and stopped half an hour at Argos, after a ride of seven 
 miles. It was by this time nine o'clock, and very hot ; and 
 we didn't go up the Acropolis, but rode off, and in about 
 an hour and a half reached our halting-place below Mycenae, 
 remains of walls on some bare rocky ground a mile above 
 being visible as we rode up. We lunched under a tree, 
 almost the only tree visible, and then went up, ridiag. The 
 Tomb,' or Treasury, is extremely remarkable, so also are the 
 other ruins, the Gate and the Wall. Thence back by another 
 course to the road, and shortly into a pass, the tptjtos, which 
 became wooded, with shrubs, and had a pleasant stream. So 
 into a fine upland among hills, then down into an open 
 
 ' With wonder in the spacious gloom 
 Stood of the Myoensean tomb. — M(wi Magna. 
 
LONDON 265 
 
 valley, or plain among hills, where we saw the three columns 
 of Nemea ; then down to them, and back over the hill-side, 
 lower down to our former line, and so down a water-course 
 to another little plain, to four houses among some willows — 
 one a small barrack for some ten soldiers ; one a little cook 
 and coffee shop ; one, I suppose, a little farm, and a sort of 
 granary place behind the shop, with a room fitted up over 
 one part of the granary for strangers. Here we lodged, and 
 next day went on to Corinth ; but here rain came on, and 
 we saw no view. We slept at Kalamaki on the east side of 
 the Isthmus, and came on yesterday. I go to-day to Con- 
 stantinople, and shall return on the 31st. 
 
 To the same, 
 Constantinople : Sunday, May 19, 10 A.M. 
 
 We arrived here this morning at half -past four, and 
 landed between six and seven ; it was raining all the time, 
 so that the far-famed first view was nil for us. But our 
 voyage otherwise was prosperous, fair and fine all the way ; 
 the moon and stars bright over the isles of Marmora when 
 we went to bed last night. 
 
 Ths steamer only left Piraeus at 3 p.m. on Friday. We 
 passed under Cape Colonna, and saw the temple very well 
 about 5.30 p.m. ; passed then through the strait between 
 the southern point of Euboea and the northern point of 
 Andros : the former is known as Capo d'Oro, i.e. Caphareus, 
 where Minerva drowned Ajax the Lesser. Night fell as 
 we left Euboea ; and when I came on deck at 6.30 a.m. yes- 
 terday, we had Lesbos, a long range of mountains, on the 
 immediate right ; and the coast of Asia, south of the Troad, 
 on the right bow. An aged modern Greek pointed out to 
 me a small thing on the horizon, almost straight ahead, a 
 little to the left of our course, which he said was Tenetho, 
 ' bello paese, buon vino, buon' e forte.' Some little after 
 
266 LETTERS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 we passed it, and several French savans began to quote, 
 ' Est in conspectu,' rather reminding one of ' As in prsesenti.' 
 We went in between Tenedos or Tenetho (a desert-looking 
 island still, but with one little corner occupied by a little 
 town, with a fort and three minarets) and the Troadj and 
 at this crisis were summoned to breakfast, but recovered 
 (most of us) the deck in time to see the actual plain of 
 Troy, and the entrance of the Dardanelles. There should 
 have appeared three tumuli at the turn, but I could not 
 well make them out. The embouchure of the Simois, just 
 above the town, lets you look up into the plaia, backed, 
 many miles off, by Mount Ida. 
 
 And so up the Dardanelles, which were crowded with 
 vessels taking advantage of the south wind, and so to Dar- 
 danelles (the Turkish town so called), where we stop, to 
 obtain permission to go on. Here are the castles and the con- 
 suls, and H.M.S. 'Melpomene,' having just, as I now learn, 
 brought Lord Dufferin from Beyrout ; and one hears that 
 the Sultan is very ill and likely to die, which on arriving 
 here one learns is all a lie. Then past Sestos and Abydos, 
 and the strait gradually widens till at Gallipoli, where the 
 French and English armies encamped, it opens into the Sea 
 of Ma,rmora. Lampsacus is on the right, a little before 
 Gallipoli on the left, ^gospotami I couldn't quite make 
 out. The Sea of Marmora, also, was full of shipping, most 
 in full sail for Constantinople, some also beating down,, out- 
 ward bound. 
 
 May 20. 
 
 Another wet day ! Was there ever such a disaster ? 
 We are to have the firman to see St. Sophia on Wednesday ; 
 to-morrow we are to do the walls ; Thursday, Scutari ; Fri^ 
 day. Sweet- Waters ; Saturday, the Bosphorus. But the place 
 is one requiring blue sky and bright sun, and there is no 
 promise of either. The hotel is costly, but comfortable in 
 its way, if one only had not to stay in it altogether. 
 
LONDON 267 
 
 May 21, 6.30 P.M. 
 
 We waited because of heavy clouds this morning for 
 more than an hour, and then mounted our horses, and set 
 out just in time for a heavy shower, but before getting 
 quite wet we were across the bridge of boats, and under 
 shelter in the bazaar, through whose covered arcades we 
 paced on horseback, between silks and shawls, &c., with 
 great imperturbability. When we got to the end, the 
 shower was over, and passing the Mosque of Sultan Bajazet, 
 and under the Seraskierat tower, we went right ahead 
 through strange Turkish lanes with pavements worse than 
 execrable, and in about two hours from starting reached 
 the ancient citadel of the Seven Towers, still all entire. 
 There, under some trees, we dismounted, and with some 
 trouble got admittance into the court, full of trees and 
 shrubs of natural growth. The trees are here more northern 
 than in Greece — ashes, a sort of lime, planes not abundant, 
 wild figs, and the cypresses, which 1 suppose are almost all 
 planted; the cemeteries, of course, are perfect forests of them. 
 So up to the parapet, and up a tower for the view ; the Sea 
 of Marmora here, the city there- — a very fine view 4 then out 
 and along the outside of the ancient walls, for a long way, 
 to a caf ^ at the Adrianople gate ; then inside to Belisarius's 
 castle, and on foot through a, house full of Jews (seven or 
 eight girls puUing at us for baksheesh) to a parapet, for 
 another view of the Golden Horn. Thence through a hor- 
 rible Jews' quarter, and a not much better Greek quarter, 
 across to the Patriarchal Church, and so along the Golden 
 Horn shore, but separated from it by houses, to our former 
 bridge, and so across to Pera a,nd home, 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. 
 
 May 23. 
 Yesterday, with some rain and some fatigue, we did the 
 SeragHo (French engravings and French gout). Kiosk of 
 Amurath .II. (better), St. Irene, St. Sophia, the Mosque of 
 
268 LETTEKS OF AKTHUE HUGH OLOUGH 
 
 Ahmed (all -white, except some blue China tiles, beautiful 
 courtyard and fountains), the Hippodrome, and a Tomb of 
 Sultan Mahmoud — all this under the protection of the firman, 
 and in a party of nearly twenty strangers. Sultan Mah- 
 moud's is a sort of conservatory tomb — large windows all 
 round, with white curtains, light and airy, and high-domed 
 roof. The Sultan is buried there, with his wife, sister, and 
 four daughters. 
 
 The Seraglio was a good deal below one's expectations ; 
 St. Sophia certainly beyond mine. The amplitude of the 
 dome is very impressive ; it is a sort of Pantheon exalted 
 into a Monotheon. Michael Angelo ought to have seen it. 
 
 How many times in the course of the day's work we 
 had to pull off boots and shoes and put on slippers, I can't 
 dare to say. The weather is still unsettled. The Bithynian 
 Olympus is one long range of snow-covered Alp. Till yes- 
 terday we had a fire in the sitting-room, and yesterday we 
 missed it. I have found great solace from a terrace on the 
 roof, which gives a tolerable view of the Strait, and the 
 Seraglio point, and Scutari, and the hills across the end of 
 the Sea of Marmora, and the snowy Olympus overtopping 
 them. 
 
 May 24, 10 A.M. 
 
 This, you know, is the Mahometan Sunday, and the 
 Sultan goes to mosque, and we are to go and stare at him 
 on his way. Mosque is at twelve o'clock, and we start at 
 eleven. 
 
 I dined yesterday with Dr. Beretta, who is a most 
 amiable kind man, but first I went with him to see 
 Elizabeth Kondaxaky, the Cretan sibyl, who prophesies, 
 fortunately in English, as well as Greek, and other tongues, 
 whereof she has the gift. I have not exactly summed up 
 the result of her prophecies, but she seems to be for Eng- 
 land and Turkey — the latter as ' a necessary evil,' and the 
 former as the natural protector of necessary evils. 
 
LONDOJ!^ 269 
 
 May 26. 
 
 On Friday we went to see the Sultan go to mosque, 
 which he did in his caique of twenty oars or more. We 
 were received into the house of HalU Bey, a profane Frank- 
 mannered Turk, with windows looking, some upon the 
 Bosphorus, where the caique passed by, and some upon the 
 court of the mosque, where the Sultan disembarked, so we 
 saw the poor creature admirably ; he looks quite ' the sick 
 man.' When he got on shore, a sort of chant was set up, inter- 
 preted to us, as ' Sultan ! trust not in yourself ; there 
 is God above, who is greater than you,' which was not say- 
 ing very much. 
 
 Then I left my companions and went back to the hotel, 
 and then over to Scutari with Dr. Pincoff, and saw all 
 Scutari, Barrack and General Hospitals, and F. N.'s own 
 tower, and rooms, and everything, of which you shall hear 
 when I return. 
 
 We went by steamer up the Bosphorus, to Buyukdere, 
 and up a hill to see the Black Sea. 
 
 Sunday, 5 p.m. 
 
 We have been to see the dancing dervishes, really not 
 an unedifying spectacle in the way of a divine service. ' 
 God, what a wonderful Creator Thou art ! Thou hast made 
 so many thousand human beings, black and white ; and 
 whom Thou pleasest, black or white. Thou canst raise to 
 be distinguished.' To such words and other such, chanted 
 with musical instruments accompanying, twenty men, in 
 presence of their chief, in solemn silence, go twirling about 
 with extended arms and spinning long petticoats. ' O God 
 what a wonderful Creator Thou art ! ' &c., &c. Adieu. 
 
 To C. E. Norton, Esq. 
 
 London: July 4, 1861. 
 On coming back from abroad ten days ago I received 
 two letters from you, one of which I had received by copy 
 
270 LETTERS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 from my wife at Athens. Many thanks for them ; they 
 were very interesting, and I hope you will not be discouraged 
 by my brief acknowledgments from writing further. I am 
 still invalided, and am to go abroad again the day after to- 
 morrow. I have achieved a good deal already, having seen 
 Athens and Constantinople. I was half tempted to come 
 over to pay you the visit you so kindly proposed, but I 
 should have had to return early in September, and I hope 
 some year to spend a September on your side. I have just 
 made a call on a former acquaintance in America, Miss 
 E. H., of Concord, who brought me a letter from Emerson 
 moreover. She tells me that in New England, she believes, 
 people do not expect that the Southern States will ever be 
 brought back into the Union, and that it is not the object 
 simply to make them return ; it being indeed hardly possible 
 that the States, North and South, should ever again live 
 together in union, but that the war is rather in vindication 
 of the North and its rights, which have been trampled upon 
 by the South. Is this true, in your judgment 1 Certainly it 
 does seem hardly conceivable that South Carolina should 
 ever return. On what terms then would the North be 
 willing to make peace, and what conditions would it require 
 in limine before entering upon the question of separation ? 
 As for the feeUng here, you must always expect states- 
 men to be cold in their language, and the newspapers 
 impertinent and often brutal. Beyond this,, I think people 
 here had been led to suppose at the outset that the Northern 
 feeling was strong against civil war (and so it was, I suppose), 
 and that the principle of separation was conceded ; the 
 indignation being merely at the mode adopted for obtaining 
 it. And the attack on Fort Sumter, which caused so 
 sudden a revulsion of feeling with you, was naturally 
 attended with no such change here. But coexisting with 
 all this, I believe there is a great amount of strong feeling 
 in favour of the North. ' • ' 
 
LONDON 271 
 
 Technically we are wrong, I suppose, and as a matter of 
 feeling, we are guilty of an outrage in recognising the South 
 as a belligerent power, but as a matter of convenience 
 between your Government and ours, I suppose the thing is 
 best as it is. 
 
 Miss H. will take to Emerson four photographs of Rowse's 
 picture of me ; one for you : it may be better than nothing. 
 
 My nervous energy is pretty well spent for to-day, so I 
 must come to a stop. I have leave till November, and by 
 that time I hope I shall be strong again for another good 
 spell of work. 
 
 Lord Campbell's death is rather the characteristic death 
 of the English political man. In the cabinet, on the bench, 
 and at a dinner party, busy, animated, and full of effort to- 
 day, and in the early morning a vessel has burst. It is a 
 wonder they last so long. I shall resign if it proves much 
 of a strain to me to go on at this official work. Farewell. 
 
 To Ms Wife 
 Mont Dore-les-Bains, Auvergne : July 16, 1861, 
 
 This is a queer place, a French watering-place, a village, 
 scarcely even a village, metamorphosed by having a square 
 of hotels on three sides and a bath establishment on one side, 
 with a sort of terrace or esplanade stuck down into it. The 
 place is some 3,000 feet above the sea, a green Swiss-like 
 valley, right in the mountains, with fir-trees standing out 
 from the green mountain sides, just as in Switzerland. There 
 is a hot spring, or rather a quantity of hot springs, issuing 
 from the volcanic rock, known and used by the Romans, 
 and re-discovered or re-established for use under the first 
 Napoleon, to whose time the buildings seem to belong. They 
 are about sufficient for the 500 or 600 people who come. We 
 were fifty, I think, at dinner yesterday, in one of the hotels. 
 
 The journey here in the diligence was agreeable, right 
 
272 LETTBKS OF ARTHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 over the chain of hills, of which Puy de D6me is the highest, 
 from the valley of the Allier (flowing to the Loire) to the 
 valley here flowing to the Gironde. We mounted to about 
 3,300 or 3,400 feet above the sea, and descended 300 or 400 
 to this place ; the high land was a green pastoral district 
 with rounded hUls mostly ; no very distinct craters on the 
 route ; a lake a little way off was one, I suppose. 
 
 This is really an odd enough place to be in ; dejeuner at 
 ten, dinner at half -past five ; two tables of about twenty-five 
 people, all French ; we also have a drawing-room where we 
 meet before meals, and sit generally (only I don't) ; gentle- 
 men unbeknown to ladies give their arms to ladies aforesaid, 
 to conduct them into dinner, and occasionally out from 
 dinner. I sit near some pleasant people at dinner, a Parisian 
 of the Parisians on one hand, and a Marseilles opulent-seem- 
 ing seeming-merchant with a wife, a sister and some children, 
 on the other. Last night, from eight to half -past nine, was a 
 soiree magicale, things coming out of hats, &c., followed by 
 a divertissement of a poet and improvisatore, who did hout- 
 rime. The company supplied him for his last ipreuve with 
 about fourteen or sixteen words, rhymes mascuKne and 
 feminine, mitraUle, canaille, volcan, enoan, ending with 
 baigneur and bonheur, which gave him the opportunity (the 
 subject by the way being also given him after the rhymes, 
 viz. vin de champagne) to wish in conclusion to chaque 
 aimdble haigneur I don't know how much bonheur, which 
 of course drew the house. The poet's face was a great 
 round simple-looking piece of countenance, and he was fat 
 but alert, and knew more tricks than one, I dare say. 
 
 July 19. 
 Went to Lac Gu&y and the Plateau with Jean. Wages 
 three francs a day, and for harvest three francs and 
 victuals : the same as at Marseilles. The schoolmaster has 
 600 francs. 
 
LONDON 273 
 
 July 20. 
 
 Talked with M. Chabuy. He is percepteur of all taxes. 
 They are imperial, ddpartemental, communal. (There are 
 three classes of percepteurs, the third, viz. of communes de 
 canton, is named by the prdfet.) He is bound within a 
 certain time to pay all to the tresor. His accounts are 
 verified by the prefecture, and inspectors come every now 
 and then — one every year into each department — who have 
 the right of looking into the accounts, examining the caisse 
 communale. It would not do to leave it to the conseil and 
 maire. There is very little malversation. The church pay- 
 ments for chaires, burials, &c., are regulated by the bishop. 
 Government pays all the ministers — Catholic, Protestant, 
 and Jews. If a place of worship of any kind is to be built, 
 the commune pays, and everybody is contribuable, of what- 
 ever religion. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Mont Dore-les-Bains : July 21. 
 
 My plans are changed. This morning about 8. 30, going 
 across the place to the caf^ whom should I see but Tennyson. 
 They are all here. They go to the Pyrenees, and I am to 
 follow them. I want to come home in September, and see 
 no sufficient reason yet for not returning to work in No- 
 vember. I don't at all want to spend a winter abroad away 
 from the children, and were I to be brought to do so, I 
 should want to come home first. Coming home did me 
 good. I now propose to go to some place in the Pyrenees 
 and ride about. Bagnferes de Luchon will be the first trial, 
 as the Tennysons will be there. 
 
 To the same. 
 Bagnferes de Luchon, Pyrfnfies : July 30. 
 I came on here yesterday ; a ten hours' drive in the 
 banquette of a diligence, but it was a fine day and not 
 
 T 
 
274 LETTERS OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 excessively hot. The place is exceedingly crowded, a sort of 
 
 mountain Brighton. This Franco-Gallo-cockney-Chamouni 
 
 is, however, not unbearable, if taken in the right way. It 
 
 is in a rich valley, an almost perfect level here of com^ 
 
 maize especially, and vegetables, running in like an estuary 
 
 among the mountains. At the head of it, between sides of 
 
 wooded mountains, you see the rocky peaks with snow in 
 
 their clefts, filling up the gap. But there are no Alpine 
 
 eternal-snowy peaks visible here. 
 
 August 4. 
 
 On Friday I went in a sort of public conveyance some six 
 or eight miles up the valley to the Hospice, and thence 
 walked with my fellow-passengers up the Port de Venasque 
 into Spain. You see the whole Maladetta, and it's the 
 principal thing to do here. Yesterday I went up into the 
 Valine de Lys, full of waterfalls ; and to-day I have been 
 a longish ride, starting at 6 a.m., to the Lac d'Oo, really a 
 very beautiful mountain lake, the lowest of four or five ; 
 the others are a good way higher up. 
 
 August 6. 
 
 I have been my ride, five hours over hills, looking out 
 upon the glaciers of the main chain ; these hills are called the 
 Super Bagnferes, and rise right above here. Then down 
 about eleven o'clock to the chalet of the Valine de Lys, 
 where I stayed about three hours, breakfasting, going up to 
 some waterfalls, and sheltering from a brief storm, and so 
 home. 
 
 August 8. 
 
 Providence overruled my mind not to go out riding to- 
 day as I had intended, so I got the letter telling of the 
 new little daughter in good time. I think you must call 
 the little girl Blanche Athena. 
 
 The Tennysons are at Bigorre. I am very glad to have 
 the prospect of joining them, for it is rather too solitary work 
 going about Pyreneeing with a horse and a guide, or even 
 say two horses and a guide. However, the two men I have 
 
LONDON- 275 
 
 had here have been good company in their way — two 
 cousins, both having served as soldiers, one six years, the 
 other eight or nine. One was in the Crimea, and all through 
 the campaign in Italy, and means to be a soldier again. He 
 had just finished his time when his brother was drawn in 
 the conscription. His brother had just married, so he said 
 he would serve two years for him, and when the two years 
 were ended and he came home, somehow or other the brother 
 was let off. Eighteen went from Luchon to the Crimea, 
 ten or twelve of them cousins ; thirteen came back, and 
 they are, I think, all here as baigneurs, guides, &c. This 
 fine young fellow was a hussar, and went out straight to 
 Algiers, where he set to work and ate so many figs and 
 oranges that he had a fever at once, and was in the hospital 
 for three months. He was wounded just at the end of the 
 Crimean war, a fortnight before the peace, and was in 
 hospital at Constantinople for three months. He made' 
 great friends with the English, apparently. So much for 
 Pierre Redonnet, with whom I rode on Tuesday over Super 
 Bagnferes to the Valine de Lys. The day before I had his 
 cousin Jean, who is a family man, and unambitious of 
 military service. 
 
 I have seen here a certain Comte de , an Italian, a 
 
 Tuscan, who knew some friends of yours at Rome. He is 
 a Confederation man, and declaims against this premature 
 attempt at a united Italy. I met him at the Lac d'Oo. 
 He has just been here, and all but embraced me in his 
 obscurantist arms, and has bidden me adieu, 'God bless you.' 
 He talks English, which he mixes a little with German, and 
 I mix my English with a little Italian. Who can he be ? 
 and why has he so nearly embraced me ? 
 
 Luchon is a very Parisian place ; people flaunt about, 
 and wear strange Parisian mountain-costumes, ' tours-de- 
 t6te ' of all kinds. The French upper classes seem to me to 
 be strongly possessed with the feeling that the Italian king- 
 
 t2 
 
276 LETTERS OF AETHUB HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 dom is very much against French interests ; and partly also 
 with the feeling that the Emperor is driven into it by 
 England, who knows it to be bad for France. Sardinia 
 would pacify them, no doubt. But after Rioasoli's declara- 
 tion, can he, and after Lord John's speech, can he, assent ? 
 
 All things perhaps are possible. 
 
 August 9. 
 
 To-day comes a note to say that the Tennysons are all 
 coming here this evening, and I have already taken my 
 place for Luz, vid Bigorre ! Go I must, and start early 
 to-morrow morning. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Luz, St. Sauveur: August 13. 
 
 This (Luz) is the place where all the Barfeges things are 
 made. The old women are all busy with distaff and spincfle. 
 The things are made not at Barfeges, but here and at 
 Bigorre. The old women go about ia scarlet hoods ; the 
 men all wear light-blue caps ; the younger women handker- 
 chiefs, brown, with yellow stripes. I have nothing to relate, 
 so I send you some verses made this morning, called 
 ' Currente Calamo.'' 
 
 August 17. 
 
 I have been laid up for some days, but am well again, 
 and this morning walked up to Barfeges, four miles up a 
 high valley east of this. It is a regular pool of Bethesda, 
 only the diseased and impotent people seem to have learnt 
 to play at cards ; a desolate place with a staring ^tablisse- 
 inent and a soldiers' hospital, and everybody on crutches, 
 and the only apparent enjoyment playing at cards in shabby 
 cafds. A high road with electric telegraph leads up to it 
 and ends with it. 
 
 August 18. 
 
 To-day, as soon as I got the letters, I set off for 
 Gavarnie ; the horses were waiting at the door for the 
 
 ' Ma/i-i Magna : My Tale. 
 
LONDON 277 
 
 postman. We got away at 7.20 A.M., and riding up the 
 
 Gave, or riverside, reached Gavarnie village in two hours ; 
 
 here there is a hotel of a quiet kind. Soon after passing 
 
 through this, you come in fair sight of the Cirque. The 
 
 ground is mostly level, except a rise at the end, which 
 
 brings you to the platform of the Cirque itself, and to the 
 
 cottage which is the end of the riding. A little beyond it 
 
 there is snow, forming a bridge over the stream, and you 
 
 have the vast cascade in full sight, but far off. One waits 
 
 tUl noon for the sun to get on the cascade and turn it into 
 
 a white cloud. It is the finest thing, certainly, that I have 
 
 seen in the Pyrenees. 
 
 August 19. 
 
 Yesterday was very hot, cloudless, though not without 
 air. To-day there is a ' brouillard sec ' all over the hUl-tops, 
 a north wind blowing, and no sunshine. 
 
 August 20. 
 
 To-day again is the blessed brouillard, keeping all the 
 
 world cool, but preventing the ascent of hUls. 
 
 August 23. 
 
 I have been to Cauterets by diligence two days ago. 
 
 Yesterday at 6 a.m. went to Lac de Gaube, which is very 
 
 good, returned to Cauterets and lounged about the rest of 
 
 the day, and this morning at 6.30 came back on horseback 
 
 over the hills and got here at eleven. Cauterets is certainly 
 
 beautiful, more beautiful than this, only it is a busyish 
 
 water-place, which this is not ; the water-place here, St. 
 
 Sauveur, being a mile off, and very little frequented. 
 
 Cauterets is right in the real granite, and the stream is 
 
 absolutely clear, which no other large stream yet seen by 
 
 me in these parts is. 
 
 August .31. 
 
 I have been over to Luchon to see the Tennysons, whom 
 I found very comfortably established in pleasant lodgings 
 out of the town, in maize fields, not far from the river. 
 
278 LETTERS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 These places are beginning to lose their beau monde. It 
 was a two days' journey. I rode on Saturday through 
 Bareges, up to the Tourmalet Pass, and down to Grip, up 
 again to Col d'Aspin, and so down to Arreau. Next day 
 left Arreau at 6.30 a.m., and came up a long valley to the 
 top of another col, and so down to Luchon before half -past 
 eleven. It was agreeable enough to be worth doing twice, 
 so I came back on horseback the same way, leaving Luchon 
 on Tuesday. I rode to Arreau in the afternoon, then 
 reascended the Col d'Aspin, when the view, this time was 
 complete and much finer ; from Maladetta east to the Pic 
 du Midi de Bigorre west ; saw, with a slight haze in the 
 air, Maladetta and Port de Venasque perfectly, the glaciers 
 about the Valine de Lys, the Lac d'Oo, the Pic du Midi, and 
 the Barfeges mountains, all quite clear. I reached Luz 
 about six on Wednesday. 
 
 I did one new thing yesterday, and went up the Pic des 
 Bergons, whence there is really a fine view of Pic du Midi 
 on the one hand, and Mont Perdu and Breche de Roland 
 on the other. I send you another Pyrenean fragment : — 
 
 She fed her cows, the mountain-peaks between.^ 
 
 September 1. 
 The Tennysons arrived at 6.30 yesterday. Tennyson 
 was here, with Arthur HaUam, thirty-one years ago, and 
 really finds great pleasure in the place ; they stayed here 
 and at Cauterets. ' ^none,' he said, was written on the 
 inspiration of the Pyrenees, which stood for Ida. 
 
 September 6. 
 
 Yesterday we went up the Pic du Midi, which proved 
 
 fully equal to all expectations, though there was haze over 
 
 the plain and over the remoter ends of the chain. It is a 
 
 very complete view of the chain as we saw it, only from the 
 
 ' Mari Magna : My Tale. 
 
LONDON 279 
 
 Maladetta to the Pic du Midi d'Ossau ; our Pic du Midi 
 lying detached, or only tacked-to by the thin Col de Tour- 
 malet, some way to the north. 
 
 Tennyson and have walked on to Cauterets, and I 
 
 and the family follow in a calfeche at two. 
 
 Cauterets : September 7. 
 
 To-day is heavy brouillard down to the feet, or at any 
 rate ankles, of the hUls, and Httle to be done. I have been 
 out for a walk with A. T. to a sort of island between two 
 waterfalls, with pines on it, of which he retained a recollec- 
 tion from his visit of thirty-one years ago, and which, 
 moreover, furnished a simile to ' The Princess.' He is very 
 fond of this place, evidently, and it is more in the mountains 
 than any other, and so far superior. 
 
A CONSIDEEATION OF OBJECTIONS 
 
 AGAINST THE 
 
 EETEENCHMENT ASSOCIATION. 
 . OXFOED 1847. 
 
A CONSIDERATION OF OBJECTIONS 
 
 AGAIKST THE 
 
 EETRENCHMENT ASSOCIATION AT OXFORD 
 
 DURING THE IRISH FAMINE IN 1847. 
 
 The first obvious, and, if sound, obviously fatal, objection 
 to this Association, is directed not against the intention, but 
 against the means employed. Why associate 1 Cannot we 
 be temperate without joining a temperance society ? cannot 
 we give ahns without printing our names ? 
 
 To those who think and speak thus, may it not be said. 
 If you think thus, and speak thus, then do thus ? It is by 
 no means the object to form a great joint-stock charity- 
 doing monopoly : the more numerous and the more active 
 those are whose names do not appear, the better satisfied, I 
 am sure, will be those whose names do appear. If you do 
 not like charity by association, see that private charity is 
 energetic ; and those you complain of will not complain of 
 you. 
 
 But I think they wUl flatter themselves that at the 
 same time your private efibrts will be powerfully seconded 
 by the organisation you dislike. Will it not be easier for 
 you to retrench now that retrenchment is not likely to be mis- 
 taken 1 Breakfast parties, and wine parties, &c., &c., are 
 as it were the currency of hospitality : you cannot alter 
 this ' coin of the realm ' of entertainments without coming 
 
284 PROSE REMAINS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 to some common understanding. And to come to that com- 
 mon understanding some degree of undesirable publicity- 
 may surely be endured. 
 
 A second objection, of a different kind, rests upon the 
 statement that a great number of undergraduates receive 
 no fixed allowance from home : what they do not spend, 
 they do not receive. Of course in those cases, where all 
 that can be saved -is welcome at home, nothing further can 
 be said : no retrenchment can be urged, because it is pre- 
 sumed no retrenchment can be made. In all others may it 
 not be asked, Is it true that you have not, in point of fact, 
 what comes to the same thing as an allowance ? a sum of 
 money which you are expected to call for, beyond which you 
 are expected not to go, and up to which you would think 
 yourself justified in spending for your own gratification ? 
 The sum which last year the paternal purse would have 
 freely given for ices, will it this year refuse for almsgiving ? 
 What with a safe conscience you would have asked for then, 
 will not your conscience suffer you to petition for now ? 
 But be this as it may — for economy is a duty towards friends 
 and parents sadly enough neglected in Oxford — one thing 
 may and must be said. Do not, in the name of common 
 sense, first refuse to give, because the money is not yours, 
 and then go and spend on yourself, because it is your 
 father's. 
 
 You are not called upon, you think, to be your father's 
 almoner : he is his own almoner : let it be so. But may it 
 not be at this season permitted you to strengthen his hands 
 in this capacity 1 Will not the money which your economy 
 here will leave at his disposal, find its way, think you, into 
 the hands and mouths and hungry stomachs, if not of Irish, 
 yet of English labourers ? We shall find, I think, soon, 
 some reason to believe that for the sake of all it is at this 
 present time most incumbent on all, if not to give, at any 
 rate not to consume. Why are operatives out of work in 
 
ON RBTRENCHMENX AT OXFOKD 285 
 
 Yorkshire and Lancashire 1 Why are farm labourers 
 receiving in these midland and southern counties wages at 
 all times small, at this time and with these prices of corn, 
 barely enough to keep soul and body together ? why is not 
 work, more and more than enough, provided, as was ex- 
 pected, by railways 1 Pendent opera interrupta. Why — 
 why is it, or how ? Not because there is no useful work to 
 be done ; no orders from abroad for cotton goods ; no agri- 
 cultural improvements possible ; no lines of railway worth 
 the making. No. Why indeed, or how, but because there 
 is not money to pay the expenses of the working ; to buy 
 cotton for the operatives to turn into calicoes ; to buy tUes 
 for draining ; or iron and bricks and mortar for railways. 
 God, by a sudden visitation, has withdrawn from the income 
 He yearly sends us in the fruits of His earth, sixteen mil- 
 lions sterling. Withdrawn it, and from whom ? On whom 
 falls the loss ? Not on the rich and luxurious, but on those 
 whose labour makes the rich man rich and gives the luxuri- 
 ous his luxury. Shall not we then, the aflBuent and indul- 
 gent, spare somewhat of our affluence, curtail somewhat 
 of our indulgence, that these (for our wealth too and our 
 indulgence in the end) may have food while they work, and 
 have work to gain them food ? He who at this moment 
 saves money (I say not to send to Skibbereen, but) to lay 
 out in some profitable investment, to lend to master manu- 
 facturers for buying cotton, or landlords for draining, or 
 railway companies for excavating — yes, he who but buys 
 into the funds, does more a great deal — yea, more, as some- 
 thing is more than nothing, as plus is more than minus, 
 than he who spends, albeit for the benefit of the trade, in 
 wines, and ices, and waistcoats. 
 
 So is it, as a general rule, and must be ; he who eats 
 his cake cannot have it ; he who saves it may change it 
 for bread, and that bread may maintain men at work. So 
 is it as a general rule : yet there are surely modifications. 
 
286 PROSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 And here we come to the great objection, ' the tradesman's ' 
 objection I may call it, which is the most important by 
 far of all that have been urged against this system of re- 
 trenchment. You are taking the bread out of the mouths 
 not of ' wealthy tradesmen ' only, but ' wealthy tradesmen's' 
 far-from-wealthy work-people. Do you think all that tailor- 
 ing, and man-millinery making, that cooking, and that 
 horse-tending, that serving and waiting was done by nobody? 
 Will nobody stand idle and hungry, because you have 
 changed your mind ? Had you not, as it were, rung your 
 bell for them, and now when they wait your commands 
 have you nothing to say 1 Had you not, in point of fact, 
 engaged their service, and now do you, without warning, 
 dismiss them 1 If they suffer by it, are you not in the 
 wrong 1 If they starve, is not yours the guilt ? Doubtless, 
 indeed, if in this country any man in any place starve, a 
 verdict of guilt, less or greater, must I fear be brought, not, 
 as in Irish juries, against Lord John Russell, but against 
 the wealthy and luxurious of this wealthy and luxurious 
 land. 'We are verily guilty concerning our brother, in 
 that we saw the anguish of his soul when he besought us 
 and we would not hear.' Their suffering is on our heads. 
 But the question is. Who had best suffer ? those who are 
 working to bring things right, or those whom we could not 
 save from suffering without crippling our means for all ? 
 Which must be put on shortest allowance, the able soldier 
 or the camp-follower ? Which must be dismissed, in this 
 household that must be reduced, the farm labourers or the 
 valets and lady's-maids ? 
 
 Surely Irish newspapers long ere this should have made 
 us see how reproductive labour differs from unreproductive. 
 Most true it is that the indulgences of Members of this Uni- 
 versity are the means of providing a livelihood for a large 
 staff of shopkeepers and shopkeepers' work-people, tailors 
 and confectioners, ostlers and waiters. Most true it is. Yet 
 
ON EETRENCHMENT AT OXFORD 287 
 
 except for the mere enjoyment so received by us, the cus- 
 tomers, our money is a mere waste. We are employing for 
 our enjoyments men who might, by devoting their skill and 
 their strength to the farm, tjie factory, the ship, and the 
 railway, increase our stock of food, and our facilities for ob- 
 taining and transmitting it. Or, ultimately, if useful em- 
 ployment fail here, we should have money in our hands for 
 removing superfluous labourers to a field where not labourers 
 but land is superfluous. 
 
 At no time whatever, I believe, can our large expenditure 
 upon objects of luxury be justified : at a time like this, when 
 we know that wages paid to those who work in the farm 
 and the factory will bring us corn, while wages paid to 
 Oxford tradesmen will only increase our own useless con- 
 sumption, I see not how any doubt can be felt; 
 
 The ship is stranded and short of provisions, but a port 
 full of supplies is at hand ; and they who control the 
 matter will not victual the boat's crew that should go to 
 obtain them, because forsooth it would straiten the allowance 
 of their cabin boys, and cooks, and waiters. And that these 
 forsooth may earn their food, and their masters have an 
 excuse for feeding them, these masters bid them continue 
 their functions — consume precious flour in pies and pasties 
 — precious meats in wasteful made dishes — for their own 
 over-eating. Alas, that mutato nomine de nobis fahula 
 na/rratur. 
 
 You will say, I am pleading the cause not of Irish 
 peasants, but of English factory people and excavators. I am 
 pleading the cause of both. Is it not English labour that 
 has this year kept Ireland alive 1 What is to do the kind 
 office in the next year ? Mainly, I fear, English labour again. 
 Yet may we not hope, too, that if we keep alive Irishmen 
 in their wretched Skibbereens, we shall preserve not only 
 hungry mouths, but also strong hands that in the end will do 
 work ? But it is true ; I plead for both. 
 
288 PROSE REilAIxVS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 And for the tradesmen and the tradesmen's work-people, 
 what can be done 1 Surely it is idle to keep up an unnatural 
 and vicious demand which finds no better means of feeding 
 one set of men than wasting food on another. We are guilty, 
 I think, in having brought this state of things upon our- 
 selves, that many families depend for their present sus- 
 tenance on the continuance of such a system. One thing 
 however there is, which will relieve at any rate the trades- 
 men, and through them perhaps do something for their 
 dependants : and that is, paying bills. I for my part urge 
 no man to give alms at this time, till he has paid his debts. 
 It is not, I think, due to the tradesmen to go on spending ; 
 but to pay for what has been received, I think is due. 
 
 Here then we come to another objection, the soundness 
 of which I have at once admitted. It is said. If I save at 
 all, I must save to pay my debts ; we must be just before 
 we are generous. It is said, and said most fairly. But is 
 it never added (how fairly I will not ask), I will there- 
 fore not save at all ? Why should I, this year more than 
 last year ? My savings wiU not go to the Irish ; why need 
 I have savings at all? And therefore while others starve 
 I will surfeit ; whUe others cry out for husks, and submit if 
 they cannot have them, I, no less loudly, will clamour for a 
 new pleasure, and be indignant if it is not found me. And 
 therefore if this affliction should be, as in some degree it 
 surely will be, continued into another year, or extended, no 
 unlikely event, in some form or other into England itself, 
 I shall still be helpless, still have the same ready plea for 
 doing nothing, the same happy excuse for self-indulgence. 
 Verily it is to be feared there are some who, with money in 
 their pockets, will refuse to give to the Irish, because they 
 owe sums to tradesmen ; neglect to pay their tradesmen, 
 because paying tradesmen is not giving to Ireland • and 
 so in the end will do neither, will let their bills go on 
 increasing, and spend their ready money on extra amuse- 
 
ON RETRENCHMENT AT OXFORD 289 
 
 ments not to be had without it. It is not impossible there 
 are men who will say, What money I have I owe to Bennett, 
 or Bickerstaff ; however, as Bennett and BickerstaflF are not 
 famishing, they may as well wait ; and then I shall have my 
 money to take me up to town, to carry me to the opera, to 
 pay my way in my long vacation continental excursion. 
 
 What then ! truly, indeed, if Bennett and Bickerstaff 
 are not famishing and may as well wait, why you may as 
 well not go to the opera, and pay your opera's price to keep 
 your countrymen alive. But do not suppose it is I who so 
 advise. Pay your debts by all means. Surprise Bennett 
 with bank-notes, and gratify Bickerstaff with gold. There 
 is need, as we saw just now. I ask you not to be generous 
 before you are just ; I only bid you make haste and be just 
 that you may be generous the sooner. I only beseech you 
 not to say (they are indeed ' vain words ') I cannot be 
 generous, and as for being just, that will do a year hence. 
 Pay if you can ; if you cannot, why, cripple not at any 
 rate your means for generosity alike and justice in years to 
 come. In any case and every case, let not the sky which 
 in Ireland looks upon famishment and fever, see us here at 
 Oxford in the midst of health and strength over-eating, 
 over-drinking, and over-enjoying. Let us not scoff at 
 eternal justice with our champagne and our claret, our break- 
 fasts and suppers, our club-dinners, and desserts, wasteful 
 even to the worst taste, luxurious even to unwholesomeness 
 • — or yet again by our silly and fantastic frippery of 
 dandyism, in the hazardous elaboration of which the hundred 
 who fail are sneered at, and the one who succeeds is smiled 
 at. 
 
 I know not if there be any who venture on the bold 
 declaration, The money is mine, and I will have the good 
 of it ; I have got, and I will spend ; the Irish have not 
 and they must do without. Something however too much 
 approaching to this feeling undoubtedly does exist. In the 
 
290 PEOSE EEMAISTS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 ravelled and tangled skein, of which is constituted the 
 content and quietness of conscience enjoyed by us, the 
 purse-aristocracy of England, this thread, I think, may here 
 and there be detected even by unskilful fingers. To these 
 sticklers for the rights of property it is worth while putting 
 one question. If you had been wrecked the other day in 
 the ' Tweed ' steamer, and had been successful in reaching the 
 place of safety in the rocks, would you, if the articles of food 
 secured there from the waters had happened to belong to 
 your own peculiar private stores — would you, I ask, have 
 entertained a thought that to you exclusively belonged the 
 right to enjoy them ? This barrel of biscuits is marked 
 with my letters, and was always known to be mine ; did I 
 not pay for it ! mine has come, aU the better for me, yours 
 has not, all the worse for you. 
 
 O ye, bom to be rich, or at least born not to be poor ; ye 
 young men of Oxford, who gallop your horses over Bulling- 
 don, and ventilate your fopperies arm-in-arm up the High 
 Street, abuse if you will to the full that other plea of the 
 spirits and thoughtlessness of youth, but let me advise you 
 to hesitate ere you venture the question. May I not do what 
 I like with my own 1 ere you meddle with such edge-tools 
 as the subject of property. Some one, I fear, might be 
 found to look up your title-deeds, and to quote inconvenient 
 Scriptures. 
 
 The Institution of Property, he might urge, is all well 
 enough as a human expedient to secure its reward to 
 industry, and protect the provident labourer against the 
 careless and idle. But for half-miUion-per-annum fortunes, 
 fifty-mile-long estates, and may-I-not-do-what-I-please- 
 with-my-own proprietors, some other justification, it would 
 seem, must be sought. Sought and found. Found it must 
 be by owners, or looked for it will be by others. 
 
 For consider it, he might say, a little more closely. 
 How come you to have money ? It comes from your father. 
 
ON EETRENCHMEKT AT OXPOKD 291 
 
 Then your father or your father's father, we hope — (for by 
 begging, stealing, or serving, all men live, said Mirabeau) — 
 your ancestor, we hope, in time past, did service to receive it ; 
 worked for it ; earned it. And who gave him that work 
 to do 1 Many a strong man have we known in our days 
 begging for work, no matter what, to save him from starv- 
 ing. The will to work, plain enough, is not all : Archimedes 
 must have his ttoS otG' : the workman his somewhat to work 
 at : man labours not 'as one that beateth the air.' Who 
 was it then, who, when your father or father's father asked 
 for work, gave it him ? Ultimately you most likely will 
 find it was He who gave us the earth. Ultimately it is the 
 earth that forms our wealth and our subsistence. Philo- 
 sophers and merchants, poets and shopkeepers, soldiers, 
 sailors, tinkers, tailors — in our most spiritual, as in our 
 most material productions, we all alike start in this, in the 
 earth have our ttoS cttS and TroOev i<T6io>, our work to work at. 
 And ' the earth hath He given to the children of men.' 
 Not, says the Scripture, to the children of the rich, or of 
 the noble, or of those who have had it hitherto ; not to the 
 well-bred and weU-educated^rather, it might seem, to the 
 children of those by the sweat of whose brow it is subdued. 
 So might some one put it. And far more near to the 
 truth do I deem it would be to declare, that whoever is 
 bom into the world has a just claim to demand therein and 
 therefrom work and wages for work ; is bound to do his 
 part in the labour, and entitled to expect his proportion in 
 the fruits ; even as in some Alacran shipwreck ; each new- 
 comer, scevis^ projeetus ab wndis (it is the old Lucretian 
 image), may be called upon to share in the toils, and may 
 demand to share in the food ; and no old citizen of the 
 rocks shall dare to say. We may monopolise the work alike 
 and the pay ; we have hands enough for the work, and we 
 wiU have no new mouth for the victuals ; — far truer, though 
 not the whole truth, I think would this be than the fairest 
 
 U2 
 
292 PEOSE REMAINS OF AETHUB, HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 human-law theory of sacred indefeasible monopoly vested in 
 hereditary lords of creation. We have heard of the old 
 oppression of ' the lord's mill.' Even so, if a capitalist now 
 should buy all the cotton factories of the land, and then say, 
 ' I have you in my power, and you must pay me what price 
 I will,' would modem society bear it 1 How much more 
 when, not for cotton-twist, but for meat and drink and all 
 things, there is one sole machine, not made with hands, not 
 capable of duplication, this terraqueous globe that moves 
 incommunicably tied to one unchanging orbit ? 
 
 Nor need we fear to acknowledge this principle freely. 
 There is enough sense of fairness in the world to let the 
 sacred institution of property find itself a basis secure and 
 unassaUed in that other great principle, ' If a man will not 
 work, neither let him eat.' Let that apostolic limitation of 
 that primitive- Christian state of things where ' they had all 
 things common ' be our guide and interpreter. Let us find 
 in it the Christian exposition of the old covenant eighth 
 commandment. So far, as without encouraging present 
 idleness and improvidence, without encroaching unduly on 
 provisions for posterity, it were possible to equalise the 
 distribution; of labour, so far were that equalisation a duty. 
 And, as it is, when we punish the starving man who steals 
 the loaf, it is not because either the baker or we have an 
 exclusive right to it, but because society at all hazards must 
 avoid putting a premium on laziness. 
 
 It is of course utterly foreign to my meaning to do 
 anything but find a secure basis for the rights of property ; 
 to impugn them were idle. But as legal justice must be 
 corrected by equity, so must justice as administered by the 
 laws of property be modified by the equity of a higher 
 though less definite rule ; and as the distinction between 
 legal and equitable justice was considered worthy of obser- 
 vation, so too let not this be despised. Let it be fairly felt 
 that what we call bounty and charity is not, as we fain 
 
ON EETKENCHMEMT AT OXFORD 293 
 
 ' would persuade ourselves, a matter of gratuitous uncalled- 
 for condescension — as of God to men, or men to meaner 
 animals, as of children feeding the robins, or ladies watering 
 their flowers, but on the contrary a supplementary but 
 integral part of fair dealing ; the payment of a debt of 
 honour. Let however this conviction be treated as it may, 
 it cannot at least be denied that in great calamities a higher 
 law, ' a law within the law,' steps in to supersede that of 
 property. What we should feel to be right on an Alacran 
 reef is, in its measure, applicable to a Skibbereen famine ; 
 to appropriate is to steal. As a matter of pure justice and 
 not of generosity, England is bound to share her last crust 
 with Ireland, and the rich men to fare as the poor. 
 
 Some things perhaps might be found to modify this : of 
 that anon : meantime have we not a nearer objection in the 
 fact of Irish idleness and Irish improvidence 1 To this I 
 shall only answer that the failure of the potato crop was 
 surely a matter beyond the province of human foresight, 
 and that with respect to the labouring classes it may be 
 greatly questioned whether they have ever yet been anything 
 like fairly tried. 
 
 And now then some one will tell us — that society has 
 higher objects than the preservation of the lives of indi- 
 vidual members. A great heritage of civilisation, of law, 
 and thought, and religion has come to our hands : shame 
 upon this generation, if for the sake of prolonging to some 
 wretched and short-lived beings their brief tenure of misery, 
 we sacrifice our father's hard- won gains. Better that many 
 perish than that the nation lose a Bacon, a Burke, or a 
 Shakspeare. There are things worse than starving. True 
 indeed it is, and in this, or something like this, is founded the 
 justification of inequality of ranks. True indeed, and truly 
 well worth the knowing. As ignorant and unrefined parents 
 stint themselves io secure knowledge and refinement for 
 their children, so the laborious poor of the land support, 
 
294 PEOSE REMAINS OF AETHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 at their painful cost, the aristocracy of the rich and 
 educated. And so long as it is indeed an aristocracy — 
 forgetful though it may be and unfilial too — they do it, and 
 do it with joy, as of a parent. But if cultivation be so 
 great a thing, has it no such ingredients as mercy and 
 justice ? Enjoyment is good ; and refined enjoyment 
 better than coarse. Wine is better than gin ; and the ale- 
 house inferior to the opera : villus argentum est auro, but 
 also virtutihus aurum. As it is the pure service of God, so 
 may it not be also the true cultivation of man, ' to visit the 
 orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself 
 unspotted from the world ' ? If there are things worse than 
 starving, there are also things better than eating and drink- 
 ing. 
 
 And as this our English aristocracy draws its recruits 
 almost exclusively from the newly rich, what, may we ask, 
 is the most fitting lesson it should inculcate upon them, 
 what discipKne and what drill should it place them under ? 
 Shall it meet them half-way with the precept of. Expense 
 and ostentation ? Shall it say, Your business as a member 
 of the best part of the English nation is to entertain, to 
 give good dinners, and see the world, to have houses larger 
 than you want, servants more than you want, carriages 
 more than you use, horses more than you have work for ? 
 Is this to be the talismanic tradition handed down from 
 chivalrous days to the new generation ; is this the torch of 
 wisdom and honour which our feudal aristocracy transmits 
 to the new one that succeeds it ? Is this all which they 
 can give us whose boast it is to belong to the historic being 
 of England — to be the conducting medium through which 
 the past sends its electric power into the present. Eating 
 and drinking, and (we must remember that, I suppose) a 
 dash of gentlemanly manner ? 
 
 To what result then do we come ? To something like 
 this. 
 
ON EETEENCHMBNT AT OXFORD 295 
 
 First of all, that the welfare of the nation does un- 
 doubtedly require the existence of a class free for the most 
 part to follow their own devices ; that it is right that there 
 should be men with time at their disposal, and money in 
 their purses, and large liberty in public opinion ; men who, 
 though thousands and tens of thousands perish by starvation, 
 stoically meanwhile in books and in study, in reading, and 
 thinking, and travelling, and — ^it would seem too, enjoying, 
 in hunting, videlicet, and shooting, in duets, and dancing, 
 by ball-going and grousing, by dejeuners and deer-stalking, 
 by foie-gras and Johannisberger, by February strawberries 
 and December green peas, by turbot, and turtle, and venison, 
 should pioneer the route of the armies of mankind ; should, 
 an intrepid forlorn hope, lead the way up the breach of 
 human destiny to the citadel of truth ; and, devoted priests 
 and prophets, solve some more than ' Asian mystery ' by 
 pilgrimage to the Palestine of Cockaigne ! But that how- 
 ever essential be these higher classes, still there remains the 
 question. Is there not a holier land than Cockaigne ; is not 
 temperance as efficient a sapper and miner as wine of Bur- 
 gundy ; is not labour better than enjoyment ; is it not 
 higher cultivation ' to do justice and mercy, and walk 
 humbly,' thaja to ' eat and drink and be drunken ' ; and 
 though thought and study be glorious, may we not combine 
 ' plain Kving and high thinking ' ; though science, and art, 
 and philosophy be divine, is not charity 'yet a more 
 excellent way ' ? 
 
 In the second place, looking backward through our dis- 
 cussion, we recur to the thought that property is scarcely, 
 by law or gospel, that inalienable personal, individual thing, 
 which we that have it would believe it to be. As in the 
 dangers and distresses of society great characters are for the 
 first time seen, and as soon as seen are recognised, while 
 rank, and wealth, and titles are forgotten ; even so in 
 calamities and horrors the old laws of meum and tuum 
 
296 PEOSE EEMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 shrink to nothing, while a loftier principle reveals itself 
 and no man gainsays it. 
 
 The sons of deceased public servants — yea, the living 
 workers themselves — possess no indefeasible title to those 
 lands, and goods, and monies, which they call their earnings. 
 Their lands come to them saddled with indefinite rent-charges, 
 reservations, and reversional interests — the poor and the 
 needy that are, and that shall be, have a lien on their monies 
 and their chattels. Beyond the reach of all statutes of 
 limitation there are .bills that must be liquidated, creditors 
 that must not be deferred. Many yet shall come in 
 from the highways and hedges, and join in the meal with 
 us that came early : a posthumous brother is yet to be born, 
 to share and share alike in our father's bequests. 
 
 Terraque mandpio nvUi datur, omnibus usu. 
 
 He from whom came man's primal raw material — that 
 Pharaoh, who fed while the harvest yet was lacking ; He 
 retains, and to those whom He shall send is due, in their 
 proportion, that which hath come of it. Without Him we 
 could not have laboured : that which His gift was to us, it is 
 His will our labour should be found to others. ' The earth 
 hath He given to the children of men.' 
 
 No such thing can there be as a right to do what you 
 will with your own. The property is not your own : scarcely 
 your own at any time ; during times of calamity in no wise, 
 except to do good with and distribute. Neither again can 
 you plead the good it does you : who made thee to differ ? 
 you cannot even plead the good which your cultivation, so 
 obtained, does the nation ; that cultivation could be better 
 obtained without it. Nor yet that you are patronising 
 arts and sciences ; genius, and skill, and knowledge. You 
 are so, no doubt — but the thing could be done as well 
 and better if you employed painters and architects — 
 engravers and jewellers — ^builders and engineers — not upop 
 
ON RETRENCHMENT AT OXFORD 297 
 
 your own dining-rooms and drawing-rooms ; but upon 
 churches, and schools, and hospitals, public works and public 
 institutions. And that patronage would be as superior to 
 the present as the patronage of painting, properly so called, to 
 that of the painting of portraits. Yet even for that higher 
 kind this is hardly the season. Neither, again, can you 
 defend yourselves on the ground of the ' benefit of trade.' 
 Bum your candles, if you please, at both ends — to make 
 your blanket longer cut off from the top to piece on at the 
 bottom : but this is too serious a matter for playing with 
 transparent fallacies. 
 
 But I am running into idle repetitions, and- telling a 
 twicetold tale : what is it then that I call upon you to do ? 
 Join the Association ? Not I. Do as you please about 
 that. But about one thing you must not do as you please. 
 You must not insult God alike and man with the spectacle 
 of your sublime indifference. The angels of heaven, one 
 might believe, as they pass above those devoted shores, in 
 gazing on that ordained destruction let fall untasted from 
 their immortal lips the morsel of ambrosial sustenance. If 
 we, as they, were nurtured on other food than our brothers, 
 if no gift of ours could help to allay those pangs of famine, 
 stUl methinks this undisturbed, unrestrained fruition were 
 not wholly free of guilt. How much more when every 
 crumb we touch is abstracted from that common stock, 
 which in the eternal registers is set down, I fear, as 
 scarcely less theirs than ours ? 
 
 If then it is really the case that past extravagance has 
 brought upon you present helplessness, if aU you have and 
 aU you can this year expect is forfeit, ere it come to your 
 hands, to the purveyors of past indulgence, wherefore, I 
 beseech you, go on in that same foolish course 1 You need 
 not, you ought not, you must not. Pay if you can ^ it is 
 the tradesman's due ; he too has his difficulties, he too has 
 his duties of charity :. pay if you can ; if you cannot 
 
298 PROSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 retrench in anywise ; let no childish fear of alarming suspi- 
 cions, of awakening unpleasant importunities, withhold you; 
 in the end it will surely be the best for creditor alike and 
 debtor. Let not duns or imagination of duns frighten you 
 into folly redoubled. Join, if you please, the Association : 
 it professes no more than retrenchment for the sake of the 
 Irish : you need not, in my judgment, pay one farthing to 
 the box, you are serving its purposes otherwise. And it 
 may perhapsbe some assistance to your purposes of economy, 
 it may give you a sort of vantage-ground of joint recognition, 
 to place your name, either in manuscript or print, among its 
 members. But about this I profess a most supreme in- 
 curiousness. Only, for Ireland's sake, and England's, and 
 your own — abstain, be temperate, and save. 
 
 Will you tell me that the little we can do is too little to 
 be worth doing at aU? Surely for our own satisfaction simply 
 it should be done. But further : do you not know that 
 through increase of consumption in the year before last, 
 the returns of customs and duties were raised by hundreds 
 of thousands of pounds ? I say, the mere customs and duties 
 upon the increase. What is true of increase in the one 
 way, will I think be admitted true of decrease in the other. 
 If by the mere tax on our increased eating and drinking the 
 exchequer filled so fast, will the total decrease amount to 
 so very small a trifle ? 
 
 Will you tell me finally that all this is the hot fume of 
 a distempered imagination ? that I am rather letting my 
 fancy rest on what one saw in Oxford during last summer 
 term, than looking steadily on what is occurring in this ? 
 that I am haunted by the ghosts of forgotten champagne 
 bottles, the spectra of long- worn-out waistcoats, the simu- 
 lacra of the fruits and the ices of Whitsuntide '46 1 
 
 The shopkeepers, I ajn told, profess to feel a difference. 
 ■Surely they did not count on exactly the same thing again ! 
 I trust indeed there is a difference. But then the weather 
 
ON RETRENCHMENT AT OXFORD 299 
 
 has been so bad. Who wants ices with the wind N.N.E.; 
 who likes Nuneham or Godstowe in the rain ? When all 
 the watering-pots of heaven are playing upon High Street, 
 there wiU hardly be a quorum for examining one's toilet. 
 I only wish one could feel any sort of security that five or 
 six fine warm suns would not make a great difierence the 
 other way ; would not provoke the same exuberance of ex- 
 travagant pleasure-hunting which shot up with such rank 
 vegetation in. the heats of last June. With the roses and 
 the May will come out, I greatly fear, the champagne and 
 the claret. For my own part, if the corn could only ripen 
 in it, I could wish for rain and cold to the end of the chapter. 
 
 Or will you say this is all rhetoric and declamation ? 
 There is, I dare say, something too much in that kind. 
 What with criticising style and correcting exercises, we 
 college tutors perhaps may be likely, in the heat of com- 
 position, to lose sight of realities, and pass into the limbo of 
 the factitious. Especially when the thing must be done at 
 odd times, in any case, and if at all, quickly. The term is 
 half over ; while I write, the barometer rises ; ere I correct 
 the proof sheet, the hot weather may be here. But if I 
 have been obliged to write hurriedly, believe me, I have 
 obliged myself to think not hastily. And believe me too, 
 though I have desired to succeed in putting vividly and 
 forcibly that which vividly and forcibly I felt and saw, still 
 the graces and splendours of composition were thoughts far 
 less present to my mind than Irish poor men's miseries, 
 English poor men's hardships, and your unthinking indiffer- 
 ence. Shocking enough the first and the second, almost 
 more shocking the third. 
 
 One word more. Nothing that is said here is intended 
 to go against enjoyment, as such. It is perhaps scarcely 
 natural for young men to feel strongly that which they do 
 not see. • It were absurd to affect a gloom which does not 
 exist. But it is not absurd to avoid in our enjoyments that 
 
300 PEOSE EEMAIJS'S OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 "which a little reflection can show us to be wrong, to be 
 hurtful or unfitting : it is not absurd to lay down a few 
 rules beforehand which will keep up in our minds the 
 general impression that those unseen miseries are, though 
 unseen, not unreal : it is not absurd to do, with or without 
 sensation and sentiment, those acts which tend to their 
 alleviation ; to avoid, simply because it has been shown 
 to be the right course, expensive and ostentatious grati- 
 fications. And simple enjoyments are, if not the most 
 voluptuous and delicately refined, assuredly the manliest 
 and healthiest, the most honest and rational and perma- 
 nent. 
 
 I may as well end by copying a document which shows 
 that an example has been set for us in high places. It is 
 an order issued by the Lord Steward of the Queen's house- 
 hold. 
 
 ' Board of Green Cloth, May 12, 1847. 
 
 ' Her Majesty, taking into consideration the present 
 high and increasing price of provisions, and especially of 
 all kinds of bread and flour, has been graciously pleased to 
 command that from the date of the order, no description of 
 flour except seconds shall be used for any purpose in her 
 Majesty's household ; and that the daily allowance of bread 
 shall be restricted to one pound per head for every person 
 dieted in the palace. 
 
 ' By her Majesty's command, Fortesctje.' 
 
 It may simplify the subject of ' benefit of trade,' to observe the 
 following distinctions. If I buy old books or pictures from a friend, 
 the money is merely transferred : the country suffers no loss, and 
 may indeed be the gainer, if my friend is more economical and a 
 better distributer than I. If I give a man a shilling for holding my 
 
ON EETEENCHMENT AT OXFOED SOI 
 
 horse, the country suffers in case the man could have been doing 
 something else ; for instance, if I have called him off from mowing 
 or reaping. Thirdly, if I give a confectioner half a crown for sweet- 
 meats, which I could have done without, I have wasted the substance 
 of the country, certainly in one way, by consuming without requiring 
 it ; perhaps in two, that is, if the confectioner's work could have been 
 spent upon somebody who did require it. All that is gone into my 
 stomach is a pure waste, and the paltry percentage which goes to the 
 vendor as profit is very likely waste also. He might have got the 
 same for doing what was really wanted. 
 
LECTUEE 
 
 ON THE 
 
 POETEY OF WOEDSWOETH. 
 
805 
 
 LECTUEE 
 
 POETRY OP WORDSWORTH. 
 
 William Wordsworth was born in April 1770, at Cocker- 
 mouth, in Cumberland ; his father, of a family which came 
 originally from Yorkshire, was a solicitor in the town. Left 
 an orphan early in life, his recollections attach themselves 
 less to his home than to the neighbourhood in which he 
 was placed at school. Hawkshead, an antique village, the 
 centre of one of the large straggling parishes of the North 
 country, possessing an ancient and once famous grammar 
 foundation, stands a little way from the west side of 
 Windermere, beside a small lake of its own. Here, lodged 
 in a country cottage, he spent most of his time from 1778 
 to 1787 — nine years. 
 
 His reminiscences of this period and this locality form 
 the most beautiful part of his biographical poem, ' The Pre- 
 lude ' ; and a considerable number of his most pleasing 
 minor poems refer to the same years and place. It was 
 then and there, beyond a doubt, that the substantive 
 Wordsworth was formed ; it was then and there that the 
 tall rock and sounding cataract became his passion and 
 his appetite, and his genius and whole being united and 
 identified itself with external nature. 
 
 From this provincial, primitive seclusion, he passed, in, 
 October 1787, to St. John's College, Cambridge, where his 
 three years of academical residence, not much improved by 
 
 X 
 
306 PEOSE EBMAINS OF AETHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 attention to the studies of the place, were happily broken 
 for him by visits to his own country, to Hawkshead, 
 amongst his mother's relations, and more remarkably by a 
 bold pedestrian tour (almost wholly and literally pedestrian) 
 through France, Switzerland, and the districts of the Italian 
 lakes — regions which the revolutionary wars almost imme- 
 diately afterwards closed to all English, and which were 
 before comparatively unknown. The account of the journey 
 is again one of the fine points of ' The Prelude,' and in 
 particular the description of the passage of the Simplon, 
 and of night on the shores of Lago Maggiore. 
 
 Taking his degree at Cambridge in January 1791, he 
 again went over to France, led, it would seem, by enthusiasm 
 for the political changes then at work there. He remained 
 there, at Orleans and at Paris, about fifteen months, dur- 
 ing which he was a witness of the culmination of the 
 revolutionary tumult, and beheld the commencement of 
 its period of bloodshed and terror. It gives a feeling of 
 strange contrast to the after tranquillity of his life, to 
 hear him speaking of the desire he then felt to enter him- 
 self as an actor into that terrible arena, and seriously seem- 
 ing to consider it a thing, at the time, likely enough to 
 happen, and from which chance, rather than his own wish, 
 diverted him. 
 
 Chance, however, carried him back to England. Sympa- 
 thising strongly with the original revolutionary movement, 
 and continuing long, in spite of its crimes and horrors, to 
 cling to republican feelings, he showed, to the mortification 
 of his friends, no disposition to carry out their views by 
 taking orders in the Church. He loitered, living in a 
 desultory manner, partly alone in London, partly among his 
 friends in the country, and was, at one time, on the point 
 of engaging in the drudgery of writing for the newspapers. 
 At last, in 1795, his twenty-sixth year, he found himself 
 made what he considered to be independent, by a bequest 
 
ON THE POETRY OP WORDSWOETH 807 
 
 of 900Z., left him by a young friend in the faith of his 
 vocation to literary achievement. He now settled down 
 into domesticity with his sister in a country place in 
 Somersetshire. This sister was one of the two persons 
 wh9se minds, he said, had been most operative upon his. 
 The other was Coleridge, whom he met for the first time in 
 June 1797. 
 
 Coleridge, youngest son of a clergyman and schoolmaster 
 at Ottery St. Mary, Devon, born two years after Words- 
 worth, bred up at Christ's Hospital and at Cambridge — 
 which Wordsworth, when he came up, was just quitting — 
 had for the last three years been engaged with Southey, a 
 young Oxford student, in wild schemes for a Pantisocratic 
 settlement on the banks of the Susquehanna (a situation 
 selected for the sweetness of the sound) ; had been publish- 
 ing poems, lecturing and neglecting to lecture, preaching in 
 a blue coat and yellow waistcoat, here and there and every- 
 where, especially at Bristol. Finally he had run into the 
 most imprudent of marriages, and had settled himself at the 
 village of Nether Stowey. Here, during more than a year, 
 Wordsworth had continual intercourse with him, residing 
 at a beautiful spot not far from it — Allf oxden. 
 
 Some years before 1793 he had published verses, not 
 particularly promising, written in the established metre and 
 manner — that of Pope and Dryden. But if Hawkshead 
 had made the inner Wordsworth, AUfoxden, Coleridge, and 
 his own sister gave us the expressed Wordsworth. The 
 effect of this time on Coleridge was remarkable : his high 
 poetic period is just this of his intercourse with Words- 
 worth ; but to Wordsworth it was more distinctly an 
 epoch. 
 
 His first characteristic poems were published, together 
 with Coleridge's ' Ancient Mariner,' under the title of 
 ' Lyrical Ballads,' in 1798. They obtained considerable 
 notice, and made his name well known ; but that notice 
 
308 PEOSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 was not favourable, and his name -was known rather for 
 ridicule and censure than praise. 
 
 The following winter he spent in Germany, where 
 Coleridge was proceeding to lose himself in metaphysics ; 
 Wordsworth returned, and, after some little wandering in 
 Yorkshire, he and his sister finally settled, with their petty 
 income, in a cottage at Grasmere, in December 1799. 
 
 In 1800, a new volume of Lyrical Ballads, containing 
 some of his best poems, was published. Quite undaunted 
 by their want of popularity and the adverse judgment of 
 the highest critics, relying on his own feelings and percep- 
 tions, he worked in his mountain retirement steadily on, 
 devoting himself chiefly at this time to the biographical 
 poem which, with the name of ' The Prelude,' was published, 
 for the first time, after his death in July 1850. 
 
 So ends his story before he was thirty years old. After 
 his settlement at Grasmere we do not imagine that his 
 mind or genius developed or grew at all. It grew perhaps 
 in bulk, we may say, but never altered its form or character, 
 attaining merely more and more what he himself calls 'the 
 monumental pomp of age.' In 1803 he made a tour in 
 Scotland, of which a very pleasing record remains, not only 
 in the occasional poems suggested by its incidents, but in 
 the journal of his companion — his sister. Returning south- 
 ward, they paid a visit, on September 17, to Mr. and Mrs. 
 Scott, at their cottage at Lasswade, near Edinburgh. They 
 received a promise that their host would join them agaiu at 
 Melrose, and, stopping on their way thither at the inn of 
 Clovenford, were assured by the landlady that Mr. Scott 
 was a very clever man. At Melrose they met and spent 
 the evening together. The landlady here, says Miss Words- 
 worth, made some difficulty about beds, and refused to 
 settle anything till she ascertained from the sheriff himself, 
 i.e. Scott, that he had no objection to sleeping in the same 
 room with William, i.e. Wordsworth. 
 
ON THE POETRY OP WOBDSWOETH 309 
 
 Mr. Scott was already known in the literary world as a 
 translator of German, and an editor of Scottish ballad 
 poetry. But he had published nothing original ; and it 
 was not till two years after this, that (as it stands recorded) 
 nothing in the history of British poetry ever equalled the 
 demand for the ' Lay of the Last Minstrel,' the first four 
 cantos of which Wordsworth and his sister had heard their 
 author read during their visit at the cottage of Lasswade. 
 In the same year, 1803, Wordsworth married, without, 
 however, any great internal or domestic revolution. In 
 1832 Scott died. This is also the date of the collected 
 edition, in four volumes, of ' Wordsworth's Poems,' includ- 
 ing ' The Excursion,' which, under general unpopularity, he 
 had steadily gone on writing and publishing. 
 
 In 1839, in the theatre at Oxford, he received an hono- 
 rary degree with unusual acclamation. 
 
 In 1840, on the death of Southey, he was, with a 
 general feeling that it was his due, made Poet Laureate : 
 1850 conveyed his body to the quiet churchyard of Gras- 
 mere. 
 
 We have presented this bare biographical outline as 
 preliminary to all remark and criticism. But this meagre 
 chronological table is not to be dismissed without some 
 attention. The array of mere names and figures, dry as 
 they may look, are really full of curious significance, and 
 pregnant with many thoughts and conjectures. 
 
 Let us consider, for example, upon what sort of reading 
 the youthful period of Wordworth's life was cast. The 
 English literature of the then closing eighteenth century, 
 as deficient, perhaps, in force and fertility as it is remark- 
 able for justness and propriety and elegance of diction, was 
 attaining its completion in Cowper, who, born in 1731, and 
 dying in 1800, published his one great poem, ' The Task,' in 
 1785. 
 
 As we now read Scott's novels and poems, Byron, and 
 
310 PEOSE EEMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Southey, and Wordsworth, so they in Wordsworth's boy- 
 hood read the series from Pope to Johnson, read Fielding, 
 and Richardson, and Sterne, and Gray, and Collias, and 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 What effect upon the minds of young men of this time 
 had Burns — or, to turn to foreign literature, the works of 
 Rousseau ? 
 
 To proceed lower down. The curious meeting of Words- 
 worth, Coleridge, and Southey deserves special notice. In 
 proximity to Wordsworth, Coleridge blazed forth in a stream 
 o'i poetic brilliancy, which his after years never, in any sort 
 or kind, repeated ; in no after moments did he ever create 
 an ' Ancient Mariner ' or a ' Christabel.' Wordsworth, also, 
 was elevated and enkindled by the more vivid and radiatiag 
 genius of Coleridge. Notice again how completely anterior, 
 and antecedent to Scott, and Moore, and Byron, are those 
 Lake Poets, whose nascent influence and popularity they 
 so completely overpowered. But without ' Christabel ' the 
 ' Lay of the Last Minstrel ' would never have been written. 
 Without Scott's stories we should scarcely have had Byron's ; 
 without Wordsworth's, and the reminiscences of Hawkshead 
 village-school, we should never have had the third and fourth 
 cantos of ' Childe Harold ' ; we should have lost, very pro- 
 bably, half the beauty of Byron alike and Scott. 
 
 Like the runners in the torch race, they hand along 
 the flame. Who shall say, in these spiritual and subtle ex- 
 changes and interchanges. This is mine, and that is thine ? 
 We cannot indeed, I think, assert that Wordsworth derived 
 anything directly from Byron, or even from Scott (the 
 ' White Doe of Rylstone,' so far as it follows Scott at all, so 
 far is a failure) ; but without that antagonism, and without 
 the severe lessons their popularity taught him, he probably 
 would not either have escaped his natural faults, nor exerted 
 his natural strength. 
 
 Out of Wordsworth and Byron came forth Shelley ; nor 
 
ON THE POETRY OF "WOEDSWOETH 311 
 
 is Keats (there is no such thing) an independent genius. 
 We may remark also how, as the brief career of Byron en- 
 closes within itself the yet briefer life of Shelley, and Keats's 
 briefest of all, so is Byron himself included in the larger 
 arc of Scott, and the yet larger arc of Wordsworth. Words- 
 worth, gradually working his way to reputation, was 
 displaced by the sudden glory of Scott. Scott, as a poet, pre- 
 sently has to resign the field to Byron, and to compete against 
 his Corsairs and Beppos with the new phenomenon of the 
 ' Waverley ' novels. When Byron had died in early man- 
 hood, and Scott in premature age ; when the furor for the 
 poet had passed away, and the charm of the novelist had 
 begun to decline, Wordsworth first tasted the sweets of 
 popular acceptance, and received in his turn, at the end of 
 his laborious and honourable life, the reward which his rivals 
 had almost outlived. 
 
 It is a curious and yet an undeniable fact that Words- 
 worth, who began his poetical course with what was, at any 
 rate, understood by most readers to be a disclaimer and 
 entire repudiation of the ornament of style and poetic dic- 
 tion, really derives from his style and his diction his chief 
 and special charm. I shall not venture categorically to as- 
 sert that his practice is in positive opposition to the doctrine 
 he maintains in the prefaces, and supplementary remarks, 
 which accompanied his Lyrical Ballads, and which, calling 
 down upon him and them the hostility of reviews and the 
 ridicule of satirists, made him notorious as one 
 
 Who both by precept and example shows 
 That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose. 
 
 Certain it is, however, that he did bestow infinite toil 
 and labour upon his poetic style ; that in the nice and ex- 
 quisite felicities of poetic diction he specially surpassed his 
 contemporaries ; that his scrupulous and painstaking spirit, 
 in this particular, constitutes one of his special virtues as a 
 
312 PROSE REMAINS, OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 poet. The moving accident, as he says, was not his trade ; of 
 event and of action his compositions are perfectly destitute ; 
 a lyrical and didactic almost exclusively, scarcely ever in 
 any sense a dramatic writer, it is upon beauty of expression 
 that by the very necessity of his position he has to depend. 
 Scott and Byron are mere negligent schoolboys compared 
 with him. The anecdote has often been told that Words- 
 worth said to Mr. Landor, or Mr. Landor to Wordsworth, 
 that there was but one good line in aU Scott. To which 
 assertion of the one the other at once assented, and said 
 that there was no doubt which it was : — 
 
 As the wind waved his garment, how oft did he start. 
 
 Wordsworth's practice, in all probability, was far more 
 just than his theory. Has theory, indeed, as directed not 
 against style in general, but against the then prevalent 
 vices of style, was a very tolerably justifiable and useful 
 theory, but his practice was extremely meritorious ; his 
 patience and conscientious labour deserve all praise. He 
 has not, indeed (Nature had not bestowed on him), the vigour 
 and heartiness of Scott, or the force and the sweep and 
 the fervour of Byron ; but his poems do more perfectly and 
 exquisitely and unintermittedly express his real meaning 
 and significance and character than do the poems of either 
 Scott or Byron. Lyrical verse is by its nature more fugi- 
 tive than drama and story ; yet I incHne to believe that 
 there are passages of Wordsworth which, from the mere 
 perfection of their language, will survive when the Mar- 
 mions and the Laras are deep in dust. As writers for their 
 age, as orators, so to say, as addressing themselves person- 
 ally to their contemporaries, Byron and Scott, one carmot 
 hesitate to say, were far more influential men, are far greater 
 names. They had more, it may be, to say to their fellows ; 
 they entered deeper, perhaps, into the feelings and life of 
 their time ; they received a larger and livelier recognition, 
 
ON THE POETET OF WORDSWORTH 313 
 
 and a more immediate and tangible reward of popular en- 
 thusiasm and praise. It may be, too, that they had some- 
 thing not for their own generation only, but for all ages, 
 which quite as well deserved a permanent record as any- 
 thing in the mind of Wordsworth. 
 
 But that permanent beauty of expression, that harmony 
 between thought and word, which is the condition of ' im- 
 mortal verse,' they did not, I think — and Wordsworth did 
 — ^take pains to attain. There is hardly anything in Byron 
 and Scott which in another generation people will not think 
 they can say over again quite as well, and miore agreeably 
 and familiarly for themselves ; there is nothing which, it 
 wiU be plain, has, in Scott's or Byron's way of putting it, at- 
 tained the one form which of aU others truly belongs to it ; 
 which any new attempt will, at the very utmost, merely 
 successfully repeat. For poetry, like science, has its final 
 precision ; and there are expressions of poetic knowledge 
 which can no more be rewritten than could the elements of 
 geometry. There are pieces of poetic language which, try 
 as men will, they will simply have to recur to, and confess 
 that it has been done before them. I do not say that there 
 is in Wordsworth anything like the same quantity of this 
 supreme result which you find in Shakspeare or in Virgil ; 
 there is far less of the highest poetry than in Shakspeare, 
 there is far more admixture of the unpoetic than in Virgil. 
 But there is in him a good deal more truly complete and 
 finished poetic attainment than in his other English con- 
 temporaries. 
 
 And this is no light thing. People talk about style as 
 if it were a mere accessory, the unneeded but pleasing orna- 
 ment, the mere put-on dress of the substantial being, who 
 without it is much the same as with it. Yet is it "not 
 intelligible that by a change of intonation, accent, or it 
 may be mere accompanying gesture, the same words may 
 be made to bear most different meanings ? What is the 
 
814 PEOSE EEMAINS OF ARTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 difference between good and bad acting but style 1 and yet 
 how different good acting is from bad. On the contrary, 
 it may really be affirmed that some of the highest truths 
 are only expressible to us by style, only appreciable as 
 indicated by manner. 
 
 That Raphael paints a Yirgin and Child is not a very 
 significant fact : half a thousand other painters have painted 
 the same ; but painted as Raphael- — not one. It is as 
 though you should suppose that to each poetic thought some 
 particular geometric figure, or curve, it might be, specially 
 appertained : just as to a particular definition the circle 
 appertains, and no figure but the circle. 
 
 Those who write ill draw the figures half -right, half-^ 
 wrong, imperfectly and incorrectly ; their circle is not a 
 true circle, not a circle all round ; its radii would, many of 
 them, be equal, but not all ; no one will dare therefore to 
 keep it as the model and pattern. To draw the figure which 
 may truly stand as the model and the pattern, the unmis- 
 leading, safe representative — this is the gift and the excel- 
 lence of style. 
 
 In Milton, the gems of pure poetry lie embedded in the 
 rock of scholastic pomp. And in Wordsworth, you must 
 traverse waste acres of dull verse, that had better far have 
 been, if anything, plain prose, to seek out the rich felicitous 
 spots of fragrance and pure beauty. There is no doubt, I 
 think, that he wrote over much. Posterity, we must hope, 
 "will have an instinct to cast away the dross and keep the 
 good metal, and judiciously to reduce his seven volumes to 
 one. Setting himself laboriously and painstakingly to work, 
 and being by nature, moreover, a little cumbrous and heavy, 
 he sometimes measured his result, we cannot doubt it, by 
 quantity, and fell into the not unnatural mistake of count- 
 ing a great deal of silver to be worth a great deal more than 
 one quarter the quantity of gold. Where a man has him- 
 self at once to produce and to judge of his production, it is 
 certainly natural, it may be even desirable, that the judg- 
 
ON THE POETKT OF WORDSWORTH 315 
 
 ment should not be exact ; it cannot, perhaps, well be 
 so without the accompanying evil of an excessive and 
 vitiating introspection and self-consideration. 
 
 Had Wordsworth been more capable of discerning his 
 bad from his good, there would, it is likely enough, have 
 been far less of the bad ; but the good, perhaps, would have 
 been very far less good. The consequence is, however, that 
 to prove him a true poet, you have to hunt down a bit here 
 and a bit there, a few lines in a book of the ' Prelude on 
 the Excursion,' one sonnet, perhaps, amongst eighty or 
 ninety, one stanza in a series of Memorials of Tours in 
 Scotland, or on the Continent ; only very occasionally 
 finding the reward of a complete poem, good throughout, 
 and good as a whole. 
 
 What is meant when people complain of him as mawkish 
 is a difierent matter. It is, I believe, that instead of look- 
 ing directly at an object, and oonsiderrag it as a thing in 
 itself, and allowing it to operate upon him as a fact in 
 itself, he takes the sentiment produced by it in his own 
 mind as the thing, as the important and really real fact. 
 The real things cease to be real ; the world no longer exists ; 
 all that exists is the feeling, somehow generated in the poet's 
 sensibility. This sentimentalising over sentiment, this 
 sensibility about sensibility, has been carried, I grant, by 
 the Wordsworthians to a far more than Wordsworthian 
 excess. But he has something of it surely. He is apt to 
 wind up his short pieces with reflections upon the way 
 in which, hereafter, he expects to reflect upon his pre- 
 sent reflections. Nevertheless, this is not by any means 
 attributable to all his writings. 
 
 Here then, even in this defect, is indicated one great 
 praise attaching to Wordsworth, alike as a poet and as a 
 man. He set himself manfully and courageously to his 
 work, and through good report and evil, especially the 
 latter, patiently and perseveringly kept to it, reminding 
 one, with his hardy, unflinching, north-country spirit, of the 
 
316 PEOSE REMAINS OF AKTHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 story told of the Lancashire workman, who, when the easy 
 looker-on took occasion to observe that he had a hard day's 
 work, simply rejoined that he was paid for a hard day's 
 work. Paid, I dare say, . however, not very largely, any 
 more than, till late in life, was Wordsworth. 
 
 Wordsworth, we have said, succeeded beyond the other 
 poets of the time in giving a perfect expression to his 
 meaning, in making his verse permanently true to his 
 genius and his moral frame. Let us now proceed to inquire 
 the worth of that genius and moral frame, the sum of the 
 real significance of his character and view of life. 
 
 Unless above himself he can 
 Erect himself, how poor a thing is Man, 
 
 are words which he himself adopts from the Elizabethan 
 poet Daniel, translated by him from Seneca, and intro- 
 duces into that part of ' The Excursion ' which gives us 
 what I might call his creed, the statement of those sub- 
 stantive enduring convictions upon which after a certain 
 amount of fluctuation and tossing about in the world he 
 found himself or got himself anchored. 
 
 A certain elevation and fixity characterise Wordsworth 
 everywhere. You wiU not find, as in Byron, an ebuUient 
 overflowing life, refusing all existing restrictions, and seek- 
 ing in vain to create any for itself, to own in itself any 
 permanent law or rule. To have attained a law, to exercise 
 a lordship by right divine over passions and desires — ^this 
 is Wordsworth's pre-eminence. 
 
 Nor do we find, as in Scott, a free vigorous animal 
 nature ready to accept whatever things earth has to offer, 
 eating and drinking and enjoying heartily ; like charity, 
 hopiag all things, belie-\Tng all things, and never failing ; a 
 certain withdrawal and separation, a moral and almost 
 religious selectiveness, a rigid refusal and a nice picking 
 and choosing, are essential to Wordsworth's being. It has 
 
ON THE POETET OF WOEDSWORTH 317 
 
 been not inaptly said by a French critic that you may trace 
 in him, as in Addison, Richardson, Cowper, a spiritual 
 descent from the Puritans. 
 
 Into what Byron might have remade himself in that 
 new and more hopeful era of his life upon which, when 
 death cut him down at Missolonghi, he appeared to be 
 entering, it would be over bold to conjecture. But assuredly 
 (without passing judgment on a human soul simply accord- 
 ing to the errors of those thirty-six years which may claim 
 perhaps the name and palliation of an unusually protracted 
 youth) — assuredly, to be whirled away by the force of mere 
 arbitrary will, whose only law was its own wilfulness, to follow 
 passion for passion's sake, and be capricious for the love of 
 one's own caprice — this is not the honour or the excellence 
 of a being breathing thoughtful breath, looking before and 
 after. 
 
 The profounder tones of Walter Scott's soul were never 
 truly sounded until adversity and grief fell upon his latter 
 days, and those old enjoyments in which he seemed to live, 
 and move, and have his being, his natural and as it were 
 predestined vocation, fell from him and were no more. The 
 constancy, courage, and clear manly sense which, amid 
 broken fortunes, severed ties, and failing health, spirits, and 
 intellect, the extracts from his journals given in Mr. Lock- 
 hart's life evince, constitute a picture, I think, far more 
 afifecting than any to be found in ' Kenil worth ' or the ' Bride 
 of Lammermoor.' But the sports and amusements of 
 Abbotsford, the riding and coursing and fishing, and feast- 
 ing, and entertaining of guests, &o. &c., these, it appears to 
 me, a little disappoint, dissatisfy, displease us ; and make 
 us really thankful, while we read, for the foreknowledge 
 that so strong and capable a soul was ere the end to have 
 some nobler work allotted it, if not in the way of action, at 
 any rate in that of endurance. 
 
 More rational certainly, either than Byron's hot career 
 
318 PROSE EEMAIIfS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 of wilfulness, or Scott's active but easy existence amidst 
 animal spirits and out-of-door enjoyments, more dignified, 
 elevated, serious, significant, and truly human, was Words- 
 worth's homely and frugal life in the cottage at Grasmere. 
 While wandering with his dear waggoners round his dearer 
 lakes, talking with shepherds, watching hUls and stars, 
 studying the poets, and fashioning verses, amidst all this 
 there was really something higher than either wildly crying 
 out to have things as one chose, or cheerfully taking the 
 world's good things as one found them, working to gain the 
 means and the relish for amusement. He did not, it is true, 
 sweep away with him the exulting hearts of youth, ' o'er 
 the glad waters of the dark blue sea ' ; he did not win the 
 eager and attentive ear of high and low, at home and abroad, 
 with the entertainment of immortal Waverley novels ; but 
 to strive not unsuccessfully to build the lofty rhyme, to lay 
 slowly the ponderous foundations of pillars to sustain man's 
 moral fabric, to fix a centre around which the chaotic 
 elements of human impulse and desire might take solid form 
 and move in their ordered ellipses, to originate a spiritual 
 vitality, this was perhaps greater than sweeping over glad 
 blue waters or inditing immortal novels. 
 
 Unless above himself lie can 
 Erect himself, how poor a thing is Man. 
 
 Unless above himself, how poor a thing ; yet, if beyond and 
 outside of his world, how useless and purposeless a thing. 
 This also must be remembered. And I cannot help think- 
 ing that there is in Wordsworth's poems something of a 
 spirit of withdrawal and seclusion from, and even evasion 
 of, the actual world. In his own quiet rural sphere it is 
 true he did fairly enough look at things as they were ; he 
 did not belie his own senses, nor pretend to recognise in 
 outward things what really was not in them. But his 
 sphere was a small one ; the objects he lived among unimpor- 
 
ON THE POETEY OF WORDSWORTH . 319 
 
 tant and petty. Retiring early from all conflict and even 
 contact with the busy world, he shut himself from the 
 elements which it was his business to encounter and to 
 master. This gives to his writings, compared with those of 
 Scott and of Byron, an appearance of sterility and unreality. 
 He cannot, indeed, be said, like Cowper, to be an indoors 
 poet ; but he is a poet rather of a country-house or a 
 picturesque tour, not of life and business, action and fact. 
 
 This also sadly lessens the value which we must put oh 
 that high moral tone which we have been hitherto extolling. 
 To live in a quiet village, out of the road of all trouble and 
 temptation, in a pure, elevated, high moral sort of manner, 
 is after all no such very great a feat. It is something, 
 indeed, anywhere. But I fear it cannot quite truly be said 
 of him, as he has himself finely said of Burns — 
 
 In busiest street and loneliest glen 
 
 Are felt the flashes of his pen ; 
 
 He lives 'mid winter snows, and when 
 
 Bees fill their hives ; 
 Deep in the general heart of men 
 
 His power survives. 
 
 People in busy streets are inclined, I fear, a little to con- 
 temn the mild precepts of the rural moralist. They will 
 tell you that he rather reminds them of the achievements 
 of that celebrated French sea-captain, 
 
 Who fled full soon 
 On the first of June, 
 But bade the rest keep fighting. 
 
 Perhaps it is only those that are themselves engaged in the 
 thick of the struggle and conflict that rightly can cheer on, 
 or fitly can admonish, their fellows, or to any good purpose 
 assume the high moral tone. Yet it must be confessed 
 that even in a country village it still is something. 
 
 Nor was Wordsworth in the earlier years of his life by 
 
320 PROSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 any means of a timid or valetudinarian virtue. A man 
 who was in Paris in the heat of the first Revolution was 
 not without experiences. And the poems, it may be 
 observed, which foUow closest upon this youthful period of 
 living experience, are of far higher value than the later 
 ones, which ensued upon his prolonged and unbroken 
 retirement. 
 
 There may be, moreover, a further fault in Wordsworth's 
 high morality, consequent on this same evil of premature 
 seclusion, which I shall characterise by the name of false 
 or arbitrary positiveness. There is such a thing in morals, 
 as well as in science, as drawing your conclusion before you 
 have properly got your premises. It is desirable to attain 
 a fixed point ; but it is essential that the fixed point be a 
 right one. We ought to hold fast by what is true ; but 
 because we hold wilfully fast, it does not follow that what 
 we hold fast to is true. If you have got the truth, be as 
 positive as you please ; but because you choose to be 
 positive, do not therefore be sure you have the truth. 
 
 Another evil consequence is the triviality in many 
 places of his imagery, and the mawkishness, as people say, 
 of his sentiment. I cannot myself heartily sympathise with 
 the ' Ode to the Smaller Celandine,' or repeated poems to 
 the daisy. I find inyself a little recoil frona the statement 
 
 that — 
 
 To me the meanest flower that blows doth give 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 
 
 These phenomena of external nature, which in the old and 
 great poets come forward simply as analogies and simili- 
 tudes of what is truly great — namely, human nature, and as 
 expressions of curious and wonderful relations, are in 
 Wordsworth themselves the truly great, all-important, and 
 pre-eminently wonderful things of the universe. Blue sky 
 and white clouds, larks and linnets, daisies and celandines 
 — these it appears are ' the proper subject of mankind ' ; 
 
ON THE POETRY OF WORDSWORTH 321 
 
 not, as we used to think, the wrath of Achilles, the guilt 
 and remorse of Macbeth, the love and despair of Othello. 
 
 This tendency to exaggerate the importance of flowers 
 and fields, lakes, waterfalls, and scenery, I remember 
 myself, when a boy of eighteen, to have heard, not without 
 a shock of mUd surprise, the venerable poet correct. People 
 come to the lakes, he said, and are charmed with a par- 
 ticular spot, and buUd a house, and find themselves discon- 
 tented, forgetting that these things are only the sauce and 
 garnish of life. Nevertheless, we fear that the exclusive 
 student of Wordsworth may go away with the strange 
 persuasion that it is his business to walk about this world 
 of life and action, and, avoiding life and action, have his 
 gentle thoughts excited by flowers and running waters and 
 shadows on mountain-sides. 
 
 This we conceive is a grievous inherent error in Words- 
 worth. The poet of Nature he may perhaps be ; but this 
 sort of writing does justice to the proper worth and dignity 
 neither of man nor of Nature. 
 
ON 
 THE FORMATION OP CLASSICAL ENGLISH; 
 
 AN EXTBAOT TBOM 
 
 A LECTURE ON DRYDEN. 
 
 T 2 
 
ON 
 THE FORMATION OF CLASSICAL ENGLISH : 
 
 AN EXTEACT FBOM. 
 
 A LECTURE ON DRYDEN. 
 
 Deyden, a true litterateur, simply reflects his epoch ; the 
 revolution he was intent upon, and -which we are especially- 
 bound to consider, was that of English verse composition. 
 While Newton was balancing the earth, and Locke weigh- 
 ing the intellect, Dryden was measuring syllables. While 
 Penn and Locke were venturing experiments in government, 
 he was making them in prosody. Political movements and 
 agitations — the plot and the new plot — dissolutions and 
 elections — falls of ministries and impeachments and deaths 
 were to him chiefly of interest because he must mould the 
 subject of his verse accordingly. To please the King as 
 laureate he is in duty bound ; and to serve his cause with 
 rhyme to the purpose. Also prose. 
 
 Yet what side should a litterateur of real excellence 
 take if not that of the King and the court ? who certainly 
 had the best taste, were the most judicious critics as well 
 as the most likely paymasters. Settle and Shadwell might 
 suit the Aldermen and the Exclusionists, who knew no 
 better. And nothing, I imagine, more completely suited 
 Dryden, more exactly met his feelings, and gave freer scope 
 to his talents, than the revolution in literature which the 
 new King and court sought to naturalise in England. To 
 
326 PROSE EEMAmS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 guide the process of that change and to elevate a matter of 
 mere passing court fashion into a permanent reformation of 
 English literature ; to dignify a mere slipslop aversion of 
 pedantry by converting it into an appreciation of elegance 
 and propriety of writing — this was his vocation. He 
 devoted himself to it for forty years vdth infinite zeal and 
 perseverance, laborious study, and patient carefulness. 
 And certainly with some considerable success. 
 
 During the whole of the next century I suppose it was 
 considered that our language first was written, so to speak, 
 by him. For models of composition no one was recom- 
 mended anterior to him. In English poetry he is for them 
 the earliest name. Into Johnson's collection Cowley and 
 Butler, and one or two others coeval with Dryden, are 
 admitted, but not Spenser. So too in prose it is only in 
 our time that people have begun to talk of Jeremy Taylor 
 and Milton as legitimate standards of English prose com- 
 position. Dryden was supposed to have commenced in the 
 two kinds of writing what Pope and Addison made perfect. 
 For style Shakespeare was dangerous and Hooker pernicious 
 reading ; Ben Jonson's wit was ponderous and the wisdom 
 of Bacon pedantic ; the mirth of Fletcher was rude and 
 vulgar, the elegance of Sidney formal and factitious. 
 
 Maxims of this kind prevailed from the days of Dryden 
 to those of Byron and Scott. There are circles where they 
 are still current, and there are possibilities of their again 
 fimding a more general acceptation. I incline to believe 
 that there is a great deal of truth in them. Our language 
 before the Restoration certainly was for the most part 
 bookish, academical, and stiflT. You perceive that our 
 writers have first learnt to compose in Latin ; and you feel 
 as if they were now doing so in English. Their composition 
 is not a harmonious development of spoken words, but a 
 copy of written words. We are set to study ornate and 
 learned periods ; but we are not charmed by finding our 
 
327 
 
 ordinary everyday speech rounded into grace and smoothed 
 into polish, chastened to simplicity and brevity without 
 losing its expressiveness, and raised into dignity and force 
 without ceasing to be familiar ; saying once for all what we 
 in our rambliag talk try over and over in vain to say ; and 
 saying it simply and fully, exactly and perfectly. 
 
 This scholastic and constrained manner of men who had 
 read more than they talked, and had (of necessity) read 
 more Latin than English ; of men who passed from the 
 study to the pulpit, and from the pulpit back to the study 
 — this elevated and elaborated diction of learned and 
 religious men was doomed at the Restoration. Its learning 
 was pedantry, and its elevation pretence. It was no way 
 suited to the wants of the court, nor the wishes of the 
 people. It was not likely that the courtiers would impede 
 the free motions of their limbs with the folds of the cum- 
 brous theological vesture ; and the nation in general was 
 rather weary of being preached to. The royalist party, 
 crowding back from French banishment, brought their 
 Prench tastes and distastes. James I. loved Latin and 
 even Greek, but Charles II. liked French better even than 
 English. In one of Dryden's plays is a famous scene, in 
 which he ridicules the fashionable jargon of the day, which 
 seems to have been a sort of slipshod English, continually 
 helped out with the newest French phrases. 
 
 Dry den then has the merit of converting this corruption 
 and dissolution of our old language into a new birth and 
 renovation. And not only must we thank him for making 
 the best of the inevitable circumstances and tendencies of 
 the time, but also praise him absolutely for definitely 
 improving our language. It is true that he sacrificed a 
 great deal of the old beauty of English writing, but that 
 sacrifice was inevitable ; he retained all that it was practic- 
 able to save, and he added at the same time all the new 
 excellence of which the time was capable. 
 
328 PEOSE EEMAINS OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 You may' call it, if you please, a democratic movement 
 in the language. It was easier henceforth both to write 
 and to read. To understand written English, it was not 
 necessary first to understand Latin ; and yet written 
 English was little less instructive than it had been, or if it 
 was less elevating, it was on the other hand more refining. 
 
 For the first time, you may say, people found themselves 
 reading words easy at once and graceful ; fluent, yet digni- 
 fied ■ familiar, yet full of meaning. To have organised the 
 dissolving and separating elements of our tongue into a new 
 and living instrument, perfectly adapted to the require- 
 ments and more than meeting the desires and aspirations 
 of the age, this is our author's praise. But it is not fully 
 expressed until you add that this same instrument was 
 found, with no very material modification, sufficient for the 
 wants and purposes of the English people for more than a 
 century. The new diction conquered, which the old one 
 had never done, Scotland and Ireland, and called out 
 American England into articulation. Hume and Robertson 
 learnt it ; Allan Ramsay and Burns studied it ; Grattan 
 spoke it ; Franklin wrote it. You will observe that our 
 most popular works in prose belong to it. So do our 
 greatest orators. A new taste and a new feeling for the 
 classics grew up with it. It translated, to the satisfaction 
 of its time. Homer and Virgil. 
 
 Our present tongue, so far as it differs from this, cannot 
 profess to have done nearly so much. Homer and Virgil 
 no longer content us in Pope and Dryden, but we have not 
 been able to get anything to content us. The English dic- 
 tion of the nineteenth century has no Burke or Chatham to 
 boast of, nor any Hume or Johnson. 
 
 There may be some superiority in matter. We have had 
 a good deal of new experience, both in study and in action 
 — new books and new events have come before us. But we 
 have not yet in England, I imagine, had any one to give us 
 
ON DEYDENS ENGLISH 829 
 
 a manner suitable to our new matter. There has been a 
 kind of dissolution of English, but no one writer has come 
 to re-unite and re-vivify the escaping components. "We 
 have something new to say, but do not know how to say it. 
 The language has been popularised, but has not yet vindi- 
 cated itself from being vulgarised: A democratic revolution 
 is effecting itself in it, without that aristocratic reconstruc- 
 tion which pertains to every good democratic revolution. 
 Everybody can write, and nobody writes well. We can all 
 speak, and none of us know how. We have forgotten or 
 rejected the old diction of our grandfathers, and shall leave, 
 it seems likely, no new diction for our grandchildren. 
 With some difficulty we make each other understand what 
 we mean, but, unassisted by personal explanations and 
 comment, it is to be feared our mere words will not go far. 
 Our grandfathers read and wrote books : our fathers re- 
 views : and we newspapers ; will our children and grand- 
 children read our old newspapers ? Have we any one who 
 speaks for our day as justly and appropriately as Dryden 
 did for his ? Have we anything that will stand wear and 
 tear, and will be as bright and un-obsolete a hundred and 
 fifty years hence, as ' Alexander's Feast ' is to-day ? 
 
LECTUEE 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH LITERA.TUEE 
 FEOM CHAUCEE TO WOEDSWOETH. 
 
 (1852.) 
 
LECTURE 
 
 OS THE 
 
 DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 
 FKOM CHAUCER TO WORDSWORTH. 
 
 The subject of my lecture is the Development of English 
 Literature. It were idle for me to attempt, and would be 
 foolish in me to desire, to say anything strikingly new upon 
 it. Anything strikingly original could be striking only 
 because incorrect ; and would in the end most likely be 
 found not even original. 
 
 Some novelty indeed there would be — the novelty of a 
 rarely attained success — could I, while passing in review 
 the literature of our country, treat of every part in proper 
 place and due proportion, without undervaluing, without 
 overcolouring, without either omission or exaggeration. 
 
 Something interesting too, if not striking, there might 
 be, could I, in following the development of English litera- 
 ture, indicate to you truly its connection with the develop- 
 ment of English character, point out correctly why it was 
 natural at particular epochs that particular things should 
 be said ; how the times affected the writers, and the writers 
 express the times ; and what sequence of changing words 
 and deeds has brought down the England of history to the 
 modem England of our own times in the East and in the 
 West. 
 
 In commencing such a conspectus, I can have no hesita- 
 
334 PROSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 tion in selecting the first name : English literature begins 
 with Chaucer. The most substantive and dominant ele- 
 ment in our blood and in our language is, it may be per- 
 fectly true, the Anglo-Saxon. But it cannot be said that 
 either in our blood or language this element had estab- 
 lished its permanent relations to other — to Celtic, Danish, 
 Norman, immigrant, invasive, and rebellious elements — had 
 taken amidst these and communicated to these a distinct 
 direction of its own, before the era of King Edward III. 
 and the close of the fourteenth century. The S8,me (and 
 this is much more important) may be aiSrmed of the English 
 national mind. In the age of Chaucer it may be said that 
 the English people, such as ever since then it has been (and 
 such never it had been till then), had, for good or for evil, 
 or more truly for both, entered in Various ways — in religion, 
 in morals, in domestic habits, in government, in social rela- 
 tions, in relations to other members of the European body 
 — upon a definite and positive course. The position which 
 we still hold as a northern, part Scandinavian, part German 
 people, ever resisting and yet ever submitting most largely 
 to accept the subtle influences of Southern civilisation and 
 refinement — our position, too, of antagonism, in particular 
 to the other great mixed nation, England's immediate 
 neighbour, was ours jn the era of the first French wars. 
 And the picture of all that pertains to those first exhibi- 
 tions (for good or for evil, or for both) of our English genius 
 and temper you may see surviving unfaded in the lively 
 colouring of the ' Canterbury Tales ' ; exhibitions, I have 
 said, of genius and temper ; of dispositions, inclinations, 
 tendencies, it is true, rather than of any formed and rigidly 
 fixed determination. It is our boyhood ; but the man in 
 looking back to it is conscious that that boyhood was his : — 
 folded and compressed within the bud we detect the petals 
 of the coming flower, the rudiment of the future fruit. 
 What, for example, can be truer to permanent English 
 
DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH LITERATURE 335 
 
 likings and dislikings, what more exact to the nation's 
 habitual views and preferences in life, than these lines in 
 the description of the monk ? Let me premise that St. 
 Maure, and St. Benett or Benedict, St. Austin or Augustin, 
 are the great monastic legislators : that wood, as in Scotch, 
 still means crazy, and stvink, as in Shakespeare, toil : — 
 
 The rule of Saint Maure and of Saint Benett 
 Because that it was old and some deal straight, 
 This UkS monk let old6 thinges pace, 
 And held after the news world the trace. 
 He gave not for that text a pulled hen. 
 That saith that hunters he not holy men. 
 
 And I say his opinion was good. 
 
 What should he studie and make himselven wood, 
 
 Upon a book in cloistre alway to pore, 
 
 Or swinken with his handes and laboure. 
 
 As Austin bid ? Mow shall the world be served ? 
 
 Let Austin have his swink to him reserved. 
 
 I do not think that our countrymen in this generation 
 have lost their distaste to devout seclusion and associate 
 task -work, or their passion for individual enterprise ; the 
 hearty acceptance, so only indeed they do exist, of all exist- 
 ing things, good, bad, and indifferent ; the desire to grapple 
 with common facts, and the feeling, that some way or other 
 the question — How shall the world be served ? must receive 
 an answer. 
 
 Certainly we may still find in Old England ladies — I 
 quote Chaucer — paining themselves to counterfeit cheer 
 of court, and be estately of manere, and to be held worthy 
 of reverence ; busy or busy-seeming lawyers : — 
 
 No where so busy a man as he, as he there n'was, 
 And yet he seemed busier than he was ; 
 
 country gentlemen, great at the sessions, and greater at the 
 dinner table ; the tried soldier, silent and unpretending ; 
 
336 PROSE REMAEs^S OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 the young soldier, much the reverse ; the merchant, so dis- 
 creet and stedfast. 
 
 There wistS no man that he was in debt ; 
 
 religious and laborious parish-clergymen, and church digni- 
 taries, not very religious, and not at all laborious. Such is 
 the picture given by Chaucer of his fellow-travellers on the 
 highway from London to Canterbury in the year 1383, as 
 the old tradition of the Tabard Inn in Southwark records, 
 as it might be any present Englishman's description of his 
 in the year 1852. 
 
 From boyhood we step to early manhood ; from Chaucer 
 pass to Shakespeare, and behold now, not temper, and 
 tendency, and disposition, but thought, contemplation, 
 doubt. In language less easy far and natural, but infinitely 
 more pregnant, significant, and profound, in a style abound- 
 ing in faults as in beauties, we hear, not, as from Chaucer, 
 all that Englishmen in his time were like, but all that man 
 in all times may be. As on the mount of vision, from 
 whose secret summit were seen the kingdoms of the world 
 and the glory thereof, so on the elevation of his own poised 
 intellect stood the spirit of the Elizabethan dramatist, 
 sweeping slowly the horizon of human will and action — all 
 the possible varieties of which were delivered into its power, 
 ' to be or not to be.' So shone concentrated in the being 
 of one man, as into the form of some irradiant star, the col- 
 lective intelligence of centuries gone by, — 
 
 the prophetic soal 
 Of the great world dreaming o'er things to come. 
 
 Into details of critical remark on Shakespeare I do not 
 now purpose to carry you. Let me but mark one point. It 
 is impossible, I should suppose, for any reader who does not 
 come to the plays of Shakespeare with a lud^fment overborne 
 by the weight of authority or the force of general sentiment 
 
DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH LITEEATDEE 337 
 
 —it is impossible, I should imagine, for any ingenuous, dis- 
 passionate reader not to find himself surprised, checked, 
 disappointed, shocked, even revolted, by -what in any other 
 author — in an author of modern times — he would call gross 
 defects in point of plot, flagrant inconsistencies of character. 
 In ' As You Like It,' for example, who is not astounded to 
 meet in Act V. the unnatural brother of Act I., by the 
 rehabilitation of a most cursory Deus-ex-machind sort of 
 penitence, or shall I call it regret, qualified for the love, 
 wedlock, and happiness which honest people had been work- 
 ing up to through the whole long drama ? Whom does the 
 marriage of Angelo and Mariana leave quite easy in his 
 mind ? Whose moral sensibilities are not a little rufiled by 
 a strange phantasmagoria of good people becoming bad of a 
 sudden, and all of a sudden good again ; good and happy, 
 too, after every sort of misconduct, after the wickedest and 
 foulest actions, with one touch of the wand all made right j 
 guilt converted to innocence, with not a stain left behind — 
 long-suffering virtue shall wed quick repentant vice — and 
 all, it would seem, simply to bring the play to a happy 
 ending ? 
 
 For the explanation of these apparent blemishes — these 
 obvious incongruities in the comedies (for that is their 
 region) of our great poet, I might refer you to M. Guizot's 
 criticism on Shakespeare. One element in it consists in the 
 fact, which we are pretty safe in assuming, that with the 
 story Shakespeare had little or nothing to do ; he simply took 
 what was given him, and made of it what he could — what 
 he had occasion or time for. And yet that the taste of the 
 time, and that he himself should acquiesce in such a repre- 
 sentation, is a matter, I think, in some degree appertaining 
 to that balanced, speculative character which I attempted 
 but now to describe, natural to the age and characteristic of 
 the writer. 
 
 free and serene in youth, newly emancipated from 
 
 z 
 
338 PEOSE EEMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 teachers and directors, unfettered any longer by precept or 
 injunction of others, unbound as yet by any self-imposed 
 restriction, or even any formed determination — in the rich- 
 ness of a reflectiveness which even now is all but a malady, 
 in the fulness of an almost premature maturity of thought 
 — in a distant preconception or presentiment wandering un- 
 decided in the garden of the infinite choices ; free as yet to 
 select, loving much rather as yet to forbear ; with a tran- 
 quil wistfulness, with a far-sighted consciousness, looking 
 down those unnumbered, diverging, far-reaching avenues of 
 future actuality, each one of which, but, if any one, then 
 not any other, he may follow — such I venture to picture 
 to myself the second poet of the English series — the second 
 and the greatest — the creator of Othello and of Falstaflf, of 
 Hotspur and of Hamlet. 
 
 Not uncompromised, not uncommitted any longer, self- 
 committed, strongly, deliberately, seriously, irreversibly com- 
 mitted ; walking as in the sight of God, as in the profound, 
 almost rigid conviction that this one, and no other of all 
 those many paths is, or can be, for the just and upright 
 spirit possible, self -predestined as it were, of his own will 
 and foreknowledge, to a single moral and religious aim — 
 such, I think, are we to imagine the writer of ' Paradise 
 Lost ' and of ' Samson Agonistes,' the third of the English 
 poets. To what purpose these myriad phenomena, entering 
 and traversing the field of that mighty object-glass of the 
 speculative intellect ? Is it life to observe ? Is it a man's 
 service to know ? As if it was a thing possible for us to 
 forbear to act ; as though there were not in God's world, 
 amidst ten thousand wrongs, one right, amidst the false 
 choices that offend Him, the one that is His will. And yet, 
 though in 1623, when the players put out the first collected 
 edition, the first folio of the tragedies, comedies, and histories 
 of William Shakespeare, Milton, aged sixteen, was trans- 
 lating psalms, to the second of these folios, in 1632, were 
 
DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH LITEKATUEE 339 
 
 prefixed the verses by John Milton, 'What needs my 
 Shakespeare.' And among the productions of that pure 
 protracted youth, ending, we may say, only in his thirty- 
 third year, and devoted to books and letters, — though 
 ' Comus,' it is true, seems prophetic of the stern and reli- 
 gious virtues of the after-manhood and old age — ' L' Allegro 
 meantime, ' H Penseroso,' and parts of ' Comus ' itself show 
 lineaments of a gentler and less positive, more natural and 
 less merely moral character. Is there not here in these 
 earlier poems, lingering stUl, and as yet undismissed, a 
 little of that poetic hesitance, that meditative reluctance to 
 take a part which I attributed but now as his characteristic 
 to Shakespeare 1 Does not the youthful Milton, while in 
 this immature period, pondering, examining, testing, as it 
 were, upon his spiritual palate the viands of life, approxi- 
 mate, I will not determine how closely, to that personal un- 
 dramatic Shakespeare, who sadly and almost remorsefully 
 could say of himself 1 — ^ 
 
 Alas 1 'tis true, I have gone here and there, 
 
 And made myself a motley to the view. 
 
 Gored my own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear. 
 
 Or again, — 
 
 Oh ! for my sake, do you with fortune chide, 
 The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds. 
 
 Or in a graver tone still, — 
 
 Poor soul, the centre of my sinful Earth, 
 Pooled by those rebel powers that thee array. 
 
 Upon the broad brows and in the deep eyes of Shake- 
 speare I could believe myseK to see, during the inditing of 
 records such as this, a mournful expression which might 
 pass with ease into the fixed pure look of Milton, and could 
 identify, under circumstances of no violent transmutation, 
 the Hps which uttered, ' What ! because thou art virtuous, 
 
 z2 
 
340 PEOSE REMAINS OP AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 , shall there be no cakes and ale ? aye, and ginger be hot in 
 the mouth ? ' with those of him who closed his drama with 
 the sentence that 
 
 If virtue feeble were, 
 Heaven itself would stoop to her. 
 
 But such a fleeting similarity of transition, if there 
 were, in the thoughtful countenance of the youthful Milton, 
 was soon and totally effaced. He is a man of far diflferent 
 genius and character whom we see in the seventeen succeed- 
 ing years of his prime, from his thirty-third to his fiftieth, 
 teaching scholars and reforming education ; married, and 
 deserted, and propounding a new doctrine of divorce ; taking 
 a side in the great Civil War, joining in controversy with 
 bishops and archbishops, acting as secretary to a republican 
 government, and — 
 
 In Liberty's defence, my noble task, 
 
 With which all Europe rings from side to side^ 
 
 justifying the death of kings. 
 
 Or he again, who, blind and anon impoverished, neglected, 
 imprisoned, persecuted in another and concluding space of 
 seventeen years, bated nevertheless not one jot of heart 
 and hope, and 
 
 On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues, 
 In darkness and with danger compassed roxmd, 
 
 found in his lowest estate his highest inspiration, and con- 
 verted his season of endurance and afiliction into his period 
 of most perfect and permanent achievement. 
 
 The spirit of Milton, no less than the spirit of Shake- 
 speare, still lives and breathes in our native air ; we imbibe 
 it in the earliest and commonest influences that environ us ; 
 it has entered, for good, for evU, or for both, into the con- 
 stituents of our national character. 
 
 Nevertheless, the proper manhood of the English 
 
DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH LITEEATUEE 341 
 
 nation dates, I believe, from the generation which rejected 
 Milton. The Counter- Revolution of 1660 and the final 
 Revolution of 1688 are the two critical convulsions which 
 restored us to our proper natural course. It is impossible, 
 after all, not to recognise in those seemingly senseless accla- 
 mations which welcomed back the exiled Stuart a real and 
 important significance. It is impossible not to sympathise 
 with the joy and exultation of people at throwing off the 
 yoke of an iron system of morals, proved by experience not 
 coextensive with facts, not true to the necessary exigencies 
 and experiences of life. 
 
 Fain to return to that larger range from which for a 
 while we had remained self-excluded, but incapable any 
 longer of sustaining ourselves upon the unsupported eleva- 
 tion of speculative vision ; eager again to see what in 
 Shakespeare we had viewed, to feel ourselves again within 
 the circle of those infinitely various relations, but too far 
 engaged in actual things to be competent now of seeing 
 merely, of feeling only ; eager, were it possible — which it no 
 longer is — to find satisfaction to adult impulses in the grati- 
 fication of those old boyish instincts, dispositions, tempers, 
 tendencies, left behind so far away as Chaucer ; resolute, 
 however, in any case, come what would or might, to face 
 and confront, to acknowledge and accept the facts of that 
 living palpable world which cannot for any long time be dis- 
 owned or evaded, with the vision of the universe departed, with 
 innocence and the untroubled conscience forfeited, behold us 
 here at the close of the seventeenth century, embarking, in 
 whose name we know not, and profess to ourselves that we 
 care not, upon the seas of actual and positive existence. 
 
 You will observe that in the period commencing with the 
 Restoration and continuing through the eighteenth century, 
 literature, though gaining infinitely in variety, loses in eleva- 
 tion ; its predominant and characteristic form is not, as 
 hitherto, the highest, the poetical. What poetry does exist is 
 
342 PROSE EEMAINS OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 by no means of the highest order, nor aims at the highest 
 objects ; it is rather as a source of elegant amusement, as an 
 efficacious means towards refinement and polish, as an ally and 
 auxiliary of carriage and high breeding, as an emollient 
 of manners and antidote to brutality, that we are taught to 
 regard it. What indeed the really instructive, the serious 
 and significant form of literature is, were hard to say : it 
 seems even doubtful at times whether it possesses at all any 
 form deserving any such high-sounding epithets ; at times 
 we cannot refrain from the belief that the whole energy, 
 moral, intellectual, and vital, of the nation has passed off 
 into the common business, the ordinary hard work of 
 individual everyday life ; that what we see in the name of 
 literature is but a mere dead and mechanical repetition, 
 an aimless and meaningless observance of traditional habits. 
 At times again, on the other hand, the abundance, and the 
 variety, and the broad substantive character of what the 
 Englishmen of this period wrote and have left for us, fill 
 us with admiration while we contrast it with the poverty, 
 narrowness, and uniformity of our preceding literature. 
 The complexity of the picture is enhanced, and the 
 embarrassment and doubt of our judgments and feelings 
 aggravated, while we further observe how our national 
 mind and literature begin to enter more now than ever 
 before into intimate relations with the other great personal, 
 national forces which have in the last hundred years sprung 
 up into life and vigour on the Continent. Chaucer, it is true 
 • — and it is his praise — gave the final completion, by copious 
 admissions of Norman-French vocables and phrases, to the 
 transformation, shall I say, or new creation, of our homely, 
 meagre, inarticulate semi-Saxon into a civilised and 
 living speech, fit for the harmonious repetition to English 
 ears of graceful Italian or classic story, and the enduring 
 utterance of native thought and sentiment. By Italian 
 cadence and rhythm Spenser tuned his docile ear, and 
 
DEVELOPMENT OP ENGLISH LITEEATUEE 343 
 
 learnt to remodulate, after an age of disuse, the language in 
 which Shakespeare was to delineate the traditions of Verona 
 and Venice, and give immortality to Florentine romances. 
 The soul of Milton had dieted on 'immortal notes and 
 Tuscan airs,' and been imbued with Italian scenes and 
 Italian friendships, and had learnt in that converse to 
 
 Feed on thoughts that voluntary move 
 Haxmonious numbers, 
 
 ere he thought them worthy to arise ' to the height of that 
 great argument.' 
 
 Nevertheless, this culture in classic grace, and this 
 schooling in the nice accomplishment of verse which the 
 English poets had sought with submission and deference 
 from the descendants of Livy and Virgil, cannot, in any 
 sort, be paralleled with that encounter and fusion which is 
 now to come to pass with a national mind, single and 
 original as our own, proved, chastened, and fortified by a 
 long course of thought, action, and sufiering. The Prencli 
 nation, marked from its original development, shall we say, 
 in the era of the first and second Crusades, by a peculiar 
 and distinct character, mingling in a wonderful compound 
 the fervour of the south and the vigour of the north, heirs 
 direct of an older civilisation, scene of the earliest resuscita- 
 tion of thought, taking, in the later ages of religious con- 
 tention, a separate and special position between the old, 
 as in. Italy and Spain, and the new, as in England and 
 North Germany ; with a readier understanding, with a 
 more rapid and more immediate and seizing intellect > work- 
 ing out, by a logic of its own, conclusions, distinct from 
 those of ojny, yet iu relation to those of every European 
 community ; free-thinkiag from the first in Montaigne, 
 sceptically devout in Pascal, embellishing the ancient faith 
 in Bossuet, and scaling the summit of the latest doubt in 
 Descartes, the French nation obviously had much to com- 
 
344 PKOSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 municate to its insular neighbours — the Puritan, or ail-but 
 Puritan, English people. 
 
 Yet on the other hand, to pass into the region of mere 
 imitation, to sit at the feet even of writers as great as 
 Racine and Molifere, to owe fealty to the dicta of Boileau, 
 to fit on the literary court-costume of Louis XIV., and 
 pick up the fine language of the Regency, would appear to 
 carry somewhat of indignity to men that 
 
 Speak the tongue 
 That Shatspeare spoke ; the faith and morals hold 
 That Milton held. 
 
 From this dangerous communion it may be said that the 
 English mind returned with little loss of originality, a;nd 
 with a large accession of ideas and perceptions ; it had 
 offered as freely, if not as copiously, as it had taken ; in the 
 mass of imitation the native genius is still to be discerned, 
 surviving and subsisting ; in the prostration of ancient 
 tenets and habits the old character remains upright, un- 
 overthrown and unsubdued, One could really believe that 
 we might have consented to learn yet more and got no harm 
 by it. And, reappearing strangely disguised and meta 
 morphosed, we shall still find the spirit of the Elizabethan age 
 and of the Puritan ; the high functions which Shakespeare 
 and Milton performed will be performed in the new era 
 less splendidly but more effectually by smaller men and 
 humbler agencies. 
 
 Dryden, born in 1631 and dying in 1700, and Cowper, 
 born and dying in the correspondiag years of the following 
 century, we may make the limits of our new period. 
 
 After the age of Shakespeare, Milton, and the translation 
 of the Bible, that of Addison, Swift, and the translations 
 of Homer and Virgil may seem degenerate. Dryden, who 
 heads the list, after commencing panegyrist under 
 Oliver Cromwell, and showing his good- will in the same 
 
DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH LITERATURE S46 
 
 capacity under the restored Charles II., presently pro- 
 ceeds as playwright, political satirist, theological con- 
 troversialist, critical essayist, classical translator. We may 
 take him as an earnest of what is to follow. Playwrights, 
 in Dryden and Otway, Congreve, Vanbrugh, Farquhar, 
 assume first the pre-eminence. Classical translation, and 
 almost at the same time the Essay, aspire next to supremacy, 
 and claim Augustan honours in Pope and Addison. From 
 1740 to 1770 may be called the culmination of the novel- 
 ists : from 1750 to 1790 is the period of the historians. 
 The last decade of the century finds us restored to other 
 and different poetry in Cowper and in Burns. 
 
 The items in the list may appear somewhat trivial. 
 Yet you cannot fail to observe that they consist of names 
 extremely well known ; well known not there only or here, 
 but wherever the English language is spoken or studied. 
 It is to these that foreigners desirous of learning our 
 language most naturally recur. They constitute our 
 ordinary standard literature, and for models in English 
 writing the tradition, not yet obsolete, of our fathers refers 
 us imperatively hither. We cannot, with any safety, follow 
 examples anterior to them ; nor easily find any amongst 
 their successors. Our own age is notorious for slovenly or 
 misdirected habits of composition, while the seventeenth 
 century wasted itself in the excesses of scholastic effort. 
 English prose, before the age of Dryden, was in the hands, 
 for the most part, of men who read and preached more 
 than they talked, and had learnt to compose Latin before 
 they set themselves to write the vernacular. But Latin is, 
 by the inherent nature of its grammar and construction, a 
 language singularly alien to the genius of a natural Eng- 
 lish style. French, which was the chief reading of the 
 English writers after the Restoration, both as a living and as 
 a modern language, was a far more useful auxiliary. And 
 at their coffee-houses and clubs, the wits of our Augustan 
 
346 PEOSB EBMAINS OF AETHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 age were, even Addison included, fairly accustomed to 
 lively conversation. And the study of French tended to 
 save from vulgarity and meanness diction which conversa- 
 tional habits made thoroughly idiomatic. For manner, and 
 for the subtle and potent impressions conveyed by manner, 
 you may assuredly consult with great benefit the majority 
 of these unpretending items. 
 
 I may further raise your estimate of these names if I 
 remind you of their connection, at least in time, with work- 
 ings of the human intellect not exactly included in the 
 name of literature. The period of discoveries in Natural 
 Philosophy begins with the reign of that restored Stuart 
 whose picture looks down still, if I mistake not, with the 
 title of founder on the meetings of the Royal Society. 
 Newton's ' Principia ' is not, perhaps, a book pertaining to 
 Belles Lettres ; yet Newton and his fellow-discoverers have 
 a good deal to do with the character of the age of Dryden. 
 If I introduce, by the side of the translation of Virgil, the 
 name of Locke on the ' Human Understanding,' I shall add, 
 I suppose, some specific gravity to the close of the de- 
 generate seventeenth century ; and it will not be without 
 some effect that I intercalate between Thomson's ' Seasons ' 
 and Richardson's 'Pamela,' at the date 1736, the title of 
 Butler's ' Analogy of Religion.' The advance of the century 
 which presents us with the great histories of Hume, 
 Robertson, and Gibbon, gains additional seriousness also 
 from Hume's philosophical as from Johnson's moral writing. 
 And certainly, though the apparent results were less 
 brilliant, our respect and attention are claimed quite as 
 strongly by the mental and moral as by the natural or 
 physical philosophy of this age. 
 
 The subject belongs properly to profounder lecturers ; I 
 shall merely touch upon it in connection with that literature 
 which it serves more than could anything else to explain. 
 It was our mental philosophy which, far more than our ordi- 
 
DEVELOrMENT OF EBTGLISH LITEEATUEE 347 
 
 nary Belles Lettres, drew upon us the attention of Europe 
 in general. Voltaire was indeed acquainted with Pope, 
 Dryden, and Swift, but he declared himself openly the 
 student of Newton and the pupil of Locke ; and professed 
 the mission of an apostle to his countrymen of the doctrines 
 of the English philosophy ; and in that philosophy only we 
 can expect to find the fundamental convictions upon which, 
 when the worst came to the worst. Englishmen of that age 
 conceived they could retreat : it therefore must be con- 
 sidered as the substantial reality upon which the fleeting 
 phenomena of plays, poetry, and novels are sustained. Its 
 temper was, I suppose, narrow and material : bent upon 
 the examination of phenomena, it admitted only such as 
 present themselves to the lower and grosser senses ; to the 
 notices of the higher and purer it peremptorily refused its 
 attention. We cannot live without the impalpable air 
 which we breathe, any more than without the solid earth 
 which we tread upon ; the intimations of a spiritual world 
 of which we cannot be rigidly, and, as it were, by all our 
 senses, certified, constitute for our inner life an element as 
 essential as the plain matter of fact without which nothing 
 can be done. But it is certain also that without that 
 matter of fact nothing can be done, and, moreover, very 
 little can be thought : palpable things, by divine right, by 
 inevitable necessity, and intelligent ordinance, claim our 
 habitual attention ; we are more concerned with our steps 
 upon the ground than our inhalation of the atmosphere ; 
 stories of the apparition of ghosts may very likely be true, 
 but even if they are it matters extremely little. 
 
 This austere love of truth ; this righteous abhorrence of 
 illusion ; this rigorous, uncompromising rejection of the 
 vague, the untestified, the merely probable ; this stern con- 
 scientious determination without paltering and prevarica- 
 tion to admit, if things are bad, that they are so ; this 
 resolute, upright . purpose, as of some transcendental man 
 
848 PKOSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 of business, to go thoroughly into the accounts of the world 
 and make out once for all how they stand : such a spirit as 
 this, I may say, I think, claims more than our attention — 
 claims our reverence. 
 
 We must not lose it — we must hold fast by it, precious 
 to us as Shakespeare's intellectual or Milton's moral sub- 
 limities ; while our eyes look up with them, our feet must 
 stay themselves firmly here. Such, I believe, is the strong 
 feeling of the English nation ; the spirit of Newton and of 
 Locke possesses us at least in as full measure as that of any 
 one of their predecessors. 
 
 To trace that spirit working in the minds and morals of 
 our fathers of the last century would be curiously instruc- 
 tive. Pure intellectual action is apt, no doubt, to be for 
 the time so absorbing as to draw to itself all the agencies 
 of our nature, as to suspend the just and fitting exercise of 
 other, and it may be nobler, functions. Philosophers are 
 frequently dim of sight for the phenomena of everyday 
 life, a little hard of hearing for the calls of plain humanity. 
 Let that moral purpose which should first embark, and 
 through the whole voyage should accompany, the true 
 philosopher be his justification. It is a special service that 
 he undertakes, and he may be excused if, to execute it, he 
 does not act wholly as others do, or as in itself would be 
 best. 
 
 Such a pervading moral purpose is in England exhibited 
 by the chief philosophers of the eighteenth century. Such 
 a moral purpose, perhaps, we may claim for the century 
 itself in general ; admitting, however, at the same time, 
 whether it be the fault of philosophy or of that particular 
 style of philosophy which then prevailed, that, at any rate 
 amongst the upper and more educated classes, both morality 
 and religion seem to have held disadvantageous and pre- 
 carious ground, to have maintained or struggled to maintain 
 themselves in a position only just tenable. The maxim of 
 
DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH LITEEATUEE 349 
 
 the time appears to be that it is man's duty to sustain him- 
 self upon a minimum of moral assumption ; in point of 
 fact, to strive to solve the problem of habituation to living 
 on nothing. Morality survives, we know not well how, in 
 Hume. Religion appears to be driven to its inmost line of 
 defences, to be fighting from its encincture of fortification, 
 in Butler's analogical argument. And Johnson, in the last 
 resort, can but confute Hume, as Berkeley — with a stamp 
 upon the ground. 
 
 Of what dubious cogency, compared with ancient doc- 
 trine, is the morality implied in the summary of character 
 with which Mary Queen of Scots is dismissed from the 
 English History How different from the idea of a religion 
 meeting all the otherwise disappointed hopes, fulfilling all 
 the profoundest and most secret needs of our spiritual 
 nature, is the great argument of the ' Analogy,' which, 
 nakedly stated, would seem to run, that we have no right 
 to claim a religion according to our own fancies, that as the 
 world of ordinary facts is full of difficulties, so also it is to 
 be expected will be religion also. How matter-of-fact, and, 
 as good people now would say, how low is the morality of 
 Johnson ; how indiscriminate, moreover, he is obliged, in 
 his extreme need, to be in his religious faith and devotional 
 observances. 
 
 Nevertheless, there is a cogency in this resting upon 
 only the lowest grounds ; the winter- vitality of the moral 
 convictions of Hume is worth more than any summer 
 exuberance of sentiment. Butler's argument does hold 
 water : Johnson's character does prove something. 
 
 But by this time we are seeming to hear a sound as of 
 very different voices, and it is well that we should begin to 
 break off. Religious enthusiasm, wholly unconscious that 
 amongst the upper classes it had been proved a chimera, 
 awakening in aU the extravagant force of youth at the 
 touch of Wesley and Whitfield, had this long time, amongst 
 
350 PEOSE REMAINS OF AKTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 the despised and neglected, been extending its dominions 
 and augmenting its powers. Methodism, long plebeian, is 
 attaining its literary patriciate in Cowper. "We must 
 listen, too, while in homely Scots vernacular we are told by 
 an Ayrshire ploughman authentic tidings of living instincts, 
 of spontaneous belief, which not all the philosophy in the 
 brain of the intellectual can banish from the breast of the 
 human being. 
 
 In France, also, even Parisian dilettanti are neglecting 
 the persiflage of Voltaire for the sentiment of Rousseau, 
 and the common people are ' hearing him gladly.' 
 
 As men after long abstraction or too careful self-intro- 
 spection need some sudden change to replace them in their 
 ordinary attitude of life and action ; or, as in the ancient 
 Roman Empire, when the old civilisation, with its laws, its 
 government, its intellectual superiority, its literary upper 
 classes, was gradually sinking more and more into a sort of 
 paralytic incapacity, the emergence from below of a plebeian, 
 unintellectual, unrefined religion, and the inroad from with- 
 out of Northern barbarian races, gave back life to the 
 world — even so in England from the elements representable 
 by Wesley and Burns, in Prance from what spoke by the 
 mouth of the watchmaker's son of Geneva, came strange 
 renovation. 
 
 You observe, upon referring to a table of chronology, 
 how as the stars, whose courses we have been contemplat- 
 ing, begin to disappear below, so already above the horizon 
 there may be seen showing themselves the lights of a new 
 generation. Before Johnson had left the world you see 
 Coleridge, Wordsworth, Scott, Southey already entered 
 upon it ; entering it much about the time that Hume and 
 Goldsmith quit it. Gibbon sees that last volume, which in 
 his garden at Lausanne he rejoiced to lay down completed, 
 issue from the press ; and Byron is already born. The men 
 whom we ourselves have seen, some of whom still survive 
 
DEVJiLOPMENT OF ENGLISH LITERATURE 351 
 
 — the men of whose careers some in this room may have 
 been immediate witnesses, the impress from whose spirit is 
 more immediately set upon us all, are already alive and 
 even at work. Were I to pass over the momentous barrier 
 of the great French Revolution, and look into the last 
 decade of the eighteenth century, we should see there, while 
 the light of Burns suddenly goes out, and the feeble spark 
 which testifies to the existence of Cowper expires sadly 
 with the expiring centenary, we should see there Coleridge 
 and Wordsworth and Southey busy, and before the public, 
 Coleridge and Southey planning as in a dream a Pantiso- 
 cratic community on the banks of the smooth-sounding 
 Susquehanna, Coleridge and Wordsworth presently writing 
 in country seclusion , together poems which the former 
 never, the latter scarcely ever, improved upon. 
 
 But I shall be doing wrong, I feel and see, in overstep- 
 ping this magic limit of the century. I am leading you 
 unawares from a gallery of portraits of the dead through a 
 door that opens upon a meeting of living, moving, and 
 acting men. From history I am seducing you to self- 
 observation ; from the ripe and gathered sheaves I am 
 diverting you to the field where good and bad, by no rash 
 hand to be sundered, must grow together to an harvest 
 which is not yet. Of the characteristics of this new epoch, 
 of its purport and significance, let us not dream of seeking 
 any analysis or giving any representation. 
 
 Twenty years hence, when the hot blood of Byron shall 
 have cooled in the veins of the generation he addressed, and 
 when Scott's mountain excursions, shall seem an exploded 
 amusement, and Wordsworth's evening walks a faded 
 reverie, twenty years hence it will be time enough to meet 
 together and discuss our past selves and the literature of 
 the commencement of the nineteenth century. 
 
EEVIEW OF SOME POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEXANDER SMITH and MATTHEW AENOLD. 
 
 (Published in the ' North American Eeview.' for July 1853, 
 Yol. Ixxvii., No. 160.) 
 
 A A 
 
355 
 
 REVIEW OF SOME POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEXANDER SMITH AND MATTHEW ARNOLD. 
 
 Poems by Alexander Smith, a volume recently published in 
 London, and by this time reprinted in Boston, deserve atten- 
 tion. They have obtained in England a good deal more 
 notice than is usually accorded there to first volumes of 
 verse ; nor is this by any means to be ascribed to the mere 
 fact that the writer is, as we are told, a mechanic ; though 
 undoubtedly that does add to their external interest, and 
 perhaps also enhances their intrinsic merit. It is to this, 
 perhaps, that they owe a force of purpose and character 
 which makes them a grateful contrast- to the ordinary 
 languid collectanea published by young men of literary 
 habits ; and which, on the whole, may be accepted as more 
 than compensation for many imperfections of style and 
 taste. 
 
 The models whom this young poet has followed have 
 been, it would appear, predominantly, if not exclusively, 
 the writers of his own immediate time, plus Shakspeare. 
 The antecedents of the ' Life-Drama,' the one long poem 
 which occupies almost the whole of his volume, are to be 
 found in the ' Princess,' in parts of Mrs. Browning, in the 
 love of Keats, and the habit of Shakspeare. There is no 
 Pope, or Dryden,' or even Milton ; no Wordsworth, Scott, 
 
 ' The word spoom, which Dryden uses as the verb of the 
 substantive npume, occurs also in ' Beaumont and Fletcher.' Has 
 Keats employed it ? It seems hardly to deserve reimpatria- 
 tion. 
 
 A A 2 
 
356 PROSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 or even Byron to speak of. We have before us, we may 
 say, the latest disciple of the school of Keats, who was 
 indeed no well of English undefiled, though doubtless the 
 fountain-head of a true poetic stream. Alexander Smith is 
 young enough to free himself from his present manner, 
 which does not seem his simple and natural own. He has 
 given us, so to say, his Endymion ; it is certainly as 
 imperfect, and as mere a promise of something wholly 
 different, as was that of the master he has followed. 
 
 We are not sorry, in the meantime, that this Endymion 
 is not upon Mount Latmos. The natural man does pant 
 within us alter flumina silvasque ; yet really, and truth to 
 tell, is it not, upon the whole, an easy matter to sit under a 
 green tree by a purling brook, and indite pleasing stanzas 
 on the beauties of Nature and fresh air ? Or is it, we 
 incline to ask, so very great an exploit to wander out into 
 the pleasant field of Greek or Latin mythology, and repro- 
 duce, with more or less of modern adaptation — 
 
 the shadows 
 Faded and pale, yet immortal, of Faunus, the Nymphs, and the 
 Graces ? 
 
 Studies of the literature of any distant age or country ; all 
 the imitations and g'wcisi-translations which help to bring 
 together into a, single focus the scattered rays of human 
 intelligence ; poems after classical models, poems from 
 Oriental sources, and the like, have undoubtedly a great 
 literary value. Yet there is no question, it is plain and 
 patent enough, that people much prefer ' Yanity Fair ' and 
 ' Bleak House.' Why so ? Is it simply because we have 
 grown prudent and prosaic, and should not welcome, as our 
 fathers did, the Marmions and the Rokebys, the Childe 
 Harolds and the Corsairs ? Or is it, that to be widely 
 popular, to gain the ear of multitudes, to shake the hearts 
 
REVIEW OF SOME MODEKN POEMS 357 
 
 of men, poetry should deal, more than at present it usually 
 does, with general wants, ordinary feelings, the obvious 
 rather than the rare facts of human nature ? Could it not 
 attempt to convert into beauty and thankfulness, or at 
 least into some form and shape, some feeling, at any rate, 
 of content — the actual, palpable things with which our 
 every-day life is concerned ; introduce into business and 
 weary task-work a character and a soul of purpose and 
 reality ; intimate to us relations which, in our unchosen, 
 peremptorily appointed posts, in our grievously narrow and 
 limited spheres of action, we still, in and through all, retain 
 to some central, celestial fact ? Could it not console us 
 with a sense of significance, if not of dignity, in that often 
 dirty, or at least dingy, work which it is the lot of so many 
 of us to have to do, and which some one or other, after all, 
 must do 1 Might it not divinely condescend to all infirmi- 
 ties ; be in all points tempted as we are ; exclude nothing, 
 least of all guilt and distress, from its. wide fraternisation ; 
 not content itself merely with talking of what may be 
 better elsewhere, but seek also to deal with what is here t 
 We could each one of us, alas, be so much that somehow 
 we find we are not ; we have all of us fallen away from so 
 much that we still long to call ours. Cannot the Divine 
 Song in some way indicate to us our unity, though from a 
 great way off, with those happier things ; inform us, and 
 prove to us, that though we are what we are, we may yet, 
 in some way, even in our abasement, even by and through 
 our daily work, be related to the purer existence 1 
 
 The modern novel is preferred to the modern poem, 
 because we do here feel an attempt to include these indis- 
 pensable latest addenda — these phenomena which, if we 
 forget on Sunday, we must remember on Monday — these 
 positive matters of fact, which people, who are not verse- 
 writers, are obliged to have to do with. 
 
358 PEOSE EEMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Et fortasse cupressmn 
 Scis simulare ; quid hoc, si fractis enatat exspes 
 Navibus, ssre dato qui pingitur 1 
 
 The novelist does try to build us a real house to be lived 
 in ; and this common builder, with no notion of the orders, 
 is more to our purpose than the student of ancient art who 
 proposes to lodge us under an Ionic portico. We are, 
 unhappily, not gods, nor even marble statues. While the 
 poets, like the architects, are — a good thing enough in its 
 way — studying ancient art, comparing, thinking, theorising, 
 the common novelist tells a plain tale, often trivial enough, 
 about this, that, and the other, and obtains one reading at 
 any rate ; is thrown away indeed to-morrow, but is devoured 
 to-day. 
 
 We do not at all mean to prepare the reader for finding 
 the great poetic desideratum in this present Life-Drama. 
 But it has at least the advantage, such as it is, of not show- 
 ing much of the litterateur or connoisseur, or indeed the 
 student; nor is it, as we have said, mere pastoral sweet 
 piping from the country. These poems were not written 
 among books and busts, nor yet 
 
 By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 
 
 They have something substantive and lifelike, immediate 
 and first-hand, about them. There is a charm, for example, 
 in finding, as we do, continual images drawn from the busy 
 seats of industry ; it seems to satisfy a want that we have 
 long been conscious of, when we see the black streams that 
 welter out of factories, the dreary lengths of urban and 
 suburban dustiness. 
 
 The squares and streets, 
 And the faces that one meets, 
 
 irradiated with a gleam of divine purity. 
 
REVIEW OP SOME MODERN POEMS 359 
 
 There are moods when one is prone to believe that, in 
 these last days, no longer by ' clear spring or shady grove, 
 no more upon any Pindus or Parnassus, or by the side of 
 any Castaly, are the true and lawful haunts of the poetic 
 powers ; but, we could believe it, if anywhere, in the blank 
 and desolate streets, and upon the solitary bridges of the 
 midnight city, where Guilt is, and wild Temptation, and the 
 dire Compulsion of what has once been done — there, with 
 these tragic sisters around him, and with pity also, and pure 
 Compassion, and pale Hope, that looks like despair, and 
 Faith in the garb of doubt, there walks the discrowned 
 Apollo, with unstrung lyre ; nay, and could he sound it, 
 those mournful Muses would scarcely be able, as of old, to 
 respond and ' sing in turn with their beautiful voices.' 
 
 To such moods, and in such states of feeling, this ' Life 
 Drama ' will be an acceptable poem. Under the guise of a 
 different story, a story unskilful enough in its construction, 
 we have seemed continually to recognise the ingenious, yet 
 passionate, youthful spirit, struggling after something like 
 right and purity amidst the unnumbered difficulties, con- 
 tradictions, and corruptions of the heated and crowded, busy, 
 vicious, and inhuman town. Eager for action, incapable of 
 action without some support, yet knowing not on what arm 
 to dare to lean ; not untainted ; hard pressed ; in some 
 sort, at times, overcome — still we seem to see the young 
 combatant, half combatant, half martyr, resolute to fight it 
 out, and not to quit this for some easier field of battle — one 
 way or other to make something of it. 
 
 The story, such as we have it, is inartificial enough. 
 Walter, a boy of poetic temperament and endowment, has, 
 it appears, in the society of a poet friend now deceased, 
 grown up with the ambition of achieving something great 
 in the highest form of human speech. Unable to find or 
 make a way, he is diverted from his lofty purposes by a 
 romantic love-adventure, obscurely told, with a ' Lady ' who 
 
360 PEOSE EEMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 finds him asleep, Endymion-like, under a tree. The fervour 
 and force of youth wastes itself here in vain ; a quick dis- 
 appointment — for the lady is betrothed to another — sends 
 him back enfeebled, exhausted, and embittered, to essay 
 once again his task. Disappointed affections, and baffled 
 ambition, contending henceforward in unequal strife with 
 the temptations of scepticism, indifference, apathetic sub- 
 mission, base indulgence, and the like ; the sickened and 
 defeated, yet only too strong, too powerful man, turning 
 desperately off, and recklessly at last plunging in mid-un- 
 belief into joys to which only belief and moral purpose can 
 give reality ; out of horror-stricken guilt, the new birth of 
 clearer and surer, though humbler, conviction, trust, resolu- 
 tion ; these happy changes met, perhaps a little prematurely 
 and almost morb than half-way, by success in the aims of a 
 purified ambition, and crowned too, at last, by the blessings 
 of a regenerate affection — such is the argument of the latter 
 half of the poem ; and there is something of a current and 
 tide, so to say, of poetic intention in it, which carries on the 
 reader (after the first few scenes), perforce, in spite of criti- 
 cism and himself, through faulty imagery, turgid periods, 
 occasional bad versification and even grammar, to the close. 
 Certainly, there is something of a real flesh-aijd-blood heart 
 and soul in the case, or this could not be so. 
 
 We quote from the later portion, when Walter returns 
 to the home of his childhood : — 
 
 'Twas here I spent my youth, as far removed 
 Prom the great heavings, hopes, and fears of man, 
 As unknown isle asleep in unknown seas. 
 Gone my pure heart, and with it happy days ; 
 No manna falls around me from on high, 
 Barely from off the desert of my life 
 I gather patience and severe content. 
 God is a worker. He has thickly strewn 
 Infinity with grandeur. God is Love ; 
 He yet shall wipe away creation's tears. 
 
REVIEW OF SOME MODERlvr POEMS 361 
 
 And all the worlds shall summer in his smile. 
 
 Why work I not. The veriest mote that sports 
 
 Its one-day life within the svinny beam 
 
 Has its stem duties. Wherefore have I none 1 
 
 I win throw off this dead and useless past. 
 
 As a strong runner, straining for his life. 
 
 Unclasps a mantle to the hungry winds. 
 
 A mighty purpose rises large and slow 
 
 From out the fluctuations of my soul. 
 
 As ghostlike from the dim and trembling sea 
 
 Starts the completed moon. 
 
 Here, in this determination, he writes his poem — attains 
 in this spirit the object which had formerly been his ambi- 
 tion. And here, in the last scene, we find him happy, or 
 peaceful at least, with Yiolet : — 
 
 Thou noble soul, 
 Teach me, if thou art nearer God than I ! 
 My life was one long dream ; when I awoke, 
 Duty stood like an angel in my path. 
 And seemed so terrible, I could have turned 
 Into my yesterdays, and wandered back 
 To distant childhood, and gone out to God 
 By the gate of birth, not death. Lift, lift me up 
 By thy sweet inspiration, as the tide 
 Lifts'up a stranded boat upon the beach. 
 I will go forth 'mong men, not mailed in scorn. 
 But in the armour of a pure intent, 
 Great duties are before me, and great songs, 
 And whether crowned or crownless, when I fall, 
 It matters not, so as God's work is done. 
 I've learned to prize the quiet lightning deed, 
 Not the applauding thunder at its heels. 
 Which men call Fame. Our night is past ; 
 We stand in precious sunrise ; and beyond, 
 A long day stretches to the very end. 
 
 So be it, young Poet ; Poet, perhaps it is early to affirm ; 
 but so be it, at any rate, O young man. While you go 
 
862 PROSE REMAIN'S OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 forth in that ' armour of pure intent,' the hearts of some 
 readers, be assured, will go with you. 
 
 ' Empedocles on Etna, and other Poems,' with its earlier 
 companion volume, 'The Strayed Reveller, and other 
 Poems,' are, it would seem, the productions (as is, or was, 
 the English phrase) of a scholar and a gentleman ; a man 
 who has received a refined education, seen refined ' society,' 
 and been more, we dare say, in the world, which is called 
 the world, than in all likelihood has a Glasgow mechanic. 
 More refined, therefore, and more highly educated sensi- 
 bilities — too delicate, are they, for common service ? — a 
 calmer judgment also, a more poised and steady intellect, 
 the siacum hmien of the soul ; a finer and rarer aim, 
 perhaps, and certainly a keener sense of difficulty, in life — 
 these are the characteristics of him whom we areto call ' A.' 
 Empedocles, the sublime Sicilian philosopher, the fragments 
 of whose moral and philosophic poems testify to his genius 
 and character — Empedocles, in the poem before us, weary 
 of misdirected effort, weary of imperfect thought, impatient 
 of a life which appears to him a miserable failure, and 
 incapable, as he conceives, of doing anythiag that shall 
 be true to that proper interior self — 
 
 Being one with which we are one with the whole world, 
 
 wandering forth, with no determined purpose, iato the 
 mountain solitudes, followed for a whUe by Pausanias, the 
 eager and laborious physician, and at a distance by CalUcles, 
 the boy-musician, flings himself at last, upon a sudden im- 
 pulse and apparent inspiration of the intellect, into the boil- 
 ing crater of Etna ; rejoins there the elements. The music 
 of the boy Callicles, to which he chants his happy mythic 
 stories somewhat frigidly perhaps, relieves, as it sounds in 
 the distance, the gloomy catastrophe. 
 
 Tristram and Iseult (these names form the title of the 
 next and only other considerable poem) are, in the old 
 
EEVIEW OF SOME MODEKN POEMS 363 
 
 romantic cycle of North-France and Germany, the hero and 
 the heroine of a mournful tale. Tristram of Lyonness, the 
 famed companion of King Arthur, received in youth a com- 
 mission to bring from across the sea the Princess Iseult of 
 Ireland, the destined bride of the King of Cornwall. The 
 mother of the beautiful princess gave her, as a parting gift, 
 a cup of a magic wine, which she and her royal husband 
 should drink together on their marriage-day in their palace 
 at Tyntagil ; so they should love each other perfectly and 
 for ever. 
 
 On the dreamy seas it so befell, that Iseult and Tristram 
 drank together of the golden cup. Tristram, therefore, and 
 Iseult should love each other perfectly and for ever. Yet 
 nothing the less for this must Iseult be wedded to the King 
 of Cornwall ; and Tristram, vainly lingering, fly and go 
 forth upon his way. 
 
 But it so chanced that, after long and weary years of 
 passion vainly contended with, years of travel and hard 
 fighting, Tristram, lying wounded in Brittany, was tended 
 by another, a youthful, innocent Iseult, in whose face he 
 seemed to see the look of that Iseult of the past, that was, 
 and yet could not be, his. Weary, and in his sad despon- 
 dency, Tristram wedded Iseult of Brittany, whose heart, in 
 his stately deep distress, he had moved to a sweet and 
 tender aflFection. The modern poem opens with the wedded 
 knight come home again, after other long years, and other 
 wars, in which he had fought at King Arthur's side with 
 the Roman emperor, and subdued the heathen Saxons on 
 the Rhine, lying once more sick and sad at heart, upon what 
 ere long he feels shall be his death-bed. Ere he die, he 
 would see, once yet again, her with whom in his youth he 
 drank of that fatal cup : — ■ 
 
 Tristram. Is she not come 1 the messenger was sure. 
 Prop me upon the pillows once again — 
 
364 PKOSE REMAINS OP ARTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Raise me, my page : this cannot long endure. 
 Christ I whal a night I how the sleet whips the pane I 
 What lights will those out to the northward be ? . 
 Ike Page. The lanterns of the fishing-boats at sea. 
 
 And so through the whole of Part I. of our poem lies the 
 sick and weary knight upon his' bed, reviewing sadly, while 
 sadly near him stands his timid and loving younger Iseult, 
 reviewing, half sleeping, half awake, those old times, that 
 hapless voyage, and all that thence ensued ; and still in all 
 his thought recurring to the proud Cornish Queen, who, it 
 seems, will let him die unsolaced. He speaks again, now 
 broad awake : — 
 
 Is my page here ? Come, turn me to the fire. 
 Upon the window panes the moon shines bright ; 
 The wind is down ; but she'll not come to-night. 
 Ah no, — she is asleep in Tyntagil 
 
 My princess, art thou there ? Sweet, 'tis too late. 
 To bed and sleep ; my fever is gone by ; 
 To-night my page shall keep me company. 
 Where do the children sleep ? Kiss them for me. 
 Poor child, thou art almost as pale as I ; 
 This comes of nursing long and watching late. 
 To bed — good night. 
 
 And so (our poet passing without notice from Tristram's 
 semidramatic musings and talkings to his own not more 
 coherent narrative") — 
 
 coherent narrative) — 
 
 She left the gleam-lit fireplace. 
 She came to the bed-side ; 
 She took his hands in hers ; her tears 
 Down on her slender fingers rained. 
 She raised her eyes upon his face — 
 Not with a look of wounded pride — 
 A look as if the heart complained ; 
 Her look was like a sad embrace ; 
 The gaze of one who can divine 
 A grief, and sympathise. 
 
KEVIEW OF SOME MODERN POEMS 365 
 
 Sweet flower, thy children's eyes 
 Are not more innocent than thine. 
 
 Sleeping -witli her little ones, and, it may be, dreaming too, 
 though less happily than they, lies Iseult of Brittany. And 
 now — 
 
 What voices are those on the clear night air ? 
 
 What lights in the courts 1 what steps on the stair ? 
 
 PAET II. 
 
 Tristra/m. Baise the light, my page, that I may see her. 
 — Thou art come at last, then, haughty Queen I 
 Long I've waited, long have fought my fever, 
 Late thou comest, cruel thou hast been. 
 
 Iseult. Blame me not, poor sufEerer, that I tarried. 
 I was bound ; I could not break the band. 
 Chide not with the past, but feel the present ; 
 I am here — we meet — I hold thy hand. 
 
 Yes, the Queen Iseult of Cornwall, Iseult that was of 
 Ireland, of the ship upon the dreamy seas long since, has 
 crossed these stormy seas to-night, is here, holds his hand. 
 And so proceeds, through some six or seven pages of Part II., 
 the fine colloquy of the two sad, world-worn, late-reunited 
 lovers. When we open upon Part III., 
 
 A year had flown, and in the chapel old 
 
 Lay Tristram and Queen Iseult dead and cold. 
 
 Beautiful, simple, old mediseval story ! We have followed it, 
 led on as much by its own intrinsic charm as by the form 
 and colouring — beautiful too, but indistinct — which our 
 modem poet has given it. He is obscure at times, and 
 hesitates and falters in it ; the knights and dames, we fear, 
 of old North-France and Western Germany would have 
 been grievously put to it to make him out. Only upon a 
 fourth re-reading, and by the grace of a happy moment, did 
 we satisfy our critical conscience that, when the two lovers 
 have sunk together in death, the knight on his pillows, and 
 
366 PROSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Queen Iseult kneeling at his side, the poet, after passing 
 to the Cornish court where she was yesternight, returns 
 to address himself to a hunter with his dogs, worked in the 
 tapestry of the chamber here, whom he conceives to be 
 pausing in the pictured chase, and staring, with eyes of 
 wonder, on the real scene of the pale knight on the pillows 
 and the kneeling lady fair. But 
 
 Cheer, cheer thy dogs into the brake, 
 Oh hunter ! and without a fear 
 Thy golden-tasselled bugle blow. 
 And through the glade thy pastime take 
 For thou wilt rouse no sleepers here, 
 For these thou seest are unmoved ; 
 Cold, cold as those who lived and loved 
 A thousand years ago. 
 
 Fortunately, indeed, with the commencement of Part III., 
 the most matter-of-fact Quarterly conscience may feel itself 
 pretty well set at ease by the unusually explicit statements 
 that 
 
 A year had fled ; and in the chapel old 
 Lay Tristram and Queen Iseult dead and cold. 
 The young surviving Iseult, one bright day 
 Had wandered forth ; her children were at play 
 In a green circular hollow in the heath 
 Which borders the sea shore ; a country path 
 Creeps over it from the tilled fields behind. 
 
 Yet anon, again and thicker now perhaps than ever, the mist 
 of more than poetic dubiousness closes over and around us. 
 And as he sings to us about the widowed lady Iseult, sitting 
 upon the sea-banks of Brittany, watching her bright-eyed 
 children, talking with them and telling them old Breton 
 stories, while still, in all her talk and her story, her own 
 dreamy memories of the past, and perplexed thought of the 
 present, mournfully mingle, it is really all but impossible to 
 ascertain her, or rather his, real meanings. We listen 
 indeed, not quite unpleased, to a sort of faint musical 
 
REVIEW OF SOME MODERN POEMS 367 
 
 mumble, conveying at times a kind of subdued half-sense, 
 or intimating, perhaps a three-quarters-implied question ; is 
 anything real 1 — is love anything 1 — what is anything 1 — is 
 there substance enough even in sorrow to mark the lapse of 
 time ? — ^is not passion a diseased unrest 1 — did not the fairy 
 Vivian, when the wise Merlin forgot his craft to fall in love 
 with her, wave her wimple over her sleeping adorer 1 
 
 Nine times she waved the fluttering ■wimple round, 
 
 And made a little plot of magic ground ; 
 
 And in that daisied circle, as men say, 
 
 Is Merlin prisoner to the judgment-day, 
 
 But she herself whither she will can rove. 
 
 For she was passing weary of his love. 
 
 Why or wherefore, or with what purport, who will venture 
 exactly to say ? — but such, however, was the tale which, 
 while Tristram and his first Iseult lay in their graves, the 
 second Iseult, on the sea-banks of Brittany, told her little 
 ones. 
 
 And yet, dim and faint as is the sound of it, we still 
 prefer this dreamy patience, the soft submissive endurance 
 of the Breton lady, and the human passions and sorrows of 
 the Knight and the Queen, to the high, and shall we say, 
 pseudo Greek inflation of the philosopher musing above the 
 crater, and the boy Callicles singing myths upon the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 Does the reader require morals and meanings to these 
 stories ? What shall they be, then ?— the deceitfulness of 
 knowledge and the illusiveness of the aflfections, the hard- 
 ness and roughness and contrariousness of the world, the 
 difficulty of living at all, the impossibility of doing anything 
 — voila tout ? A charitable and patient reader, we believe 
 (such as is the present reviewer), will find in the minor 
 poems that accompany these pieces, intimations — what more 
 can reader or reviewer ask ? — of some better and further 
 
368 PEOSE EEMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 thing than these ; some approximations to a kind of confi- 
 dence ; some incipiences of a degree of hope ; some roots, 
 retaining some vitality, of conviction and moral purpose : — 
 
 And though we wear out life, alas, 
 Distracted as a homeless wind. 
 In beating where we must not pass. 
 And seeking what we shall not find, 
 
 Yet shall we one day gain, life past. 
 Clear prospect o'er our being's whole. 
 Shall see ourselves, and learn at last 
 Our true affinities of soul. 
 
 We shall not then deny a course 
 To every thought the mass ignore. 
 We shall not then call hardness force. 
 Nor lightness wisdom any more. 
 
 In the future, it seems, there is something for us ; and for 
 the present also, -which is more germane to our matter, we 
 have discovered some precepts about ' hope, light, and per- 
 siste')tce,' which we intend to make the most of. Meantime, 
 it is one promising point in our author of the initial, that 
 his second is certainly on the whole an improvement upon 
 his first' volume. There is less obvious study of effect ; 
 upon the whole, a plainer and simpler and less factitious 
 manner and method of treatment. This, he niay be sure, is 
 the only safe course. Not by turning and twisting his 
 eyes, in the hope of seeing things as Homer, Sophocles, 
 Virgil, or Milton saw them ; but by seeing them, by accept- 
 ing them as he sees them, and faithfully depicting accord- 
 ingly, will he attain the object he desires. 
 
 In the earlier volume, one of the most generally admired 
 pieces was ' The Forsaken Merman.' 
 
 Come, dear children, let us away 
 Down, and away below, 
 
 says the Merman, standing upon the sea-shore, whither he 
 
REVIEW OF SOME MODEEN POEMS 369 
 
 and his children came up to call back the human Margaret, 
 their mother, who had left them to go, for one day — for 
 Easter-day — to say her prayers with her kinsfolk in the 
 little gray church on the shore : — 
 
 'T will be Easter-time in the world — ah me, 
 And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee. 
 
 And when she stayed, and stayed on, and it seemed a long 
 while, and the little ones began to moan, at last, up went 
 the Merman with the little ones to the shore, and so on into 
 the town, and to the little gray church, and there looked in 
 through the small leaded panes of the window. There she 
 sits in the aisle ; but she does not look up, her eyes are 
 fixed upon the holy page ; it is in vain we try to catch her 
 attention : — 
 
 Come away, children, call no more, 
 Come away, come down, call no more. 
 
 Down, down to the depths of the sea. She will live up 
 there and be happy, among the things she had known 
 before. Yet sometimes a thought will come across her; 
 there will be times when she will 
 
 Steal to the window and look at the sand ; 
 And over the sand at the sea ; 
 And anon there breaks a sigh, 
 And anon there drops a tear, 
 From a sorrow-clouded eye. 
 And a heart sorrow-laden, 
 A long, long sigh, 
 For the cold strange eyes of a little mermaiden. 
 And the gleam of her golden hair. 
 
 Come away, children, come down. We will be happy in 
 our bright home under the sea — happy, though the cruel 
 one leaves us lonely for ever. Yet we too, sometimes at 
 midnight, when winds blow softly, and the moonlight falls 
 clear, 
 
 B B 
 
370 PEOSE REMAINS OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH ' 
 
 Up the still glistemng beaches. 
 Up the creeks we will hie, 
 Over banks of bright sea-weed 
 The ebb-tide leaves dry. 
 We will gaze from the sand hills 
 At the white sleeping town, 
 At the church on the hill-side ; 
 
 And then come back down, — 
 Singing, ' There dwells a loved one, 
 But cruel is she, 
 She left lonely for ever 
 The Kings of the sea.' 
 
 It is a beautiful poem, certainly ; and deserves to have 
 been given at full length. 'The Strayed Reveller' itself is 
 more ambitious, perhaps a little strained. It is a pleasing 
 and significant imagination, however, to present to us Circe 
 and Ulysses in colloquy with a stray youth from the train 
 of Bacchus, who drinks eagerly the cup of the enchantress, 
 not as did the sailors of the Ithacan king, for gross pleasure, 
 but for the sake of the glorious and superhuman vision and 
 knowledge it imparts : — 
 
 But I, Ulysses, 
 
 Sitting on the warm steps, 
 
 Looking over the valley, 
 
 All day long have seen, 
 
 Without pain, without labour, 
 
 Sometimes a wild-haired m^nad, 
 
 Sometimes a Faun with torches. 
 
 But now, we are fain to ask, where are we, and whither 
 are we unconsciously come 1 Were we not going forth to 
 battle in the armour of a righteous purpose, with our first 
 friend, with Alexander Smith ? How is it we find ourselves 
 here, reflecting, pondering, hesitating, musing, complaining, 
 with 'A'? As the wanderer at night, standing under a 
 stormy sky, listening to the wild harmonies of winds, and 
 
EEVIEW OF SOME MODERN POEMS 371 
 
 watching the wild movements of the clouds, the tree-tops, 
 or possibly the waves, may, with a few steps, very likely, 
 pass into a lighted sitting-room, and a family circle, with 
 pictures and books, and literary leisure, and ornaments, and 
 elegant small employments — a scene how dissimilar to that 
 other, and yet how entirely natural also — so it often happens 
 too with books. You have been reading Burns, and you 
 take up Cowper. You feel at home, how strangely ! in 
 both of them. Can both be the true thing 1 and if so, in 
 what new form can we express the relation, the harmony, 
 between them ? Such a discrepancy there certainly does 
 exist between the two books that have been before us here. 
 We close the one and open the other, and feel ourselves 
 moving to and fro between two totally different, repugnant, 
 and hostile theories of life. Are we to try and reconcile 
 them, or judge between them 1 
 
 May we escape from all the difficulty by a mere quota- 
 tion, and pronounce with the shepherd of Virgil, 
 
 Non nostrum inter vos tantas componere lites : 
 Et vitul^ tu dignus, et Mo. 
 
 Or will the reader be content to bow down with us in this 
 place, and acknowledge the presence of that highest object 
 of worship among the modem Germans, an antinomy ? 
 (That is, O unlearned reader, ignorant, not impossibly, of 
 Kant and the modern German religion — in brief, a con- 
 tradiction in terms, the ordinary phenomenal form of a 
 nowmenal Verity ; as, for example, the world must have had 
 a beginning, and, the world cannot have had a beginning, in 
 the transcendental fusion or confusion of which consists the 
 InteUigible or umntelligible truth.) WUl you be content, 
 O reader, to plod in German manner over miles of a straight 
 road, that seems to lead somewhere, with the prospect of 
 arriving at last at some point where it will divide at equal 
 
 B B 2 
 
S72 PKOSB EEMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 angles, and lead equally in two opposite directions, where 
 you may therefore safely pause, and thankfully set up your 
 rest, and adore in sacred doubt the Supreme Bifurcation ? 
 Or do you hold, with Yoltaire, who said (A propos of the 
 question then debated among the French wits, whether 
 there were or were not a God) that ' after all, one must 
 take a side ? ' 
 
 With all respect for the Antinomies and Germans, and 
 ' most distinguished consideration ' for Voltaire and Parisian 
 persiflage, still, it may not be quite necessary for us, on the 
 present occasion, either to stand still in transcendental doubt, 
 or toss up, as it were, for our side. Individuals differ in 
 character, capacity, and positions ; and, according to their 
 circumstances, wUl combine, in every possible variety of 
 degree, the two elements of thoughtful discriminating 
 selection and rejection, and frank and bold acceptance of 
 what lies around them. Between the extremes of ascetic 
 and timid self-culture, and of unquestioning, unhesitating 
 confidence, we may consent to see and tolerate every kind 
 and gradation of intermixture. Nevertheless, upon the 
 whole, for the present age, the lessons of reflectiveness and the 
 maxims of caution do not appear to be more needful or more 
 appropriate than exhortations to steady courage and calls 
 to action. There is something certainly of an over-educated 
 weakness of purpose in Western Europe — not in Germany 
 only, or France, but also in more busy England. There is a 
 disposition to press too far the finer and subtler intellectual 
 and moral susceptibilities ; to insist upon following out, as 
 they say, to their logical consequences, the notices of some 
 organ of the spiritual nature ; a proceeding which perhaps 
 is hardly more sensible in the grown man than it would be 
 in the infant to refuse to correct the sensations of sight by 
 those of the touch. Upon the whole, we are disposed to 
 follow out, if we must follow out at all, the analogy of the 
 bodily senses ; we are inclined to accept rather than investi- 
 
REVIEW OP SOME MODERN POEMS 373 
 
 gate ; and to put our confidence less in arithmetic and 
 antinomies than in 
 
 A few stroDg instincts and a few plain rules. 
 
 Let us remark also in the minor Poems, which accompany 
 ' Empedocles/ a disposition, perhaps, to assign too high a 
 place to what is caUed Nature. It may indeed be true, as 
 the astronomers say, though after all it is no very great 
 piece of knowledge, that the heavenly bodies describe 
 eUipses ; and go on, from and to all the ages, performing 
 that self-repeating, unattaining curve. But does it, there- 
 fore, of necessity follow that human souls do something 
 analogous in the spiritual spaces ? Number is a wonderful 
 thing, and the laws of Nature sublime ; nevertheless, have 
 we not a sort of intuition of the existence, even in our own 
 poor human selves, of something akin to a Power superior 
 to, and transcending, all manifestations of Nature, all intel- 
 ligible forms of Number and Law 1 We quote one set 
 of verses, entitled ' Morality,' in which our author does 
 appear to have escaped for once from the dismal cycle of his 
 rehabilitated Hindoo-Greek theosophy : — 
 
 MOEALTTT. 
 
 We cannot kindle when we will 
 The fire that in the heart resides, 
 The spirit bloweth and is stiU, 
 In mystery our soul abides ; — 
 
 But tasks, in hours of insight willed, 
 Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled. 
 
 With aching hands and bleeding feet 
 We dig and heap, lay stone on stone ; 
 We bear the burden and the heat 
 Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. 
 
 Not till the hours of light return, 
 All we have built do we discern. 
 
 Then when the clouds are off the soul. 
 When thou dost lonk in Nature's eye, 
 
374 PKOSE KBMAINS OF AETHUK HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Ask how she viewed thy self-control, 
 Thy strnggling tasked morality — 
 
 Nature whose free, light, cheerful air, 
 Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair. 
 
 And she, whose censure thou dost dread. 
 Whose eye thou wert afraid to seek, — 
 See, on her face a glow is spread, 
 A strong emotion on her cheek. 
 
 ' Ah child,' she cries, ' that strife divine 
 Whence was it, for it is not mine ? 
 
 There is no effort on my brow — 
 I do not strive, I do not weep ; 
 I rush with the swift spheres, and glow 
 In joy, and when I will, I sleep, — 
 Yet that severe, that earnest air, 
 I saw, I felt it once, but where ? 
 
 I knew not yet the gauge of Time, 
 Nor wore the manacles of space, — 
 I felt it in some other clime, 
 I saw it in some other place. 
 
 'Twas when the heavenly house I trod, 
 And lay upon the breast of God. 
 
 It is wonderful what stores of really valuable thought 
 may lie neglected in a book, simply because they are not 
 put in that form which serves our present occasions. But 
 if we have been inclined to yield to a preference for the 
 picture of simple, strong, and certain, rather than of subtle, 
 shifting, and dubious feelings, and in point of tone and 
 matter to go along with the young mechanic, in point of 
 diction and manner, we must certainly assign the palm to 
 ' A,' in spite of a straining after the rounded Greek form, 
 such as, to some extent, vitiates even the style of Milton. 
 Alexander Smith lies open to much graver critical carping. 
 He writes, it would almost seem, under the impression that 
 the one business of the poet is to coin metaphors and similes. 
 He tells them out as a clerk might sovereigns at the Bank 
 
REVIEW OF SOME MODEKN POEIIS 375 
 
 of England. So many comparisons, so much poetry ; it is 
 the sterling currency of the realm. Yet he is most pleased, 
 perhaps, when he can double or treble a similitude ; speak- 
 ing of A, he will call it a B, which is, as it were, the C of 
 a D. By some maturer effort we may expect to be thus 
 conducted even to Z. But simile within simile, after the 
 manner of Chinese boxes, are more curious than beautiful ; 
 nor is it the true aim of the poet, as of the Italian boy in 
 the street, to poise upon his head, for public exhibition, a 
 board crowded as thick as they can stand with images, big 
 and little, black and white, of anybody and everybody, in 
 any possible order of disorder, as they happen to pack. 
 Tanquam scopulum, insolens verbtim, says the precept of 
 ancient taste, which our author seems to accept freely, with 
 the modem comment of — 
 
 In youth from rock to rook I went 
 With pleasure high and turbulent, — 
 Most pleased when most uneasy. 
 
 The movement of his poem is indeed rapid enough ; there 
 is a sufficient impetus to carry us over a good deal of rough 
 and ' rocky ' ground ; there is a real continuity of poetic 
 purpose ;-^but it is so perpetually presumed upon ; the 
 attention, which the reader desires to devote to the pursuit 
 of the main drift of what calls itself a single poem, simplex 
 et unum, is so incessantly called off to look at this and look 
 at that ; when, for example, we would fain follow the 
 thought and feeling of Violet and of Walter, we are with 
 such peremptory and frequent eagerness summoned to 
 observe how like the sky is to x and the stars are to y, that 
 on the whole, though there is a real continuity of purpose, 
 we cannot be surprised that the critic of the 'London 
 Examiner ' failed to detect it. Keats and Shelley, and 
 Coleridge, perhaps, before them, with their extravagant 
 love for Elizabethan phraseology, have led to this mischief. 
 
876 PEOSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Has not Tennyson followed a little too much in their train 1 
 Coleridge, vre suppose, would have maintained it to be an 
 excellence in the ' myriad-minded ' dramatist, that he so 
 often diverts us from the natural course of thought, feeling, 
 and narrative, to see how curiously two trifles resemble 
 each other, or that, in a passage of deep pathos, he still 
 finds time to apprise us of a paronomasia. But faults 
 which disfigure Shakspeare are not beauties in a modern 
 volume. 
 
 I rot upon the waters when my prow 
 
 Should grate the golden isles, 
 
 may be a very Elizabethan, but is certainly rather a vicious 
 expression. Force and condensation are good, but it is pos- 
 sible to combine them with purity of phrase. One of the 
 • most successful delineations in the whole poem is contained 
 in the following passage, which introduces Scene VII. : — 
 
 -{A balcony overlooldng the sea."] 
 
 The lark is singing in the blinding sky, — 
 Hedges are white with May. The bridegroom sea 
 Is toying with the shore, his wedded bride, 
 And in the fulness of his marriage joy, 
 He decorates her tawny front with shells — 
 Retires a space to see how fair she looks, 
 Then proud, runs up to kiss her. All is fair, — 
 All glad, from grass to sun. Yet more I love 
 Than this, the shrinking day that sometimes comes 
 In winter's front, so fair 'mongst its dark peers, . 
 It seems a straggler from the files of June, 
 Which in its wanderings had lost its wits, 
 And half its beauty, and when it returned, 
 Finding its old companions gone away, 
 It joined November's troop, then marching past ; 
 And so the frail thing comes, and greets the world 
 With a thin crazy smile, then bursts in tears — ■ 
 And all the while it holds within its hand 
 A few half -withered flowers ; — I love and pity it. 
 
EEVIEW OF SOME MODERN POEMS 377 
 
 It may be the fault of our point of view ; but certainly 
 we do not find even here that happy, unimpeded sequence 
 which is the charm of really good writers. Is there not 
 something incongruous in the effect of the immediate 
 juxtaposition of these two images 1 We have lost, it may 
 be, that impetuosity, that elan, which lifts the young reader 
 over hedge and ditch at flying leaps, across country, or we 
 should not perhaps entertain any offence, or even surprise, 
 at being transferred per saltum from the one field to the 
 other. But we could almost ask, was the passage, so beau- 
 tiful, though perhaps a little prolonged, about the June 
 day in November, written consecutively, and in one flow 
 with the previous, and also beautiful, one about ocean and 
 his bride ? We dare say it was : but it does not read, some- 
 how, in the same straight line with it — 
 
 Tantum series juncturaque pollet. 
 
 We venture, too, to record a perhaps hypercritical objection 
 to ' the blinding sky ' in this particular collocation. Perhaps 
 in the first line of a scene, while the reader has not yet 
 warmed to his duty, simplicity should be especially observed 
 — a single image, without any repeated reflection, so to 
 speak, in a second mirror, should suffice. The following, 
 which open Scene XI., are better : — 
 
 Snmnier hath murmured witli her leafy lips 
 Around my home, and I have heard her not ; 
 I've missed the process of three several years 
 From shaking wind flowers to the tarnished gold 
 That rustles sere on Autumn's aged limbs. 
 
 Except the two last lines. Our author will not keep his 
 eye steady upon the thing before him ; he goes ofi", and dis- 
 tracts us, and breaks the impression he had begun to succeed 
 in giving, by bidding us look now at something else. Some 
 simpler epithets than shaking, and some plainer language 
 than tarnished gold or aged limi)s, would have done the work 
 
378 PEOSE REMAINS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 better. We are quite prepared to believe that these faults 
 and these disagreeables have personally been necessities to 
 the writer, are awkwardnesses of growth, of which the full 
 stature may show no trace. He should be assured, however, 
 that though the rude vigour of the style of his Life-Drama 
 may attract upon the first reading, yet in any case, it is not 
 the sort of writing which people recur to with pleasure and 
 fall back upon with satisfaction. It may be a groundless 
 fancy, yet we do fancy, that there is a whole hemisphere, so 
 to say, of the English language which he has left unvisited. 
 His diction feels to us as if between Milton and Bums he 
 had not read, and between Shakspeare and Keats had 
 seldom admired. Certainly there is but little inspiration 
 in the compositions of the last century ; yet English was 
 really best and most naturally written when there was, 
 perhaps, least to write about. To obtain a real command 
 of the language, some familiarity with the prose writers, at 
 any rate, of that period, is almost essential ; and to write 
 out, as a mere daily task, passages, for example, of Gold- 
 smith, would do a verse-oomposer of the nineteenth century 
 as much good, we believe, as the study of Beaumont and 
 Fletcher. 
 
TWO LETTEES 
 
 PAEEPIDEMU8. 
 
 (Published in ' Putnam's Monthly,' New York, for July and 
 August 1853.) 
 
381 
 
 LETTEES 
 
 OP 
 
 PAREPIDEMUS 
 
 I. 
 
 My dear Sir, — I left this country as nearly as possible 
 (next June, I believe, ■will complete it) one quarter of a 
 century back, to go to school. I was sent ' home,' as they 
 called it — ^that is, away from home, to the land which my 
 parents, and, I presume, yours also, long ago belonged to — • 
 to be educated. 
 
 Does one get educated in twenty-five years, I wonder 1 
 The wisest of the seven wise men of Greece describes to us 
 how that he 
 
 Each day grew older and learnt something new. 
 
 And, since the something new may possibly contradict, and 
 will assuredly modify, the everything not so new before it, 
 at what age may one consider oneself entitled, for example, 
 to write letters in print to the editor of a magazine ? At 
 what figure does one attain one's real majority and right 
 of speech ? How soon may one venture to affirm any- 
 thing which everybody else does not already know and 
 believe 1 And, in the meantime, is there any good in talk- 
 ing merely to be assented to 1 Is it so agreeable an exercise 
 on the part of the reader to express mentally to himself 
 that assent 1 If agreeable, is it therefore useful ? ' Were 
 it not better done as others use ? ' to follow the plough or the 
 
382 PEOSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 ledger, to fiiad a Nesera in agriculture, or an Amaryllis in 
 commerce 1 ' What boots it, -with incessant care, to tend 
 the slighted ' bookmaker's trade, ' and strictly meditate the 
 thankless muse ' of magazines ? Will posterity know any- 
 thing of our miserably imperfect, impotent fugitive verses, 
 or contemporaneity be none the worse for them ? Are we 
 not most likely corrupting the pure taste which would other- 
 wise turn with a natural appetite to Shakspeare and 
 Milton, to Addison and Goldsmith, to Virgil and Homer 1 
 Goethe, I have heard, said not long before his death, that 
 had he known ere he began writing how many good 
 books there were in the world before, he would never have 
 written a word. 
 
 There is one thing, indeed, I think one might do, could 
 one only believe that one could. No so certain a way of 
 learning the merit of a great picture as an attempt to 
 copy it or represent something like it. And as we, if we 
 look to it and take pains, may by our indifferent writing 
 learn to appreciate the worth and merit of great writers, 
 whom before we thought but little of, so it is also possible 
 that our faithful, though small attempts, may help people to 
 appreciate the great originals. 
 
 Every new age has something new in it — takes up a new 
 position ; the view presented by the writers of an anterior 
 age is not readily seized, or adopted by those born in a later 
 century. It may, I think, be one good work attainable to 
 the efforts of the humble, modern litter atewr, to elevate and 
 direct to the noblest objects the tastes and enjoyments of 
 his contemporaries. He holds a position common with 
 them : he may avail himself of this for their edification. 
 As the traveller who knows the country will show his less 
 experienced companion at each new stage, each further 
 remove, under changed aspects, the high mountain points 
 they are retiruig from ; will point out the Mont Blanc 
 whose shadow they stood in at Chamouni, in its full mag- 
 
LETTERS OF PAREPIDEMUS 383 
 
 nifioent outline at Sallanches, and again, far distant, yet 
 not less rose-tinged, at sunset from Geneva, so the writers 
 (that is, or should be, the more instructed readers) of each 
 new century may successively restore each successive genera- 
 tion to connection with the teachers of the past. Such is a 
 possible function for a writer. Do twenty-five years edu- 
 cate one, I wonder, for this — twenty-five years .of the uni- 
 versal slovenly habits of writing, speaking, hearing, think- 
 ing, remembering, which pervade our time ? ' Twenty-five 
 years have I spent in learning,' said the young man to the 
 old. ' Return,' said the sage, ' and spend another twenty- 
 five in unlearning.' ' Each day grow older and wnlearn 
 something ' — is this to be our other reading of Solon's 
 maxim ? Alas ! it would seem there is need of it. We 
 submit ourselves for instruction to teachers, and they teach 
 us (or is it our awkwardness that we learn from them ?) their 
 faults and mistakes. Each new age and each new year has 
 its new direction ; and we go to the well-informed of the 
 season before ours, to be put by them in the direction which, 
 because right for their time, is therefore not quite right 
 
 for ours. 
 
 Upon the water in a boat, 
 I sit and sketch as there we float ; 
 The scene is fair, the stream is strong, 
 I sketch it as we float along. 
 
 The stream is strong, and as I sit 
 And view the picture that we quit, 
 It flows and flows, and bears the boat, 
 And I sit sketching as we float. 
 
 Still as we go, the things I see, 
 E'en as I see thein, cease to be. 
 The angles shift, and with the boat 
 The whole perspective seems to float. 
 
 Each pointed height, each wavy line, 
 To new and other forms combine ; 
 
334 PEOSE EEMAIXS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Proportions change and colours fade, 
 And all the landscape is remade. 
 
 Depicted — neither far nor near, 
 And larger there and smaller here. 
 And partly old, and partly new. 
 E'en I can hardly think it true. 
 
 Yet still I look, and stUl I sit, 
 Adjusting, shaping, altering it ; 
 And still the current bears the boat 
 And me, stUl sketching as we float. 
 
 Did I really read or only dream somewhere that anec- 
 dote of an elderly painter, who, going over one day, with a 
 friend of his youth, who had known him in his prime and 
 promise, a series of his popular and most admired pieces, 
 said mournfully, ' All these poor, unmeaning, ill-designed, 
 half-executed things, I have made to earn bread and time 
 to do ihat^ pointing to a chaotic, unfinished canvas at the 
 end of the room, ' and that, after all, is as bad as any of 
 them.' ' This also,' saith the Preacher, ' is a sore evil that I 
 have seen under the sun.' 
 
 To grow old, therefore, learning and unlearning, is such 
 the conclusion ? Conclusion or no conclusion, such, alas ! 
 appears to be our inevitable lot, the fixed ordinance of the 
 life we live. The cruel king Tarchetius gave his daughters 
 a web to weave, upon the completion of which he said they 
 should get married; and what these involuntary Penelopes 
 did in the daytime, servants by his orders undid at night. 
 A hopeless and a weary work, indeed, especially for young 
 people desirous to get married. 
 
 Weaving and unweaving, learning and unlearning, learn- 
 ing painfully, painfully unlearning, under the orders of the 
 cruel king Tarchetius, behold — are we to say, ' our life ' ? 
 ' Every new lesson,' saith the Oriental proverb, ' is another 
 grey hair ; and time will pluck out this also.' And what 
 
LETTERS OF PAEEPIDEMUS 385 
 
 saith the Preacher ? ' I, the Preacher, was King over Israel 
 in Jerusalem. And I gave my heart to seek and search out 
 by wisdom concerning all things that are done under the 
 heavens ; this sore travail hath God given to the sons of men 
 to be exercised therewith.' Ferchk pensa ? Pensando s'invec- 
 chia,' said the young, unthinking Italian to the grave Ger- 
 naan sitting by him in the diligence, whose name was Goethe. 
 Is it true ? 
 
 To spend uncounted years of pain 
 
 Again, again, and yet again, 
 
 In working out in heart and brain 
 The problem of our being here ; 
 
 To gather facts from far and near ; 
 
 Upon the mind to hold them clear, 
 
 And, knowing more may yet appear. 
 
 Unto one's latest breath to fear 
 
 The premature result to draw, — 
 
 Is this the object, end, and law 
 And purpose of our being here ? 
 
 Nevertheless, to say something, to talk to one's fellow- 
 creatures, to relieve oneself by a little exchange of ideas, is 
 there no good, is there no harm, in that ? Prove to the 
 utmost the imperfection of our views, our thoughts, our 
 conclusions ; yet you will not have established the useless- 
 ness of writing. 
 
 Most true, indeed, by writing we relieve ourselves, we 
 unlearn ; it is the one best recipe for facilitating that need- 
 ful process. 
 
 Each day write something, and unlearn it so. 
 
 Most true, indeed ! The observations that we can make 
 nothing of, the maxims that have ceased to be serviceable 
 to us, our spent theories, our discarded hypotheses, the wit 
 that has become stale to us, the wisdom that has grown 
 fusty with us, the imaginations that molest us, the ill- 
 
 c c 
 
386 PEOSE KEMAINS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 humours that fret us, our follies, fancies, falsities ; oh, 
 happy relief ! — away with them to the magazine ! 
 
 Yes, methinks I see it so, through the long series of 
 awes. The ' Iliad ' is but the scum of the mind of Homer, 
 and Plato's dialogues the refuse of his thought. Who that 
 reads the ' Odyssey ' perceives not that it is an act of 
 penitence for the ' Iliad,' and feels not that, had the poet 
 lived, the ' Odyssey ' also would have had its Palinode ? In 
 the divine eloquence of Plato there are intonations in which 
 I hear him saying to me, ' You know I don't quite mean 
 all this.' 
 
 Alas I 'tis true I have gone here and there, 
 And made myself a motley to the view, 
 
 is the Great Dramatist's profoundest feeling about himself, 
 his doings, his sayings, his writings. Virgil bade his 
 ' .^neid ' be burnt ; and what we read as his is not his delibe 
 rate word, but that of Varius and Tucca. As Rousseau, it 
 is said, in his old age, smiled sadly at the fervent disciples of 
 the ' Social Contract,' the ' Emile,' and the 'Julie ' ; so, doubt 
 it not, did greater than Rousseau. So felt Raphael of his 
 paintings, and Phidias of his sculptures ; Michael Angelo, 
 also, of his Pantheon suspended in the heavens. Dante, 
 from some strange region of the spiritual spaces, looks 
 down, half scorn, half remorse, on the worshippers of the 
 Divine Comedy of his human spleen and bitterness. 
 Cervantes laughs aloud to hear philosophers discriminate 
 the pure reason in Don Quixote and the understanding in 
 Sancho ; and Montaigne, with open eyes of more than 
 mortal wonder, repeats his ' Que sgais~je ? ' at the sight of 
 grave worshippers of his levities. May it not be true that 
 when I quote from Milton, a shade of severe vexation 
 darkens his spiritual features, and when I repeat the 
 wisdom of Ecclesiastes, an ethereal frown contracts the 
 immortal forehead of the Preacher 1 
 
 You are feeding, oh you students of Greek and lovers 
 
LETTERS OF PAREPIDEMUS 387 
 
 of Latin, you that add to your German, French, and to 
 your French, Italian and Spanish, you inquirers afar off 
 into Persian and Sanscrit, you devotees of Chaucer and 
 votaries of Shakspeare and Milton — you are feeding upon 
 that, precisely, which was tried by these wise men of old 
 and found wanting. You stand picking up the dross where 
 those before you have carried away the gold ; you are 
 swallowing as truth what they put away from them — 
 expressed, because it was false or insufficient. 
 
 Or is this, peradventure, confined to our own weaker 
 selves, our more impatient, irretentive, unthoughtful age ? 
 For, certainly, my dear sir, what you and I and the young 
 people read in any modern page is, in the manner afore stated, 
 ' the thing that is not.' Each striking new novel does but 
 reveal a theory of life and action which its writer is 
 anxious to be rid of ; each enthusiastic address or oration 
 is but that which its speaker is just beginning to feel dis- 
 gusted with. Oh ! happy and happy again, and thrice 
 
 happy relief to the writer ; but to the reader 1 
 
 Said the Tree to the Children, ' How can you go. and 
 pick up those dirty dead leaves I have thrown away ? ' 
 Said the Children to the Tree, ' Will you grow- us any better 
 next year 1 ' Said the Tree to the Children, ' What ! are 
 you positively going to put into your mouths those horrid 
 things (fruit, do you call it ?) that have fallen from my 
 branches ? ' Said the Children to the Tree, ' Why, they 
 are very nice.' Said the Tree then to itself, ' Suppose I were 
 to restrain myself next spring, and not grow any leaves, and 
 to suppress, ascetically, all tendencies to blossom ? Should 
 I not then produce something better 1 By all that is wise 
 and moral I will try.' Said the Springtime six months 
 after to the Tree, ' My dear Tree, that is out of the ques- 
 tion.' The Children came again the next fall, and the Tree 
 made no remark. 
 
 An illustration, however, is not the same thing as an 
 
 cc2 
 
888 PEOSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 argument ; though sometimes, indeed, it may be better. It 
 is a game, in any case, for two to play at. For it is also 
 told of the Phoenix, that, having reached its term of years 
 it proceeded to Arabia, and built up carefully its pyre of 
 odoriferous combustibles, and sat down to expect the new 
 birth. But when the fire began to kindle, and the odori- 
 ferous sticks crackled, the odours indeed were beautiful 
 (ornithologists, however, are uncertain whether the Phoenix 
 has any sense of smell), the flame meantime was most 
 undoubtedly painful in the extreme when it got within the 
 feathers (the Phoenix, there is no question, has the sense of 
 touch). The Phoenix started up and exclaimed to itself, 
 ' Oh ! surely, surely, I am young again now ! ' 'Sit still, 
 sit stUl, poor Phoenix ; not till pain has deprived thee of 
 the very sense of pain, not until thought and self-conscious- 
 ness are burnt out and out of thee — not, by many pangs, 
 yet — is the new creature bom in thee ! ' with which 
 exliortation the story concludes. 
 
 And with which illustration, upon which side, my dear 
 sir, is the truth, or the most of the truth ? ' As the leaves 
 are, so are the lives of men ; ' and so also their writings ? 
 Shall we yield to the promptings of nature, and let the eager 
 sap aspire forth in germination, and the leaflets open out, and 
 display themselves, to fall from us dead and uncomely in 
 November 1 Or shall we burn slowly, in silence, that here- 
 after something better may be born of us ? Quien sahe ? 
 
 Was it the silence or the speech of previous ages that 
 formed the more perfect writers ? Was Perugino necessary 
 to Raphael, or had Eaphael been more himself without him 1 
 Some function, indeed, higher than that of mere seK- relief, we 
 must conceive of for the writer. To sum up the large 
 experience of ages, to lay the flnger on yet unobserved, or un- 
 discovered, phenomena of the inner universe, something we 
 can detect of these in the spheric architecture of St. Peter's, 
 in the creative touches of the ' Tempest.' 
 
LETTERS OF PAKEPIDEMUS 389 
 
 Imperfect, no doubt, both this and that is ; short of the 
 better thing to come — the real thing that is. Yet not 
 impotent, not wholly unavailing. 
 
 In conclusion, will you let me offer you the last ' modern, 
 invocation ' to the poet — shall we say in modern phrase — 
 of the future ? ' Come, poet, come ' — no, I will trouble you 
 only with a few verses at the end : — 
 
 In vain I seem to call, and yet 
 Think not the living years forget : 
 Ages of heroes fought and fell, 
 That Homer, in the end, might tell ; 
 O'er grovelling generations past 
 The Doric column rose at last. 
 A thousand hearts on thousand years 
 Had wasted labour, hopes, and fears. 
 Knells, laughters, and unmeaning tears, 
 Ere England Shakspeare saw, or Rome, 
 The pure perfection of her dome. 
 Others, I doubt not, if not we. 
 The issue of our toils shall see ; 
 Young children gather as their own 
 The harvest that the dead have sown — 
 The dead, forgotten and unknown. ' 
 
 Let me sign myself, my dear sir (as we are all ' strangers 
 and pilgrims,' so myself in an especial sense), 
 
 Your faithful and obliged 
 
 Paeepidemus. 
 
 11. 
 
 My dear Sir, — Do people in general, upon this side of 
 the great water, read Homer ? Virgil, I know, in some 
 parts of the Union, is a lady's book ; nor is there, I think, 
 any ancient author that better deserves the honour. But 
 the man's book, Homer ? It is not every boy that learns 
 Greek ; and not all who learn Greek read through th^ 
 
390 PEOSE REMAINS OP AKTHUfi HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 whole forty-eight books of the 'Iliad' and the 'Odyssey.' 
 Is Pope much studied 1 I should fancy not : and, indeed, 
 though one is glad to hear any one say that he has, in the 
 past tense, read that ingenious composition, it is not easy 
 to bid any one, in the future, go and read it. And, if not 
 Pope, whom can we recommend ? Chapman is barbarous, 
 dissonant, obsolete, incorrect. In Hobbes there are two 
 good lines, well known, but they cannot be repeated too 
 often — 
 
 And like a star upon her bosom, lay 
 His beantifal and shining golden head. 
 
 (They are of Astyanax in the arms of his mother ; and how 
 that first of English prosaists was inspired with them 
 remains a problem to all generations.) Cowper, who could 
 read, however much enjoined to it 1 In short there 
 neither is, nor has been, nor in all probability ever will be, 
 anything like a translation. And the whole Anglo-Saxon 
 world of the future will, it is greatly to be feared, go forth 
 upon its way, clearing forests, building clippers, weaving 
 calicoes, and annexing Mexicos, accomplishing its natural 
 manifest destiny, and subsiding into its primitive aboriginal 
 ignorance. Accomplishing our manifest destiny ! to be, 
 that is, the ' hewers of wood and drawers of water ' to the 
 human race in general ; and then, peradventure, when the 
 wood has all been hewn, and the water drawn, to cease to 
 exist, to be effaced from the earth we have subdued — 
 
 Fear no more the heat of the sun, 
 
 Nor the furious winter's rages, 
 Thou thine earthly task bast done, 
 
 Homeward gone, and ta'en thy wages. 
 
 To cease to exist, to vanish, to give place, in short, to some 
 nobler kind of men, in whose melodious and flexible form 
 of speech the old Homer will have a chance of reappearing 
 
LETTERS OF PAEEPIDEMUS 391 
 
 unimpaired, or possibly some new Homer singing the wrath 
 of another Achilles and the wanderings of a wiser Ulysses. 
 
 Fiat voluntas ! Let us go forward to our manifest 
 destiny with content, or at least resignation, and bravely 
 fill up the trench, which our nobler successors may thus be 
 able to pass. 
 
 In the meantime, various attempts in ' Blackwood's 
 Magazine,' and elsewhere, have been made in the last few 
 years at rendering Homer in modern English hexameter 
 verse. We venture to pronounce them unsuccessful. It 
 is not an easy thiag to make readable English hexameters 
 at all ; not an easy thing even in the freedom of original 
 composition, but a very hard one, indeed, amid the restric- 
 tions of faithful translation. Mr. Longfellow has gained, 
 and has charmed, has instructed in some degree, and 
 attuned the ears of his countrymen and countrywomen (in 
 literature we may be allowed to say), upon both sides of the 
 Atlantic, to the flow and cadence of this hitherto unaccept- 
 able measure. Yet the success of ' Evangeline ' was owing 
 not more, we think, to the author's practised skill in ver- 
 sification than to his judgment in the choice of his material. 
 Even his powers, we believe, would fail to obtain a wide 
 popularity for a translation even from a language so nearly 
 akin to our own as the German. In Greek, where grammar, 
 inflection, intonation, idiom, habit, character, and genius 
 are all most alien, the task is very much more hopeless. 
 
 Moreover, in another point, it may be right to turn the 
 ' Louise ' of Voss and the ' Herman and Dorothea ' of 
 Goethe into correspondiug modern so-called hexameters. 
 If the verse is clumsy in our rendering, so was it to begin 
 with in the original. If no high degree of elegance is 
 attained, no high degree of elegance was there to be lost. 
 
 But in Greek there seems really hardly a reason for 
 selecting this in preference to some readier, more native, 
 and popular form of verse. Certainly the easy flowing 
 
392 PROSE EEMAmS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 couplets of Chaucer, the tnelodious blank verse of Shak- 
 apeare, or some improved variety of ballad metre, such as 
 Mr. Frere used in translating the ' Cid,' would be, on the 
 ■whole, not less like the original music of the ' Hiad ' and 
 ' Odyssey ' than that which we listen to with pleasure in 
 ' Evangeline,' and read without much trouble in the ' Herman 
 and Dorothea.' Homer's rounded line, and Virgil's smooth 
 verse, were both of them (after more puzzling about it than 
 the matter deserves, I have convinced myself) totally unlike 
 those lengthy, straggling, irregular, uncertain slips of prose 
 mestiree which. we find it so hard to measure, so easy to read 
 in half a dozen ways, without any assurance of the right 
 one, and which, since the days of Voss, the Gothic nations 
 consider analogous to classic hexameter. 
 
 Lend me, if you can spare them for a moment or two 
 my dear sir, your ears, and tell me, honour bright, is 
 Conticuere omnes, intentique ora tenebant 
 
 the same thing as 
 Hab' ich den Markt und die Strasse doch nicht so einsam gesehec 
 
 Were I to interpolate in a smooth passage of ' Evan- 
 geline ' a verse from the ' Georgics ' or the ' .^neid,' would 
 they go together ? 
 
 Is the following a metrical sequence ? 
 
 Thus, in the ancient time the smooth Virgilian verses 
 Fell on the listening ear of the Roman princes and people. 
 Ut belli signum Laurenti Turnus ab arce. 
 
 There is one line, one example of the smooth Virgilian 
 verses, which perhaps Mr. Longfellow would have allowed 
 himself to use, and his readers consented to accept, as a 
 real hexameter. 
 
 Spargens bnmida meUa soporiferumque papaver, 
 
 jnight, perhaps have been no more objected to than 
 
LETTERS OF PAEEPIDEMUS 393 
 
 Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres et le carillon de Dunkerque. 
 
 Yet even this most exceptionable form, with its special 
 aim at expressing, by an adaptation of sound to sense, the 
 
 Scattering of liquid honeys and soporif erous poppy, 
 
 is a model of condensation, brevity, smoothness, and nettete, 
 compared with that sprawling bit of rhythmical prose into 
 which I have turned it. 
 
 But we are going to be learned, my dear sir ; so I 
 release your kind ears, and beg you will no longer trouble 
 either yourself or them — but, some one, I foresee, of the 
 numerous well-instructed future readers of this private 
 correspondence will interpose with his or her objection, and 
 will tell me. You read your Latin verse wrongly, you don't 
 put the stress upon the ictus — you should pronounce Virgil 
 like Evangeline, Evangeline is the true hexameter ; in 
 Virgil the colloquial accent which you follow was lost in 
 the accent of verse. The Romans of old read it, not 
 
 TJt bfelli signum Laurenti Ttirnus ab dree. 
 
 but 
 
 Ut belli signflm. 
 
 O dear ! and can you, courteous and well-instructed reader^ 
 positively read your ' Georgics ' or ' ^neid ' in that way ? 
 Do you, as a habit, scan as you go along ? Do you not feel 
 it very awkward, must not the Romans also have felt it 
 rather awkward, to pass so continually and violently from 
 the ordinary to the sing-song accentuation 1 And if, as I 
 think you must allow, there was some awkwardness in it, why 
 is it that Virgil, and the other good versifiers, so constantly 
 prefer that form of verse in which this awkwardness most 
 appears ? Why is 
 
 Spdrgens hiiinida mella, soporifgrdinque papAver, 
 
 where there is no such difficulty, a rare form, and ' Ut b^Ui 
 signum,' where there is, a common and favourite one 1 Do 
 
894 PKOSE EEMAINS OF AETHUB HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 you know, I shall venture to assert, that in the Latin lan- 
 guage the system of accentuation was this, which enjoined 
 the awkwardness you complain of ; the separation, ia gene- 
 ral, of the colloquial and the metrical accent, the very 
 opposite of that which we observe, who, unless the two 
 coincide, think the verse bad. Enough of this, however. 
 
 Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past — come back, 
 my dear sir, we will talk no more prosody — only just allow 
 me to recite to you a few verses of metaphrase, as they used 
 to say, from the ' Odyssey '; constructed as nearly as may be 
 upon the ancient principle ; quantity, so far as, in our for- 
 ward-rushing, consonant-crushing, Anglo-savage enuncia- 
 tion — long and short can in any kind be detected, quantity 
 attended to in the first place, and care also bestowed, in the 
 second, to have the natural accents very frequently laid 
 upon syllables which the metrical reading depresses. 
 
 The aged Nestor, sitting among his sons at Pylos, is 
 telling Telemachus, who has come from Ithaca to ask tidings 
 of hia father, how, after the taking of Troy, the insolence 
 and violence of the Achseans called down upon them the dis. 
 pleasure of the Father of the Gods and the stern blue-eyed 
 virgin, his daughter. Agamemnon and Menelaus, flushed 
 with wine, quarrelled openly in an assembly held at sunset, 
 which broke up in disorder and tumult ; the leaders, some 
 of them, staying, behind to please Agamemnon ; others, 
 drawing down their ships without delay and sailing oflf with 
 Ulysses, came as far as Tenedos, and then turned again 
 back. But I, says Nestor — 
 
 But I, with my ships in a body, the whole that obeyed me, 
 Fled, well perceiving that wrath was rising against us ; 
 Tydides also fled with me, his company calling ; 
 Later, upon our track followed the yellow Menelaus ; 
 In Lesbos found us, debating there of the long voyage. 
 Were we to sail, to wit, by this side of rocky Chios, 
 Making for Psyrie-isle, Chios being kept to the larboard. 
 Or to the far side Chios along by the windy Mimante. 
 
LETTERS OF PAREPIDEMUS 395 
 
 Will this sort of thing please the modern ear 1 It is to 
 be feared not. It is too late a day in this nineteenth cen- 
 tury to introduce a new principle, however good, into 
 modern European verse. W& must be content, perhaps, in 
 this, as in other and higher matters, to take things as we find 
 them, and make the best we can of them. You, I dare say^ 
 my dear sir, though perhaps no great lover of hexameters 
 at all, will prefer to my laboured Homerics the rough-and- 
 ready Anglo-savage lines that follow. They render the 
 prayer of Achilles when he is sending out Patroclus with the 
 Myrmidons to check the victory of the Trojans. 
 
 Dodonean, Pelasgican Zeus, up in heaven above us, 
 
 King of Dodona, the stormy and cold, where thy Selli attend thee. 
 
 Barefoot, . that wash not their feet, whose bed is the earth, thy 
 
 expounders — 
 Once when I prayed thee before, thou gavest me all my petition, 
 Gavest me honour, and greatly afflicted the host of Achaia ; 
 Even so now too, Zeus, fulfil my prayer and petition ; 
 I am myself staying here, alone in the midst of my vessels. 
 But I am sending my friend, and the Myrmidon people about him, 
 Into the battle : Zeus, "Wide-Seer, accord to him honour, 
 Strengthen, embolden the heart in his breast ; that Hector to-day 
 
 may 
 See whether my companion has skill of his own for the battle, 
 Or is invincible only, when I too enter the onset. 
 And when the might of his hand shall have driven the war from the 
 
 galleys. 
 Then let him come back safe to me by the side of my vessels. 
 Unhurt bringing me home my arms and all my companions. 
 So in his prayer he spoke ; and the Zeus, the Counsellor, heard 
 
 him: 
 Granted him half his desire ; but half the Father denied him ; 
 Granted him that his friend should drive the war and the onset 
 Back from the galleys ; denied him his safe return from the battle. 
 
 Here, in a milder mood, the poet, for the conclusion of 
 his first book, describes the ' easy living ' gods : — 
 
396 PROSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 So the live-long day they thus were unto the sunset 
 
 Feasting ; neither did heart lack ever a portion of banquet, 
 
 Nor lack ever the lyre, sweet-toned, in the hand of Apollo, 
 
 Nor the muses, in turn singing sweetly with beautiful voices. 
 
 But as soon as the shining light of the sun had descended, 
 
 They, to lay them down, went every one to his chamber, 
 
 Where for each one a house the far-famed Worker with both hands, 
 
 Even Hephoestus, had made with the skill of his understanding. 
 
 Zeus also to his bed, the Olympian flasher of lightning. 
 
 Where he was wont before, when slumber sweet came upon him — 
 
 Thither gone-up was sleeping, the white-armed Heera beside him. 
 
 The best translations of Homer into this verse which I 
 am acquainted with are those by Mr. Lockhart and Dr. 
 Hawtrey, in the little oblong-quarto collection of English 
 Hexameters. Yet, after all ! 
 
 At any rate — 
 
 My dear sir, here is a chapter, which, be it for better or worse is 
 
 From beginning to end about hexameter verses ; 
 
 Could they but jingle a little, 'twere better, perhaps ; but the 
 
 trouble 
 Really is endless, of hunting for rhymes that have aU to be double. 
 Adieu, till the next time, when either in prose or in rhyme I 
 Haply may find something better to gossip about in a letter. 
 In the meanwhile, my dear sir, till writing again may beseem us, 
 I am, your faithful, obliged, and obedient, 
 
 Pakbpidbmus. 
 
A PASSAGE UPON OXFOED STUDIES; 
 
 EXTRACTED FKOM 
 
 A EEVIEW OF THE OXFOED UNIVEESITY 
 COMMISSIONEES' EEPOET, 1852. 
 
 (Published in the ' North American Eeview ' for April 1853,. 
 Vol. Ixxvi., No 159.) 
 
399 
 
 A PASSAGE UPON OXFORD STUDIES : 
 
 EXTRACTED FROM 
 
 A REVIEW OE THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY 
 COMMISSIONERS' REPORT, 1852. 
 
 ' I WENT to Oxford from the sixth form (the highest class) 
 of a public school. I had at that time read all Thucydides, 
 except the sixth and seventh books ; the six first books of 
 Herodotus ; the early books of each author I had done at 
 least three times over. I had read five plays, I think, of 
 Sophocles, four of ^schylus^ — several of these two or three 
 times over ; four, perhaps, or five, of Euripides ; consider- 
 able portions of Aristophanes ; nearly all the " Odyssey " ; 
 only about a third of the " Iliad," but that several times 
 over ; one or two dialogues of Plato — the " Phaedo," I 
 remember, was one ; not quite all Virgil ; all Horace ; a 
 good deal of Livy and Tacitus ; a considerable portion of 
 Aristotle's " Rhetoric," and two or three books of his 
 " Ethics " ; besides, of course, other things. I mention 
 these, because they have to do with Oxford. I had been 
 used to do my very best in translating in the class. We 
 were not marked ; but expressions of approbation, graduated 
 carefully, and invariably given by the rule so formed, were 
 quite sure to let every boy know how he had done his part. 
 The more diligent used to listen with eagerness for note 
 and comment ; the idlest amongst us were considerably 
 afraid of reprimand. We were wont, moreover, to do three 
 long original exercises every week, out of school. These 
 were looked over with us singly, and marked by a regular 
 scale. To fall below 26 I used to consider latterly a dis- 
 
400 PROSE EKMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 grace ; to attain 28, a very great piece of honour. I knew 
 perfectly well when I did ill, and when I did well. 
 
 ' No words, not even those of Mr. Lowe, can express the 
 amount of the change which I experienced on entering the 
 lecture-rooms of my college — though confessedly one of the 
 very best in Oxford — and on embarking upon the course of 
 University study. Had I not read pretty nearly all the 
 books 1 Was I to go on, keeping up my Latin prose 
 writers, for three years more 1 Logic and Ethics had some 
 little novelty ; there was a little extra scholarship to be 
 obtained in some of the college lectures. But that was the 
 utmost. I should have wished to take to Mathematics, 
 which I had hitherto rather neglected ; but Mathematics 
 alone would not lead to a Fellowship, and I did not feel 
 any certainty that I could stand the strain of work for a 
 "Double-First." Ihad been pretty well sated of distinctions 
 and competitions at school ; I would gladly have dispensed 
 with anything more of success in this kind, always excepting 
 the 200L a year of the Fellowship. What I wanted was 
 to sit down to happy, unimpeded prosecution of some new 
 subject or subjects ; surely, there was more in the domain 
 of knowledge than that Latin and Greek which I had 
 been wandering about in for the last ten years. Surely, 
 there were other accomplishments to be mastered, besides 
 the composition of Iambics and Ciceronian prose. If there 
 were, however, they existed not for me. There were the 
 daily lectures in the morning, which I did not like to miss 
 (and, indeed, could hardly have missed to any profitable 
 extent) ; nor yet, if I attended them, to neglect to prepare 
 for them. The daily lectures now, and the weary re- 
 examination in classics three years ahead ! An infinite 
 lassitude and impatience, which I saw reflected in the faces 
 of others, quickly began to infect me. Qtwusque Latin 
 prose ? Though we should gain by it prizes and honours 
 academical, beyond all . academical example, it would not 
 
OXFORD STUDIES 401 
 
 the less certainly be a mere shame and waste of strength 
 to make the effort. I did go on, for duty's sake, and foi- 
 discipline and docility, sadly doing Latin prose ; but, 
 except in docility, profiting but little. Could I only have 
 hoped to get through the whole business in a year or a year 
 and a half's time, and then to be free to do what, before 
 that is over, one never does, study ! Some pleasure, too, 
 there would have been, even in that old Greek and Latin, 
 could one but have been free to pasture freely, following a 
 natural instinct, upon its fairly extensive field. But no ; 
 if one did anything, one must " get up " the books for the 
 schools, and they were — three years ahead. Even the 
 present alteration in the statute, by which the suffering 
 pilgrim is allowed to lay down a portion of his classical 
 burden at the feet of the examiners, at the end of the 
 second year, appears to me insufficient ; ever so much 
 classics and theology still remain behind, to be carried on, as 
 before, to the end of the third year. No proper emancipa- 
 tion, no true admission to the rights of manly reading, is 
 given, until the moment when, for most, it comes too late. 
 
 ' The masters of the public schools have, it is true, been 
 in fault ; they have pushed on their pupils too hastily ; 
 have prepared them prematurely for the ultimate honours 
 of the degree ; have neglected the " ^neid " and the " Iliad " 
 for the sake of Aristophanes and the Ethics. Yet it is true, 
 nevertheless, that this very examination in Ethics, &c., 
 used to be passed, not so many years ago, by young men 
 not a bit older than the boys at the top of the public 
 schools. Arnold took his First at nineteen, Peel his 
 " Double-First " at twenty. Surely, after the age of nine- 
 teen or twenty, it is really time that this schoolboy love of 
 racing, this empty competition, should be checked. There 
 is less, a great deal, at Oxford than at Cambridge ; but 
 there is a great deal too much at Oxford. For the prelimi- 
 nary discipline of boys, I grant it to be needful ; to carry it 
 
 D D 
 
402 PROSE EEMAINS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 forward into the very years of legal manhood, appears to 
 me a most foolish and ill-advised innovation. The existing 
 change I cannot account sufficient ; every one, as before, 
 must do his Uteres humaniores. Still, if four substantia] 
 departments were once really and fairly established for the 
 third year, I am happy in the belief that no one would think 
 so very much of high honours in any one of them. 
 Examinations are useful things, and the stricter they are 
 the better ; and the results, I suppose, can hardly be made 
 public without some honour attending them. But by the 
 great principle, " divide et impera," we shall, I hope, over- 
 power much of this pernicious distinction. We shall be 
 able to prove to young men whether they really know what 
 they think they know, without declaring them {di Tneliora !), 
 to themselves and all the world, to be the cleverest men 
 in Oxford. Examinations, I repeat, are essential ; but no 
 examinations will do much good unless there be, independent 
 and irrespective of them, a real inward taste, and liking, 
 and passion, shall I say, not for competitive effort and 
 distinction, but for study, and the subjects themselves of 
 study. Examinations are sadly apt to impair this spring 
 of happy spontaneity ; honos, indeed, alit artes, but not that 
 honour which attends the success of the race-horse ; which 
 testifies to a mere personal and comparative superiority. 
 Far more grateful and of far higher value than any such 
 popular plaudit, is to the faithful student, the strictly plain 
 and severely true ascertainment, not of whom he has beat, 
 but of what he has done : the real desideratum for him is 
 the exact and well-considered verdict of an accomplished judge 
 of details ; to details and separate branches, therefore — not to 
 aggregates of studies, but to distinct studies — should exami- 
 nations be applied. Quot homines, tot studia ; quot studia, tot 
 examinationes : Have as many as you please ; the more they 
 are in number, the less imposing they are singly ; multiply 
 them indefinitely. Only, of all Senior "Wranglers, Medallists, 
 and even " Double First," let us be fairly and finally rid.' 
 
EXTEACTS FEOM A EEVIBW 
 
 or A WOEK ENTITLED 
 
 ' CONSIDEEATIONS ON SOME EECENT 
 SOCIAL THEOEIES.' 
 
 (Published in the ' North American Eeview ' for July 1853, 
 Vol. Ixxvii., No. 160.) 
 
 D D 2 
 
405 
 
 EXTEACTS FROM A REVIEW 
 
 OF A WOEK ENTITLED 
 
 'CONSIDERATIONS ON SOME RECENT 
 SOCIAL THEORIES.' 
 
 Our author begins with the vague declamations, rather than 
 positions, which have lately been current in Europe — ' Lib- 
 erty, Equality, and Fraternity,' ' God and the People,' ' Direct 
 Popular Government,' ' The Universal Republic,' and the 
 like. Several of these he sums up in the old formula. Vox 
 populi vox Dei, and devotes his first chapter to the question 
 of its correctness. The high doctrine proclaimed by the fervid 
 Italian leader, of the supreme ' authority of the people as 
 the collective perpetual interpreter of the will of God,' finds 
 but little favour with him. Who and what, he asks, is this 
 ' Royal priesthood,' this ' Peculiar people ' ? 
 
 We cannot, indeed, any more than our author, soar to 
 the high modem Mazzinian acceptation of the ancient maxim. 
 Those who use it should, at any rate, we think, temper it in 
 application by the rule. 
 
 Nee deus intersit nisi dignus vindice nodus ; 
 
 and may, perhaps, find their advantage in collating it with 
 another significant dictum which tells us that at times 
 
 Sua cuique deus fit dira cupido ; 
 
 a people can be the slave of cupidity and resentment ; a 
 people can be pusillanimous, dastardly, and base ; a people 
 
406 PEOSE KEMAIlSrS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 can be also fiendishly inhuman ; the fears and passions of a 
 people, when once excited, are more hopelessly irrational, 
 more wildly uncontrollable, more extensively ruinous, more 
 appallingly terrible, than those of councils and kings. Never- 
 theless, depravation and barbarism apart, in an average 
 state of society, a state such as we hope and believe in for 
 the future, it may be true that the common impulses and 
 plain feelings of the people may be expected to be honest 
 and good. Great questions, that must go back for their 
 solution to natural instincts and unconscious first principles, 
 may refer themselves to the popular voice. In such cases 
 the love of routine, the narrow and rigid views, the personal 
 interest, ambition, or indolence of officials and representa- 
 tives, are likely enough to impede and retard, to mislead, 
 pervert, and corrupt the national action. In executive de- 
 tails, meantime, what choice have we but to trust to indi- 
 viduals ? A crowd of voters cannot easily study, cannot 
 readily appreciate, the subtle and intricate circumstances 
 which embarrass the application of principles. A complex 
 question in arithmetic is better submitted to the com 
 putation of an accountant than to the suffrage of a town 
 ■meeting. Accountants and auditors may combine to de- 
 ceive, but the chances of their telling the truth are greater 
 than those of our carrying it by acclamation. A people 
 also, we conceive, however generous and well-meaning, is 
 apt to be a little too rough-handed to deal properly with 
 nice points of fairness and honour and delicate questions of 
 feeling. 
 
 A second chapter, on Liberty, the supposed principle, is 
 followed by a third, on the projected perfect practice of it 
 in the Urdversal Republic. The writer urges, with reason, 
 that the existence of government at all presupposes a cer- 
 tain surrender of some portion of their freedom to do what- 
 ever they please, upon the part of those who live under it. 
 Upon any other theory, how strange and anomalous, for 
 example, is that constraint which, in the freest of all poKtics, 
 
RECENT SOCIAL THEORIES 407 
 
 restricts the freewill of the citizen, by requiring his submis- 
 sion to the vote of a majority. This regulation, he argues, 
 all political regulations, all institutions and constitutions 
 whatever, are not in themselves principles ; they are, at 
 their very best, extremely imperfect human expedients for 
 attaining, in a rough way, some amount, often a very small 
 one, of practicable common benefit. Universal suffrage 
 is one social method, monarchy is another ; as the former 
 is sometimes best, so also sometimes is the latter. Universal 
 suffrage would hardly do on shipboard, the rule of one is 
 unsuitable for a club. There are times when a state is very 
 much like a club ; there are occasions when it may fitly be 
 compared to a ship. 
 
 Before quitting these chapters we must add a few words 
 on Liberty. 
 
 The dream and aspiration of the ardent and generous 
 spirits of our time is for a certain royal road to human 
 happiness. Disappointed a thousand times, they still per- 
 sist in their exalted creed that there must and will be here 
 on earth, if not now, in some future and approaching time, 
 a state of social arrangement in which the spontaneous 
 action and free development of each individual constituent 
 member will combine to form 'a vastand solemn harmony,'the 
 ultimate perfect movement of collective humanity. There 
 beautiful thoughts will distil as the dew, and fair actions 
 spring up as the green herb ; there, without constraint, 
 we shall all be good, and without trouble, happy ; there, what 
 in its imperfect form is vice, shall gently and naturally 
 flower out into virtue ; there contention and contest, con- 
 trol and commandment, will be the obsolete terms of a dead 
 language, with no modern equivalents to explain them. A 
 divine interior instinct will intimate to each single human 
 being his fittest and highest vocation, and will prompt and 
 inspire and guide him to fulfil it ; while in the pursuit 
 of his own free choice and in the fulfilment of his own 
 strongest desires, he will, by the blessing of the presiding 
 
408 PEOSE REMAINS OF AKTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 genius of humanity, best serve the true interests of society 
 and the race. 
 
 Was it thus not long ago ? For, 
 
 Ante etiam sceptrum Dictsei regis, et ante 
 Impia quam cssis gens est epulata jnvencis. 
 Aureus banc vitam in terris Satumus agebat. 
 
 O blessed ages of pure, spontaneous, unconscious, unthink- 
 ing, unreasoning life and action, to you, either in the past 
 or the future, the human heart is still fain to recur — still 
 must dream, even though it be but a dream, of how sweet 
 it were to grow as the green herb, and bloom as the spring 
 flowers, to be good because we cannot be otherwise, and 
 happy because we cannot help it. O blessed ages, indeed ! 
 But have such, since men were men, ever been ? Or are 
 such, while men are men, ever likely to come ? Alas, the 
 rude earth itself affords us admonition — 
 
 Pater ipse colendi 
 Hand facilem esse viam voluit, primusque per artem, 
 Movit agros, curis acuens mortalia corda. 
 Nee torpere gram passns sua regna veterno. 
 
 And, strange as it may seem — how charming soever be 
 spontaneity, still those who have endured coercion find a 
 good deal also to say in favour of it. 
 
 life ! without tliy chequered scene 
 Of right and wrong, of weal and woe, 
 Success and failure — could a ground 
 For magnanimity be found, 
 For faith, mid ruined hopes serene ? 
 Or whence could virtue flow 1 
 
 There are many, surely, who, looking back into their past 
 lives, feel most thankful for those acts which came least 
 from their own mere natural volition — can see that what 
 did them most good was what they themselves would least 
 
RECENT SOCIAL THEOKIBS 409 
 
 have chosen ; that things which, in fact, they were forced to, 
 were, after all, the best things that ever happened to them. 
 There are some,, surely, who have had reason to bless a 
 wholesome compulsion ; there are some who prefer doing 
 right under a master to doing nothing but enjoy themselves 
 as their own masters; who, rather than be left to their 
 own unaided feebleness, hesitation, and indolence, would 
 voluntarily, for their own and the common good, enter a 
 condition of what thenceforth would be 'involuntary 
 servitude.' The mature freewill of the grown man looks 
 back, undoubtedly, with some little regret, but also with no 
 little scorn, upon the bygone puerile spontaneities of the 
 time when he did as he liked. 
 
 There are periods, it is true, in the life of the individual 
 human being, and perhaps of the collective human race, 
 when expansion is the first of necessities. Such, it is 
 possible, may be the present. But because we would be rid 
 of existing restrictions, it does not follow that restriction of 
 all kiuds is an evil ; because our present house is too small 
 for us, it is not to be inferred that we shall live henceforth 
 in the open air. 
 
 As a general rule of life and conduct, we see as yet no 
 reason to believe that liberty, if this be its meaning, is 
 •better than service. It does not seem to be established 
 that the system on which the things we live amongst were 
 arranged, is that of spontaneous development, rather than 
 of coercion met by a mixture of resistance and submission. 
 The latter hypothesis seems intrinsically as much more 
 elevating as the other does more agreeable. Meantime, as 
 a matter of language, we should be inclined to reject alto- 
 wether this modern sense of our old-estabHshed word 
 
 o 
 
 Liberty. If the new theory wants a name, let it find a 
 new one. It will but perplex and cheat us by claiming one 
 already otherwise appropriated. When we hear people de- 
 manding liberty, we shall consider them to express their 
 
410 PEOSE REMAINS OF AETHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 desire, not for the golden age, but either for release from 
 some particular form of restriction, or, it may be, for a less 
 degree of restriction in general. Liberty for us wiU mean 
 either Tnore liberty — ^just as, in the Black Hole of Calcutta, 
 ' air ' meant ' more air ' — or distinct emancipation, for 
 example, from personal slavery, or from foreign rule. 
 Liberty in itself is but the power of doing what we please ; 
 a power which, for all human beings, has its natural limits. 
 We may easily, indeed, have too much or too little of it ; 
 we can only have it in degree, but without some degree of 
 it we cannot exist. 
 
 The crying evil, as it appears to us, of the present 
 system of unrestricted competition, is not so much the dis- 
 tress of the workmen as the extreme slovenliness and bad- 
 ness of their work. The joy and satisfaction of making 
 really good things is destroyed by the criminal eagerness to 
 make them to suit the market. The love of art, which, 
 quite as much as virtue, is its own reward, used in the old 
 times to penetrate down as far as to the meanest manufac- 
 ture, of kettles, for example, and pots. With us, on the 
 contrary, the miserable truckling to the bad taste of the 
 multitude has gradually stolen up to the very regions of" 
 the highest art — into architecture, sculpture, painting, 
 music, literature. Nay, has it not infected even morality 
 and religion ? And do we never hear spiritual advice, 
 which in fact bids us do as little good, and get as much 
 applause for it, as we can ; and, above all things, know the 
 state of the market ? 
 
 So far as co-operative societies or guilds would remove 
 this evil, they would be of great use. But let it not be for- 
 gotten that the object of human society is not the mere 
 ' culinary ' one of securing equal apportionments of meat 
 and drink to aU its members. Men combine for some 
 
RECENT SOCIAL THEORIES 411 
 
 higher object ; and to that higher object it is, in their social 
 capacity, the privilege and real happiness of individuals to 
 sacrifice themselves. The highest political watchword is 
 not Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, nor yet Solidarity, but 
 Service. 
 
 The true comfort to the soldiers, serving in the great 
 industrial army of arts, commerce, and manufactures, is 
 neither to tell them, with the Utopians, that a good time is 
 coming, when they will have plenty of victuals and not so 
 much to do ; nor yet, with the Economists, to hold out to 
 them the prospect of making their fortune ; but to show 
 them that what they are now doing is good and useful 
 service to the community ; to call upon them to do it well 
 and thoroughly ; and to teach them how they may ; and all 
 this quite irrespectively of any prospects either of making 
 a fortune or living on into a good time. 
 
 We are not sure that our author would quite coincide 
 with us in a comparative disregard of physical discom- 
 fort, privation, and suffering. Yet we think he would join 
 us in the belief that the real want of the present time 
 is, above all things, the distinct recognition and steady 
 observance of a few plain, and not wholly modern, rules 
 of morality. 
 
 It is very fine, perhaps not very difficult, to do every 
 now and then some noble or generous act. But what is 
 wanted of us is to do no wrong ones. It may be, for 
 instance, in many eyes, a laudable thing to amass a colossal 
 fortune by acts not in all cases of quite unimpeachable in- 
 tegrity, and then to expend it in magnificent benevolence. 
 But the really good thing is . not to make the fortune. 
 Thorough honesty and plain undeviating integrity — these 
 are our real needs ; on these substructions only can the 
 fabric of individual or national well-being safely be reared. 
 ' Other foundation can no man lay.' Common men, who, 
 in their petty daily acts, maintain these ordinary unosten- 
 
412 PEOSE KEMAIJSrS OF AKTHUE HUGH CLOIJGH 
 
 tatious truths, are the real benefactors of mankind, the real 
 pillars of the State, are the apostles and champions of — 
 something not to be named within a few pages of Liberty, 
 Equality, and Fraternity, the Solidarity of the Peoples, and 
 the Universal Republic. 
 
c 
 
 NOTES 
 
 THE EELIGIOUS TEADITION. 
 
415 
 
 NOTES ON THE EELIGIOUS TRADITION.' 
 
 It is impossible for any scholar to have read, and studied, 
 and reflected -without forming a strong impression of the 
 entire uncertainty of history in general, and of the history 
 of Christianity in particular. 
 
 It is equally impossible for any man to live, act, and 
 reflect without feeling the significance and depth of the 
 moral and religious teaching which passes amongst us by 
 the name of Christianity. 
 
 The more a man feels the value, the true import of this, 
 the more will he hesitate to base it upon those foundations 
 which as a scholar he feels to be unstable. Manuscripts are 
 doubtful, records may be unauthentic, criticism is feeble, 
 historical facts must be left uncertain. 
 
 Even in like manner my own personal experience is 
 most limited, perhaps even most delusive : what have I 
 seen, what do I know ? Nor is my personal judgment a 
 thing which I feel any great satisfaction in trusting. My 
 reasoning powers are weak ; my memory doubtful and con- 
 fused ; my conscience, it may be, callous or vitiated. 
 
 I see not how it is possible for a man disinclined to 
 adopt arbitrarily the watchword of a party to the sacrifice 
 of truth — indisposed to set up for himself, and vehemently 
 
 ' In the MS. Mr. Clough has written the first five stanzas of the 
 poem entitled ' Through a Glass darkly ' (ii. 93), at the head of the 
 fragment. Though there is no date to the MS., it may with safety 
 be referred to the last period of his life. 
 
416 PROSE REMAINS OP ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 urge some one point — I see not what other alternative any 
 sane and humble-minded man can have but to throw him- 
 self upon the great religious tradition. 
 
 But Iseenot either how any upright and strict dealer with 
 himself — how any man not merely a slave to spiritual appetites, 
 affections, and wants — any man of intellectual as well as 
 moral honesty — and without the former the latter is but a 
 vain thing — I see not how any one who will not tell lies to 
 himself, can dare to affirm that the narrative of the four 
 Gospels is an essential integral part of that tradition. I do 
 not see that it is a great and noble thing, a very needful or 
 very worthy service, to go about proclaiming that Mark is 
 inconsistent with Luke, that the first Gospel is not really 
 Matthew's, nor the last with any certainty John's, that 
 Paul is not Jesus, <fec. &c. &c. It is at the utmost a com- 
 mendable piece of honesty ; but it is no new gospel to tell 
 us that the old one is of dubious authenticity. 
 
 I do not see either, on the other hand, that it can be 
 lawful for me, for the sake of the moral guidance and the 
 spiritual comfort, to ignore all scientific or historic doubts, 
 or if pressed with them to the utmost, to take refuge in 
 Romish infallibility, and, to avoid sacrificing the four 
 Gospels, consent to accept the legends of the saints and the 
 tales of modem miracles. 
 
 I believe that I may without any such perversion of my 
 reason, without any such mortal sin against my own soul, 
 which is identical with reason, and against the Supreme 
 Giver of that soul and reason, still abide by the real 
 religious tradition. 
 
 It is indeed just conceivable that the Divine Orderer of 
 the universe, and Father of our spirits, should have so 
 created these and ordered that, as that the one should be 
 directly contradictory to the other. It may be that the 
 facts which we, by the best force of our intellects, discern, 
 are by His ordinance delusions, intended of a set purpose to 
 tempt us from our highest path, that of His love and the 
 
OlSr THE RELIGIOUS TRADITION 417 
 
 worship of Him. It is conceivable that he has subtly 
 arranged that two and two should be four (by delusion) 
 everywhere, that our faith (the one reality) may be tried when 
 we propose to harmonise it with this fallacy. It is possible 
 that as our senses and appetites would make us believe bad 
 things, because pleasant, therefore good, so also our reason 
 may cheat us to believe wrong things, because reasonable, 
 therefore right. The rule which He has placed to measure 
 all things by, and bid us trust in them implicitly, may be, 
 by His special purpose, false for the highest things. What 
 in our solemn courts of justice we should call false witness, 
 may be in the Church to decide our verdict ; what in the 
 exchange would be imposture, may be in the sanctuary pure 
 truth. I say, this thing is conceivable, yet it is conceivable 
 also that sense and mind, that intellect and religion, things 
 without and things within, are in harmony with each other. 
 If it is conceivable that the earth in the natural world goes 
 round the sun, delusively to tempt us from the revealed 
 act of the supernatural world that the sun goes round the 
 earth, it is also conceivable that the heavens, as astrono 
 mically discerned, declare the glory of God, and the firma- 
 ment showeth His handywork. 
 
 It is conceivable that religious truths of the highest 
 import may grow up naturally, and appear before us involved 
 in uncertain traditions, with every sort of mere accessory 
 legend and story attached to them and entangled with 
 them. 
 
 It may be true that as the physical bread has to be 
 digested and the nutritive portion separated from the in- 
 nutritive, so may it also be with the spiritual. It may 
 be true that man has fallen, though Adam and Eve are 
 legendary. It may be a divine fact that God is a person, 
 and not a sort of natural force ; and it may have happened 
 that the tales of His personal appearance to Abraham, 
 
 E E 
 
418 PROSE REMAINS OF AKTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 Isaac, and Jacob, were the means of sustaining and convey- 
 ing down to posterity that belief, and yet that He never 
 sat in the tent on the plains of Mamre, nor wrestled with 
 Jacob by night, nor spoke with Moses in the mount. 
 
 Where then, since neither in Rationalism nor in Rome 
 is our refuge, where then shall we seek for the Religious 
 Tradition ? 
 
 Everywhere ; but above all in our own work : in life, 
 in action, in submission, so far as action goes, in sei^dce, 
 in experience, in patience, and in confidence. I would 
 scarcely have any man dare to say that he has found it, till 
 that moment when death removes his power of telling it. 
 Let no young man presume to talk to us vainly and con- 
 fidently about it. Ignorant, as said Aristotle, of the real 
 actions of life, and ready to follow all impressions and 
 passions, he is hardly fitted as yet even to listen to practical 
 directions couched in the language of religion. But this 
 apart — everywhere. 
 
 The Religious Tradition — as found everywhere — as 
 found not only among clergymen and religious people, but 
 among all who have really tried to order their lives 
 by the highest action of the reasonable and spiritual will. 
 I will go to Johnson ; I will go to Hume, as well as to 
 Bishop Butler. The precepts with which our parents often 
 startle our religious instincts, and our companions revolt 
 our young moral convictions, these also are in some sense 
 to be considered in the religious and moral tradition. Every 
 rule of conduct, every maxim, every usage of life and 
 society, must be admitted, like Ecclesiastes of old in the 
 Old Testament, so in each new age to each new age's Bible. 
 
 Everywhere — to India, if you will, and the ancient 
 Bhagvad Gita and the laws of Menu ; to Persia and Hafiz ; 
 to China and Confucius ; to the Vedas and the Shasters ; 
 to the Koran ; to pagan Greece and Rome ; to Homer ; to 
 
ON THE EELTGIOUS TRADITION 419 
 
 Socrates and Plato ; to Lucretius, to Virgil, to Tacitus. 
 Try all things, I do not imagine that any spiritual doctrine 
 or precept of life found iu all that travel from east to west 
 and north to south will disqualify us to return to what 
 prima facie does appear to be, not indeed the religion of the 
 majority of mankind, but the religion of the best, so far as 
 we can judge in past history, and despite of professed infi- 
 delity of the most enlightened of our own time. 
 
 Whether Christ died upon' the Cross, I cannot tell ; yet 
 I am prepared to find some spiritual truth in the doctrine 
 of the Atonement. Purgatory is not in the Bible ; I do 
 not therefore think it incredible. 
 
 There is only one theory or precept which must be 
 noticed ere I end. It is said that each of us is born with a 
 peculiar nature of his own, a constitution as it were for one 
 form of truth to the exclusion of others ; that we must 
 each look for what will suit us, and not be over-soUcitous 
 for wide and comprehensive attainments. What is one 
 man's food is another's poison. Climate, parentage, and 
 other circumstances are too strong for us ; it is impossible 
 for the Italian to be Protestant, or for the sons of New 
 England Puritans to turn Roman Catholics to any great 
 extent. 
 
 I do not doubt that the Protestant has excluded himself 
 (necessary perhaps it was that he should so do) from large 
 religious experience which the Roman Catholic preserves. 
 I am convinced again that the Unitarian is morally and 
 religiously only half educated compared with the Episco- 
 palian. Modern Unitarianism is, I conceive, unfortunate 
 on the one hand in refusing to allow its legitimate force to 
 the exercise of reason and criticism ; on the other hand, in 
 having by its past exercise of reason and criticism thrown 
 aside treasures of pure religious tradition because of their 
 dogmatic exterior. 
 
420 PROSE EEMAINS OF ARTHUE HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 I do acquiesce in this humble doctrine ; I do believe 
 that, strive as I will, I am restricted, and grasp as I may, 
 I can never hold the complete truth. But that does not 
 the least imply that I am justified in shutting the eyes of 
 my understanding to the facts of science, or its ears to the 
 criticisms of history, nor yet in neglecting those pulsations 
 of spiritual instinct which come to me from association at 
 one time with Unitarians, at another with Calvinists, or 
 again with Episcopalians and Roman Catholics. 
 
 I cannot see beyond the horizon ; but within the natural 
 horizon am I to make an unnatural new horizon for my- 
 self ? T cannot be in two places at once ; shall I therefore 
 refuse to visit them at different times 1 
 
 This doctrine may indeed lead to. one conclusion ; but 
 it can lead justly to one only, and that I think is a very 
 harmless one- — namely, that when we have done all, we 
 are unprofitable servants ; when we have tried all things, 
 what we held fast is not the entire truth ; when we have 
 seen all we can, there is still more that we cannot do. 
 
 Thus far I am most content to accept it. But it is no 
 excuse to the Italian for refusing to study the religious 
 views of Englishmen, nor to the Unitarian for believing 
 that Calvinism is nonsense ; nor to any one for refusing to 
 think. 
 
 It is very true that, speaking generally, to a certain 
 extent, we must all of us be of the religion of our fathers ; 
 we are so whether we like it or not ; whether we say we are, 
 or say we are not. It is very true, nevertheless, that we 
 cannot refuse to know, when we are told on good autho- 
 rity that there are many more Buddhists in the world than 
 Christians. 
 
 And it appears to me that it is much more the apparent 
 dispensation of things that we should gradually widen, than 
 that we should narrow and individualise our creeds. Why 
 
ON THE EELIGIOUS TRADITION 421 
 
 are we daily coming more and more into communication 
 with each other, if it be not that we learn each other's know- 
 ledge and combine all into one ? I feel more inclined to 
 put faith in the currents of the river of things, than because 
 it runs one way to think I must therefore pull hard against 
 it to go the other. 
 
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