Chapter XXV: Introduction (25)

It is my supreme hope that when, with God’s help, our Anti-vivisection controversy ends in years to come, long after I have passed away, mankind will have attained _through it_ a recognition of our duties towards the lower animals far in advance of that which we now commonly hold. If the beautiful dream of the later Isaiah can never be perfectly realised on this planet and none may ever find that thrice “Holy Mountain” whereon they “shall not hurt nor destroy”—yet at least the time will come when no man worthy of the name will take _pleasure_ in killing; and he who would torture an animal will be looked upon as (in the truest sense) “_inhuman_”; unworthy of the friendship of man or love of woman. The long-oppressed and suffering brutes will then be spared many a pang and their innocent lives made far happier; while the hearts of men will grow more tender to their own kind by cultivating pity and tenderness to the beasts and birds. The earth will at last cease to be “full of violence and cruel habitations.”

September, 1898.

The too confident expectations which I entertained of my permanent connection till death with the Society which I had founded and which I designed to make my heir, have alas! been disappointed. It was perhaps natural that in my long exile from London and consequent absence from the Committee, my continual letters of enquiry, advice, and (as I fondly and foolishly imagined) assistance in the work were felt to be obtrusive,—especially by the newer members. One change after another in the Constitution and in the Name of the Society, left me more or less in opposition to the ruling spirits; and before long a much more serious difference arose. The very able and energetic Hon. Sec., Hon. Stephen Coleridge, (who had entered on his office in April, 1897), after making the changes to which I have referred, proposed that we should introduce a Bill into Parliament, no longer on the old lines, asking for the Total Prohibition of Vivisection, but on quite a different basis; demanding certain “Lesser Measures,” not yet distinctly formulated, but intended to supply checks to the practical lawlessness of licensed Vivisectors. Mr. Coleridge and his brother (now Lord Coleridge), had, twelve or fourteen years before, urged me to abandon the demand for Total Prohibition, and to adopt the policy of Restriction and bring in a bill accordingly. But to this proposal I had made the most strenuous resistance, writing a long pamphlet on the _Fallacy of Restriction_ for the purpose; and it had been (as I thought), altogether given up and forgotten. It would appear, however, that the idea remained in Mr. Coleridge’s mind,—with the modification that he now regarded “Lesser Measures” not as final Restriction, but as steps to Prohibition; and for this policy he obtained the suffrage of the majority of the Council, though not of the oldest members.

The reader who will kindly glance back over the preceding pages (300–306), will see the exceeding importance I attach to the maintenance of the strict principle of Abolition,—whereby our party renounces all compromise with the “abominable sin,” and refuses to be again cheated by the hocus-pocus of Vivisectors and their deceptive anæsthetics. But an over-estimate (as it seems to me) of the importance of Parliamentary action, and certainly an under-estimate of that of the great popular propaganda whereon our hopes must ultimately rest,—a propaganda which would be paralyzed by the advocacy of half measures,—caused Mr. Coleridge and his friends to take an opposite view. After a long and, to me, heart-breaking struggle, I was finally defeated by a vote of 29 to 23, at a Council Meeting on the 9th February, 1898. The policy of Lesser Measures was adopted by the newly-christened _National Society_; and I and all the oldest members and founders of the Victoria Street Society sorrowfully withdrew from what we had proudly, but very mistakenly, called “our” Society. Amongst us were Mr. Mark Thornhill, Miss Marston, Mr. and Mrs. Adlam, Lady Mount-Temple, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Morrison, Lady Paget, Madame Van Eys, and Countess Baldelli. To all workers in the cause these names will stand as representing the very nucleus of the whole party since it began its life 23 years ago. The oldest and most faithful worker of all, Lady Camperdown, who had aided me with the first memorial in 1874, and who had attended the Committee from first to last, had risen from her death-bed to write a letter imploring the Chairman not to support the demand for Lesser Measures. She died before the decision was reached, and her touching letter, in spite of my entreaties, was not read to the Congress.

After leaving the old Society with unspeakable pain and mortification I felt it incumbent on me, while I yet had a little strength left for work and was not wholly “played out” (as I believe I was supposed to be by the new spirits at the office) to establish some centre where the only principle on which the cause can, in my opinion, be safely maintained should be permanently established, and to which I could transfer the legacy of £10,000 which then stood in my Will bequeathed unconditionally to the Committee of the National Society. My first effort was to request the Committee of the _London Anti-vivisection Society_ to give me such pledge as it was competent to afford that it would not promote any measure in Parliament short of Abolition. This pledge being formally refused, there remained for me no resource but to attempt once more in my old age to create a new Anti-Vivisection Society; and I resolved to call it THE BRITISH UNION FOR THE ABOLITION OF VIVISECTION, and to make it a Federation of Branch Societies, having its centre in Bristol where my staunch old fellow-workers had had their office for many years established and in first-rate order. I invited as many friends as seemed desirous of joining in my undertaking, to a private Conference here at Hengwrt; and I had the pleasure of receiving and entertaining them for three days while we quietly arranged the constitution of the new Union with the invaluable help of our Chairman, Mr. Norris, K.C., late one of the Justices of the Supreme Court, Calcutta.

The _British Union_ was, in the following month, (June, 1898), formally constituted at a public conference in Bristol; and it is at present working vigorously in Bristol and in its various Branches in Wales, Liverpool, York, Macclesfield, Sheffield, Yarmouth and London. All information concerning it and its special constitution (whereby the Branches will all profit by bequests to the Union) may be obtained by enquiry from either our admirable Hon. Sec., Mrs. Roscoe (Crete Hill, Westbury-on-Trym, Bristol); our zealous Secretary, Miss Baker, 20, Triangle, Bristol; or our Hon. Treasurer, John Norris, Esq., K.C., Devonshire Club, London.

To those of my readers who may desire to contribute to the Anti-Vivisection Cause, and who have shared my views on it as set forth in my numberless pamphlets and letters, and to those specially who, like myself, intend to bequeath money to carry on the war against Scientific Cruelty, I now earnestly say as my final Counsel: SUPPORT THE BRITISH UNION!

CHAPTER
XXI.
_MY HOME IN WALES._

_Hengwrt._
]

In April, 1884, my friend and I quitted London, having permanently let our house in South Kensington to Mrs. Kemble. The strain of London life had become too great for me, and advancing years and narrowed income together counselled retreat in good time. I continued then and ever since, of course, to work for the Anti-vivisection cause; but I resigned my Honorary Secretaryship, June 26th, 1884, and left the entire charge of the office and of editing the _Zoophilist_ to Mr. Bryan.[35]

A few months later I was disturbed to hear that the Hon. Stephen Coleridge (Lord Coleridge’s second son) who had always been particularly kind and considerate towards me, had started a fund to form a farewell testimonial to me from my fellow-workers. Mr. Coleridge addressed our leading members and friends in the following letter:—

“12, Ovington Gardens, S.W.,
“August, 1884.

“Sir or Madam,

“At the general meeting of the Victoria Street and International
Societies for the Total Abolition of Vivisection, on the 26th June,
Miss Frances Power Cobbe, for reasons set forth in the annual report,
gave in her resignation of the post of Honorary Secretary, and it was
accepted with deep reluctance.

“The executive committee, meeting shortly afterwards unanimously
passed a resolution to the effect that the occasion ought not to be
passed over by the Society unrecognised, and a list of subscribers to
a testimonial for Miss Cobbe has been opened. The object of this
letter is to acquaint you of these facts and to afford you the
opportunity of adding your name to the list should you desire to do
so.

“Year after year from the foundation of the Societies and before, Miss
Cobbe has fought against the practice of the torture of animals with
constant earnestness, conspicuous power, and enthusiasm born of a
noble cause.

“That testimonials are too plentiful it may perhaps be urged with
truth; but many of us who deprecate the practice of Vivisection feel
that such a life as this, of honour and devotion, were it to stand
unrecognised and unacknowledged, would mark us as entirely ungrateful.

“I remain,
“Your faithful servant,
“STEPHEN COLERIDGE.”
(Honorary Secretary and Treasurer to the fund.)

In a short space of time, I was told, a thousand pounds was collected; and it was kindly and thoughtfully expended in buying me an annuity of £100 a year. The amount of labour and trouble which all these arrangements must have cost Mr. Stephen Coleridge must have been very great indeed, and only most genuine kindness of heart and regard for me could have induced him to undertake them. I was very much startled when I heard of this gift and very unwilling to accept it, as in some degree taking away the pleasurable sense I had had of working all along gratuitously for the poor beasts, and of having sacrificed for some years nearly all my literary earnings to devote myself to their cause. My objections were over-ruled by friendly insistence, and Lord Shaftesbury presented the Testimonial to me in the following letter:—

“24, Grosvenor Square, W.,
“February 26th, 1885.

“My dear Miss Cobbe,

“The Committee of the Anti-vivisection Society, and other
contributors, have assigned to me the agreeable duty of requesting you
to do them the kindness and the honour, to accept the accompanying
Testimonial.

“It expresses, I can assure you, their deep and real sense of the vast
services you have rendered to the world, by the devotion of your time,
your talents and indefatigable zeal, to the assertion of principles
which, though primarily brought into action for the benefit and
protection of the inferior orders of the Creation, are of paramount
importance to the honour and security of the whole Human Race.

“We heartily pray that you may enjoy all health and happiness in your
retirement, which, we trust, will be but temporary. We shall
frequently ask the aid of your counsels and live in hope of your
speedy return to active exertion, in the career in which you have
laboured so vigorously, and which you so sincerely love.

“Believe me to be,
“Very truly yours,
“SHAFTESBURY.”

I acknowledged Lord Shaftesbury’s letter as follows:—

“Hengwrt, Dolgelly, N. Wales,
“February 27th.

“Dear Lord Shaftesbury,

“I find it very difficult to express to you the feelings with which I
have just read your letter, and received the noble gift which
accompanied it. You and all the good friends and fellow-workers who
have thus done me honour and kindness will have added much to the
material comfort and enjoyment of such years as may remain to me; but
you have done still more for me, by filling my heart with the happy
sense of being cared for.

“That you should estimate such work as I have been able to do so
highly as your letter expresses, while it far surpasses anything I can
myself think I have accomplished, yet makes me very proud and very
thankful to God.

“Whatever has been done by me in the way of raising up opposition to
scientific cruelty has been attained only because I had the
inestimable advantage of being supported and guided by you from first
to last, and aided step by step by the unwearied sympathy and
co-operation of my dear and generous fellow-labourers.

“These words are very inadequate to convey my thanks to you for this
gift and all your past goodness towards me, and those which I would
fain offer through you to the Committee and all the Subscribers to
this splendid Testimonial; especially to the Hon. Secretary, who has
undertaken the great trouble which the collection of it must have
involved. I can but repeat, I thank you and them with my whole heart.

“Most sincerely, dear Lord Shaftesbury, and
“Gratefully yours,
“FRANCES POWER COBBE.”

This addition to my little income made up for certain losses which I had incurred, and raised it to about its original moderate level, enabling me to share the expenses of our Welsh cottage. I was, however, of course, a poor woman, and not in a position to help my friend to live (as we both earnestly desired to do) in her larger house in Hengwrt. We made an effort to arrange it so, loving the place and enjoying the beauty of the woods and gardens exceedingly. But we knew it could not be our permanent home; and a suitable tenant having come on the field, offering to take it for a term of years which would naturally reach beyond our lives, we felt that the end of our possession was drawing near. I was very sorrowful for my own sake, and still more for that of my friend who had always had peculiar attachment to the place. I reflected painfully that if I had been only a little better off, she might not have been obliged to relinquish her proper home.

All this was occupying me much. It was a Thursday morning, and the gentleman who proposed to become the tenant of Hengwrt was to come on Monday to make a definite offer which,—once accepted,—would have been held to bind my friend.

I went downstairs into the old oak hall in the morning and opened the post-bag. Among the large packet of letters which usually awaits me there was one from a solicitor in Liverpool. I knew that my kind old friend Mrs. Yates had died the week before, and I had been informed that she had left me her residuary legatee; but I imagined her to be in narrow circumstances, and that a few hundreds would be the uttermost of my possible inheritance; not sufficient, at all events, to affect appreciably my available income. I opened the Solicitor’s letter very coolly and found myself to be,—so far as all my wants and wishes extend,—a rich woman.

The story of this legacy is a very touching one. I never saw or heard of Mrs. Yates till a few years before her death, and when she was already very aged. She began by sending large and generous donations of £50, and £80, at a time to our Society. Later, she came up from Liverpool to London when I was managing affairs without a Secretary, and, finding me at the office, she gave me a still larger donation, actually in bank-notes. She was an Unitarian, or rather a Theist, like myself; and having taken very warm interest in my books, she seemed to be drawn to me by a double sympathy, both on account of religious sympathies, and those we shared on behalf of the vivisected animals. Of course I explained to her the details of my work, and she took the warmest interest in it. After I resigned my office of Honorary Secretary, she seemed to prefer to give her principal contributions personally to me to expend for the cause according to my judgment, and twice she sent me large sums, with strictest injunction to keep her name, and even the locality of the donor, secret. I called these gifts my _Trust Fund_, and made grants from it to working allies all over the world. I also spent a great deal of it in printing large quantities of papers. Of course I began by sending her a balance sheet of my expenditure; but this she forbade me to repeat, so I could only from time to time write her long letters (copied for me by my friend as my writing taxed her sight), telling her all we were doing. At last she came to see us here in answer to our repeated invitations, but could not be persuaded to stop more than one night. Talking to me out walking, she asked me: “Would I take charge of some money she wished to leave for protection of animals _in Liverpool_?” I answered that I could not engage to do this, and begged her to entrust it (as she eventually did) to some friend resident in the place. Then she said shyly: “Well, you do not object to my leaving you something for yourself—to my making you my residuary legatee?” adding to the question some words of affection. Of course I could only press her hand and say I was grateful for her kind thought. She did it all so simply, that, being prepossessed with the idea that she was in rather narrow circumstances, and that she had already given me the savings of her lifetime in the Trust Fund, it never even occurred to me that this residuary legateeship could be an important matter, after she had provided (as she was sure to do) for all legitimate claims upon her. Nothing could exceed my astonishment when I found how large was the sum bequeathed in this unpretending way. My friend thought I must be ill from the difficulty I seem to have found in commanding my voice to tell her the strange news when she came into the hall, a quarter of an hour after I had read that epoch-making letter!

Certainly never was a great gift made with such perfect delicacy. Mrs. Yates had taken care that I should have no reason, so long as she lived, to suppose myself under any personal obligation to her. Since then, it may be believed that my heart has never ceased to cherish her memory with tender gratitude, and to associate the thought of her with all the comforts of the home which her wealth has secured for me.

Mrs. Yates, at the time I knew her, had been for thirty or forty years the widow of Mr. Richard Vaughan Yates, a Liverpool Merchant. The following obituary notice of her appeared in the _Zoophilist_, November 2nd, 1891. I may add that beside her personal legacy to me (given simply by her will to “her friend Miss Frances Power Cobbe,” without comment of any kind) Mrs. Yates gave £1,000 to the Victoria Street Society, as well as £1,000 to the Liverpool Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals; both bequests being over and above legacies to her executors, relatives and dependents:—

“OBITUARY.

“THE LATE MRS. YATES.

“The Victoria Street Society and the cause of Anti-vivisection have
lost their most generous supporter in Mrs. Richard Yates, of
Liverpool; a good and noble woman if ever there were one. Born in
humble circumstances, she was one of the truest gentlewomen who ever
lived. Her wide cultivation of mind, broadly liberal but deeply
religious spirit and sound, clear judgment, remained conspicuous even
in extreme old age. The hearts of those whom she aided in their toil
for the poor brutes, with a generosity only equalled by the delicacy
of its manifestations, will ever keep her memory in tender and
grateful respect.”

A warmly-feeling article in the _Inquirer_, October 10th, 1891, known to be by her friend and pastor, Rev. Valentine Davies, gave the following sketch of her life. It is due to her whose generosity has so brightened my later years, that my autobiography should contain some such record of her goodness and usefulness.

“MRS. RICHARD VAUGHAN YATES.

“On Thursday evening, October 1st, there passed peacefully away one
who was the last of her generation; bearing a name honoured in
Liverpool since the Rev. John Yates, in the latter part of last
century and the early years of this, ministered in Paradise Street
Chapel, and his sons took their places in the first rank of the
merchants and philanthropic citizens of the town. Anne Simpson was
born November 10th, 1805, and to the last retained happy recollections
of her childhood’s home, a simple cottage in the pleasant Cheshire
country. She married, in the midsummer of 1832, Mr. Richard Vaughan
Yates, having first spent a year (for purposes of education) in the
household of Dr. Lant Carpenter, at Bristol, of whom she always spoke
with great veneration. Richly endowed with natural grace and delicacy
of feeling, true nobility of heart, and great simplicity, sustained by
earnest religious feeling and a strong sense of duty, there was never
happier choice than this, which gave to Mrs. Yates the larger
opportunities of wealth and freedom in society. She shared her
husband’s interest in many philanthropic labours, his care for the
Harrington Schools, founded by his father, and for the Liverpool
Institute, his pleasure and his anxieties in the making of the
Prince’s Park, opened in 1849, as his gift to the town. She shared
also to the full his delight in works of art and in foreign travel.
The late Rev. Charles Wicksteed published some charming reminiscences
of one of their Italian journeys; and still more notable was that
journey through Egypt, Sinai, and Palestine, recorded by Miss Harriet
Martineau in her _Eastern Travel_.

“Since her husband’s death, in 1856, Mrs. Yates has stood bravely
alone, living very quietly, but keenly alive to all the interests of
the world, with ardent sympathy for every righteous cause, and
generous help ever ready for public needs as for private charity. No
one will ever know the full measure of her acts of kindness, her care
for the least defended, her many quiet ways of doing good. She was a
great lover of dumb creatures, and felt a passionate indignation at
every kind of cruelty. Four-footed waifs and strays often found a
pleasant refuge in her house, and for many years she was an active
worker for the local branch of the Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals. The cabmen and donkey-boys of Liverpool at their
annual suppers have long been familiar with her kindly face and
gracious word, and many a time has her intrepid protest checked an act
of cruelty in the public streets. The friend of Frances Power Cobbe,
she took a deep and painful interest in the work of the Victoria
Street Society for the Suppression of Vivisection, and sustained its
work through many years by generous gifts. Herself a solitary woman in
these later years, it was to the solitary and defenceless that her
sympathies most quickly went. She desired for women larger powers to
defend their own helplessness, to share in government for the
amelioration of society, and to share also in the world’s work. She
had a surprising energy and persistence of will in attending to her
own affairs and doing the unselfish work she had most at heart. With a
plain tenacity to the duty that was clear, she went out to the last,
whenever it was possible, to vote at every election where she had a
vote to give, and to attend meetings of a political and useful social
character. Hers was a life of great unselfishness and true humility.
Suffering most of all through sympathy with others, she longed for
more light to dissipate the darker shadows of the world. And she
herself, wherever it was possible to her patient faithfulness and
generous kindness, drove away the darkness, praying thus the best of
prayers, and making light and gladness in innumerable hearts.

“After only a few days of illness she fell asleep. A memorial service
was held on Sunday last in the Ancient Chapel of Toxteth, where for
many years she regularly worshipped. The Rev. V. D. Davis preached the
sermon, and also on the following day, at the Birkenhead Flaybrick
Hill Cemetery, spoke the words of faith at her grave.”—_Inquirer_,
October 10th.

I have erected over her last resting-place (as I learned that she disliked heavy horizontal tombstones), a large upright slab of polished red Aberdeen granite. After her name and the dates of her birth and death, Shakespeare’s singularly appropriate line is inscribed on the stone:—

“SWEET MERCY IS NOBILITY’S TRUE BADGE.”

On receiving that eventful Thursday morning the news of the unlooked-for riches which had fallen to my lot, our first act was naturally to telegraph to the would-be tenant that “another offer” (to wit mine!) “had been accepted for Hengwrt.” The miseries of house-letting and home-leaving were over for us, we trust, so long as our lives may last.

There is not much more to be told in this last chapter of my story. The expansion of life in many directions which wealth brings with it, is as easy and pleasant as the contraction of it by poverty is the reverse. Yet I have not altered the opinion I formed long ago when I became poor after my father’s death, that the importance we commonly attach to pecuniary conditions is somewhat exaggerated, (so long as a competence is left) and that other things,—for example, the possession of good walking powers, or of strong eyesight or of good hearing, not to speak of the still more precious things of the affections and spirit,—are larger elements, by far, in human happiness than that which riches contributes thereto. Of course I have been very glad of this unlooked-for wealth in my old age. I have felt, first and before all things else, the immense satisfaction of being able to help the Anti-vivisection cause in all parts of the world while I live, and to provide for some further continuance of such help after I die. And next to this I have rejoiced that the comfort and repose of our beautiful and beloved home is secured to my friend and myself.

The friendly reader who has travelled with me through the journey of my three-score years and ten, from my singularly happy childhood in my old home at Newbridge to this far bourne on the road, will now, I hope, leave me with kindly wishes for a peaceful evening, and a not-too-distant curfew bell; in this dear old house, and with my beloved friend for companion.

The photograph of Hengwrt, which will be inserted in these last pages, gives a good idea of the house itself, but can convey none of the beauty of the rivers, woods and mountains all round. No spot in the kingdom I think, not even in the lovely Lake country, unites so many elements of beauty as this part of Wales. The mountains are not very lofty,—even glorious Cader where the giant Idris, (so says the legend) sat in the rocky “chair” (_Cader_) on the summit and studied the stars,—is trifling compared to Alpine height, and a molehill to Andes and Himalayas; yet is its form, and that of all these Cambrian rocks, so majestic, and their _tilt_ so great, that no one could treat them as merely hills, or liken them to Irish mountains which resemble banks of rainclouds on the horizon. The deep, true, purple heather and the emerald-green fern robe these Welsh mountains in summer in regal splendour of colouring; and in autumn wrap them in rich russet brown cloaks. Down between every chain and ridge rush brooks, always bright and clear, and in many places leaping into lovely waterfalls. The “broad and brawling Mawddach” runs through all the valley from heights far out of sight, till, just below Hengwrt, it meets the almost equally beautiful stream of the Wnion, and the two together wind their way through the tidal estuary out into the sea at “Aber-mawddach” or “Abermaw,”—in English “Barmouth,” eight miles to the west. On both north and south of the valley and on the sides of the mountains, are woods, endless woods, of oak and larch and Scotch fir, interspersed with sycamore, wild cherry, horse-chestnut, elm, holly, and an occasional beech. Never was there a country in which were to be found growing freely and almost wild, so many different kinds of trees, creating of course the loveliest wood-scenery and variety of colouring. The oaks and elms and sycamores which grow in Hengwrt itself, are the oldest and some of the finest in this part of Wales; and here also flourish the largest laurels and rhododendrons I have ever seen anywhere. The luxuriance of their growth, towering high on each side of the avenue and in the shrubberies is a constant subject of astonishment to our visitors. The blossoms of the rhodos are sometimes twenty or twenty-five feet from the ground; and the laurels almost resemble forest trees. It has been one of my chief pleasures here to prune and clip and clear the way for these beautiful shrubs. Through the midst of them all, from one end of the place to the other, rushes the dearest little brook in the world, singing away constantly in so human a tone that over and over again I have paused in my labours of saw and clippers, and said to myself: “There _must_ be some one talking in that walk! It is a lady’s voice, too! It _can’t_ be only the brook this time!” But the brook it has always proved to be on further investigation.

Of the interior of this dear old home I shall not write now. It is interesting from its age,—one of the oak-panelled rooms contains a bed placed there at the dissolution of the neighbouring monastery of Cymmer Abbey,—but it is not in the least a gloomy house; altogether the reverse. The drawing-room commands a view to right and left of almost the whole valley of the Mawddach for nine or ten miles; and just opposite lies the pretty village of Llanelltyd, at the foot of the wooded hills which rise up behind it to the heights of Moel Ispry and Cefn Cam. It is a panorama of splendid scenery, not darkening the room, but making one side of it into a great picture full of exquisite details of old stone bridge and ruined abbey, rivers, woods, and rocks.

Among the objects in that wide view, and also in the still more extensive one from my bedroom above, is the little ivy-covered church of Llanelltyd; and below it a bit of ground sloping to the westering sun, dotted over with grey and white stones where “the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep,” together with a few others who have been our friends and neighbours. There, in that quiet enclosure, will, in all probability, be the bourne of my long journey of life, with a grey headstone for the “_Finis_” of the last chapter of the Book which I have first lived, and now have written.

I hope that the reader, who perhaps may drive some day along the road below, in the enjoyment of an autumn holiday in this lovely land, will cast a glance upon that churchyard, and give a kindly thought to me when I have gone to rest.

* * * * *

September, 1898.

The grey granite stone is standing already in Llanelltyd burying ground, though my place beneath it still waits for me. The friend who made my life so happy when I wrote the last pages of this book, and who had then done so for thirty-four blessed years,—lies there, under the rose trees and the mignonette; alone, till I may be laid beside her.

It would be some poor comfort to me in my loneliness to write here some little account of Mary Charlotte Lloyd, and to describe her keen, highly-cultivated intellect, her quick sense of humour, her gifts as sculptor and painter (the pupil and friend of John Gibson and of Rosa Bonheur); her practical ability and strict justice in the administration of her estate; above all to speak of her character, “cast”—as one who knew her from childhood said,—“in an heroic mould,” of fortitude and loftiness; her absolute unselfishness in all things large and small. But the reticence which belonged to the greatness of her nature made her always refuse to allow me to lead her into the more public life whereto my work necessarily brought me, and in her last sacred directions she forbids me to commemorate her by any written record. Only, then, in the hearts of the few who really knew her must her noble memory live.

I wrote the following lines to her some twenty-five years ago when spending a few days away from her and our home in London. I found them again after her death among her papers. They have a doubled meaning for me now, when the time has come for me to need her most of all.

TO MARY C. LLOYD.

_Written in Hartley Combe, Liss, about 1873._

Friend of my life! Whene’er my eyes
Beat with sudden, glad surprise
On Nature’s scenes of earth and air
Sublimely grand, or sweetly fair,
I want you—Mary.

When men and women, gifted, free,
Speak their fresh thoughts ungrudgingly,
And springing forth, each kindling mind
Streams like a meteor in the wind,
I want you—Mary.

When soft the summer evenings close,
And crimson in the sunset rose,
Our Cader glows, majestic, grand,
The crown of all your lovely land,
I want you—Mary.

And when the winter nights come round,
To our “ain fireside,” cheerly bound,
With our dear Rembrandt Girl, so brown,
Smiling serenely on us down,
I want you—Mary.

_Now_,—while the vigorous pulses leap
Still strong within my spirit’s deep,
_Now_, while my yet unwearied brain
Weaves its thick web of thoughts amain,
I want you—Mary.

_Hereafter_, when slow ebbs the tide,
And age drains out my strength and pride,
And dim-grown eyes and trembling hand
No longer list my soul’s command,
I’ll want you—Mary.

In joy and grief, in good and ill,
Friend of my heart! I need you still;
My Playmate, Friend, Companion, Love,
To dwell with here, to clasp above,
I want you—Mary.

For O! if past the gates of Death
To me the Unseen openeth
Immortal joys to angels given,
Upon the holy heights of Heaven
I’ll want you—Mary!

* * * * *

God has given me two priceless benedictions in life;—in my youth a perfect Mother; in my later years, a perfect Friend. No other gifts, had I possessed them, Genius, or beauty, or fame, or the wealth of the Indies, would have been worthy to compare with the joy of those affections. To live in companionship, almost unbroken by separation and never marred by a doubt or a rough word, with a mind in whose workings my own found inexhaustible interest, and my heart its rest; a friend who knew me better than any one beside could ever know me, and yet,—strange to think!—could love me better than any other,—this was happiness for which, even now that it is over, I thank God from the depths of my soul. I thank Him that I have _had_ such a Friend. And I thank Him that she died without prolonged suffering or distress, with her head resting on my breast and her hand pressing mine; calm and courageous to the last. Her old physician said when all was over: “I have seen many, a _great_ many, men and women die; but I never saw one die so bravely.”

It has been possible for me through the kindness of my friend’s sister, to whom Hengwrt now belongs, to obtain for my remaining months or years a lease of this dear old house and beautiful grounds; and my winters of entire solitude, and summers, when a few friends and relations gather round me, glide rapidly away. I am still struggling on, as my friend bade me (literally with her dying breath), working for the cause of the science-tortured brutes, and I have even spoken again in public, and written many pamphlets and letters for the press. I hope, as Tennyson told me to do, to “fight the good fight” quite to the end. But there is a price which every aged heart perforce must pay for the long enjoyment of one soul-satisfying affection. When that affection is lost, it must be evermore lonely.

* * * * *

INDEX

A

Abengo, 243

Adams, Mr., 670

Adelsburg, Cave of, 265

Adlam, Mr. and Mrs., 661

Airlie, Lord, 639

Aitken, Mary Carlyle, 539

Ajalon, Valley of, 243

Aldobrandini, 623

Alexandria, 229

Alfort, 620

Alger, Rev. W., 499

Allbut, Dr. Clifford, 600

Allen, Mrs. Fairchild, 662

“Alone, to the Alone,” 408

American Visitors, 499

Amos, Sheldon, 461, 657

Amphlett, Mr. Justice, 593

Amsterdam, 670

Ansano, 376

Apennines, 268, 375

Appleton, Dr., 373, 624

Apthorp, Mr. and Mrs., 225, 269, 499

Archer, Mrs., 337

Archibald, Mr. Justice, 593

Ardgillan, 12, 197

Argaum, 20, 210

Armstrong, Rev. R., 421

Arnold, Mr. Arthur, 430, 436
Mrs., 679

Arnold, Sir Edwin, 629

Arnold, Matthew, 180, 390, 469, 486, 497

Arnold, Dr., 672

Ashburton, Lord, 7

Assaye, 20, 210

Assisi, 365

Athens, 254, 256

Ayrton, Mr., 464

d’Azeglio, Massimo, 365, 369, 395, 444

B

Baalbec, 243, 246, 248

Babbage, Mr., 458, 559

Bacon, 94

Bagehot, Mr., 468

Baldelli, Countess of, 661

Balfour, J. H., 625

Ballard, Mrs. Laura Curtis, 592

Balisk, 137, 144, 147, 156

Barbauld, Mrs., 37

Barmouth, 706

Barnum, 565

Barry, Bishop, 671

Baths (Introduction of into England), 169

Bath, 16, 20, 24, 40, 682

Bath and Wells, Bishop of, 629

Bathurst, Miss, 275

Beard, Rev. C., 421, 524

Becker, Miss, 586

Beddoe, Mrs., 607

Beddoe, Dr. John, 607

Bell, Sir C., 538

Bell, Mr. E., 661, 677

Belloc, Madame, 586

Bellosguardo, 269, 375

Bennett, Sir Sterndale, 532

Bentley, Mr., 575–576

Berchet, 66

Berdoe, Dr., 671, 672, 681

Beresford, Marcus, Primate of Ireland, 11, 629

Beresford, Lady, 11

Beresford, Sir Tristram, 11

Berkeley, Bishop, 19

Berlin, 661

Bernard, Claude, 637, 676

Bert, Paul, 676

Bethany, 243

Bethlehem, 236

Bewick, 179

Beyrout, 243, 250

Bhagvat-Gita, 495

Biedermann, Rev. W. and Mrs., 269

Bilson, Bishop, 7

Bishop, Mr., 379

Bishop, Mrs., 496

Blackburn, Justice, 593

Black Forest, (Poem composed in), 270

Blagden, Miss, 269, 352, 375, 376, 622

Blunt, Rev. Gerard, 629

Bodichon, Madame, 171, 466, 577, 638

Boehmen, Jacob, 17

Bologna, 365

Bombay Parsee Society, 421

Bonheur, Rosa, 393, _seq._, 708

Bonaparte, Prince Lucien, 635, 657

Borrow, George, 479, _seq._

Boston, 113

Bost, M. Theodore, 496

Botticelli, 225

Bowie, Dr., 672

Bowen, Lord Justice, 383

Bowring, Sir John, 480

Boxall, Sir W., 560, _seq._

Brabant, Dr., 352

Brahmos of Bengal, 491

Bramwell, Baron, 593

Bray, Mr. and Mrs., 92

Bright, John, 461, 589, 629

Bright, Mrs. Jacob, 587

Brighton, 57

Bristol, 57, chapter x. 617

British Union, 691

“Broken Lights,” 400

Brooke, Stopford, 93

Brookfield, Mrs., 478

Brown, Baldwin, 660

Brown, Dr. J., 9, 224

Browne, Mrs. Woolcott, 360

Browning, Robert and Mrs., 263, 269, 365, 374, 378, _seq._, 457, 466,
556, 575, 577, 629

Brunton, Dr. Lauder, 626

Bryan, Mr., 672, 680, 695

Bryant, Miss, 679

Buckley, Mrs., 308

Burleigh, Celia, 592

Bunsen, 365

Bunting, Mr., 421, 595

Burntisland, 387

Bute, Marquis of, 653, 679

Butler, Mrs. J., 577

Buxton, Mr., 461

Byfleet, 471, 446

Byron, 257, 258, 383, 475, 616

Byron, Lady, 275, 291, 475, _seq._