If a stranger to the foldOf happy innocents, where thou art one,May so address thee by a name he loves,Both for a mother's and a sister's sake,And surely loves it not the less for thine.Dear Sarah, strange it needs must seem to theeThat I should choose the quaint disguise of verse,And, like a mimic masquer, come before theeTo tell my simple tale of country news,Or,—sooth to tell thee,—I have nought to tellBut what a most intelligencing gossipWould hardly mention on her morning rounds:Things that a newspaper would not recordIn the dead-blank recess of Parliament.Yet so it is,—my thoughts are so confused,My memory is so wild a wilderness,I need the order of the measured lineTo help me, whensoe'er I would attemptTo methodise the random noticesOf purblind observation. Easier farThe minuet step of slippery sliding verse,Than the strong stately walk of steadfast prose.Since you have left us, many a beauteous changeHath Nature wrought on the eternal hills;And not an hour hath past that hath not doneIts work of beauty. When December winds,Hungry and fell, were chasing the dry leaves,Shrill o'er the valley at the dead of night,'Twas sweet, for watchers such as I, to markHow bright, how very bright, the stars would shineThrough the deep rifts of congregated clouds;How very distant seemed the azure sky;And when at morn the lazy, weeping fog,Long lingering, loath to leave the slumbrous lake,Whitened, diffusive, as the rising sunShed on the western hills his rosiest beams,I thought of thee, and thought our peaceful valeHad lost one heart that could have felt its peace,One eye that saw its beauties, and one soulThat made its peace and beauty all her own.One morn there was a kindly boon of heaven,That made the leafless woods so beautiful,It was sore pity that one spirit lives,That owns the presence of Eternal GodIn all the world of Nature and of Mind,Who did not see it. Low the vapour hungOn the flat fields, and streak'd with level layersThe lower regions of the mountainous round;But every summit, and the lovely lineOf mountain tops, stood in the pale blue skyBoldly defined. The cloudless sun dispelledThe hazy masses, and a lucid veilBut softened every charm it not concealed.Then every tree that climbs the steep fell-side—Young oak, yet laden with sere foliage;Larch, springing upwards, with its spikey topAnd spiney garb of horizontal boughs;The veteran ash, strong-knotted, wreathed and twined,As if some Dæmon dwelt within its trunk,And shot forth branches, serpent-like; uprear'dThe holly and the yew, that never fadeAnd never smile; these, and whate'er beside,Or stubborn stump, or thin-arm'd underwood,Clothe the bleak strong girth of Silverhow(You know the place, and every stream and brookIs known to you) by ministry of Frost,Were turned to shapes of Orient adamant,As if the whitest crystals, new endow'dWith vital or with vegetative power,Had burst from earth, to mimic every formOf curious beauty that the earth could boast,Or, like a tossing sea of curly plumes,Frozen in an instant——"
If a stranger to the foldOf happy innocents, where thou art one,May so address thee by a name he loves,Both for a mother's and a sister's sake,And surely loves it not the less for thine.Dear Sarah, strange it needs must seem to theeThat I should choose the quaint disguise of verse,And, like a mimic masquer, come before theeTo tell my simple tale of country news,Or,—sooth to tell thee,—I have nought to tellBut what a most intelligencing gossipWould hardly mention on her morning rounds:Things that a newspaper would not recordIn the dead-blank recess of Parliament.Yet so it is,—my thoughts are so confused,My memory is so wild a wilderness,I need the order of the measured lineTo help me, whensoe'er I would attemptTo methodise the random noticesOf purblind observation. Easier farThe minuet step of slippery sliding verse,Than the strong stately walk of steadfast prose.Since you have left us, many a beauteous changeHath Nature wrought on the eternal hills;And not an hour hath past that hath not doneIts work of beauty. When December winds,Hungry and fell, were chasing the dry leaves,Shrill o'er the valley at the dead of night,'Twas sweet, for watchers such as I, to markHow bright, how very bright, the stars would shineThrough the deep rifts of congregated clouds;How very distant seemed the azure sky;And when at morn the lazy, weeping fog,Long lingering, loath to leave the slumbrous lake,Whitened, diffusive, as the rising sunShed on the western hills his rosiest beams,I thought of thee, and thought our peaceful valeHad lost one heart that could have felt its peace,One eye that saw its beauties, and one soulThat made its peace and beauty all her own.One morn there was a kindly boon of heaven,That made the leafless woods so beautiful,It was sore pity that one spirit lives,That owns the presence of Eternal GodIn all the world of Nature and of Mind,Who did not see it. Low the vapour hungOn the flat fields, and streak'd with level layersThe lower regions of the mountainous round;But every summit, and the lovely lineOf mountain tops, stood in the pale blue skyBoldly defined. The cloudless sun dispelledThe hazy masses, and a lucid veilBut softened every charm it not concealed.Then every tree that climbs the steep fell-side—Young oak, yet laden with sere foliage;Larch, springing upwards, with its spikey topAnd spiney garb of horizontal boughs;The veteran ash, strong-knotted, wreathed and twined,As if some Dæmon dwelt within its trunk,And shot forth branches, serpent-like; uprear'dThe holly and the yew, that never fadeAnd never smile; these, and whate'er beside,Or stubborn stump, or thin-arm'd underwood,Clothe the bleak strong girth of Silverhow(You know the place, and every stream and brookIs known to you) by ministry of Frost,Were turned to shapes of Orient adamant,As if the whitest crystals, new endow'dWith vital or with vegetative power,Had burst from earth, to mimic every formOf curious beauty that the earth could boast,Or, like a tossing sea of curly plumes,Frozen in an instant——"
If a stranger to the foldOf happy innocents, where thou art one,May so address thee by a name he loves,Both for a mother's and a sister's sake,And surely loves it not the less for thine.Dear Sarah, strange it needs must seem to theeThat I should choose the quaint disguise of verse,And, like a mimic masquer, come before theeTo tell my simple tale of country news,Or,—sooth to tell thee,—I have nought to tellBut what a most intelligencing gossipWould hardly mention on her morning rounds:Things that a newspaper would not recordIn the dead-blank recess of Parliament.Yet so it is,—my thoughts are so confused,My memory is so wild a wilderness,I need the order of the measured lineTo help me, whensoe'er I would attemptTo methodise the random noticesOf purblind observation. Easier farThe minuet step of slippery sliding verse,Than the strong stately walk of steadfast prose.
If a stranger to the fold
Of happy innocents, where thou art one,
May so address thee by a name he loves,
Both for a mother's and a sister's sake,
And surely loves it not the less for thine.
Dear Sarah, strange it needs must seem to thee
That I should choose the quaint disguise of verse,
And, like a mimic masquer, come before thee
To tell my simple tale of country news,
Or,—sooth to tell thee,—I have nought to tell
But what a most intelligencing gossip
Would hardly mention on her morning rounds:
Things that a newspaper would not record
In the dead-blank recess of Parliament.
Yet so it is,—my thoughts are so confused,
My memory is so wild a wilderness,
I need the order of the measured line
To help me, whensoe'er I would attempt
To methodise the random notices
Of purblind observation. Easier far
The minuet step of slippery sliding verse,
Than the strong stately walk of steadfast prose.
Since you have left us, many a beauteous changeHath Nature wrought on the eternal hills;And not an hour hath past that hath not doneIts work of beauty. When December winds,Hungry and fell, were chasing the dry leaves,Shrill o'er the valley at the dead of night,'Twas sweet, for watchers such as I, to markHow bright, how very bright, the stars would shineThrough the deep rifts of congregated clouds;How very distant seemed the azure sky;And when at morn the lazy, weeping fog,Long lingering, loath to leave the slumbrous lake,Whitened, diffusive, as the rising sunShed on the western hills his rosiest beams,I thought of thee, and thought our peaceful valeHad lost one heart that could have felt its peace,One eye that saw its beauties, and one soulThat made its peace and beauty all her own.
Since you have left us, many a beauteous change
Hath Nature wrought on the eternal hills;
And not an hour hath past that hath not done
Its work of beauty. When December winds,
Hungry and fell, were chasing the dry leaves,
Shrill o'er the valley at the dead of night,
'Twas sweet, for watchers such as I, to mark
How bright, how very bright, the stars would shine
Through the deep rifts of congregated clouds;
How very distant seemed the azure sky;
And when at morn the lazy, weeping fog,
Long lingering, loath to leave the slumbrous lake,
Whitened, diffusive, as the rising sun
Shed on the western hills his rosiest beams,
I thought of thee, and thought our peaceful vale
Had lost one heart that could have felt its peace,
One eye that saw its beauties, and one soul
That made its peace and beauty all her own.
One morn there was a kindly boon of heaven,That made the leafless woods so beautiful,It was sore pity that one spirit lives,That owns the presence of Eternal GodIn all the world of Nature and of Mind,Who did not see it. Low the vapour hungOn the flat fields, and streak'd with level layersThe lower regions of the mountainous round;But every summit, and the lovely lineOf mountain tops, stood in the pale blue skyBoldly defined. The cloudless sun dispelledThe hazy masses, and a lucid veilBut softened every charm it not concealed.Then every tree that climbs the steep fell-side—Young oak, yet laden with sere foliage;Larch, springing upwards, with its spikey topAnd spiney garb of horizontal boughs;The veteran ash, strong-knotted, wreathed and twined,As if some Dæmon dwelt within its trunk,And shot forth branches, serpent-like; uprear'dThe holly and the yew, that never fadeAnd never smile; these, and whate'er beside,Or stubborn stump, or thin-arm'd underwood,Clothe the bleak strong girth of Silverhow(You know the place, and every stream and brookIs known to you) by ministry of Frost,Were turned to shapes of Orient adamant,As if the whitest crystals, new endow'dWith vital or with vegetative power,Had burst from earth, to mimic every formOf curious beauty that the earth could boast,Or, like a tossing sea of curly plumes,Frozen in an instant——"
One morn there was a kindly boon of heaven,
That made the leafless woods so beautiful,
It was sore pity that one spirit lives,
That owns the presence of Eternal God
In all the world of Nature and of Mind,
Who did not see it. Low the vapour hung
On the flat fields, and streak'd with level layers
The lower regions of the mountainous round;
But every summit, and the lovely line
Of mountain tops, stood in the pale blue sky
Boldly defined. The cloudless sun dispelled
The hazy masses, and a lucid veil
But softened every charm it not concealed.
Then every tree that climbs the steep fell-side—
Young oak, yet laden with sere foliage;
Larch, springing upwards, with its spikey top
And spiney garb of horizontal boughs;
The veteran ash, strong-knotted, wreathed and twined,
As if some Dæmon dwelt within its trunk,
And shot forth branches, serpent-like; uprear'd
The holly and the yew, that never fade
And never smile; these, and whate'er beside,
Or stubborn stump, or thin-arm'd underwood,
Clothe the bleak strong girth of Silverhow
(You know the place, and every stream and brook
Is known to you) by ministry of Frost,
Were turned to shapes of Orient adamant,
As if the whitest crystals, new endow'd
With vital or with vegetative power,
Had burst from earth, to mimic every form
Of curious beauty that the earth could boast,
Or, like a tossing sea of curly plumes,
Frozen in an instant——"
"So much for verse, which, being execrably bad, cannot be excused, except by friendship, therefore is the fitter for a friendly epistle. There's logic for you! In fact, my dear lady, I am so much delighted, not to say flattered, by your wish that I should write to you, that I can't help being rather silly. It will be a sad loss to me when your excellent mother leaves Grasmere; and to-morrow my friend Archer and I dine at Dale End, for our farewell. But so it must be. I am always happy to hear anything of your little ones, who are such very sweet creatures that one might almost think it a pity they should ever grow up to be big women, and know only better than they do now. Among all the anecdotes of childhood that have been recorded, I never heard of one so characteristic as Jenny-Kitty's wish to inform Lord Dunstanville of the miseries of the negroes. Bless its little soul! I am truly sorry to hear that you have been suffering bodily illness, though I know that it cannot disturb the serenity of your mind. I hope little Derwent did not disturb you with his crown; I am told he is a lovely little wretch, and you say he has eyes like mine.I hope he will see his way better with them. Derwent has never answered my letter, but I complain not; I dare say he has more than enough to do.[3]Thank you kindly for your kindness to him and his lady. I hope the friendship of Friends will not obstruct his rising in the Church, and that he will consult his own interest prudently, paying court to the powers that be, yet never so far committing himself as to miss an opportunity of ingratiating himself with the powers that may be. Let him not utter, far less write, any sentence that will not bear a twofold interpretation! For the present let his liberality go no further than a very liberal explanation of the words consistency and gratitude may carry him; let him always be honest when it is his interest to be so, and sometimes when it may appear not to be so; and never be a knave under a deanery or a rectory of five thousand a year! My best remembrances to your husband, and kisses for Juliet and Jenny-Kitty, though she didsay she liked Mr. Barber far better than me. I can't say I agree with her in that particular, having a weak partiality forYour affectionate friend,Hartley Coleridge."
"So much for verse, which, being execrably bad, cannot be excused, except by friendship, therefore is the fitter for a friendly epistle. There's logic for you! In fact, my dear lady, I am so much delighted, not to say flattered, by your wish that I should write to you, that I can't help being rather silly. It will be a sad loss to me when your excellent mother leaves Grasmere; and to-morrow my friend Archer and I dine at Dale End, for our farewell. But so it must be. I am always happy to hear anything of your little ones, who are such very sweet creatures that one might almost think it a pity they should ever grow up to be big women, and know only better than they do now. Among all the anecdotes of childhood that have been recorded, I never heard of one so characteristic as Jenny-Kitty's wish to inform Lord Dunstanville of the miseries of the negroes. Bless its little soul! I am truly sorry to hear that you have been suffering bodily illness, though I know that it cannot disturb the serenity of your mind. I hope little Derwent did not disturb you with his crown; I am told he is a lovely little wretch, and you say he has eyes like mine.I hope he will see his way better with them. Derwent has never answered my letter, but I complain not; I dare say he has more than enough to do.[3]Thank you kindly for your kindness to him and his lady. I hope the friendship of Friends will not obstruct his rising in the Church, and that he will consult his own interest prudently, paying court to the powers that be, yet never so far committing himself as to miss an opportunity of ingratiating himself with the powers that may be. Let him not utter, far less write, any sentence that will not bear a twofold interpretation! For the present let his liberality go no further than a very liberal explanation of the words consistency and gratitude may carry him; let him always be honest when it is his interest to be so, and sometimes when it may appear not to be so; and never be a knave under a deanery or a rectory of five thousand a year! My best remembrances to your husband, and kisses for Juliet and Jenny-Kitty, though she didsay she liked Mr. Barber far better than me. I can't say I agree with her in that particular, having a weak partiality for
Your affectionate friend,
Hartley Coleridge."
Another friend of the Fox family was the late John Bright, and the following letter to the now well-known Caroline Fox of Penjerrick will be read with interest:—
Torquay, 10mo. 13, 1868."My dear Friend,I hope the 'one cloud' has passed away. I was much pleased with the earnestness and feeling of the poem, and wished to ask thee for a copy of it, but was afraid to give thee the trouble of writing it out for me."For myself, I have endeavoured only to speak when I have had something to say which it seemed to me ought to be said, and I did not feel that the sentiment of the poem condemned me."We had a pleasant visit to KynanceCove. It is a charming place, and we were delighted with it. We went on through Helston to Penzance: the day following we visited the Logan Rock and the Land's End, and in the afternoon the celebrated Mount—the weather all we could wish for. We were greatly pleased with the Mount, and I shall not read 'Lycidas' with less interest now that I have seen the place of the 'great vision.' We found the hotel to which you kindly directed us perfect in all respects. On Friday we came from Penzance to Truro, and posted to St. Columb, where we spent a night at Mr. Northy's—the day and night were very wet. Next day we posted to Tintagel, and back to Launceston, taking the train there for Torquay."We were pressed for time at Tintagel, but were pleased with what we saw."Here, we are in a land of beauty and of summer, the beauty beyond my expectation, and the climate like that of Nice. Yesterday we drove round to see the sights, and W. Pengelly and Mr. Vivian went with us to Kent's Cavern, Anstey's Cove, and the round of exquisite views. We are at Cash's Hotel, but visit our friend Susan Midgley in theday and evening. To-morrow we start for Street, to stay a day or two with my daughter Helen, and are to spend Sunday at Bath. We have seen much and enjoyed much in our excursion, but we shall remember nothing with more pleasure than your kindness and our stay at Penjerrick."Elizabeth joins me in kind and affectionate remembrance of you, and in the hope that thy dear father did not suffer from the 'long hours' to which my talk subjected him. When we get back to our bleak region and home of cold and smoke, we shall often think of your pleasant retreat, and of the wonderful gardens at Penjerrick.Believe me,Always sincerely thy friend,John Bright."ToCaroline Fox,Penjerrick, Falmouth.
Torquay, 10mo. 13, 1868.
"My dear Friend,
I hope the 'one cloud' has passed away. I was much pleased with the earnestness and feeling of the poem, and wished to ask thee for a copy of it, but was afraid to give thee the trouble of writing it out for me.
"For myself, I have endeavoured only to speak when I have had something to say which it seemed to me ought to be said, and I did not feel that the sentiment of the poem condemned me.
"We had a pleasant visit to KynanceCove. It is a charming place, and we were delighted with it. We went on through Helston to Penzance: the day following we visited the Logan Rock and the Land's End, and in the afternoon the celebrated Mount—the weather all we could wish for. We were greatly pleased with the Mount, and I shall not read 'Lycidas' with less interest now that I have seen the place of the 'great vision.' We found the hotel to which you kindly directed us perfect in all respects. On Friday we came from Penzance to Truro, and posted to St. Columb, where we spent a night at Mr. Northy's—the day and night were very wet. Next day we posted to Tintagel, and back to Launceston, taking the train there for Torquay.
"We were pressed for time at Tintagel, but were pleased with what we saw.
"Here, we are in a land of beauty and of summer, the beauty beyond my expectation, and the climate like that of Nice. Yesterday we drove round to see the sights, and W. Pengelly and Mr. Vivian went with us to Kent's Cavern, Anstey's Cove, and the round of exquisite views. We are at Cash's Hotel, but visit our friend Susan Midgley in theday and evening. To-morrow we start for Street, to stay a day or two with my daughter Helen, and are to spend Sunday at Bath. We have seen much and enjoyed much in our excursion, but we shall remember nothing with more pleasure than your kindness and our stay at Penjerrick.
"Elizabeth joins me in kind and affectionate remembrance of you, and in the hope that thy dear father did not suffer from the 'long hours' to which my talk subjected him. When we get back to our bleak region and home of cold and smoke, we shall often think of your pleasant retreat, and of the wonderful gardens at Penjerrick.
Believe me,
Always sincerely thy friend,
John Bright."
ToCaroline Fox,Penjerrick, Falmouth.
There are few men whose every uttered word is regarded with greater respect and interest than Mr. Ruskin. It is well known that he has alwaysbeen a wide and careful collector of minerals, gems, and fine specimens of the art and nature world. One of his various agents, through whom at one time he made many such purchases, both for himself and his Oxford and Sheffield museums, was Mr. Bryce Wright, the mineralogist, and to him are addressed the following five letters:—
Brantwood, Coniston, Lancashire,22nd May '81."My dear Wright,I am very greatly obliged to you for letting me see these opals, quite unexampled, as you rightly say, from that locality—but from that localityInever buy—my kind is the opal formed in pores and cavities, throughout the mass of that compact brown jasper—this, which is merely a superficial crust of jelly on the surface of a nasty brown sandstone, I do not myself value in the least. I wish you could get at some of the geologyof the two sorts, but I suppose everything is kept close by the diggers and the Jews at present."As for the cameos, the best of the two, 'supposed' (by whom?) to represent Isis, represents neither Egyptian nor Oxonian Isis, but only an ill-made French woman of the town bathing at Boulogne, and the other is only a 'Minerve' of the Halles, apetroleusein a mob-cap, sulphur-fire colour."I don't depreciate what I want to buy, as you know well, but it is not safe to send me things in the set way 'supposed' to be this or that! If you ever get any more nice little cranes, or cockatoos, looking like what they're supposed to be meant for, they shall at least be returned with compliments."I send back the box by to-day's rail; put down all expenses to my account, as I am always amused and interested by a parcel from you."You needn't print this letter as an advertisement, unless you like!Ever faithfully yours,J. Ruskin."
Brantwood, Coniston, Lancashire,
22nd May '81.
"My dear Wright,
I am very greatly obliged to you for letting me see these opals, quite unexampled, as you rightly say, from that locality—but from that localityInever buy—my kind is the opal formed in pores and cavities, throughout the mass of that compact brown jasper—this, which is merely a superficial crust of jelly on the surface of a nasty brown sandstone, I do not myself value in the least. I wish you could get at some of the geologyof the two sorts, but I suppose everything is kept close by the diggers and the Jews at present.
"As for the cameos, the best of the two, 'supposed' (by whom?) to represent Isis, represents neither Egyptian nor Oxonian Isis, but only an ill-made French woman of the town bathing at Boulogne, and the other is only a 'Minerve' of the Halles, apetroleusein a mob-cap, sulphur-fire colour.
"I don't depreciate what I want to buy, as you know well, but it is not safe to send me things in the set way 'supposed' to be this or that! If you ever get any more nice little cranes, or cockatoos, looking like what they're supposed to be meant for, they shall at least be returned with compliments.
"I send back the box by to-day's rail; put down all expenses to my account, as I am always amused and interested by a parcel from you.
"You needn't print this letter as an advertisement, unless you like!
Ever faithfully yours,
J. Ruskin."
Brantwood, 23rd May."My dear Wright,The silver's safe here, and I want to buy it for Sheffield, but the price seems to me awful. It must always be attached to it at the museum, and I fear great displeasure from the public for giving you such a price. What is there in the specimen to make it so valuable? I have not anything like it, nor do I recollect its like (or I shouldn't want it), but if so rare, why does not the British Museum take it.Ever truly yours,J. Ruskin."Brantwood,Wednesday."My dear Wright,I am very glad of your long and interesting letter, and can perfectly understand all your difficulties, and have always observed your activity and attention to your business with much sympathy, but of late certainly I have been frightened at your prices, and, before I saw the golds, was ratheruneasy at having so soon to pay for them. But you are quite right in your estimate of the interest and value of the collection, and I hope to be able to be of considerable service to you yet, though I fear it cannot be in buying specimens at seventy guineas, unless there is something to be shown for the money, like that great native silver!"I have really not been able to examine the red ones yet—the golds alone were more than I could judge of till I got a quiet hour this morning. I might possibly offer to change some of the locally interesting ones for a proustite, but I can't afford any more cash just now.Ever very heartily yours,J. Ruskin."Brantwood,3rd Nov. or4th (?), Friday."Dear Wright,My telegram will, I hope, enable you to act with promptness about the golds, which will be of extreme value to me; andits short saying about the proustites will, I hope, not be construed by you as meaning that I will buy them also. You don't really suppose that you are to be paid interest of money on minerals, merely because they have lain long in your hands."If I sold my old arm-chair, which has got the rickets, would you expect the purchaser to pay me forty years' interest on the original price? Your proustite may perhaps be as good as ever it was, but it is not worth more to me or Sheffield because you have had either the enjoyment or the care of it longer than you expected!"But I am really very seriously obliged by thesightof it, with the others, and perhaps may make an effort to lump some of the new ones with the gold in an estimate of large purchase. I think the gold, by your description, must be a great credit to Sheffield and to me; perhaps I mayn't be able to part with it!Ever faithfully yours,J. Ruskin."Herne Hill, S.E., 6May'84."My dear Bryce,I can't resist this tourmaline, and have carried it off with me. For you and Regent Street it's not monstrous in price neither; but I must send you back your (pink!) apatite. I wish I'd come to see you, but have been laid up all the time I've been here—just got to the pictures, and that's all.Yours always,(much to my damage!)J. R."
Brantwood, 23rd May.
"My dear Wright,
The silver's safe here, and I want to buy it for Sheffield, but the price seems to me awful. It must always be attached to it at the museum, and I fear great displeasure from the public for giving you such a price. What is there in the specimen to make it so valuable? I have not anything like it, nor do I recollect its like (or I shouldn't want it), but if so rare, why does not the British Museum take it.
Ever truly yours,
J. Ruskin."
Brantwood,Wednesday.
"My dear Wright,
I am very glad of your long and interesting letter, and can perfectly understand all your difficulties, and have always observed your activity and attention to your business with much sympathy, but of late certainly I have been frightened at your prices, and, before I saw the golds, was ratheruneasy at having so soon to pay for them. But you are quite right in your estimate of the interest and value of the collection, and I hope to be able to be of considerable service to you yet, though I fear it cannot be in buying specimens at seventy guineas, unless there is something to be shown for the money, like that great native silver!
"I have really not been able to examine the red ones yet—the golds alone were more than I could judge of till I got a quiet hour this morning. I might possibly offer to change some of the locally interesting ones for a proustite, but I can't afford any more cash just now.
Ever very heartily yours,
J. Ruskin."
Brantwood,
3rd Nov. or4th (?), Friday.
"Dear Wright,
My telegram will, I hope, enable you to act with promptness about the golds, which will be of extreme value to me; andits short saying about the proustites will, I hope, not be construed by you as meaning that I will buy them also. You don't really suppose that you are to be paid interest of money on minerals, merely because they have lain long in your hands.
"If I sold my old arm-chair, which has got the rickets, would you expect the purchaser to pay me forty years' interest on the original price? Your proustite may perhaps be as good as ever it was, but it is not worth more to me or Sheffield because you have had either the enjoyment or the care of it longer than you expected!
"But I am really very seriously obliged by thesightof it, with the others, and perhaps may make an effort to lump some of the new ones with the gold in an estimate of large purchase. I think the gold, by your description, must be a great credit to Sheffield and to me; perhaps I mayn't be able to part with it!
Ever faithfully yours,
J. Ruskin."
Herne Hill, S.E., 6May'84.
"My dear Bryce,
I can't resist this tourmaline, and have carried it off with me. For you and Regent Street it's not monstrous in price neither; but I must send you back your (pink!) apatite. I wish I'd come to see you, but have been laid up all the time I've been here—just got to the pictures, and that's all.
Yours always,
(much to my damage!)
J. R."
[2]"Life of Sir T. FitzJames Stephen," by his Brother, Leslie Stephen. Smith, Elder & Co., 1895.[3]The Rev. Derwent Coleridge was at the time keeping a school at Helston, which was within an easy distance of Perran, where Mrs. Fox was at this time living.
[2]"Life of Sir T. FitzJames Stephen," by his Brother, Leslie Stephen. Smith, Elder & Co., 1895.
[3]The Rev. Derwent Coleridge was at the time keeping a school at Helston, which was within an easy distance of Perran, where Mrs. Fox was at this time living.
HeaderChat No. 15."Scarcely she knew, that she was great or fair,Or wise beyond what other women are."—Dryden.
Header
"Scarcely she knew, that she was great or fair,Or wise beyond what other women are."
"Scarcely she knew, that she was great or fair,Or wise beyond what other women are."
"Scarcely she knew, that she was great or fair,
Or wise beyond what other women are."
—Dryden.
Letter
Anoval picture that hangs opposite Sheridan's portrait is a fine presentment of the Marquis de Ségur, by Vanloo.
The Marquis was born in 1724, and eventually became a marshal of France, and minister of war to Louis XVI. After his royal master's execution he fell into very low water, and it was only by his calm intrepidity in very tryingcircumstances that he escaped the guillotine. His memoirs have from time to time appeared, generally under the authority of some of his descendants. This interesting portrait belonged to the family of de Ségur, and was parted with by the present head of the house to the late Mrs. Lyne Stephens, who gave it to us.
The history of this admirable woman is deeply interesting in every detail. She was the daughter of Colonel Duvernay, a member of a good old French family, who was ruined by the French Revolution of 1785. Born at Versailles in the year 1812, her father had the child named Yolande Marie Louise; and she was educated at the Conservatoire in Paris, where they soon discovered her wonderful talent for dancing. This art was encouraged, developed, and trained to the uttermost; and when, indue time, she appeared upon the ballet stage, she took the town by storm, and at once came to the foremost rank as the well-known Mademoiselle Duvernay, rivalling, if not excelling, the two Ellsslers, Cerito, and Taglioni.
She made wide the fame of the Cachucha dance, which was specially rearranged for her; and the world was immediately deluged with her portraits, some good, some bad, many very apocryphal, and many very indifferent.
In one of W. M. Thackeray's wonderful "Roundabout Papers," which perhaps contain some of the most beautiful work he ever gave us, he thus recalls, in a semi-playful, semi-pathetic tone, his recollections of the greatdanseuse. "In William IV.'s time, when I think of Duvernay dancing in as the Bayadère, I say it was a vision of loveliness such as mortal eyes can't see nowadays.How well I remember the tune to which she used to appear! Kaled used to say to the Sultan, 'My lord, a troop of those dancing and singing girls called Bayadères approaches,' and to the clash of cymbals and the thumping of my heart, in she used to dance! There has never been anything like it—never."
After a few years of brilliant successes she retired from the stage she had done so much to grace and dignify, and married the late Mr. Stephens Lyne Stephens, who in those days, and after his good old father's death, was considered one of the richest commoners in England.
He died in 1860, after a far too short, but intensely happy, married life; and having no children, left his widow, as far as was in his power, complete mistress of his large fortune. Theywere both devoted to art, and being very acute connoisseurs, had collected a superb quantity of the best pictures, the rarest old French furniture, and the finest china.
The bulk of these remarkable collections was dispersed at Christie's in a nine-days'-wonder sale in 1895, and proved the great attraction of the season, buyers from Paris, New York, Vienna, and Berlin eagerly competing with London for the best things.
Some of the more remarkable prices are here noted, as being of permanent interest to the art-loving world, and testifying how little hard times can affect the sale of a really fine and genuine collection.
As a rule, the prices obtained were very far in excess of those paid for the various objects, in many cases reaching four and five times their original cost.
A pair of Mandarin vases sold for 1070 guineas. The beautiful Sèvres oviform vase, given by Louis XV. to the Marquis de Montcalm, 1900 guineas. A pair of Sèvres blue and gold Jardinières, 5¼ inches high, 1900 guineas. A clock by Berthoud, 1000 guineas. A small upright Louis XVI. secretaire, 800 guineas. Another rather like it, 960 guineas. A marble bust of Louis XIV., 567 guineas. Three Sèvres oviform vases, from Lord Pembroke's collection, 5000 guineas. A single oviform Sèvres vase, 760 guineas. A pair of Sèvres vases, 1050 guineas. A very beautiful Sedan chair, in Italian work of the sixteenth century, 600 guineas. A clock by Causard, 720 guineas. A Louis XV. upright secretaire, 1320 guineas. "Dogs and Gamekeeper," painted by Troyon, 2850 guineas. "The Infanta," a full-length portrait by Velasquez, 4300 guineas. A bust of the Infanta, also by Velasquez, 770 guineas. "Faith presenting the Eucharist," a splendid work by Murillo, 2350 guineas. "The Prince of Orange Hunting," by Cuyp, 2000 guineas. "The Village Inn," by Van Ostade, 1660 guineas. A fine specimen of Terburg's work, 1950 guineas. A portrait by Madame Vigéele Brun, 2250 guineas. A lovely portrait by Nattier, 3900 guineas. Watteau's celebrated picture of "La Gamme d'Amour," 3350 guineas. A pair of small Lancret's Illustrations to La Fontaine brought respectively 1300 guineas and 1050 guineas. Drouais' superb portrait of Madame du Barry, 690 guineas; and a small head of a girl by Greuze sold for 710 guineas.
Small pieces of china of no remarkable merit, but bearing a greatly enhanced value from belonging to this celebrated collection, obtained wonderful prices. For example:—
A Sang-de Bœuf Crackle vase, 12½ inches high, 280 guineas. A pair of china Kylins, 360 guineas. A circular Pesaro dish, 155 guineas. A pair of Sèvres dark blue oviform vases, 1000 guineas. Three Sèvres vases, 1520 guineas. Two small panels of old French tapestry, 285 guineas. Another pair, 710 guineas. A circular Sèvres bowl, 13 inches in diameter, 300 guineas.
The ormolu ornaments of the time of Louis XIV. brought great sums; for instance—
An ormolu inkstand sold for 72 guineas. A pair of wall lights, 102 guineas. A pair of ormolu candlesticks, 400 guineas. Another pair, 500 guineas. A pair of ormolu andirons, 220 guineas.
Little tables of Louis XV. period also sold amazingly.
An oblong one, 21½ inches wide, 285 guineas. An upright secretaire, 580 guineas. A small Louis XVI. chest of drawers, 315 guineas. A pair of Louis XVI. mahogany cabinets, 950 guineas. A pair of Louis XVI. bronze candelabra brought 525 guineas; and an ebony cabinet of the same time fetched the extraordinary price of 1700 guineas; and a little Louis XV. gold chatelaine sold for 300 guineas.
The grand total obtained by this remarkable sale, together with some of the plate and jewels, amounted to £158,000!
For thirty-four years, as a widow, Mrs. Lyne Stephens administered, with the utmost wisdom and the broadest generosity, the large trust thus placed in her most capable hands. Building and restoring churches for both creeds (she being Catholic and her late husband Protestant); endowing needy young couples whom she considered had some claim upon her, if only as friends; further adding to and completing her art collections, and finishing and beautifying her different homes in Norfolk, Paris, and Roehampton.
Generous to the fullest degree, she would warmly resent the least attempt to impose upon her. An amusing instance of this occurred many years ago, when one of her husband's relations, considering he had some extraordinary claim upon the widow's generosity, again and again pressed her forlarge benevolences, which for a season he obtained. Getting tired of his importunity, she at last declined to render further help, and received in reply a very abusive letter from the claimant, which wound up by stating that if the desired assistance were not forthcoming by a certain date, the applicant would set up a fruit-stall in front of her then town-house in Piccadilly, and so shame her into compliance with his request. She immediately wrote him a pretty little letter in reply, saying, "That it was with sincere pleasure she had heard of her correspondent's intention of pursuing for the first time an honest calling whereby to earn his bread, and that if his oranges were good, she had given orders that they should be bought for her servants' hall!"
During the Franco-German war of 1870 she remained in Paris in herbeautiful home in the Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, and would daily sally forth to help the sufferings which the people in Paris were undergoing. No one will ever know the vast extent of the sacrifice she then made. Her men-servants had all left to fight for their country, and she was alone in the big house, with only two or three maids to accompany her. During the Commune she continued her daily walks abroad, and was always recognised by the mob as a good Frenchwoman, doing her utmost for the needs of the very poor. Her friend, the late Sir Richard Wallace, who was also in Paris during these troubles, well earned his baronetcy by his care of the poor English shut up in the city during the siege; but although Mrs. Lyne Stephens' charity was quite as wide and generous as his, she never received, nor did she expect or desire it,one word of acknowledgment or thanks from any of the powers that were.
She died at Lynford, from the result of a fall on a parquet floor, on the 2nd September 1894, aged 82, full of physical vigour and intellectual brightness, and still remarkable for her personal beauty; finding life to the last full of many interests, but impressed by the sadness of having outlived nearly all her early friends and contemporaries.
She lingered nearly three weeks after the actual fall, during which her affectionate gratitude to all who watched and tended her, her bright recognition when faces she loved came near, her quick response to all that was said and done, were beautiful and touching to see, and very sweet to remember. Her last words to the writer of these lines when he bade her farewell were, "My fondest love to my beloved Julian;" ourinvalid son at Foxwold, for whom she always evinced the deepest affection and sympathy.
In her funeral sermon, preached by Canon Scott, himself an intimate friend, in the beautiful church she had built for Cambridge, to a crowded and deeply sympathetic audience, he eloquently observed: "Greatly indeed was she indebted to God; richly had she been endowed with gifts of every kind; of natural character, of special intelligence, of winning attractiveness, which compelled homage from all who came under the charm of her influence; with the result of widespread renown and unbounded wealth.... Therefore it was that the blessing of God came in another form—by the discipline of suffering and trial. There was the trial of loneliness. Soon bereft, as she was, of her husband, of whose affectionwe may judge by the way in which he had laid all he possessed at her feet; French and Catholic, living amongst those who were not of her faith or nation, though enjoying their devoted friendship. With advancing years, deprived by death even of those intimate friends, she was lonely in a sense throughout her life.... Nor must it be omitted that her great gift to Cambridge was not merely an easy one out of superfluous wealth, but that it involved some personal sacrifice. Friends of late had missed the sight of costly jewels, which for years had formed a part of her personal adornment. What had become of a necklace of rarest pearls, now no longer worn?—They had been sacrificed for the erection of this very church."
Again, in a Pastoral Letter by the Roman Catholic Bishop of Northamptonto his flock, dated the 28th of November 1894, he says: "We take occasion of this our Advent pastoral, to commend to your prayers the soul of one who has recently passed away, Mrs. Lyne Stephens. Her innumerable works of religion and charity during her life, force us to acknowledge our indebtedness to her; she built at her sole cost the churches of Lynford, Shefford, and Cambridge, and she gave a large donation for the church at Wellingborough. It was she who gave the presbytery and the endowment of Lynford, the rectory at Cambridge, and our own residence at Northampton. By a large donation she greatly helped the new episcopal income fund, and she was generous to the Holy Father on the occasion of his first jubilee. Our indebtedness was increased by her bequests, one to ourselves as the Bishop,one for the maintenance of the fabric of the Cambridge Church, another for the Boy's Home at Shefford, and a fourth to the Clergy Fund of this Diocese. Her name has been inscribed in ourLiber Vitæ, among the great benefactors whether living or dead, and for these we constantly offer up prayers that God may bless their good estate in life, and after death receive them to their reward."
To the inmates of Foxwold she was for nearly a quarter of a century a true and loving friend, paying them frequent little visits, and entering with the deepest sympathy into the lives of those who also loved her very dearly.
The house bears, through her generosity, many marks of her exquisite taste and broad bounty, and her memory will always be fragrant and beautiful to those who knew her.
There are three portraits of her at Roehampton. The first, as a most winsome, lovely girl, drawn life-size by a great pastellist in the reign of Louis Philippe; the second, as a handsome matron, in the happy years of her all too short married life; and the last, by Carolus Duran, was painted in Paris in 1888. This has been charmingly engraved, and represents her as a most lovely old lady, with abundant iron-grey hair and large violet eyes, very wide apart. She was intellectually as well as physically one of the strongest women, and she never had a day's illness, until her fatal accident, in her life. Her conversation and power of repartee was extremely clever and brilliant. A shrewd observer of character, she rarely made a mistake in her first estimate of people, and her sometimes adverse judgments, which at first sight appearedharsh, were invariably justified by the history of after-events.
Her charity was illimitable, and was always, as far as possible, concealed. A simple-lived, brave, warm-hearted, generous woman, her death has created a peculiar void, which will not in our time be again filled:—
"For some we loved, the loveliest and the best,That from his Vintage, rolling Time hath prest,Have drunk their Cup, a Round or two before,And one by one crept silently to rest."
"For some we loved, the loveliest and the best,That from his Vintage, rolling Time hath prest,Have drunk their Cup, a Round or two before,And one by one crept silently to rest."
"For some we loved, the loveliest and the best,
That from his Vintage, rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup, a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest."
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HeaderThe Index"Studious he sate, with all his books around,Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound;Plunged for his sense, but found no bottom there;Then wrote, and flounder'd on, in mere despair."—Pope.
Header
"Studious he sate, with all his books around,Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound;Plunged for his sense, but found no bottom there;Then wrote, and flounder'd on, in mere despair."
"Studious he sate, with all his books around,Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound;Plunged for his sense, but found no bottom there;Then wrote, and flounder'd on, in mere despair."
"Studious he sate, with all his books around,
Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound;
Plunged for his sense, but found no bottom there;
Then wrote, and flounder'd on, in mere despair."
—Pope.
The Reader(loquiter).