Two Suffolk Friends

Labourer

when she come to st?a at home, she was such a pretty young lady, that she was. She was werry fond of cumpany, but there warn't the lissest bit wrong about her. There was a young gentleman, from the shēres, who lived at a farm in the next parish, where he was come to larn farmin'. He was werry fond of her, and thoug

"Master Charley"-to my mother's. One d?a, when she went down, my mother towd her that he warn't well; so off she went to see him. When she got home she was late, and the owd man was kep' waitin' for his dinner. As soon as he see her, he roared out, "What! hev yeou bin to see yar bastard?" "O father," says she, "yeou shoun't s?a so." "Shoun't s?

k, a

ver went to ch?rch; now he went reg'ler. But he wud s?a sumtimes, comin' out, "Parson's a fule." But if anybody was ill, he bod 'em go up to the Hall and ax for suffen. [62] There was young Farmer Whoo's wife was werry bad, and the doctor s?a that what she wanted

my mother for the most part, and Mr James was so fond of him. He'd come down, and pl?a and

lks heared him s?a, "Mary's child! Lord! Lord!" When he got in, he sot down, and nivver sp?ok a w?dd, 'cept now and then, "Mary's child! Lord! Lord!" He coun't ate no dinner; but he towd 'em to go for my mother; and when she co

but he nivver said n?thin' when he come down. Howsomdiver, Owd Master l?a more quiter arter that, and when they axed him to take his med'cin he took it. Then he slep' for some hours, and when he woke up he called out quite clear, "James." And when Mr James come, he s?a to him, "James," sez he, "I ha' left ivrything to yeou; do yeou see that Mary hev her share." You notiz, he din't s?a, "Mary's child," but "Mar

last words he

nd when he died he left iv

ZGERALD: A

all perished. In the summer of 1859 we were staying at Aldeburgh, a favourite place with my father, as the home of his forefathers. They were sea-folk; and Robinson Groome, my great-grandfather, was owner of the Unity lugger, on which the poet Crabbe went up to London. When his son, my grandfather, was about to take orders, he expressed a timid hope that the bishop would de

out for several sails, on the first of which I and a brother were both of us woefully sea-sick. Afterwards I remember picnics down the Deben river, and visits to him at Woodbridge, first in his lodgings on the Market Hill over Berry the gunsmith's, and then at his own house, Little Grange. The last was in May 1883. My father and I had been spending a few days with Captain Brooke of Ufford, the possessor of one of the finest private libraries in England. [69] From Ufford we drove on to Woodbridge, and passed

yson, and Carlyle. Here and there I may cite them; but whoso will know FitzGerald must go to the fountain-head. And yet that the letters by themselves may convey a false impression of the man is evident from several articles on them-the best and worst Mr Gosse's in the 'Fortnightly' (July 1889). Mr Gosse sums him up in the statement that "his time, when the roses were not being pruned, and when he was not making discreet journeys in uneventful directions, was divided between music, which greatly occupied his younger thought, and literature, which slowly, but more and more exclusively, engaged his attention." There is truth in th

th a vein of misanthropy towards men in the abstract, joined to a tender-hearted sympathy for the actual men and women around him. He was the very reverse o

ent a gyp to ask him to step down to the college-gate, but he could not come-his only pair of shoes was at the cobbler's. And down to the last he was always perfectly careless as to dress. I can see him now, walking down into Woodbridge, with an old Inverness cape, double-breasted, flowered satin waistcoat, slippers on feet, and a handkerchief, very likely, tied over his hat. Yet one always recognised in him the Hidalgo. Never was there a more perfect gentleman. His courtesy came

ft: Dec

to Chance, or appoint one Day, and then decline any further Negotiation. This would really spare poor John an immense deal of (in sober Truth) "Taking the Lord's Name in vain." I mean his eternal D.V., which, translated, only means, "If I happen to be in the H

F

Catholic brother, as John was

Tuesday, Fe

aturday without pain; and I am told that his last murmured words were my name-thrice repeated. A more amiable Gentleman did not live, with

d so sailed home. How, too, he took a ticket for Edinburgh, but at Newcastle found a train on the point of starting for London, and, thinking it a pity to lose the chance, returned thereby. Both stories must be myths, for we learn

d let the rotten matter bust itself." So it certainly stands in the letter, which bears date 29th October 1868; but, according to Mr Mowbray Donne, "the phrase was rather: 'Let the rotten old ship go to pieces of itself.' At least," he adds, "so I have always heard it; and this suggests that once there was a galleon worth preserving, but that he would not patch up the old craft. He may have said both, of course." Anyhow, rightly or wrongly, FitzGerald was sorro

efore it does on their Country. If one could save the Race, what a Cause it would be! not for one's own glory as a member of it, nor even for its glory as a Nation: but because it is the only spot in Europe where Freed

e he wrote those words: God send their dark forebodings may prove false! But they

lf. A letter of June 1885 from the late M

dear dead friend seems to have felt its pathos. I have more to repent of than he had. Two of the purest-living men among my intimates, FitzGerald and Spedding, were prisoners in D

cted on them fully as much as yourself. You need not repeat this visit." Certain it is that FitzGerald's was a most reverent mind, and I know that the text on his grave was of his own choosing-"It is He that hath made us, and not we ourselves." I know, too, that sometimes he would sit and listen in a c

e seed of Wis

wn hand wrought

ll the Harvest

Water, and li

verse, and Wh

ke Water willy

, as Wind alo

ither, willy-

*

ther than a

ow-shapes tha

e Sun-illumin

by the Maste

Pieces of the

uer-board of N

er moves, and ch

e back in the

his has seemed but a poem

s and Queries" that I edited for the 'Ipswich Journal' in 1877-78. The fol

s Life of Hume, p. 354 of the 'Gentleman's Magazine,' April 1849, is

e was very polite and pleasant, though thoughtful in company, generally reclining his head upon his hand, as if in study; from which he would suddenly recover,"

hen Major Moor was about seven years old; by this token that (as he has told me) he saw the masts of the Royal George slope under

when the cicerone pointed out a fragment of the Royal George's mast, whereupon one elderly gentleman of the party told them that he had witnessed the dis

emembered by an old Suffolk Divine, offer room for historical and lyri

w tu me,' says

, row tu m

Scotch robber acr

my tew brot

e Grasse he

h-te-ned

these bol

ive in

in these words: 'I'll tell you what, Maam, if you contradict me, I'll fell you at my feet, and trample over your corse, Maam, for you're a limb, Maam, your father on his deathbed told me you were a limb.' (N.B.-Perhaps Mr White it was who derived from us.) And again when poor Mrs Burden asks w

body of the work or relegated to an appendix. So the notion remained a notion. Much to our loss, for myself I prefer his 'Sea-Words and Phrases along the Suffolk Coast' (in the scarce 'East Anglian,' 1868-69 [81]) to half his translati

come from that quarter. A poetical word such as those whose business is with the sea are apt to use. Listening one night to the sea some way inland, a sailor said to

siderably under the size of-a Bullock-and accustomed to birds-nesting over your cliff and about your lanes from childhood. A little while ago a party of Beechmen must needs have a day's frolic at the old sport; marched bodily into a neighbouring farmer's domain, ransacked the hedges, climbed the trees, coming down pretty figures, I was told, (in plainer language) with guernsey and breeches torn fore and aft; the farmer

nt. Opinions differ as to swearing. One Captain strictly forbade it on board his lugger; but he, also continuing to get no fish, called out, 'Swear away, lads, and see what that'll do.' Perhaps he only meant as Ménage's French Bishop did; who going one day to Court, his ca

work below, that I wondered what business they had there. But this truculent Salwager assured me seriously that he had 'doated on them,' and promised me the first pair they should hatch. For a long while they had no family, so long 'neutral' in

ded to her for better or worse. Yet I have heard the Weather (to whose instigation so much of that Sea's ill-humours are due) spoken of by one coming up the hatchway, 'Let's see how she look now.' The Moon is, of course, a Woman too; and as with the German, and, I believe, the ancient Oriental people, 'the blessed Sun himself a fair hot Wench in a flame-colour'd taffeta,' and so she rises, she sets, and she crosses the Line. So the Timepiece that measures the hours of day and night. A Friend's Watch going wrong of late, I advised Regulating; but was gravely answer'd that 'She was a foreigner, and he did not like meddling with her.' The same poor ignorant was l

*

anything. First he would be delighted with the idea, and next he would raise up a hundred objections; then, maybe, he would again, and finally he wouldn't. The wonder then is, not that he

and the 'Spectator' newspaper! It is full time that Fitz should be disinterred, and exhibited to the world as one of the most gi

he pleased the Tennysons, some half-dozen other friends, and himself, than whom no critic ever was more fastidious. And when one thinks of all the "great poems" that were published during his lifetime, and read and praised (more praised than read perhaps), and then forgotten, one wonders if, after all, he was so wholly wrong in that he read for profit and scribbled for amusement,-that he communed with his own heart and was still. Besides, had he not "awful examples"? There was the Suffolk parson, his contemporary, who announced at nineteen that he had read all Shakespeare and Milton, and did not see why he should not a

trumpet that gives an uncertain sound, an instrument of no base metal, but played without book, whose compass is not ascertained, and continually failing from straining at too high a note. Spedding has not yet found him out; FitzGerald has, and we lamentably rejoice at our melancholy discovery. Never was there such a waste of Faith as in that man. He is ever preaching Faith. V

me how Mr FitzGerald always gave him plenty of plum-cake, and how they used to play piquet together. Only sometimes a tame mouse would come out and sit on the table, and then not a card must be dropped. A pretty picture! In the bar-parlour sat an oldish man, who presently joined in our conversation. He had made the lead coffin for "the old Major" (FitzGerald's father), and another fo

he says to me, 'Mrs Howe, I didn't know we had express trains here.' And I said, 'Whatever do you mean, sir?' and he says, 'Why, look at Mrs ---'s dress there.' And, sure enough, she had a long train to it, you know." Her husband ("the King of Clubs") was eighty-four, but the same cheery, simple soul he always was.

f punch. An excellent man, and a mighty horse-dealer, better versed in horse-flesh than in literature. After a visit from Lord Tennyson, FitzGerald told Grout that Woodbridge should feel itself honoured. John had not quite understood, so presently took a

a timid rap at the door of his sitting-room, a deep "Now, Berry, be firm," and a mild "Yes, my dear;" and Berry appeared on the threshold. Hesitatingly he explained that "Mrs Berry, you know, sir-really extremely sorry-but not been used, sir," &c., &c. Then from the rear, a deep "And you've got to tell him about Old Gooseberry, Berry," a deprecatory "Certainly, my love;" and poor Berry stammered forth, "And I am told, sir, that you said-you said-I h

to which Charles Keene used to retire with his bagpipes. I can hear FitzGerald saying to my father, "Keene has a theory that we open our mouths too much; but whether

brick, like that of the outbuildings. Among these I came upon an old, old labourer, who "remembered Mr Edward well. Why, he'd often come up, he would, and sit on that there bench by the c

vast emporium of the world's commerce, I lifted up my arms and shouted for amazement." From Bredfield a charming walk through the fields (trudged how many times by FitzGerald!) leads to the little one-storeyed cottage in Boulge Park, where he lived from 1838 till 1853. It probably is scarcely changed at all, with its low-pitched thatch roof forming eyebrows over the brown-shuttered windows. "Cold and draughty," says the woman who wa

old-fashioned mansion, red-tiled, dormer-windowed, and all covered with roses and creepers. A charming young lady showed me some of the rooms, and pointed out a fine elm-tree in the meadow, beneath which Carlyle smo

to the 'Rubáiyát,' and a couple of presents. The first is a pencil-drawing of FitzGerald's yacht; the second, a book, "made up," like so many others, by FitzGerald, and comprising this one, three French plays, a privately printed article on Moore, and the first editi

ohnson,' which he gave Mr Spalding, first writing on the fly-leaf-"He was pleased to say to me one morning when we were alone in his study, 'Boswell, I am almost easier with you than with anybody' (vol. v. p. 75)." Here, again, was a scrap-book, containing, inter alia, a long and interesting unpublished letter from Carlyle to FitzGerald about the pro

friend, T. N., the skipper, gave a different account of the origin of the name. I was standing with him on the Lowestoft Fish Market, close to which the little "Scandal" was moored, after an early dive from her deck, when Tom was addressed by one of two ladies: "Pray, my man, can you tell me who owns that very pretty yacht?" "M

to mere business matters (such as the building of Little Grange), and some to private affairs; but the following extracts have a high and exceptiona

all, Beccles,

s,' p. 2

think, surmise that this Rail will not hurt Wright so much as he fears it will. Poor old Boy-I found him well and hearty on Sunday; but on Sunday night and Monday he was seized with such Rheumatism (I think Rheumatic Gout) in one leg as has given him no rest or sleep since. It is, he says, 'as if somethin' was a-tearin' the Flesh off his Bones.' I showed him two of the guilty Screws

race, Lowestof

ers,'

aturday, gave them Sunday to repent on, and so have lost the only fine Days we have yet had for sailing. To-day is a dead

larly connected with my Sister Kerrich, whose Death has left a sort of sad interest shed over it. It was a mere Toss-up in 1860 whethe

Woodbridge, to get out my Billyboy, and get

, Ramsgate,

ers,'

s going on a Regatta before the windows where I write: shall I never have done with these tiresome Regattas? And to-night the Harbour is to be captured after an obstinate defence by 36-pounders in a sham fight, so we shall go deaf to Bed. We had reall

ace, Lowestoft,

ers,'

o tell upon me, and I am got past the very cure which only could counteract it: Company or Society: of which I

, April 2,

ough I get perished with the N.E. wind. I believe I never shall do unless in a Lodging, as I have lived these 40 years. It is too late, I doubt, to

, April 3,

y announced the Lease of Life expired at about the same date which I entered upon last Saturda

Wight, Friday,

ers,'

h, where I should have seen my Friend Mansfield the Shipwright. It was a little weakness of mine, in not changing orders, but, having talked of going only to Poole, I left it as it was. The weather has been only too fine: the sea too calm. Here we are in front of this pretty place, with many Yachts at anchor and sailing about us: nearly all Schooners, little and great, of all which I think we are the 'Pitman' (see Moor's 'Words'). I must say I am very tired of seeing only S

*

me, "just said in his slow melodious voice, [103] 'My poor little ship will be cracked like a nutshell;' and he took my arm to force me ashore. But I refused to go unless he went too, and just then the cable hel

Sept. 19,

it: being (as Newson says) quite a Gentleman, &c. So we have had the Carpenters for two Days, who have restored the broken Stanchions, &c. What mischief the Shock may have done to the Body of

I.O.U. from Posh, he should give security upon some of his Effects: Boats, Nets, or other Gear. Tell me how this

he Shipwash scores of times when the jump of the Ship pitched him on his Back, and sent the Topmast flying. So had Posh on the Home-sand here, he said; his Sand was just as bad as Tom's, he knew; and the Lowestoft Men just as good as the Felixstowe, &c. I fomented the Quarrel gently:-no Quarrel, or I should not: all Newson meant (which I believe is very true) there are so many men here, and no one Man to command, th

October 7,

he goes into deeper Water. I am amused to see Newson's devotion to his younger Friend: he won't leave him a moment if possible, was the first to see him come in yesterday, and has just watched him out of sight. He declined having any Bill of Sale on Posh's Goods for Mone

e of Robins at Gelson [Geldestone]: 3 or 4 coming into the Breakfast room every morning; getting under Kerrich's Legs, &c. And yesterday Posh told me that three came to

r Cooper had ever seen to visit a Ship before. The Bird he shut up in the Binnacle he describes as of 'all sorts of Colours'-perha

, Dec. 4,

with myself here: somehow, I do believe the Seaside is more of my Element than elsewhere, and the old Lodg

use. His little Wife, however, told him he must go and tidy his Hair, which he was preparing to obey. Oh! these are the People who somehow interest me; and if I were not now

5 meals a Day, Becky says. Oh! these are not such Gentlefolks as my Friends on the Beach, who have not 5 meals a Day. I wonder how soon I shall quarrel

n. 5/67. ['Let

to which he will contribute some Nets and Gear. I daresay I had better have left all this alone: but, if moderately lucky, the Vessel will pay something, at any rate: and in the meanwhile it really does me

e smoked my Pipe every evening but one with Posh at his house, which his quiet little Wife keeps tidy and pleasant. The Man is, I do think, of a Royal Nature. I have told him he is liable to one Danger (the Hare with many Friends)-so many

race, Lowestof

ers,'

'], about the size of Newson's Watch, and swell'd out 'as taut as a Drum,' Posh said. A Friend had given him this Production of Nature: it hadn't grown a bit (except swelling up) for 3 weeks,

Miss --- has not full Employment for him. He and his Wife are very respectable too, I hear. So in spite of my Fear of Unprotected Females, &c., he might do. Perhaps you might

aturday, May

ce), and having made him dine on cold Beef in the Suffolk Hotel Bowling-green, washing all down with two Tankards of Bullard's Ale. He was not displeased to dine abroad; as this is Saturday, when he says the

one), and looked into the Great Church: where when Posh pulled off his Cap, and stood erect but not irreverent, I thought he looke

is Troop here last summer, joined us as we were walking, and told Posh not to lag behind, fo

t, Longes

ers,'

of the Property, since all is not yet bought: sails, cables, warps, Ballast, &c. As to his services hitherto, I yesterday gave hi

re we had a fresh-water Sail on the Broad: Ale at the Inn, and Punch in the 'Suffolk' Bowling-green at night. Oh! 'tis a p

ft, Apri

ers,'

ar: his hands of a fine Mahogany, from Stockholm tar, but I see he has some return of hoseness. I believe that he and I shall now sign the Mortgage Papers that make him owner of H

uesday, June

n the weather till the Mackerel shall be changing their Quarters. I am vexed to see the Lugger come in Day after day so poorly stored after all the Labour and Time and Anxiety given to the work by her Crew; but I can do no more, and at any-rate take my own share of the Loss very lightly. I can afford it better than they can. I have told Newson to set sail and run home any Day, Hour, or Minute, when he wishes to see his Wife and Family. But at present he seems contented to eat

onday, July 1

s way: I mean, so far as Grub goes. The Brother of one of his Crew was killed the night we got here, in a

r friends in another Department. Posh and I had been sauntering in the Churchyard, and reading the Epitaphs: looking at his own little boy's Grave-'Poor little Fellow! He wouldn't

Sunday, Au

ers,'

ne reason for my not going to Woodbridge is, that I think it possible this N.E. wind may bl

t Seal about with him; I told him I wondered how he could submit to be so bored; on which my lady put in about "Sense of Duty," etcetera-rorum. But I (having no G

lump of some poison at Southwold which the Chemist warned me to throw overboard directly the Moth was done for: for fear of Jack and Newson being found

, Sept. 4,

e this Evening, as I have s

s concerned, and I would so far trouble myself about him no more. But when I came to reflect that this was but an outbreak among old friends on an old occasion, after (I do believe) months of sobriety; that there was no concealment about it; and that though obstinate at first as to how little drunk, &c., he was very repentant afterwards-I cannot let this one flaw weigh against the general good of the man. I cannot if I would: what then is the use of trying? But my confidence in that respect must be so far shaken, and it vexes me to think that I can never be sure of his not bei

hat my eyes are not so up to their work as they were. I think they are a little better: which I attribute to the wearing of these hideous Goggles, which keep out Sun, Sea, Sand, &c. But I must not, if I could, tax them as I ha

elf sees wonderful things: he saw 2 sharks (supposed by Newson to be Sweet Williams) making love together out of the water at Covehithe; and a shoal of Porpo

Lowestoft, Sep

hich I got last night when I went

is often done at 6d. a net. But I did not say so to him,-it is no unamiable point in him to love home: but I think he won't make a fortune by it. However, I may be very wrong

he never will be long well, I do think. I was foolish to forget G. Crabbe's hom

rch 2/70. ['Le

Net-loft; and I wonder how he keeps as well as he is, shut up there from fresh Air, and among frowzy Nets. But he is in good Spirits; and that goes some way to keep the Body well, you know. I think he has mistaken in not sending the Meum and Tuum to the West this Spring, not because t

Wednesday, S

ers,'

because I am shut up in my shi

a little Drink; but, judging by what followed on that little Drink, I wish he had simply acknowledged his Fault. He begs me to write: if I do so, I must speak very plainly to him: that, with all his noble Qualities, I doubt that I can never again have Confidence in his Promise to break this one bad Habit, seeing that he has broken it so soon, when there was no occasion or excuse: unless it were the thought of leavi

ust consider this a case in which the outbreak was worse than needless, and such as must almost destroy any Confidence I can feel for the future. I can only excuse it as a sort of De

rry to trouble you over and over again with the matter. But I am so fearful of blundering, where a Blunder may do so much harm. I think that Posh ought to be made to feel this severely: and, as his Wife is better, I do not

not even see him go off. She merely told me parenthetically,

Saturday, Fe

ers,'

and Mrs Fletcher, Senior, who had known of sad results from such unnatural exhibitions, recommended her being slain and stewed down forthwith. Posh, however, resolves to abide the upshot. . . . Posh and his Father are very busy getting the Meum and Tuum ready for the West; Jemmy, who goes Captain, is just now in

, Sunday,

ers,'

on the other side of Halesworth after a runaway-came home, drenched from top to toe, with a great Bulrush in his hand, which he could not help admiring as he went along: and wen

Friday, Ja

ers, p

her since I wrote, though he called once when I was out. I have left word at his house, that, if he wishes to see me before I go, here am I to be found at tea-time. I only hope he has taken no desperate step. I hope so for his Family's sake, including Father and Mother. People here have asked me if he is not going to give up the Business, &c. Yet there is Greatness about the Man: I believe his wa

Sunday, Fe

ers,'

ho has written me such a brave, pious word in return that I keep to show you. She thinks I should speak to Fletcher, and hold out a hand to him, and b

dge, Dec

ers,'

for Days together. I have a new Reader-Son of Fox the Binder-who is intelligent, enjoys something of what he reads, can laugh hea

dge, Mar

ers, p

in, and now Mrs H. is better, she says. But as I tell her, she only gives a great deal more of the trouble she wishes to save one by such obstinacy. We are now reading the fine 'Legend of Montrose' till 9; then, after ten minutes' refreshment, the curtain rises on Dickens's Copperfield, by way of Farce after the Play; both admirable. I have been b

rrace, Lowest

good. I have lost the Faculty of choosing Presents, you still enjoy it: so do this little Offic

dge, Jan

ers,'

fortnight past. Thrushes (and, I think, Blackbirds) try to sing a little: and half yesterday I was sitting,

82. ['Letter

and shall, I suppose, be more liable to it hereafter. But what wonderful weather! I see the little trees opposite my window perceptibly greener every morning. Mr Wood persists in delaying to send

es on to Beccles, where he is to examine and report on

*

f the series. It should have closed this article, but that I

ge, March

s,' pp.

see them. Also, Munro's Catullus, which has much interested me, bad Scholar as I am: though not touching on some of his best Poems. However, I never cared so much for him as has bee

de ma plume. Je ne bouge pas d'ici; cependant, l'année

p for my own use in reading his Letters, and printed, you see, for my Friends-one of

not a 'Venerable' Book, I doubt. Daddy Wordsworth said, indeed, 'Charles Lamb is a good man if ever g

*

he "Lucius ?milius Paullus," already published by Mr Aldis Wright, in vol. ii. p. 483 of the 'Remains

ald of the Speech of Paullus ?

sly I have ser

the Midsumm

erbolt from he

of, Rome needs

y witness'd thro

ving with un

nd the Funer

me if in a f

dious Spiri

measure of t

estitution.

'd, 'twas at t

'd anchor fr

went down, wi

a; thence, up

here to the

ry Sacrifi

, so for the

days I reach'd

and; re-organ

erseus would no

strength could no

een his Outpos

nce I follow'

eeds, I fought

-constrainin

all Ma

War that, growi

each to each

s predecesso

ays victorio

Flood of Fortu

on wave upon

r States and Ci

asure dropt i

ing himself, h

nger of the

Temple they t

n my over-sw

cious in mine

Seas that were

such a Conque

reap'd it all.

id, the Wind was

an Earth once

em'd to pray fo

tune, having rea

gins as fata

t but involve

side my Count

uin may the

Common-weal-

phal Pomp the

human Glo

h the dead bod

queror, and co

two notorio

of human

late so ab

led before my

with him capt

queror, scarce h

son's still sm

Triumph to

in time to c

st that I migh

ny Children t

tertime. For

ffluent of

iving Scions

fted in an

de himself, n

d House o

y a greater poet, FitzGerald's alterations were by no means always improvements. One sees this in the various editions of his masterpiece, the 'Rubáiyát.' However, by a comparison of the date

E

illiam black

ERE

have

o wast cont

sinners ma

throne of g

rere,

t hear my

est at t

my poor praye

rere,

e sorrow, p

that lif

be, as it

rere,

ar the Voice

, be not

sorrow shal

rere,

hour of de

tchers, st

the suppli

rere,

to Thy pr

e among

yet a welc

luia,

tno

Alton to Petersfield, and passi

, D.D., that translated Beckfo

from 'Maga,' forms a chapter in Paget's 'Paradoxes and Puzzles' (1874). That chapter I read to my father the

eive nearly half the tithes. An aged man at the time the bargain was struck, that rector lived on and on for close upon twenty years; and his successor would ever and ag

country doctor who, on being asked what he thought of Phrenology, answered with equal promptitude and gravity, 'I never keep it and

ly 400. Ten years before it had been

k simile-"I look upon this here chapel as the biler, yeou to

on-"Wedgy," "Shadder," "Stum

See

Ama

ord fo

Some

Thrand

] He

] Fl

Amaz

] Lo

a]

Do y

c]

you alw

, bridle in

ve to his friends. I may well, however, republish it, for since the appearance of FitzGerald's 'Letters,' in which it is referre

Mawthe

c]

d]

] Q

Hales

Some

day's work without ha

e to appease Nonconformist susceptibility than even Disestablishment? 'Salem Chapel,' again, a

rs to some well-known character, and is

d institution, and probably emb

itution is, that has its alloy of humanit

udes to some special ailment, one which wou

f the different sees to keep his seat and maintain order. In older times "Canons" were made; of late other measures have been taken-e.

an the "old sack." "Give her some oats, do not give her the sack only." Perh

o mount on the "sore back," or for prolonging her lif

the highroad, a pr

o disendowed. Else, what of "all the dogs in the town," each craving and clamouring fo

e seats of learning got comparatively little. The "dogs about town" got most. Then, in the last touc

Somet

] Q

mariner, being of sound mind and disposing disposition, and considering the perils and dangers of the seas and other unc

furnished, and FitzGerald sat himself down on an amber satin couch. Presently a black stream was seen trickling

onal Biography'; to another, of special charm and interest, by Professor Cowell, in the new edition of Chambers's Encyclop?dia; to Sir Frederick Pollock's Personal Reminiscences; to the Life o

ike the music, by my father-that is

i. of the American editi

e late Master of Trinity, and given at his death by Mrs Thompson to my father. They included a good many unpublished poems by Lor

olk for "

iam Simpson, the veteran artist traveller, from Omar's grave at Naishápur, and planted here by my brother members of the Omar Khayy

page of the published lette

as the builder

with such clever Reasons for so doing which I couldn't confute." And he adds: "How good that is. I can hear him saying 'which I couldn't confute' with a break on his tone of voice at the

Newson's. Posser, mentioned presently, was, Mr Spalding thinks, Posh's brother, at an

sh bought at Southwold before th

owestoft, that used always to ask FitzGerald of the welfar

I tell you my brother is no Gen

mistake, no doubt. B

rge mackerel.-Sea

ich your ordinary Christian discharges (his duty and)

re the old

woman and a

alike to G