FROM THE 
 
 BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY 
 
 COLLECTED BY 
 
 BENNO LOEWY 
 
 1854-1919 
 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 arV17711 
 
 Last leaves from the ipurnal of Julian C 
 
 3 1924 031 241 114 
 olin,anx 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031241114 
 
LAST LEAVES FROM THE JOURNAL OF 
 JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG, A.M. 
 
Edinburgh : Printed by Thomas and Archibald Constable 
 
 FOR 
 
 EDMONSTON AND DOUGLAS. 
 
 LONDON . . . HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 GLASGOW . , JAME.? MACLEHOSE. 
 
LAST LEAVES 
 
 FROM THE JOURNAL OF 
 
 JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG, A.M. 
 
 RECTOR OF ILMINGTON, WARWICKSHIRE, 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 
 EDMONSTON AND DOUGLAS. 
 
 1875. 
 
THESE LAST LEAVES 
 
 - THE JOURNAL OF 
 
 JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG 
 
 ARE INSCRIBED TO THE 
 
 FRIENDS WHO LOVED HIM. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 T HAVE yielded somewhat reluctantly to the earnest 
 request of the friends to whom this volume is dedi- 
 cated, and have consented to the publication of these 
 ' last leaves ' of my husband's Journal. The closing 
 months of his life were sweetened by his reminiscences of 
 Scotland, the country, not indeed of his birth, but, of his 
 ' heart's adoption.' After fifty years, he had revisited 
 (in 1872) the scenes of his boyhood, — Edinburgh, St. 
 Andrews, Abbotsford, Loch Lomond, and Loch Katrine, 
 with their haunted shores, and had grasped once more 
 in friendship the hands of the fellow-collegians and 
 contemporaries of his early student days. 
 
 His papers were left in so unfinished a state, that I 
 have had to lay aside much that would have made this 
 book more generally acceptable, had he lived to com- 
 plete it. He had intended that these fragmentary 
 sketches should form a supplementary volume in con- 
 tinuation of his former book. He had always felt and 
 acknowledged that -the slight memoir of his father, 
 Charles Mayne Young, was meagre and insufficient^ 
 and on looking over some note-books which came under 
 his notice after the publication of the second edition of 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 the Journal, he found much interesting matter, especi- 
 ally many critical remarks . on the French stage, which 
 he thought, though of old date, would prove with what 
 a discerning eye" and fine taste his father had been 
 gifted. These extracts, much curtailed, and weeded of 
 all mere notices of acquaintances and engagements, 
 have been placed in the opening of the present volume. 
 
 Even among the many who sought out Julian Young 
 chiefly for his social charm and conversational powers, 
 the greater part discerned the humility, charity, and large- 
 heartedness which distinguished him ; but it was to a 
 chosen few alone that he opened up the hidden things of 
 his heart. Transparent as he was, even to a fault, ardent 
 and impulsive by inheritance from his Italian mother, 
 there was ever a most modest and manly reserve on these 
 deeper subjects. In the cottages of the poor, indeed, 
 and by sick and dying beds, he was at home, and no 
 ministry could be more searching and consoling, no 
 prayers more earnest than his ; but he was, perhaps, too 
 humble in his own eyes, too conscious of his own infir- 
 mities, to obtrude himself as a teacher where he was not 
 ministerially called on to comfort and to warn. Thus 
 it came to pass that many who knew him only in society 
 hardly could understand the deeply earnest Christianity 
 of the man. Let the word be understood in its largest 
 sense, for it was given him in fuller measure than to 
 many, to hold the faith of Christ, his Master, in sim- 
 plicity and truth, without admixture of prejudice or 
 party. 
 
 To him it was of little moment whether he spoke 
 with the Evangelical or High Churchman, the Roman 
 
PREFACE. H 
 
 Catholic or Presbyterian minister ; — so that they were 
 faithful men, he could unite with them in every good 
 work, and acknowledge their brotherhood in Christ. 
 
 The deep well of human sympath}^within him' was 
 ever ready to spring forth for every class, and age, and 
 manner of passer-by who came to him for kindly pity, 
 helpful counsel, or brave support. He possessed the 
 rare gift of drawing out the dull and shy, of cheering 
 the lonely ones of the earth, and for ' making a sun- 
 shine' in many a shady neglected place in another's 
 heart by exerting the spell of his own generous joy- 
 diffusing nature. 
 
 Through forty years, chiefly spent in country parish 
 work, until failing health obliged him to pass the winter 
 months of each year in Torquay, Julian Young was the 
 pastor, civiliser, and friend of the rural poor in his 
 several parishes. He loved them with a brother's 
 heart ; he entered into their true natures, making the 
 largest allowances for their infirmities and sins, grasp- 
 ing at every opportunity of touching their better feelings, 
 and never so glad and thankful as when some rude or 
 stolid rustic showed signs of relenting and softening, 
 and some touch of nature drew him to his pastor ' with 
 the cords of a man.' Not relying only on sermons and 
 lectures, he sought his people out by their firesides and 
 in the fields, and strove to elevate their minds and 
 beautify their hard dull lives by the ' Readings ' in the 
 large schoolroom at Ilmington, which afterwards became 
 so well known in Warwickshire and elsewhere. 
 
 A few of his Sermons have been added at the close 
 of this volume by express desire. They give but a 
 
 b 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 dim idea of what his preaching was to his own flock. 
 He was moved, as he spoke, beyond the written 
 page, and his pleadings and exhortations were full 
 of persuasiveness and fire ; but his mind was not one 
 of great logical power ; it was difficult to him to con- 
 fine his compositions within strict limits, and a dis- 
 cursive and parenthetical style marked both his written 
 and spoken addresses. Perhaps these very imperfec- 
 tions made them more striking, being the unstudied 
 and fervent utterances of a true soul. I must not dwell 
 longer on the beauty of my husband's character, — it 
 would be contrary to the spirit in which he lived and 
 died, and would violate the sacredness of the home which 
 he has left, evermore changed and saddened by the 
 loss of his bright presence. 
 
 The friends who loved and valued him will understand 
 how great an effort it has cost me to write even these 
 poor lines. To their sympathy I commend the contents 
 of this volume, relying on their reverence for his memory 
 to forgive the imperfections which his own hand was not 
 permitted to correct. 
 
 E. A. G. Y. 
 
 Fairlight, Torquay, February 1875. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Extracts from the Foreign Journal of Charles 
 Mayne Young — ^July 1816 to April 1835, . 
 
 Journal of Julian Charles Young — 
 
 Reminiscences of GodshiU, Isle of Wight, . 
 
 The Family of Edgcumbe — Trances and Premature Inter 
 ments, ..... 
 
 ■Journal in Paris in 1865, and Anecdotes of the Emperor 
 Napoleon III. and the Marquis of Hertford, 
 
 Visit to Ammergau in 1871, 
 
 Emmai late Dowager Countess Brownlow, . 
 
 Lord Lytton on Phrenology, 
 
 Edinburgh Revisited, 
 
 Abbotsford Revisited, 
 
 Old and New Edinburgh ; Dninkenness and the Attitud 
 of the Clergy, .... 
 
 Vessel on Fire at Torquay, . 
 
 Death of Lord Lytton, 
 
 Miscellanea, .... 
 
 Thomas Moore and his Wife, 
 
 Theodore Hook, . . . ■ 
 
 37 
 42 
 
 52 
 
 S7 
 
 93 
 
 99 
 
 102 
 
 127 
 
 139 
 ISO 
 153 
 154 
 171 
 176 
 
xii CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Reminiscences of Frederick William Robertson of Brighton, 
 with unpublished letters from Mr. Robertson to Mr. 
 Young, ...... 183 
 
 Incidents of Parish Life, ..... 194 
 
 Death OF Julian Charles Young, .... 216 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 I. On the proper mode of conducting the Church Service in 
 
 rural districts, , . . . . .221 
 
 II. Sermons — 
 
 1. 'A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love 
 
 one another ; as I have loved you, that ye also love 
 one another. By this shall all men know that ye 
 are my disciples, if ye have love one to another. ' — 
 John xiii. 34, 35. • • • • • 236 
 
 2. ' And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away 
 
 from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to 
 another. Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and 
 see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord 
 hath made known unto us. ' — Luke ii. IJ, . . 246 
 
 3. ' And pray that your flight be not in the winter.' — 
 
 Mark xiii. 18, . . . . . 254 
 
 4. ' Ephraim is joined to idols : let him alone.' — Hosea 
 
 iv. I7i • . . . . . 261 
 
 5. ' And Elijah came unto all the people, and said. How 
 
 long halt ye between two opinions ? if the Lord be 
 God, follow him : but if Baal, then follow him. 
 And the people answered him not a word.' — i Kings 
 xviii. 21, ..... . 267 
 
EXTRACTS FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 OF 
 
 CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 
 
 July 15, 1816. — Left Dieppe with Mr. Wilder and 
 Count Scepaux for Rouen. After dinner went to see 
 Mademoiselle Mars in the character of Betti in ' La jeun- 
 esse de Henri V.' The part is entirely insignificant, and 
 affords no opportunity for the display of great talent. 
 Yet, notwithstanding that fact, I was delighted with.Mdlle. 
 Mars. She is more truly feminine, delicate, yet poignant 
 and stimulating, than any actress I have ever seen. 
 Her features, though small, are beautiful, and charged 
 with bright intelligence. Her eye is black and pene- 
 trating — her smile enchanting. I shall be impatient till 
 I see her again. The actor who impersonated Henri V. 
 was a very good one. 
 
 July 17. — Reached Paris at 5 P.M. Le Comte de 
 Scepaux, who treated Wilder and myself with all the 
 solicitude and authority of a papa, put us into a fiacre, 
 and directed us to the H6tel Prince Regent, where 
 we both took apartments. After dinner, went to the 
 Theatre Fran§ais, to see Talma and Mdlle. Georges in 
 
 ?7 ^ 
 
2 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 Iphigdnie en Tauride. Supped on dry bread and gelde 
 de pommes, and then retired to rest. 
 
 July 1 8.— Breakfasted at Caf6 de Foy. Delivered 
 my letter. of introduction from the Due de Bourbon to 
 the Duchesse d'Aumont. Most cordially received, and 
 invited to go at twelve o'clock to-morrow to sit with her. 
 Gave my letter of introduction from dear Lord Lyne- 
 doch to Sir Charles Stuart, our ambassador. Very 
 kindly received, and invited to a party at his house, 
 after the opera, to-morrow night. Made acquaintance 
 with Houbigant Chardin, and spent a small fortune to 
 please my effeminate nose. (I can't help it, I do delight 
 in perfume.) Called on Vicomtesse de Gouton, and on 
 Mme. Le Blanc ; and, after dinner, went to the Feydeau 
 to see ' Joconde.' Came away entirely delighted with 
 the performance, and entirely disgusted with some 
 fellow-countrymen, who discredited old England, by 
 looking at people rudely, talking rudely, sitting rudely, 
 moving rudely, applauding rudely, and behaving so 
 mannerlessly the whole evening that I was forced to 
 shift my seat. 
 
 July 19. — Breakfasted at Tortoni's. Drove to Mons. 
 Fould, who received me most amiably. Then sat with 
 Mme. de Gouton, and afterwards with Lady Mary 
 Fludyer. Dined at table-d'h6te ; and after dinner went 
 to see the Due de Chartres. Arranged with him for a 
 meeting to-morrow at one o'clock. Went to the opera, 
 and disliked the singing so^ thoroughly, that I, literally, 
 could not sit still ; therefore, that I might not annoy 
 others by my restlessness and intolerance, I adjourned 
 to the lobbies, and walked up and down them, until the 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 3 
 
 ballet of Flore et Zephyre commenced, with which I 
 was quite delighted. The great superiority in the effect 
 produced here over our own Opera House, in the same 
 ballet, arises from the magical precision and unity with 
 which the groups move in concert. I never beheld so 
 perfect an ensemble. As for the principal dancers, they 
 were in no degree better than those we have had and 
 have in London. After the opera, went to a smart 
 assembly at Sir Charles Stuart's, and stumbled on many 
 acquaintances that I did not know were in Paris. Lady 
 Hardwicke, Lady Mary Fludyer, Duchesse d'Aumont, 
 and Lady Stuart, were specially kind to me. Sir 
 Charles Stuart told me that Talma had waited an hour 
 and a half, purposely to see me, but being indisposed, 
 had been obliged to return home. 
 
 Went to the Feydeau, and saw ' Les deux petits 
 Savoyards,' an entertaining piece. The French certainly 
 excel in the art of creating a strong interest in the 
 most commonplace subjects, and consequently, their 
 operettas, as a rule, are delightful. 
 
 August 17. — Woke quite ill and out of sorts, from the 
 extraordinary influence of a dream. I could not shake 
 off the effects of it all day. 
 
 [This is all that remains of his journal of his trip to 
 Paris in 18 16. When in his own country he never kept 
 any record of his doings or engagements ; and even 
 what he did keep, when abroad, was very brief, irregular, 
 and fragmentary. The next entry I have is dated May 
 12, 1821, and concludes at the last day of June ; — he had 
 evidently run over the water for a six weeks' holiday.] 
 
4 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 Geneva. 
 
 Wednesday, June 20th. — Professor Maunoir called on 
 me — promised to go to him at four o'clock — ^went, and was 
 introduced to Mme. Maunoir, sister to Miss Campbell, 
 Tommy's (Moore's) friend. She was very agreeable, and 
 reminded me of Lady Farquhar ; not in manner, but in 
 face. Drove to Maunoir's campagne, about half a league 
 out of Geneva ; a pretty retreat enough ! We found 
 his two sons — fine lads, and his only unmarried daughter, 
 with friends, enjoying haymaking. Every one was gay, 
 and playful, and amiable. While the young birds 
 frisked and flew about, we old ones took a gentle stroll 
 into the country, and on our return, were greeted with 
 a concert ' al fresco,' from a bosquet, where the young 
 people were congregated. On our approach they began 
 to sing some pretty Swiss melodies, accompanying them- 
 selves on the guitar. The whole thing — unexpected as 
 it was — was very pleasing. After tea, Maunoir was 
 most agreeable, and told me much about his former 
 neighbours, — M. Neckar, Mme. de Stael, and A. 
 Schlegel. On one occasion he was dining with them, 
 and was so enthralled by their conversation, that he 
 could eat no dinner. After Mme. de Stael had left the 
 dining-room, Mons. Neckar, who, of all her adorers, was 
 the most fervent, said to Maunoir, — ' Y-a-t-il au monde 
 une femme qui puisse comparer avec ma fille V Maunoir 
 replied, 'Non— bien sur ! Mais — cependant, je n'aim- 
 erais mi'trop d'etre son ^poux, car je ne saurais jamais 
 la payer de la m6me monnaye.' M. Neckar replied, 
 ' Mais, men cher, elle fait credit de si bon cceur.' 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. j 
 
 Spent a very agreeable evening with the Maunoirs. 
 Here are two anecdotes which he told me : — 
 
 \st. A magistrate of the canton of Berne, seeing 
 Voltaire for the first time, keeps his seat, fixes his 
 spectacles firmly on his nose, and says, ' Ah ! ah !' c'est 
 a donk fous Mons. du Voltaire qui se permettra de dire 
 tant des mauvais6s choses du bon Dieu. Je ne vous 
 conseille pas d'en dire de leurs excellences de Berne.' 
 
 2d. A Genevese, fishing in a tub close to the shore, 
 finds himself unexpectedly driven some distance from 
 the land by a sudden gust of wind, and fearing the 
 frailty of his vessel, he says, ' Seigneur Dieu, P^re 
 Eternel, ayez piti6 de ton serviteur Jean Douron q's' 
 trouve dans la plus grande infortune. Ce n'est pas 
 c'lui li, derri^re la Rhone, c'est lui \k qui demeure rue 
 du Temple, t'entend-tu ?' 
 
 Thursday, June 26th. — Arrived at Lausanne at 6.30 
 P.M. After I had engaged my rooms, I went to John 
 Philip Kemble's. He was out. His house and grounds 
 are beautiful. Oh ! shall I ever forget the sun setting 
 over the mountains of Savoy ? 
 
 Wednesday, June 2'jth. — ^John P. Kemble came and 
 sat with me while I breakfasted. I walked on all the 
 terraces with him. His house is named, and appro- 
 priately, ' Beausite,' for the situation and the views are 
 enchanting beyond description. 
 
 [The remainder of the Journal is full of detailed de- 
 scriptions of the natural scenery which he passed 
 through in his tour, but records no incident of sufficient 
 novelty to warrant introduction here. By the bye, I 
 
6 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 must make one exception. On his return homewards, 
 he sees Mdlle. Mars again, at Antwerp, in ' Le Mariage 
 Secret,' and in ' Edouard en Ecosse,' and thus comments 
 on her powers : — 
 
 ' She was charming ; but she has neither the heart 
 nor the genius of our own Jordan. She reminds me 
 rather of Miss Farren, with more beauty. For refine- 
 ment of taste, and fastidious polish, she beats every 
 actress I ever saw ; and yet, contradictory as it may 
 sound, she is not perfectly and entirely graceful either. 
 No doubt her maintien is that of the drawing-room, and 
 her movements never are redundant, but still, she never 
 floats. She is not imaginative, and it is not in her to 
 be rapturous, but she has marvellous quickness of appre- 
 hension, and a fehcitous power of expressing truthfully 
 whatever is in her mind. Her laugh, her irony, and all 
 her strongest emotions, are so pungent, that they pro- 
 duce on my brain the effect of strong smelling-salts.'] 
 
 Friday, May 1 8, 1 82 1 . — Dined with Lady Dacre. Our 
 party consisted of Sir Edward and Lady Codrington, Mrs. 
 and Ad^leBlackshaw, Joanna Baillie,and LadyFarquhar. 
 Mrs. F. SuUivan in her very best looks, and charming. 
 
 Monday, May 21. — Took a warm bath — 'un bain 
 complet,' which, properly translated, signifies 'a bath 
 incomplete, or a bath sans brushes, sans soap, sans 
 frottoir, sans everything.' The attendants were first 
 cousins to uncivil; 'scurvy dogs, 'pon honour; like 
 'em no better, more as I see less as I like.' Called on 
 Mrs. Woollery, Fabre, Wilder, and Miss Torkington ! 
 Dined with Lord Essex ; met Denon, of Egyptian fame. 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 7 
 
 He unites with scientific attainments of a high order a 
 fund of general information, infinite sweetness of tem- 
 per, and most benevolent manners. We had another 
 considerable traveller in the person of Banks, who speaks 
 clearly, forcefully, and discriminatingly on art, and ap- 
 pears to have earnestness of purpose, and the requisite 
 enthusiasm for his pursuit. Mons. Babet and Faza- 
 kerley, who were of our party, accompanied Lord Essex 
 and myself to the Theatre Fran9ais, to see Mdlle. Mars 
 in ' L'Ecole des Femmes.' There is an expression of 
 captivating sweetness in her face, which reminds me of 
 Mary Young, though she has far greater depth of senti- 
 ment, an eye of remarkable significance, and a most 
 voluptuous smile. The part allotted to her admitted of 
 no opportunity for the display of versatility. She was 
 acted upon by others throughout the piece. Yet, never- 
 theless, she now and then produced great effects by very 
 light and delicate touches. Her perception is quick 
 and subtle, and her whole form and countenance re- 
 spond, with electric vivacity, to every passing emotion 
 of her mind. If she has not the sensitive faculty in 
 large measure, at least she knows well how to counter- 
 feit sensibility, and does it, too, with exquisite grace. 
 Her mode of describing her youthful lover's introduc- 
 tion of himself to her notice, and the simplicity of her 
 manner in receiving and replying to it, was full of deli- 
 cacy and finesse. Her by-play, too, was admirable; 
 her colouring neither overcharged nor yet deficient in 
 brilliancy; her eye telling all she felt, whenever she 
 chose to make it eloquent. The man who personated her 
 tyrannical old lover played very cleverly, but he proved 
 
8 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 no exception to the rule so common with all French 
 actors — viz., the drawing no line of distinction between 
 the exhibition of comic rage and tragic. They are, one 
 and all, though in a good style, more or less manidrd in 
 their action, and, in this instance, the play of face, and 
 the angry gesticulation of the old man, would have done 
 just as well for the fury of Orestes. I observed, more- 
 over, in this man's acting, the too prevalent and redun- 
 dant vice of describing his utterances by pantomime, as 
 if the words themselves contained no meaning, and 
 required interpretation. This tendency may be satis- 
 factory to those who are afflicted with deafness, but is 
 fatiguing to those who are not ; for it calls off attention 
 from the matter of the play to the manner of the player. 
 Armand reminds me of Fleury, who is, unquestionably, 
 a good actor. Fleury's principal defect lies in his 
 countenance, which, besides being excessively ugly in 
 feature, is flaccid in the facial muscles, and imparts to 
 his ordinary look an expression heavy, animal, and dull. 
 AH this, it must be said, vanishes when once he warms 
 to his part ; but his admirer and imitator, Armand, has 
 unaccountably contrived to impart the same expression 
 to his face, which, though far less ugly than Fleury's, 
 makes it look still older and less intellectual. Moli^re 
 has thrown all the real play of the piece into the hands 
 of the old man ; and, barring an admirable scene be- 
 tween the man-servant and the maid, everything tends 
 to project the character of the tyrant prominently on 
 the canvas, whereas Agnes appears but in one aspect. 
 We hear more of her than we see. Horace describes 
 interviews, which, I wish, Moli^re had allowed us to 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 9 
 
 witness, for in the hands of Mdllfe; Mars they would 
 have been charmingly rendered. 
 
 Tuesday, May 22, 182 1. — Called on and sat with the 
 Due de Bourbon (the father of the Due d'Enghien) ; 
 gave him Lord William Gordon's message. Drove to 
 Menus Plaisirs ; called on La Fert^ ; sat with d'Este. I 
 find that theatrical taste here, as in England, is on the 
 decline. I am obliged to see Duchesnois and Mdlle. 
 Mars the same night. This is unfortunate. Dined with 
 Wilder ; went with him afterwards to the Feydeau, 
 saw Huet ; afterwards sat with Lord Essex. 
 
 Wednesday, May 23. — Dined with Lord Essex, and 
 accompanied him to his box to see ' Les Femmes 
 Savantes ' and ' Nanine.' In both pieces Mdlle. Mars 
 was bewitching, particularly in 'Nanine.' I must say 
 that she is more free than any other actor or actress of 
 the vice maniM of the French stage. Mons. Le Verd 
 played inimitably. 
 
 Thursday, May 24. — Visited the Louvre in the morn- 
 ing ; dined with Lord Essex, and went with him and 
 Denon to the Porte St. Martin, to see ' Houang,' ' Puff,' 
 and ' Riquet k la houpe.' 
 
 Saturday, May 26. — Louis Heiberg, son of Thomasine 
 Christine Buntzen, breakfasted with me. The sight of 
 him brought back to me most vividly my Denmark 
 days, alas! little more substantial to me now than a 
 dream. Paid divers calls; dined at Grignon's, and 
 went to the Thditre Frangais ; saw Mdlle. Mars in 
 ' La Comtesse ' and ' La Manie des Grandeurs,' and 
 ' L'Amant Bourru.' It is difficult to conceive her 
 finesse, impossible to surpass it. She is, alternately, 
 
10 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 playful, sparkling, pungent, yet utterly devoid of strain 
 or effort. She never misses a point ; every part of her 
 performance, though highly polished, is never mono- 
 tonous. She is a wonderful perspective-ist — the Cana- 
 letto of dramatic art. Everything she does is, in its 
 proportion, relatively accurate ; nothing is overdone ; 
 less would be insufficient. I find I cannot reconcile 
 myself to the mannerism of all the other actors and 
 actresses. The constant recurrence of hurried, impetuous 
 utterance, which, alike in style and delivery, appertains 
 to all, is as distressing as it would be to me to see a 
 free horse incessantly whipped when going at full gallop 
 round the limited circle of a snuff-mill. The perpetual 
 reiteration of the same trickery is wearisome beyond 
 belief ; and this obtains in every description of character, 
 — gesture, intonation, manner, being the same in vivacious 
 comedy as in pathetic tragedy. This is the natural, 
 almost the inevitable, result of the young actors resort- 
 ing to the older ones for instruction, instead of trusting 
 to their own instincts. The habits of enunciation, and 
 the codes of action, common to their predecessors, are 
 thus perpetuated. This traditionary system is fatal to 
 originality of conception, and can only be corrected by 
 the teachers themselves encouraging their pupils to fol- 
 low the spontaneous dictates of their own genius. 
 
 June 7. — Let me record the all-important fact that, in 
 the morning, I sat, first, with Lady Aldborough, secondly, 
 with Duchesse d'Aumont, and thirdly, with Mdlle. Le 
 Verd, who gave one fresh proof of her kindly desire to 
 make my stay in this town agreeable. Nothing can be 
 more engaging than her manner. 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. ii 
 
 July 20. — Breakfasted in the gardens of the Tuile- 
 ries. I am never tired of seeing the dear little children 
 walking about with their bonnes. At one o'clock pre- 
 sented myself to the Due de Chartres, who received ' the 
 poor player ' more than graciously, and introduced him 
 to the special care of Mons. de la Fert6, Intendant des 
 menus plaisirs du Roi. He took me, accordingly, in the 
 afternoon to the Theatre Frangais, where I was intro- 
 duced to tout le monde, and a general admission given 
 me to this theatre during my stay. Made acquaintance 
 with Mdlle. Georges, Mdlle. Le Verd, Le Fond, Bap- 
 tiste ain6 et cadet, and several others, whose names 
 escape me. At night I went to see ' CEdipe,' and was 
 greatly pleased with Talma, and not a little with Mdlle. 
 Georges. 
 
 July 21. — Called on Mr. Henley ; begged off accom- 
 panying him to Versailles. Drove, instead, to Talma's, 
 No. 6 Rue de Seine, Faubourg St. Germain ; break- 
 fasted with him a la fourchette, and remained with him 
 till 3 P.M., conversing exclusively on professional topics, 
 and highly pleased to find that our sentiments as to the 
 theory of our art were in thorough accord with each 
 other. At his urgent request, and with some reluctance, 
 I told him the plot of Young's play of The Revenge, 
 and acted as much of Zanga as I could remember. He 
 appeared to be struck ; and, whether he was or not, 
 said more civil things to me than I deserved. 
 
 July 22. — Sight-seeing all day ; returned home, barely 
 in time for my dinner ; after which went to see Talma 
 in Coriolanus. In all the more elevated features of the 
 character, — in his dignity, in his contempt for the senate, 
 
12 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 and in his indignation at his banishment, he was im- 
 measurably inferior to John Kemble. His expression, 
 when it ought to have represented scornful indignation, 
 partook rather of tremulous grief. But, I must say- 
 that, in his occasional touches of tenderness and of filial 
 affection, he was exquisitely pathetic.^ Mdlle. Georges 
 did not give me the remotest conception of the mother 
 of Coriolanus. She drives headlong in one impetuous 
 career of passion, without either distinctness of purpose 
 or any semblance of genuine feeling. Such changes as 
 she does make are revolting, for they are abrupt, un- 
 looked-for, unprovoked, painfully familiar, and as peri- 
 odical in their recurrence as if they were baiting-places 
 at which she was accustomed to pull up. This is a 
 pity, for she really has great gifts of face, voice, and eye. 
 After the play, went into Talma's dressing-room and 
 sat with him. He introduced me to Mdlle. Duchesnois. 
 Returned to the front afterwards, to see the last piece, 
 and thought Mdlle. Le Verd quite bewitching. 
 
 July 24. — Called on Mdlles. Georges and Le Verd. 
 I found Mdlle. Le Verd highly intelligent. She evinced 
 good principle in the way in which she spoke of the 
 embarrassments, temptations, and hardships of the 
 actress's life. She complains, as we do in England, of 
 the degenerate state of the dramatic art ; says there is 
 no longer a public in Paris, and that the inevitable 
 consequence is the declension of the stage. In speak- 
 ing of Talma and Fleury, she displayed great critical 
 
 ' In Moore's Life, by Earl Russell, vol. iii. p. 88, Moore says, ' Went 
 in the evening to see Talma in Coriolanus. His "Adieu, Rome" had 
 something fine in it ; but there is a great deal of ruffianism in his acting. ' 
 
OF CHARLES MA YNE YOUNG. 13 
 
 acumen. She says of Talma, that he wants both dignity 
 and soul ; that she has never seen him give vent to 
 spontaneous bursts of feeling ; that all is raisonnd, cal- 
 culated and prepared beforehand ; that he is at times 
 vulgar, and often ' fdroce.' 
 
 Fleury, again, she says, has acquired great reputation 
 as a comic actor, though deficient in two essential re- 
 quisites, gaiety and sensibility. When he should be 
 brilliant and pointed, he is sardonic ; and when he should 
 betray ill-suppressed emotion, he blubbers. I had, 
 by the bye, forgotten to mention that I saw him on 
 Wednesday night in ' Les Femmes Savantes,' and ' Le 
 Bourgeois Corrig6.' I thought I detected in his acting 
 a style of his own, which, while he had youth in his favour, 
 must have been very telling. I am much mistaken if it 
 has not served three or four of our own comedians, 
 within my recollection, with a large share of those 
 peculiarities which helped to found their reputation. 
 In his frown, and in his serious moments, he reminded 
 me of King ; in his cool, easy, off-hand moments of 
 badinage, he was like Dodd ; and occasionally, though 
 with infinitely less of sparkling vivacity, he resembled 
 Lewis. He has a knack (when he is about to quit the 
 scene, or when he is listening to another speaking, and 
 is impatient to reply) of throwing his body back, poising 
 it on one leg, whilst the other is left dangling carelessly. 
 He has, less than any other French actor I have seen, 
 the habit of making the rhyme painfully predominate 
 on the ear. In his walk, he rather rolls from hip to hip. 
 His action, however, though free enough, is rather more 
 angular than is consistent with grace. 
 
14 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 July 27. — After a fatiguing but instructive day at the 
 Institution of the Sourds et Muets, and subsequently 
 at the Manufacture des Glaces, I dined with the Charles 
 Kn3rvetts, and went to the Theatre Fran^ais. I thought 
 the Templiers heavy, perhaps because it was not well 
 acted. Mons. St. Prix performed the Grand Mattre, on 
 the whole, right well, with aristocratic dignity and quiet 
 firmness. Mdlle. Georges does not improve on better 
 acquaintance. She throws away her opportunities 
 recklessly. Talma had a very indifferent part, and, I 
 must be presumptuous enough to say, very indifferently 
 he played it. His under-play, as well as his by-play, 
 was very inefficient, devoid of grace, and tame. The 
 constant use of his right arm, and the redundancy of his 
 action, became tiresome. By the persevering frequency 
 with which he shakes his arm and hand without occa- 
 sion, he must, to a person ignorant of French, appear 
 everlastingly menacing or defying, when he is really 
 meaning to do nothing of the kind. In short, I often 
 found cause to complain of the inappropriateness of his 
 action, the pantomime of his body telling a story utterly 
 at variance with the utterance of his lips. He has a 
 meaningless trick of closing his eyes, simultaneously 
 with an expression of sickening grief at the corners of 
 his mouth, at times when he is supposed to be burning 
 with suppressed indignation. This was painfully appar- 
 ent in Coriolanus, when telling his mother, on his return 
 from the senate, of their having banished him, ' Je suis 
 un banni.' After the play, looked in at Lord Car- 
 rington's. 
 
 August 5. — Lost much time in trying over French 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 15 
 
 romances for sending home. After a visit to the Bib- 
 lioth^que du Roi, and a dinner at Vdry's, went to see 
 Talma in Orestes. I lament to say — so much I like 
 the man — that I was disappointed. He was deficient 
 in dignity, simplicity, and grace throughout, though he 
 gave one point in the fifth act very finely indeed. It 
 was where Hermione accuses him of being the murderer 
 of Pyrrhus, and asks him who bade him perpetrate the 
 deed. His insanity, too, was, unquestionably, for the 
 most part, powerfully given, but his merits and impres- 
 siveness were impaired by a manner and action which 
 I can only characterise as vulgar. 
 
 August 6. — Breakfasted with Miss Linwood, then 
 drove to Le Blanc's and Le Fabre's, Mme. de Gautant, 
 Mdlle. Le Verd, and Mdlle. Georges, whom I was lucky 
 enough to find (the latter) at home. Had much close 
 chat with her on topics of professional interest common 
 to us both. Encouraged — all but invited by her — I 
 ventured to tell her what struck me as faults in her 
 acting, sprinkling my strictures, however, With as much 
 of palatable seasoning as I could, consistently with 
 truth, award her. If she would not be satisfied with 
 present attainments, or allow herself to be hoodwinked 
 by a spurious popularity, and would study and practise 
 with earnestness and enthusiasm, she has the means at 
 command of becoming a very great actress indeed. Her 
 countenance has great beauty of feature and expression. 
 Last night she was on her mettle, and played part of her 
 character to admiration, 
 
 August 14. — After dinner, went to the Thddtre Fran- 
 ^ais, to see Talma in Philoct^te. I think his declama- 
 
i6 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 tion more faulty every time, and he is more and more 
 .mani6r6. Fleury, in ' L'homme a bonnes fortunes/ and 
 Mdlle. Le Verd both pleased me much. Went to 
 Mille Colonnes, had an ice, and waited for Darby, who 
 came in Mons. Cousin's carriage to take me to Gerard 
 the artist, who, by the bye, I must not forget, lives in 
 R. de Postes, Faubourg St. Germain. 
 
 [Whether my father visited Paris again between May 
 1 82 1 and July 1830,1 cannot say. But in the latter 
 year I know he was in Paris, for two good reasons : 
 first, because I have learnt from Mr. Fladgate that he 
 was there at the time, and remembers my father going 
 to him and begging him to lend him a shirt or two, as all 
 his luggage was detained at the Douane ; and secondly, 
 because I have heard him tell anecdotes of incidents 
 which occurred during the celebrated three days when 
 he was there. I well remember his graphic description 
 of a day and night of nervous horror which he passed. 
 I think it was the 29th July. As he has left no written 
 memorandum, I must tell it as nearly in his words as I 
 can. 
 
 Where he lodged in those days I know not ; but I 
 am certain that it was in the entre-sol of a corner 
 house, in a street where blood had been profusely shed. 
 During the day-time, as he peered cautiously through 
 his carefully-closed jalousies, he beheld sights which 
 made his blood run cold. Two of them I recall, without 
 difficulty. Directly in front of his windows, he observed 
 a very martial-looking general, his uniform covered with 
 orders, seated on horseback, with a handsome young 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 17 
 
 aide-de-camp by his side, also on horseback. As the 
 general, with his right arm extended, was issuing his 
 directions, and as the younger officer was receiving 
 them, he saw both, as if smitten by a stroke of light- 
 ning, drop lifeless from their horses. A wretched boy, 
 apparently not yet in his teens, had crept under a 
 horse's belly, with a pistol in each hand, and fired 
 them, right and left, with deadly accuracy of aim, at 
 his two victims. 
 
 Again, in the midst of a vociferous and tumultuous 
 assemblage, chiefly composed of women and lads, 
 cursing, blaspheming, and screaming, a mother was 
 boxing the ears of a refractory son, and bidding him 
 go home, when suddenly he burst from her grasp, 
 rushed through the crowded street, joined a mob of 
 both sexes and all ages, armed with pokers, cleavers, 
 scythes, pikes, and muskets (wrenched from the passive 
 hands of La Garde Nationale, whose sympathies were 
 with them), and, in their company, ran towards a for- 
 midable gun which was at the end of the street, with 
 the evident intention of capturing it. Suddenly a 
 match was put to the touch-hole of the cannon, and 
 as its contents were vomited forth, some fell to the 
 ground to escape it, others fell never to rise again. But 
 the moment the gun was fired, the gamins, nothingi 
 daunted by the deadly havoc around them, sprang tO' 
 their feet, with the alacrity and light-heartedness of boys, 
 at play, charged the gunners, spiked the gun, and har- 
 nessing themselves to it, dragged it at their heels iq 
 triumph, bearing one of the dames de la halle, the 
 remonstrant mother, astride upon its back. 
 
 B 
 
i8 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 As evening closed in, the great heat of the day- 
 diminished, and there was less feverish agitation ; but 
 the sanguinary doings of the morning were painfully 
 symbolised by the innumerable bits of paper, which had 
 served for wadding, and which bestrewed and almost 
 obscured the pavement like flakes of snow. Towards 
 night, as if by general consent, there was a suspension 
 of hostilities. The tempest raised by popular fury had 
 subsided ; there was a great, but, perhaps, portentous 
 calm ; the bullets ceased to whistle ; the ordonnance 
 ceased to thunder ; the tocsin" was mute ; the blas- 
 phemous obscenities of the sovereign people were no 
 longer heard ; the closing stanzas of the Marseillaise 
 hymn had died away in the distance, and the worn-out 
 actor, passive enough as he had been, and unused ' to 
 war's alarms,' began to cherish hopes of sleep. But as 
 the sulky night advanced and grew more sultry ; as the 
 air, noisome from carnage, seemed to hold its breath in 
 terror; as the leaden silence brooding over the city 
 became more oppressive, from its contrast with the up- 
 roar of the previous hours ; his imagination, prepared 
 to catch fire by the scenes to which he had been an 
 involuntary witness, burst into flame. And as he lay 
 in his clothes on his bed, tossing and tumbling from 
 the heat, and restless with ' horrible imaginings ;' the 
 memory of that which had passed ; the apprehension of 
 civil war to come; a moving panorama of wounded 
 men and blood-stained women, staggering beneath his 
 window, occupied the foreground of his mind, and to 
 such a fearful pitch of sympathetic tension were his 
 nerves strung, that, on hearing the challenge of the 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 19 
 
 sentinel, on his beat below his window, — Qui vive ? — 
 answered by the defiant shout of ' Vive la Charte,' fol- 
 lowed promptly by a shot ; by the fall of a heavy body 
 to the ground ; the careless ramming home of the cart- 
 ridge ; the ring of the ramrod replaced in its groove ; 
 and then the indifferent tramp of the sentinel, he could 
 scarcely help springing off his couch and proclaiming 
 murder from his window. An hour afterwards, just as 
 he had 'an exposition of sleep come upon him,'^ he 
 heard a call to surrender ; a gun miss fire ; no reply ; 
 the snap of a trigger without any report (showing the 
 weapon had missed fire) ; a scuffle ; a viciously pro- 
 tracted sacre-re-re, delivered through clenched teeth, 
 and then drowned in a tone of devilish exultation. A 
 hasty glance through the shutters sufficed to show the 
 sleepless lodger that the sentry himself had succumbed 
 to destiny ; and that a gigantic ouvrier had wrenched 
 his musket from his grasp, and with the butt-end of it 
 given him his quietus. 
 
 I find in the published account of ' The Revolution in 
 France in 1830,' by William Hone, printed for Thomas 
 Tegg, 73 Cheapside, at page 75, the following state- 
 ment : — 
 
 'July 31, 1830. — Until to-day carriages were not 
 allowed to quit Paris. This morning the barriers were 
 thrown open, and the Calais Diligence of the Messagerie 
 Royale was the first that left. Several Englishmen 
 availed themselves of this opportunity to depart, and, 
 among them, Mr. Young, the actor. Along the road, 
 no information that could be relied on had been ob- 
 
 1 Vide Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
20 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 tained from the capital. At every town and village 
 the inhabitants crowded to the diligences as a novelty, 
 and most of them were astonished on perceiving that the 
 royal arms had been effaced from the panels, and after 
 " Messagerie" the word " Royale " carefully scratched 
 out. These appearances excited enthusiastic shouts. 
 The desire for news was intense, and the inquiries in- 
 cessant. The duty of answering usually devolved on 
 the conducteur, whose intelligence was received with 
 rapturous cries of "Vive la Charte!" Even during the 
 night, the country people were out awaiting our arrival. 
 After midnight, on the diligence proceeding through 
 Lillers, a village between Amiens and St. Omer, there 
 was an anxious assemblage of people; who required the 
 diligence to stop. On the postillion attempting to pass,, 
 they seized the wheels, clung to his boots, and insisted 
 on his telling them the news. Others opened the doors 
 and eagerly inquired of the passengers ; nor would 
 they suffer the vehicle to move until they had gained 
 their object, which was by slow degrees, for their ex- 
 pressions of pleasure burst out on the mention of each 
 fact. Mr. Young's observation, while in Paris, and his 
 thorough knowledge of the French language, enabled 
 him to communicate the news thoroughly, and at one 
 or two places, the popular exhilaration it produced ani- 
 mated him to speeches, which produced vociferous 
 shouts of "Vive la Charte!" "Vive 1' Anglais !" "Vive 
 laPatrie."' 
 
 [The next entry in any diary of my father's extant, is 
 in the year 1834.] 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 21 
 
 Bologna, October i, 1834. — At night went to the opera. 
 Norma, with Pasta. What unexpected good fortune ! 
 Ay — Donizelli too ! Both in fine voice ! Both singing 
 divinely! The audience were enthusiastic, and would 
 have her on three times to applaud her again and again. 
 Though the practice is in bad taste, yet, as it exists, I 
 was delighted that she should have the benefit of it, 
 and, therefore, made as much clamour as my neighbours. 
 I would fain hive made more, but that it was impos- 
 sible. If this ardent appreciation of high art be not 
 mere caprice, but genuine good taste, i.e. if the next 
 great singer, with a great reputation, does not create the 
 same ' enthusimuzzy,'^ I shall set down these same 
 sausage-makers as having the purest taste in Italy, not- 
 withstanding their addiction to garlic ! Ugh ! ugh ! ah ! 
 che stinkybusa orribile ! ! ! che questo fa ! ! ! Pasta, 
 though not the most wonderful singer — which Malibran 
 is — is the most perfect dramatic singer, I believe, that 
 ever lived, or, perhaps, that ever may, so very difficult 
 is it to find, with the other numerous qualifications 
 necessary, the courage never to swerve from pure taste, 
 especially in an age like the present, when the most 
 exaggerated, distorted, and meretricious taste is setting 
 the musical world all mad together. Good heavens ! 
 how exquisitely simple she was when chastity of style 
 was needed, and yet how luxuriant, varied, and profuse 
 her ornaments, when occasion justified their display! 
 Nothing ' overdone, or come tardy off.' Donizelli was 
 better than ever, evidently invigorated by repose. 
 Pasta was never out of tune. 
 
 ' Braham always pronounced enthusiasm — enthusimuzzy. 
 
22 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 October 4. —Reached Florence before six o'clock P.M., 
 and found my kind friends, Sir John and Lady Pollen, 
 at Schneider's, on the Arno. 
 
 October 5. — All morning in the gallery. Dined with 
 Sir J. and Lady Pollen, and went in the evening to Mr. 
 Anderson's, where a concert was held for the benefit of 
 a prot^g^e of his. Catalani very amiably sang for her 
 a piece of Portogalli's beautifully. In volume of voice 
 she is as powerful as she ever was ; her piano was 
 beautiful ; her shake more perfect than I recollect it ; 
 and her skill in the management of that particular 
 power, which years have not diminished, quite admirable. 
 She happened to hear I was in the room, and instantly 
 eame through the crowd to seek me ; seemed really 
 pleased to meet me again, and pressed me to go and 
 see her at her house. 
 
 October 10. — ^Visited the San Spirito. It gratifies me 
 to find that the works in architecture which please me 
 most are really considered the finest ; for mine are 
 sensations only ! I have no knowledge, no judgment. 
 I have for instance always preferred the style of Brunel- 
 leschi, whenever I may have found anything at all 
 resembling it, although entirely ignorant whose or what 
 style it was. 
 
 October 19. — We travelled rapidly enough, and the 
 last post almost flew, i.e. went at full gallop, to Rome ; 
 reached it at a quarter before one ; had no trouble with 
 the custom-house, thanks to a 10 Paul piece, timely 
 administered. Put up at Czerny's. The yearning of 
 years is accomplished, — I am in Rome ! 
 
 My first impression exceeds my expectation. The 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 23 
 
 Tiber is double the width I had fancied it. (It is about 
 400 yards.) The streets are much wider too, and the 
 place more lively than I bargained for. Changed my 
 garments, and walked to the Campanile of the Capitol. 
 Found it shut ! I cannot understand how so many 
 buildings of such colossal proportions could have been 
 so close together. They must have been either col- 
 lected in a cluster, or else a series of buildings huddled 
 together. One is baffled as one tries to imagine their 
 different proportions, and the area covered by each. 
 However, there they are, and no mistake ; and the 
 Titans have evidently been their architects. 
 
 October 20. — ^Yesterday I inspected the Capitol, the 
 Forum, and the Coliseum, and again, to-day, the Forum 
 and St. Peter's ; drove about the city. I am so much 
 overpowered and confused with the grander features of 
 ancient Rome, as to be unable to write a word. Some 
 buildings at first disappointed me ; afterwards they 
 redeemed their character. Though they were utterly un- 
 like the conceptions I had formed of them from pictures 
 and descriptions, yet, when taken together, I found 
 them so stupendous and imposing, as to be rendered by 
 them speechless. I would not but have been spared 
 to ' see what I have (already) seen ' for worlds. Modern 
 Rome, I confess, has but slender attraction for me. 
 Such filth, meanness, and abomination, I never beheld 
 before. The palaces — especially those of name — are 
 fine, though, externally, many of them are little better 
 than gloomy public offices, or prisons. I daresay I 
 may get the better of these impressions on more inti- 
 
.24 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 mate acquaintance with their interiors, but at present I 
 note them down as I find them. 
 
 October 21. — The Vatican. Past conception, there- 
 fore past commendation. Surprise and delight succeed 
 each other, and overwhelm me. If all the rooms were 
 empty, the edifice alone would repay one the trouble 
 one takes in going to see it ; but, as they are, 130 tongue 
 can give an idea of the treasures here collected. Really 
 I felt in such a state of agitation and delight, that 
 nothing but familiarity with the wonders of the place 
 will sober one down into a reasonable state of mind. 
 Mr. Bainbridge is here. Went to Thorwaldsen's studio, 
 where I saw, what I think, higher art than Canova's. 
 
 October 22. — Again visited St. Peter's and the Vati- 
 can. The Laocoon I never could admire till I saw 
 it here. Here it is quite another thing. So, too, with 
 the Apollo ; but for that I was prepared. Each time I 
 see it, it grows more upon me, as perfection in any 
 art always does. It is very rarely that it can be appre- 
 ciated at once. 
 
 October 27. — Sight-seeing all day till the evening, 
 when I went to hear David sing. His voice is certainly 
 impaired (it is said by drinking), but he executed some 
 beautiful passages quite beautifully, and sang with as 
 much fire and soul as anybody I have heard since 
 Garcia. After the first act, was forced to leave my stall, 
 it was so cold, and repair to the boxes, where I sat 
 shivering with my mantle on. Ugh ! ugh ! but this 
 Rome is as chilly a spot as ever I was in. 
 
 October 28. — Last night was a miserable one. The 
 cold was severe ; and my rooms were so hospitably dis- 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUriG. 25 
 
 posed, that they admitted all the airs that chose to 
 come in, and spoiled my night's rest. I shaU deem 
 myself lucky if I have escaped mischief, of which I don't 
 feel certain. 
 
 November i. — Went with Mr. William Earle to the 
 Vatican. The Sistine Chapel disappointed me. The 
 famous Last Day of Michael Angelo I could hardly 
 make head or tail of, from want of light. The Car- 
 dinals, the Pope and his train, appeared to me to be 
 under-dressed for the occasion, splendour and effect 
 being such important features in Catholic rites. Car- 
 dinal Weld looked highly intellectual and tranquil, and 
 more dignified in bearing than all the others. 
 
 At twelve o'clock at night I started for Naples. It 
 was star-light, but no moon. The road, as far as it was 
 visible, appeared extremely striking; and when we 
 came nigh Riccia, we descended a hill, with craggy 
 rocks and wild woods on our left, and a formidable 
 precipice on our right. I put more faith in the poor 
 beasts who drew us than in their drivers, and my faith 
 was justified, for we arrived safely at the bottom. But 
 could I have divined what the dawn of day revealed, 
 viz., the condition of the pole of the carriage, I should 
 have felt more anxious about my neck than ever mem- 
 ber of Parliament, over head and ears in debt, was to 
 secure his election. We drove on, on, through a toler- 
 ably verdant and fertile country, till we came to the 
 Pontine Marshes, which, though totally unlike what I 
 had expected them to be, were not devoid of a certain 
 interest. I saw no fens, but plenty of loose, worthless 
 soil, prolific of thistles, thorns, and brushwood ; here 
 
26 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 and there plots or patches of agriculture ; and then 
 wearisome, dead, monotonous level of thirty miles, bor- 
 dered by a canal on each side of the road, and shaded 
 by the overhanging boughs of elms and poplars. Though 
 lolling back sleepily in an open landau, I felt no evil 
 effects from malaria, beyond a wolf-like appetite for 
 my breakfast at Terracina. The rocks were theres 
 redder, and the sea bluer, than any I ever saw ! The 
 succeeding scenery was very fine, until we reached 
 Fondi, the frightful, and Itri, the cesspool of all Europe's 
 filth and villany — at least, if sight and senses are to be 
 trusted, and there be truth in smell and physiognomy. 
 Such faces ! Such forms ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! I never, no„ 
 I never ! ! 
 
 November 4. — All day on the road to Mola di Gaeta, 
 where I slept. 
 
 November 5. — Opened my jalousies and windows on 
 a terrestrial paradise ! The inn on the sea-shore, facing 
 the bay, of which it seems the centre. Between it, and 
 the sands and rocks, the garden — or rather a dense 
 grove of orange and lemon trees of large growth. In 
 one direction the shore is skirted by the lower part of 
 the town, on the other by the Casinos ; to the right, 
 smiling white villas ; half a mile or so from the land 
 stand forth two islands, with a town or village on each ; 
 one of them rather flat, the other, a hill crowned with 
 what appears to have been a castle. Behind the inn is 
 an amphitheatre of lovely hills, decked with plants, and 
 shrubs, and flowers, luxuriant in quantity, and indigenous 
 to the climate, and of such rare quality to unfamiliar 
 eyes like mine, as to plunge me into what Pope de- 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 27 
 
 scribes as ' trance ecstatic' On the road, occasionally, 
 from the midst of ordinary quick-set hedges, sprang ' the 
 acrimonious aloe,' the myrtle, and the cactus, which long 
 kept us company. About S P.M. reached Naples. 
 
 Expecting the streets of Naples to be small and nar- 
 row, those I saw on entering, as far as the Chiaja, were 
 as wide and handsome as in any continental city I have 
 seen. The road, on approaching, winds about so fan- 
 tastically as to display the Queen of the Mediterranean 
 in twenty different aspects ! On entering the Toledo, 
 with its swarming myriads, I felt it needed thirteen pair 
 of eyes, fifty-seven noses, and a hundred pair of ears, to 
 take in, and conceive, and a quarter of a hundred best 
 bank pens to write down, all the sights and sounds and 
 smells that fascinate, assail, and bewilder. Cheapside 
 or Cornhill, with their surging sea of population during 
 business hours, may compare with the crowds for mul- 
 titude ; but here, the entire width of the street is as full 
 as there the trottoir is alone. 
 
 The H6tel de la Grande Bretagne was destined to the 
 honour of receiving my distinguished carcase, though I 
 was forced to ascend four flights of stairs before arriv- 
 ing at my nest. It was worth climbing to inhabit, 
 as it dominates, right, left, and front, the bay, and all 
 the lovely sights around, and has a southern aspect. 
 What a change from Rome, which, mighty and magni- 
 ficent as she is — ' lone mother of dead empires,' as 
 Byron calls her — is to ipe overpoweringly sad. 
 
 November 6. — Summoned suddenly by Sir John and 
 Lady Pollen, to go with them and Jones to pay our 
 respects to Vesuvius. At Salvatore's door we mounted 
 
28 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 our beasts, and rode up to the spot where those who 
 can walk up the mount of cinders do. I had very good 
 reasons of my own for preferring to be carried, for which 
 joke Salvatore had his very good reasons for charging 
 me six scudi. I must say the poor creatures earned their 
 tip well, for I was a sad lump for them ! It is a tradition 
 here that the late Duke of Buckingham, who, I am told, 
 weighed some 30 stone, went up, carried by 40 men ; 
 and, if it was so, they too earned their tin. Now, it so 
 happens, that this cinder mount, besides being like the 
 tiles of a roof, has a proclivity to plunge pedestrians up 
 to the ankles every step in ashes, and sometimes to let 
 him slip backwards a few inches farther than they 
 meant to step forward. Think, at such moments, and 
 they are of frequent recurrence, of the gravity of such 
 a mauvais pas in the case of a 30-stoner. I never rode 
 on a camel, and I have no ambition to do so, but my 
 ride up Mount Vesuvius, I should think, was quite as 
 disagreeable. The inequality of my bearers' step caused 
 my chair to heel most awkwardly, and, at such moments, 
 to ease the bearers, I kept perpetually shifting my 
 weight from those who were losing footing, so that I 
 was tired to death when we gained the summit. 
 
 November 24. — Went to Pompeii, which I reached at 
 twelve o'clock. I was really overcome and depressed 
 by the undefinable emotions which this miraculously 
 preserved place produced upon me. To think of its 
 having been 1751 years buried, and yet to find traces 
 of life and being, and of men's occupations, as fresh as 
 if they had occurred but yesterday ! It is a culpable mis- 
 take to go with more than one or two friends of whose 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 29 
 
 sympathy and susceptibility you can make sure, or else 
 you will be pulled up and restrained every instant. 
 Such were my surprise and delight, that I was now on 
 the brink of tears, now of crying from pure childish 
 enjoyment, succeeded by — ' ay, by what ? Tell us, 
 good man ! Delver, and then to work. Mass ! I can ! 
 Mass ! I cannot ! Well ! cudgel thy brains no longer ; 
 for your dull ass will never mend his pace by beating ! ' 
 No ; the images left on the mind are too many and 
 confused to be easily arranged or defined ; nevertheless, 
 the whole effect on my mind was one of intense interest, 
 wonder, and delight ! 
 
 November 27. — Set off with the Dowager Marchioness 
 Clanricarde and Miss Kington, to join a pic-nic there 
 with Prince Charles (the king's brother). Count Arundel 
 and his Lady, Lady Ashbrook and Miss Flower, Mr. 
 Temple, Mr. Sidney Herbert, Mrs. Legh and her two 
 daughters, Mr., Mrs., and Miss Falkner, Duke Bevilacqua, 
 and Duchess and Chevalier Bosca. The object of the 
 excursion was to witness an excavation. The lively 
 interest begotten by it — it lasted three hours, qualified 
 the profanation of such a spot by a jollification. The 
 search was prolific. I cannot remember half the things 
 turned up, but I know there were antique vases, and 
 lamps, and scales, and ladies' fans, and earthen am- 
 phorae, and jars painted, and jars plain, and lacryma- 
 tories, and glass utensils, and buckles for harness, and 
 rings, like coupling rings for leaders, and eggs of marble. 
 There being so many ladies I could not, in decency, 
 ask for anything. Still I had quite my share of pleasure, 
 and watched each stroke of the pick-axe and shovel as 
 
30 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 eagerly as if I expected to find gold, and have it too. 
 I cannot imagine how many visits to this spot it would 
 take to exhaust the interest one feels in walking through 
 its streets, and seeing, as we do in London, the walls 
 scrawled over with red raddle, giving evidence, that, in 
 1^35, we are no wiser than our forefathers were 175 1 
 years ago. 
 
 December ip — Weather resplendent. German lesson. 
 Dined with Mr. Keppel Craven ; met the Augustus 
 Cravens, Sir J. and Lady P., Sir William Gell ; went 
 with them to see Malibran in Norma. Great beauties 
 in her performance. Countenance, at times, very fine ; 
 wanted, now and then, a little repose, perhaps. 
 
 December 18. — Dined with Malibran. Went with her 
 to the Academy, where she sang most exquisitely. 
 Joined Lady Clanricarde and Miss Kington ; a brilliant 
 room, though ill adapted for sound \ a middling concert, 
 on the whole. 
 
 December "^^i. — German lesson; called on Minutolos, 
 Cravens, Burgess, Pollens; dined with Lady Drum- 
 mond ; went in the evening to San Carlo. New opera ; 
 ' Amelia.' Did not like it. Malibran's songs were mere 
 difficulties, which she did with inimitable ease, but there 
 was no charm whatever in the music. 
 
 January 5. — At 8.30 A.M. set ofT (in a carriage and 
 four, with two servants) with Mr. Boileau, Mr. A. Bar- 
 rington, and Sir J. Pollen, on our long-talked-of excur- 
 sion to Paestum. After visiting Nocera, Santa Maria 
 Maggiore, the Cava, and the Monastery S. Trinity, we 
 reached Salerno to dinner, slept there, and started next 
 morning, January 6, at 7.30 for Paestum, which we 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 31 
 
 reached at eleven o'clock. We remained among these 
 stately ruins till 2.30, and then, unwillingly, tore our- 
 selves away. We could not have seen them under 
 greater advantage, for the sea and sky were as fine as 
 fancy could have desired. No model or painting gives 
 the faintest idea of the imposing, almost over\vhelming, 
 impression they leave ! Reached Salerno in time for 
 dinner, at 6 P.M. ; slept there, and set off at 10 o'clock 
 A.M. on — 
 
 January 7, for Amalfi. Impossible to describe the 
 exquisite and novel beauty of our two hours' row along 
 the coast, studded as it is with small but picturesque 
 fishing towns, perched on precipitous heights, or nest- 
 ling in little sheltered bays. The cactus, the aloe, the 
 myrtle, the stone pine, umbrella-topped, the orange, the 
 olive, growing luxuriantly in spots in which one cannot 
 detect an inch of soil ; some springing apparently out of 
 the very face of the solid rock. At last, on turning the 
 projecting point of a jutting crag, Amalfi discovers 
 itself, more lovely and romantic than any of the many 
 lovely places I have seen. Here we landed, and revelled 
 in the prospect from the inn, lately a Capuchin convent. 
 At 12 o'clock we proceeded towards Castel-a-mare, 
 after such a precipitous ride as I don't wish to take 
 again. The top was snow, and the first part of the 
 descent ice. At length, thank God, we reached Castel- 
 a-mare without having broken any bones, put up at the 
 H6tel d'ltalie, and, after waiting an hour, got our 
 dinner, and then got to bed. 
 
 January 10. — My birthday ! Sadly missed my dear- 
 est mother's kiss and benediction. 
 
• 32 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 February lo. — Wet, miserable day. Dined with Mali- 
 bran, and accompanied her to see Inez de Castro. Bad 
 overture. Music second-class, though it had one or 
 two pretty things in it, which Malibran sang gloriously. 
 Went home and wrote to Lady Duff Gordon before 
 going to roost. 
 
 February 1 7. — Called on Malibran at the Marquis de 
 la Grange's, 36 Chiaja. She received me in her bed, 
 where I found her with a frightfully bruised arm, and 
 wrist turned round, from a fall from her carriage, occa- 
 sioned by a pig, which the Neapolitans were killing in 
 a narrow part of the Chiaja, and which having escaped 
 from the clutches of its foes, ran among her horses' legs 
 and frightened them. 
 
 February 26. — At eight, set off to breakfast with Mr. 
 Auldjo ; then with him, for the second time, to Vesuvius. 
 It was glorious. Mr. Auldjo, as cicerone, was invaluable. 
 I owe to his information a clearer idea of the original 
 form of the mountain, and of the effects produced by suc- 
 cessive eruptions, than I ever had before, or ever could 
 have had, but for him. It was a day not to be forgotten, 
 
 March 10. — Packing and paying most part of the 
 day. Quite overcome by the kindnesses shown me. 
 
 March 11. — At nine o'clock left Naples with Mr. and 
 Lady Catherine Boileau, and family, in three carriages, 
 with courier and maids, and reached Mola di Gaeta at 
 5 P.M. Slept there. 
 
 March 12. — Took a boat for an hour; mounted the 
 hill to Plancus' monument, and saw a fresh phase of 
 the beauties of this lovely coast. Got under weigh at 
 I o'clock ; reached Terracina. Walked much. 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 33 
 
 March 13.— Readied Albano at 5 P.M., and slept 
 there. 
 
 March 16. — Availed myself of a wet day to keep 
 quiet and write letters. 
 
 March 17. — Weather better. Went to Frascati, Tus- 
 culuni, Grotto Ferrata. Tusculum — Amphitheatre, comic 
 and tragic theatres, streets, columns, reservoirs, etc. etc. ; 
 a most interesting spot, older than Rome. Home to a 
 seven o'clock dinner at the Europa, where I am lodged 
 (102), for 2 scudi per diem. 
 
 March 20. — Went with Mr. and Lady C. B. to the 
 Colonna and Barberini palaces ; saw the Cenci at last. 
 In the former palace I was most struck with Raphael's 
 Musician and Titian's Mistress ; Vanity and Modesty ; 
 and two Guidos (Repentance both). The worst painted 
 has the finest expression of profound grief and repent- 
 ance. But both are fine ! To St. Peter's, to vespers. 
 The music fine, but not solemn or like church music. 
 Dined with Mr. Otway Cave. Among others were 
 Lord Ongley and his brother, and Gibson the sculptor. 
 He told me an interesting story of Aristides' statue. 
 An ingenious work has been written to prove it the 
 work of .(Eschines. 
 
 March 22. — Sunday. Horrid wet day ; nevertheless 
 went to church ; came home with Mr. and Lady C. B. ; 
 then to St. Peter's — vespers ; dined with Lady Clanri- 
 carde. 
 
 March 25. — A lovely day. Set off for Grotto Ferrata 
 with Lady Ashbrook and Miss Flower and Emily 
 Boddington, to see an Italian festa. The scenery, both 
 going and returning, was enchanting. The groups, the 
 
 C 
 
34 FROM THE FOREIGN JOURNAL 
 
 costumes, the cattle, the cheerfulness, the invariable 
 good humour ; the absence of noise or squabble ; every- 
 one busy and happy, or idle and happy, was a novel 
 but characteristic sight. Home by eleven, after spend- 
 ing, a pleasant evening with Lady A. 
 
 March 28. — Lord Stanhope sat long with me and 
 took me to the Forum, where he was kind enough to 
 explain to me Bunsen's theory of the place. We went 
 down, and around, and amidst the ruins, tracing the 
 Via Sacra, the site of the Golden Mile-stone, the Comitia, 
 etc. etc. Went then to the palace of the Caesars ; de- 
 scended to the baths of Livia. The paintings there 
 fresher and finer than those in Pompeii. Went to 
 Gibson's studio. He took me to Wyatt's. Dined with 
 Mr. Stanley. We had Mr. Cholmondeley Delamer^, 
 Lady Susan Percy, and Lady Davey. In the evening 
 we had a crush, and among them Marshal Marmont. 
 
 March 29. — Weather beautiful. Too unwell to go 
 out with Lord Stanhope, so he was amiable enough to 
 sit all the morning with me, that is to say, from ten till 
 two o'clock. Most entertaining he was. In fact he did 
 me so much good, that I was able to dine with Duncan, 
 and pass the evening with the Gouldings. 
 
 March 30. — Went to San Giovanni Laterano. I 
 think, though I am no real judge, that I like the Santa 
 Maria Maggiore quite as well. Yet both are very fine. 
 Next, to the baths of Titus ; then to the Coliseum. I 
 can't write about it ; neither, when on the spot, could 
 I speak about it. Vox faucibus hsesit. I was astounded 
 — overwhelmed, with the grandeur of the conception, 
 and the magnitude of the scale. Next to the Coliseum, 
 
OF CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 35 
 
 I think I was most impressed by the baths of Cara- 
 calla. Then to Raphael's Loggia. 
 
 {/ipril 4. — He started in company with Mr. and Lady 
 C. Boileau, and never left them till May 31st, when 
 they arrived in Paris. There he stayed till June 26, 
 seeing many friends, and, among them, none who gained 
 a stronger hold on his affections than poor Adolphe 
 Nourrit] 
 
 At this break between the Journal of Charles Mayne 
 Young and that of his son, it was intended to insert a 
 most interesting and graceful record, written by the latter, 
 of the late Lord Lytton's visit to Ilmington Rectory in 
 September 1870. 
 
 Mr. Young had felt great pleasure in taking his guest 
 to Stratford-on-Avon, Charlcote, and many other cele- 
 brated sites connected with Shakespeare's history and the 
 Elizabethan age. That week will long be remembered 
 in Warwickshire with peculiar pride, and it was a remark- 
 able circumstance that, up to that time, Lord Lytton 
 had never visited these spots, so dear, and almost sacred, 
 to every Englishman. In deference, however, to the 
 feelings of his son, this portion of the Journal (together 
 with a still fuller notice written after Lord Lytton's 
 death) has been laid aside. The latter part contained a 
 tribute to the great qualities of heart and mind which 
 endeared him to those who knew him the most inti- 
 mately, quite apart from the universally acknowledged 
 gifts of genius and intellect which distinguished this 
 illustrious man. 
 
36 CHARLES MAYNE YOUNG. 
 
 I quote a few lines from one of Lord Lytton's letters, 
 written to me after his visit, September 27th : ' Nothing, 
 could be more delightful than my visit to you, and I 
 treasure its. remembrance amongst the agreeable memo- 
 ries of my life.' 
 
 E. A. G. y. .. 
 
JOURNAL 
 
 JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 
 
 In the year 1836, I was fortunate enough to be ap- 
 pointed to the sole charge of the lovely village of 
 Godshill, in the Isle of Wight, to have in the person of 
 my rector, the Reverend Mr. Dixon, a man of university 
 reputation, and of godly simplicity of character, and to 
 have for my immediate neighbour and friend the late 
 Lord Yarborough, commodore of the Yacht Club, one 
 of the most benevolent and loveable men that ever 
 breathed. 
 
 The vicarage of Godshill, and the chapelry of Whit- 
 well, were attached to the living of Niton, of which Mr. 
 Dixon was incumbent. His parish, though on the con- 
 fines of all the beautiful scenery of the Undercliff, was 
 planted in a singularly secluded nook. Its population 
 was composed of a butcher, a baker, a farrier, a shoe- 
 maker, a public-house, a village shop, a few fishermen, 
 many agricultural labourers, and a small but select 
 circle of gentry,^such ,as Mrs. Bennett of Nofthcourt; 
 
38 JOURNAL. 
 
 the Misses Sims (daughters of the well-known accouch- 
 eur) ; Mr. Vine, and his family, of Puckaster (in the cove 
 of which Charles II. landed, July i, 1675) ; Sir Wil- 
 loughby Gordon (late Quarter-Master-General of the 
 Forces), and his accomplished family ; Mr. Arnold of 
 Mirables ; Captain Baird of Old Park (late of the isth 
 Hussars) ; and Mr. Robert Holford of West Cliff 
 House (the uncle of Mr. Holford of Westonbirt and 
 Park Lane, to whom he left his immense fortune). The 
 last-named gentleman was shrewd, sharp, crabbed, self- 
 sufficing, and unsocial ; supposed to be easy in his 
 circumstances, and known to be penurious in his 
 habits. I never was in his house but once, and, when 
 there, saw little in it to remember, except Wilkie's 
 ' Columbus ' on the wall of one of the rooms, and a 
 lamp of ingenious construction, which hung from the 
 ceiling of Mr. H.'s bed-chamber, directly over his 
 bed, and burnt all night ; so that, ' if wicked dreams 
 abused his curtain'd sleep, and he awoke,' he might 
 be able to read with safety. In the days I allude 
 to, there were many strange stories of him rife 
 among his neighbours. His household was reported to 
 consist of a cook, a housemaid, and a factotum, who 
 performed the various functions of valet, butler, gar- 
 dener, and coachman ; Pedro, his name — Spain, his 
 country. His stable establishment comprised a horse 
 and cab, which were both bought off a stand in the 
 streets of London. Although ordinarily close-fisted, 
 he was capable, on occasion, of acts of noble munificence. 
 While his father was alive, he told his only other child, 
 .a daughter, of a certain age, that, as he saw her brother's 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 39 
 
 tastes and hers were diametrically opposed, he was con- 
 vinced they would do better to live apart ; that, under 
 that persuasion, and that there might be no dispute 
 between them about money when he was gone, he 
 should, at once, make over to her a sum which would 
 guarantee her independence ; and, that therefore, she 
 must only expect a further sum of ;^ 10,000 at his death. 
 
 Shortly after that event had taken place, the brother 
 invited his sister to Niton, * on business.' On retiring 
 to the drawing-room after dinner, the first evening, 
 while her back was turned, he deposited a letter on the 
 table, close to the spot where she had been sitting. He 
 called her attention to it. She opened it, took a hasty 
 glance at the enclosure, and reproached him for being 
 in such a hurry to go into business — the very first 
 evening of their meeting after a long separation. * My 
 dear,' said he, ' have you looked carefully at the docu- 
 ment enclosed ? ' ' Oh ! ' she replied, ' I see, at a glance, 
 that it is a cheque for the remaining portion of the pro- 
 perty promised to me by my father. Instead of being 
 in such a hurry to pay it over to me, I wish, as I have 
 no talent for business, that you would invest it for me 
 in some safe security.' 
 
 ' We will talk of that another time,' he said. ' Mean- 
 while, here is a blank stamp-receipt ! Write me an 
 acknowledgment for the money I have paid over to 
 you. But before doing so, look over it carefully.' She 
 took it up, put it down again, and burst out into a fit 
 of laughter, at the same time saying, — ' It is lucky for 
 you, brother, that I obeyed your injunction, for you 
 have made an amusing mistake ! You have, by putting 
 
40 JOURNAL. ■ 
 
 an aught too much, given me ;^ ioo,ooo instead of;^ 10,000/ 
 ' No, my dear, the mistake was made by our father, by 
 putting an aught too little! In this truly delicate and 
 generous spirit did he transfer to his sister ;^90,ooo 
 more than she was entitled to. 
 
 The Pedro whom I have mentioned seems to have 
 been, ' as this world goes, as one man pick'd out of ten 
 thousand ' — singularly honest, and proof against temp- 
 tation ; for when Sir Willoughby Gordon and his co- 
 executor were going over the house and looking at the 
 goods and chattels, before sending for the upholsterer 
 to appraise them for the probate-duty, this worthy 
 fellow, who was ill in bed, asked them if they were 
 quite sure that they had seen everything there was to 
 see. ' Oh ! yes ; quite sure.' ' Then, gentlemen,' said 
 he, ' I am quite sure you have not ! Please go again 
 to his bed-room, and at the back of his wash-stand- 
 press your thumb against a particular spot ' (which he 
 indicated clearly), ' and you will see some drawers let 
 into a recess in the wall ; open them, and you will find 
 what will surprise you ! ' After so many years, I dare 
 not trust myself to say what the sum there found, in 
 sovereigns, was, for fear I should exaggerate; but I 
 know it was many thousands, which the old gentlentan, 
 with the privity of his man, had been hoarding, so that, 
 in the event of a revolution, or great monetary crisis 
 (which he was always expecting), he might have the 
 wherewithal to escape to America, and live in comfort 
 for the remainder of his days. 
 
 In alluding to the integrity of Mr. Holford's servant 
 I ani reminded of a rather amusing story of his maid. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 41 
 
 West Cliff House stood on a platform of smooth turf, 
 overhanging a good fat meadow, which was, in front, 
 fenced off by a rough wall, four or five feet high, and 
 composed of massive stones, uncemented with mortar. 
 In this meadow, which was rich enough to have found 
 forage for 
 
 ' A herd of beeves, fair oxen, and fair kine,' 
 
 there roamed alone a mighty bull, ' monarch of all he 
 surveyed,' in undisputed possession of the field. Once 
 upon a time the maiden of West Cliff House was re- 
 turning from a walk in a new bonnet, clad in a scarlet 
 shawl. Thinking to make up for lost time, she deter- 
 mined to make a short-cut across the meadow, and 
 climb up the wall of the hah-hah, instead of making a 
 circuit by the road. At one extremity of the ground 
 the bull was grazing, when the fair maiden entered at the 
 other. When she had reached the middle of the field, 
 its rightful proprietor, resenting the unauthorized intru- 
 sion, and doubly incensed by the odious colour of the 
 shawl, set off in full pursuit of her. The girl's natural 
 fleetness of foot quickened by her fears, she made for 
 the wall, while he made for her. Shrieking and scream- 
 ing as she ran, she had just reached the desired- goal, 
 and was inserting her left foot between the crevices of 
 the wall, preparatory to mounting, when the infuriated 
 brute, fearing, probably, that he should be balked of 
 his prey, aimed his two formidable horns at her body, 
 and drove them with such prodigious violence into the 
 wall, as to imbed them in it, and encompass her slender 
 waist, as in a parenthesis. This providential incident 
 gave her fellow-servant Pedro, who, while gardening, 
 
42 JOURNAL. 
 
 had been attracted by the screams of the fugitive, an 
 opportunity of going to the rescue. At once compre- 
 hending the extremity of the situation, he dropped on 
 to the back of the animal, and by twisting his tail and 
 belabouring his head with his heavy spade, brought 
 him to his knees, and thus enabled the terror-stricken 
 girl to extricate herself from the horns of her dilemma, 
 and reach the garden platform in safety. While the 
 vanquished bull lay panting, gasping, bleeding, the 
 conquering hero bounded to the side of the girl he had. 
 so gallantly rescued, and asked her if she were hurt. 
 Not one word of thanks did she vouchsafe to the 
 chivalric Spaniard, but simply bemoaned the destruc- 
 tion of her bonnet. 
 
 Thursday, June 6, 1 86 1. — At Miss Burdett Coutts'. A 
 party of fifty-two at dinner. Had some talk with Lord 
 Lansdowne, and much with Fechter, about certain 
 ' points ' in his Hamlet. While the company, collected 
 in the long gallery, were waiting the announcement of 
 dinner. Lady Brownlow came up to me and, with consi- 
 derable acerbity of tone, thus accosted me : — ' I 'm very 
 angry with you ! You told, at the house of our friend 
 S — , the other evening, a story about a relative of mine, 
 for which there is not the remotest foundation ! ' On 
 her reminding me of what she alluded to, I assured her 
 Ladyship that if the story were offensive to her I would 
 not repeat it ; but that if it were false, it was no fabri- 
 cation of mine, for that I had been told it by three 
 different persons, at different times. ' Who were they V 
 said my Lady. ' Captain Willis was one ! The late 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 43 
 
 Lord Graves was another! The third I decline men- 
 tioning.' From the fact of Lord Graves's proximity to 
 Mt. Edgecumbe (he having been born and bred at 
 Thanckes House, close by), I had never entertained a 
 doubt of its truth. When the party had dispersed, with 
 the exception of Mr. P — , I told my hostess what a 
 scolding I had had -from her friend. 'Why,' said she, 
 with characteristic generosity, ' Did you not say that / 
 told it you } ' (she being the third person whose name I 
 had refused to give up), ' Oh ! ' said Mr. P — , ' f have 
 seen allusion made to the story in " Notes and Queries," 
 and I will see if I cannot find it for you ! ' Two or three 
 days after, he sent me two volumes, from which I will 
 make extracts presently ; but before doing so, will 
 mention the story as I had heard it, and had told it. 
 
 One of the Edgecumbes — I can't say which, but I 
 fancy the father of the first Peer — was affectionately 
 attached to his wife, and was half broken-hearted when 
 she died. She was buried in the family vault, in the 
 park of Mount Edgecumbe. The funeral obsequies were 
 conducted with an utter absence of vulgar pomp or 
 parade. None but one or two near relatives, and tenants 
 on the estate, were invited to the funeral. In the even- 
 ing of the day of her interment, when the sun had gone 
 down and twilight was far advanced, her husband was 
 pacing up and down his sitting-room, when, happening 
 to turn his head, disconsolately, towards the park, he 
 saw, or fancied he saw, a sight which chilled his blood 
 to the very marrow. He thought he saw her whom he 
 had but just followed to the grave, walking towards the 
 house, wrapt in her grave-clothes. While he was doing 
 
"44 JOURNAL. 
 
 his best to erase the sad image from his thoughts,— 
 ^considering it to have been an hallutination begotten 
 by overwrQught nerves, — he heard a ring at the door- 
 bell, succeeded shortly after by rueful shrieks and groans, 
 reverberating throughout the house. In another instant, 
 while wondering what it could all mean, in glided the 
 apparition which had so disturbed him. 
 
 He thought he saw a spirit, till the tone of the voice, 
 and the pressure of the lips upon his cheek, proved it 
 to be flesh. And now for the key to the mystery. 
 The ill-starred lady supposed to be dead was only in a 
 trance. Her husband, in compliance with her expressed 
 wish, in the event of dying before him, had a valuable 
 diamond necklace and an emerald ring buried with her. 
 That circumstance having reached the ears, had excited 
 the cupidity, of the sexton. He thought the jewels 
 would be better taken care of by himself, than by their 
 mother earth. A few hours, therefore, after the funeral, 
 when every one had withdrawn from the spot, he re- 
 paired to it with mattock and spade, dug his way 
 through the freshly moved mould ; wrenched open the 
 coffin ; removed the necklace from the lady's throat, 
 and deposited it carefully on the grass, while he tried 
 to detach the ring from her finger. Finding it difficult 
 to do, he took out his knife, meaning to amputate the 
 •two first joints ; but, at the first incision, the crimson 
 blood gushed forth, and she ' that was (apparently) dead,' 
 sat up and began to speak. 
 
 The awe-stricken sexton took to his heels, leaving the 
 coveted jewellery behind him, while his victim, as much 
 surprised as himself, .stepped forth from the charnel- 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 45- 
 
 house which she had tenanted, and made the best of 
 her way to her more congenial home, where, it is said,^ 
 she; lived rnany happy years, and gave birth to a son; 
 and heir. 
 
 And now for the promised extracts from Notes arid, 
 Queries : — 
 
 At page 146, No. 278, vol. xi., January to June 1855, I read of — 
 ' A Lady restored to life.' I have lately met with the following 
 statement : — 
 
 ' Eliza, the wife of Sir W. Fanshaw of Woodley Hall, in Glou- 
 cestershire, was interred, having, at her own request, a valuable 
 locket, which was her husband's gift, hung upon her breast. The 
 sexton, proceeding to the vault at night, stole the jewel, and by the 
 admission of fresh air, restored the lady, who had been only in a 
 trance, and who, with great difficulty, reached Woodley Hall in 
 the dead of the night, to the great alarm of the servants. Sir 
 William, being roused by their cries, found his lady with bleeding 
 feet, and clothed in the winding-sheet, stretched upon the hall. 
 She was put into a warm bed, and gave birth to several children 
 after her recovery.' 
 
 On what authority has this statement been made ? and, if true, 
 when did the occurrence take place ? Change the scene to the 
 town of Drogheda, the lady's name to Harman, and the locket to 
 a ring, and you have a tolerably accurate account of what occurred 
 in the early part (I think) of the last century, and with the tradi- 
 tion with which I have been familiar from my childhood. 
 
 'abhba.' 
 
 t 
 
 Again, at page 154, August 25, 1855, vol. xii., July to December, 
 
 I read of ' A Lady restored to life ' (vol. xi. p. 146). A similar 
 
 tradition exists in this town. 
 
 ' Once upon a time (that is, I presume, some time within the 
 
 last century or two, for I never had any clue to the date of the 
 
 occurrence), a lady named Haigh was believed to be dead, and 
 
 was buried with several rings on her fingers. In the night, after 
 
 the funeral, the sexton entered the vault, opened the coffin, and 
 
 attempted to cut off one of the fingers; upon which the lady 
 
 started up, and the man ran off. She found her way to her hus-' 
 
 band's residence, was duly taken care ofj and survived several' 
 
46 JOURNAL. 
 
 years, having, at least, one child, after her premature interment, 
 The mansion where she lived is pointed out as that which was for 
 many years occupied as a dispensary, and more recently as bar- 
 racks, Halifax. H. MARTIN.' ' 
 
 Again, at page 215, vol. xii., September 15, 1855, Julyto Decem- 
 ber, I read of ' A lady restored to life ' (vol. xi. p. 146, vol. xii. p. 
 1 54). ' At the church of St. Decuman near the town of Watchett, 
 Somersetshire, there is a monumental brass of a lady who was 
 restored to life, as the legend tells, by the sexton, who, in attempt- 
 ing to take off a massive ring from her finger, found himself obliged 
 to use his knife. At the first incision the blood gushed out, and 
 the lady, much to the alarm of the sexton, rose in her coffin. 
 After her restoration to the upper world, the lady blessed her hus- 
 band with two children.' 
 
 ' A similar legend is related of a lady in Cologne, the wife of a 
 knight of the name of Mengis, of the ancient race of Aducht, and 
 the house in which the couple were thus wonderfully re-united 
 can still be seen in the Neumarkt of that town. It is marked 
 by the figure of a horse, near one of the top windows. The reason 
 why this figure was placed there is also given in the legend. Sir 
 Mengis of Aducht was awakened in the night by his wife knocking 
 at the door ; he believed it must be an evil spirit, and refused to 
 open the house unless her horses would mount the stairs up to 
 the garret. No sooner had he made this condition than the horses 
 left their stables and passed his door on their way up-stairs. Awe- 
 struck at this prodigy, he rushed down-stairs and admitted his 
 wife, who, like our Somersetshire heroine, blessed him afterwards 
 with several children.' In Dr. K. Simrock's collection of Legends 
 of the Rhine, this tale is told in verse by E. V. Groote, p. 61. 
 
 'S. A. S.' 
 
 ' Nearly the same story is told of one of the Lady Edgecumbes, 
 if I remember rightly, the mother of the first peer. See an account 
 of the Edgecumbes of Cotehill, by Mrs. Bray,, in the Gentleman's 
 Magazine for 1853. E. H. A.' 
 
 Again, at page 314, October 20, 1855, vol. xii., July to December 
 1855. — 'A lady raised to life' (vol. xi. p. 146, vol. vii. pp. 154, 215)., 
 ' Since I sent you a note on this subject, I have heard of two other 
 similar legends. The localities are Liibeck and Magdeburg. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 47 
 
 Both towns have houses ornamented with horses, showing that 
 the legend in these places agrees with the one I had heard of in 
 connection with Cologne. There is one circumstance connected 
 with the Liibeck legend that may be of interest. The lady on her 
 return to the light of day, had lost her lively complexion, and 
 ever afterwards was known by her corpse-like complexion. Two 
 children whom she bore were also marked in this ghastly manner. 
 There can be no doubt of the truth of this story, if we may argue 
 in the method of good old Thomas Fuller, as, in the church of St. 
 Mary, in Liibeck, there is a painting representing the lady in 
 question, with her two children, unmistakeably referring to the 
 legend, as the corpse-like hue is faithfully given. S. A. S.' 
 
 ' Bridgwater.' 
 
 * I have heard this story related of the mother of the late Earl 
 of Mount Edgecumbe, of whom an old servant of my family used 
 to relate that " she had more than one child after she was buried." 
 How far this is true, I cannot undertake to say, J. F.' 
 
 On referring to Burke's Peerage, I cannot discover to 
 which of the Edgecumbes the tradition can apply, un- 
 less it be to the wife of ' Sir Richard Edgecumbe, who 
 was made one of the Knights of the Bath previously to 
 the Coronation of King Charles II., in order to attend 
 that ceremony. He married Lady Anne Montagu, 
 second surviving daughter of Edward, Earl of Sandwich, 
 and was succeeded, at his decease in 1688, by his only 
 surviving son, Richard Edgecumbe of Mount Edge- 
 cumbe, who was elevated to the Peerage, 20th April 
 1742, as Baron Edgecumbe.' 
 
 Be it as it may, I feel myself at liberty to mention 
 that some time after I had had my lecture in Stratton 
 Street, Lady Brownlow, the Dowager, at her own table, 
 in the presence of the present Lord and Lady Mount 
 Edgecumbe, apologised in the most generous manner to 
 
48 JOURNAL. 
 
 me for having contradicted my tale, as she had, to her 
 infinite surprise, learned from her own family that, 
 whether true or, not, the tradition had long existed. 
 
 With regard to the other stories given in Notes and 
 Queries, it is possible that there may be foundation for 
 them all. It is possible that they may, on the other 
 hand, be all derived from one common source, and that, 
 through lapse of time, error of memory, and diversity 
 of narration, the story may have been applied to the 
 wrong persons. 
 
 Of one fact I have long been convinced, viz., that 
 there is no task more difficult than that of substantiat-' 
 ing a sensational story which has obtained general cir- 
 culation, even though told by the most veracious lips. 
 
 In illustration of this, a recent occurrence occurs to 
 me. On the 12th of April 1873, Admiral Sir Henry 
 Keppel, who was staying for a night or two at the 
 Torbay Hotel, Torquay, happened to be looking out of 
 window, when he saw a fine old gentleman, with snow- 
 white hair, throw off his coat and plunge from the 
 boundary-wall into the sea. His first impression was 
 that he was bent on suicide ; but he soon perceived 
 that his purpose was not to destroy life, but to save it. 
 Mr. March Phillipps (for he it was), a gentleman greatly 
 and generally respected, the senior magistrate of the 
 town, eighty-one years of age, in his usual promenade 
 on the Paignton Road, observed, near Gary Green, some 
 little children playing on the steps, when a little boy; 
 son of Conch, a fisherman, fell off them into deep water; 
 Mr. Phillipps, hearing their cries, hastened to the spot; 
 and without a moment's hesitation, regardless of him- 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 49 
 
 self, and forgetful of his years, he threw off his coat and 
 hat and plunged in to the rescue. The recoil of the 
 waves from the sea-wall had carried the child out to 
 some distance, and as it was sinking, the brave old man 
 held it up with one hand, while he swam' with the other. 
 At this critical moment, Mr. Huntley Hooper of Lome 
 Hall, a young, strong man, and a practised swimmer, 
 fearing that his burden and his years combined might 
 be too much for Mr. Phillipps, took a header after him, 
 and having with difficulty persuaded him to resign his 
 prize, brought him safe to land. 
 
 In the Torqimy Directory, published April i6th, 
 it correctly stated the person who rendered such timely 
 succour to Mr. Phillipps to be Mr. Huntley Hooper. But 
 in the Torquay Times of April i8th, it awarded the 
 merit of the action to Mr. Briscoe Hooper, Clerk to 
 the Board of Health. 
 
 Now, in the account given by the latter paper there 
 was no intentional misrepresentation, but there was 
 misapprehension ; and yet, what a complication of per- 
 plexities might hereafter arise from the discrepancy 
 between these two versions ! Some might declare that 
 it was Mr. Briscoe Hooper who had assisted Mr. 
 Phillipps ; others might as confidently assert that it 
 was Mr. Huntley Hooper.^ Each party would be able 
 to refer to a newspaper of respectability in confirmation 
 of their accuracy, and no one, perhaps, be present to 
 decide the rights of the case. But to return from 
 whence I digressed. 
 
 My friend, Alfred Westwood, used to tell a terrific 
 
 1 The Pall Mall Gazelle says clerk of local board, without naming Hooper. 
 
 D 
 
56 JOURNAL. 
 
 tale which came within his actual knowledge. A lady, 
 whom he knew, — I think a widow living with two 
 daughters, — ^was said to have died very suddenly, without 
 any premonitory indications of disease ! She was laid 
 out upon her bed ; a hired nurse having been left to 
 keep watch by the body, until the undertaker should 
 arrive with the shell. The two daughters were sitting 
 in the drawing-room, immediately under their mother's 
 bed-room, absorbed in silent sorrow, when, to their 
 astonishment, they heard a strange commotion in the 
 death-chamber above, succeeded by shrieks and screams 
 of terror and of pain. They rushed in desperation 
 up-stairs, and found the mother they had loved, and 
 mourned as dead, standing up alive in the bed, en- 
 veloped in a sheet of flame. Supposed dead, she had 
 only been in a trance. The nurse having occasion to 
 leave the room, set down her candle too near the bed- 
 curtains, and, on her opening the door, a gust of wind 
 brought them in contact with the candle. They caught 
 fire, and the poor lady was restored to life only to be 
 burnt to death. 
 
 There are short-sighted people who will never believe 
 any phenomenon in the natural or material world to be 
 true, if it be an exception to the ordinary laws of nature. 
 Thus, I have heard trances ridiculed as impositions. 
 That a person in a trance, or in trans-\\.\x, i.e. in a state 
 of transition between life and death, is in an abnormal 
 condition, in which consciousness and volition are sus- 
 pended, I could quote many instances to prove. But 
 without going back to St. Paul, St. Frangois d'Assisi, 
 St. Thomas Aquinas, Sainte Th6rese, Joannes Scotus, 
 
■ JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. S' 
 
 the Addolorata, the Estatica, I have instances to cite 
 which are contemporary, and have occurred within my 
 own knowledge. 
 
 The lady who acted a mother's part by me during 
 the first six years of my life; Mary Forbes, lay for 
 three weeks at Stirling in a trance, which so closely 
 resembled death, that the family with whom she was 
 staying, the Forrests, would have interred her, but that 
 the medical attendant, insisting on their daily holding 
 a mirror before her mouth, found that it was sullied by 
 her breath, and therefore felt satisfied that she lived. 
 When restored to consciousness she lived some time 
 after. 
 
 A well-known and generally respected man, the Rey. 
 W. Roper, of the Wick, Brighton, the last representative 
 of Lady Sunderland's family, lay for three months, to all 
 outward seeming, dead. His eldest son told me that, 
 when he introduced into his bed-chamber an eminent 
 London practitioner to see him, and asked him what he 
 thought of him, he said — ' Why, he looks so healthy, 
 that I am afraid, if he were a poor man, and I saw hirti 
 in a hospital, I should order a bucket of cold water to 
 be thrown over him, under the impression that he was 
 shamming.' After lying, as I have said, three months 
 in this insensible condition, his butler, Abbot, was 
 poking his fire one morning, when he was almost electri- 
 fied by hearing his old master call to him by name, 
 and ask him what day of the week it was. On being 
 told that it was Sunday, he expressed his wish to get up 
 and go to church ; a thing easier said than done, for, on 
 making an attempt to rise, he fell back powerless and 
 
52 JOURNAL. 
 
 prostrate. In a day or two, however, by the help of 
 restoratives, he was enabled to get up and visit the 
 schools, in which he had always taken lively interest ; 
 but did not survive his resuscitation long. 
 
 February 26, 1865. — Received a telegram from Mrs. 
 Waymouth from Paris, inviting me to visit her there. 
 Wrote and declined. 
 
 March i. — Received a second telegram from Mrs. 
 Waymouth, requesting me so urgently to go to her, as 
 her brother. Admiral Meynell, was dying, that the next 
 day — 
 
 March 2 — I left Torquay ; slept at 18 Upper Brook 
 Street (Mrs. Beckett's) ; and on 
 
 March 3, reached Paris at 6.30 P.M. ; repaired to the 
 H6tel de Louvre, where I found a room readjr for me. 
 
 March 6. — Mr. Hugo Meynell, finding his uncle better, 
 left for England. 
 
 March 7. — I was told a pretty anecdote to-day by one 
 who can vouch for its truth. 
 
 The Emperor, not long after Christmas, was walking 
 in the Bois de Boulogne, attended by Marshal Fleury. 
 While on the ice, he observed a very little boy, with 
 golden ringlets, drop his hand-balloon into the water in 
 a part of. the lake where the ice was melted. With the 
 handle of his stick he hooked it up, and presented it to 
 the child, who thanked him for his kindness, not know- 
 ing the rank of the person to whom he spoke. The 
 Emperor, pleased with the manner of the child, and 
 struck with his beauty, said to him — ' Mon petit ! II 
 faut me baiser ! ' ' Non ! ' replied the little fellow 
 bluffly. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 53 
 
 Marshal Fleury then said to him — ' Mon petit ! votre 
 papa sera bien heureux quand il saura que vous avez 
 h\.k. bais6 par I'Empereur.' 
 
 The boy,, betraying very little emotion on hearing in 
 whose presence he was, replied — ' Non ! non ! Mon 
 papa n'aime pas I'Empereur. II dit souvent qu'il est 
 un gredin.' 
 
 ' Qui est ce, done, votre p^re ? ' 
 
 ' II ne fait rien ! II est s6nateur.' 
 
 ' Son nom ? ' asked Fleury. 
 
 ' Non, non ! ' generously interposed the Emperor ; 
 ' La code Napoleon interdit toute recherche de la pa- 
 ternity.' 
 
 March g.^Called and delivered my letter of intro-* 
 duction to Rossini. He was ill, and invisible in conse- 
 quence. Mrs. Gurwood called and told me that the 
 Due de Morny had just died. 
 
 March 12. — Harry Thompson, the great surgeon, 
 arrived, in obedience to a summons, to see Admiral 
 Meynell. I went to L'Oratorie, and heard a brother of 
 Adolphe Monod's preach, 
 
 March 14. — Admiral Meynell having had too many 
 visitors to-day, became exhausted, sank down on the 
 sofa in his dressing-gown, and begged me not to admit 
 any one else into his rooms on any pretext. Shortly 
 afterwards I heard a tap at the door (in front of which 
 three was a screen). I opened it, and saw standing in 
 the passage a very gentlemanlike man, with a blood- 
 less face. On his inquiring if Admiral Meynell was 
 in the room, I went into the corridor, shut the door be- 
 hind me, and said, ' I beg your pardon, sir, but though 
 
54 " JOURNAL. 
 
 the Admiral is in the room, he is reclining on the sofa, 
 thoroughly spent with the exertion of receiving three 
 or four friends, and it is by his special order that I ven- 
 ture to ask you to excuse his asking you in.' The un- 
 known visitor instantly put his hand on the door, not 
 rudely or roughly, but as if confident of his welcome, 
 and said, ' I say, Henry, here 's some friend of yours 
 won't let me in to see my own first cousin ! ' The Ad- 
 miral, seeing me following him into the room, said 
 feebly, ' My dear Young, let me present you to the 
 Marquis of Hertford, whom you may let in at all times.' 
 I immediately apologised for my apparent incivility, but 
 told him, that as I had been acting under orders, I 
 hoped he would hold me blameless. ' Quite right, 
 quite right ! I wish I had such a friend to look after 
 me and my welfare ! ' 
 
 March 15. — Lord Hertford came and sat for two 
 hours. Meynell made me do the talking, as he was too 
 weak. Harry Thompson, Marquis de Fontenelle, 
 Woodford, Mrs. and Miss Gurwood, and Miss Airey 
 (Sir Richard's daughter), came, the latter with tickets 
 for me to see over the royal stables. 
 
 March 18. — Mrs. Waymouth breathed her last. I 
 telegraphed for her old and faithful butler. Jay. Ar- 
 ranged for tlciQ pompes fun^bres. 
 
 March 20. — The remains of my kind friend were re- 
 moved, under Jay's care, to London. 
 
 I paid two or three visits during my stay in Paris, at 
 his own request, to Lord Hertford. I breakfasted with 
 him one morning, when he showed me over his magni- 
 ficent hotel. After examining with delight his splendid 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 55 
 
 collection of pictures, and china, and vertu, I was riveted 
 by two enormous vases of Gros Bleu ! I asked him 
 their history. ' Ah ! ' said he, ' I mean those for Baga- 
 telle ! ' (his campagne in the Bois de Boulogne). ' There 
 is a curious circumstance connected with them ! When 
 I first gained possession of them, they were besplashed 
 with human clotted blood. After the murder of the 
 Due de Praslin, I heard there was to be a public sale of 
 his effects. Fearful that if once the Emperor knew of 
 these, which were among them, he would buy them, 
 I went and offered a very large sum for them before the 
 sale. My offer was accepted, and I carried them off in 
 my carriage, just as they were.' While breakfasting 
 with him I was made to feel how valueless wealth and 
 station are without health. He wore a violet velvet 
 cap and gorgeous dressing-gown during the meal ; but 
 though there were cotelettes de mouton, and quails, 
 and other luxuries, he hardly ate of anything ! He 
 sipped his Mocha and smoked his cigarettes, and looked 
 wretched, and as if he would give the world for a new 
 sensation. He asked me if I had seen his pictures in 
 Manchester Square. I told him I had, and that Henry 
 Meynell had taken me to see them. ' I will give you a 
 general order if you like,' said he ; but I did not care to 
 go again, so did not remind him of his offer. The num- 
 ber and quality of his possessions, of which he is totally 
 ignorant, is very noteworthy. He has pictures of inesti- 
 mable value, some collected by his father, and some 
 purchased by commission for himself, which he has 
 never seen. One day he was walking with his chum, 
 Cuthbert, when an English groom rode by on a splen- 
 
S6 JOURNAL. 
 
 did horse. ' Oh ! ' said he, ' I must have that horse ! 
 Let us jump into this fiacre (he was standing by one, on 
 the Boulevard Italiens) and follow the man.' With 
 some difificulty they kept up with him. At last Lord 
 Hertford thrust his head out of the window and asked 
 the gro.om, in English, whose horse it was. ' I 'm not 
 bound to tell you, am I .' ' ' No ! but be civil ; is it the 
 Emperor's.?' 'No, it is not! If you must know, it 
 belongs to the Marquis of Hertford^ He knew neither 
 his own horse nor his own groom ! 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 57 
 
 AMMERGAU. 
 
 July 21, 187 1. — This day my second son and his 
 sister returned from the Bavarian Tyrol, whither they 
 had gone expressly to see the Passion Play. They are 
 enthusiastic in their admiration of it, and urge their 
 mother and myself to follow their lead, and go and see 
 it. If I yield to their amiable importunity, I shall do 
 so rather from a wish to gratify one ever ready to forego 
 her own pleasure for that of others, than from any irre- 
 pressible curiosity of my own. 
 
 July 22, 1 87 1. — I remember, long ago, that my wife 
 was profoundly interested by reading Dean Stanley's 
 graphic account of his visit to Oberammergau. The 
 cause of its first institution — the fidelity with which for 
 two centuries and a half, a vow made in trouble had 
 been observed in prosperity — the concurrent testimony 
 from all quarters as to the sanctifying influence of the 
 representation on spectators, as well as on actors en- 
 gaged in it — all combined to take strong hold on her 
 imagination, and dispose her to believe that the sacred 
 mystery was nothing less than an extraordinary instru- 
 mentality vouchsafed for ' turning the hearts of the dis- 
 obedient to the wisdom of the just.' 
 
 I, on the other hand, was anything but disposed to 
 regard it as a means of grace. The bare idea of there 
 
58 JOURNAL. 
 
 being 500 people, in one village, willing to re-enact, in 
 cold blood, the tragedy of Calvary, conveyed to my 
 mind anything rather than a pleasing notion of the 
 country in which it could be tolerated. Thinking, as I 
 did, that to dramatise The Passion could but deaden the 
 religious and reverential sensibilities of those who took 
 part in it, or sanctioned it by their presence, it would 
 have been more consistent if I had refused to go, and 
 had dissuaded my wife from going also. As, however, 
 I profess consideration for the sincere convictions of 
 others, and entertained some distrust of the justice of 
 my own, after hearing the report of the effect of the 
 play on every one who saw it, I could not help halting 
 between two opinions. Was it for me to condemn, un- 
 seen and unheard, that which had extorted the most 
 unqualified admiration from men of all schools of reli- 
 gious thought — from ultramontane Monsignori, from 
 High Churchmen, Low Churchmen, and Broad.' I deter- 
 mined, at least, to give my wife the benefit of my doubt, 
 accompany her to Oberammergau, and decide for myself 
 how far an exhibition so novel and exceptional might 
 be admissible, not for Protestants, but for primitive, un- 
 sophisticated. God-fearing Roman Catholics, dwelling 
 remote from worldly contamination, in the solitudes of 
 the high Alps. With this object in view, I started with 
 my wife for the Tyrol. 
 
 On August 12, 1 87 1, at 7 P.M., we left Munich by rail 
 for Weilheim. Having been afoot all day in a broiling 
 sun, and thoroughly exhausted by the evening, we had 
 not been ten minutes in the train, before — without inten- 
 tional disrespect to our fellow-travellers, or indifference 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 59 
 
 to the beauties of nature — we fell into the the toils of 
 Morpheus, and remained his prisoners until set free by 
 the gruif summons of the conducteur to alight. We had 
 reached our quarters for the night. Homely enough 
 they were ; yet so cordial was the welcome given us by 
 our Boniface, that we felt predisposed to look at every- 
 thing in his establishment couleur de rose. He had a 
 countenance literally blazing with perpetual sunshine 
 and good-humour ; a set of peerless pearls gleaming in 
 his wide jaws ; abundance of natural courtesy, spiced,- 
 perhaps, with a leetle flavour of self-complacency ; and a 
 passion, worthy of Caleb Balderstone, for representing 
 things about his miserable manage, not as they were, 
 but as they ought to have been ; so that, ' having ' next 
 to ' nothing,' he yet descanted on the prolific stores of 
 his larder, as if ' possessing all things ' ! Although our 
 fare was scanty in quantity, and insipid in quality, our 
 beds and bedding were unimpeachable ; and we were 
 waited on next morning with such radiant alacrity, and 
 with such confident assurance of the superiority of the 
 dietary set before us, that we had not the heart to dis- 
 turb our host's illusion. 
 
 August 13, 1 87 1. — It was at eight o'clock on a bright 
 summer's morn — a slight smack of autumn in the air — 
 when we left Weilheim in a roomy carriage drawn by 
 two stout horses. Owing to our protracted railway nap 
 of last night, and our consequent ignorance of the 
 country through which we had passed, we were quite 
 unprepared this morning for the startling transition we 
 experienced from the tame to the sublime. We had not 
 long turned our backs upon Weilheim, before we found 
 
6o JOURNAL. 
 
 ourselves face to face with the Bavarian Alps. As we 
 approached them, and the morning mist began to rise, 
 they looked, with their jagged peaks and precipitous 
 sides, like a series of impregnable fortresses, defended 
 by regiments of javelin-pointed pines, and bristling up 
 in opposition to our progress. Although not so lofty as 
 many I had seen in Switzerland, yet were they abrupt 
 and perpendicular enough to have deterred any but 
 a very romantic chamois, or a very daring member of 
 the Alpine Club, from attempting to scale them. The 
 day, as it wore on, culminated in unclouded loveliness. 
 Every object around us — above our heads or below our 
 feet — appealed to our fancies, our senses, or our spirits. 
 At every bend of the road some fresh feature in the 
 landscape elicited from us exclamations of delight, and 
 made our pulses plunge with uncontrollable excitement. 
 At one moment we were attracted by the neat chalet of 
 some ' harmless villager, pious, proud, and free ; ' his 
 neatly-piled stack of wood telling of forecast for the 
 winter's need. At another our attention would be called 
 to a Paul Potter group of cows, artistically distributed, 
 some ruminating, some roaming, some ' grazing the 
 verdant mead.' Vast fields of golden corn, already ripe 
 for the sickle, alternating with woodlands wild, and 
 spacious forests of birch and beech, and fir and moun- 
 tain-ash, intersected by alleys and avenues, such as 
 Watteau would have loved to paint or Nesfield to 
 design. Our ears were greeted, too, with 
 
 ' The natural music of the mountain reed — 
 For here the patriarchal days are not 
 A pastoral fable — pipes in the liberal air, 
 Mix'd with the sweet bells of the saunt'ring herd.' 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 6i 
 
 The atmosphere was redolent of turpentine, and the 
 fragrance of wild thyme and new-made hay. The 
 blush of azure and of pink with which the early sun had 
 dyed the mountain-tops still lingered on the lower 
 slopes, while turf as fine as that of garden lawn extended 
 for miles before us — so alluring to the tread that, in the 
 effervescence of my glee, I could hardly refrain from 
 jumping out of the carriage, and 'playing antics before 
 high heaven,' like a boy released from school. The 
 farther we advanced into the heart of the hills, the love- 
 lier grew the pictures presented to our eyes ; and so 
 exhilarating was the air we breathed, that we felt as if 
 we had taken laughing gas ; and had my years been 
 fewer, and my figure lighter, no regard for the proprie- 
 ties would have kept me from tumbling head over heels 
 in wanton ecstasy of spirit. 
 
 After three hours of intoxicating enjoyment, we halted 
 to refresh our horses and tranquillize ourselves at a place 
 called Murnau. The inn was large and clean ; but its 
 tutelary goddess, the landlady, somewhat too independ- 
 ent and imperious to elicit much voluntary homage from 
 us. We had not long turned our back upon her, before 
 we found ourselves hemmed in by mountains, and travel- 
 ling by the side of the Ammer, an acceptable companion 
 enough in such hot weather, though sluggish and languid, 
 and very unlike other Tyrolean rivers, which are generally 
 clear and rapid. As this happy valley contracted into 
 a gorge, we overtook, for the first time, a straggling 
 procession of pilgrims to the Passion-Spiel ; a dusty, 
 heated, travel-spiled band they were ; but sober, orderly, 
 and civil, wending their way on foot deliberately, and 
 
62 JOURNAL. 
 
 husbanding their powers for the formidable hill await- 
 ing them ahead. Those who were more familiar 
 with the immediate locality diverged from the main 
 road and took a short cut, under the shelter of a 
 dense wood. At the bottom of the last and sharpest 
 hill, we found ourselves launched in the midst of a 
 motley crowd of Gentiles, some on horseback, more in 
 vehicles of various grades, most on foot ; Kutscher 
 crowding into a little road-side pot-house, and clamor- 
 ous for beer; Kutscher who had slaked their thirst, 
 rushing out impatient to proceed ; horses huddled to- 
 gether under trees, waiting to be watered ; horses being 
 taken out of harness, to be scraped and sponged ; horses 
 neighing for their corn, and snapping angrily at their 
 fellow-creatures, who had already got it ; pretty ladies 
 in purple 'uglies,' lounging back in odd-shaped car- 
 riages ; ordinary and extraordinary gentlemen in English 
 chimney-pots or Tyrolese ' wide-awakes,' interchanging 
 greeting with friends from the antipodes. There were 
 French, and Germans, and Americans, 'their speech 
 bewraying them ; ' and, by way of interlude, there was 
 a scene of angry altercation between a carriage-full of 
 people protesting vehemently, on the score of economy, 
 against the imposition of an extra horse, and their driver, 
 on the score of necessity, as pertinaciously insisting 
 upon having it. This was the only incident on our route 
 which jarred upon our feelings, and it was so out of 
 harmony with the heavenly scenery around us, that we 
 cared not to know how the wrangle terminated, but 
 hastened forward to our destination. We arrived there 
 at 3 P.M., under the fond delusion that we were among 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 63 
 
 the favoured few whose lodgings were secured. On 
 driving to the shop of Madame Weit, in whom we 
 flattered ourselves we had ' a friend at court,' we were 
 assured in her most dulcet tones, arid with the most 
 deprecating shrug of her shoulders, that though she had 
 received our application three weeks before, yet that 
 the demand for rooms from princes, potentates, and pre- 
 lates, so far exceeded the supply, that it was quite out 
 of her power to help us. Soon finding that there were 
 many others of far higher pretensions to consideration 
 than ourselves, who had been turned adrift, we had made 
 up our minds to pass the night in our carriage, when 
 Madame George Lang, pitying our houseless plight, 
 and finding that we did not bluster under disappoint- 
 ment, despatched a female emissary to say, that she 
 thought we might procure a resting-place for the sole 
 of our feet in a certain lowly cot to which we should be 
 directed. 
 
 Following our Ariadne's clew, as she threaded her 
 devious way through the labyrinth of modern-antique 
 carriages with which the village was crowded, we 
 reached at last our haven ; quickly arranged with a 
 dear old woman for a room for my wife and maid, up a 
 ladder, and over an odorous cow-house ; and then 
 loafed about the streets in search of some nook or other 
 where we might ' eat, drink, and,' if possible, ' be merry,' 
 until bed-time ! We had taken the precaution of bring- 
 ing provisions with us, and were looking forward to a 
 glass of Mons. Schimon's champagne (landlord of the 
 Vierjahrenzeiten at Munich), when, from the centre of a 
 circle of ladies, and seated at a carpenter's bench in the 
 
64 JOURNAL. 
 
 middle of a by-lane, who should start forward, with out- 
 stretched hands and looks of amiable recognition, but 
 Miss Leighton ! In a few minutes she had introduced 
 us to her travelling companions and friends, Mrs. Owen 
 and Miss Coates, Miss Ponsonby and Lady Helen 
 Steuart, Finding that we had but just arrived, and 
 were sans sitting-room, they kindly invited us to par- 
 take of the dinner they had extemporised. It was 
 delightful to see with what cheerfulness these gently- 
 nurtured ladies accommodated themselves to privations 
 from which their maids, had they brought them, would 
 have recoiled as insufferable hardships. It was almost 
 with an air of pride that Miss Leighton showed us her 
 chamber. It was about 12 feet by 6, with a very so- 
 so bedstead, about 6 feet by 3, standing on bare 
 boards. Restricted for room, she was yet protected 
 from oppressive closeness by an aperture in the ceiling, 
 large enough, with the aid of a sloping ladder, to ad- 
 mit the slender figure of Lord Galloway's daughter to 
 her chamber, and also to afford Miss Leighton a com- 
 fortable hope of ear-ache ! We were not admitted to 
 the penetralia of the up-stair dormitory, but we could 
 easily image it for ourselves. I should think it must 
 have reminded its tenant of the house of a certain widow 
 dwelling in a town in Zidon, called Zarephath or Sarepta. 
 To the dinner we did full justice ; and the ' we' signifies 
 not only the five ladies, my wife, and myself, but three 
 or four ether gentlemen acquaintances, with whom, as 
 the Scotch say, they had ' forgathered.' What we had to 
 eat I forget, if I except a never-to-be-forgotten haricot, 
 cooked by one of the fair daughters of Lady Louisa 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 65 
 
 Coates, and gracefully served up by her own hands. I 
 question, if we had just had the freedom of the City of 
 London conferred upon us, and had dined at the Man- 
 sion-House afterwards, if we should have relished our 
 meal as thoroughly as we did our unambitious cottage 
 fare. After we had despatched it, my wife and I strolled 
 through the village, picking our way as best we could, 
 among the miscellaneous throng. We found the houses 
 generally neater, larger, and more commanding than 
 those of our own agricultural labourers. The poorest 
 that we saw would yield, in England, a rent of from £'i 
 to £^ per annum; the best from £6 \.o £\i^ a year. 
 Some had gardens attached to them, some had not; 
 but I saw none that were not white and weather-tight ; 
 the pictorial effect of many being greatly heightened 
 by Scripture subjects frescoed on the walls in front. 
 
 Suggestive as this description may be of greater 
 regard for show than comfort, it is not so, in reality. 
 There is no taint about them of anything like what we 
 should call Cockneyism ; and though the decorative art 
 displayed will not bear critical inspection, the general 
 effect of colour on the eye is exceedingly agreeable ; 
 and even were it otherwise, the pictorial representations, 
 after all, have made the villagers so familiar with the 
 prominent and pathetic verities of Scripture, however 
 deficient in technical execution, as to reconcile one to 
 them. We retired early to bed, but not soon to sleep. 
 The watchman patrolling the streets, and proclaiming 
 the hours of the night, the tinkling of innumerable goat- 
 bells, the tramp of the band through every corner of 
 the village, playing solemn airs appropriate to the 
 
 E 
 
65 JOURNAL. 
 
 season, and the periodical discharge of guns, would 
 have rendered such a consummation, however devoutly 
 to be wished, impossible. Had we reposed upon the 
 springiest of French mattresses, in the most luxurious of 
 rooms, the feverish state of anticipation in which we lay 
 "Would effectually have banished sleep from our eyelids, 
 and that quite independently of the ' murmuring surge ' 
 of human voices which rose through the thinly-parti- 
 tioned walls of our room, and which we heard next 
 morning had proceeded from the hoarse throats of our 
 good old host and hostess, who had given up their own 
 beds for our accommodation, and were keeping ' vigils 
 for th' ensuing day.' 
 
 The voices of the church choir were audible as early 
 as three o'clock, now wailing in penitence, now swelling 
 in praise. All, indeed, who were to figure in the coming 
 day's proceedings, after confessing their sins, were about 
 to partake of the Mass, before being permitted to take 
 part in the sacred drama. 
 
 August 14. — Daybreak was ushered in by a discharge 
 of cannon, the reverberation of which, as it rang and 
 rattled through the mountains, sounded like the sum- 
 mons to a solemn rite. 
 
 We had been assured, that though the play did not 
 begin till 8 A.M., the doors would be opened as early as 
 5 A.M. ! Having failed yesterday to procure tickets for 
 the front seats, we conceived that our likeliest chance 
 of gaining admission would be to repair to the theatre 
 as early as we could, and purchase tickets for the 
 open space occupied by the peasants. Accordingly, 
 we were at the entrance-door ten minutes after five ; 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 67 
 
 but, to our surprise, found every place preoccupied. 
 I had recourse to every stratagem devisable by selfish 
 ingenuity to get in. I appealed ad crumenam; I tried 
 what bribery and corruption would effect. I appealed 
 ad misericordiam, and pointed to my fragile wife, 
 who had risen, I said, at an unearthly hour, and who 
 had braved the perils of the deep (hem ! two hours' 
 sail from Dover !) that she might witness that particular 
 day's performance ; but wheedling invocations and mer- 
 cenary persuasions were equally thrown away on those 
 ruthless, sorely-tempted, but conscientious trusty jani- 
 tors. They could not have been more impenetrable if 
 they had been made of marble. The Rev. Julian 
 Young, I grieve to say, returned to his garret in a very 
 naughty, not to say nasty, mood ; and his lady, though 
 uncomplaining, more chapfallen than I ever saw her in 
 my life. There was nothing for it, baffled and discom- 
 fited as we were, but to set our faces like flints towards 
 home ; though any other home, ' by any other name 
 would have smelt as sweet,' and a good deal sweeter. 
 
 The prospect of spending seventeen hours in a loft, in 
 the immediate vicinity of a dung-hill, with nothing to 
 sit down on but the hard edge of a wretched pallet, with 
 no shady retreat in which to read one's Bible or say 
 one's prayers, so tried my patience, that. I found the 
 natural sweetness of my temper oozing out at my 
 finger-ends, and proposed at once to pack up our 
 traps, shake off the dust of our feet, and give the world 
 assurance that Ammergau was the most odious of 
 places ; that its people were labouring under diabolical 
 possession ; and that its vaunted mystery was a super- 
 
68 JOURNAL. 
 
 stitious imposition. But fortunately there was at my 
 "side 
 
 ' A perfect woman, nobly planned, 
 To warn, to comfort, and command ! ' 
 
 who soon dispelled my sulks by gently reminding me 
 that as there were hundreds in as bad a plight as we, a 
 repetition of the piece would certainly take place on the 
 morrow, when we might reasonably hope for good seats 
 and no crowd. ' The stern Achilles' wrath was soothed.' 
 We returned to our sorry habitation, cast down yet not 
 desponding ; looking at each other benignly from our 
 bedsides, — sorry that we had had our breakfast, and 
 regretting that we could not make another. We then 
 cast plaintive glances through the casements of our win- 
 dow on the outer world, where every object was eloquent 
 of divine benevolence towards man ; and, as we looked 
 ' On that great Temple that 's not made with hands,' 
 
 we appreciated, as we had never fully done before, the 
 truth and beauty of Hood's lines : — 
 
 ' Thrice blessed, rather, is the man with whom 
 The gracious prodigality of nature. 
 The balm, the bliss, the beauty, and the bloom ; 
 The bounteous Providence in every feature. 
 Recall the good Creator to his creature. 
 Making all earth a fane — all heav'n its dome ! 
 
 Each cloud-capp'd mountain is a holy altar : 
 
 An organ breathes in every grove : 
 
 And the full heart 's a psalter 
 Rich in deep hymns of gratitude and love.' 
 
 And when, through the still and balmy air, we heard 
 at one moment the imprecations of the Jewish mob ; at 
 another the antiphonal chanting of the chorus, any 
 passing sense of irritation we might have felt subsided, 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 69 
 
 and we became affected seriously. And when, between 
 the hours of one and two, Madame Weit came to tell us 
 that in less than no time apartments lately ' occupied 
 by several My Lords ' — to wit, Lady Londonderry and 
 a friend, and Lord Gainsborough and daughters — ^would 
 be at our ' disposition,' our spirits rose like quicksilver. 
 Right glad were we to exchange our unsavoury attic 
 for two large and airy rooms in a charming villa, stand- 
 ing in the centre of a garden. And when, shortly after 
 taking possession, we found ourselves seated at a well- 
 covered table, with snow-white napkins on our knees, 
 and soup and trout, and . steaks and chicken, cucumber 
 and champagne before us, a soothing southern air 
 streaming through the windows, and gently fanning 
 our white muslin curtains ; and when we paused, during 
 the processes of mastication, to look upon a scene 
 worthy of Eden's brightest days, and our landlady 
 deposited on our dinner-table two tickets for the front 
 row, for the morrow, I recanted all I had rashly said to 
 the disparagement of place and people. At once the 
 bread — by a pardonable poetic fiction — became the 
 sweetest ever baked ; the soup, the fish, the flesh, the 
 fowl, superior to any ever tasted at Phillippe's ; and poor 
 Madame Weit, but yesterday the most fickle of Eve's 
 daughters, was at once translated to the angelic order. 
 
 In due time ' the house adjourned,' jalousies were 
 closed, and heads and pillows became close friends. 
 The sheets proved to be sans tache, the mattresses 
 sans reproche, the blankets void of any tenant but 
 ourselves. 
 
 August 15. — We rose at 6 A.M., not from impatience 
 
70 JOURNAL. 
 
 to reach our sittings, for we knew they were reserved, 
 but from feverish inability to keep in bed. We break- 
 fasted with as much haste as if we were taking refresh- 
 ment at Swindon, when travelling by express ; and 
 sallied forth to the theatre with an elation of heart and a 
 jauntiness of step, only to be accounted for by improve- 
 ment in circumstances. 
 
 With serene satisfaction we produced our tickets 
 for the front row, and took our seats. The first thing 
 which attracted our observation was the ample capacity 
 of the building ; the next, the decorous silence reigning 
 throughout it ; the last, the devotional deportment of 
 most of our own clergy, few of whom, I suspect, and 
 many of whom, I know, had never been within the 
 walls of a theatre. On this occasion they entered as if 
 it were ' none other but the house of God,' and they 
 were there not for amusement but for edification. I 
 saw several with heads bowed and knees bent, rapt in 
 prayer, till roused by the music of the overture. The 
 instrumental performers, about thirty in number, after 
 'tuning up,' commenced the prelude. While it was 
 being played, I scanned most rigorously the construc- 
 tion of the house ; and neither in its accessories, its 
 stage, proscenium, drop-scene, drop-curtain, wings, 
 scenery, orchestra, pit, or properties, was there anything 
 unlike what one sees in other similar places of enter- 
 tainment ; with one exception, viz., that at each ex- 
 tremity of the proscenium, right and left, there was a 
 projecting balcony, — ^the one supposed to represent the 
 outlet from a room in Annas' house, the other to lead 
 out of Pilate's audience-chamber in the Prsetorium. The 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 71 
 
 pit, orchestra, and stage were alike exposed to wind, 
 and wet, and sun ; from which the costlier dress benches, 
 clothed in scarlet drugget, well stuffed, and with railings 
 for the back, were carefully sheltered by a wooden roof. 
 Each tier of seats was raised a foot higher than the one 
 before it, thus affording every facility for unobstructed 
 vision. The site of the theatre had been selected, with 
 taste and judgment, in a narrow part of the valley, under 
 the very shoulders of the mountain range ; the lower 
 slopes, though far more romantic, bearing, I am told, 
 considerable resemblance to the country round about 
 Jerusalem. Indeed, it imposed no very heavy tax upon 
 the imagination to fancy the trout-stream at the foot 
 of the opposite hill to be the brook Kedron, running its 
 course beneath Mount Olivet ; or the young trees and 
 stunted brushwood scattered about its base to be the 
 olive-tree, the fig-tree, and the pomegranate ; or the 
 tiny footpath winding among them, the well-trodden 
 track to Bethany. 
 
 As we had anticipated, we met with no difficulty in 
 getting to our places ; for the audience, which yesterday 
 had been 6000, had dwindled to 4000. I had great mis- 
 givings that, minus the stimulus of yesterday's crowd, 
 and plus the fatigue of yesterday's exertions, the spirit 
 of the actors, if not evaporated, would be greatly diluted. 
 However, not only could we detect no lack of energy, 
 or earnestness of purpose ; but our lady friends, who 
 had been present yesterday, and were so again to-day, 
 declared that the spontaneity, fervour, and unction of 
 their acting were still more intensified. This fact went 
 far to confirm the truth of what we had heard, viz., that 
 
72- JOURNAL. 
 
 these peasant players — from their earliest years — have 
 been so indoctrinated with the solemn significance of 
 the performance in which they are privileged to take 
 part, that, even if applause had been allowed, they would 
 have been deaf to it. 
 
 Before giving dispassionate consideration to the 
 general merits of the performance, I venture to make a 
 few remarks which suggest themselves to me, and this 
 in no captious spirit. 
 
 No person who has witnessed anything so unique of 
 its kind as the Passion Play can wonder at the sensa- 
 tion it has created. In spite of strong prejudices to be 
 surmounted, I never was so affected by any sight in my 
 life. And yet, in the unqualified panegyrics I have 
 heard bestowed even on its minutest details, I cannot 
 concur. An enthusiastic friend of mine went so far as 
 to resent all comment upon it as impious, that was not 
 laudatory, and to assert that no one was worthy to wit- 
 ness the drama who did not enter the place wherein it 
 was to be enacted with the veneration due to a conse- 
 crated temple. Now, deserving of the very highest 
 admiration as the Passion-Spiel is, it is, after all, and 
 notwithstanding the solemnity of the subject treated, 
 what its name imports, and, as such, fairly amenable to 
 criticism.^ A price is demanded for admission. All the 
 accessories belonging to any other theatre belong to it ; 
 and therefore, as one of the paying public, I conceive I 
 am entitled to record my impressions of what I saw and 
 heard, be those impressions adverse or favourable. 
 
 1 It is right to state that after all the necessary expenses are paid, the 
 surplus is devoted to the local charities. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 73 
 
 Now, before I had any opportunity of forming an 
 opinion for myself, I was told that the orchestra was 
 first-rate, the recitatives of the chorus faultless in time 
 and tune, the acting of the women transcendent, and 
 the taste for harmony of colour displayed in the 
 tableaux thoroughly artistic. I held my tongue, but 
 doubted instinctively, whether those who indulged in 
 such extravagant encomium were not deficient in dis- 
 crimination, or apt to imbibe their sentiments from 
 others, instead of forming impartial judgments for 
 themselves. Now, the scenery, though answering its 
 object well enough, was inferior to what may be seen 
 any night at one of the theatres on the Surrey side of 
 the Thames. The music, though creditable to the in- 
 vention of its rustic composer, was anything but ravish- 
 ing. The singing, though the timbre of some of the 
 voices was excellent, was uncultivated, and the articu- 
 lation muffled. The mixture of colour in grouping was 
 often infelicitous, and sometimes meretricious; and 
 though the costumes were faithfully copied from the 
 old masters, yet now and then they fatigued the eye 
 by their gaudiness. Light blue, mauve, magenta, cho- 
 colate, orange, and yellow, were in the ascendant. The 
 purple robe of the Christus, though unexceptionable in 
 the simplicity of its make, and the skilful disposition of 
 its drapery, was yet too new and rich for one who ' had 
 not whereon to lay His head.' The same objection 
 might be made to the dresses worn by Peter, John, and 
 Judas, which were all too smart for men of their humble 
 condition. Again, the acting of the women was inferior ; 
 and Franziska Fliinge, who impersonated the Virgin 
 
74 JOURNAL. 
 
 Mother, looked considerably younger than her Son. 
 The tableaux, though skilfully arranged in some re- 
 spects, reminded me uncomfortably of certain popular 
 wax-works in Baker Street. Even the one representing 
 the Fall of the Manna — general favourite as it was — fell 
 short of my expectations. 
 
 There was too much sameness and tameness, and not 
 variety and eagerness enough in the attitudes. The 
 space allotted was too limited for the numbers massed 
 together. The Israelites were packed as closely together 
 as figs in a drum. 
 
 Every one who has had anything to do with the 
 instruction of the young, knows what a potent agent 
 pictorial representation is in fixing facts in the memory. 
 How much more so when the pictures are living ones ! 
 As a means, therefore, of riveting Scripture truth to 
 the brain, of illustrating, by type and antitype, the con- 
 nection between the two Covenants, and of symbolising 
 the most pathetic events of redemption, nothing in con- 
 ception could be happier than these tableaux, defective, 
 as in some few instances they might be, in execution. 
 
 Having stated frankly my objections to certain minor 
 items connected with the mise en seine, I proceed to 
 show the reverse side of the medal. 
 
 First, then, as to the acting of Tobias Fliinge, the 
 Pontius Pilate : it was not acting at all, it was identifica- 
 tion. On his first appearance at the balcony, you saw 
 a high-born Roman statesman, with the manners of an 
 aristocratic gentleman, wealthy, worldly, and weak, pro- 
 bably ; yet certainly not deficient in just instincts, 
 when not interfering with his personal security. Be it 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 7S 
 
 observed, that the very fact of Pilate's quitting his seat 
 of office in the judgment-hall argued both consideration 
 for the Jews, who he knew would deem themselves de- 
 filed by entering it, and condescension to them by 
 derogating from his own dignity, and 'going forth' to 
 expostulate with an infuriated mob. I fancied, there- 
 fore, that under the mask of courtesy I detected a cer- 
 tain haughtiness of manner when he put his first question, 
 — ' What accusation bring ye against this man ? ' While, 
 after hearing their insolent retort, ' If he were not a 
 malefactor, we would not have delivered him unto thee,' 
 it was evident from his look and gesture, as he answered, 
 ' Take ye him and judge him according to your law,' 
 that he not only inwardly resented the disrespectful tone 
 in which they had addressed him, but was indignant at 
 their wish, not to appeal to him as a judge, but rather 
 to force him to acquiesce in their condemnation of the 
 accused. On the Jews reminding him that it was not 
 lawful for them to put any one to death, his voice and 
 countenance betrayed a nervous sense of responsibility, 
 and some misgiving whether, unless he were cautious, 
 he might not fall into disgrace with the Emperor him- 
 self. He was, evidently, impatient to break off the 
 interview and return to the judgment-hall. After an 
 absence of some minutes, during which he is supposed 
 to have examined Jesus more strictly, he comes forward 
 again from the balcony, tells the people that he finds no 
 fault in him,. but proposes, in conformity with the usage 
 at the Passover of releasing one prisoner, to let him go. 
 Fliinge shows you clearly that he represents a pliant, 
 feeble character, not a harsh or deliberately ^vicked one ; 
 
76 JOURNAL. 
 
 and that, though he longs to liberate the prisoner, want 
 of moral courage, and dread of compromising himself 
 with Caesar, prevents his doing so. 
 
 Jacob Hett — the Peter — looked every inch his part, 
 and what he had to say or do, he did and said right 
 well ; though, after his reiterated denials, his Master's 
 previous warnings, and his Master's look of mild reproof, 
 it would have been more in keeping with the impulsive 
 temperament of his original,' if he had been more de- 
 monstrative in his contrition. We are told that he ' went 
 out, and wept bitterly ; ' so I suppose the first gush of his 
 grief is supposed to have been indulged in alone, and 
 out of sight. It is true he is seen to lean against a wall 
 in dejection ; but still I could not discern either in his 
 visage or his bearing any great trace of grief 
 
 The affectionate sympathy of John for Peter as shown 
 by Zwink, was very touching. 
 
 Johannes Zwink was a very fair representative of his 
 youthful namesake. The natural amiability of his looks, 
 amounting almost to effeminacy, were quite in accord- 
 ance with the Roman Catholic traditions. His long 
 auburn hair and beardless cheek contrasted well with 
 the furrowed face, grey hair, and grisly beard of his com- 
 panion Peter. 
 
 Of Gregor Lechner much might be written, but to do 
 him full justice would require a dissertation on the con- 
 flicting views of commentators upon Judas's character, 
 and a critical analysis of Lechner's version of it. His 
 impersonation appeared to me quite excellent. His 
 features are Jewish; and there is an obliquity in one of 
 his eyes, which imparted a sinister meaning to his looks, 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 77 
 
 eminently characteristic of his prototype. His eager, 
 emphatic way of counting the thirty pieces of silver, his 
 eyes gleaming with insatiable avarice, his ' itching palm ' 
 clutching almost savagely at one of the shekels as it 
 rolled off the table, his undissembled consciousness 
 that his motives and intentions were seen through by 
 his Master, his remorseful agitation at the supper-table, 
 perceptibly increasing as the Christus drew nearer and 
 nearer to him, and culminating, after the reception of 
 the sop, in his impetuous exit, — all these points were 
 made with great force. 
 
 I overheard more than one person describe his acting 
 as stagey. I do not see how, in a part so impassioned, 
 any actor who would be true to nature could escape this 
 imputation. Mobility of feature and animation of ges- 
 ture are essential to the faithful portraiture of such 
 marked individuality as that of Judas. 
 
 When Joseph Maier, the Christus, was pointed out to 
 me on the evening of our arrival, he was clad in his 
 ordinary working dress, and my first feeling on behold- 
 ing him was one of unmitigated disappointment. I saw 
 an ordinary mechanic, of dark complexion, chiefly re- 
 markable for a luxuriant growth of beard, and a pro- 
 fusion of jet black hair, falling in heavy clusters over his 
 neck and shoulders. His deportment was doubtless 
 very artless, and his humble manner of returning the 
 salutations of passers-by, singularly prepossessing. But 
 I could not refrain from mentally comparing this olive- 
 tinted, Italian-looking man, with the ideals of Francia, 
 Carlo Dolce, and Leonardo da Vinci, and I began to 
 fear that the absence of the chestnut locks, parted over 
 
78 JOURNAL. 
 
 the unruffled brow of the meek and gentle Jesus, with 
 which I was familiar, would bias my perception of the 
 actor's merits. He had not been two minutes on the 
 stage, however, before my fears were scattered to the 
 winds. The first scene after the first tableaux was the 
 triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Although upwards of 
 three hundred people of both sexes and of all ages crowded 
 on to the stage, in a state of the highest excitement, shout- 
 ing forth hosannas, chanting a hymn of praise, strewing 
 their garments and palm branches in the way, the eye 
 was instantaneously arrested by one familiar figure, 
 ' lowly and riding on an ass,' conspicuous by the majestic 
 serenity of his countenance, and contrasting strangely 
 with the animation of the surrounding scene. ' The 
 whole city was moved ' — but not he. He seemed not 
 to heed their acclamations in his honour ; for he knew 
 that five days later they would be succeeded by execra- 
 tions. With mingled meekness and dignity he dropped 
 down the side of the animal, hardly deranging a fold of 
 his robe in doing so. He enters the Temple, and over- 
 throws the money-changers and the tables of them that 
 sold doves. But in doing so there is no elevation of 
 voice, no angry frown, no energetic action either of hand 
 or foot under the influence of righteous, indignation, but 
 a head erect as that of a King, Saviour, Conqueror, 
 conscious of his divine power, and fearing not to be 
 molested. 
 
 It would be difficult to specify any one scene in which 
 the acting of the principal part was more entitled to 
 admiration than another, although the situations of 
 some were more exciting than those of others. Thos, 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 79 
 
 which laid the strongest hold on my imagination were, 
 the washing of the disciples' feet, the administration of 
 the Lord's Supper, the agony in the garden, and, 
 transcending all the others in tragic interest, the cruci- 
 fixion. Let me glance cursorily at the scenes as they 
 pass before my mind's eye. 
 
 First, As to the Feet-washing and the Supper. On 
 the rising of the curtain immediately after the two 
 tableaux — the reception of manna from heaven — and 
 the grapes of Eshcol borne on a branch by two men (to 
 symbolise what was about to follow), we had before us a 
 living transcript of Leonardo da Vinci's celebrated picture. 
 The Passover being ended, Jesus rises, lays aside his 
 outer garments, takes a towel, girds himself with it, 
 pours water into a basin, washes the feet of his disciples 
 with womanly delicacy of touch, and wipes them with 
 the towel wherewith he is girded. When he says to the 
 eleven, ' Ye are clean, but not all,' Judas averts his guilty 
 head and winces impatiently. Jesus, after addressing 
 himself to his disciples, resumes the garments he had 
 put off, sits down in silence, and is so evidently troubled 
 in spirit, that the beloved disciple, not reclining, and 
 therefore, at the time, not leaning on his bosom, caress- 
 ingly drops his head on it in token of tender sympathy 
 and love. Scriptural or not, it was eloquent of feeling, 
 and so like what one imagines John might have done, 
 that one could not be offended with it. The solemnity 
 and earnestness with which the Lord's Supper was ad- 
 ministered, is a thing never to forget. 
 
 Second, As to the Agony. The stage was thrown 
 back to its extremity, the scenery representing the 
 
So JOURNAL. 
 
 Garden of Gethsemane. The Christus, passing by two 
 or three palm-trees, which contribute to the illusion of 
 the locality, with hands clasped and head drooping, 
 slowly advances to the front, in profound dejection, 
 attended by Peter, James, and John. He pauses, pon- 
 ders, and points to two banks, bidding his followers to 
 ' tarry there ;' signifying by a slight movement of his 
 head a certain spot removed. They obey him, sit 
 down, follow his retreating footsteps with reverential 
 gaze, and, when he is absorbed in prayer, avert their 
 heads from him and try to watch, until the willing 
 spirit yielding to the weak flesh, they drop off to sleep. 
 The absence of all nervous hurry, common to actors 
 when they are thinking of the audience and fearing 
 they are tedious, and the imperturbable silence of the 
 spectators, were equally worthy of approval. While 
 the disciples were slumbering, and their Master was 
 offering up ' supplications with strong crying and tears,' 
 
 ' not a breath crept through the rosy air, 
 And e'en the forest-trees seem'd stirr'd with prayer. ' 
 
 After an interval of several minutes, the principal char- 
 acter rises from the ground, whereon he had lain pros- 
 trate, and walks towards Peter, James, and John, and 
 perceiving their condition, he utters the memorable words 
 contained in the 40th and 41st verses of St. Matthew 
 xxvi., and then returns to his oratory. He prays a 
 second time, and, a second time returning, repeats the 
 same words as before, but with a more reproachful in- 
 flection of voice. Again he withdraws apart, and after 
 praying for the third time, he approaches his disciples 
 for the last time, and then it is that one perceives 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 8l 
 
 the excruciating agony of his spirit, depicted in his face 
 in crimson drops of blood, and hears him say to hi? 
 faithless followers, ' Sleep on now, and take your rest, 
 Behold, the hour is at hand ; and the Son of Man ig 
 betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us bq 
 going. He is at hand that doth betray me.' Immedi-; 
 ately a great multitude with swords and staves, led on 
 by Judas, rush in. At the preconcerted signal the 
 treacherous kiss is given, the Son of Man is captured, 
 and, quick as thought, Peter's blow is dealt on Malchus's 
 ear. The startling transition from the stillness of the 
 grave to the energetic action of busy life gave an 
 electric shock to one's entire nervous system. 
 
 In the first scene of the second part Jesus is dragged 
 
 into the presence of the High Priest. Annas, having 
 
 left the chief priests and the council assembled in the 
 
 Praetorium, comes out upon the balcony of his aparti 
 
 ments, expecting the Christus to be brought before hirp, 
 
 No valid evidence being produced against Jesus, falq? 
 
 witnesses rise up and make accusation against him, 
 
 'Answerest thou nothing.?' says the High Priest, asp 
 
 tounded at his silence. Still he holds his peace. On 
 
 being asked if he is the Christ, he says, ' I am.' Qn 
 
 this the High Priest rends his clothes ; some spit oji 
 
 him ; some cover his face, while others buffet him and 
 
 knock him down. At last Annas, puzzled to know 
 
 what to do with him, sends him, under a guard of sol' 
 
 diers, before Caiaphas and the Sanhedrim. While in 
 
 the judgment-hall he is denied of Peter. Then Caiaphas 
 
 sends him to Pilate, who examines him privately, lis 
 
 more and more convinced of his innocence, and is disr 
 
 F 
 
82 JOURNAL. 
 
 posed to set him at liberty. However, he washes his 
 hands before the mob, and declares that he will have 
 nothing more to do with the case. Finding that he is 
 a Galilean, and glad to shift the burden of.responsibility 
 from his own shoulders to those of Herod, he sends hira 
 to his jurisdiction. Herod, after asking him many ques- 
 tions and receiving no answer, mocks him, puts on him 
 a gorgeous robe, places a reed in his hand for a sceptre, 
 and once more sends him back to Pilate, who, to pacify 
 the chief priests, the rulers, and the mob, proposes to 
 chastise and then release him. Accordingly, they bind 
 him to one of the pillars of the Judgment-Hall, and 
 scourge him till he faints. As soon as he is out of the 
 soldiers' hands, the purple robe again is put upon him ; 
 again the reed is thrust between his fast-bound hands, 
 and with two crossed swordS the crown of thorns is so 
 tightly pressed down upon his head as to cause a fresh 
 effusion of blood from his temples. In all these scenes 
 the magnanimity of Christ's silence, patience, and self- 
 control, is most impressive. But I hasten to the con- 
 summation of this sad, eventful history, viz., the cruci- 
 fixion. Hitherto, as the green curtain rose before 
 each tableau, the chorus, in gorgeous costume, had 
 come forward, to point in song the moral of the suc- 
 ceeding scene. But now the curtain is no longer green, 
 but black, and every member of the chorus is habited in 
 ' the trappings and the suits of woe ;' in other words, in 
 mourning cloaks. It was difficult to repress a shudder 
 on hearing the music interrupted by the dead, dull blow 
 of hammers. On the rising of the curtain, there stood 
 at the extremity of each side of the stage, two enor- 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 83 
 
 mous crosses already erected, on which the bodies of 
 the thieves were stretched. Conspicuous as they were 
 the eye almost overlooked them, being magnetically 
 attracted to the soles of two bleeding feet, with nails 
 protruding through them. The cross, which was in the 
 centre, was lying down, with the sacred figure nailed 
 upon it. Let into the ground below the stage was an 
 iron plate with a strong hinge, into which the base of 
 the cross was inserted. By the help of this hinge and 
 the strong arms of two or three men, it was slowly 
 raised aloft, and fixed firmly in its place by means of 
 stout props placed behind, and acting as buttresses. 
 Nothing could surpass the beauty of Maier's figure, re- 
 fined as it was in hue by a tightly-fitting suit of flesh- 
 coloured silk. The three Marys enter, weeping, and 
 taking their stand near the cross, above which is the 
 inscription, in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. The sol- 
 diers tear Christ's garment into four parts. Nothing 
 in sculpture, painting, or carving, ever produced such 
 a harrowing impression on my mind as the sight of 
 that living figure crucified. The eyes meekly raised to 
 heaven, divine submission speaking from them even 
 through the blood-stained face ; the head inclined to 
 one side ; the chest and ribs heaving in agony. 
 
 On seeing the Virgin Mother, with John standing by 
 her side, Jesus consigns her to his care, who straight- 
 way takes her to his home. On Jesus complaining of 
 thirst, a soldier fills a sponge with vinegar, and from 
 the end of a reed applies it to his lips. When he 
 has said ' It is finished,' he bows his head, and all is 
 over. 
 
84 JOURNAL. 
 
 At that moment terror-stricken crowds rush in, shout- 
 ing that the veil of the temple is rent in twain. Soldiers 
 then enter with huge mallets in their hands (formidable 
 in aspect, but in fact made of stuffed leather), and smash 
 the legs of the two thieves with such hearty good-will 
 as to make one shudder at the operation. One of the 
 soldiers is about to repeat it on the central figui'e, when 
 the Magdalen springs forward from the foot of the cross, 
 behind which she had been crouching, and violently 
 pushes him back. In turn he thrusts her aside, and 
 with his spear pierces the Christus on the left side, and 
 forthwith gushes out blood and water. When the breast 
 was penetrated, and the blood spurted out and trickled 
 down his trunk, the act and the effect was so painfully 
 real that many confessed that they could hardly sup- 
 press an exclamation of horror. I confess myself that 
 it was with some reluctance that I stayed to observe 
 the inimitable dexterity and delicacy with which the 
 deposition from the cross was managed, feeling sure 
 that none of the remaining scenes could vie in pathetic 
 interest with the appalling one at which I had been 
 present. 
 
 After the termination of the piece, when my wife re- 
 joined me, she put to me a very pertinent question : — 
 ' Do you think,' she said, ' that this representation of our 
 Saviour's sufferings can have been more horrible to our 
 human apprehension than the reality .-• ' ' No,' I replied. 
 ' Do you think it fell short of the reality .■' ' ' Yes.' 
 Then she rejoined, 'If we have been so profoundly 
 awed by the mere semblance, is it not convincing that, 
 however we may have tried to meditate on " the 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 85' 
 
 Passion " of our Lord, and however familiar we may- 
 fancy ourselves to have been with the Scripture account 
 of it, we have never before adequately felt it in our 
 hearts ! If this be true, then, surely you will agree with 
 me in reverting, henceforth, to the Passion- Spiel as the 
 most practically helpful and edifying of homilies.' I 
 think that she was right. 
 
 I do not know that I can give stronger proof of my 
 rapid and complete subjugation to Maier's extraordinary 
 influence, than by confessing that he had not been many 
 minutes on the stage before I became more than recon- 
 ciled to the features and complexion which had dis- 
 turbed me. 
 
 The image of ' the Christ ' formed in the minds of the 
 most of us, I suspect, has been derived partly from the 
 letter of Publius Lentulus to the Roman Senate, partly 
 from the pictures of the great Italian painters — a great 
 cloud of witnesses, no doubt, to the fidelity of the tra- 
 ditional type handed down to, and accepted by, the 
 Roman Catholic Church. But I know of no certain 
 warrant for that beauty with which mediaeval art has 
 accredited our blessed Lord. All we know is purely 
 inferential, not absolute or certain. Isaiah distinctly 
 tells us that ' he had no form nor comeliness,' ' and that 
 ' there was no beauty in him that we should desire him.' 
 Now, when we meet with a man exceptionally good, 
 even though he be ' in the form of a servant,' and though 
 his features be rude and homely, the intrinsic worth of 
 the man shines forth in his countenance, with the lustre 
 reflected from moral beauty within. I know that there 
 are some who, while telling their little ones that physical 
 
86 JOURNAL. 
 
 beauty is 'as a fading flower' — skin-deep, perishable, 
 and a snare to its possessor; and, while themselves 
 believing that the only beauty which is ' incorruptible 
 and fadeth not away ' is spiritual beauty — cannot re- 
 concile themselves to the idea of a perfect man unallied 
 with perfect physical beauty. Now, when I read that 
 Christ Jesus ' himself took our infirmities upon him,' I 
 cannot suppose that it is our moral infirmities, for he 
 was sinless, but o\xr physical imperfections ; and if there 
 were ' no (physical) beauty in him that we should desire 
 him,' the greater the aggravation of his humiliation, and 
 the more meritorious his sacrifice. Say what we may, 
 personal beauty -is a precious gift ; the want of it a 
 privation. To desire the love of one's fellow-man is 
 natural and commendable ; and if personal beauty 
 attract, and the want of it (where not redeemed by the 
 moral beauty of expression) repel (so as to excite the 
 contempt and rejection of men) — if Bacon be right in 
 saying that, ' Beauty is best in a body that hath rather 
 dignity of presence than beauty of aspect ; ' if the 
 highest order of beauty is that which consists in the 
 highest excellence, then we cannot be said to defraud 
 our exemplar of his attributes if the beauty we ascribe 
 to him be ' the beauty of holiness.' It has always struck 
 me as infinitely affecting, that He, ' who thought it not 
 robbery to be equal with God,' should not only be 
 stripped of ' the glory which he had before the world 
 was,' but even of the ordinary personal endowments com- 
 mon to man. He could hardly, as a man, have been what 
 men call handsome, for men are rarely indifferent to 
 good looks, and yet they were insensible to his ; ' he had 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 87 
 
 no beauty that they should desire him ; ' ' he was de- 
 spised and rejected of men.' I humbly apprehend that, 
 as the Godhead and manhood were united in One Per- 
 son, the humanity was displayed in ' the vile body ' — 
 the outer shell ; and on two or three occasions, such as 
 in the purging of the Temple, his appearance before the 
 multitude after the Transfiguration, and at the betrayal, 
 he allowed the effulgence of his divinity to burst forth. 
 
 But to return to my text, I have never seen any 
 tragedy, read any tale of woe, or listened to any ser- 
 mon, which so probed my conscience and touched my 
 heart, as did this Miracle Play, and yet God forbid that 
 any attempt should ever be made to introduce it into 
 this country. We have not the same excuse for it that 
 they have; and our national temperament, as well as 
 our Protestant antipathies, would render such an experi- 
 ment hazardous in the extreme. But in the case of 
 these Tyrolese villagers, the experience of two centuries 
 and a half has shown that the habit of repeating this 
 solemnity every ten years, so far from being injurious to 
 their spiritual condition, has been eminently promotive 
 of it. God alone searcheth the heart; and therefore 
 what seeds of evil may be lurking in the secret places of 
 the hearts of these children of nature, sown so profusely 
 as they have been by the flattering tongues of princes, 
 potentates, and peers, it is not for me even to conjecture. 
 But there is every reason to believe, from what one hears 
 and knows from others, that, as yet, they have contracted 
 no harm. It was but the other day that a friend of mine, 
 the Rev. W. R. Clark, prebend and vicar of St. Mary's, 
 Taunton, who had recently returned from an expedition 
 
88 JOURNAL. 
 
 to the village, where he had been last year at the Spiel, 
 assured me that an offer of ;^6ooo to the principal per- 
 formers engaged in it had been made by the managers 
 of one of the chief theatres of Vienna, for a given number 
 of representations, and that, instead of being tempted 
 or elated by the offer, they had been hurt by it. The 
 unflinching fidelity with which the vow of 1633 has 
 been kept by the descendants of the original votaries, 
 while it puts to shame the conduct of certain nations 
 who recently ignored the obligation of existing treaties, 
 on the ground that covenants contracted by one genera- 
 tion are not binding upon another, ought at the same time 
 to inspire one with hopeful expectations that their past 
 consistency will be continued unimpaired ; and if to 
 preserve the sanctity of wedlock inviolate, if to be sober 
 and righteous, if to observe the mutual obligations 
 between parent and child, if, after the necessary ex- 
 penses of the Passion Play are defrayed, to dedicate 
 every farthing of their receipts in relieving the necessi- 
 ties of their poorer brethren, — be good works, and if 
 good works be an evidence of faith, then may be these, 
 simple peasants take high rank among the godly of 
 Christendom. 
 
 No doubt there is much in the surrounding circum- 
 stances of these good people, and in their geographical 
 position, particularly favourable to the promotion of 
 innocency of life. Their sequestration 
 
 ' From open haunts and popularity ' 
 
 preserves them from that contamination of high-pres- 
 sure civilisation so rife in large towns ; the nature of 
 their common pursuits helps rather than hinders the 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. gg 
 
 habit of religious contemplation, and begets common 
 interests and congeniality of tastes ; while parity of 
 station, sufficiency of means without superfluity, and 
 contentment with their lot, render them invulnerable to 
 the debasing incentives of envy, servility, or worldly 
 ambition. These causes, combined with the watchful 
 supervision of an earnest-minded spiritual guide, ever 
 reminding the rising generation of ' the promise made 
 for them by their sureties, which promise, when they 
 come to age, themselves are bound to perform ' — have 
 contributed to make them the God-fearing people that 
 they are. 
 
 ' Motion is in their days, rest in their slumbers, 
 
 And cheerfulness the handmaid of their toil : 
 Nor yet too many, nor too few their numbers : 
 
 Corruption could not make their hearts her soil : 
 The lust which stings, the splendour which encumbers, 
 
 With the free foresters divide no spoil : 
 Serene, not sullen, were the solitudes 
 
 Of this unsighing people of the woods.' 
 
 Few persons of intelligence can have inspected the 
 photographs of the principal actors and actresses in the 
 play now in circulation, without being struck either by 
 the refinement, or the beauty, or the intellectual force 
 of the faces. For instance, — 
 
 Tobias Fliinger, 
 Franz Lang, . . 
 Thomas Bendl, . 
 Anton Haafer, . 
 Johannes Zwink, 
 Johann Lang, . 
 Johann Diener, . 
 
 The Pilate, 
 
 The Herod, 
 
 The Joseph of Arimathea, 
 
 The Nicodemus, 
 
 The John, 
 
 The Caiaphas, 
 
 The Choragus, 
 
 were all handsome and well-bred-looking men. The 
 last named, for grandeur of person, symmetry of fea- 
 
90 JOURNAL. 
 
 ture, and majesty of deportment, was fit to represent 
 Charlemagne himself ; while 
 
 Andreas Lang, .... The Bartholomew, 
 Martin Hohenelitner, . . The Simon Zelotes, 
 Jacob Hett, The Simon Peter, 
 
 were equally remarkable for force of character and 
 phrenological development. 
 
 And before bringing my remarks to a close, I would 
 venture to say that, in every respect, the Passion Play 
 merits the appellation of a sabred drama ; sacred, inas- 
 much as its subject and its accidents are devoted to 
 religious uses ; drama, because the action never ceases, 
 but overrides diction; the attention of the spectator 
 never flags, but steadily progresses in every scene ; the 
 interest centres in one figure, and continues to absorb 
 the sympathy, the admiration, and the affections, unto 
 the catastrophe itself 
 
 The second day's performance over, the visitors of 
 every class took their departure, manifesting as much 
 eagerness to go as they had done to come ; some be- 
 cause they were tied to time ; some because their pecu- 
 niary resources were restricted ; others because they 
 were impatient to rejoin their absent friends, and re- 
 count to them the wonders they had seen. But, by 
 whatever impulse actuated, within an hour of the con- 
 clusion of the Play, with the exception of a stray Eng- 
 lishman or American, there was not a stranger left in 
 the village. After dinner we amused ourselves in stroll- 
 ing about, and noticing how rapidly and naturally the 
 rustics subsided into their usual tranquil habits. Not 
 one note of strife or altercation was to be heard — not 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 91 
 
 one instance of inebriety was to be seen ; and though 
 
 there was hardly a family in the place, one or other of 
 
 whose members had not taken part in the drama, yet 
 
 within an hour all had laid aside their smart dresses and 
 
 resumed their ordinary week-day garb — were seated on 
 
 the rude benches in front of their dwellings, and were 
 
 sipping their beer and smoking their tobacco, in blissful 
 
 freedom from perturbing causes until ten o'clock. 
 
 ' Then — done their work, to bed they creep, 
 By whisp'ring winds soon luli'd asleep. ' 
 
 Next morning early, the church-bell was ringing for 
 
 matins, and, as I peeped through my muslin blinds, I 
 
 beheld mothers, and children of tender years, and old 
 
 men and young, with rosary on wrist and breviary in 
 
 hand, toddling along to mass. For half an-hour, 
 
 ' While swung the deep bell in the distant tower,' 
 
 the whole village was still. The services of the church 
 
 concluded, the congregation dispersed to their homes 
 
 for breakfast, and in another half-hour's time the fields, 
 
 already white to the harvest, were filled with labourers 
 
 of either sex. I was told by one who saw the sight, 
 
 that, on reaching the locality where their work lay, 
 
 husbands, wives, and children, as if moved by a common 
 
 impulse, dropped on their knees before the symbol of 
 
 their faith, buried their faces in their hats or hands, 
 
 reverently crossed themselves, and then, invigorated in 
 
 spirit and strengthened by their meal for toil, sprang 
 
 up and seized their sickles — the man doffing his jacket, 
 
 the woman tucking up her gown, and both falling to 
 
 their appointed task with light hearts and beaming 
 
 countenances. 
 
92 JOUENAL. 
 
 I left lovely Ammergau, convinced that, in the case of 
 the natives themselves, their Passion Play was emi- 
 nently calculated to confirm devotional habits, to ele- 
 vate praise into rapture, and to produce more enduring 
 impressions on the mind than those which accompany 
 any transient ritual or prescribed mode adopted in the 
 ordinary forms of religious worship. 
 
JULIAN' CHARLES YOUNG. 93 
 
 LADY BROWNLOW.^ 
 
 I THINK I may say, without presumption, and with- 
 out fear of contradiction, that, the members of her own 
 family excepted, few persons saw so much of the late 
 Lady Brownlow, during the last ten years of her life, as 
 I did. How she came to admit to her intimacy one so 
 much her inferior in social position may well surprise 
 those who knew the strength of her patrician prejudices, 
 But so it was. I do not think a week elapsed for many 
 a year, in which I did not see her for hours together. 
 
 ' She oft invited me, 
 I oft question'd her the story of her life 
 From year to year ; 
 She ran it through, even from her girlish days.' 
 
 If it appear strange that I should have but little to 
 tell of one who honoured me with much confidence, 
 it is to be explained by the facts that follow. First : 
 much that she had told me, and all that she had shown 
 me in manuscript, has been already published in the 
 Memoirs of a Septuagenarian. Second : much that she 
 had told me and did not print, she bequeathed to 
 
 1 This lady vf as the daughter of the second Earl of Mount Edgecumbe, 
 and third wife of the first Earl Brownlow. She was specially well known 
 from her residence with her uncle, Lord Castlereagh, at Paris, during the 
 memorable year of the meeting of the Allies. 
 
94 JOURNAL. 
 
 the library at Belton, exclusively for family circulation. 
 Third : much that she had told me of her personal 
 adventures and Court experiences was told under the 
 implied seal of secrecy. 
 
 The only characteristic anecdote of herself, deserving 
 repetition, I may as well give here, before I proceed to 
 analyse her character. 
 
 For some years I was in the habit of preceding my 
 family, when moving from my summer to my winter 
 quarters ; and on two or three occasions, while prepar- 
 ing my house for their reception. Lady Brownlow in- 
 sisted, most kindly, on rny taking up my quarters at 
 Belton Lodge. It so happened that, once while I was 
 travelling from Ilmington to Torquay, she was also 
 travelling from London to the same place. I joined 
 her at Bristol, and accompanied her in the same train. 
 On our arrival at the station at Torquay, I handed her 
 Ladyship into her midge,^ and, jumping into another 
 myself, followed in her wake. In a few minutes my 
 driver pulled up his horse so violently and suddenly as 
 to jerk me forward on to the front seat of the carriage. 
 I thrust my head out of the window to ascertain the 
 cause of the propulsion, and perceived my lady's vehicle 
 lying on its side in the middle of the road, with the 
 coachman seated on his horse's head. I jumped out, 
 and with some difficulty extricated Lady Brownlow 
 from her precarious position among the ddbris of broken 
 glass and shattered pannels. As soon as I had planted: 
 
 ' A carriage peculiar to Torquay, constructed with reference to the 
 steep hills, and originally so designated by Lady B. , as an appropriate 
 title for ' a small fly. ' 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 95 
 
 her safely on her feet, considerably shaken, though 
 without a scratch, I asked her if she were hurt. My 
 answer was a ' No !' delivered with all the explosive 
 force of a pistol-shot. I then expressed a hope that 
 she had not been frightened. ' Pooh !' she replied, with 
 a look of supreme contempt at me for supposing such 
 a thing ; ' / never was afraid of anything in my life! 
 
 To personal beauty I doubt if she ever could have laid 
 claim ; though I can believe that her humour and viva- 
 city may have made her an object of attraction to those 
 who were not afraid of her powers of sarcasm. What- 
 ever she may have been in her prime, when I knew her 
 in her decline she was plain. She had a clear com- 
 plexion, an ivory skin, cold, clear, honest, intelligent 
 eyes, a pleasing smile, a good figure, and the air and 
 maintien of a grande dame ; but at the same time 
 she had a nez retroussi, and homely features. She 
 was proud of the pure blood that ran in her veins, and 
 never forgot it. She had strong social instincts, and 
 gratified them by a liberal hospitality. She had great 
 conversational talent, masculine good sense, and acute 
 penetration. She had mixed so much with the best 
 society in England and on the Continent, that she was 
 both a stimulating and an instructive companion. Stead- 
 fast in politics and religion, she abhorred fickleness in the 
 one and innovation in the other. Straightforward her- 
 self, she was impatient of insincerity and intolerant of 
 pretension in others. She had a very large acquaint- 
 ance, and might have had a much larger one had she 
 cared to increase it. She had a few staunch friends, 
 and those she had ' she grappled to hei; soul with hooks 
 
96 JOURNAL. 
 
 of steel.' Her great command of memory enabled her 
 to revivify persons and events long since passed away, 
 and helped to render her old age cheerful. Her lot 
 had been cast in stirring times. There were giants in 
 those days. She had known Metternich and Talley- 
 rand, and Wellington, and Matuchewitz, and Ester- 
 hazy, and Pozzo di Borgo, and Wellesley, arid Castle- 
 reagh, and King Leopold, and the Prince of Orange, 
 and the Lievens and Hertfords and Jerseys. She was 
 sincerely attached to all the members of her own and 
 her late husband's family — even to his tenantry and ser- 
 vants ; but (out of the circle of her relatives) those whose 
 memory she held in chiefest veneration were her late 
 royal mistress Queen Adelaide, her aunt Lady Castle- 
 reagh, and ' her uncle Cas' (as she always called him), 
 the Duke of Wellington, and the late Lord Salisbury ; 
 while among her more recent friends there were none 
 whom she valued more highly than Lady Mary Nisbet 
 Hamilton, Baroness Burdett Coutts, Lady Truro, Lord 
 and Lady Dynevor, Lord and Lady Carnarvon, Lord 
 Ellenborough, Lord Clanwilliam, Lord Lytton, the late 
 Bishop of Exeter and his family, the Honourable Mrs. 
 Boyle, Mr. Disraeli, Dr. Ramsay, Mr. March Phillipps, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Randolph Robinson. 
 
 Her sentiments on all points were strong and de- 
 cided. If she repeated anything about another that she 
 had heard, she was very chary of telling the name of 
 the person from whom she heard it. She mentioned to 
 me that she had learned that piece of discretion from 
 the Duke of Wellington ; that, in a question encom- 
 passed with difficultyi which touched her very nearly, 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 97 
 
 she had referred to him, and that he had advised her to 
 take counsel with some friend on whose tact and judg- 
 ment she could rely, and who had more leisure to be- 
 stow on the matter than he had. She named a certain 
 noble Lord, but the Duke at once exclaimed, ' No ! no ! 
 Good man enough in his way, but not safe. If he is 
 asked his authority for anything, he gives it up. No one 
 should — no one should! ' 
 
 Her religious faith was not a spasmodic passion, but 
 a stable principle. Her political creed was rooted and 
 grounded on conviction. Whatever the chances and 
 changes in men or measures, in times or circumstances, 
 she never deviated from her sense of what was right. 
 She detested changes ; not those which were indisput- 
 ably for good, but those which owed their origin, in her 
 opinion, not to an honest desire for improvement, but 
 to ingrained discontent. She considered that the true 
 policy of a Prime Minister was not to care for the favour 
 of the House of Commons, but to cling to the Crown, 
 and that Parliamentary government was but an an- 
 archical substitute for royal authority. She held that, 
 just as Israel of old fell from her testimony against 
 idolatry, so the Protestantism of our day had ceased to 
 be an open witness against Popery; that the Church 
 Establishment could not be severed from the State 
 without plunging both into the abyss of destruction. 
 To the day of her death, the present Bishop of Lincoln 
 (Wordsworth) was her pillar of orthodoxy in Church 
 matters, and the Standard newspaper and John Bull 
 her acknowledged representatives in matters political. 
 
 Her defects were a want of womanly softness ; a cer- 
 
 G 
 
98 JOURNAL. 
 
 tain brusquerie of manner towards those to whom she 
 was indifferent ; and a trenchant and incisive mode of 
 argument with those she disHked. But her sterling 
 merits far outweighed her venial faults. Narrow-minded 
 as those will consider her to have been who did not 
 know her, those who did will be forward to admit that, 
 through a long life, she was animated always by a 
 stern, uncompromising sense of duty ; that she was 
 virtuous, truthful, generous, courageous, and charitable 
 to the poor. 
 
 December 4, 1871. — Sat for two hours with Lady 
 Brownlow and Lady Marian Alford. The latter lady 
 was most agreeable ; few persons so cultivated. She 
 told me — ^we were talking of Shakespeare's plays — ^that 
 her brother, Lord Northampton, had in his possession a 
 document making over, on certain conditions, a grant 
 of land in Fifeshire to the Thane of Glamis and Caw- 
 dor, given by Duncan, and signed in a vigorous mascu- 
 line hand by Lady Macbeth, to which was appended 
 Macbeth's mark. 
 
 December 6. — Sat long with Lady Brownlow, who 
 certainly is getting weaker and weaker every day. 
 Lady Marian Alford, who is most attentive and kind to 
 her, in course of conversation told me that, when she 
 was in Seville, she was in the Casa de Pilatos, where 
 there were many mutilated antiquities. There she first 
 learned — what, I confess, I did not know — viz., that the 
 radical word from which Punch was formed was Pontius 
 Pilate, who, according to local traditioijj was governor 
 of Iberia (that part of Spain which extends from the 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 99 
 
 Pyrenees to the Straits of Gibraltar), and dwelt in the 
 house which still bears his name in Seville. After com- 
 pleting h,is diplomatic career there, it is said that he 
 retired into private life in Switzerland, on a mountain 
 overlooking the Lake of Lucerne, and which from that 
 derived its name Mount Pilatus. 
 
 December 11. — Took a long walk with Lord Lytton. 
 Among other subjects which cropped up was Phrenology. 
 In the general principle he had faith, but not in the 
 details, on which professors are so apt to refine. I 
 amused him mightily by telling him what a very clever 
 lady of my acquaintance, a Russian, had told me, with 
 implicit faith in the truth of what she herself had heard, 
 viz., that in one of the battles between France and Ger- 
 many, a French soldier, in single combat with a German, 
 was felled to the earth by the butt-end of a musket, 
 and the left side of his skull fractured. As a wounded 
 prisoner, he was taken to hospital, trepanned, and cured. 
 On the recovery of his general health, it was found that 
 he had entirely forgotten his native tongue, his name, 
 his condition of life, etc. etc. Unfit for further military 
 service, he resided for two years in Germany, acquired 
 the German tongue, and adopted the calling of a brick- 
 layer. One day while at work upon a house, he fell 
 from a scaffold and fractured the right side of his 
 skull. When once more he was restored, it was found 
 that he had forgotten all the German he had learned, 
 that his former knowledge of his mother tongue had 
 returned, and that he recollected he was a married man, 
 and the father of two children. 
 
 December 30, 1871. — Lady Brownlow being still very 
 
100 JOURNAL. 
 
 ill, and in bed, I acted for her as almoner to her poor 
 people.^ It took me till 6 P.M. to dispense all her bounty. 
 Dined with Lord Lytton, Mr. and Miss Froude, Sir 
 Thomas and Lady Symonds, Mrs. Vivian, Mrs. Cosway, 
 Messrs. Edmund, Boyle, Sievewright, Cosway, W. H. 
 Smith, M.P., and the Rev. Mr. Patch. 
 
 We had an animated discussion on the character of the 
 ex-Emperor, Louis Napoleon. Lord L. spoke of him, 
 as he invariably does, with great regard. He said that 
 he was by temperament kind to weakness. He gave an 
 interesting account of a long evening and a confidential 
 chat he had had with him, after dining with him, and 
 after the company had been dismissed, which ran into 
 the small hours of the morning. He had seen much of 
 him when he lived in a small lodging in King Street, St. 
 James's. He was then occupying a handsome house, 
 as Prince Napoleon merely, in Carlton Terrace. He 
 said he had never seen any man so confident of his 
 future as he was. He showed him the flag which his 
 uncle unfurled with his own hands, when, at Embabeh 
 (close to Cairo), he directed his infantry to form squares 
 to receive the charge of Murad Bey and his Mamelukes, 
 and called out to his men, — ' From yonder Pyramids 
 forty centuries behold your actions.' Among other 
 precious relics, he showed him also the ring which had 
 belonged to Charlemagne. He said that his uncle 
 prized it enormously, and regarded it as a talisman of 
 magic power, which insured good fortune to its posses- 
 sor, so long as he had it on his person. He declared 
 positively that it always forsook him when he had it not. 
 
 ^ Lady Brownlow died in January 1872. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. loi 
 
 Before embarking for Elba he lost it, and offered re- 
 wards of incredible amount for its recovery. He attri- 
 buted his failure at Waterloo to its loss. I forget through 
 what means Louis Napoleon regained it, but regain it 
 he did, and treasured it as much as his uncle did. Louis 
 Napoleon never scrupled to acknowledge that he was 
 superstitious ! He reposes implicit faith in a prediction 
 made to him by some one or other — I forget whether 
 witch or wizard or conjuror — as to his end. That end 
 was to be death in the streets of London in the hour of 
 victory. He said, ' I feel as certain as that I am now 
 smoking with you, that I shall one day be the foremost 
 man in France, whether President or Emperor I cannot 
 say.' 
 
JOURNAL. 
 
 EDINBURGH REVISITED. 
 
 August 19, 1872. — After a fatiguing night's travel, 
 reached Magdala Crescent at 9.30 A.M. Found an 
 excellent house, handsomely furnished, considerate 
 arrangements made for our comfort, fires burning, ser- 
 vants waiting, breakfast laid, and everything as oppor- 
 tunely timed for our arrival as if we had merely stepped 
 in from the next door. Trunks unpacked, and their 
 contents put away, our toilets made, and our hunger 
 appeased, we sallied forth, I, to refresh past memories, 
 and to compare new things with old, my girls to realise 
 their expectations of the beauty of Auld Reekie. 
 
 August 2,1. — Went a few miles into the country to 
 dine with Mr. Constable — a family party, with the accept- 
 able addition of Mr. Douglas and Dr. John Brown. I 
 was delighted to make the acquaintance of one whom I 
 had long wished to know. I had expected to see a 
 man of more demonstrative humour, and of rougher 
 exterior ; but I found him possessed of keen penetra- 
 tion, gentle, sympathetic, and refined. His smile gives 
 little intimation of the fun that lurks within, and has 
 a tinge of sadness in its expression. In his tone of 
 voice, too, there is a ring of pathos, as might be ex- 
 pected in the author of ' Rab and his Friends.' He is 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 103 
 
 evidently a man of great warmth of heart, and great 
 power of winning the affections of others, though his 
 own are not confined to his kind, but extend to the 
 lowest of the brute creation. We know with what 
 humanity he could attach himself to a dog ; and in my 
 drive home with him in his carriage, as his horses, with 
 gleaming eyes and ears lying back, kept snapping at 
 each other's necks, I saw, from his complacent smile at 
 them, with what natural acumen he interpreted their 
 skittish ways. I have lately read, with infinite delight, 
 his Hor<z SubsecivcB. The description given therein of 
 his father is so touching, that I asked Mr. Constable if 
 the portrait had not been rather coloured by filial fond- 
 ness ; but he assured me that the son had in no degree 
 exaggerated the father's merits, for that he was one of 
 the best and handsomest men he ever knew. 
 
 August 28. — My wife and I lunched in Ainslie Place 
 with Dean Ramsay. We met there a Dr. Jackson, 
 the Principal of the- College at Connecticut, Lady Sand- 
 ford, and the Dean's niece, Miss Cochrane, a very 
 interesting and prepossessing person. One rarely meets 
 with a brighter, more animated, or healthier-looking 
 creature. . . . The Dean, to whom she is devotedly 
 attached, is tall, thin, very gentlemanlike, with great 
 benignity of countenance, great courtesy of bearing, and 
 a love of anecdote and fun, which breaks out before one 
 has been ten minutes in his company. 
 
 August 29. — Lord Lytton having written to Mr. 
 Blackwood, the eminent publisher, to introduce us to 
 his notice, that gentleman wrote, immediately on our 
 arrival, in the kindest and most cordial terms, and 
 
I04 JOURNAL. 
 
 invited my wife, my daughter, and myself, to his country 
 place, Strathtyrum, near St. Andrews. Independently 
 of the pleasure I anticipated from renewing acquaint- 
 ance with Mrs. Blackwood, whom I had known in former 
 days, when staying with her uncle. Canon Guthrie, at 
 Calne, I was delighted to think I should have a most 
 favourable opportunity of introducing my ' womankind ' 
 to the place in which I had spent three happy years. 
 Mr. William Blackwood accompanied us from Edin- 
 burgh, and whiled away a tedious journey by his con- 
 versation and genial manners. On arriving at the 
 Railway Terminus, we found a carriage waiting for us, 
 and a warm reception on the door-step of the house. 
 We sat down to dinner, a family party ; as all were 
 going afterwards to the Golfers' Ball, of which Mr. 
 Blackwood, as captain of the golfers, was steward. Al- 
 though past the age of balls, I was persuaded to 
 accompany the party for an hour, in the fond hope of 
 descrying there some familiar face, a relic of olden days. 
 But, with the exception of the immortal Mr. Whyte 
 Melville, who was polite enough to recognise in the old 
 man the boy he had been kind to, I did not see a soul 
 I knew. 
 
 The ball, which was held in the New Club Room, was, 
 for a provincial one, rather a brilliant affair, and vastly 
 superior in the quality of its ingredients to such as I 
 remember fifty years ago in the old Town Hall. 
 
 August 30. — Mrs. Blackwood sent us in the carriage 
 into St. Andrews, under the escort of Mr. B. and his 
 nephew. I preferred sitting on the box by the side of 
 the coachman, a sombre, sour, silent Jehu, who looked 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. loj 
 
 as if he had never driven anything but a mourning coach. 
 I tried to thaw his icy nature by extra warmth of man- 
 ner and congenial talic. 
 
 ' A beautiful pair of bright chestnuts those,' I humbly 
 suggested. No response. 
 
 ' I think I never saw a more perfect match, in point 
 of breeding, colour, form, measurement, and action.' 
 Obdurate silence. 
 
 ' Allow me to ask — are they not from the same sire 
 and dam 1 Twins, I suppose .' ' 
 
 Still dogged taciturnity. We descended a hill in the 
 grounds, and the brake was put on without the driver's 
 stirring from his seat. 
 
 ' What trouble you coachmen are spared now by that 
 invention ! ' At last he turned his head, though evidently 
 with compunction of conscience at his own condescen- 
 .sion, looked austerely at me, opened his frozen jaws, 
 and, ' sighing like a furnace,' delivered his testimony : 
 'Nae doot! the skid is a great salvation!' which, 
 being interpreted, I conceive to have meant, that it was 
 a great saving to man and beast. 
 
 We drove to Principal Tulloch's, to whom we were 
 introduced, a manly, prepossessing specimen of a Don ; 
 saw over his house, and visited the library of St. Sal- 
 vator. The custodian showed me, with an air of great 
 pride, an oil-painting of John Knox. ' Ah ! ' said I, in 
 joke, 'that is the gentleman who reduced your glorious 
 cathedral to ruins.' He retorted, with savage intonation, 
 ' That is the gentleman to whom we owe the glorious 
 Reformation.' 
 
 The substantial improvements in the town, mainly 
 
io6 JOURNAL. 
 
 effected by the endrgy of one man, Major Playfair, 
 whom I knew in days gone by, surprised me. The 
 hideous Town- Hall, which stood in the centre of Middle 
 Street, and other unsightly edifices, which impeded both 
 traffic and prospect, have been destroyed, so that the 
 vista down the entire street is uninterrupted. The sight 
 of the old library reminded me that when Dr. Johnson 
 in his tour to the Hebrides visited . St. Andrews, he was 
 shown over it. The then librarian had been exhibiting 
 some of his rare literary treasures. ' Have you got,' 
 asked Johnson, ' such and such a book ?' ' No, sir, we 
 have not. It is a very expensive work, and, I fear, 
 beyond the means at our command.' ' Oh ! ' said he, 
 ' you '11 get it by degrees,' alluding to the habit which, 
 then prevailed of selling degrees. 
 
 And on being introduced to the Principal of St. 
 Salvator's, I was painfully reminded that on the same 
 occasion when Johnson was being entertained at dinner 
 by the then Provost, and he modestly apologised for 
 his indifferent fare, the cruel answer returned to him 
 was, ' I did not come to Scotland to eat, but to see 
 savage men and savage manners ; and I have not been 
 disappointed.' 
 
 That enemy to corns. North Street, with its wretched 
 uneven pavement, is still capable of improvement. But 
 South Street, with its ample trottoir on each side, its 
 new shops, and occasionally renovated frontages, culmin- 
 ating in the antique ruins of the cathedral (still intact 
 and unimpaired), presents a really noble perspective. 
 The bright-looking lodging and dwelling-houses, and 
 the handsome and commodious Club-House on the 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 107 
 
 verge of the Links, are most important additions ; but 
 the buildings erected on the Scores would elicit heartier 
 approval from my pen if they did not occupy sites en- 
 deared to me by old and pleasurable associations. 
 Had the wind been less cutting and contrary, I think 
 I should have been tempted to sit down on one of the 
 tombs in the churchyard of St. Regulus, and read my- 
 self a sermon in the stones around me ; for it was a 
 solemnising thought to reflect upon, that of all the 
 many whom I used to know, there was but one soul 
 surviving, and that one my old friend Sturrock the 
 hair-dresser. Robert Menzies, George Craik, George 
 Crawford, John Cook, Alexander Lockhart, Henry Jar- 
 dine, Dr. Nichol, Dr. Haldane, Dr. John Hunter, Dr. 
 James Hunter, Dr. Buist, Dr. Mudie, Dr. Chalmers, Dr. 
 Duncan, Dr. Struthers, Professor Alexander, Dr. Jack- 
 son, Mr. Dempster of Skibo, George Brown, Colonel 
 Murray of Lintrose, Colonel Glass, Colonel Mudie, Mr. 
 Binny, Mr. Bruce of Grangemuir, the Miss Grahams of 
 Fintry, etc. etc. etc., — all rise up before me as vividly as 
 if I had seen them yesterday, and — they are not — and I 
 am ! Heigho ! 
 
 As soon as I had shaken poor old Sturrock by the 
 hand, I hastened to the Links. I saw no perceptible 
 change in their appearance. There were the same 
 bunkers, the same tussocks, the same burn, the same 
 little bridge across it. Even ' the napery ' spread out 
 upon the bushes to dry looks the same. Everything 
 appeared in statu quo, as it was five-and-fifty years ago. 
 It was impossible not to think seriously, on finding 
 myself again permitted to tread the sandy sod, instead of 
 
io8, JOURNAL. 
 
 being under it ; or to help reflecting on the ' divers 
 deaths in death ' of so many contemporaries and play- 
 mates gone before me 'to the undiscovered country.' 
 The only features of novelty in the scene around me 
 were the railway station, made palpable to observation 
 by an asthmatic engine snorting stertorously from under 
 its roof; and sundry smart young ladies, with unexcep- 
 tionable boots and neat ankles, who were playing at short 
 golf (a game unknown in my time), distracting the 
 bona fide players by their presence, and enlivening the 
 scene by their mirth. 
 
 After a long day fraught with sweet and bitter fancies, 
 I returned to Strathtyrum, and met at dinner Mrs. 
 Cheape, Miss Bum, Mr. Whyte Melville, and Major 
 Whyte Melville the author. Our enjoyment of so agree- 
 able a party was considerably alloyed by intelligence 
 which we received from home of the serious illness of 
 our daughter-in-law. This determined us to abridge 
 our pleasant visit, and return to Edinburgh to-morrow, 
 so as to be prepared to start southwards if we should 
 be summoned. 
 
 August 31. — Our kind host, finding us resolved to go, 
 drove me first to see Mrs. Oliphant, the authoress, a 
 lady whom I was charmed to meet, and who quite 
 realised my ideal. 
 
 The ladies whom I saw engaged in golf yesterday 
 moved gracefully, and never forgot that they were 
 women. But to-day I saw three she-Calibans, whose 
 ambition it seemed to be to talk and walk like sailors. 
 They wore preposterous haystacks of artificial yellow 
 hair, surmounted by little sailor's hats. They wore pea- 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 109 
 
 jackets. Their hands were imbedded in their pockets, 
 and they rolled in their gait as if they had just come 
 from Portsmouth Point. That ladies with hair of fine 
 quality, and in harmony with their complexion, should 
 prefer the hair of corpses to their own, shows the omni- 
 potence of fashion ; and yet, marvellous as it is, it is not 
 a weakness peculiar to our own age,^ for listen to what 
 Shakespeare makes Bassanio say in The Merchant of 
 Venice : — 
 
 ' Look on beauty, 
 And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight : 
 Which therein works a miracle in nature, 
 Making them lightest that wear most of it : 
 So are those crisped, snaky, golden locks, 
 Which make such wanton gambols with the wind 
 Upon supposed fairness, often known 
 To be the dowry of a second head, 
 The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.' 
 
 At the risk of being denounced as a laudator temporis 
 acti, and a censor morum, I venture to assert that the 
 changes effected during the last half century in habits, 
 manners, and phraseology, among certain classes of 
 young ladies, cannot be considered as indications of 
 progress. Fifty years ago it would have been consi- 
 dered mauvais ton for gentlewomen to thrust themselves 
 prominently forward into public notice, instead of 
 modestly seeking the retirement of domestic life. In 
 those days it would have been deemed unbecoming in 
 ladies to assert their rights, and unfeminine to complain 
 
 1 It must be acknowledged that women among the ancient Romans used 
 false hair {crines ficti vel suppositi), and sometimes painted it (Tibul. I. 9. 
 43, Ovid. Art. Am. 3. 163), and made it appear a bright yellow, with a 
 certain wash, a lixivium or ley (Val. Max. 2. I. 5), Vide Adam's Anti- 
 quities, p. 390, eighth edition, 1819. 
 
no JOURNAL. 
 
 of their wrongs, while they could have recourse to the 
 law and the chivalry of the stronger sex. * The girls 
 of ' that ' period,' instead of aspiring to teach others as 
 professors, were fain to learn of their elders, and instead 
 of dabbling in chemistry, pharmacy, anatomy, geology, 
 hydrostatics, acoustics, and experimental philosophy, to 
 be 'keepers at home, and discreet,' to brighten the 
 hearths, and to gladden the hearts of their parents, by 
 devoting themselves to the unostentatious household 
 duties of their sex and station, instead of pining for the 
 feverish excitement of the platform, or the questionable 
 expositions of the lecture-room. 'The long-suffering 
 love that is kind, that envieth not, that vaunteth not 
 itself, that is not puffed up, that doth not behave itself 
 unseemly, that seeketh not her own, that is not easily 
 provoked, that thinketh no evil,' may be regarded as 
 very trifles, but it is trifles which make the sum of 
 human things, and are therefore not to be despised. 
 But enough of this. Our return journey was anything 
 but a propitious one. We found much to complain of in 
 the mal-organisation of the railway. For forty minutes 
 we were kept at Leuchars, exposed to the pouring rain. 
 A sort of ambiguous waiting-room there certainly was, 
 but of dimensions so confined and crowded, that, having 
 seen my wife and daughter disposed of, I walked about 
 with my hands in the side-pockets of my greatcoat, and 
 my collar turned up, so as to protect my neck from the 
 rain, which dripped from a wooden coping about eighteen 
 inches deep. While I was briskly and irritably pacing 
 up and down to circulate my blood, my whole nervous 
 system was soothed by the sight of a chubby-cheeked 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. in 
 
 gentleman in a suit of black, with a white neckcloth and 
 a wide-awake, blandly talking with a little boy. This 
 gentleman had as good cause for impatience as I had, 
 but he looked so imperturbably amiable, that like a 
 moral poultice he drew out from my irascibility all its 
 venom. The wholesome influence produced was not 
 impaired when I discovered, when he took his hat off 
 (for a second), that I was looking at Professor Jowett. 
 I had never seen him in the flesh, but I recognised his 
 likeness to his well-known portrait by Richmond. There 
 could be no mistake in that singular combination : features 
 in form and proportion like a child's ; expression as mild 
 and innocent as an infant's ; complexion like a peach's ; 
 beautiful mouth ; and a skull that would not discredit 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 We were unfortunately circumstanced on reaching the 
 shore of the Firth of Forth. There was a long narrow 
 saloon on the deck, with a low-pitched flat roof above 
 it. Every available space on the deck itself, the gang- 
 ways included, was absorbed by those who had arrived 
 earlier than ourselves. Passengers who ordinarily paid 
 third-class fares had taken second class, with the object 
 of escaping a ducking. The savours of the saloon pro- 
 duced much the same effect upon us as the sea would 
 have done had it been rougher. The packing of slaves 
 in a slave-ship, in the middle passage of former days, 
 could hardly have been much worse than the manner in 
 which we were wedged, and almost welded, together. 
 In a cabin about 40 feet long, by 15 feet wide and 7 feet 
 high, there were at least 120 people of all grades, orders, 
 and degrees, rough and smooth ; some with soaking 
 
"2 JOURNAL. 
 
 macintoshes clinging to their persons ; others with 
 saturated plaids ; four young women, each with red 
 hair — each with a green bird-cage on her lap ; three 
 promising school-boys in sparrow-tail jackets, with 
 rabbit-hutches under their arms, and a commissariat of 
 stale cabbage protruding from their pockets; four or 
 five nursing-mothers, with babes of tender age and 
 high cheek-bones, muling and puking in their arms ; a 
 hirsute, pimpled, whisky-faced Highland clockmaker, 
 with a specimen of his handiwork in his hands, and 
 escorted by an obtrusive, liver-coloured pointer, who 
 found it convenient to dry his coat against my trousers. 
 All these things were against us ; but so hopeless and 
 irremediable was our lot while on the water, that sheer 
 despair ended in resignation. I was meekly trying to close 
 my eyes to the nauseous sights, and my nose against 
 the noisome smells above us, below us, and around us, 
 when the captain of the vessel pushed and elbowed 
 his way through the heterogeneous throng, and thus 
 addressed us : — ' Ladies and Gennelmen, — I am sorry 
 to tell you that we have several pick-pockets aboard. 
 They 've given us a deal o' trouble lately ; for you can't 
 tell some on um from gentlemen. We warn ladies to 
 look sharply after their pockets, their purses, bags, and 
 such like, and to take particular notice of the /people 
 they sit next.' If the good man had thrown a hand- 
 grenade among us, he could not have created greater 
 consternation and confusion than he did by his well- 
 intended caution. Many bolted incontinently out of 
 the saloon, under the impression that that must neces- 
 sarily be the favourite resort of the sharpers. Every 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. nj 
 
 woman who remained looked askance at her neigh- 
 bours on each side ; and I soon underwent the humilia- 
 tion of discovering that even I was not exempt from 
 suspicion, inasmuch as one of the mistresses of the bird- 
 cages, to whose canary I own I had addressed a few 
 chirruping attentions, instantly and indignantly edged 
 away from me, scrutinized my person harshly and in- 
 quisitorially, gave me a Parthian glance of defianc6, 
 (meaning, ' Oh, you would ! — would you ?') and kept on 
 pinning her shawl around her till she was impregnable. 
 
 We reached Edinburgh, crushed to the earth by the 
 trials of five hours, and found an invitation to dine with 
 Professor Lister, which our late arrival made it impos- 
 sible for us to accept. 
 
 September 2. — Dr. John Brown paid us a welcome 
 visit. He told us that, though it used to be so confi- 
 dently asserted that John Wilson at one time, John 
 Lockhart at another, Hamilton at another, had been 
 editors of Blackwood's Magazine, yet, that as long as 
 Blackwood the first was living, he was the sole editor ; 
 and that since his death Blackwood the second has 
 reigned in his stead, and continues to wield the editorial 
 sceptre with equal tact and ability. After lunch I took 
 my party to the shop in George Street, and showed 
 them the saloon which for so many years was the daily 
 resort of the chief illuminati of Modern Athens. On 
 the walls hung portraits in oil of Lockhart, Hogg; 
 Wilson, Hamilton (Cyril Thornton), Aytoun, and Ste- 
 phens, the writer on Agriculture. Up-stairs we saw 
 lively and characteristic sketches of W. Scott, Lock- 
 hart, in his study, with his legs upon a chair, Maginn, 
 
 H 
 
"4 JOURNAL. 
 
 and a very masterly portrait of George Eliot (Mrs. 
 Lewes). 
 
 September 3. — Sat for a considerable time with Dean 
 Ramsay, with whom I found Lord Torphichen. The 
 Dean was in high force, and told me more anecdotes 
 than I can recall. : Qne, however^ I remember well. He 
 had been talking of the nationality of his countrymen, 
 and I had been justifying it, when he said : 'An Eng- 
 lishman was speaking on -the same thenle one day to 
 a Scotchman. The Scotchman said, " It is not mere 
 national pride if I say, what is a matter of fact, viz., that 
 my country is the finest in the world ! " 
 
 '"Well," said John Bull, "if it be •Cc^q finest, it is not 
 the biggest! I suppose you'll allow.that England is 
 bigger than Scotland.?" i 
 
 , ' " 'Deed, sir," answefed Sandy, " I '11 allow nae sic a 
 thing ; for if oor grand hills were rolled out as flat as 
 Englandi is, Scotland wad be the bigger o' the twa !" 
 
 '"Well," retorted John Bull, "you'll acknowledge 
 that Shakespeare was not a Scotchman .-' " 
 
 'Discomfited at this home-thrust, but not disheart- 
 ened, he once more replied, 
 
 '"I'll acknowledge that Shakesf)eare had pairts 
 (parts) that would justify the inference that he was a 
 Scotchman," ' 
 
 September J. — I have been gratified- by a very kind 
 letter from Dean Ramsay, accompanying a gift- of the 
 twentieth edition of his Reminiscences, Started for 
 Wishaw House, on a visit to Lady Belhaven. The 
 road thither, after passing the Pentlands, boasts no 
 great beauty, although it is redeemed from tameness by 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. I15 
 
 occasional plantations and picturesque gorges, with fre- 
 quent burns and an occasional peep of a river winding 
 its way impetuously through thick umbrageous woods. 
 Wishaw has a station, and a town of some thousands 
 of inhabitants. Its population is almost entirely com- 
 posed of colliers, coal-mines abounding in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and disfiguring the fair face of nature by 
 their huge chimneys, furnaces, and mounds of slack and 
 refuse coal. The carriage was sent for us, and after a 
 mile and a half's drive we reached the house, passing 
 through very pretty woods on the road to it. It is a 
 picturesque castellated building, looking on a very large 
 and well-kept bowling-green, with banks inclining for- 
 mally down three sides oi an oblong, and screened from 
 the rough winds, of heaven by handsome woods of 
 beech, birch, yew, fir, and elm. It is astonishing how 
 much beauty the good taste and judicious planting of 
 the late proprietor has condensed around the dwelling, 
 and this too in the very heart of a country anything 
 but beautified by its mineral surroundings. There is a 
 delightful glen, with, a rapid though turbid river career- 
 ing through it, which adds materially to the charm of 
 the place. The ground immediately at the back of the 
 house falls so precipitously from it, as to give it the 
 effect, at a little distance, of actually overhanging the 
 river, as is the case with the ruined castle at Haw- 
 thomden. The rooms inside are large and well pro- 
 portioned, replete with comfort, and displaying no lack 
 of good china, pictures, and well-selected books. But 
 the feature of the grounds is the garden, which is en- 
 closed in walls, like a kitchen-garden, but is as quaint 
 
ri6 JOURNAL. 
 
 as it is beautiful, and more like that of Drummond 
 Castle than any other place. Of course much might 
 be said of the spirit of benevolence and bright intelli- 
 gence and graceful hospitality which breathes through- 
 out the place ; but it needs no comment, for it is gen- 
 erally known. 
 
 September 7. — Left Wishaw in the afternoon, in rain. 
 
 September 8. — Having bespoken a carriage and pair 
 to take us to Rosslyn Castle, I did not like to counter- 
 mand it, but felt sorely tempted to do so ; for, on telling 
 the fly-man last night to be sure to keep his time to- 
 day, and not disappoint us as he had done on a former 
 occasion, he shook his head in a pious, deprecating 
 manner, and, hiccoughing in my face, he said, with 
 thickened articulation, ' Losh keep me, sir, to-morrow 's 
 the blessed Sawbuth ! Oh, sir ! if it pleashe the Lord, 
 I '11 be with you the morn's morn.' 
 
 September 9. — Set off betimes by train for Coupar- 
 Angus, and found at the station my old friend, Mungo 
 Murray, of Lintrose, whom I had not seen for fifty 
 years, — in short, since the days of my boyish pranks, 
 when I imposed upon dear, excellent Dr. Haldane. 
 Murray's mother was one of the most charming persons 
 I ever knew ; no disparagement, however, to her hus- 
 band, who was hospitality incarnate. His sister, by the 
 bye, married Mr. David Smythe, of Methven, one of the 
 Lords of Session. She was called the Flower of Strath- 
 more, and is the lady on whom Burns wrote the song, 
 
 ' Blithe, blithe and merry was she, 
 Blithe was she, but and ben ; 
 Blithe by the banks of Earn, 
 And blithe in Glenturit Glen.' 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 117 
 
 I felt a melancholy, almost romantic pleasure, in re- 
 visiting a spot in which I had spent so many happy 
 hours in ' the merry days when I was young.' I found 
 everything changed except the owner of the property. 
 The approach to the house was changed, and no doubt 
 improved, by judicious planting. The gardens were 
 changed, modernised, and laid out with taste. The 
 stables were newly built, and superior greatly to the 
 old ones. The house itself had been changed, and 
 newly cased in warm-tinted stone. The drawing-room 
 was changed, the bay window having been squared — 
 a gain perhaps in dimension, but a loss in grace of pro- 
 portion. Among all the changes which met my eye at 
 every turn, Murray himself looked, though on the brink 
 of seventy, much as he did at twenty, thanks to good 
 features, a fair complexion, an even temper, an active 
 open-air and abstemious life. He told me, on my com- 
 plimenting him on his looks, that his tailor used for 
 him the same measure which he used fifty years ago ; 
 that he had never been confined to his bed a single day 
 by indisposition ; that he never took any meal between 
 an early breakfast and a late dinner ; that he drank 
 very sparingly of fermented liquor, wine, or spirits ; 
 that, when living in the deserts of South Africa, he had 
 more than once been thirty-six hours without food, with 
 but trifling inconvenience ; that though at one period 
 of his life he had had cataract in both eyes, he had 
 never suffered pain from them — merely the inconveni- 
 ence of blindness. On my asking him if he had been 
 couched, he said, ' No ; I was cured by a process of 
 absorption, without undergoing any operation, unless 
 
il8 JOURNAL. 
 
 having had my eyes painted with a camel-hair brush, 
 dipped in some mysterious fluid, be considered one. I 
 felt no sensation of discomfort in consequence of the 
 application, whatever. Under God, I consider I owe 
 my perfect restoration to sight to the skill of a Mr. 
 Laurence (not the celebrated surgeon, but an oculist, 
 who lived near the Marble Arch, Hyde Park), who 
 unhappily died without revealing his invaluable secret' 
 
 I find that Murray has led a very enterprising 
 and adventurous life — ^has lived much in Africa, being 
 passionately fond of sport, and, if I may judge from 
 the spolia opima I have seen in his hall, has been ' a 
 mighty hunter.' In his expeditions in search of wild 
 beasts he fell in with Livingstone, fraternised with him, 
 and, if I mistake not, on more than one occasion re- 
 mained with him for some months. He was with him 
 when he discovered Lake Ngami. An animated cor- 
 respondence going on about Livingstone at this time, 
 and reports being in circulation reflecting on the temper 
 of the great explorer, I asked Murray if he had ever 
 had any disagreement with him. He assured me that 
 he had never had the slightest shadow of difference 
 with him ; that Livingstone had stayed with him at Lint- 
 rose, and that at home or abroad he had found him, 
 perhaps a somewhat grave man, but just and noble, 
 and of indomitable resolution. Of this he gave one 
 or two remarkable illustrations. On one occasion, he 
 said it was essential to them to cross a certain river, 
 and having neither boat nor canoe at hand, they had 
 no alternative left them but to construct a raft. For 
 this purpose they bound trees together with stout ropes. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 119 
 
 and piled them one upon the other in liayers ; but the 
 heavier the raft became the lower it sank under the 
 water. Murray, and his friend Oswell, were neither of 
 them easily discouraged, but gave it up at last as an 
 impracticable undertaking. Not so Livingstone, who, 
 hoping against hope, worked on single-handed with 
 unabated resolution, until stopped by darkness. 
 
 September 'i-O. — After a very agreeable visit, went to 
 Perth to join my family and' go with them to Dunkeld, 
 the Trossachs, Taymouth, etc. etc., Lochlomond. Re- 
 turned on the evening of September 14. 
 
 September 23, 1872. — ^Accompianied my wife and 
 daughter on a visit to Lady Ruthven at Winton. 
 Found our hostess a lady of great natural acutenesS and 
 activity of mind, of great culture, and of a 'marvellous 
 pleasant humour.' She is endowed with as keen a sense 
 of the beautiful in art and nature as could be desired 
 in a romantic girl of eighteen ; possesses great liberality 
 of spirit, which travel and reflection have expanded, and 
 a patient heroism, which the combined weight of years 
 and suffering have failed to subdue. There is much to 
 interest both in the house and grounds. The reception- 
 rooms of the former are spacious and well-proportioned, 
 with handsome ceilings. They are rather dark, per- 
 hapSj but never can be dull, as long as the prfesidiiag 
 genius of the place, or her charming sister, are in them. 
 Lady R.'s wakeful interest in current events, the range 
 and variety of her acquisitions, her own drollery and 
 appreciation of that of others, makes her a delightful 
 companion. She understands the management of her 
 estate as well as if she had had the special training of 
 
120 JOURNAL. 
 
 a factor, and preserves and rears her own game. By 
 the bye, a well-known litterateur on seeing her, after 
 breakfast, feeding her pheasants with crumbs and milk, 
 exclaimed, ' Ah ! I see your Ladyship is preparing them 
 here, for bread-sauce hereafter.' 
 
 We found repartee and anecdote abound at her table. 
 There was a Presbyterian minister there who had, not 
 long before, married a couple of his rustic parishioners, 
 and had felt exceedingly disconcerted, on his asking the 
 bridegroom if he were willing to take the woman for 
 his wedded wife, by his scratching his head and saying, 
 ' Ay — I 'm wullin, but I 'd rather hae her sister.' 
 
 As I shall not betray the names of any living person, 
 directly or indirectly alluded to, I hope I may be ex- 
 cused if I mention one or two anecdotes which dwelt on 
 my memory. 
 
 Colonel , dining with Mrs. R — , and finding that 
 
 she, like himself, was suffering from a bad cold, expressed 
 warm sympathy for her. She thanked him, and asked 
 him how he had caught his.' 'Oh,' said he, 'I just 
 got it by lying out. — And you. Madam, how did you 
 catch yours ?' ' Oh 1 ' was the reply, ' I just got it by 
 lying in^ 
 
 Lady Davy, Sir Humphry's wife, was a brunette of 
 the brunettes. Sydney Smith used to say that she was 
 as brown as dry toast ; and that if she had been in the 
 Ark, and had descended from it to bathe, the sea would 
 inevitably have been converted from salt water into 
 toast and water. She resided for a considerable time in 
 Rome, and though well-up in the antiquities and classi- 
 cal localities, never could acquire a decent knowledge of 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 121 
 
 the Italian language. She was always eager to show 
 attention to her countrymen, and became their recog- 
 nised cicerone. She was about to take a drive on the 
 
 Campagna one day with Lady , in an open barouche, 
 
 habited in a rather flimsy mantle. Finding that the air 
 was much colder than she had expected to find it, she 
 sent for her maid, and telling her to bring her her biggest 
 and warmest cloak, thus expressed herself, — ' Portati mi 
 il mio Cloaca Maximal 
 
 Lady Ruthven possesses by far the best portrait of 
 Sir Walter Scott I ever saw. It was painted by Sir 
 Francis Grant in his youth, and, as far as likeness is 
 concerned, is superior to Raeburn's, Wilkie's, Allan's, 
 and Leslie's. Joseph's and Chantrey's busts of him are 
 both good, the latter named the better of the two. I 
 know how much we are enslaved by conventionality, and 
 how the fashion of one period is the solecism of another; 
 but, at the risk of being denounced by artists and 
 amateurs addicted to the prevailing style of bust as a 
 Goth and an ignoramus, I contend that, to portray the 
 inhabitants of a northern climate, in the nineteenth cen- 
 tury, as modern antiques, with bare throats and loose 
 togas, is to be guilty of a palpable anachronism. 
 
 In ancient Greece, the ' pallium ' of the men, and the 
 ' palla ' of the women, and in ancient Rome the ' toga ' 
 of their men, and the ' stola ' of their women, were worn 
 not so much in deference to fashion, as with reference 
 to convenience and climate. John Kemble standing 
 in his black toga by the statue in the market-place, in 
 the play of Coriolanus, with his throat bared, and his 
 person robed in classic garb, noble and imposing as he 
 
122 JOURNAL. 
 
 looked, would convey to a stranger's eye a very different 
 notion of his individuality from the John Kemble of 
 Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, in a brown fur-collared 
 frock-coat, and a neckcloth reaching to his ears, leaning 
 on the chimney-piece of his library. 
 
 Phidias, Praxiteles, and Lysippus, represented their 
 subjects attired as they appeared in every-day life ; but 
 Chantrey and Joseph, in their versions of Scott, have 
 sacrificed nature to art, caring more for graceful effect 
 than for truth ; for instead of representing him in his 
 ordinary costume, they have handed* him down to pos- 
 terity as he never could have been seen by any one but 
 his valet (when he was preparing to shave), or the barber 
 (when about to surrender his 'back hair' to his tender 
 mercies). I grant that our dress is adverse to art ; and 
 if a sculptor's object in modelling a bust be to perpetuate 
 an ideal rather than the real, and, with artistic licence, 
 to elevate an original of homely aspect into one of 
 heroic mould, then Messrs. Joseph and Sir F. Chantrey 
 have succeeded admirably ; but if fidelity of treatment 
 be the aim of a conscientious artist, if a bust should be 
 as nearly as possible like the subject's flesh and blood 
 turned to marble, and the dress of the wearer, in texture, 
 cut, and disposition, such as that he was habitually seen 
 in, then has Greenshields the mason achieved a signal 
 victory over his accomplished rivals. His statue of 
 Scott, which stands placed at the end of the corridor in 
 the Advocates' Library, from the crown of his lofty skull 
 to the rude simplicity of his shoe-strings,, is perfect. All 
 the portraits I have seen, except Sir F. Grant's, give 
 him a heavy, lowering look, which, at all events, is neither 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 123 
 
 pleasing nor, I will add, characteristic. No doubt, when 
 abstracted, or when music, in which he took slight 
 pleasure, was going on, a cloud would come over his 
 face ; but I humbly maintain that, before his misfor- 
 tunes fell upon him, the ordinary expression of his face 
 was one of amenity, benevolence, and waggery, — and 
 these qualities are legibly impressed upon the face which 
 Greenshields has given him. I cannot say how import- 
 ant an accessory in recalling my recollection of him I 
 found the apparel, for it proclaimed the man. My ac- 
 quaintance with him was but of some ten days' dura- 
 tion, but of no man I have ever seen have I such a vivid 
 recollection. I fancy I see his movements with his arms, 
 and his limp now ; and that I hear his genial chuckle 
 as Adam Ferguson moved him to mirth. His hearty 
 laugh was as infectious as Sydney Smith's irrepressible 
 guffaw. During the few days I was at Abbotsford, I do 
 not think ten minutes ever passed without a smile light- 
 ing up his face. What I have been rash enough to say 
 of modern busts reminds me of a story I was told more 
 than thirty years ago. Mr. Lyne Stephens, the father 
 of the gentleman who married Duvernay,^ a man of 
 large fortune and liberal ideas, gave an order to a well- 
 known English sculptor, resident at Rome, for busts of 
 the twelve Caesars, stipulating that he should receive 
 them within eighteen months. Two years having elapsed 
 without the fulfilment of the condition, the patience of 
 the patron became exhausted, and he wrote to his pro- 
 t^gd to say that, if the twelve Caesars whom he had 
 bespoken did not reach him within two months from 
 ' The celebrated danseuse. 
 
124 JOURNAL. 
 
 that date, he would not receive one of them into his 
 house.' The forfeiture of so valuable an order was a 
 serious consideration with the artist, and having, when 
 the threatening letter arrived, only completed eight of 
 the Roman Emperors, he impressed into his service the 
 busts of four private gentlemen, which he had executed 
 to order according to the received classic type, and de- 
 spatched them with the other eight as veritable Caesars. 
 
 The anxiously expected treasures happened to arrive 
 at their destination when Mr. L. Stephens had his house 
 full of company. When they had been carefully un- 
 packed, and deposited in the gallery, on pedestals which 
 had long been prepared for them, the guests were taken 
 by the host to see them. The names of each of the 
 Emperors having been written in pencil at the back of 
 the bust, they were transferred to the pedestals, and 
 lettered in gold, so that there was no difficulty in distin- 
 guishing them. ' This,' said Mr. L. S., ' is considered 
 very fine. It is Marcus Aurelius. This is Commodus. 
 This is Pertinax. This is Didius. This is Severus. 
 This is Caracalla. This is Maximus ; and I must beg 
 your attention to this, for it is considered the sculptor's 
 chef-cTcsuvre, — it is Heliogabalus.' ' No ! no ! I '11 be 
 hanged if it is ! ' — said a well-known master of hounds ; 
 ' it is no more Heliogabalus than I am. It is Gratwicke,^ 
 and the sculptor showed it me two months ago in his 
 studio as Gratwicke.' 
 
 Sept. 27. — My daughter and I spent a considerable 
 time with good Dean Ramsay and his gentle niece. 
 
 1 A gentleman well known on the turf and in Sussex a few years ago, 
 but now no longer living. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 125 
 
 October i. — Received a very kind invitation to Or- 
 miston, the present residence of Mr. Dempster, formerly 
 the laird of Skibo Castle. I had not seen him since 
 the year 1821. Time has dealt wondrous kindly with 
 him, and he, his lady, and his clever daughters (one of 
 them the well-known authoress), dealt wondrous kindly 
 by me. In the grounds of Ormiston are two of the 
 very finest yew-trees in the British Isles. The larger of 
 them is so evenly and uniformly grown, and its lateral 
 branches are so long, that while at the trunk they shoot 
 upwards and form a vaulted roof, like the inside of an 
 open umbrella, at the other extremity they sweep the 
 ground, like a lady's gown with a crinoline of enormous 
 circumference beneath it. Beneath this natural dome, 
 it is said, John Knox was wont to preach to crowded 
 congregations. 
 
 October 2. — From Wednesday till Saturday the Sth, 
 paid a delightful visit to Mr. and Lady Mary Nisbet 
 Hamilton, at Archerfield. In the exterior of the house, 
 architecturally considered, there is nothing specially 
 notable. It is large, handsome, and well-proportioned. 
 The interior, however, is admirably planned ; the rooms 
 are spacious, and the accommodation quite equal to 
 the requirements of a hospitality as incessant as it is 
 unbounded. The park walls are surrounded by the 
 village of Dirleton, an adjoining property belonging to 
 Lady Mary, and one of the prettiest and best ordered 
 in all Scotland. Its condition is a standing witness to 
 the vigilant and conscientious care of the proprietor for 
 the welfare of her tenantry. The cottages are substan-* 
 tially built, and in perfect repair. The village green i§ 
 
126 JOURNAL. 
 
 as trimly kept as a gentleman's lawn. The church, the 
 school, the schoolmaster's house, lie in close proximity; 
 all being dominated over by the ruins of a proud old 
 baronial castle, which stands with its ivy-,mantled tower 
 and walls at the extremity of the lovely- flower-gardens 
 belonging to Archerfield House. The park, though 
 small, is remarkably smiling and cheerful. Opposite 
 the front of the mansion there is a handsome Watteau- 
 like avenue of well-grown trees ; and around it, verdant 
 lawns and sylvan glades, and a considerable sheet of 
 water and extensive shrubberies, all highly dressed and 
 kept up with scrupulous nicely ; while beyond the plea- 
 sure-grounds there is a private carriage-road through a 
 pine wood, which is redolent of turpentine and alive 
 with rabbits, and terminates in a wild breezy strand, 
 dotted with tussocks of silver sand and rushes, and huge 
 masses of dark-brown rock cropping up on the fringe of 
 the sea-shore. On such a day as this on which we saw 
 it, I thought the spot a scene of enchantment. At the 
 north-eastern end of Haddingtonshire the Firth of Forth 
 lies at one's feet, with steamers and sailing vessels and 
 commercial ships and fishing-boats sparkling in the sun 
 upon its bosom. To the north is the opposite, coast 
 of Fife ; to the west Kirighorn, and the 'lang town, of 
 Kirkcaldy,' and Dysart. Towards the. south-east again, 
 lie Largo, Elie, and Anstruther ; while. the Isle of May, 
 with its lighthouse, the Bass Rock, and Berwick Law, 
 stand boldly prominent in the Channel, as it expands 
 towards the German Ocean. When. "I first ga^ed on 
 this exciting prospect the sea was azure, and the sky 
 as blue as lapis-lazuli ; and what with the glare of a 
 
yULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 127 
 
 mid-day sun upon the dancing waves, and the many 
 objects that sparkled in my eyes, I think I should have 
 had a sick headache but for the invigorating gusts of 
 iodine and chlorine which I inhaled with every breeze 
 that blew. ■ • 
 
 -After lunch we were taken a lovely drive ; but as, 
 soon as we returned to the house my wife and I rushed 
 back to the enchanting sppt we had been so struck with 
 in the morning, and lingered fondly there till time to 
 dress for dinner. i 
 
 October 5. — Left Archerfield, with deep regret, for 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 October "J. — The longings of many a year have been, 
 satisfied at last. Abbotsford, which I last saw when 
 taken there, a mere stripling, by my father, I have been 
 permitted to rfevisit as a grandfather, with my wife and 
 daughters by my side.: My recollections of the place, 
 the period, and the visit, were as delightful as they were, 
 vivid. I jumped on to the box of our hired carriage, 
 seated myself by the side of the driver, and scanned 
 the country between Melrose and Abbotsford with the, 
 partial eye of prepossession ; and yet I had a prophetic 
 misgiving that the objects which, hadampressed me by 
 their novelty when I was young would fail to do so 
 now that I q,m old. I pould hardly expect that it would 
 be with me at sixty-six as it psed to be at sixteen, 
 
 ' When nature pleased, for life itself was new, 
 And tlie heart promised what the fancy drew.' 
 
 I was of course prepared to see great changes ; arid, 
 those made within the last half century in this part of 
 Roxburghshire are, unquestionably, great improvements. 
 
128 JOURNAL. 
 
 Scores upon scores of elegant villas are concentrated 
 within a small area, in close proximity with one of the 
 finest ruins in Scotland, since I last saw Melrose. The 
 country around, full as it has been for centuries of 
 legendary and historic associations, fifty years ago was 
 a bleak and barren district, yet was redeemed from 
 ugliness by a pleasing combination of swelling hill and 
 verdant dale and running stream. But railway facilities 
 and the attractions of the abbey and of Abbotsford have 
 transformed it into a well-timbered country and a social 
 neighbourhood, teeming with a prolific and prosperous 
 population. The localities which Scott's world-wide 
 fame rendered classical, have, generally speaking, kept 
 pace with advancing civilisation, and are improved in 
 appearance and in character. Melrose, formerly a 
 silent, and but for its one conspicuous feature, an in- 
 sipid little town, is now nearly as much frequented as 
 any of our minor watering-places in England. And 
 though a large proportion of the population are mere 
 birds of passage, yet there are many permanent resi- 
 dents, who would not change their dwelling-place for 
 any other on the face of this terraqueous globe. The 
 environs of humbler Darnick are studded with prim and 
 rustic cottages. Huntly Burn, once the cherished home 
 of Scott's great chum. Sir Adam Ferguson, though its 
 elevation was good, was in itself an ordinary; dwelling 
 enough. Now it is a rather striking object from the 
 highroad, and, thanks to the well-grown woods behind 
 it, is rather an important place. Galashiels, which was 
 a tolerably thriving but unpretending little country 
 town, now boasts above 10,000. inhabitants, many of 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 129 
 
 whom have realised large fortunes by the staple manu- 
 facture which derives its name from the river which 
 runs through it. Chiefswood, the constant resort of 
 Scott, and the favourite home of his daughter and her 
 husband, now seeks the shade in the hollow of a wood- 
 land lane. The Eildon Hills, though they still rear their 
 heads against the sky in undiminished grandeur, have 
 been curtailed of many an acre of their base — for what 
 was spongy moss or savage moorland now yields fat 
 pasture to flocks of black-faced sheep, 
 
 ' Which skip o'er the lawns, and by the rivers play.' 
 
 Deciduous trees, which, when I was in my teens, were 
 
 slim and slender saplings just beginning to rear their 
 
 tender heads in the nursery-ground, have sprung up 
 
 into sturdy, full-grown timber, and dwarf pines have 
 
 developed into coniferous giants, 
 
 ' Which wag their high tops, and do make a nqise 
 When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven.' 
 
 But, alas ! the towers of Abbotsford, the sight of which, 
 on Scott's return from Italy, had wrung from his lips a 
 cry of wild delight, are now entirely obscured from 
 sight. The well-rounded hills, which face the view to 
 the south, gladdened the eye of the antiquary (for they 
 contained vestiges of the ancient British barrier, ' the • 
 Catrail '), and had a soothing influence on the restless 
 brain of the Minstrel, as he gazed upon them from his 
 cosy den. But they are vulgarised and defaced by the 
 obtrusion of two modern villas which overlook their 
 classic neighbour ; while, at the very elbow of the estate, 
 on the same side of the Tweed, and in unwelcome con- 
 tiguity, is a red-faced competitor for honours, which 
 
 I 
 
130 JOURNAL. 
 
 belongs to a wool-merchant of Galashiels. Far be it 
 from me to reflect on those who, having amassed wealth 
 by their own ingenuity and industry, desire to repose 
 upon their laurels in some congenial retreat ; but that 
 the county families, the innkeepers, the omnibus and 
 fly proprietors, the directors of the Waverley Railway, 
 who owe so much to Scott's great reputation — nay, that 
 the very stones out of the wall should not have cried 
 out against the desecration of a spot so consecrated 
 by genius, and so endeared to the lovers of literature, 
 quite passes my comprehension. Still more wonderful 
 is it that the gentleman who so worthily bears the name 
 of Scott should be the last person to be informed that 
 the lands abutting on the estate, as well as those which 
 command it, were on ' feu.' 
 
 The nearer we drew to our object, the gloomier 
 became my forebodings. I fancied I heard the din of 
 commerce, the whistle of the railway, and the shuttle of 
 the weaver reverberating over the hill which shut out 
 Galashiels from our view. The Tweed, which when I 
 last saw it was fordable and fretting its silvery course 
 over milk-white pebbles, was swollen by the recent 
 heavy rains, and rushed between its banks impetuous 
 and almost menacing. The 'skyey influences' were 
 unpropitious too. They did not weep outright, but 
 frowned and scowled, and as we descended from the 
 carriage, and paused in front of the house to look about 
 us, I could not but recall to mind the cheery voice which 
 used to proclaim aloud, with sturdy cordiality, the wel-< 
 come that awaited each new-comer from within. 
 
 On crossing the threshold, instead of the outstretched 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 131 
 
 hand of a genial host to grasp, we were told to enrol 
 our names and address in the register of sightseers. 
 All this, no doubt, was right, and to have been expected, 
 for our admission at all was an act of grace on the part 
 of Mr. Hope Scott ; but the expediency of the precau- 
 tion hardly reconciled me to it when I thought of the 
 past. 
 
 The outside of the house, which is semi-Gothic, 
 and in a confined and badly chosen site, owing per- 
 haps to the depressing influences of the atmosphere, 
 struck me as grim and gloomy, and some of the archi- 
 tectural details as faulty. The approach to it is awk- 
 wardly contrived. The elaborately wrought screen of 
 iron which encloses the pleasaunce is almost as heavy 
 and repellent as the railing which separates the play- 
 ground of Christ's Hospital from Newgate Street. The 
 southern front struck me as cold, bald, and inornate. I 
 cannot but think that, in the absence of stone balustrades, 
 the distinctive character of the terraces might have been 
 just as well preserved by formally clipped yews, or, at 
 all events, if a hedge of sweetbrier, or barberries, or 
 privet had been substituted for the rude railing in 
 front of the meadow. Neither would the slopes have 
 looked worse had they been diversified here and there 
 by a flowering shrub, or a straggling cotoneaster, or a 
 small bed of rhododendra. The long, narrow, common- 
 place meadow of rank by-river's-side grass, ' exhaling 
 murky dew,' might with advantage have been thrown 
 into the pleasure-ground, and, at moderate expense, 
 converted into lawn ; or, if that had been objected to, 
 the post and rail fence which separates the garden front 
 
132 JOURNAL. 
 
 from the field, might have been improved by the substi- 
 tution of invisible wire, and the rigid line described by 
 the bank of the Tweed might have been broken to 
 advantage by a clump of arbutus, and bay, and holly, 
 and laurestina here, and a beech or some conifer in 
 single blessedness there, so that the river, instead of 
 flowing on with the dead monotony of a canal, might 
 have been made to appear and disappear at intervals, 
 thus assuming a more devious character, and greater 
 apparent variety and extent. 
 
 The house itself I found so altered that, had I been 
 conveyed to it blindfold, I should not have known where 
 I was. The present entrance is not where the old one 
 used to be. Whether the alteration was made in the 
 lifetime of Scott, who was in turn 
 
 ' Magician, gardener, builder, mechanist,' 
 A planter, and a rearer from the seed,' 
 
 I cannot presume to say. But, certainly, in the eleven 
 years which intervened between my visit and Sir Walter's 
 death, all I have just seen may have been done under 
 his immediate directions. I am strongly impressed with 
 the idea that there were no terraces in the year 1821. 
 And I think, unless I am egregiously deceived, that 
 the ground to the south sloped gradually towards the 
 meadow which skirts the Tweed. Although only in 
 course of formation, the ground at that time was far 
 more cheerful and infinitely less pretentious than it is 
 now. Apart from the presence of the genivs loci, there 
 was nothing specially prepossessing in the premises 
 
 * When living at Lasswade, in his early married life, he made his own 
 dining-table. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 133 
 
 themselves. It was the vivifying spirit infused into 
 everything by the owner, and which reigned supreme 
 over every man, woman, child, dog, horse, or dumb 
 creature within his reach, that made the whole atmo- 
 sphere around him so joyous and happy. 
 
 The week that I was in his house, I used to rise up 
 early and walk abroad to sniff the morning air, and earn 
 an appetite for breakfast. At such times the same 
 objects, engaged in the same pursuits, invariably at- 
 tracted my notice : — \st. The towering head of the inde- 
 fatigable scribe bending over the appointed task ; 2d, 
 His lady, fresh from her toilet, throwing wide her win- 
 dow to ventilate her chamber, and nod her good- 
 humoured greeting to her son Charles, his friend 
 Surtees, and myself; '2,d, Her light-hearted daughter 
 Anne, with a plate of bread-crumbs bribing ' the early 
 birds ' to come around her ; ^th, Nicolson the coach- 
 man, in his stable dress, with wooden sabots on his feet, 
 washing the sociable in the stable-yard ; ^th, Beneath 
 the Sheriff's study window, a huge roan stag-hound, 
 rigid as if carved in stone, with ears pricked up and 
 paws extended, watching with lofty complacency the 
 mercurial gambols of a black greyhound, as he bounded 
 about, and turned, and touzled, and tumbled over on 
 the greensward his rough and ready playfellows, a 
 spaniel, a silky-haired terrier, and two snappish creatures 
 of Dandie Dinmont's breed, called ' Mustard ' and 
 ' Spice.' These familiar everyday events are as deeply- 
 engraven on the tablets of my memory as if they had 
 been cut there but yesterday. But, alas ! the willing 
 hands that laboured out of doors in their kind master's 
 
134 JOURNAL. 
 
 service are still, and the grateful hearts that beat for him 
 within no longer throb. The well-balanced brain that 
 directed and regulated all around him beats no more. 
 
 Much as there is in Abbotsford to gratify the curiosity 
 of a stranger, to me the sense of being a mere spectator 
 Ch sufferance where once I had been a guest, was inex- 
 pressibly painful. And then, the desolation and the 
 sombre aspect of the show-rooms ; the visitors creeping 
 about the uncarpeted floors with a tread of reverence 
 that I could not but respect ; the inquiring faces of 
 Americans peering through the windows '; the dreary 
 thought that nearly all who were his contemporaries 
 had fallen under the sharp scythe of Time; — every 
 relative connected closely with him by the ties of 
 blood or friendship ; the many chosen dependants on 
 his generous and considerate bolinty ; his very dogs, 
 companions of his walks and rides, — Maida, ' the first to 
 welcome, foremost to defend,' Hamlet, 'whose honest 
 heart was all his master's own,' Camp, Wallace, Douglas, 
 Percy, copartners in the hearth-rug ; Nicolson, his loyal 
 butler ; Laidlaw, his quondam literary, and afterwards 
 his bailiff, friend ; Mackay, his faithful housekeeper; Tom 
 Purdie, his fellow-woodman ; Peter Mathieson, his trusty 
 coachman ; — all, all had followed in the wake of him 
 they loved and honoured. ' I was fixed in cogitation 
 deep,' as Milton has it, and could say with Rogers — 
 
 ' All, all are fled, yet still /linger here ! 
 What sweet charms this silent spot endear?' 
 
 now, that the woods he pruned and planted no longer 
 echo to the sound of his jocund laugh, and the slashing 
 stroke of his good right hand ; now, that the ready 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 135 
 
 tongue which never faltered, and which had an apposite 
 tale for every cliff, and cleft, and rock for miles around, 
 and gave to ' each a local habitation and a name,' is 
 silent; now, that the beams of warm imagination which 
 coloured the mystery of every legend in his boundless 
 store, no longer shine ; now, that the vigour of his de- 
 scriptions, the enthusiasm of his manner, the mirth of his 
 mobile countenance, the flavour of his uncouth dialect, 
 are lost for ever to eye and ear and heart alike. The 
 voice of mirth and gladness is hushed. The spots he 
 best loved know him no more. The wild wind passes 
 over his tomb. The sun of the place has set. 
 
 ' How loved, how honour'd once, avails him not ! ' 
 
 The rooms I found it easiest to recall were the armoury^ 
 and the study ; and the article of all others that I felt 
 most familiar with was the well-worn old-fashioned arm- 
 chair in which he used to sit and write. 
 
 ' As on the dusky furniture I bend, 
 Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend. 
 The storied arras, source of fond delight, 
 With old achievement charms the wilder'd sight : 
 And still with Heraldry's rich hues imprest 
 On the dim window's glass the pictured crest.' 
 
 One must have been a Stoic indeed to have looked 
 upon his white beaver hat, his green coat with its plated 
 buttons, his drab trousers and gaiters, his shoes, and 
 walking-sticks and pipes, without emotion. The man 
 who escorted us through the apartments told me that 
 he had often seen American ladies shed tears on behold- 
 
 1 The articles I can recall in the armoury are Claverhouse's pistol, Rob 
 Roy's gun and purse. Highland arms, targets, claymores, thumbscrews, 
 and trophies which he had brought from the field of Waterloo. 
 
136 JOURNAL. 
 
 ing these relics. I must say that, whatever pride our 
 cousins may take in their own institutions, they are 
 seldom blind to the merits of England's worthies; 
 and that whatever temporary estrangement may have 
 existed between the parent and her offspring, they are 
 never niggardly in their appreciation of Shakespeare's, 
 Scott's, or Bulwer's genius. 
 
 The full-length portrait of Major Scott, though in- 
 ferior as a work of art, is not deficient in individuality. 
 Those of his mother and sister Anne, though not flatter- 
 ing to the originals, still reminded me of them strongly. 
 The only pictures of real merit — and they are wonderful 
 — are eight small water-colour drawings, about 12 inches 
 by 8, mounted on one large sheet of tinted paper, con- 
 tained in a single bead frame, and valued at 8000 
 guineas. Seeing Mr. Birket Foster in the drawing-room, 
 scrutinising them very minutely, I asked him if ^ thought 
 they were worth that sum, and he unhesitatingly declared 
 they were. The extraordinary prices which Turner's 
 pictures fetch reminds me of an anecdote told me of 
 him by Thomas Tomkison, the pianoforte-maker, him- 
 self one of the best judges of art in the kingdom. Mr. 
 Leader, the father of the former M.P. for Westminster, 
 told him that he had commissioned Turner to paint 
 him a picture on a given subject. The price fixed was 
 ;^3000. On Turner's appearing at his house with the 
 picture, Mr. Leader gave him a cheque for the 3000 
 guineas, on which Turner reminded him that there 
 was still 3s. 6d. due to him for the hackney-coach in 
 which he had conveyed the picture to Putney. 
 
 Why, I cpuld not divine, but we were not allowed to 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 137 
 
 see the dining-room, a circumstance I regretted, \st, 
 Because I should have been glad to refresh my recollec- 
 tion of a room in which I passed the proudest hours of 
 tny life ; 
 
 ' Where round that ample board, in due degree 
 We sweeten'd every meal with social glee, 
 The heart's light laugh pursued the circling jest, 
 And all was sunshine in each happy breast.' 
 
 2d, Because it was the room in which the household 
 deity had breathed his last. Sad as I felt — during this 
 excursion — ^while recalling the memories of ' the merry 
 days when I was young,' I was cheered by the reflection 
 that, though Scott's corruptible part has long been food 
 for worms, yet that his spirit will never die, that it lives 
 in every relic he has left behind him, lives in every 
 murmuring leaf of every tree he ever planted, lives in 
 every glowing page he ever wrote, and that his name 
 and fame will live till crack of doom. Never were lines 
 penned more applicable to any creature than the fol- 
 lowing to him : — 
 
 ' In this one man was shown a temperance, proof 
 Against all trials : industry severe 
 And constant as the motion of the day : 
 Stern self-denial round him spread — with shade 
 That might be deem'd forbidding, did not there 
 All generous feelings flourish and rejoice. 
 And resolution competent to take 
 .Out of the bosom of simplicity 
 AU that her holy customs recommend, 
 And the best ages of the world prescribe.' 
 
 A visit to Melrose Abbey seemed but a natural 
 sequel to our morning at Abbotsford. The grace of its 
 architecture, the grandeur of its proportions, and the 
 warm hue of its walls, render it a truly noble fane. 
 
'38 JOURNAL. 
 
 second to few in archaeological interest, independently 
 of the associations which cluster round it and render it 
 unique. Still it wants, as it were, breath and elbow- 
 room. Instead of standing out in isolated grandeur, 
 with no other background than the sky itself, or the 
 Eildon Hills, it is choked and hemmed in by hideous 
 and incongruous buildings. Nevertheless, spent as I 
 was with the previous ' excitement of my reason and 
 my blood,' I should have found it difficult to tear myself 
 away from the contemplation of this noble ruin, had not 
 my observation been arrested by the unusual beauty of 
 our female guide. The ladies of my party were as 
 much struck as I was, and not more with the classic 
 regularity of her features than with the modest self- 
 possession of her deportment. She had a voice mellow 
 as a hautboy's note ; lineaments symmetrical as Mount 
 Ida's nymph, CEnone ; a complexion rich and glowing 
 as the tints of autumn ; eyes of almond shape, clear, 
 lustrous, truthful ; eyebrows beautifully pencilled ; hair 
 of ' glossy chestnut brown,' coiled simply round the 
 back of her head. There was that/^ ne sais quoi about 
 her of good breeding, that I felt quite embarrassed to 
 know how to offer her the customary douceur. On sub- 
 sequent inquiry at the George Inn, we were informed 
 that she and a sister, nearly as well-favoured as herself, 
 were the daughters of a Mrs. Tait, erst lady's-maid for 
 many years to the beautiful Duchess of Buccleuch, 
 mother to the present Duke, and daughter of the first 
 Viscount Sydney. It seemed she married the Duke's 
 head carpenter ; and in recognition of their services he 
 bequeathed to them the remunerative privilege of show- 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 139 
 
 ing the Abbey to strangers. Finding that she was rather 
 diverted by my ecstatic appreciation of her lion, I told 
 her that ' when last I had seen it, I had seen it under 
 circumstances of which few now could boast, viz., " by 
 pale moonlight," and under the guidance and superin- 
 tendence of the Last Minstrel's " self." ' I told her that, 
 though I had heard it more than once alleged that he 
 had never visited it himself under the circumstances he 
 recommended to others, I was morally positive of the 
 fact I stated. ' Oh ! sir,' said she, ' I have often heard 
 Johnnie Bower say that his father, our^ predecessor here, 
 would often tell how mony a nicht he had been called 
 up to let in the Sheriff and his friends to view the ruin.' 
 I was so pleased with this speech of hers that I doubled 
 my intended tip. - 
 
 It is impossible to deny, if one wished it, that im- 
 portant changes in the material, moral, and social con- 
 dition of Edinburgh have been effected since I was last 
 here. At every point of the compass large tracts of 
 land, which I remember barren wastes, have been built 
 upon and peopled. I cannot pretend to enumerate, 
 nor do I even remember, one tithe of the substantial 
 improvements which met my eye. The picturesque 
 block of thirteen-storied houses has been superseded 
 by handsome modern structures, inclusive of the Free 
 Church College and the National Security Savings 
 Bank. Two museums of classic pretensions, one or two 
 handsome monuments on the Calton Hill, a splendid 
 one in Princes Street to the honour of Walter Scott, 
 vigorous statues of John Wilson and Allan Ramsay, a 
 new Post-office, two railway termini, lodging-houses for 
 
140 JOURNAL. 
 
 the migratorj' classes, Donaldson's Hospital, Regent 
 and Calton and Royal Terraces, Magdala Crescent, 
 Maitland and West Maitland Street, the Haymarket 
 Station, and several new churches, if old established 
 favourites with the present generation, are new creations 
 to me. 
 
 In my daily strolls between the Old and New Towns, 
 I found it difficult, in spite of sapient Dogberry, to avoid 
 making — I am not punning — ' odorous ' comparisons. 
 
 To the artist and the antiquarian, the Old Town, in 
 point of historic interest, piquancy of design, sharpness 
 of sky-line, radiancy of perspective, with its Holyrood 
 Palace, its Heriot's Hospital, its craggy cliff, its beet- 
 ling Castle and proud battlements, its many-patterned 
 chimneys, its Galilean towers, its crow's-feet steps, its 
 gaunt scraps of sculpture, its Grecian columns, its octa- 
 gonal pillars, its antique friezes, its grotesque gurgoyles, 
 its sloping gables, its racy inscriptions, its uncouth 
 mouldings, is replete with attraction. 
 
 On the other hand, the New Town, from its noble 
 position, the unity of its plan, the elegance as well as 
 the solidity of its public and private buildings, its im- 
 proved sewerage, its handsome squares and public gar- 
 dens, its shops, its Princes Street, its George Street, its 
 Ainslie Place, its Moray Place, etc. etc., may challenge 
 competition with any city in Europe, as an eligible 
 residence, with one exception, and that is — climate. 
 
 I was curious to examine the domestic architecture 
 of the Old Town, and threaded and elbowed my way 
 through loitering crowds of listless idlers, and plunged 
 into the noisome closes and dreary wynds inhabited by 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 141 
 
 the scum of the population. I own I found it difficult 
 at first, surrounded as one has been with the luxuries 
 and refinements of the nineteenth century, to realise 
 the squalid buildings in the most debased parts of the 
 Old Town inhabited by proud peers, potent senators, 
 and reverend signiors. I was surprised, too, to notice 
 how many houses of an ancient date there were which 
 were built of wood, faced, or as it were veneered, with 
 rough-cast. Five or six hundred years ago, no doubt, 
 every house in our own metropolis was built of wood. 
 Our good Queen Bess, no later than three centuries 
 ago, dwelt in a palace which was composed of timber, 
 lath, and plaster ; and her nobility and gentry occu- 
 pied houses of the very rudest construction and of the 
 coarsest materials — ^with earthen floors instead of deal 
 boards, and with green rushes for carpets. But then it 
 should be recollected that though bricks had been in- 
 troduced into England about the fifteenth century, they 
 were never in general use till after the great fire of 
 London, and were very costly, while stone was all but 
 unattainable ; whereas in Scotland, timber being a great 
 rarity, was dear, and stone being abundant, must have 
 been comparatively reasonable. 
 
 That for so many generations, in such a densely 
 pauperised locality, deficient as it long has been in air, 
 light, and water, occupied by animals grovelling on the 
 earth like swine, chronic pestilence in some form or 
 other should not have usurped a permanent power, is 
 to me a marvel. 
 
 On proceeding to the High Street and asking for the 
 Tolbooth, I learned, with deep regret, that it had shared 
 
'42 JOURNAL. 
 
 the common fate of many other buildings of kindred 
 interest, and had been rased to the ground in 1817. I 
 could not forbear uttering a harsh word or two against 
 the perpetrators of such a wholesale demolition of his- 
 toric landmarks, I thought them little better than 
 Vandals. But when I had inspected the spots and 
 sites themselves, and weighed the substantial gain of 
 the many with the comparative loss of the few from the 
 uprooting of sentimental associations, I was forced to 
 retract my hasty sentence, and acknowledge the sense 
 and courage of the civic authorities in not "having 
 allowed their aesthetic tastes to override necessary sani- 
 tary improvements. 
 
 There is, in Lockhart's Life of Scott} a letter from 
 Sir Walter to Mr. J. B. S. Morritt, of Rokeby, dated 
 August 1 1, 1 8 17, to the following purport : — ' There is a 
 terrible evil in England, to which we are strangers, — the 
 number, to wit, of tippling-houses, where the labourer, 
 as a matter of course, spends the surplus of his earn- 
 ings. In Scotland there are few, and the Justices are 
 commendably inexorable in rejecting all application 
 for licences where there appears no public necessity for 
 granting them. A man, therefore, cannot spend much 
 money in liquor, since he must walk three or four miles 
 to the place of auction and back again, which implies 
 a sort of malice prepense of which few are capable ; 
 and the habitual opportunity of indulgence not being 
 at hand, the habits of intemperance and of waste con- 
 nected with it are not acquired.' He then goes on to 
 say, ' All this applies chiefly to the country. In towns, 
 1 Vol. iv. p. 85. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 143 
 
 and in the manufacturing districts, the evil could hardly 
 be diminished by such regulations.' 
 
 From the little I have seen and the much I have 
 heard, either the county magistracy of 1872 must have 
 greatly relaxed the wholesome restrictions of 18 17, or 
 the peasantry, in the interim, must have been greatly 
 contaminated by the vicious example of the towns. 
 Let me, however, in the present confine myself to what 
 I observed in Edinburgh. 
 
 Understanding that the railway companies and many 
 of the principal firms had long been in the habit of 
 paying their workmen's wages on the Friday instead of 
 the Saturday, I was curious to judge for myself how 
 far the employers of labour had been rewarded for their 
 benevolent consideration. To this end I took up a posi- 
 tion on the threshold of a decent shop in the Canon- 
 gate, on the two last days of two consecutive weeks, 
 and I saw before me a heaving, surging sea of human 
 beings, tossed to and fro, wave after wave, under the 
 tempestuous influence of ardent spirits. There were 
 lads of fourteen or fifteen years of age, with battered 
 hats on their heads and short pipes in their mouths, 
 nearly swept off their legs by the refluent tide. There 
 were young men from twenty to twenty-five years of 
 age, with glassy eyes and vacant stare, tottering and stag- 
 gering against each other ; parents, in the prime of life, 
 swearing at their barefooted little ones, who were trying 
 to drag them away from temptation ; silent old men and 
 sulky old women, wrangling and snarling at one another, 
 and ready on the slightest provocation to fight it out. 
 The evidences of rampant vice among the masses 
 
144 JOURNAL. 
 
 which I saw on every side recalled to my mind some 
 of the sanguinary scenes which had been enacted in that 
 immediate vicinity. I fancied that I could realise, as I 
 had never done before, the formidable characteristics of 
 an Edinburgh mob when once ' stirred up to any sudden 
 act of mutiny." 
 
 The impetuous Irishman, never so much in his ele- 
 ment as when in actual conflict with his fellow, rushes 
 forth, shillelah in hand, eager to seek the bubble repu- 
 tation even in a faction-fight. Though a sinister look 
 be enough to fan the smouldering embers of party spirit 
 into a blaze, yet, when once blood has been freely shed, 
 and a skull or two has been cracked, they are quickly 
 extinguished, and die out in penitential ashes. 
 
 The pugnacious Englishman, impatient to square 
 accounts with his antagonist, turns back his wristbands 
 and appeals to his fists for his redress ; and if he suc- 
 ceeds in vindicating the affront he has received, he is 
 ready to forget and to forgive it. 
 
 But the same determined will which renders the phleg- 
 matic Scot, under the stimulus of loyalty or patriotism, 
 invincible in battle, makes him, under personal affront, 
 implacable — at least until his enemy lies dead at his 
 feet. Then, to assuage the smart of a reproving con- 
 science, or deaden the fear of condign punishment, he 
 flies to the universal panacea for all the ills of life — the 
 dram bottle. Women, who have the same propensity, 
 having broken down the two great bulwarks of virtue — 
 modesty and remorse — lose all their sense of shame, 
 defy public opinion, and flaunt about the streets in 
 filth and finery, more like fiends than females. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 145 
 
 .That the drink-fever, and the whole train of moral 
 evils which follow in its wake, should continue to rage 
 with unabated virulence among a people so religious 
 as the Scotch, is an anomaly not easy of explanation. 
 The clergy of Scotland are an earnest, God-fearing body 
 of men, who, by the constitution of their Church, are 
 assisted in their pastoral and parochial ministrations by 
 lay agency to an extent unequalled in any other com- 
 munity. In Presbyteries, in Synods, in General Assem- 
 blies, there are associated together more laymen than 
 ministers ; and yet, in spite of this powerful machinery, 
 in spite of the exertions of the Temperance League, in 
 spite of the energetic stand made by men of such in- 
 fluence, eloquence, character, and spirit, as Chalmers, 
 Candlish, Guthrie, and others, the Goliath Inebriety 
 still stalks triumphantly over the land, making captives 
 of thousands, and defying the armies of Israel. How 
 it is that, with all that has been done and yet is doing, 
 to crush this hydra-headed monster, such scenes as I 
 witnessed in the Old Town should be possible, affords 
 matter for grave reflection, and leads one to conclude, 
 either that the means employed, large as they are, have 
 been inadequate to the requirements, or that there has 
 not been a proper economy in their distribution, or that 
 the strength and zeal which have been exerted have 
 been ill-directed. Great ends have often been accom- 
 plished by small means, when those means have been 
 concentrated on a single object ; and if, instead of 
 being conflicting agencies, the forces of all the Churches 
 were combined in cordial co-operation, a great standing 
 reproach to the morals of the country might, in a few 
 
 K 
 
146 JOURNAL. 
 
 years, be wiped away. But if the visible Church is to 
 remain in its present state of unhappy disruption, and 
 is to be rent asunder in schisms and sections, the acti- 
 vity and utility of its members must necessarily be 
 paralysed by want of cohesion, and ' envyings, and strifes, 
 and divisions ' will inevitably eat their way into the very 
 vitals of ' pure and undefiled religion,' and corrupt the 
 body politic as well as the body ecclesiastical. Where- 
 as, if the Established, the Free, the United Presbyterian, 
 and the Episcopal Churches, instead of desultory efforts, 
 would' take up common ground, throw aside denomina- 
 tional differences, recruit their scattered ranks from the 
 pick and pith of their several followers, and, shoulder 
 to shoulder, confront the common enemy, ere another 
 generation had grown old myriads of besotted slaves 
 might probably be emancipated from the yoke of a 
 degrading bondage, and be glad to enlist as volunteers 
 under the banner of ' perfect freedom.' 
 
 It would seem that in England, men the most opposed 
 on other grounds are disposed to coalesce on this. The 
 Archbishop of Westminster has, more than once, been 
 advocating the same philanthropic cause on the same 
 platform with the High Churchman, the Low Church- 
 man, the Broad Churchman, and the Dissenter. It is 
 of vital importance in England, as well as in Scotland 
 and Ireland, that the sympathies and the energies of 
 both sexes and of all classes should be brought to bear 
 on this one point. 
 
 In every town congregation in England there must 
 be men and women with the will, the means, and the 
 leisure to do good, yi\\o yet, from want of opportunity 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 147 
 
 and sanction, feel themselves mere ' cumberers of the 
 ground' — men and women who hold our orders in too 
 great reverence to encroach on ministerial prerogative, 
 and whose chief ambition would be ' to strengthen the 
 weak hands and confirm the feeble knees' of their 
 pastor, by going forth as his forerunners into the wildest 
 wastes of his parish, to ' make the crooked places 
 straight and the rough places plain' for him. I am 
 aware that there are many of the clergy of this genera- 
 tion who, in our larger towns, gladly utilise lay agency ; 
 but I suspect strongly that there are many more of the 
 past, who either neglect from supineness, or object upon 
 principle, to avail themselves of such help. There are 
 many among the ignorant, depraved, and hardened, 
 who would be more willing, in the first instance, to 
 hearken to the admonitions of sympathetic, disinter- 
 ested, and benevolent laymen, than to the rebukes or 
 reproofs, or even exhortations, of those they regard as 
 stipendiary spiritual physicians. When first a clergy- 
 man is appointed to a cure of souls in a town parish, 
 he endeavours conscientiously to introduce the highest 
 knowledge into the humblest places ; and though he is 
 likely to do so delicately and considerately, yet it is 
 difficult for him to divest himself of a certain official 
 authority derived from his credentials. Now this self- 
 assertion irritates the ignorant and evil-disposed, and 
 excites among the more independent of them a preju- 
 dice against him, to which the layman is not exposed, 
 because he is received and admitted on sufferance. 
 Will my brethren forgive me if I say, that the precise 
 and formal cut of the clerical long black frock-coat. 
 
148 JOURNAL. 
 
 the starched severity of the white stock, the buttonless 
 vest, the measured gravity of deportment, the suavity 
 of speech, — seemly, appropriate, attractive, as they all 
 may be in the eyes of the higher and middle ranks 
 of society, — repel the dangerous classes, and indeed 
 are ridiculed by them as the insignia of a pretentious 
 Pharisaism, in men who deem themselves entitled, 
 welcome or unwelcome, in season or out of season, to 
 enter poor men's dwellings, to proselytise little children, 
 to lead captive silly women, and extort from them cate- 
 gorical answers to inconvenient questions about the 
 wages earned, the tastes indulged, the company kept, 
 and the form of worship favoured by the husband or 
 the father ? 
 
 That they should feel thus, I must say, in their cir- 
 cumstances, is not to be wondered at. The clergy, 
 especially the more serious and energetic ones (and 
 how few there are in those days who are not both!), 
 have so little time or disposition to mix with the outer 
 world, live so much in a contracted sphere of their own, 
 and associate so exclusively with those of their own order 
 who agree with them in sentiment, that they hardly 
 make sufficient allowance for those who have never had 
 religious training at all ; while the country parson's 
 experience of parochial work is so different from that 
 of the town clergyman's, that even he can hardly appre- 
 ciate the difficulties with which his brother has to 
 contend. 
 
 There are few rural parishes of moderate dimensions, 
 however vicious, on which the religious influence of the 
 minister is not, directly or indirectly, made to tell, and 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 149 
 
 through which many who have gone astray are led back 
 into the right path ; but it is not often that a town 
 clergyman succeeds in making any durable impression 
 on the hearts of those who, born of wicked parents and 
 bred up among godless companions, have never gone 
 straight. In the one case, though the good seed may 
 have been trodden under foot, it may, like 'bread cast 
 on the waters, return after many days.' In the other, 
 where good principles have never been implanted, where 
 genial influences have never been exerted, it is unrea- 
 sonable to expect anything but seared consciences and 
 hardened hearts. One might as well expect to gather 
 figs from thistles as to see good morals prevalent 
 among those who have always breathed an atmosphere 
 that was tainted by theft, prostitution, and drunkenness. 
 And yet, on the chilled and indurated affections of 
 many a waif, the dews of human sympathy have often 
 fallen like gracious rain on grass long parched by 
 drought. Here, surely, the layman's help would not be 
 valueless. 
 
 I copy the following from the Pall Mall Gazette. 
 ' Some little idea may be formed of the severe injury 
 which would be inflicted on trade in the event of a 
 general movement in favour of temperance, by the 
 following account given by Bailie Lewis at a meeting 
 of the Edinburgh Town Council on Tuesday, of the 
 number of persons seen by the police to enter one of 
 the " hard-ale " shops in that city during one day. A 
 " hard-ale " shop is a house where customers may get 
 drunk for twopence-halfpenny. One pennyworth of 
 " hard ale," followed by three halfpennyworth of spirits, 
 
ISO JOURNAL. 
 
 will, it is stated, reduce even a seasoned toper to a state 
 of hopeless stupefaction. From 8 to 9 A.M., there 
 entered the establishment in question, on a Saturday 
 in July, 100 men and 38 women ; from 9 to 10 o'clock, 
 120 men and 65 women ; from 10 to 1 1, 90 men and 40 
 women; from 11 to 12 noon, no men and 48 women; 
 from 12 to I, ,85 men and 55 women; from i to 2, 
 100 men and 60 women ; from 2 to 3, 115 men and 
 60 women; from 3 to 4, 112 men and 60 women; 
 from 4 to 5, S'j men and 43 women; from 5 to 6, 108 
 men and 47 women ; from 6 to 7, 128 men and 50 
 women ; from 7 to 8, 75 men and 50 women ; from 8 
 to 9, 120 men and 55 women; from 9 to 10, 100 men 
 and 55 women ; from 10 to 11, 81 men and 43 women ; 
 — in all, 1 5 1 1 men and 769 women. If the proprietor of 
 this "hard-ale" shop made only a profit of one half- 
 penny on each individual, he would, as Bailie Lewis 
 observed, have a total profit of £a„ iSs. per diem, or no 
 less than ;^ 1482 a year. It is remarkable to observe 
 by these figures how steadily " the women " drank 
 throughout the day. Thefe is but little variation in 
 their numbers from hour to hour, in comparison to that 
 to be seen in the case of the "men." The constancy 
 of .woman peeps forth in every transaction of life, while 
 man, vile man, is fitful even in his cups.' 
 
 Torquay, January 6, 1873. — My man-servant, on open- 
 ing my shutters at 7 A.M., excited me greatly by telling 
 me that there was a large three-masted vessel in the bay, 
 and opposite my windows, on fire. Seeing that there was 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 151 
 
 nothing to be done — for I knew that the town fire- 
 engines were useless, and I saw that the crew had got 
 their boats securely moored by the ship's side, and that 
 the flames had got complete mastery — I watched the 
 dreadful but sublime spectacle from my bed. 
 
 Towards the middle of the day I learned that the 
 vessel was 1350 tons burthen, that she had come from 
 Boston, in the United States, had been laden with 
 petroleum, had discharged her cargo at Antwerp, and 
 had been on her way homewards, when she was forced 
 by stress of weather to lie off Brixham for the last 
 three days. This morning at two o'clock the alarm 
 was given by the cook, who happened to be on deck, 
 'Ship afire!' All sail was instantly hoisted, and they 
 ran for this place, never doubting that there would be 
 engines readily available. Alas ! though a house had 
 been burnt to the ground on the i6th December, when 
 the fire-engines were found wanting, and though there 
 had been ample time to have repaired them, they were 
 of no more use than garden syringes. 
 
 When first my attention was called to the unusual 
 sight, the dawn had not broken ; a black pall still hung 
 over the hills behind Tor Abbey, so that the blazing 
 monster stood forth on the bosom of the deep in ghastly 
 relief, and might have not inaptly represented a scene 
 from the Inferno. She lay within fifty yards of Cum- 
 per's hotel, an inert, unresisting mass, the passive prey 
 of her victorious enemy. There was ' water, water 
 everywhere, but not a drop ' for use. The whole popu- 
 lation of the town seemed asleep ; not a stray foot was 
 to be seen either on the piers, the Paignton road, or 
 
152 " JOURNAL. 
 
 the Strand. There were scores of boats, both rowing 
 and sailing, tossing about inside the harbour, but not a 
 soul to man them or put them in motion. The men 
 on board the doomed ship were rendered conspicuous 
 enough by the luminous glare around them ; but neither 
 gun was fired nor rocket discharged in signal of dis- 
 tress. They might be seen moving about without 
 flurry or agitation, doggedly lowering their kits, and 
 then letting themselves down by rope into their boats 
 — the last man to descend being the captain himself. I 
 talked in the afternoon with one of the sailors, who by 
 some accident had had three fingers and a half torn 
 off. I asked him if he had suffered much pain ? ' No, 
 sir,' was his reply ; ' I had so much to see to, to think 
 of, and to do, that I never knew of my loss till the 
 blood trickling down my trousers told me of it.' The 
 lambent tongues of fire, as they licked their way greedily 
 through the port-holes, the lurid crimson light reflected 
 on the flapping sails from the blazing entrails of the 
 gutted ship, the thundering crash with which the three 
 masts fell simultaneously overboard, were things not 
 easily forgotten. 
 
 About 3 P.M. I sat with John Forster in his apart- 
 ments at Cumper's, the better to watch the ravages of 
 the fire in his company. Little property was lost, as 
 the vessel was fully insured, and she had nothing but 
 ballast on board. 
 
 On the \i,th January 1873, on dining at Mrs. Steu- 
 art's, where Lord Lytton had told me he should meet 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 153 
 
 me, I found that he had written to excuse himself on 
 the score of illness. 
 
 On the iSth January my wife received the following 
 note from him : — ' My dear Mrs. Young, — I am most 
 grieved to be compelled to resign the hope of dining 
 with you to-morrow. I have been seized with a severe 
 cold, accompanied with the acutest pains I ever re- 
 member to have suffered, and can get no relief night or 
 day from any remedy. I am obliged to keep alone in 
 my room, and be as quiet as possible.' In consequence 
 of this note I went to Argyll Hall, and found that 
 abscess in the ear was the cause of the suffering. 
 
 On the 1 6th January I went to Argyll Hall to inquire 
 after Lord L., and saw Mrs. Tate, his housekeeper, 
 endeared to him and his son by fifty years' service in 
 the family. She appears to be, I hope, unneces- 
 sarily alarmed about her master. God forbid she have 
 cause. 
 
 On the 17th, alas ! alas ! I found Lord Lytton in 
 imminent danger. A telegram had been despatched 
 for his son. Hearing that he was expected by the 
 5.20 P.M. train, I went at 7 p.m. and saw him, and 
 wished to be allowed to share the night-watching with 
 him, but found I should only be in the way, as, beside 
 Robert Lytton, there would be Hachs, the valet, in 
 attendance. 
 
 On the 1 8th, Lord Lytton sinking fast! He was 
 quite unconscious, and had been for hours. It is re- 
 markable that when Mr. and Mrs. Lytton left him for 
 London on January 3d, Lord Lytton actually wept at 
 parting from them, and remained in low spirits all day. 
 
154 JOURNAL. 
 
 Could he have had a presentiment of his coming end ? 
 From the moment of his son's arrival he never spoke ; 
 neither, from that moment, did his son leave his side, or 
 let go his hand till the last sigh was breathed. As a 
 clergyman, I was permitted to be in the chamber to' 
 within an hour of his death. At 2 o'clock I received 
 a message to say that all was over. I could not say 
 how deeply we deplore the loss of such a friend ! 
 It is irreparable. We all loved him and looked up to 
 him. 
 
 I was reading the History of France in the evening, 
 and found that Francis the Second died Nov. 17, 1560, 
 and that the cause of death was ' the formation of an 
 abscess in the brain which discharged itself through the 
 ear.' This seems to me to resemble very closely Lord 
 L.'s case. 
 
 February 3, 1873. — Attended a meeting of the S. P. G. 
 Clark of Taunton, as usual, made a spirit-stirring and 
 effective speech, and Monsell of Guildford, formerly of 
 Egham, warmed up the hearts of his old admirers here 
 by a characteristic appeal. I met them both at dinner 
 afterwards at Archdeacon Huxtable's, whose activity in 
 promoting the cause of Missions by pen and purse and 
 voice is unflagging as ever. 
 
 February 4. — I was anxious that Monsell and my 
 friend Hanna should meet ; so we met by appointment 
 in the lodgings of the latter. 
 
 'When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of 
 war ' — eh } Not a bit of it. Though two more dis- 
 similar natures never met, they parted with mutual 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 155 
 
 good-will, and a desire to know more of each other. It 
 was interesting to me to see them together. The one 
 a sound Anglican, the other a prominent member of 
 the Free Church of Scotland. Both generous, genial, 
 and lovers of humour. One ardent, imaginative, im- 
 passioned, zealous, fearless; the other meek, diffident, 
 sympathetic, tender, tolerant. Each, though with very- 
 different qualifications for their office, casting his sepa- 
 rate gift into the' common treasury of the Church 
 Catholic. 
 
 It seemed that some considerable time ago Dr. Hanna 
 had been alarmingly ill, and in serious danger. A certain 
 hymn which he mentioned, but which I forget, in Fos- 
 bery's collection, had been a source of the greatest 
 consolation to him at the time; and having seen the 
 name of Monsell appended to it, he asked him if he 
 were the author. On learning that he was, Hanna 
 told him, with tears in his eyes and a faltering voice, 
 how much it had comforted him when he had been 
 greatly cast down. Monsell's genial countenance beamed 
 with genuine satisfaction, as he remarked, ' Dear Sir, to 
 learn that any poor words of mine have helped to soothe 
 one saddened heart is sweeter music to my ears than if 
 they had earned me lasting fame.' As much pleasing 
 conversation cropped up as could be expected in a 
 morning's call. Among other topics that came to the 
 surface was 'the law of self-sacrifice.' Felicitous in- 
 stances of self-abnegation were quoted by each gentle- 
 man. At last Hanna told of a private soldier in some 
 regiment, who, in the Crimea, hearing it said by one of 
 his officers that if any one would take up a certain bomb- 
 
iS6 JOURNAL. 
 
 shell and fling it over a certain parapet, he would save 
 the lives of nearly a whole battalion, though he would 
 lose his own, sprang heroically forward, did what was 
 suggested, and perished in consequence. ' It is sad to 
 think,' said the narrator of the anecdote, ' that nothing 
 was done for his widow, — no notice taken, of such magna- 
 nimity, in high places, — I suppose because the deed was 
 done by a common soldier from the ranks.' ' Nay, never 
 mind,' said Monsell ; ' it will be noticed hereafter in a 
 higher place.' 
 
 February 5. — Dr. Monsell told me yesterday of having 
 received an impertinent anonymous letter, dated ' York 
 Crescent, Clifton ; ' and that, among other things, he 
 said that he had been reading his book, with his Bible 
 by his side, and that there were certain statements in it 
 which were quite unauthorized by Scripture — signing 
 himself, ' Yours sincerely, Anti-Humbug.' 
 
 To this he sent the following reply : — 
 
 ' If you were Humbug's uncle, 
 I soon would let you know 
 How great an ass I thought you 
 For writing to me so. 
 
 But as you 're Humbug's auniy (anti), 
 
 I could not be so rude 
 As designate your silly prate 
 
 As otherwise I should. 
 
 My own belief is that you 're not 
 
 His uncle or his aunt, 
 But some poor mulish thing begot 
 
 By Humbug out of Cant.' 
 
 February 6. — The following lines were sent to me 
 to-day in allusion to Dr. Temple's quarrel with Dr. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 157 
 
 Hayman, and the letter written by Mr. Scott, one of the 
 recalcitrant masters of Rugby : — 
 
 ' " Temple "-worshippers by Hayman 
 Extirpated soon would be ; 
 But is he sure from his own gallows 
 To escape scot-free ? ' 
 
 February 7. — I do not know who is the author of the 
 following lines, but they were sent to me by a very 
 charming person, who, for aught I know to the contrary, 
 may have been the author of them. They were written, 
 I need hardly say, in allusion to the case of 'The 
 Plaintiff,' Sir Roger Tichborne : — 
 
 ' The firm of Baxter, Rose, and Norton, 
 Deny the plaintiff's Arthur Orton ; 
 But can't deny, what 's more important. 
 That he has done what Arthur oughtn't. ' 
 
 The following riddle, too, by Charles James Fox, has 
 been sent to me : — 
 
 ' For I was Adam, Adam I, 
 And I was Eve, and Eve was I, 
 
 In spite of wind and weather ; 
 Yet was not Mr. Adam, I, 
 Nor yet was Mrs. Adam, I, 
 
 Unless we were to-gether. 
 
 Suppose, then, Eve and Adam talking, 
 With all my heart ; but, if they 're walking 
 
 There ends all simile : 
 For tho' I 've tongue and often talk. 
 And legs ; yet when I walk 
 
 That puts an end to me. 
 
 Not such an end, but that I 've breath, 
 Therefore to such a kind of death 
 
 I make but small objection ; 
 But soon, again, I come to view, 
 And tho' a Xtian, yet 'tis true 
 
 I die by resurrection. ' 
 
158 JOURNAL. 
 
 February 8, 1873. — A very clever young lady, hear- 
 ing me read the verses on anti-humbug, wrote to my 
 daughter next day to ask me for a copy of them. I 
 wrote to her to say that I could not refuse her such a 
 request, but that I hoped she would not give them 
 away, as I did not know whether the author might 
 approve of their getting into extensive circulation, and 
 signed myself by my initials, I. C. Y. I received the 
 following from her in reply : — 
 
 ' By gratitude prompted, I can't help inditing 
 A line, my dear sir, just to thank you for writing ; 
 I took it so kind — -and the lines are so spicy ! 
 And your letter was warm — though its ending was " ICY." 
 
 I pondered this over, as you will believe — 
 That which we don't like we are loath to receive ! 
 Is this ending (I thought) quite according to rule ? 
 Or do these cold letters mean that mine had been cool ? 
 
 But now I see why (O forgive the bad pun ! 
 
 Though bad ones, I'm told, always make the most fun) ; 
 
 'Twas only correct in the C and the Y ; i 
 
 Your first wanted a tail ('twas, in fact, all your I) ? 
 
 Thereby hangs— not advice (which I don't dare to offer). 
 But just a suggestion I venture to proffer ; 
 To avoid such mistakes — O, with pen as with tongue. 
 Don't neglect, while you're able, to call yourself — Young ! 
 
 I must add a P.S. just to say I'll be true 
 To the wish, with such reason expressed, sir, by you ; 
 The lines I'll keep sacred, that wish not forgetting. 
 Until I can read them within their new setting.' 
 
 I have been reading Planch6's ' Recollections' with 
 much pleasure. I see he has had the courage to bring 
 
 1 My fair correspondent considered that Julian ought to be spelt with a 
 J instead of an I. But both are equally right Joseph and John are as 
 often spelt with an I as with a J ; and in my case family usage decided in 
 favour of I. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 159 
 
 Tomkison to light. It had been a pity such a gem 
 should have been buried in the dark, — see vol. ii. 
 pp. 126, 127. Having referred to Mr. Planch^'s re- 
 miniscences I will venture to refer to my own ! Before 
 saying what / have to say about Tomkison himself, I 
 may as well mention something about his family. He 
 had two daughters ; the elder was married to the late 
 Mons. de Fauche, H.M. Consul at Ostend ; the younger 
 to Major Napier, who made himself conspicuous by his 
 gallantry during the Rebecca riots in Wales. Mrs. 
 Tomkison, their mother, was one of the very hand- 
 somest persons I ever saw. Tall, well-proportioned, 
 and stately in figure, she bore a close resemblance to 
 Harlow's picture of Mrs. Siddons in the part of Queen 
 Catharine. She certainly could not boast an eye as 
 eloquent as the great tragedian's, but in no other 
 physical attribute was she inferior to her. Her features 
 were as regular, her dignity of mien was as great, while 
 her complexion was fairer and her expression softer! 
 She was of a placid temper and amiable, sang well, had 
 considerable refinement of manner, and occasionally 
 said good things. One of her jeux d' esprit deserves 
 preserving. She was staying at Putney with Mr. 
 Leader, the father of the ex-Member for Westminster, 
 when one day, after a dinner-party, while sitting in the 
 drawing-room with the ladies, who were dissecting the 
 characters of the gentlemen they had just left at the 
 dining-table, the name of one individual came on the 
 tapis who had made himself particularly disagreeable, 
 not so much by anything he had said or done as by 
 what he had left unsaid and undone, and by his exclu- 
 
i6o JOURNAL. 
 
 siveness, arrogance, and sullen taciturnity. Each lady 
 present, with the exception of Mrs. Tomkison, having 
 expressed her sentiments pretty freely about the 
 noxious ' party,' her opinion was challenged. ' Well,' 
 she said, in her passive way, ' he seems to me to be an 
 anomaly in natural philosophy : he is "gravity without 
 attraction." ' 
 
 As to the head of the house himself, I can truly say 
 that though I have stumbled upon many characters in 
 my path through life, I never knew his fellow for 
 originality. While I shall not attempt to extenuate 
 his failings, I have too sincere an affection for his 
 memory to wish to depreciate his merits. I despair of 
 conveying by my pen the faintest idea of his peculiarities ; 
 Mathews only could do it by imitation. Though short 
 of stature, the intelligence and composure of a very 
 pleasing face, conjoined with great amenity of manner, 
 redeemed him from insignificance. Although he mea- 
 sured but S feet 3 inches, he stood high in the estima- 
 tion of those who, despite his oddities, appreciated his 
 worth. A man of strict integrity in business, he pos- 
 sessed a kindly heart, and had the habits and tastes of 
 a cultivated gentleman. He was an experimentalist 
 in science, an amateur in literature, a connoisseur in 
 art. Strictly temperate in his habits, he had a sensitive 
 palate, and was considered an authority on wine. He 
 used now and then to leave his warehouse in Dean 
 Street, Soho, and attend the sales at the Custom House, 
 buy there a hogshead or two of fine old fruity port at a 
 low figure, and, as a special favour, permit his friends to 
 share it with him at a high one. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. i6i 
 
 Having the penetration of a detective in the inspec- 
 tion of an old master, he would drop in occasionally 
 at Christie's or Phillips', buy, for a mere bagatelle, a 
 Rubens or a Vandyck incrusted in filth, send it off. to 
 Brown or Reinagle to be cleaned, and realise a large 
 sum by reselling it. Forty years ago. Sir Edwin Land- 
 seer told me that, if he were about to purchase a picture 
 by an old master, and there were any dispute as to its 
 genuineness, he did not know the man whose verdict 
 he would sooner take than Tomkison's. He had a fine 
 bass voice, and was an excellent glee-singer. He had 
 an enthusiastic passion for astronomy, and I believe his 
 attainments in that branch of science were far from 
 contemptible. As a manufacturer of pianos, he was 
 considered in his day to rank next to Broadwood, and 
 though he had never had anything like his sale or con- 
 nection, yet I have heard professional musicians prefer 
 the tone of his instruments. At one period of his life 
 he had acquired a considerable fortune, and, had he 
 been content with moderate returns and the slow but 
 sure augmentation of his capital, he might have passed 
 his later years in affluence. But he was ambitious of 
 extending his name and trade, and in his efforts to do 
 so made shipwreck of his fortune. Each year saw his 
 resources fall lower and lower, till, on his death, his 
 family were left nearly penniless. 
 
 He was the most inveterate alarmist I ever met with, 
 and croaked like a raven. Such an obstinate tendency 
 had he to cry 'wolf when no 'wolf was near, that 
 when at last 'wolf was at the door, no one sympa- 
 thised with him, for nobody believed him. His gauge 
 
 L 
 
I62 JOURNAL. 
 
 of the prospects of trade generally, and of the pros- 
 perity of the nation at large, was his own gain or loss. 
 If he had two or three bad debts on his ledger, or 
 had received fewer commissions than usual, he would 
 go home, and in the most alarming language inveigh 
 against the vices of the Government, and declare that 
 he knew of thousands of causes which converged to- 
 wards revolution ; that perils were impending the 
 country, which no political precaution could avert ; 
 that, when the thunder-clap came, there would be no 
 conflict of principles, but civil warfare between riches 
 and poverty — between the might of mammon and insur- 
 rectionary indigence ; that every other shop in Regent 
 Street was insolvent ; that the dissatisfaction of the 
 working classes was so intense that they only waited 
 their opportunity to rise as one man against all consti- 
 tuted authority ; that the country was on the brink of 
 bankruptcy, anarchy, carnage, and ruin ; that if Pro- 
 vidence had not condescended to send him his semi- 
 grands, he and his wife and girls would at that hour 
 be walking the streets ' in rags — madam ! yes, in rags !' 
 The application of this eloquent sermon was, that his 
 wife and daughters must at once retrench, or be pre- 
 pared to follow him to the workhouse ; that he was in 
 such extremity that he did not know where to turn to 
 borrow £^o to pay his men their week's wages; and 
 yet that very day he contrived to find funds enough in 
 his exchequer to purchase a ' Madonna and Child ' by 
 Rubens. 
 
 His proneness to what Sam Johnson called ' hyper- 
 bolical amplification ' was so well known, that he rarely 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 163 
 
 succeeded in deceiving others, though he often deceived 
 himself. Like the Athenians of old, he had an insati- 
 able appetite for ' some new thing.' He was so credu- 
 lous that nothing was too big for him to swallow. In 
 sensational statements he revelled, and felt grateful to 
 any one who would supply him with a startling inci- 
 dent, that he might have the luxury of horrifying others 
 hy telling it. I have myself known him rush to the 
 door from the dinner-table to buy a penny paper, when 
 bawling newsvendors passed under his window with 
 some fictitious announcement of ' great and glorious 
 news,' etc. etc. Although he had been over and over 
 again the dupe of his own irrepressible curiosity, he 
 confessed to me that he never had been proof against 
 the fascination of these penny-trumpet counterfeits. 
 Though he could disburse money profusely for the 
 attainment of any object of taste for himself, he yet 
 exacted the rigidest economy in the necessaries of 
 life from his family. Essentially amiable and sweet- 
 tempered, his extreme parsimony in his domestic 
 arrangements, and his gloomy forebodings, plunged his 
 household into dejection as profound and prolonged as 
 if he had been a tyrant. But let me turn to the ludi- 
 crous side of his character. It is quite impossible to 
 convey to those who never knew him the artificial 
 movements of his body ; the gruffness at one time, and 
 then the mellifluous modulation at another, of his 
 voice ; the rapid transition from sweetness of speech to 
 severity; or the oracular pomposity of his prophetic 
 utterances. In the instance I am about to give, I once 
 Jiad a marvellous illustration of his vocal powers, and 
 
i64 JOURNAL. 
 
 of the facility with which he could vary his moods 
 from tenderness to testiness, and from testiness to fury. 
 One summer's evening, after dinner, he proposed that 
 I should accompany his wife and himself in a walk 
 through the Regent's Park. Mrs. T. had gone up-stairs 
 to her room, to equip herself for the proposed expedi- 
 tion. When he had waited for her, as he thought, a 
 reasonable time, he went into the hall (in Russell Place), 
 put on his hat and gloves, and hallooed to her in his 
 most dulcet tones, 'Are you ready, my sweet Mary?' 
 No answer, the bedroom door being shut. Walking 
 up and down impatiently, he then cried out to her, in 
 tones of modified sweetness, ' My dear Mary.' No 
 answer. Presently, in a tone of reproach, ' Mistress 
 Mary.' Once more, in a voice of unmistakable tetchi- 
 ness, 'Madam Mary;' till at last, his patience quite 
 exhausted, he bawled out, in a bass that would have 
 reflected credit on Caliban, 'Mrs. Tomkison, and be 
 d — d to you ! how much longer are we to wait for your 
 imperial highness ?' 
 
 He was a devoted, almost an idolatrous, admirer of 
 Turner's genius. I once went with him, on the first 
 day of the opening of the Royal Academy at Somerset 
 House. His familiarity with the style and manner of 
 all the reigning favourites in art rendered him inde- 
 pendent of a catalogue ; and while I was slavishly 
 adhering to it, and reviewing each painting as it hung 
 in arithmetical progression, he was roaming about the 
 rooms in quest of those of his great favourite. Each 
 time that he came upon one of his works, he darted 
 across the rooms to me, and dragged me away from 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 165 
 
 what I was looking at, so that he might see me share 
 his raptures over some new exhibition of his idol's 
 genius. For each specimen he had a fresh epithet of 
 commendation — always in the superlative degree, One 
 was 'delectable, sir — quite delectable! Another was, 
 ^prodigious, sir.' Another was ' transcendent, sir ; yes, 
 sir, I say transcendent.' Another was 'sublime, sir. 
 Am I saying too much when I pronounce it divinely 
 sublime V 
 
 At last he fetched me to one that eclipsed all the 
 former. He literally ^wanted words to say WHAT he 
 thought of it ; ' so, conscious that he had exhausted his 
 vocabulary of laudatory epithets, scorning a repetition 
 of the adjectives he had already impressed into his 
 service, as that would have implied poverty of resource, 
 he first took off his hat, and deposited it on one of the 
 benches, then raised his spectacles to the crown of his 
 pate, then straddled his legs as wide apart as he could 
 safely permit them to go, then clenched his teeth 
 together, as if bent on taking some decisive step, then 
 extended his two arms and hands towards the canvas, 
 and finally drawing up his breath through his nostrils, 
 delivered his testimony, with all the emphasis of an 
 elephant, in a profound, sonorous, protracted snort. 
 
 Once upon a time he was standing in the street, 
 engaged in conversation with Harry Hunt the singer 
 (a very good-looking, fine-grown man, but a very 
 mediocre pupil of Tom Welsh), with his little bow- 
 legs wide apart, and looking very like a parenthesis, 
 when Hunt observed a man, under the influence of 
 liquor, rush out of a public-house in Tomkison's rear, 
 
i66 JOURNAL. 
 
 thrust the hooked handle of a shabby umbrella between 
 his legs, and pull him violently backwards by it. Poor 
 Tomky, jumping a foot off the ground, writhing with 
 agony, and furious at the indignity put upon him, 
 turned and faced his tormentor, evidently meaning, for 
 once in his life, to inflict condign punishment on the 
 offender. On, however, observing his height and breadth 
 and muscular development, he thought better of it, and, 
 in accents of mingled courtesy and anger, thus addressed 
 him : ' May I take the very great liberty, my good sir, 
 of asking you what is the blessed circumstance to which 
 I am indebted for this diabolical — nay, you must permit 
 me to say, this damnable — outrage upon my person ? ' 
 
 The culprit, on confronting Tomkison, and seeing his 
 face, became suddenly sobered by the mistake he had 
 made, and, in the most apologetic language, expressed 
 his sincere contrition for his error. ' You see, sir,' said 
 he, ' I only seed you from behind ; and your back was 
 so werry like the back of a gennelman as I sometimes 
 smoke a pipe with, that I was that pleased to see him, 
 that, thinking to show him, as it were, a hearty welcome, 
 I tried to pull him into the house and treat him to a 
 drop.' Tomkison, true to the rule of courtesy, on his 
 steady adhesion to which through life he piqued himself, 
 with inimitable dignity and loftiness thus replied to him, 
 ' My very good sir, you will, I trust, believe me when I 
 say that I never had the honour of smoking a pipe with 
 you in the whole course of my life ; and you will, I am 
 sure, bear with me if I add, that after discovering the 
 very peculiar and painful method you have of welcoming 
 your friends, I have no particular desire to be among 
 their number.' 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 167 
 
 George Harlowe, the artist, had a very great admi- 
 ration of my uncle George's head. He was so anxious 
 to introduce it into his great picture of the Kemble 
 family, that, knowing him to be entirely engrossed in 
 his profession from 10 A.M. till 7 P.M., he used to take a 
 hackney coach and drive into the City after him to get 
 a sitting before breakfast. While he was engaged on 
 this picture I used, almost daily, to keep Harlowe 
 company, and was often allowed — boy as I was, and 
 home for the holidays — to be present with his sitters. 
 As I am not aware of any kej>- to the picture having 
 ever been published, it may interest some to know the 
 names of the originals introduced. The principal 
 characters speak for themselves : Henry Vlll. being 
 represented by Stephen Kemble, Cromwell by Charles, 
 Wolsey by John, Queen Catharine by Mrs. Siddons — 
 all admirable likenesses. In fact, they could not be 
 improved. The subordinate characters — supposed to 
 represent Cardinal Campeius, Cranmer, Dukes of Nor- 
 folk, Suffolk, Lord Abergavenny, Lord Sands, Sir 
 Henry Guildford, Sir Thomas Lovell, Sir Anthony 
 Denny, Sir Nicholas Vaux, Anne Bullen, and Patience 
 — ^were filled by William Knyvett (Campeius)', Frederick 
 Reynolds the dramatist, Andrewes the barrister ; and on 
 the left of King Henry, and below the two last named. 
 Miss Stephens (now Countess of Essex), Miss Torre, 
 and next to her my uncle, with bald head and mus- 
 tache, and Conway the actor. The striking, eager face 
 leaning forward at the council-table was 'that of Shuter 
 the barrister, an intimate friend of our family. Not 
 having a copy even of the engraving by me, I forget 
 
i68 JOURNAL. 
 
 who else figure at the table ; but on the right of the 
 picture, among the crowd, is a striking portrait of the 
 artist himself, a man who in conversation and in fact 
 was an affected silly dandy, though amiable ; but the 
 moment his palette was on his thumb, became inspired. 
 But to return to my uncle. He was not only, as I have 
 stated before, among the very foremost in his profession ; 
 but after he had left it was always improving his intel- 
 lect, systematically keeping up his German and French, 
 studying science and philosophy, a regular attendant 
 for years at all the lectures and meetings at the Royal 
 Institution in Albemarle Street, the friend of Sir Wil- 
 liam Knighton, Gooch, Faraday, Gaudrier, Mayo, Astley 
 Cooper, and a very few others. He was a most delight- 
 ful companion, and a most loveable man ; but he had 
 his little peculiarities, innocent as they were. For in- 
 stance, frugal in his own expenditure, he was always 
 engaged in some benevolent enterprise or other, giving 
 money largely towards those by whom money was 
 needed, and who were not too proud to accept it, or 
 making presents -of furniture to those who would have 
 been affronted by pecuniary oblations, or binding 
 young men as apprentices to some superior trade, or 
 helping others to help themselves ; but he could not 
 endure to be thanked. It was no mock-modesty. It 
 made him seriously angry. Again, he was chivalrous 
 and point-device in his deportment to ladies, always 
 rising from his chair even in a shop when a lady 
 entered it, offering his own if he had one, or getting her 
 one if one were to be had, or if all were occupied, 
 standing as long as she was unaccommodated ; and yet 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 169 
 
 he could not bear any lady to return or even acknowledge 
 his civility, beyond giving him a bow. I remember his 
 one day rising to take leave of a lady whom he sincerely 
 admired (as well he might, for she was lovely), and with 
 whom he had been having a long conversation, when, 
 on his taking up his coat (before I could have reached 
 him, had I even dared to make the attempt), she essayed 
 to help him. In the politest manner he declined her 
 help. She insisted; he remonstrated; she advanced 
 upon him with outstretched hands; he retreated each 
 time with a more emphatic 'No, dear lady! no, no!' 
 till he wound up with ' No, confound it, madam ! No, 
 I say ! Am I to be believed or not f ' 
 
 Again, when he was taking the waters at Carlsbad, 
 he was favourably impressed by the looks and manners 
 of a young man, attached, if I mistake not, to the hotel 
 in which he was living. Finding that he had a great 
 wish to take service in England — although, as a rule, he 
 did not like being waited on by men — he took him into 
 his, from sheer benevolence of motive. Leopold Kiefer 
 was an intelligent, honest, sober, well-principled crea- 
 ture, but he laboured under one besetting infirmity 
 which he never could get the better of My uncle had 
 for years suffered from a very feeble heart and a highly 
 nervous temperament. The knowledge of his own 
 infirmity had taught him the expediency of habitual 
 gentleness and deliberation of manner. It was a con- 
 sideration with him of primary importance that those 
 about his person — such, for instance, as myself (natur- 
 ally very mercurial), and his body-man Leopold (ditto), 
 — should be tranquil and measured in our movements. 
 
'70 JOURNAL. 
 
 From an intense desire to please the man I loved, I 
 was able to adapt myself to his requirements tolerably- 
 well on the whole. But poor Kiefer never could attain 
 to this desirable consummation. Really devoted to his 
 master, from sheer giddiness he would bounce into his 
 room, and bang-to the door with an abruptness and 
 energy that produced the effect of an electric shock on 
 the thin-skinned organisation of George Young. When 
 waiting at table, he would twitch the covers off the 
 dishes with an off-hand slap-dash jerk which would 
 send the life-blood into his cheek. His utterance was 
 so rapid and his articulation so indistinct that — what 
 with his broken English and his German dialect, and 
 his nervous anxiety to satisfy his benefactor — he made 
 himself perfectly unintelligible. My uncle was so in- 
 disposed to find fault that he usually contented himself 
 with giving the erring one a look eloquent of reproof. 
 But, on one particular occasion, when he was rattling 
 off his messages in his usual style, he was interupted in 
 his wild career with this admonition — 'Leopold, don't 
 be in one of your jack-ass hurries.' These words, and 
 the tone in which they were spoken, sank so deep into 
 the poor fellow's soul that he generally, ever after, pre- 
 luded anything he had to say with the assurance that 
 he ' was not in a jack-ass hurry.' I recall, with much 
 amusement, being at dinner with my two uncles on one 
 occasion, when a thundering knock at the front door 
 and a violent ring at the bell caused my uncle George 
 to drop his knife and fork on his plate. The din which 
 unnerved the master only excited the man ; a torpedo 
 could not have affected his sympathetic nature more 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 171 
 
 powerfully. In one instant he had darted out of the 
 room ; in another he had darted in again, and delivered 
 himself of the following statement, with the volubility- 
 peculiar to Charles Mathews, and the incoherency 
 peculiar to himself, and with all the words strung to- 
 gether: ' Eef-you-bleaze-shur-here-ees-a-shentleman-on- 
 a-door-at-a-hoarse-mit-a-groom - vich - vould - speak - m it - 
 you-on-a-door.' He was received with a look of sad 
 reproof by my uncle, who had risen from table, napkin 
 in hand, fearing that something serious was the matter. 
 This at once brought the culprit to his bearings. Con- 
 scious that he had transgressed, he suddenly drew him- 
 self up, and, in a manner as stiff and constrained as 
 that of a private when told at drill to ' Stand at ease,' 
 and taking care to enunciate his words with a suitable 
 interval between each, he thus corrected himself, ' Eef 
 — you — bleaze — shur — I — ham — not — in — a — shack — 
 hass — horry — bot — dere — ees — a — shentleman — on — 
 he's — groom — mit — he's — horse — on — de — door.' 
 
 May ^d, 1873. — Received this day an anonymous 
 letter, whether from male or female hand I cannot dis- 
 cover, pointing out two errors in the dates of my book, 
 but couched in such courteous and discriminating terms 
 that it pains me to think that the writer should have 
 put it out of my power to thank him (or her). Anony- 
 mous criticisms which are addressed to the public are 
 necessary and conventional evils, which must be sub- 
 mitted to ! But anonymous letters addressed to an 
 individual, and which are personal, are surely objection- 
 
172 JOURNAL. 
 
 able ; for, if their subject-matter is complimentary, it is 
 hard that the recipient should be bereft of the oppor- 
 tunity of acknowledging his obligations ; and harder 
 still if he is to be attacked in the dark without having 
 the power of self-defence. However, whether it be so 
 or not, I shall venture to transcribe a few of the remarks 
 contained in the letter alluded to, for reasons which 
 will speak for themselves : — 
 
 'Many of your Wiltshire memories and anecdotes 
 the writer of this note could confirm from former 
 personal knowledge of the Bremhill, Sloperton, and 
 Whetham families. 
 
 'Thomas Moore used to apply to himself his own 
 lines — 
 
 " The heart that is soonest awake to the flowers 
 Is always the first to be touched by the thorn," 
 
 but by the year 1838 l^ide p. 242 of your 2d ed.) he 
 had had family bereavement and sorrow enough to 
 shake his nerves, which were always over-sensitive. 
 His "pretty Bessy" was uncultivated, and when the 
 beauty was gone, though amiable and industrious, she 
 was no sufficing companion for Moore, and hated the 
 society which he loved. In his last days she was 
 his devoted nurse, but of both the end was very melan- 
 choly. The song and the dance are all very well for 
 summer days, but not enough for the winter of life. As 
 you justly say, " He was not self-sufficing." For an 
 intensely vain man he was very good-natured, but 
 really of shallow mind ; and to his wife, when " the 
 black cloud" came over him, his leaving home was a 
 relief. Two relatives of the writer's were at Mr. Money's 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 173 
 
 on the memorable evening of the two stockings on Mr. 
 Bowles's one leg.' 
 
 I must confess I indorse every word of this extract. 
 But as the name of Moore and his Bessy are on the 
 tapis, I must take the opportunity of mentioning a 
 circumstance which the delicacy of my informant has 
 hitherto kept religiously secret from the world, but 
 which I am permitted by him to divulge, now that all 
 the near connections of the parties implicated are no 
 more. I think, as it is an anecdote which reflects 
 honour on the character of Mrs. Moore, it would be an 
 injustice to her memory any longer to withhold it. 
 
 Tom Moore was born in Kerry, the county from 
 which his great friend and patron. Lord Lansdowne, 
 derived his second title. His father, John Moore, who 
 also came from thence, was a grocer, and kept an 
 insignificant wine-store in Johnston's Court, Grafton 
 Street. His mother was Anastasia Codd, daughter of 
 Thomas Codd, also a tradesman. From their lowly 
 roof sprang Ireland's bard, the future travelling com- 
 panion of Lord John Russell, and the favourite of 
 Lansdowne, Holland, Stafford, and Devonshire Houses. 
 When living in Dublin, where he was the observed of 
 all observers, he was engaged in some private theatricals 
 when he made acquaintance with Miss Bessy Dyke, 
 who had recently made her dibut as a ballet-dancer on 
 the Dublin boards. Moore was smitten with her at 
 first sight, and having access to the green-room, used to 
 seek her out and converse with her, whenever he could, 
 behind the scenes. 
 
 One night, as the celebrated Sir Philip Crampton, 
 
174 JOURNAL. 
 
 one of the very ablest medical men that ever lived, was 
 just dropping off to sleep, after a day of great fatigue, 
 he heard a violent and agitated knocking at his bed- 
 room door. ' Corne in,' he said, and a voice, which he 
 at once recognised as that of his friend Moore, spoke 
 through the half-opened door, 'Phil, Phil, for God's 
 sake get up and come with me without a moment's 
 delay ! ' Sir Philip jumped up, hurried on his clothes, 
 and went out with him. It was about two o'clock, in a 
 bright summer's morning, and the streets were entirely 
 deserted. As they walked rapidly together, Crampton 
 in vain appealed to Moore to tell him what was the 
 matter. The only reply he received was, 'You'll see 
 soon enough. Come along quick, for God's sake ! 
 There 's not an instant to be lost.' They hurried down 
 Dawson Street, reached Suffolk Street — a short street 
 at right angles to Grafton Street, — and about half-way 
 up that street, lying prostrate on the flags. Sir Philip 
 beheld, to his amazement, what appeared to be the 
 body of a young woman. So it proved to be, — not a 
 dead body, but an insensible one, and bleeding copiously 
 from the head, which was severely injured. On going 
 up to it they found an old woman standing by it, and 
 keeping watch over it. Sir Philip Crampton, with 
 Moore's assistance, lifted the body from the ground, 
 and carried it up-stairs to her rooms, which were on the 
 first floor. After a considerable time she was brought 
 back to consciousness by the skill of the great prac- 
 titioner. The ugly wound which she had received did 
 not prove so serious as had been feared ; so that, after 
 a while, she gradually recovered, and (here is the curious 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 175 
 
 part of the story) the heroine of this little drama lived 
 years and years after, and lived to become ' the darling 
 Bessy ' of Tom Moore. 
 
 It would seem that on the night in question Moore 
 had accompanied her to her lodgings in Suffolk Street, 
 and while there made use of opportunity to express his 
 feelings towards her passionately. If she were blame- 
 able for having admitted a man to her apartments at 
 such an hour, it must be borne in mind that she was 
 really and truly a pure-minded, unsophisticated girl, 
 who, though flattered, naturally enough, by the undis- 
 guised admiration of a man so sought after and distin- 
 guished as the modern Anacreon, yet had been treated 
 by him invariably with such respect as to inspire her 
 with confidence. However, his advances were made so 
 warmly that his ardour got the better of his prudence, 
 and he rushed forward towards her, hoping to grasp her 
 in his arms. When she perceived his intentions, she 
 said to him in the most decided tone, ' Stop, sir ! If 
 you come one step nearer to me I will throw myself out 
 of that window,' pointing to one that, on account of the 
 sultriness of the weather, had been left wide open. Not 
 imagining her to be in earnest, he continued to approach 
 her, and in one moment she sprang out of the window, 
 and fell on the pavement, bruised, mutilated, and insen- 
 sible. His terror, consternation, and self-reproach may 
 be imagined. All in the house were in bed. The 
 watchmen, as was their wont, were asleep in their boxes ; 
 and there was Moore standing appalled and helpless by 
 the bleeding body of his love in the silent solitary street 
 on that memorable summer's morn. At length he suc^ 
 
176 JOURNAL. 
 
 ceeded in rousing up the old woman-servant of the 
 house, and consigning the young lady to her charge, he 
 ran off for his friend Crampton. The rest of the story 
 is easily told. Moore was captivated by the heroic 
 conduct of his virtuous Bessy, and the blind passion 
 which he had conceived for her was converted into pro- 
 foundest admiration. He made her an honest, heartfelt, 
 earnest proposal of marriage, to which at last she 
 yielded with good grace. She was to the end of her 
 days a loyal and devoted wife to him, and he to her an 
 invariably affectionate husband. They were married at 
 St. Martin's Church, in London, on the 2Sth of March 
 1811. They had five children, all of whom died before 
 they did themselves. He died February 26, 1852; she 
 in 1865, 
 
 The following is an extract from his Journal when at 
 Hampton Court- in 1831 : — 
 
 Theodore Hook dined at General Moore's, and as 
 usual was the life and soul of the party. His wit 
 and humour, his sayings and doings, his pranks and 
 his practical jokes, his hoaxes and political squibs, are 
 so well known that I am almost afraid to reproduce 
 any of them, lest I should be accused of bringing stale 
 goods to market. However, I do not think the two 
 following stories, which he told us yesterday, have ever 
 been in print. Not long since, he went by stage-coach 
 to Sudbourne, to stay with Lord Hertford. Inside the 
 coach he had but one companion, a brown-faced, melan- 
 choly-looking man, with an expression of great queru- 
 lousness, quite in character with the tone of his conver- 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 177 
 
 sation, which was one of ceaseless complaining. ' Sir,' 
 said he, ' you may have known unfortunate men, pos- 
 sibly, in your day, — you may, for ought I know, be an 
 unfortunate man yourself, — ^but I do not believe there 
 is such another unfortunate man as I am in the whole 
 world. No man ever had more brilliant prospects than 
 I have had in my time, and every one of them, on the 
 very eve of fulfilment, has been blighted. 'Twas but 
 the other day that I thought I would buy a ticket in 
 the lottery. I did so, stupid ass that I was, and took 
 a sixteenth. Sir, I had no sooner bought it than I 
 repented of my folly, and, feeling convinced that it 
 would be a blank, I got rid of it to a friend, who I 
 knew would thank me for the favour, and at the same 
 time save me from another disappointment. By Jove ! 
 sir, would you believe it ? I know you won't ; but it is 
 true, — it turned up ;£; 30,000.' 'Heaven and earth!' 
 said Hook, ' it is incredible. If it had happened to 
 me, I should certainly have cut my throat.' 'Well,' 
 said he, ' of course you would, and so did I ;' and, baring 
 his neck, he exposed to Hook's horror-stricken gaze a 
 freshly healed cicatrix from ear to ear. 
 
 On his return from his visit by the same coach, there 
 were but two inside passengers — a very pretty but very 
 delicate-looking'young lady, attended by a very homely- 
 looking maid. The coach stopped for twenty minutes 
 to allow of dinner. Hook returned first to his place ; 
 the maid next. During the absence of her young mis- 
 tress, Hook said to her, in a tone of great sympathy, — 
 
 ' Your young lady seems very unwell.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir ; she suffers sadly.' 
 
 M 
 
178 JOURNAL. 
 
 ' Consumption, I should fear ?' 
 ' No, sir ; I am sorry to say it is the heart.' 
 ' Dear me ! Aneurism ?' 
 ' O no, sir ! it is only a lieutenant in the navy.' 
 In those days I used often to meet Hook. I had 
 good reason to remember the first occasion on which I 
 saw him. I had been dining at West Moulsey with Mr. 
 John Wilson Croker. In the evening many refreshers 
 dropped in, and there was instrumental and vocal music. 
 I was asked, among others, to sing a song which had 
 only been recently published, and was generally popular 
 — ' The Mistletoe Bough.' Although the music was, I 
 think, by Bishop, it had no great pretension to excel- 
 lence, as a composition ; but the story, which was 
 founded on Rogers's Ginevra, was sensational and 
 pathetic, admitted of considerable dramatic expression, 
 and indeed depended mainly on it for its effect. While 
 I was doing my best to elicit the sympathies of my 
 auditors in behalf of young Lovel, the ill-starred bride- 
 groom of the tale, I found, to my chagrin, that I was 
 producing some such effect as Liston produced when 
 he made his dibut on the boards as a tragedian, or as 
 Coates did in Romeo, when he so tickled the fancies of 
 the spectators by his death as to be made to die again. 
 The more touching I tried to render the song, the more 
 I seemed to provoke the risibility of my listeners, till, at 
 the final catastrophe, ill-suppressed titters culminated in 
 an explosion of laughter, anything but gratifying to my 
 vanity. I may venture to say, that never before had 
 my feeble efforts to please met with such signal dis- 
 comfiture. Every one felt for me, and yet no one dared 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 179 
 
 to offer a word of consolation to me, from conscious 
 culpability. At last the mystery was explained. At 
 the commencement of my song, a gentleman, invisible 
 to me, entered the adjoining room, and gave, behind 
 my back, an exaggerated significance to my words, by 
 pantomimic gesture so ludicrous as to upset the gravity 
 of all who witnessed it. A few minutes afterwards, this 
 gentleman came up to me, and said : ' Mr. Julian 
 Young, I hope you will forgive my impudence in tra- 
 vestying your song. I did not know that I should have 
 produced quite such an untoward effect on your com- 
 pany, and little meant to wound the feelings of the son 
 of an old friend. I feel as if I had a prescriptive right 
 to ask you to shake me by the hand in token of your 
 forgiveness.' Of course, it was impossible to retain 
 anger after an apology so frankly tendered. I merely 
 said : ' You have heard my name, and done your best 
 to make it ridiculous. May I ask yours ?' ' Mine is 
 Theodore Hook.' There never was a readier or wittier 
 man, or, may I add, a man of more consummate auda- 
 city ; and how it was that, in days when duelling was 
 the fashion, he escaped a bullet, is to me inexplicable. 
 He was pre-eminently a privileged man ; for all the 
 trenchant reflections he made on political opponents 
 behind their backs — all the saucy things he said of 
 people to their face — all the nicknames he gave to 
 friends or foes, all the more galling because so gene- 
 rally apposite — all the practical jokes and hoaxes which 
 he played on strangers — all the flippant sarcasms which 
 he vented against the highest and the worthiest — ^were 
 all tamely swallowed because of the racy wit and high- 
 
I So JOURNAL. 
 
 flavoured humour which made them digestible, if not 
 palatable, I could select many illustrations of my 
 meaning from my repertory, but I am discouraged from 
 doing so, because Hook's bon-mots and jeux d'esprit 
 obtained such extensive currency while he was living 
 that I fear to repeat what hundreds may know as well 
 as I. I will conclude my brief notice of this remarkable 
 man by retailing, second-hand, an instance of his face- 
 tious effrontery which is not very much known. He 
 was, one lovely summer's day, strolling in company 
 with Mr. B — , in the garden of the Star and Garter 
 at Richmond, when his friend was accosted by two 
 gentlemen, one of whom was a noble Lord, equally 
 remarkable for his colossal fortune, occasional munifi- 
 cence, and general parsimony. While the three con- 
 versed together, Hook slowly walked aside. The noble 
 peer observing him, asked B — who was his friend .' 
 ' Oh ! that is Theodore Hook,' was his reply. On 
 hearing the well-known name, my Lord exclaimed, 
 ' You don't say so ! What good fortune ! He is a man 
 of all others whom I desire to know. Pray, introduce 
 me to him.' The introduction takes place, and the 
 
 Marquis tells Hook that he and his friend, Lord 
 
 are just going to lunch, and if he and B — will join 
 them in a partie carrie, he shall be delighted. Hook, 
 never insensible to the attractions of the table, and per- 
 suaded, from the high rank and great wealth of the 
 inviter, that he should fare sumptuously, yielded a 
 cordial and gratified acceptance, and adjourned to the 
 apartment occupied by his recent acquaintance, 
 On entering the room the bell is rung, and on the 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOt/NG. i8l 
 
 waiter making his appearance the host takes him aside 
 and gives him certain instructions, about the nature of 
 which the two just-invited guests have no doubts. Two 
 additional napkins are laid, two additional chairs are 
 set, two additional wine-glasses grace the board, two 
 pickle-stands — one with red cabbage, the other with 
 pickled onions — take their place in the centre of the 
 table. Hook is rather disconcerted at the sight of 
 merely one small sherry-glass being allotted to each 
 person, but comforts himself with the reflection that 
 the champagne-glasses will be introduced after a few 
 preliminary glasses of Amontillado. At last the ban- 
 quet is set, the covers are taken off two willow-patterned 
 dishes, one containing four goodly loin chops, the other 
 four fine mealy potatoes, and a pint decanter of sherry 
 crowns the meal. ' Well,' thought' Hook, ' I am not 
 certain that this simple kind of repast is not the best 
 for lunch, and I like the fashion of having one's chop 
 hot and hot, and a change of wines, instead of being 
 confined to one !' In a few minutes every knife and 
 fork is laid down, every chop and potato has been de- 
 spatched, and just as Hook is expecting a fresh relay of 
 wine and viand, to his unutterable disgust his enter- 
 tainer addresses him in the following language : — ' My 
 dear Mr. Hook ! I hope you will forgive me, but I have 
 so very often heard of your marvellous talent that I am 
 naturally impatient for an exhibition of it. Would you 
 favour us with a song .■■' ' Oh !' said the man appealed 
 to, 'with pleasure !' To the indescribable astonishment 
 of all present he begins to sing ' God save the King.' 
 As he delivered each line his host looked to his inti- 
 
1 82 JOURNAL. 
 
 mate friend for something like sympathy— ' What on 
 earth can the man mean by singing us the National 
 Anthem ?' However, his motive was soon explained, 
 for on coming to the following lines — 
 
 ' Happy and glorious, 
 Long to reign over us,' 
 
 he thus rendered them, delivering the words as if under 
 the influence of too much liquor — 
 
 ' Happ-y and glo-ri-ous, 
 A pint — between four of us.'' 
 
 This, I think, was a case of ' Chop with Worcester sauce ' 
 versus ' Cheek with Fulham sauced 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 183 
 
 F. W. ROBERTSON. 
 
 Such personal knowledge of him as I had was prin- 
 cipally derived from certain periodical visits I used to 
 pay him, and several long walks that I was privileged 
 to take with him, when either business or pleasure took 
 me to Brighton. In starting for our rurul rambles he 
 would always bargain with me that on our way to the 
 downs we should select the back streets, so as to escape 
 the interruptions and salutations of the fashionable 
 crowds on the eastern- or western cliff. Sometimes 
 we were obliged to pass through frequented streets, and 
 while hats were being doffed to him every instant he 
 was constrained and reticent ; but as soon as we had 
 extricated ourselves from the throngs on the Parade, 
 and he had set foot on the turf, he would fling out his 
 arms, expand his chest, and seem to exult in the sense 
 of life, and liberty, and enjoyment. 
 
 These walks with him I shall always revert to, if not 
 as the happiest, certainly as the most improving I ever 
 took with any one. Frivolity was banished, and the 
 topics selected, if not always serious, were invariably 
 elevating in their character. In the free and familiar, 
 and sometimes in the confidential interchange of thought 
 between us, I was always a willing listener ; and I can 
 
i84 JOURNAL. 
 
 truly declare, that the superiority of his mind and spirit 
 had such a wholesome influence on mine that I invari- 
 ably found my tendencies to levity superseded by loftier 
 aspirations. As my intimacy with him ripened, my 
 respect for him increased. There was such harmony 
 and symmetry in his mental and moral constitution 
 that the conviction was indelibly stamped upon my 
 mind that I was associating with a Christian gentleman, 
 actuated in thought, and word, and deed by Christian 
 principle. It was a few days after the last walk I ever 
 had with him that his fatal illness commenced. We 
 had been having a singularly animated disquisition of 
 three hours on 'things about this world and things 
 about the next,' and I was in the act of accompanying 
 him to the training-school in West Street, where he had 
 to deliver a lecture, when, as I was telling him a story 
 of painful and pathetic interest in illustration of a cer- 
 tain theory he had advanced, he exclaimed with con- 
 vulsive emphasis, 'How shocking!' and fainted in my 
 arms. I carried him with considerable difficulty into 
 an adjoining little shop — a cobbler's, — and as it had 
 only just been taken possession of by a new tenant, and 
 was destitute of furniture, I laid him on the flooring, 
 consigned him to the care of the good man of the house, 
 and ran over the way to a chemist's shop for some salts 
 and sal-volatile. On my return he lay still unconscious, 
 and it was, I should think, a quarter of an hour before 
 he came to. When he recovered consciousness, he 
 was in a state of complete enervation. It was, however, 
 in vain that I urged the propriety of his going to his 
 house with me in a fly. He expressed such determined 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 185 
 
 repugnance to indulging in such effeminacy, as he called 
 it, that I was compelled to yield to his wishes, and 
 slowly escort him home on foot. On the road he leant 
 so heavily on my arm, and dragged his legs along with 
 such difficulty, that I feared every moment that he 
 would fall. On arriving at home I persuaded him, with 
 infinite difficulty, to put. up his feet on a chair, while he 
 reclined on another. I had repeatedly expostulated 
 with him on his disregard of his bodily health, urging 
 on him the necessity of letting his over-wrought and 
 over-cropped brain to lie fallow for some time ; for the 
 meagreness of his appetite, the wakefulness of his nights, 
 and the nervous pallor of his tongue, I thought, were 
 ugly symptoms. But to all my admonitions I received 
 the same answer, 'Yes; you only tell me what my 
 medical advisers confirm. I have a voice within which 
 whispers to me that, young as I am, my day is far 
 spent, and that my night will soon come. Let me, then, 
 work while it is day, and if I am to die, let me die in 
 harness.' ' Surely,' said I, ' if you wish to do God's 
 work, and serve your fellow-men, you will wish not to 
 curtail your power of usefulness by imprudence, but 
 rather to prolong it by ordinary precaution. I wish I 
 could frighten you.' With a sad and significant smile, 
 he then confessed that though he had often suffered 
 from distressing sensations at the back of his head, he 
 had never conceived them to be of any moment, as he 
 had never suffered in the anterior lobes of the cerebrum, 
 but that he had recently been undeceived on that point. 
 I visited him next day, and but once afterwards in 
 his bedroom. When I parted from him he gave me a 
 
i86 JOURNAL. 
 
 positive promise that he would come and stay with me 
 at Fairlight and recruit there. Three consecutive days 
 the hour of his coming was named. On each of these 
 occasions I drove in to Hastings to fetch him, and each 
 time was sorely disappointed at his non-appearance. 
 The notes I append were written to explain the cause, 
 viz., that the doctors would not sanction his removal. 
 The last, dated July 8, was written in pencil from his 
 dying bed. Very shortly after receiving it I was obliged 
 to go abroad with my son, and was informed that if I 
 went to Brighton to see him I should not be allowed an 
 interview. I received the intelligence of his death when 
 I was in Italy, with the profoundest regret. 
 
 In certain points of view in which I regard him, I 
 look in vain for his fellow. 
 
 When I think of his chivalrous sympathy for the 
 weak or the oppressed — his self-abnegation and his 
 generosity to others — his horror of censoriousness or 
 malignity — ^his intolerance of wrong, injustice, or cant 
 — his dogged prosecution of everything, however dis- 
 tasteful, which wore the stamp or even bore the sem- 
 blance of duty — his courageous maintenance of the 
 interests of truth whenever he felt they were assailed — 
 I cannot but write him down ' every inch a man.' 
 
 When I reflect on the rapid and abundant harvest of 
 golden opinions which he reaped from all sorts of men 
 in an incredibly brief space of time — ^viz., that in three 
 or four years, from a position of comparative obscurity, 
 he sprang into signal celebrity — that some of the very 
 highest Peers in the realm, and many of the foremost 
 Commoners in the world of science, literature, and art, 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 187 
 
 used to come from the metropolis on the Saturday with 
 the express object of sitting at his feet on the Sunday — 
 that he was ' the observed of all observers,' caressed by 
 the higher and middle classes, and all but adored by the 
 lower — and recollect how modest was his deportment, 
 how patient under the contradiction of opponents, how 
 forbearing with the presumptuous, the argumentative, 
 and the twaddling — I cannot but ascribe to him the 
 attributes of a gentleman. 
 
 And, once more, when I recall his unwearied assiduity 
 in his Master's service, his invariable courtesy to his 
 inferiors in station as well as to those above him, his 
 ready commiseration for the unhappy, his keenness in 
 detecting the mote in his own eye and his slowness to 
 discern the beam in his brother's, the avidity with which 
 he recognised one redeeming trait in a weak brother, 
 and, above all, his vivid realisation of the living pre- 
 sence of his Saviour, and the abiding sense he had of 
 his eternal obligations to him, I assign to him without 
 stint the exemplary qualities of a Christian minister. 
 
 The language I venture to apply to my dead friend 
 may to those who knew him not savour of extravagant 
 partiality ; but to those who were in the circle of his 
 intimates it will be thought but barest justice. From 
 the far-sounding note of sorrow which ascended from 
 his grave, I may be pardoned, perhaps, for saying, 
 greater justice has been rendered him dead than was 
 awarded him when living. 
 
 Many of his opinions were misconceived by his con- 
 temporaries, and not without some excuse. He had 
 transcendental insight into certain mysteries which few 
 
1 88 yoURNAL. 
 
 could understand. His metaphysical turn of mind 
 occasionally betrayed him into visionary statements, 
 which led some people to doubt his orthodoxy on 
 the Incarnation and the Sacraments. His manner 
 in the pulpit was so inartificial, untechnical, and un- 
 common, as often to startle prim conventionalism from 
 its propriety. He asserted, dogmatically, so much 
 that was unpalatable to the worldly, so much that was 
 incomprehensible to the natural man, so much that was 
 irreconcilable to mere unsanctified human reason, that 
 his broad views and his strong thoughts, couched as 
 they were in burning words, often induced the wilful 
 misconception of his meaning, often provoked the 
 antagonism of his less outspoken brethren, and roused 
 the bitterest prejudices of narrow sectarianism. These, 
 however, were annoyances to which he was by no means 
 insensible, but to which he submitted without retort, 
 and with a self-controlled dignity quite admirable in 
 one of his naturally quick temper and high courage. 
 Nothing hurt him more than to be accused of disbelief 
 in the Atonement. 'For me to live is Christ, to die 
 were gain,' I have often heard him say. His heart's 
 desire and prayer was not to magnify himself, but to 
 spread his Master's kingdom — to live to the glory of 
 God, and the benefit of his fellow-man. To my certain 
 knowledge flattering overtures were made to him by 
 certain pious and influential leaders of one section of 
 the Church to join them, and take a leading part with 
 them ; but party objects or power or popularity were 
 not his objects. He desired to preach Christ, as his 
 people's servant, for Christ's sake. Though charged 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 189 
 
 with preaching doctrines subversive of authority, no man 
 was more anxious to reconcile the conflicting influences 
 of classes, and to show how mutually dependent they 
 were on each other. He inculcated on the men 'who 
 make to come,' as Cobbett has it, those Scriptural tenets 
 which are essential to the good order and stability of 
 the social system ; while on the upper ranks he fear- 
 lessly, but affectionately, impressed the obligations im- 
 posed by their providential positions on those beneath 
 them, showing that while 'the different orders and 
 degrees of men ' are of God's ordaining, yet that they 
 are distinctions limited to time, and not for eternity. 
 
 Really, when I ponder on the rare qualifications of 
 Frederick Robertson, and the vast influence for good 
 which he exercised over the most opposite kinds of 
 minds — over the Unitarian, the infidel, the conscientious 
 doubter, the anxious inquirer, the conventional theolo- 
 gian — over those whose intellectual activity was more 
 developed than their spiritual affections, and then think 
 how mighty a work there was for him to do, and what 
 a mine of unworked material there was still in him, I 
 cannot but look upon his loss as a national one. In the 
 midst of a crooked and perverse generation, he shone 
 forth, by holding forth the Word of life, as a burning 
 and a shining light. 
 
 In earnestness of purpose, in grasp of mind, in love 
 of truth, in Christian philanthropy, in courage and can- 
 dour, in moderation and in love of peace, he was not a 
 whit behind the very chiefest of his contemporaries. I 
 believe that, in the day of Christ, he will have reason to 
 rejoice, and that it will then be found that, brief as was 
 
190 yOURNAL. 
 
 the span of life allotted to him, he had not run in vain, 
 neither had laboured in vain. 
 
 • 60 MONTPELLIER ROAD, BRIGHTON, 
 March 21, 1853. 
 
 ' My dear Young (" Sir" being at your request consigned to the 
 official care of Mr. John Ketch), — Thank you very much for your 
 letter, which was encouraging, as all sympathy and approval are 
 to a man baited and worried on all sides as I am. Your beUef, 
 however, "in growing influence in Brighton" is the result of a 
 friendly and vivid imagination : for I hear nothing in reference to 
 myself but one confused buzz of all imaginable and unimaginable 
 slanders. What there is in me to make the antipathy and opposi- 
 tion so virulent I cannot guess, and it sometimes puzzles me — 
 since I am not aware that in society I am given to take the lead 
 in conversation, or to lay down the law, which might exasperate. 
 However, there must be something personally very offensive in 
 myself, or my manner, or something else ; for mere disagreement 
 with my views would not account for the violence of the abuse that 
 I provoke ; and some of the lies are ceasing to be merely white 
 ones. 
 
 ' Your kind advice was quite right, and it was just because I had 
 resolved not to be drawn into controversy that I published the letter 
 which you saw ; for the particular attack which is replied to was 
 too feeble to deserve notice for its own merits, but it gave me a 
 chance of explaining by the way and without egotism my reasons 
 for never noticing the attacks, public and private, which have been 
 so incessant, and which have set truth and common civilised 
 courtesy at defiance. I shall not be drawn out again, unless some 
 definite charge is made which can be denied in three lines, and 
 which will not lead to controversy. 
 
 ' The reply to my letter in the Guardian was satisfactory so far 
 as its dispute with me went ; for that was weak. The only thing 
 I objected to was their praise, which was as much a misre- 
 presentation of my spirit as their blame. However, on the whole, 
 I am out of it without burnt fingers ; and such a get-off from news- 
 paper controversy comes under the injunction of old Horace, that 
 thorough-bred gentleman, Appone lucro. 
 
 ' The trifling persecution one is subjected to in these emasculated 
 days from emasculated religionism reminds one of the days when 
 truth could only be sustained at a real cost, in comparison of 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 191 
 
 which the buzz of a whole Brighton is but as the hum of gnats. 
 Yet the incessant sting of gnats even is a semi-maddening thing 
 in the hot dusty noontide of work, when the freshness and hope 
 of its morning are gone, and the soothing cool of its evening is 
 not yet come. Sometimes (much in the same way as a fly may 
 endeavour to comprehend "the gestation of an elephant" i) I think 
 of Elijah under his juniper-tree, and wish his wish. But it is 
 "The good die first ; 
 
 And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust 
 
 Bum to the socket." 
 
 With this piece of sentimentalism to conclude, believe me, yours 
 very gratefully, Fred. W. Robertson.' 
 
 ' 60 MONTPELLIER ROAD, 
 
 Saturday, jfune 25. 
 ' Mv DEAR Young, — On Tuesday I hope to be with you. May 
 I bring my little boy, who will be satisfied with a shake-down in a 
 garret or granary ? but as Mrs. Robertson and Ida are going on a 
 visit to Mrs. Lamb, he would be left alone if he were not allowed 
 to come with me. — Yours ever, Fred. W. Robertson.' 
 
 ' Monday, June 27, 1853, 
 
 60 MONTPELLIER ROAD, BRIGHTON. 
 
 ' My DEAR Young, — I am grieved to be so apparently capri- 
 cious, but I am not yet fit for civilised society, and must wait some 
 days before I can come to Fairlight. 
 
 'Allen has asked for a consultation. Taylor was the man I 
 fixed on, for reasons quce nunc prescribere longum est, as propria 
 qua maribus poetically phrases it. 
 
 ' They both wish me to remain here for some days, and have 
 laid an embargo on Mrs. Robertson too. 
 
 ' The case is a very simple and a very trifling one, but I grieve to 
 say I must postpone — I hope for not more than a week — my visit. 
 
 ' The Clericals have blundered Tower's affair — diluted my testi- 
 monial to him till it is practically worthless ; and even then, many 
 
 1 When Burke was told of Erskine's opinion on the abatement of an 
 impeachment by dissolution of Parliament, ' What ! ' said he, ' a nisi-prius 
 lawyer give an opinion on an impeachment ! as well might a rabbit, that 
 breeds fifty times in the year, pretend to understand the gestation of an 
 elephant' — Vide Diary of T. Moore, vol. ii. page 204. 
 
192 JOURNAL. 
 
 who spoke loudly shrank from signing. It certainly is the most 
 quarrelsome of all professions in the matter of a blue or green 
 window, prevenient moonshine, or a bishop's night-cap, and the 
 most cowardly when once it comes to a matter of right and wrong 
 — of what they saw and what they did not see. 
 
 ' Unless clergy, of the type I am alluding to, are forced to serve 
 in the army for five years previous to ordination, to make them 
 men, " let alone " gentlemen, I think the Church, as an establish- 
 ment, had better be snuffed out. — Yours ever gratefully, 
 
 ' F. W. Robertson.' 
 
 'June 10, 1853. 
 
 ' My dear Young, — I am grieved to see by your note how 
 much you are disappointed, and fear you may think that I have 
 treated you capriciously or cavalierly. The arrival of the note 
 so late puzzles me. It was posted in time for the 8 p.m. post, and 
 I should have thought would have reached you the next morn- 
 ing. But the truth is, that Taylor and Allen both emphatically 
 forbade my going away or travelling by train even as far as Hurst. 
 Allen, this morning, told me that he said to T., " I do not think 
 Mr. R. should go on the visit he intends," and T. answered 
 abruptly something like " Pooh ! he must not." On Monday and 
 Tuesday I was in about the state that Seneca was, after his veins 
 had been open in the hot bath for half an hour. Yesterday and 
 to-day I am forbidden to receive visitors. So you see, my dear 
 Young, that if I wrote, as I fear I did, hurriedly, I had not treated 
 you capriciously, or played fast and loose vnth your kindness. Do 
 not think this. I must not write more, as I am scarcely up even 
 to such trifling work. I am become an old man, or rather an old 
 woman, fit only to toddle a few yards backwards and forwards in 
 the sunshine. Never mind ; I mean to be a compound of a Her- 
 cules and an Apollo before many weeks are over. 
 
 ' Tell Mrs. Young I grieve over the fate of the jellies, etc. etc., 
 not for their own sake, but for the sake of the kind and friendly 
 solicitude which was rendered null by my involuntary failure of my 
 engagement.— Believe me yours most gratefully and regretfully, 
 
 ' Fred. W. Robertson.' 
 
 ' Brighton, July 8, 1853. 
 ' My dear Young, — You were kind enough to ask for a bulletin 
 in a week. Well, here it is, briefly :— 
 ' Hot milk as soon as I awake, to prevent fainting. An hour's 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 193 
 
 siesta. Up. Interesting contest between F. W. R. and a fainting 
 fit. Faint says, " I have you ;" " Not yet," says F. W. R., look- 
 ing like a ghastly turnip, and falls into a cold bath, the splash 
 whereof robs Faint of his prey. Manful attempts at drying. 
 Operation just concluded ; back comes the white demon. F. W. R. 
 falls on the bed, reflecting sagely on supported vertebral column, 
 and congratulating himself on his profound knowledge of anatomy. 
 Ten minutes elapse. F. W. R. fortifies himself with two spoonfuls 
 of citrate of ammonia, on the strength of which he goes on tri- 
 umphantly till the barbarous operation of shaving comes, in the 
 middle of which Faint shouts, with a provoking little squeak, 
 " He ! he ! he ! " So much for anatomy ; and down goes F. W. R. 
 
 ' All day long, sofa or bed, languor, pain, uselessness ; luxuries 
 in the shape of ice, claret, recherchd soups sent from all quarters, 
 reminding F. W. R. unpleasantly of the contrast between the life 
 of Him who would fain have " caudled his morning hunger njKin 
 vidld figs, and His death thirst upon vinegar," and the invalidism of 
 His modern ministers, bepetted, befondled, with the fat things of 
 earth at command. The only consolation is, that I am too feeble 
 to make any use of them. 
 
 ' Citrate of iron through the day. Night comes. Blister behind 
 the ears to allay suffering in brain. Morphia to deaden pain and 
 give some chance of rest. Pleasant night following pleasant 
 day ; i.e. if the day were pleasant. There is a facetious sketch of 
 my highly useful life. I am very glad I did not go to you. Many 
 a day I cannot walk across the room, or even hold up my head. 
 
 ' But, Young, I am learning two lessons, or rather having them 
 forced upon me — nothingness and dependence. As I told you 
 before — whether humbly or not, God knows — another thing I 
 learn, and I learn it with all my heart — gratitude for countless 
 attentions and tendernesses. I am tired. I can write no more. 
 As it is, I can only write with a pencil, reclining. With pen and 
 ink I do but splutter. My kindest remembrances to Mrs. Young. 
 —Ever yours, Fred. W. Robertson.' 
 
 N 
 
194 JOURNAL. 
 
 INCIDENTS OF PARISH LIFE. 
 
 On the first Sunday of my preaching at Ilmington, 
 the villagers — Churchmen, Wesleyans, and Primitive 
 Methodists — crowded into church, curious to see and 
 hear what manner of man their new minister might be. 
 As I was in the very pith and marrow of my inaugural 
 address, I happened to enunciate some sentiment or 
 other which was evidently acceptable to a very little 
 deformed old man, sitting immediately beneath the 
 pulpit. From the moment of my entering the reading- 
 desk, I could not help observing the responsive play of 
 his quaint features, and the tell-tale way in which his 
 emotions were reflected in his small squeezed-up, ferret 
 eyes. After a while, / was perfectly electrified, and the 
 congregation startled from its propriety, by seeing him 
 raise his hands aloft and clap them violently together 
 and shout forth, with the energy of a Stentor, the 
 words ' Glory ! glory ! glory ! ' 
 
 The effect on a congregation of rustics may be con- 
 ceived. A universal titter ran through the church, as 
 much excited, I suspect, by witnessing my undignified 
 but irrepressible jump of nervous surprise, as by the 
 unusual and indecent demonstration itself. As soon 
 as I had recovered my equanimity, fearing that, if I 
 uttered a rebuke, I might receive a retort and bring 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. i^S 
 
 on a brawl, I 'looked daggers' at the culprit, but 
 spake none, and warded off, during the remainder of 
 my discourse, a repetition of so flagrant an indecorum 
 by a tamer delivery. On expostulating with the man 
 after service on the impropriety of which he had been 
 guilty, he defended his ' applause ' by referring me to 
 the 1st verse of the 47th Psalm, which tells '«//men to 
 clap their hands,' and justified his ' shouting ' by assur- 
 ing me, with perfect civility, and, I now believe, with 
 perfect sincerity, that ' his spirit was stirred within him,' 
 and that he would not ' quench the Spirit ' for any 
 earthly consideration. The next day I made further 
 inquiry as to his character, and I learned that he was 
 by nature a silent, reserved, inoffensive creature, patient 
 under trial, contented with his lot, working at half 
 wages on the farm of one of my tenants, almost beyond 
 his strength (his age and the curvature of his spine con- 
 sidered), but that he was a Primitive Methodist. How- 
 ever, I heard so much that was to his credit, that I could 
 not ,help feeling well disposed to him. I sought him 
 out, and reasoned with him mildly on the impropriety 
 of continuing to indulge in such outbursts of fanatical 
 enthusiasm. Failing, however, to make any impression 
 on him, I told him plainly that, glad as I should have 
 been to have numbered him among the members of my 
 flock, I could not permit his eccentricities in the house 
 of God ; and that if he were obstinately resolved to in- 
 dulge in such manifestations, I must beg him to con- 
 fine his attendance to the meeting-house. With this 
 alternative he was more than satisfied, for, said he, ' I 
 AM a Primitive, and I thank God that I am one. . A 
 
196 JOURNAL. 
 
 Primitive I shall live, a Primitive I shall die. Glory ! 
 glory ! glory ! ' 
 
 As I had not prohibited him from attending my 
 weekly readings in the schoolroom, he used to attend 
 them very regularly, and whenever any passage of my 
 author met with his approval, he would deliver his testi- 
 mony with unabated exuberance of feeling. For the 
 first time or two that he did so, his action and vocifera- 
 tion were so stunning that I sprang off my reading-stool 
 as if under the shock of an electric battery, to the im- 
 measurable amusement of my good people. At last I 
 said to them, ' My friends, as this is not a consecrated 
 building, and as we meet here rather for purposes of 
 recreation than edification, and as this good fellow is 
 the last man to wish to offend us, I propose that we 
 permit him to enjoy his little peculiarity. Let him 
 have his shout.' They received my suggestion with 
 great amiability, and soon became so inured to his 
 interruptions that they ceased to notice them. The 
 fact was, his first religious convictions had been derived 
 from the Primitive Methodists, and he felt attached to 
 them in consequence. And though he had imbibed 
 from their teaching tenets which were absurd, yet his 
 walk and conversation were so consistent and exem- 
 plary that he inspired his neighbours with respect for 
 him ; and it speaks well both for him and them, that, 
 though ungainly in aspect, unattractive in manner, bent 
 into the shape of the letter C, and standing little more 
 than four feet from his mother earth, and therefore fair 
 game for mischievous boys, he yet could pass through 
 the village at all hours without molestation. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 197 
 
 I remember once calling with my elder daughter on 
 the family in whose humble cot he lodged. It was 
 nearly one o'clock. I did not know, when I entered, 
 that it was so near the dinner hour, or I should not 
 have intruded on them ; but on their assuring me that 
 they never sat down to meals till their lodger had joined 
 them, I was prevailed upon to stay. Soon he passed 
 the little latticed window. As I wished my girl to make 
 his acquaintance I lingered on, hoping every minute he 
 would enter. Finding he did not, I expressed to the 
 woman of the house my fear that our presence was the 
 cause of his protracted absence. 'O dear no, sir!' 
 she replied ; ' he is only gone to our wood-house. He 
 always goes there before meals and after (before return- 
 ing to work), to pray, because it is private, and he gets 
 no interruption there.' Just as we were going, in he 
 came, and I introduced him to my daughter. She said 
 something to him which pleased him, on which he 
 favoured her with one of his customary Halleluiahs ! 
 It was great fun to me, who had been quizzed for 
 being so easily startled, to see the instantaneous flush 
 which dyed my girl's cheek, and told of the quickened 
 pulsation of her heart. 
 
 My gardener, a man of high character, had permis- 
 sion to shoot rabbits in the early mornings before 
 coming to work. He assured me that often as early as 
 four o'clock, wheft stealthily walking under hedges in 
 remote places, he has come upon Johnny Parker (for 
 that was his name) on his knees in prayer ; and that he 
 was so impressed by so unusual a sight, that he always 
 walked away at once, lest he should disturb him. 
 
1 98 JOURNAL. 
 
 A year or two after the events I have alluded to, I 
 was one evening returning from a long ride, on a very 
 nervous and high-couraged horse, when I overtook my 
 <friend returning homewards from his work. I drew up 
 by his side and entered into conversation with him. 
 After discussing the weather, the crops, and the quality 
 of the turnips which he had been hoeing, I said to him, 
 — 'Johnny, I really believe you to be a God-fearing 
 man, who are living for something beyond the present ; 
 but I wish you would give up that very singular habit 
 of yours — of clapping and bawling in the house of 
 prayer.' 
 
 'Why should I, sir.?' 
 
 'Because, my good fellow, it is irrational, indefensible, 
 and unscriptural.' 
 
 ' How do you make that out, sir V 
 
 ' Why, thus : Do not you believe God to be every- 
 where present?' 
 
 ' I do.' 
 
 ' Do not you believe Him to be about your path and 
 about your bed ?' 
 
 ' I da' 
 
 ' Do not you believe Him to have a hearing ear .'' 
 
 ' I do.' 
 
 ' Then why do you bellow out to Him " as if His ear 
 were heavy that it could not hear".' Recollect what 
 St. Paul's advice to the Ephesians was : " Be filled with 
 the Spirit, speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns 
 and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in 
 your heart to the Lord." ' 
 
 ' I tell you what, sir,' was his answer, ' there 's noise 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 199 
 
 enough in heaven among the angels^you may depend 
 on 't — when they see one sinner that has repented.' 
 
 Whereupon, standing close under my horse's nose, and 
 looking up at me, he fell to clapping and shouting so 
 violently that the animal reared upright, and in doing 
 so hit him in the back with his knee, with sufficient 
 force to send him spinning into a neighbouring ditch 
 full of nettles and mud, in which he lay floundering for 
 some seconds on his stomach, kicking his legs about 
 and trying to clap his hands, and screaming out in a 
 tone of exultation, and with the air of a martyr glory- 
 ing in his humiliation, ' Glory ! glory ! glory ! glory for 
 ever ! I say for ever ! — for ever ! Amen.' 
 
 In one of my ministerial rounds at Fairlight, in Sus- 
 sex, I visited Dame Pankhurst — quite a character in her 
 way : bluff, blunt, and shrewd, and close on the verge of 
 eighty. She was seated at her tea-table, and, with knitted 
 brows and a puzzled expression of face, was poring over 
 her baize-covered Bible. As soon as I entered, she took 
 off her spectacles, wiped them with her checked apron, 
 and deposited them on the chair by her side, and thus 
 accosted me : — ' Muster Young, 'tis very handy your 
 coming in just now, for I be sadly put about ; and I 
 ain't, to say, easy in my mind at summut as I 've been a 
 reading in this here Book. I 've stumbled, I think, on 
 one of the things as St. Peter says " is hard to be under- 
 stood."' She then pointed to the ist chapter of St. 
 James, and desired me to read aloud for her the 2d 
 verse, which had so disconcerted her: 'Count it all joy 
 when ye fall into divers temptations.' When I had 
 complied with her request, she stuck her arms akimbo, 
 
200 JOURNAL. 
 
 and shaking her head sceptically and defiantly, asked 
 me ' what I thought o' that ? If there be meaning in 
 them words, they mean as we are to be glad to fall into 
 temptations ! Perhaps there 's summut more in the 
 meaning of that word " temptations " than I know on. 
 Anyhow, I can't make head or tail on't.' She then 
 hung down her head and repeated to herself, in tones 
 of dissatisfaction, almost of indignation, the words, 
 ' temp-ta-tions ! temp-ta-tions ! temp-ta-tions, indeed ! 
 What be um, I'd hke to know ?' 
 
 I told her that the word had two meanings — one, 
 signifying ' to allure or entice ; ' the other, ' to try ; ' 
 and that in the passage to which she had directed my 
 attention, the word 'temptation' meant 'trial.' That 
 St. James, in writing those words, was exhorting Chris- 
 tians ' to be patient under trial ;' and that though God 
 could not directly tempt his servants, yet that sometimes, 
 as in the case of Job and St. Paul, he permitted them to 
 be tempted, that by the confirmation of their faith they 
 might win the more glory, and therefore have the greater 
 cause for joy. In confirmation of my assertion, that 
 God could not himself directly tempt, however he might 
 be said to do so indirectly, I pointed her notice to the 
 13th verse of the same chapter, on which she fairly 
 exploded, 'What d'ye mean } My mother taught me 
 to pray to God, " Lead us not into temptation," from the 
 Lord's Prayer. The Master himself tells us, "Watch 
 and pray, that ye enter not into temptation ;" and this 
 here St. James, an excellent good man, I suppose, tells 
 iis that we 're to be uncommon glad if we fall into temp- 
 tations. Why are we to be warned against temptations. 
 
yULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 2of 
 
 if, when they come, they are to make us happy ? And 
 then, again, as to what you 've been saying out o' your 
 own head^— I mean that God can'i tempt, — if He can't 
 tempt, what's the use of praying to Him not to tempt 
 us?' 
 
 I won't trouble my readers with my arguments in 
 answer to her difficulties, but refer them to Words- 
 worth's or Alford's Commentary. I mention the anec- 
 dote to show that sometimes the intelligent and 
 thoughtful among the poor do ' compare spiritual 
 things with spiritual.' Nothing, I firmly believe, is a 
 greater stumbling-block in the way of religion than the 
 exhibition of a want of the true spirit of the Cross in 
 our dealings with our fellows. We have always to con- 
 tend with the natural enmity of the unrenewed heart, 
 and we should therefore be very sure of our ground 
 before we rebuke. The injudicious, harsh censure of a 
 fellow-creature's sin will only aggravate it ; whereas 
 unmerited leniency will often help materially to remove 
 it. I wish I had had consistency enough to carry out 
 in practice what my conscience has approved ; for when- 
 ever I have attended to the dictates of my better genius, 
 and have tried the efficacy of my own conviction, I 
 have been astonished at my success. When I was at 
 Fairlight, near Hastings, there was among the good 
 people there a very prepossessing woman of the name 
 of Turner, whose cottage, when first I made her 
 acquaintance, was the picture of neatness and order, 
 and, for an agricultural labourer's, very well furnished. 
 The walls of the room in which the family lived, and 
 which ' served them for parlour and kitchen and hall,' 
 
202 JOURNAL. 
 
 were decorated with coloured Scripture prints. There 
 was a goodly dresser filled with a dozen neatly-ranged 
 plates, three or four jugs, four or'five mugs, a pudding- 
 dish or two, a brave old clock (six feet high), a capital 
 chest of drawers, on the top of which was a pile of 
 books symmetrically arraiiged in the form of a pyramid, 
 having a large folio Bible for its base, and a duodecimo 
 Tale of a Tub for its apex. The woman in her own 
 person was remarkably tidy ; in conduct, a pattern of 
 propriety ; by profession, a Wesleyan Methodist. What 
 her husband was in looks or conduct for a long time I 
 did not know, though I heard he hardly ever attended 
 any place of worship. Never being able to find him at 
 home by day, I now and then called at his cottage late 
 in the evening, hoping to catch him then, but invariably 
 without success. 
 
 After a while, I thought when I visited the woman 
 that she looked pale, anxious, and less brisk in her 
 movements than heretofore ; that the house, though still 
 beautifully clean, looked less cosy ; and at a later date, 
 after an absence of three weeks in town, I observed with 
 pain on my return that the twelve white plates were 
 reduced to three, the four jugs to one, the four or five 
 mugs to two ; and on going into the garden I saw the 
 sty, which I had last seen tenanted by two well-fed pigs, 
 void. It did not require great powers of vaticination 
 to guess the cause of this altered state of things. I 
 asked Mrs. Turner what had become of the books and 
 the crockery and the pigs, and she told me they had 
 been sold. I asked her if her husband drank. With 
 averted head, and apron to her face, she sobbingly 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 203 
 
 murmured forth a reluctant confession that he did — 
 that he had long been addicted to the habit, and that it 
 was so confirmed, that she was convinced nothing ever 
 would wean him from the propensity. 
 
 A week or two after this painful interview I looked in 
 upon her, and found, to my surprise, her husband, at 
 three P.M., sitting by an empty grate, in his shirt-sleeves, 
 with a beard of two or three days' growth on his chin, 
 and with his head on his arms on the table, the very 
 embodiment of despair. I put my hand on his shoulder, 
 and asked him if his name was Turner, and if he were 
 the owner of the house. (His wife was in the wash- 
 house.) He merely nodded his head. The following 
 dialogue then arose between us : — 
 
 J. C. F.— 'Areyouill?' 
 
 Turner. — ' No.' 
 
 y. C. Y. — ' I am glad to make your acquaintance at 
 last. It is an odd thing that I should have been here 
 more than twelve months, and never have seen you 
 before — either at home or abroad !' 
 
 Turner. — ' Well, you see me now ! and what do you 
 think of me?' 
 
 J. C. Y. — ' I think I see a very unhappy man.' 
 
 Turner. — ' Not far wrong there, parson ! (if you be 
 the parson, as I suppose).' 
 
 J. C. Y. — ' What makes you unhappy } I should like 
 to know.' 
 
 Turner. — 'What's that to you ? — You bain't my 
 minister!' 
 
 J. C. Y.—' If I am not, who is }' 
 
 Turner. — ' The Devil.' 
 
204 JOURNAL. 
 
 J. C. Y. — ' You evidently don't know what you say. 
 A ministei' is one who serves. You would be nearer 
 the truth if you said he was your master. A master is 
 one who compels obedience. Tell me now : do you 
 find that he serves you well : that he is a friend ?' 
 
 Turner. — 'About as good a friend as you are, I take it ! ' 
 
 J. C. Y. — ' How can you say that to me, in a tone of 
 reproach, when you have never given me the oppor- 
 tunity of knowing you .' I have come here often in 
 search of you. You never come to see me ; and you 
 never enter the church !' 
 
 Turner. — ' Oh ! don't I ? Well, I've no great opinion 
 of such places ; but I'll come up and have a look at 
 you some o' these days. That is to say, when I can! 
 
 J. C. Y.—' " Where there's a will there's a way." You 
 say you are not ill. But I fear you are z'/Z-disposed to 
 the House of God.' 
 
 Turner. — ' I say I ain't able ! I 've got no decent 
 clothes to go in.' 
 
 J. C. Y. — ' Then come as you are.' 
 
 Turner. — ' I've got no boots to walk in.' He then 
 lifted up his feet and showed me his toes coming 
 through those he had on, and hardly holding together. 
 
 J. C. Y. — ' If, then, you are not deceiving yourself and 
 me, you wish me ■ to infer that you would come to 
 church if you had good boots .■•' 
 
 Turner. — 'Perhaps I might.' 
 
 j_ C. Y. — ' Go, then, in to Hastings and get yourself 
 a pair. / will pay for them.' 
 
 Turner. — ' Do you mean it ? — raally mean it .'' 
 
 J. C. Y.—' I do !' 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 203 
 
 He made no answer, but burst into tears. His 
 bad habit had been the cause of his being thrown 
 out of work at that time : so that I often saw him 
 then. I took special care not to reproach him 
 though I never lost an opportunity of praising his 
 worthy wife. I never reproved him as the cause of her 
 wasted looks and diminished comforts ; but left him to 
 the workings of his own conscience. Had I scolded 
 him, he would have hardened his heart against me ; 
 but by the mere tribute of a little pity his heart was 
 touched ; he came to church ; and for two or three 
 years relinquished his evil courses. Whether he con- 
 tinued steadfast in his career of reformation I cannot 
 say. But I have ventured to tell this anecdote as an 
 illustration of the truth of a very common saying, viz., 
 that men are more easily drawn than driven. Reproach 
 from an angel is a hard thing for fallen man to bear ; 
 and intolerable to some natures when it falls from the 
 lips of a fellow-creature, who, though he be guiltless of 
 the sin he probes, may yet have sins of his own that — 
 (his superior opportunities or his greater exemption 
 from temptation considered) — may be even less par- 
 donable in the sight of God. Stern accusation begets 
 self-defence, if not retort. I heard a man say once to 
 a brother clergyman, ' You find fault with me for liking 
 my beer. Don't you like your claret or your port .■" 
 
 Many years ago there lived, in a certain village of 
 which I was the rector, a bully, whose chief aim in life 
 seemed to be to thwart and oppose me in every effort I 
 made to better the condition of the poor. Although 
 rarely present at our church services — assigning in 
 
2o6 JOURNAL. 
 
 excuse his inability to listen to my nonsense without 
 the power of protest — he yet was never absent from our 
 vestry meetings, which he did his best to make as tur- 
 bulent as possible ! There he was a free agent — (and 
 a very free agent he certainly was !) There, if he had 
 no favour, he had at least a clear stage ! There, he 
 could not be muzzled ! There, he could uplift his testi- 
 mony, and vent his righteous indignation against the 
 extravagant projects of the parson ! 
 
 Now, some men are never happy unless they are in 
 hot water. I am never happy unless I am out of it. 
 Of all St. Paul's injunctions, the one which I have 
 always found the easiest to obey has been, ' As much as 
 lieth in me, to live peaceably with all men.' I am, not 
 merely by profession, but by constitution, a man of 
 peace ! Yet here had I an indefatigable and, as I 
 thought, an implacable opponent to contend with ; 
 although I was unaware of having ever wilfully given 
 him cause of offence. Much as he dishked me and my 
 adherents, I must in candour acknowledge that the 
 compliment was reciprocated, for he was shunned 
 almost by every one as a pestilent fellow, whose aim 
 it was to set the parish by the ears, and who would 
 prove a firebrand in it if he were not extinguished by 
 overwhelming numbers. I was as anxious as any one 
 to render the man harmless by drawing his venom- 
 tooth, but the method I resolved to adopt was the very 
 reverse of that recommended ! I resolved to treat him 
 with (ill-merited) confidence. It so happened that just 
 before Easter my churchwarden was obliged by ill- 
 health to resign his office. Every one was speculating 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 207 
 
 whom I should elect ; — every one was sure whom I 
 should not ! On Easter Tuesday, the day appointed 
 for the choice of churchwardens, my supporters were 
 thrown into the direst consternation by hearing me say 
 from the choir ' that I should think myself very for- 
 tunate if I could persuade Mr. to act as my 
 
 warden; for that, though he had been an indifferent 
 churchman, no one could deny his merit as a vigilant 
 vestryman ; that, often as my opinions and his had 
 clashed, yet that I was bound by the law of Christian 
 charity to believe his convictions to be as conscientious 
 as my own ; that, respecting any man who listened to 
 the whispers of such a monitor as conscience, I should 
 intrust the guardianship of my interests to his keeping 
 unhesitatingly, assured that he would protect them as 
 jealously as he had watched over the rights of the rate- 
 payers ; that I flattered myself that, when he had 
 gained more knowledge of me and my views from 
 closer contact with me, he would be better qualified to 
 deal impartially with both sides ; that I was sanguine 
 that the added sense of responsibility which he would 
 feel as the clergyman's representative would insure his 
 being, not only a terror to evil-doers in the church and 
 churchyard, but an ensample of regularity in his own 
 attendance on church ordinances.' He not only ac- 
 ceded to my request with grace, and submitted to my 
 exhortation with humility, but from that time fulfilled 
 his functions with temper and discretion, became a 
 regular communicant, and never gave me cause to 
 repent of my choice. 
 
 The day following that of his nomination to office. 
 
zo8 JOURNAL. 
 
 he sent me, not as tithe in kind, but as a peace-offering, 
 and an earnest of better things to come, a milk-white 
 sucking pig. I ate of it, feeble as my digestion is, with 
 gladness and singleness of heart, for I had converted a 
 foe into a friend, and though the giver had so often 
 disagreed with me, the gift did not. The meal de- 
 spatched and the cloth removed, I summoned the Rev. 
 Julian Young before me, put him in foro conscientics, 
 subjected him to a very searching examination, and 
 passed the following sentence on him : — ' that, in the 
 tactics he had adopted,. he had consulted his own peace 
 and that of the parish rather than the good of the re- 
 calcitrant vestryman : that though his motives were' 
 not immoral, yet that they argued more of worldly 
 wisdom than of godly simplicity, and that therefore 
 he had more cause for humiliation than for elation at 
 the success of his manceuvre.' I must say I think the 
 finding was just, and I hope it may teach me in the 
 future to be as slow to take offence as to give it, and, 
 in case of estrangement with another, where the cause 
 of provocation is unknown, to be more ready to con- 
 demn myself than to contemn another. Men are apt 
 to think that if they have done nothing intentionally to 
 offend their neighbour they are to be accounted guilt- 
 less of offence ; forgetting that there are negative wrongs 
 as well as positive ones, and that the neglecting to do 
 something expected or desired by another, is as valid a 
 ground of offence as the actual perpetration of some- 
 thing unexpected and undesired. Amicable relations 
 once established between my churchwarden and myself, 
 I discovered that I had incurred his displeasure, not 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 209 
 
 from anything I had done, but from neglecting to visit 
 him until I had first visited the sick and poor, 'the 
 fatherless and widows, in their affliction.' 
 
 Called on Mrs. . On my expressing my regret 
 
 at never having seen her in church, she smiled, patted 
 me on the shoulder in a most patronising way, and said, 
 ' Oh, don't you be down-hearted ! When the weather 
 picks up a bit, I '11 come up and have a look at you ! ' 
 
 Although I have no sympathy with doubters, I have 
 sincere pity for them, and could never dare to proscribe 
 them as infidels. These two words are constantly used 
 as if they were convertible terms. Now, I conceive an 
 infidel to be one who has either investigated the evi- 
 dences of Christianity and rejected them, or who has 
 rejected them without taking the trouble to investigate 
 them ; whereas the conscientious doubter is an anxious 
 inquirer after truth, who holds his judgment in sus- 
 pense, and who, in his very perplexity, desires to be 
 impartial. Infidelity is a positive term ; doubt is a 
 middle term between affirmation and negation. Infi- 
 delity is a wilful perversity in refusing belief — rejecting 
 the evidence of Christianity ; doubt is involuntary, and, 
 though it may argue weakness of faith, does not imply 
 absence of faith. When St. Peter's faith failed him on 
 the water, our Lord did not rebuke him for absence of 
 faith, but for deficiency of faith. His words were, 
 ' Wherefore didst thou doubt f The instances of St. 
 Thomas and St. Philip might also be cited. I have 
 known personally men who, from peculiar mental orga- 
 nisation, and the habit of reducing every problem that 
 came before them to a mathematical demonstration, 
 
 o 
 
210 JOURNAL. 
 
 could not surrender their convictions on what they con- 
 sidered insufficient evidence. Although one could hardly- 
 rank them among the faithful, yet it would be most' 
 uncharitable to stigmatise them as infidels. How many 
 thousands of nominal Christians are styled believers 
 because of their outward conformity to the religion of 
 their fathers, who, if they were asked, could not give a 
 categorical reason for the hope that is in them ! While 
 hundreds, who would cut off their right hand or pluck 
 out their right eye for the blessed hope of the believer, 
 are shunned as heathens and publicans, because, having 
 searched the Scriptures for themselves, like the Bereans, 
 they have unhappily been unable to arrive at the desired 
 conclusion. Faith is a revelation of the Holy Spirit, 
 not a motion of the mind. The persistent infidel is in 
 a damnable condition ; the doubter is in a dangerous 
 condition, and, in proportion as he is so, ought it to be 
 the chief object of a minister, after the example of Him 
 who came to call not the righteous but sinners to re- 
 pentance, to resolve his doubts, and not to taboo him 
 because of his infirmity. The unquestioning spirit is 
 in a hopeful condition, for the open ear and willing 
 heart God delights to honour ; but faith is a gift. What 
 do we read in Luke xvii. S .' ITpocr^e? r]iuv TriaTiv, i.e. 
 ' appone nobis fiAem^—give us faith.' 
 
 Happy are those who are blessed with minds so 
 docile and tempers so tractable that, in the spirit of 
 little children, they have from infancy imbibed the sin- 
 cere milk of the Word, and been nourished by it in 
 godly simplicity and in reverence for authority. There 
 are others less happily constituted, whom it is as unjust 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 211 
 
 to contemn because of their mental mal-organisation, 
 as it would be to point the finger of scorn at one born 
 deformed. 
 
 Scripture truth is sufficiently distasteful to the un- 
 renewed mind, in itself; and in proportion as it is so, 
 ought we to administer it cautiously and tenderly and 
 gradually — precept upon precept, line upon line, here a 
 little and there a little, and not abruptly, roughly, and 
 wholesale ; teaching the first principles of the oracles 
 of God, giving milk to such as have need of milk, and 
 strong meat ' to them that are of full age, even those 
 who, by reason of use, have their senses exercised to 
 discern both good and evil.' 
 
 When I have occasionally broached to my brethren 
 in the ministry the importance of not disregarding 
 manner in the pulpit or in pastoral intercourse, I have 
 been told that sound matter needs no oily manner to 
 make it go down with willing hearers. With all sub- 
 mission, I must beg to differ from this sentiment. • I 
 have known many willing, docile listeners discouraged 
 by the ungracious manner of their minister in his pulpit 
 addresses to them. I must say that the manner of the 
 younger clergy .of the present day, even where it is not 
 arresting, is generally very affectionate and earnest ; but 
 it is often the reverse among the country clergy of my 
 own age. There is a world of truth in the familiar 
 French adage, ' C'est le ton qui fait la musique.' 
 
 Many a man carries in his very face the impress and 
 signature of his manners. And, after all, what are 
 manners .' They are often more expressive than words, 
 and can neutralise the effect of words. They are some- 
 
212 JOURNAL. 
 
 thing more than ceremonious conventionalities. They 
 are morals of minor degree. They are the representa- 
 tives of good feeling in some instances ; in others, they 
 are the assumption of virtue where it does not perhaps 
 exist. They teach sympathy (and sympathy is the 
 very soul of an efficacious ministry), and sympathy 
 makes us tolerant of different organisations, constitu- 
 tions, and temperaments — each and all accessible to 
 different influences. 'There are some fish which will 
 only bite by day,' says Cecil ; ' others only by moon- 
 light.' The fisher of men will therefore adapt his bait 
 and choose his season for fishing to the habits of the 
 fish ; thus becoming all things to all men, if by any 
 means he may gain some. Perhaps, then, Mr. M. 
 has either been disgusted by my unsavoury mode of 
 presenting unpalatable truth, or else my black cloth 
 has operated on his prejudices as scarlet does on those 
 of a bull. There are certain of the industrial classes, 
 occupying a social stratum just above that of the agri- 
 cultural, who regard a clergyman of the Church of 
 England rather in the light of a Jesuitical policeman 
 than a spiritual watchman, of whose insidious wiles 
 every man should beware. Others, again, there are, 
 who, if dullards, consider sermons above their compre- 
 hension, as subtle attempts to throw dust in their eyes ; 
 or if astute but sceptical cavillers, they condemn dis- 
 cursive or illogical discourses as irrational and super- 
 stitious fables. A well-known judge, more distinguished 
 for legal acumen than for high-toned piety, while listen- 
 ing to the feeble arguments of a florid preacher, was 
 overheard by a learned brother to whisper, ' Oh that I 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG, 213 
 
 might get up and answer him!' And many a sharp- 
 witted fellow of low degree, though unable, it may be, to 
 refute the statements of his minister, is nevertheless apt 
 to think it a hard thing that he should have it all his 
 own way, and he himself be forced to sit still and listen 
 to turgid platitudes, delivered ex cathedra as if they 
 were oracular utterances, and to assent to doctrines as 
 of vital efScacy which are repugnant to his reason, on 
 pain of being ostracised as an infidel. I have heard 
 complaint made that precepts enunciated by the lips of 
 the meekest of men are sometimes enforced by his dis- 
 ciples with the domineering importance of a pedagogue 
 or the self-satisfied pomposity of a beadle, and the sub- 
 lime example of a sinless life held up for imitation with 
 all the arrogance of authority. 
 
 Though I quote, I am far from indorsing these re- 
 marks as appropriate to the great body of the clergy. 
 Individuals, no doubt, may be found to whom they may 
 be applicable ; but the rather diversified experience of 
 half a century convinces me that the priesthood of our 
 branch of the Church Catholic never stood higher in 
 public estimation than it does at present. At no period 
 during the last three centuries has there been a greater 
 revival — more of earnestness of purpose, more of un- 
 selfish devotion, more of unwearying zeal for their 
 Master's honour, their Master's people, their Master's 
 cause, or their Master's house — than by our contem- 
 porary clergy. Still one does hear, now and then, of 
 men marring the effect of good matter and good works 
 by infelicities of manner. An undue assumption of 
 superiority by a fellow-worm is calculated to stir up the 
 
214 JOURNAL. 
 
 bile in the gall-bladder of the very persons he desires to 
 win over to the faith. If an avenging God had come 
 down in the likeness of men, he could hardly affect a 
 more aggressive tone than that adopted by some, or 
 one more calculated to estrange regard, if riot to pro- 
 voke hostility. We are lamentably prone to forget the 
 years of study and of prayer it has cost us to arrive at 
 definite opinions on the vexed questions which agitate 
 the religious world. And we expect those who have 
 never enjoyed our advantages, or if they have, have not 
 improved them, under the inspiration of half an hour's 
 eloquence, to become like-minded with ourselves! Over- 
 bearing assertion will never strengthen the hands of any 
 minister. Dogmatic truth should be inculcated unhesi- 
 tatingly, but dispassionately, not dictatorially. The 
 Word of God, though never to be handled deceitfully, 
 ought always to be expounded with a charitable allow- 
 ance for the infirmities of fallen flesh and blood. The 
 truth is, we are -all deplorably deficient in that faculty 
 of adaptation which we call tact, and with which St. 
 Paul was so pre-eminently endowed, and which he 
 exercised so wisely and so well. Fanatics shake their 
 heads when the word tact is breathed and hinted at as 
 a desirable endowment in a minister of the Gospel, 
 though they admit how, in social intercourse with 
 their fellow, it gains over an opponent whom the want 
 of it repels. I conceive that tact, in its legitimate signi- 
 fication, means the spirit of charitable accommodation. 
 If it surrenders truth, or connives at falsehood, it is a 
 subtle device of the devil. 
 
 There is much in the matter of our sermons, and in 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 215 
 
 the manner of their delivery, which offends different 
 classes of minds, and repels them from regular attend- 
 ance at church. 
 
 The virulence and exaggeration with which these 
 charges are sometimes preferred betrays their animus. 
 Yet, if there be a grain of truth to be found in a bushel 
 of falsehood, we ought not to turn a deaf ear to it. It 
 would be odd indeed if, among 15,000 clergy, some, 
 when weighed in the balance, were not found wanting. 
 Sermons, no doubt, are preached — especially in country 
 parishes — which are often addressed more to the head 
 than to the heart, and therefore fail to touch it. Ser- 
 mons, no doubt, are preached which are illogical, or 
 discursive, and which almost provoke men of acute 
 reasoning power to get up and deny their premises or 
 conclusion. Edification, after all, ought to be the 
 primary consideration with the preacher and the hearer, 
 and not the gratification of itching ears. 
 
 To teach dogma is merely to state explicitly positive 
 truth. This was its primary signification ; but owing 
 to the laxity of modern times and the indifference to 
 positive truth, a secondary meaning has been given 
 to the word ; so that to be dogmatic is now to be 
 warped, intolerant, magisterial, and overbearing in the 
 enunciation of questions which are either unimportant 
 or ought to be considered as open. But for this very 
 reason we should be careful, while not conniving at 
 falsehood, to teach dogma in a manner not dogmatic, 
 but persuasive. 
 
2i6 JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 
 
 The foregoing pages formed part of the unfinished 
 Journal which my husband was preparing for publica- 
 tion, and which he carried with him to London when 
 he left Torquay, June 14, 1873. He had been under 
 an engagement for some weeks previously to visit his 
 father's and his own old friends, Lady Burdett Coutts 
 and Mrs. Brown, in Stratton Street, and at length he 
 left home somewhat unwillingly, as I was suffering from 
 the effects of a slight accident and could not go with him. 
 Although he had not spoken to . me of any absolute 
 presentiment of the change so close at hand, he had 
 arranged his affairs with the minutest faithfulness, and 
 when his library drawers and desks were opened after- 
 wards, his accounts and letters were found in the 
 strictest order, labelled with his usual clearness and 
 precision. He had seen during the fortnight before his 
 departure from Torquay all the friends he most cared 
 for, and had spoken privately to several intimates of 
 the nearness of the unseen state, and of the necessity of 
 living in hourly expectation of the dread summons. 
 For a long time past his own life had been ruled by 
 this supreme idea, and he had waited as one on the 
 shore of the unknown sea, on which at any moment he 
 might be called on to embark. This deep sense of the 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 217 
 
 uncertainty of earthly things never affected his genial 
 and happy nature. To the last he entered into all 
 that was mirthful and beautiful with the bright spirits 
 of youth. 
 
 The 'heart affluence in discursive talk, from house- 
 hold fountains never dry,' the ' high nature, amorous of 
 the good, but touched with no ascetic gloom,' lightened 
 and gladdened all around him even to the end. He 
 sent me daily long letters from London describing all 
 he saw, and full of regret that I could not share his 
 pleasure. On Monday, the 30th of June, his sixty- 
 seventh birthday, he wrote to me for the last time. He 
 had had a slight attack of cough, but it had ceased, 
 and though he felt ill, he was sitting up writing in the 
 library in Stratton Street. On the 3d of July a tele- 
 gram reached me, bidding me to come at once. It was 
 ordered by the Divine will that I should not be with him 
 at the last. He had passed peacefully away five hours 
 before I arrived in London. Two of his children and 
 his youngest son's wife were with him, and the friend 
 under whose roof he died stood by his bedside minister- 
 ing to him with tender kindness. 
 
 Those who knew him best can scarcely yet realise 
 that he has passed for ever from their sight. He was 
 so 'human-hearted' that old friends felt that all their 
 interests, joys, and sorrows found a ready response in 
 his loving nature. If to them his removal from their 
 daily paths was a sudden rending of the ties of ' auld 
 
2i8 JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 
 
 lang syne,' leaving a void never to be quite filled up, 
 how inexpressible is the loss to the wife and children, 
 whose lives he guided and blessed with such gracious 
 influence and unfailing sympathy ! 
 
 The example which his spirit of humility and charity 
 ever set before them was all the more precious from his 
 perfect self-unconsciousness, and every hour it is missed 
 and longed for with a deeper, tenderer grief. 
 
 ' All these have been, and thee mine eyes 
 Have looked on ; if they looked in vain, 
 My shame is greater who remain, 
 Nor let thy wisdom make me wise.' 
 
 E. A. G. Y. 
 Fairlight, April 1875. 
 
APPENDIX, 
 
I, 
 
 ON THE PROPER MODE OF CONDUCTING 
 THE CHURCH SERVICE. 
 
 [A paper read at a clerical meeting in a rural district.] 
 
 The lack of heartfelt interest in our Church services 
 generally displayed by our congregations, must be a 
 subject of common regret to us all. There is much in 
 the fact to sadden and to humble us. For if, on the one 
 hand, it forces on us the suspicion that deference to 
 hunian opinion, rather than obedience to the will of 
 God, is the chief incentive to Church-attendance, on the 
 other, it may well induce serious misgiving in our own 
 minds, whether we have exerted ourselves sufficiently to 
 enlighten our people in their ignorance, and to instil 
 into them clear conceptions of the intention, obligation, 
 and privilege of public worship. Well grounded our- 
 selves in the doctrines and principles of the Christian 
 faith, we are apt to take too much for granted as to the 
 natural intelligence and the acquired information of our 
 fldcks. In spite of the great extension of secular and 
 religious instruction during the last five-and-twenty 
 years, there still may be found below the surface of our 
 agricultural population a heavy residuum of crass 
 ignorance, which it will take a generation to remove. 
 However the intuitive acuteness of some, who can neither 
 read nor write, may have been whetted by friction with 
 superior intelligences, the majority of men and women 
 
222 THE CHURCH SERVICE. 
 
 who compose our audiences are in a state of intellectual 
 chaos — 'darkness, gross darkness, still covereth the 
 people' — and yet we administer divine truth, not in 
 infinitesimal doses — ^here a little, and there a little, line 
 upon line, precept upon precept, as they may be able 
 to bear it — but in indiscriminate wholesale quantity. 
 We rarely stop to ask ourselves whether, from natural 
 incapacity or want of adequate preparation, they may 
 not be unqualified to learn or inwardly digest what they 
 hear. If we offer them ' the truth as it is in Jesus,' we 
 seem to think our prescription must needs succeed. We 
 deliver our testimony, and pause not to inquire whether 
 it has been accepted. We draw our bow at a venture, 
 and are not over-curious to watch whether the arrow of 
 conviction has pierced through the harness and pene- 
 trated to the marrow. Now, I apprehend that as the 
 carpenter notes the toughness or tenderness of the wood 
 on which he is going to operate, and adapts the edge of 
 his tools to his work, so it would be well that we should 
 carefully examine the grain and quality of the rough 
 material with which we have to do before deciding on 
 the fittest instrumentality to employ. We ought to 
 remember that we have as much to do with diversities 
 of dispositions as the sower has to do with the dif- 
 ferent soils on which to sow his seed. Knowing our 
 seed to be good, we sow it broadcast and at random, 
 without considering whether all the ground has been 
 previously prepared for its reception. I conceive that 
 as our sowing is not limited to good ground, but includes 
 the wayside, the stony places, and the thorns as well, we 
 ought, as soon as we know our hearers, to classify them 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 223 
 
 in our minds under different heads, and rightly divide 
 the Word of truth to each in turn impartially. What is 
 the use of light if the light shine in darkness, and the 
 darkness comprehendeth it not? Admitting, as I do, 
 the insufficiency of mere knowledge for the formation of 
 Christian character, and the absurdity of trusting to 
 unaided reason without impression made on the heart, 
 or application of what is learnt to the conduct, I would 
 humbly ask, how is the heart to be reached but through 
 the avenue of the brain ? If the brain has lain for years 
 fallow and untilled, the heart must be inaccessible. It 
 has often struck me as a very pregnant fact that every 
 word in St. Paul's Epistles to Timothy and to Titus 
 refers to the instruction of the people. In the tenth 
 canon made by the Provincial Synod at Lambeth, in 
 the year 1281, it is directed that 'every parish priest 
 should explain the fundamental and necessary parts of 
 religion to the people every quarter.' In proportion, 
 then, as we desire the edification and ^he sanctification 
 of those committed to our charge ought we to treat the 
 majority as children, and, in the simplest and most 
 paternal manner, invite their confidence and encourage 
 them to state their special Scripture difficulties, and in 
 the cottage and ex cathedra do our best to solve them 
 by copious analogy and homely illustration. Unless we 
 do this, the greater part will remain, not only 'unlearned,' 
 but 'unstable' as water. Now, the best way of attracting 
 their confidence is by drawing them to us by the cords 
 of sympathy, and this is not to be done by periodical 
 assertion from the pulpit of our interest in their welfare 
 hereafter, unless we riianifest it by our participation in 
 
224 THE CHURCH SERVICE. 
 
 their personal, relative, and domestic trials, and even 
 pleasures, here. 
 
 We must recollect that, as in social intercourse, like 
 begets like, and our manners react on those of our 
 fellows ; so congregations, impressible and imitative as 
 they are, will insensibly be influenced by our mode of 
 conducting God's service. If we address our God in 
 tones of indifference, or if, by pompous or artificial 
 enunciation, we excite a suspicion of self-glorification on 
 our parts, we must not wonder if our fellow-worshippers 
 are undevout. If, on the contrary, our whole bearing, 
 from the moment of our quitting the vestry for the 
 reading-desk, denote that we left worldly thoughts 
 behind us as we entered the churchyard, that we feel 
 profoundly the magnitude and weight of temple-work, 
 that we have been with Jesus, that we realise the 
 Great Presence in which we are more immediately, 
 that we respect the place as ' none other than the 
 house of God and the gate of heaven' — if in confes- 
 sion we are penetrated with a sense of our own vile- 
 ness, if in invocation we mean what we say (our heart 
 being hot within us), if in thanksgiving we magnify 
 God with cordial fervour, if we declare his praise ' with 
 unfeigned lips,' if as we read his Word we show an 
 intelligent appreciation of its diversified contents (dis- 
 tinguishing narrative from dialogue, prophetic denun- 
 ciation from importunate supplication, the words of 
 Jesus from the words of any other Scripture character) 
 — we shall be sure to commend ourselves to the sym- 
 pathies of our fellow- worshippers, and probably infect 
 them with our example. Again, I hold it essential to 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 225 
 
 the end desired that 'the people' should be taught so 
 soon as they are able to learn, that in reading the 
 Liturgy they have definite duties as well as the minister, 
 and that the Liturgy can only be rightly read when 
 each party concerned performs the functions allotted 
 to him faithfully, feelingly, and conscientiously. Too 
 generally the common people rather overhear the 
 prayers of the Priest than unite with him in common 
 supphcation.' While, then, 'we take heed unto ourselves,' 
 we should take heed also unto them', and see that they 
 are properly taught their obligations in public worship. 
 There may be, no doubt, outward adoration and inward 
 atheism. Separate the spirit from the body, and the 
 man is dead ; separate the heart from the lip, and prayer 
 deserves not the name. But we can't pray in the spirit 
 unless we pray with knowledge. 
 
 A man must understand the words of Christ which 
 he hears, or they will not profit him ; if he understand 
 them, by God's grace, he may believe ; if he believe, he 
 will obey ; if he obey, he will be saved. By knowledge, 
 then, the understanding is quickened ; by fervency, the 
 affections ; by sincerity, the will — and all these combined 
 are necessary before prayer can be made in the spirit. 
 ' God is a Spirit, and they that worship him must wor- 
 ship him in spirit and in truth.' Decency and order 
 pretty generally obtain in our churches — but do spiritu- 
 ality and truthfulness "i Granted that the disrelish for 
 divine things, common to unrenewed natures, is one 
 
 1 People are deceived by the phrase united prayer. United prayer is 
 composed of units, and each unit should pray for himself. The conjoined 
 effect is united, but each is supposed to pray for himself, as a member ' in 
 particular' of Christ's body. 
 
 P 
 
226 THE CHURCH SERVICE. 
 
 great reason of their spiritual apathy, are we quite sure 
 that no blame rests at our door because of our supine- 
 ness ? So long as we confine our attention to our own 
 share in the public service of the Church, so long will 
 ' the reading of the Liturgy' be a mere shadow of what 
 it might be. It is meet, right, and our bounden duty, 
 then, to teach our congregations that, though we are, 
 par excellence, their priest, as the redeemed of God 
 priestly duties devolve on them, inasmuch as they are 
 about to present their prayers, their alms, their bodies, 
 souls, and spirits, as reasonable and living sacrifices to 
 God, and that it is one of the distinguishing excellencies 
 of our Liturgical service, that they have an ampler 
 share in it than is allowed in any other established form 
 of worship. Once impregnate them with this idea, they 
 will feel a relish for divine worship which they have 
 never known before. 
 
 The joining in the responses they will find keep alive 
 attention, promote fellowship, and give earnestness to 
 the whole character of worship. And here I speak from 
 happy experience. 
 
 I had not been long at Ilmington ere I dispensed 
 with the nasal services of the clerk, and made my choir, 
 some forty strong, lead the responses and pronounce 
 the Amens, and I soon found that those individuals who 
 used to keep obstinate silence from diffidence of the 
 sound of their own voices, emboldened by such a body 
 of sound, lifted up their voices without stint, while 
 the choir themselves, alive to their new responsibilities, 
 became scrupulous not to mar the unity and harmony 
 of their work by the omission of a single syllable it 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 227 
 
 devolved on them to utter. It has often struck me 
 as strange that the clergy, as a rule, should take so 
 little pains in drilling the soldiery of Christ in the 
 spiritual exercises of their profession. 
 
 Having troubled you with these preliminary remarks, 
 which I consider quite to bear on my subject, I proceed 
 to its more direct and practical consideration. 
 
 I learn, then, that the First Prayer-Book of King 
 Edward opened with the Lord's Prayer ; but that on its 
 reviewal it was considered too abrupt a commencement, 
 and therefore that the sentences with which our present 
 Prayer-Book begins were prefixed as a means of attun- 
 ing the minds of the worshippers to spirituality. And 
 here I would observe, in the first place, that the Minister 
 shall read one or more of these sentences with a loud 
 voice, and then say the 
 
 ' EXHORTATION.' 
 
 A distinction between reading and saying is obvious, 
 and therefore the Minister's first act on rising from 
 his knees should be rigidly to fix his eyes on the 
 words of Holy Writ, so as to call oflf the thoughts of 
 the congregation from external objects, and reduce 
 them as sinners to penitence. Then, raising his eyes 
 from the book, and directing them in turn to every 
 part of his audience, he should say, i.e. deliver memoriter, 
 his address in a tone natural and colloquial, and in a 
 manner grave, impressive, and kindly. 
 
 At the close of this ' Exhortation,' the Minister desires 
 the people to follow his lead, and say after him (not 
 read, but say), with pure heart and in an humble voice, 
 
2zS THE CHURCH SERVICE. 
 
 'THE GENERAL CONFESSION.' 
 
 And seeing that these directions are very rarely 
 attended to, we should take great care to make our 
 own confession with sincerity of heart, and then we are 
 sure to do so with humility of voice. Certainly the 
 loqd, confident, boisterous manner in which it is usually 
 uttered would seem to argue anything but meek self- 
 abasement. If there be an occasion on which one 
 would expect approach to the Mercy-seat to be charac- 
 terised by profounder awe of spirit than on another, it is 
 when we are about publicly to lay bare our hearts 
 before our God, acknowledging and bewailing our mani- 
 fold sins and infirmities, and therefore we ought to tell 
 our people how this pathetic and comprehensive form 
 should be delivered. Each should feel as if alone with 
 God, save for that social sympathy which constitutes 
 one of the reasons why public worship was instituted. 
 
 Instead of overwhelming the Minister with their voci- 
 feration, instead of overlapping the sentences by volu- 
 bility, each clause should be enunciated slowly and 
 lowly, with closed eyes and uplifted hands, pausing after 
 each sentence, to give the penitents time to ponder the 
 weight of their own words, recall them to a sense of 
 their own vileness and of the ' Presence ' they are in, 
 and thus impart to them something of the power of god- 
 liness. I found great difficulty in getting my people to 
 make the General Confession as solemnly as if it were 
 particular. At last, however, I have succeeded in getting 
 them to utter it, with bated breath and in subdued 
 accents, as I would have it. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 229 
 
 ' The confession ' ended, there should be a decent 
 pause made by the Priest, so that the transition from 
 the attitude of penitence to the assertion of delegated 
 power should not be too startling. Gradually rising 
 from his knees, he should stand and confidently de- 
 clare, for the general consolation, that, on the fulfilment 
 of certain conditions, he is authorised to pronounce 
 their 
 
 ABSOLUTION. 
 
 This should be declared as from an ambassador pro- 
 claiming with dignity and simplicity the gracious will of 
 his sovereign ; and as we desire our Lord to present 
 our persons and prayers, expecting their success only 
 through His Blood and Intercession, we should in- 
 variably lay a gentle emphasis on the words, ' through 
 Christ,' in recognition of His mediatorial office. 
 
 The direction in the Rubric which follows the Absolu- 
 tion enjoins the people at the end of all the prayers to 
 say Amen. Nothing is more delightful than to hear 
 this done with cordial thoroughness ; nothing is more 
 painful than to hear it done flaggingly and tamely, as 
 if the supplicants did not care to ratify their petition 
 with their unfeigned assent and consent. O for the 
 day when our fellow-worshippers shall emulate the zeal 
 of the primitive Christians (whose delivery of this word 
 was like a clap of thunder), and carry their petitions to 
 the throne of grace by, general acclamation ! 
 
230 THE CHURCH SERVICE. 
 
 OF THE lord's PRAYER. 
 
 All the preceding parts of the service have been 
 rather a preparation for prayer than prayer itself. After 
 the avowal of our repentance for our disobedience against 
 our God, and having absolved our hearers in Christ's 
 Name, we are now better qualified to address him in 
 the language of faith, as Abba, 'Our Father.' And 
 here I would submit that, whereas our frequent and 
 familiar use of this prayer is apt to superinduce a free 
 and easy utterance, it ought to be given, though audi- 
 bly, solemnly, and deliberately, as the prayer of 
 prayers. 
 
 OF THE VERSICLES OR RESPONSES. 
 
 Their design being, ' by a grateful variety to quicken 
 the people's devotions, and engage their attention, as 
 were the Minister to do all, they would grow sleepy and 
 heedless,' Priest and people alike having alternated their 
 petitions, and having a confidence that pardon has been 
 granted, all stand up, and the uplifting of their voices 
 denoting the elevation of their hearts, give glory to the 
 Trinity for the hopes they entertain. 
 
 The Penitential office being finished, 'the Priest,' 
 addressing the congregation, exhorts them in a clear, 
 strong voice to commence the office of praise. 
 
 95 TH PSALM. 
 
 Though the Rubric leaves it to the option of the 
 •Minister and people to say, or to sing this Psalm, the 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 231 
 
 invariable practice in St. Ambrose's time (and long 
 after), and the opening words of the Psalm themselves, 
 determined me to prefer the singing them. To read the 
 Psalm, and yet say, ' O come, let us sing! seems to me 
 a self-evident incongruity. For a long time I used to 
 dislike chanting, as unsuitable to the village church, and 
 as aping the more imposing ritual of the cathedral. 
 Where it is distasteful to the people themselves, I still 
 think its introduction should be deprecated ; but I have 
 been taught that, the prejudice once overcome, it is 
 greatly enjoyed by the poor ; it gives life and variety to 
 the service, and is more consistent with the meaning of 
 true psalmody. One great advantage I have enjoyed 
 since I have introduced the chanting of the canticles 
 has been the opportunity it has afforded me, during 
 week-day rehearsals, of analysing them into their con- 
 stituent elements, and in explaining to my flock why 
 and where they should sing loudly or softly, imparting 
 to them thus a significance which, but for such tuition, 
 would have been hidden from them. 
 
 THE FIRST AND SECOND LESSONS. 
 
 As to the best mode of reading the Lessons there is 
 a great diversity of opinion. Some insist on their 
 being read monotonously. I have no sympathy 
 with this opinion. I hold that the reader's manner 
 should vary with the matter read. If David mourns 
 for the death of Absalom, I conceive the words 
 ' O Absalom, my son ! my son ! ' should be read in 
 tones of intense anguish. If Elijah taunts the priests of 
 
232 THE CHURCH SERVICE. 
 
 Baal in the language of irony, I think his words should 
 be given in the tone in which such language would be 
 uttered. In reading the 'words of our Lord, I think we 
 cannot be too calm, and generally dispassionate ; I say 
 generally, because a slight increase, rather suggestive 
 than actually expressive, of warmth, might be given in 
 such passages as those in which he is denouncing woe 
 on the Pharisees and Scribes, or is upbraiding the un- 
 thankfulness of Chorazin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum ; 
 as, assuredly, difference of tone should be given when he 
 is praying to his Father, or praising him for his wisdom, 
 in revealing the gospel to the simple. Of course, every- 
 thing approaching to action in the reading-desk is repre- 
 hensible. Even change of voice, cadence, inflection, 
 will be objected to by some. For myself, I can only 
 say that, not only might I quote the testimony of the 
 greatest living authorities in favour of a chastened im- 
 personation in reading dialogue from the Scriptures, but 
 the invariable appreciation of it by the poor. They say 
 the Lessons read after such fashion bring vividly before 
 their mind's eye the scenes and the persons described, 
 and make a real and lasting impression on them — as 
 good as a sermon ! 
 
 It has been said that good reading, though helpful to 
 the illiterate, is a distraction to the educated auditor, 
 inasmuch as attention is diverted from the subject- 
 matter to the reader. If this be true of good reading, 
 how much more must it be the case with bad reading, 
 which not only provokes the contemptuous criticism of 
 the intelligent, and offends the taste of the refined, but 
 actually misleads the judgment of the ignorant .■' 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 233 
 
 The ' Te Deum ' and the ' Benedictus ' being hymns, 
 the ' Benedicite ' a canticle, the ' Jubilate,' the ' Can- 
 tate,' the ' Deus miseratur,' being psalms, the ' Nunc 
 Dimittis ' being a song, I must think where a choir (even 
 though it cost trouble) can be got up, they ought to be 
 sung. I rejoice to perceive the taste and cultivation of 
 sacred music spreading. It is a great help to devotional 
 feeling. It is a great means of attraction. Of this the 
 Roman Catholics and Dissenters are perfectly aware, 
 and accordingly they introduce it largely into their ser- 
 vices. There is no doubt that the highest end for which 
 the faculty of speech was given is the praise of God ; and 
 if we make ' psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs,' 
 of secondary importance, we shall not be fit to take 
 part in the anthems of praise which are chanted before 
 the throne of the Eternal Jehovah. 
 
 THE CREED. 
 
 Having recently heard the Word of God twice read, 
 we now profess our faith in the Trinity, the Incarnation, 
 in Remission of sins here, and in the Resurrection to 
 Eternal Life hereafter. The Apostles', as also the 
 Nicene and Athanasian Creeds, being of a totally 
 different character from prayer, each clause should be 
 delivered staccato, audibly, and resolutely, as professing 
 our faith and protesting against heresy. The congre- 
 gation being now about to enter more especially on the 
 work of prayer and supplication the Minister blesses 
 them, and the people return his salutation as if they 
 really felt towards him as his brethren in the Lord 
 should feel. 
 
234 THE CHURCH SERVICE. 
 
 When, immediately after, the Minister calls on the 
 people to pray, he should do so very earnestly ; 
 eKTevSx; herjOwfiev are the words, and in repeating the 
 words ' Lord have mercy upon us,' let the second time 
 of his doing so be with redoubled earnestness and fer- 
 vour, as if the services in which he had hitherto been 
 engaged had quickened his perceptions of God's great- 
 ness and glory, and the exceeding sinfulness of sin. 
 Here the Lord's Prayer, the Versicles, and the three 
 Collects, follow ; and at the end of the last (that for 
 Grace), in choirs and places where they sing, the anthem 
 or hymn should follow. It is not only the proper place 
 appointed for us, but the appropriate place, for up to 
 this point we have been praying for ourselves. That 
 which is to follow is mostly intercessional. It is also 
 a relief to the congregation, who, if they have given their 
 minds and hearts to the foregoing parts of the office, 
 may be somewhat wearied by the tension. 
 
 THE LITANY. 
 
 I have nothing to say on this branch of my subject, 
 except that I conceive that though the general tone 
 should be earnest and equable, yet that there are cer- 
 tain positions in which our intonation and inflection of 
 voice should be modified by the force of the words, and 
 our own feeling of them. 
 
 On Good Friday 1773, Boswell tells us he went to 
 church with Johnson. He says, ' I never shall forget 
 the tremulous earnestness with which he pronounced 
 
"JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 235 
 
 the awful petition in the Litany, " In hour of death, and 
 in day of judgment, good Lord deliver us." ' 
 
 THE PRAYER OF ST. CHRYSOSTOM. 
 
 The words ' as may be most expedient for them ' 
 ought to be read with marked meaning, implying 
 that, as we might have asked what it might not be for 
 our welfare to have granted, we would submit ourselves 
 wholly to His holy will and pleasure. The Grace, not 
 to be delivered as a blessing, but as a benedictory 
 prayer. 
 
 [These hints were offered at a Rure-decanal Chapter held at Ilming- 
 ton many years since, and were not intended for publication. All present, 
 including the late distinguished Arthur Haddon, were earnest in approval 
 of the suggestions as applicable to the services of the Church in rural 
 parishes. ] 
 
II.— SERMONS. 
 
 I. 
 
 ' A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another ; as I 
 have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men 
 know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.' — 
 John xiii. 34, 35. 
 
 Here we have a royal proclamation of universal 
 obligation issued in the tone of rightful authority by 
 him who, till the moment he uttered it, had been as one 
 that served. He declares it to be a new commandment, 
 and so it was. Not that its novelty consisted in his 
 ordering his disciples to love one another (for to love 
 their neighbour as themselves was the very pith and 
 essence of the Mosaic law, with which the Jews had 
 been familiar from their cradles), but in the new 
 extent, the new manner, the new model, and the new 
 motive by which the ordinance was enforced, — ' as I have 
 loved you.' Natural love, the love which is founded on 
 instincts of flesh and blood, and on the considerations 
 of interest and pleasure, is a very ancient one indeed, 
 for it is as old as the world. Such love is found in 
 exercise among bad and good, such love is the common 
 property of beasts as well as men, — for every animal, 
 from the tiger to the hen, loves its own ; but the love 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 237 
 
 with which our Lord would have us love our neighbour 
 is a new love, because it is supernatural, and makes us 
 love our neighbour for God's sake. 
 
 He who had set in his own person the most marvel- 
 lous example of obedience, even to the death on the 
 cross, now insists that, as he had proved his love for 
 them, so that they who would follow him must prove 
 their love to him by taking up their cross, and laying 
 down their lives, if need be, for the brethren. This was 
 to be the badge and the test of the heartiness and sin- • 
 cerity of their discipleship. True, the heavenly host 
 might recognise them by the new name inscribed upon 
 their brow ; but their fellow-men were to distinguish 
 them from an ungodly world by their practical fulfil- 
 ment of this impressive injunction, 'that ye love one 
 another.' 
 
 On this text I would ground two arguments. The 
 first is, that the love of Christ should inspire us with a 
 benevolent construction of each other's conduct. 
 
 If it be true that the gospel lays the axe to the root 
 of bitterness and strife, it is no less true that it sows in 
 the hearts of those who embrace it the gracious princi- 
 ples of peace and unity. We see a whole garland of 
 these sweet flowers growing in one bed in Gal. v. 22. 
 Hark, ' Love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, 
 goodness, faith, meekness, temperance ' ! The spirit of 
 self-denial which prefers in honour another before self ; 
 the spirit of long-suffering, which is not easily provoked, 
 of gentleness which, if moved by wrong, is still open to 
 reconciliation, and is easy to be entreated ; — this is not 
 fruit that we can gather off every hedge — no, it is the 
 
238 SERMONS. 
 
 fruit of the Spirit. It is a rare fruit, only produced 
 from gospel seed, and, alas ! rarely met with in these 
 our palmy days of loud-tongued profession. It is a 
 state of things, however, foretold by our blessed Master: 
 ' The love of many shall wax cold.' (Self-love waxes 
 hot enough.) It was foretold again by his servant Paul : 
 ' In the last days men shall be lovers of their own selves.' 
 I confess that, in spite of the nominal extension of 
 gospel principles, in spite of the instances of religious 
 devotedness, zeal, and sacrifice which might be cited, 
 I think that our lot is cast in days of imminent peril to 
 vital godliness. I apprehend that among many other 
 assignable reasons for this state of things there are two 
 which are paramount, — the one, the spurious and 
 fashionable credit which attaches to the mere profession 
 of piety, and which engenders a cheap and conventional, 
 a superficial and ostentatious, a talking and not a doing 
 religion, a religion therefore lacking reality, depth, sub- 
 stance, effort ; the other is the baleful wind of con- 
 troversy which has lately set in upon our land with so 
 much force and virulence, and which has given an un- 
 timely check to many favoured spots in the garden of 
 our Lord, which were a few years ago blossoming like 
 the rose, and replete with the products of faith, hope, 
 and charity. The consequence is, our platforms are 
 filled with busy agitators, our pulpits with unquiet 
 spirits, our domestic hearths with relative estrangements. 
 I hope in what I am going to say I am not going to 
 water the noxious weed I would fain tear up by the 
 .roots, but let me ask you, friends, — think you, in your 
 inmost hearts, that the temper and deportment of the 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 239 
 
 different partisans in the ecclesiastical warfare now 
 waging is in harmony with the spirit inculcated in my 
 text ? Love is to the soul what animal heat is to the 
 body — it gives vigour, and enables it to perform all the 
 offices of life. But is unkindly interpretation, and 
 arbitrary censure, and the dogmatic assumption of right, 
 the becoming livery of servants whose specific message 
 is the gospel of peace, whose duty it is to direct others 
 to walk in the way of peace, whose orders are to pray 
 in behalf of the Church f9r the increase of peace, and 
 whose dying wish will be that they may depart in 
 peace ? Why, if we are ' the elect of God, holy and 
 beloved,' we shall ' put on bowels of mercy, kindness, 
 humbleness of mind, meekness.' If we are the subjects 
 of divine grace, we shall long to be the channel of it to 
 others, we shall walk in wisdom towards them that are 
 without, we shall try to tempt others to taste and see 
 how gracious the Lord is, by making our own religion 
 attractive and of good report, not repulsive and unlove- 
 able ; we shall cultivate a discreet moderation in pur- 
 suit of the things we deem right, and put a charitable 
 interpretation on the acts and opinions of others. What 
 if one man prefer to sing the Psalms, and another to 
 read them .' What if one man prefer to preach in a 
 gown, and another in a surplice .' What if one man 
 like to turn to the east as he rehearses his creed, and 
 another prefer not to do so .' What if one man thihk 
 gesture and the outward demonstration of reverence is 
 a mode of glorifying God in his body, and another is 
 content with the inward prostration of his spirit ? — Is the 
 body of Christ to be divided for such matters of mint 
 
240 SERMONS. 
 
 and cummin — if on both sides the heart be right 
 with God, and each love the Lord Jesus in sincerity 
 and truth ? The kingdom of God does not stand in 
 meats and drinks, or aesthetics, but in holiness, right- 
 eousness, godliness, charity, peace, and obedience. 
 
 Is it then right that slight infirmities of judgment 
 should disarm us of charity ? Mephibosheth was a 
 cripple, but the perfect love of Jonathan cured or covered 
 his impotency. While we are men we must be infirm, 
 and we shall not quarrel with each other's infirmities if 
 we are Christians. What is religion after all } Love. 
 Love is the fulfilling of the law. Oh that in our many 
 controversies we went back to first principles, and remem- 
 bered the apostle's sentiment — ' though he spake with 
 the tongues of men and angels,' though he had the com- 
 bined eloquence of the highest seraph or the greatest 
 orator, though he gave his property to feed the poor, or 
 died at the stake as a martyr, yet, if he had not Chris- 
 tian love, he could not be saved ! The world stands by 
 witnessing our miserable disputes, and secretly asking. 
 Where is their religion, if religion be love } Let us recol- 
 lect that all the works of God in nature, and all the ways 
 of God in providence, are stamped with unity in essen- 
 tials, diversity in circumstantials. There are diversities 
 of administrations, but the same Lord ; and there are 
 diversities of operations, but the same Spirit. Surely, 
 then, men of diversified opinions on matters of ritual 
 and ceremonial may be borne with by their non-fallible 
 brethren, so long as they hold the fundamental verities 
 in common. I confess (cheaply as a neutral may be held 
 for wishing the peace of all parties, and caring for . the 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 241 
 
 prejudices of none) I believe that all baptised Chris- 
 tians, who know and bewail their own sinfulness, who 
 look to the same Saviour, who seek to imitate him in 
 their lives, will attain to the same salvation ; and though 
 their names may not be found in the records of a parti- 
 cular church on earth, where charity faileth, yet that 
 they will be found written in the Lamb's book of life, 
 and shall for ever be joined in the fellowship of the 
 Church Catholic in heaven. Oh for the day when there 
 shall be free and unrestricted converse with the ear- 
 nest-minded and holy-living of all parties ! Oh for the 
 day when men shall be modest in assertion and gentle 
 in judgment towards all whose consciences have deter- 
 mined them in another direction, and instead of jump- 
 ing to conclusions without caution, shall be ready to 
 believe that others have sought truth by the same 
 means they have themselves — by meditation, by study 
 of God's Word, and by prayer. In the controversy 
 between Abraham and Lot's servants, who was the 
 readiest for peace? Abraham, the elder and the 
 stronger saint. He craved it at the hands of his 
 nephew, who was every way his inferior ; and so Paul, 
 as he excelled most others in Christian grace, so did he 
 most others in Christian love. He who had breathed 
 out threatenings and slaughter while a Pharisee, when 
 a Christian breathed forth nothing but love in Jesus 
 Christ to all mankind — Jew, Gentile, circumcision, uncir- 
 cumcision, bond and free. 
 
 The second point which I want to make with you 
 is, that the love of Christ should excite in us a tender 
 sympathy for the wants and distresses of others. In 
 
 Q 
 
242 SERMONS. 
 
 addressing you as strangers, I am bound to assume 
 that your religion is something more than a mere verbal 
 profession, periodical homage, or unsubstantial formal- 
 ism. Called on to preach to you and plead with you 
 in behalf of a Scriptural institution, and as a Christian 
 minister, from this place I dismiss all notions of your 
 secularity. I presume you recognise, as Christians, 
 your Christian obligations, and are anxious to embody 
 Christian practice in your lives. I disclaim, as I pre- 
 sume you will, all idea of a Christian philanthropy apart 
 from membership with Christ. As members incorporate 
 of a Body of which Christ Jesus' is the mystical Head, I 
 regard you as impelled by one heart and one mind, and 
 as having learned the claims of brotherly love in the 
 sublimest of all schools, — at the foot of the Cross. 
 Taking for granted that Baptism has led you to Holy 
 Communion, and Communion to Christ, I am bound 
 never to overlook that intimate relationship which exists 
 between the Divine Head and the members of His 
 Body. The broad principles of the Holy Catholic Church, 
 throughout the whole of Christendom, however circum- 
 stances, education, or temperament may modify their 
 development, are unchangeable. What the Head is, 
 that must the Body be ; and the Head is the same yes- 
 terday, to-day, and for ever. And as in the human 
 body it is the head which weighs and wills, remembers 
 and judges, so in the spiritual Head are hid all the 
 treasures of wisdom and knowledge. As in the human 
 body no one member can suffer or rejoice without the 
 head feeling with it, so in the Lord Jesus we have 
 a great High Priest who is touched with the feeling 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 243 
 
 of our infirmities,, who suffers with His people, and is 
 glorified in them. The fount of our Saviour's sympathy 
 is never dry. Brother never so loved brother, husband 
 never so cared for wife, as Jesus loves his spiritual Bride. 
 Not one member of His Body is persecuted or oppressed 
 but He suffers in all their sufferings. When Saul's hands 
 were imbrued in the blood of His saints, mark how our 
 Lord appropriates the wrongs to Himself : ' Saul, Saul, 
 why persecutest thou meV A cup of cold water given 
 to His people. He has told us He will consider as kind- 
 ness done to Himself: that we often remember. An 
 offence done to our neighbour is an offence committed 
 against Him : that we are sadly prone to forget. ' He 
 that toucheth you,' saith our Lord, ' toucheth the apple 
 of my eye ;' and He has warned us that His testimony at 
 the great day will be, ' I was an hungered and ye gave 
 me meat ; I was thirsty and ye gave me drink ; I was 
 a stranger and ye took me in ; naked, and ye clothed 
 me ; sick, and ye visited me.' 
 
 See how He the Head identifies Himself with the 
 members of His family. If, then, brethren, ye have not 
 the spirit of Christ, ye are none of His. You are then 
 only Christians in name, and I am addressing you on 
 mistaken grounds. But if you are indeed His faithful 
 servants, you will admit that, as vital limbs of a great 
 Christian community, you cannot be single or selfish in 
 your affections. ' You are not your own ; you are 
 bought with a price.' Your shoulders are not your 
 own : ' you must bear one another's burdens.' Your 
 hands are not your own : ' working with your hands the 
 thing that is good.' Your hearts are not your own : 
 
244 SERMONS. 
 
 ' set your hearts and souls to seek the family of God.' 
 The language of each will be, ' Who is weak, and I am 
 not weak ? who is offended, and I burn not ? ' As Chiris- 
 tians, ye are men, but something more, — earthly saints, 
 living temples of the Holy Ghost. Your charity will 
 exclude no one that bears the human face divine ; it 
 will pour itself forth on all men, but especially on the 
 household of faith. The tie which binds you together 
 is a tie which death only can dissolve. Distance, so far 
 from weakening, will confirm it. If you see this exem- 
 plified in the commercial intercourse between different 
 nations: — if you see the inhabitants of one country culti- 
 vating the products of the earth, and exchanging them 
 for the manufactures of another — if you see it in the 
 various distinctions ordained of God — if you see the 
 rich man benefiting the poor, and the poor toiling for 
 the rich^he king protecting his subjects, and the sub- 
 jects contributing to the support of the king — if you 
 perceive that difference of ranks is only a summons 
 to the exercise of different duties, — -how far truer is 
 it of Christians ! With them there is a reciprocal 
 dependence, which St. Paul speaks of as follows : — 
 'The eye cannot say to the hand, I have no need 
 of thee : nor again the head to the feet, I have no 
 need of you.' They have all their respective uses ; 
 each is necessairy to the beauty, strength, and per- 
 fection of the whole. A most instructive lesson may 
 be derived from observing carefully the salutations at 
 the close of the apostle's epistles. Those persons who 
 sent the kind and charitable remembrances to each other 
 often had -never seen each other in the flesh, yet were 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 245 
 
 they knit together by the bonds of common member- 
 I ship to Jesus, and therefore was there this tender solici- 
 tude for each other's welfare — they rejoiced with them 
 that rejoiced, they wept with them that wept, they 
 were drawn to each other ' with the cords of a man' in 
 all forms of distress, in mind, body, or estate. Was 
 there one in prison like St. Peter i" — prayer was put up 
 for him continually in all the churches. Was there a 
 threat of famine .-' — then did the brethren determine, 
 each according to his ability, to send relief to their 
 brethren in Judea. And so, brethren, to apply this 
 subject, the same spirit must shine forth in ourselves. 
 Whatever the wants of those bound with us in the 
 same mystical body, temporal or spiritual, if we be 
 members of Christ, we must feel for then;i as our fellow- 
 heirs. We must prove our faith by our works, we must 
 test our sanctity by that true touchstone, our love for 
 our brethren — for how can we love God, whom we have 
 not seen, if we love not our brother, whom we have seen .' 
 ' By God actions are weighed.' The strength of the 
 archer's arm when he draws his bow is seen by the force 
 with which the arrow flies. So the strength of our faith 
 may be known by the force with which our love moijnts 
 to God, and rebounds upon our fellow-creatures. Would 
 you have nought saved but yourselves } Say you. Love 
 begins at home ? So it may. We are to do good, especi- 
 ally, no doubt, unto the household of faith. You are worse 
 than infidels if you provide not for your own ; but 
 when your duty is performed to them, widen your 
 charity, recollect what an extensive signification is 
 given by our Lord to the word neighbour. As Abraham 
 
246 SERMONS. 
 
 pleaded for Sodom, though himself far removed from 
 danger, so do you for the whole nation. As the heart 
 advances in grace it grows more public-spirited The 
 higher we mount a hill the wider becomes our prospect. 
 The carnal soul thinks of none but himself, whereas 
 grace elevates and expands the soul, and the more 
 grace a man has the more it will enable him to look 
 from himself into the condition of his brethren. He 
 partakes of the nature of the heavenly bodies, who shed 
 their influences down on the whole world. The Chris- 
 tian's love keeps pace with his faith, and as the heat of 
 the day increases as the sun gets higher, so the higher 
 faith lifts up Christ in the Christian the more thorough 
 will his love to man become, the more certainly will he 
 long to work for him, after the pattern of Him who 
 lived and suffered, died and rose again for us. 
 
 H. 
 
 ' And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into 
 heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto 
 Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord 
 hath made known unto us. ' — Luke ii. 15. 
 
 It was the dead of night. The last rays of the set- 
 ting sun had died away from over the western hills ; the 
 high clouds nearest the sunset had long since lost the 
 golden tints and deepened into blackness ; the last twi- 
 light had faded, and no traces were left where the bright 
 star had gone down ; the sounds of life had all died 
 away ; the folded cattle had all ceased their lowings ; 
 the footfall of the traveller, as he urged his homeward 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 247 
 
 way, was no longer heard on the road to Bethlehem ; the 
 flocks of sheep were all gathered together for the night, 
 and the shepherds were keeping watch during the silent 
 hours of darkness. What is that blaze of light that 
 breaks in upon them ? What is that burst of bright- 
 ness that lights up all around — fields, trees, the sloping 
 hill-side of the deep valley ? Is it a flash of lightning ? 
 Is it some simple meteor coursing in fiery splendour 
 through the sky ? The shepherds look up : a form of 
 light and glory and heavenly majesty is hovering in the 
 air above them. It is the glory of the Lord which shines 
 about them. It is the messenger of Jehovah that stands 
 over them. They are in the presence of a spirit. Their 
 heart trembles ; their flesh shrinks ; they are sore afraid. 
 The gentle angel sees their fears ; the ministering spirit 
 looks with love on those heirs of salvation, and says, 
 ' Fear not : for, behold, I bring you good tidings of 
 great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you 
 is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour, which 
 is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you ' 
 — this shall be a token or proof by which you shall 
 know the Saviour — 'ye shall find the babe wrapped in 
 swaddling clothe.s, lying in a manger.' Scarcely were 
 the words uttered by the angel, when suddenly the air 
 seemed in one instant alive with forms of glory ; there 
 passed forth on all sides myriads of heavenly beings ; 
 wherever the awe-struck eye glanced, there it saw bright 
 angels hovering ; and there burst from that heavenly 
 host, as from thousands of voices in perfect unison, this 
 song of praise to God : ' Glory to God in the highest, 
 and on earth peace, good-will toward men.' A little 
 
248 SERMONS. 
 
 while, and that song of praise has ceased ; the rejoic- 
 ing multitude has gone up into heaven, and the dark- 
 ness and silence of deep night have settled once 
 more over the fields. But not so over the hearts of 
 those simple shepherds. To them a light has sprung 
 up ; the salvation of God, so eagerly longed for, is at 
 length come ; the long-expected Messiah is in the 
 world ; the Saviour, the anointed One, the Lord, is born, 
 and they are told where they may find him. The shep- 
 herds say, ' Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and 
 see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord 
 hath made known unto us.' There is no delay. Off 
 they set at once ; they make all speed ; they soon 
 reach the city of David ; they find the appointed sign 
 in the stable of the village inn ; they find a gentle 
 woman and a meek and humble man standing near, and 
 the Babe, as the angel had said, wrapped in swathing 
 bands and lying in a manger. There was no gilded 
 cradle there, no royal pomp, no purple or fine linen. 
 Though that gentle mother was directly descended from 
 David's royal house, though that little child was the 
 heir of David's crown and sceptre, he was cradled in a 
 manger, His birthplace was the stable of an inn. 
 
 But who is this Babe, whose birth this glorious mes- 
 senger of God's own courts above announces to man, 
 and at whose birth the very choir of heaven pour out 
 the sweetest song .■" That Babe is He on whom God 
 Himself fixed the expectation of our fallen parents, as 
 they stood trembling before their God, deserving and 
 expecting punishment, yet receiving the promise of 
 Divine mercy, when God said, ' The Seed of the woman 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 249 
 
 shall bruise the serpent's head.' That Babe is the Lord 
 God, who should 'dwell in the tents of Shem' — the 
 Eternal Word made flesh, and dwelling in the tabernacle 
 of a human body. That Babe is the seed of Abraham, 
 ' in whom all the families of the earth shall be blessed.' 
 That Babe is the true Isaac, God's Son, only, well be- 
 loved, who shall carry the wood for His own Sacrifice up 
 the same Moriah, shall die there, and yet come forth alive 
 to those who are waiting his coming. That Child is the 
 true Joseph, loved by his father, hated by his brethren ; 
 who is come to his own, but his own will not receive 
 him ; who shall be sold by the real Judah for thirty 
 pieces of silver (the price of a slave) ; shall go down 
 into the pit, that by the blood of his covenant he may 
 deliver the prisoners out of that pit ' wherein there is no 
 water,' and shall, go before to prepare a place for his 
 brethren, ' that when they fail they may be received 
 into everlasting habitations,' even into the true Goshen 
 — the best part of the land of plenty — and may see Him 
 whom they sold as a slave made higher than all, and 
 every knee bowing to Him whom they once despised 
 and hated. That Babe is the Shepherd of Israel, whom 
 dying Jacob saw afar off ; the Shiloh who should come 
 when the sceptre had departed, and who was now born 
 in Bethlehem because, by God's appointment, a foreign 
 conqueror had commanded the Jews to go, each to his 
 own city, to be enrolled. That Babe is the ' rod of the 
 stem of Jesse,' and the Branch that should rise out of his 
 roots. That Babe is at once the root and offspring of David 
 — David's son after the flesh, but David's Lord after 
 the Spirit, of whom he wrote, ' The Lord said unto my 
 
250 SERMONS. 
 
 Lord, Sit thou on my right hand, until I make thine 
 enemies thy footstool.' That Babe is the Governor who 
 should feed God's people Israel, whose goings forth 
 have been of old, from everlasting.' That Babe is the 
 Child who should be born ; the Son who should be given 
 to us ; on whose shoulder the government of heaven 
 and earth should rest ; who should wear at his girdle 
 the keys of death and hell, and whose name shall be 
 called ' Wonderful, Counsellor, the Mighty God, the 
 Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.' That Babe is 
 ' Immanuel, God with us.' In that Child ' dwelleth all 
 the fulness of the Godhead bodily.' In Him, who has 
 taken upon Himself ' the form of a servant,' dwelleth the 
 Almighty Master of the universe ; the Creator is there, 
 ' God manifest in the flesh,' and ' seen of angels ;' and 
 He who as God cannot die, has become man that He 
 may die, that by His death the sinners who deserved 
 death may have life eternal. In that Babe God and 
 man are brought together into one person, never to be 
 divided ; for those who beheld His glory when on earth, 
 * beheld the glory as of the only-begotten of the Father, 
 full of grace and truth,' and they who shall see His glory 
 in heaven shall behold the glory of God himself in the 
 face of Jesus Christ. 
 
 If we, brethren, had gone with the simple Jewish 
 shepherds to Bethlehem, and had seen the thing which 
 then came to pass, we should have seen only what they 
 saw outwardly — a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes ; 
 and yet that Babe was and is all that God, ' by his holy 
 prophets since the world began,' said that the Christ 
 should be. That Child's face showed no outward re- 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 231 
 
 splendency ; it was not luminous, as was the martyr 
 Stephen's, as he stood on the brink of eternal glory, 
 and as there poured from the world of light a streak of 
 that glory on his dying face ; and yet the glory of God 
 was there, and there were those who saw that glory and 
 believed on it. These shepherds believed the revelation 
 of God; their simple hearts felt no doubts. God had 
 made known to them that the Saviour was born, and 
 born for them and for all people,^ and they believed the 
 record, and set to their seal that God is true. The angel 
 indeed had disappeared, the heavenly host returned to 
 the courts above, the song of jubilee died away on the 
 midnight air, but they never could forget that night. 
 They were all witnesses of what had happened ; they 
 believed that that Babe was the Christ, ' and they made 
 known abroad the saying which was told them concern- 
 ing the child.' That child grew into a man. When He 
 came forth, still no outward beauty could be seen — no 
 divine brightness glittered in His face. But once, and 
 then only to three witnesses, did He put forth the glory 
 which He had with the Father before the world was. 
 But once did His face shine as the sun, and His raiment 
 glitter as the light. His true character. His real glory, 
 was known to few ; and yet proofs were not wanting. 
 It was the eye to see them that was wanting ; it was 
 the heart to feel them ; it was the honest, guileless heart 
 to receive them, that was wanting. 
 
 Multitudes, as we know, crowded round that humble 
 man, but manyof them did follow Him, because they 
 did eat of the loaves and were filled. Multitudes fol- 
 lowed Him, but it was because they could get their sick 
 
252 'SERMONS. 
 
 healed. They came to him as a great Physician, for He 
 touched the eyes of the blind, and they saw ; the ear of 
 the deaf, and it was unstopped ; the tongue of the dumb, 
 and he sang ; the lame, and he leaped like a hart ; the 
 leper, and he was cleansed ; the very dead, and they 
 lived, sat up, and walked. But how few of those multi- 
 tudes knew Him ; how few beheld His true glory ; how 
 few believed that that meek and lowly man was the 
 Saviour of the world ! There were millions in Pales- 
 tine who had seen His works and heard His, words, 
 but how few out of those millions believed that He was 
 the Christ, the Son of God ! How many out of the 
 crowds that had cried ' Hosanna' one day, joined in the 
 cruel cry, ' Crucify him,' the next ! 
 
 No, brethren, the world knew Him not. The great 
 mass of men had no eye to see the moral proofs 
 of his true character — no heart to value that evidence 
 which unruffled meekness, unswerving truth, unwearied 
 patience, unflinching courage, untiring zeal, unspotted 
 holiness, inexhaustible benevolence, gave to the perfec- 
 tion of His manhood, as the stupendous works which He 
 did by His mere word and thought gave to the truth of 
 the Godhead. It was the simple shepherds, and such as 
 they — childlike, humble, guileless, honest, earnest men 
 — who did believe ; and such as they were those who 
 received him then, and such are those who receive him 
 now, few though they be. The world, brethren, is not 
 changed ; it is the same world still, and will be to the 
 end. ' Me,' said the Saviour, ' it hateth, because I 
 testify concerning it, that the deeds thereof are evil.' 
 The Cross may glitter on the splendid building, as it 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 253 
 
 does over what is called Christendom ; it may adorn 
 the gilded Bible of the professor of religion ; but He who 
 died on that Cross is known but to few of those who are 
 called by His name. God does not reveal His Son in 
 any but those whom His grace has made like those 
 simple shepherds, the first-fruits of the Jews, or the 
 childlike wise men, the first-fruits of the Gentiles, meek 
 and lowly, open to conviction, anxious to find the 
 Christ, and ready to worship and adore Him in all His 
 deep humility. ' Wisdom is justified only of her chil- 
 dren,' and it is only those who are taught of God that 
 come to Him Who is the truth of God. The word of 
 Him who is Truth stands plain and clear : ' Except ye 
 be converted, and become as little children, ye cannot 
 enter the kingdom of God.' Heaven is filled with chil- 
 dren and childlike men, and Christ's lower heaven. His 
 true Church below, is made up of children and childlike 
 men. 
 
 We have seen how secret, in one sense, was His first 
 coming — to how few He was known in His great humi- 
 lity. But how different will be His second coming ! At 
 His first coming, a few only out of the millions of the 
 earth saw Him ; a few only of those who did see Him 
 believed on Him ; a few only of those millions who have 
 now His Word, in which they may see Him as in a glass, 
 believe on, love, and follow Him. His true disciples are 
 a remnant ; the world, even though called Christian, 
 seeth Him not. But then, every eye shall see Him ; no 
 cloud shall veil His glory then ; no imputed sin, no curse, 
 no sorrow, shall hide Him with a veil then ! The blaze of 
 light that shall pour from Him when He sits on the great 
 
254 SERMONS. 
 
 white throne, shall shine as the lightning from one end 
 of heaven to the other, and those His enemies who would 
 not that He should reign over them, shall be cast away 
 from His presence. With whom would you and I have 
 our lot on that day ? With the shepherds, or with those 
 wise in their own eyes but are fools in God's sight ? If 
 we would be where they are who first believed on Him, 
 we must be what they were. Pray therefore for the child- 
 like faith of the poor shepherds, and He whose birth we 
 now celebrate will give us of the Spirit, for their spirit 
 was His. He will make us believe, as they did, God's 
 Good-will to man, and rejoice in it. He will make us 
 glad in our Saviour, as He made them. He will send 
 lis to our daily works, as He did them, and we shall meet 
 God daily in our ways. And then, when this short life 
 is over — where those simple-hearted believers doubtless 
 are with Him whom they saw and loved — shall all be 
 who, though they have not seen Him, have loved Him, 
 and believed on Him, and followed Him to life eternal. 
 
 HI. 
 
 ' And pray ye that your flight be not in the winter.' — Mark xiii. i8. 
 
 There is a winter in human life as there is in the 
 seasons of the year. Our spring is infancy, and the 
 bud of our existence which is then cherished opens its 
 flowers during the summer of youth. In riper years, 
 manhood, the fruit is put forth, and this is the autumn of 
 our days. If death spare us a little longer there will come 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 255 
 
 ice in blood and snow on brow, and all the emblems of 
 a moral winter are thickly strewed over the man. And 
 if there has been no fleeing to the mercy of the Lord 
 whilst the advance of summer and autumn has warned 
 us that our years would soon draw to a close, it will be a 
 hard thing, when the limb has grown stiff, and the blood 
 congealed, and the branches hang from the stem, to 
 drag ourselves along ; and the man, in the winter of his 
 days, when his foot halts, and eye darkens, and blood 
 freezes, is so unfitted to brave the rugged path of 
 winter, that no consideration should weigh heavier with 
 the young and impenitent than the recommendation of 
 the text. It contains a strong warning against that con- 
 tinued impenitence which generally issues in ruin of the 
 soul. It does not mean that flight in the winter of life 
 is impossible. No. It is not too late while the pulse 
 beats, however feebly, not while the eye, however dim, 
 yet moves, not though winter be at its depth, and the 
 sun be touching the horizon, to say to the sinner, ' Haste, 
 and escape to the city of refuge.' 
 
 I do not insinuate that there can be no flight during 
 winter, because there has been none before the winter. 
 The very fact of its being the subject of prayer that our 
 flight may not be in the winter implies that flight is at 
 least practicable, though not easy. But then the fact 
 also implies that though a man may flee in winter, and 
 at last be as safe as if he had fled in spring or summer, 
 yet that he will be opposed by difficulties in the one case 
 which would not have hindered him in the other, and 
 that he will be required to make his way against the 
 rough stream and pelting storm, while the, avenger of 
 
2S6 SERMONS. 
 
 blood shall track him so closely that he will but just 
 escape, and at last be only ' scarcely saved.' 
 
 1st, Difficulties of flight in winter, or, to drop meta- 
 phor, of conversion in old age. Now I believe every 
 man is at some time anxious about eternity. No rea- 
 sonable being can go on for thirty or fifty years, and 
 see those who set out with him in the career of being 
 drop off one by one from this scene, and never think of 
 the destiny to which he himself is travelling. The fate of 
 his soul must be a question of importance. The Spirit 
 strives with every one, and by secret hints, by working 
 on hope and fear. He summons men to consider their 
 ways. 
 
 If then all men are plied with inducements and 
 threats, etc., it follows that the aged sinner must have 
 resisted many godly warnings, and now he stands in the 
 winter of his days the hero of a succession of victories, 
 but victories won by lust of flesh, of eye, of pride of life, 
 over the strivings of angels and the merciful interference 
 of God. If a man has resisted such impressions, is not 
 he sure to be hardened against threatenings 1 if he heeds 
 not the voice of gentleness, he will need the thunder- 
 clap ; if he disregarded the silent warning of conscience, 
 he will require the blow of the sledge-hammer. Con- 
 version to him will be a work of enormous difficulty. 
 Flight will be hard, because he is riveted to the ground, 
 just as an oak which an infant may crush in an acorn, 
 a giant cannot stir when it is rooted in the earth. But 
 not only has the aged sinner resisted, he has also in- 
 vented much. He has his own scheme of salvation, his 
 own mode of quieting alarm. Old people think perhaps 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 257 
 
 about the future, and cast up accounts with God, and 
 contrive by ingenious arithmetic to strike a balance in 
 their own favour. They have offended much, but then 
 they have suffered much, and the afflictions will atone 
 for the transgressions. Their lives have been excellent. 
 They were in trade half a century, and kept uns'ullied 
 their character for honour. One is very moral, one very 
 charitable, one repeats over and over that God is a God 
 of mercy, one considers it too late to alter, and things 
 may not turn out as bad as parsons represent. There 
 is a kind of self-satisfaction through which it is harder to 
 penetrate than through a stone wall ; the man has lived 
 too long to be taught. I believe these things I have 
 advanced are grounds for saying conversion in the winter 
 of life is difficult. 
 
 It must be further obvious to you that as it would be 
 in natural, so in spiritual things — the infirmities of the 
 old man incapacitate him for flight. The salvation of the 
 soul is a great matter. It is wholly of grace, nevertheless 
 God works by means ; and though He can save the soul 
 of an idiot as well as of an infant, neither of whom has 
 been able to assent to the truths of Christianity, yet He 
 commonly acts on the understanding, will, affections. 
 Now, all I contend for is, that if you look on an uncon- 
 verted man in the December of his life, you may well 
 tremble for that man. An emaciated body tenanted 
 by an enfeebled spirit, the lack-lustre eye of passion 
 dimmed, not extinguished, the intellect making up in 
 obstinacy what it has lost in sharpness, the temper 
 peevish from inability for enjoyment, — these are the 
 frequent characteristics of old age. And shall it be 
 
 R 
 
258 SERMONS. 
 
 said that the old man, thus shattered, enfeebled, broken 
 down, is a willing listener to the message that tells that 
 the rush of judgment is coming on all, that eternity 
 is big with terror to all who have not been born again ? 
 Is the mind of an old, withered, wasted man able to 
 take in what is so overpowering ? No ; the probability 
 is he will sit like one senseless and stupified, just as the 
 bird fascinated by the eye of the serpent which is coiled 
 at the foot of the tree on which it sits, attempts not to 
 escape, but falls an easy prey into the jaws of the rapa- 
 cious monster. If it be a time to set out on a voyage 
 when the vessel has just sprung a leak, if it be an hour 
 of peril to begin a journey in a foreign land when the 
 sun has left the heavens, if it be a moment of danger to 
 sit at the foot of a mountain when the avalanche is just 
 loosening from the heights, if it be an instant of fearful 
 risk when the drawbridge is tumbling between us and 
 the citadel, then is old age and winter a dangerous 
 season for man to flee from his present condition. 
 There is such a sight in the natural world as a moun- 
 tain which, while the snow lies thick on its sides, throws 
 out flames from the summit ; but the combination is so 
 strange that all who see it are amazed. Yet this is not 
 so wonderful as to look for conversion in old age. It is 
 expecting a man to send forth the glowing emanations 
 of love to his Maker in the winter of his days. It is 
 not difiicult that, like the snow on the mountain, he 
 should subsist in the winter, but the difficulty is to 
 carry the fire through the snow, and to deposit it un- 
 quenched within the breast. This is the difficulty, not 
 the covering of Etna with ice and snow while the vol- 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 259 
 
 cano is burning, but while the ice and snow are on the 
 mountain, producing a pillar of fire. 
 
 And, in conclusion, the danger is great, that flight 
 if deferred to winter will be impracticable. It is an 
 old saying, ' To-morrow never comes,' and I may add, 
 few men practically think ' themselves a year nearer 
 the grave because a year older. Life is an enchanted 
 circle — there seems always to be as much before us 
 as behind. Ask old men of different ages when old 
 age begins, and you will obtain from each a different 
 answer ; but each will fix the date a little later than 
 the period at which he has arrived. The winter of 
 life is the to-morrow of life, and to commence putting 
 off is the same as putting off iridefinitely. But few 
 discover that flight, if deferred, becomes less and less 
 practicable, and that if flight be deferred to the winter 
 it will probably not take place at all. ' Pray ye, there- 
 fore, that your flight be not in winter.' 
 
 Once more : it is the testimony of experience that 
 men are seldom converted in old age. One minister of 
 great piety declared he had never known but two cases 
 over fifty converted to God. Experience is a sound 
 witness on such points. There is a great similarity in 
 God's dealings with his creatures. And if he would 
 be a thoughtless being who would enter a lazar-house 
 where ninety-nine out of every hundred caught the 
 plague, if he would be a senseless one who drank of 
 the poison-cup from whose destroying influence scarce 
 one escaped, if he would be an idiot who took the 
 serpent to his breast, whose bite in almost every case 
 was death — therefore, he is all these who expects winter 
 
26o SERMONS. 
 
 to prove to him what it has hardly proved to two in 
 a million, the period of conversion to God, and who, 
 thinking an exception will be made in his favour, prays 
 not that his flight be not in the winter. Do not you 
 see from what is said that if we would be saved there 
 must be flight ? It is not by remaining among evil 
 people, associations, and debasing scenes, that we shall 
 grow up into the image of the Lord. The things I 
 love most I must forsake, the hopes I have cherished 
 most I must renounce. And as the traveller who 
 hurries away with alarm when he comes upon the 
 lion's haunt, and as the eagle who avoids the arrow 
 when it is just laid on the bowstring, thus must I 
 break away from all hindrances, leaving much, and 
 ready to leave more, and with the flight of one who 
 knows that to pause may be to perish, speed on, with 
 the eye fixed on the shore of safety before me. Yes, 
 there must be flight — from sin to holiness, from the 
 creature to the Creator, from the mortal to the im- 
 mortal, from the ruin and the wreck which the first 
 Adam introduced to the majesty and bliss which the 
 second Adam purchased. Who, therefore, will put ofl" 
 his flight when the Almighty is inviting him to join 
 the ranks of the redeemed ^ Let us prepare at once 
 for our journey. The days are short, the sunbeams 
 are watery, the time for repentance may soon be at 
 an end. Let us turn to the Lord, and then we shall 
 never know winter at all. Time shall melt so sweetly 
 into eternity, and eternity shall be so swallowed up of 
 life, that we shall breathe the fragrance of the heavenly 
 city without travelling through the difficulties of this 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 261 
 
 earth's barrenness. I pray God that none of us may 
 rashly defer our flight to the winter. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' Ephraim is joined to idols : let him alone.' — HoSEA IV. 17. 
 
 An awful silence reigrts over the battle-field when 
 the last cannon shot has died away, and the clash of 
 the last charge of cavalry has passed away. An awful 
 silence reigns over the grass-grown burial-ground, where 
 hearts which beat no longer, and tongues which speak 
 not, and hands which work not, have retired for ever 
 from life's hot strife. An awful silence reigns within 
 the sick man's room, when the doctor orders that he 
 must be ' let alone,' for that there is no further use in 
 medicine. But there is something more awful than all 
 these ; and that is, the dead silence which reigns over a 
 ruined soul^a silence commanded by God himself; 
 such a silence as is decreed in the text, where the pro- 
 phet declares in one breath Ephraim's sin and Eph- 
 raim's doom : ' Ephraim is joined to idols : let him 
 alone.' 
 
 Ephraim's condition and Ephraim's curse are the 
 subject of our thoughts to-day, and much of solemn 
 warning do they contain for the thinking ; for they 
 teach us this, that God may be so provoked as to 
 leave the guilty creature to himself — to use means of 
 grace with him no more — to let him go on without a 
 
262 SERMONS. 
 
 check to the edge of that precipice over which he shall 
 be thrust by a mighty hand, too powerful to be with- 
 stood by mortal strength. 
 
 I direct your attention first to Ephraim's condition. 
 He is represented as being joined to his idols ; i.e. as 
 having withdrawn his allegiance from God, and as 
 having gone over to that which was opposed to God. 
 
 It was the curse of Israel that it loved strange gods, 
 and was ever ready to leave the Lord and join itself to 
 them. And what is Ephrairxi but a picture of many of 
 us to-day .' The sin which seems so terrible in him is 
 common enough now-a-days. That worldly men will 
 reject the idea of being under the same circumstances 
 as Ephraim, I know. We are met with an angry denial 
 or a smile of ridicule when we say they stand on 
 common ground with him. Because the orfEward sym- 
 bols of idolatry are not the same, men argue that the 
 main principles are different. But in the eyes of God 
 covetousness is idolatry, and a man therefore can be 
 an idolater without worship of wood or stone. A 
 wife or child may be the idol ; gain acquired or ex- 
 pected may be the image, like Nebuchadnezzar's, over- 
 laid with gold. To whatever man gives up his heart, 
 whatever he most cares for, is his god, and before that 
 god's altar he swings the censer of his heart. 
 
 Try then whether you are now worshippers of God, 
 or whether you have not some other object of devo- 
 tion. Remember a practical withdrawal from Christ is 
 enough to ruin a soul ; that a man need not read an 
 open recantation of his faith to be in Ephraim's state. 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 263 
 
 But Ephraim had not only withdrawn himself from 
 his rightful Lord, and given his allegiance to another ; 
 he had added sin to sin, resisting every means used to 
 bring him back. God did not lightly part with Israel. 
 Prophet after prophet was sent ; affliction after afflic- 
 tion was tried ; sunshine and cloud brightened and 
 lowered over the land before they were let alone, and 
 handed over to the ruin which had been so long de- 
 layed. The hand of justice lingered long before it 
 drew the sword ; the hand of mercy trembled long 
 before it let go its grasp. And Ephraim's condition 
 is that of thousands who, having withdrawn from God, 
 have become idolaters. He uses means, and oft they 
 fail. He changes his dispensations, but the change pro- 
 duces no result ; and when everything has been tried, 
 and a last effort has been made, forth comes the decree, 
 ' Let them alone.' 
 
 Now, there is not only active, but passive resistance 
 made by many. There shall, perhaps, be no declaration 
 made against the warnings of ministers. Sometimes, 
 no doubt, men will rebel against the message and vilify 
 the messengers ; but this is not common. But how often 
 men are willing to listen, but determined not to mind. 
 Take the preaching of the Word, for instance — a very 
 great instrument for converting souls ; on how many 
 has this means of grace been tried in vain .' In every 
 possible form has the Word come before them ; to 
 every power of mind and feeling of heart has it ap- 
 pealed. It has warned, threatened, exhorted ; it has 
 sought with earnestness, toiled with energy ; and where 
 has been the result? Little do men know how they 
 
254 SERMONS. ; 
 
 are filling up the measure of their provocations by in- 
 difference to sermons. What other outward means are 
 they likely to have ? The dead will not come from 
 their shrouds to startle men into thought ; the invisible 
 angels will not come and beckon us to the bright land 
 which is their home. The despised ministers of God 
 are all you will ever have, and if you remain ' joined to 
 idols' you may soon expect to be left alone. But the 
 Word is not all that has been resisted ; providences, 
 the remonstrances of conscience, the secret whisperings 
 of the Spirit, have all shared the same fate. Oh let us 
 beware lest we fail to read aright the providences of 
 daily life, which are full of the teachings and the voice of 
 God. How many a providence has already been thrown 
 away ! The heart has become harder, conscfence less 
 impressible, the soul more used to being away froin God. 
 Next sermon may be the last with life in it for some of 
 us ; the next providence may be the last one with 
 grace. Then, perhaps, all will be still within the soul, 
 for the sentence shall have gone forth, ' Ephraim is 
 joined to idols : let him alone.' 
 
 This sentence contains Ephraim's curse. The words, 
 ' Let him alone,' are as fearful as ever passed from the 
 lips of God. His open wrath did not contain more of 
 death than this quiet command. It involved, first, a 
 withdrawal of enlightening influence, and therefore a 
 plunging of Ephraim into judicial darkness. Now, such 
 a withdrawal often takes place, sometimes gradually, 
 sometimes suddenly ; always surely. And should our 
 wilful ignorance of our own need and our Saviour's 
 power deepen into judicial ignorance, what more is 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 265 
 
 wanted to ruin us for ever ? Let me tell you, if you 
 have not devoted your hearts earnestly to God, the 
 bright light you now have may be removed. It would 
 be a dreadful thing if any were to be singled out by God, 
 and if our ministry were to receive this charge about 
 you, ' Let him alone ;' if each sermon were to receive an 
 especial charge to pass you by ; if every beam of light 
 were ordered to fall on any other heart but yours ; if 
 each enlightening means of grace were to be informed 
 of your name, and told to mark it well, that it might 
 ' let you alone.' Should such an event take place, it is 
 quite possible you will not know it. Under this peculiar 
 curse there is no strife or cry — no sign of sword or fire. 
 There is the silence which goes before the tempest, but 
 the tempest itself has yet to burst. It is possible for 
 this curse to be working, and yet for no outward 
 change to be detected in the man on whom it is laid. 
 It does not follow that he will absent himself from 
 church or outward reverence for holy things ; it is enough 
 if the light is taken out from the means in the use of 
 which he is found. 
 
 Is not all this enough to make me wish to reach the 
 very centre of your hearts .'' for begging you not to be 
 satisfied with the outside formalities of religion ? for 
 my being dissatisfied with that state of ease which is so 
 common in our congregations, and so much prized .'' 
 We would not meddle with any man's peace in Christ, 
 but we would rend in pieces all security that is out of 
 Christ. Look well, brethren, to your state, try whence 
 your quietude proceeds, for it will be terrible indeed if 
 it be found out, when this tranquillity is about to be 
 
266 SERMONS. 
 
 broken up for ever, that it was but the natural working 
 of the curse of an angry God. 
 
 You see, therefore, this declaration of God's as 
 regards Ephraim sealed him up for certain wrath, and 
 the withdrawal of God's providences from us may, by 
 the very ease in which they leave us, secure our future 
 woe. The severe trials under which some of you may. 
 smart are perhaps the only means of keeping us away 
 from this deadly ease, which is a poison whose end is 
 death. Have our sorrows, difficulties, strugglings, 
 shakings of heart, drawn us to that worship of God 
 which is alone true } or have we passed through them 
 all without their having had any effect on our souls .■' 
 Such might be the case, and it will be a solemn ques- 
 tion for persons under these circumstances to put to 
 themselves, 'Why am I so entirely left alone.'' Some 
 of us have our troubles now. Do we desire to have 
 them sanctified or removed .■' to have them work out 
 purposes of grace ^ or to have them prevented from 
 giving us pain 1 Our wish should be not to have them 
 removed, but sanctified. When God's work is done by 
 each particular trial, that trial will be removed ; and 
 when all God's work on us is finished, all trial will be 
 taken away : but woe to the man who is let alone, and 
 who gains peace from being given up. Such a one is 
 reserved for a place in which there shall be no peace, 
 for a state in which there shall be no rest. 
 
 You, therefore, who are being stirred up by God, and 
 under convictions of sin, sink not down into torpor, but 
 make the most of the day of visitation which is vouch- 
 safed you. The very fact of your being the subject of 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 267 
 
 these dealings shows you Ephraim's curse has not yet 
 gone out against your soul, but how soon it may be 
 issued who can tell ? ' The Spirit will not always strive 
 with man.' ' Now is the accepted time, now is the day 
 of salvation.' 
 
 And Elijah came unto all the people, and said, How long halt ye 
 between two opinions ? if the Lord be God, follow him : but if Baal, 
 then follow him. And the people answered him not a word.' — 
 1 Kings xviii. 21. 
 
 That must have been a most impressive scene on 
 the top of Mount Carmel. An enormous crowd was 
 gathered there to witness the result of a most important 
 dispute. It was whether Jehovah or Baal were the 
 true God of Israel. There were assembled on each 
 side the tens of thousands of Israel. There in the 
 midst, on the one hand, stood the 850 prophets of the 
 dumb idol ; there, on the other, one man by himself, 
 the prophet of the living God. Meek, yet majestic; 
 clad in simplest dress ; no doubt in his eye, no fear on 
 his brow, he stood forth, and with a voice of thunder 
 shouted forth in the ears of the wavering multitude 
 this thrilling appeal: — ' How long halt ye between two 
 opinions } if the Lord be God, follow him : but if Baal, 
 then follow him. And the people answered him not a 
 word.' Breathless silence followed. Then the test was 
 given which was to decide the question between the 
 disputing parties. Two rival altars are put up ; on 
 
268 SERMONS. 
 
 each the wood, on each the bullock, but no fire under : 
 
 ' and the God that answereth by fire, let him be God,' 
 
 And all the people who stood by answered and said, 
 
 ' It is well spoken.' The challenge is accepted, the 
 
 priests of the dumb idol build their altar, they arrange 
 
 the wood, they set in order their victim, and ' from 
 
 morning till noon they cry out, Baal, hear us 1 ' But 
 
 there was no voice, neither any that answered. Then 
 
 at noon the prophet in stern irony ' mocked them, and 
 
 said. Cry aloud ; for he is a god : either he is talking, 
 
 or he is pursuing, or he is in a journey, or peradventure 
 
 he sleepeth, and must be awaked.' Goaded to madness 
 
 by these taunts, the miserable idolaters ' cried aloud, 
 
 and cut themselves after their manner with knives and 
 
 lancets, till the blood gushed out upon them.' They 
 
 leaped upon their altar, but it was no use ; there was 
 
 no voice, none that heard, none that regarded. Then, 
 
 strong in faith, the prophet of God stood forth and 
 
 ' said unto all the people. Come near unto me. And 
 
 all the people came near unto him. And he repaired 
 
 the altar of the Lord that was broken down.' And he 
 
 set in order the wood, and he placed the victim upon it, 
 
 and he dug a deep trench round the altar, and, at his 
 
 bidding, the people deluged the whole with water ; and 
 
 then Elijah lifted up his eyes and voice to heaven, and 
 
 called on the living God to turn the hearts of the people. 
 
 And, lo ! ' the fire of the Lord fell, and consumed the 
 
 burnt sacrifice, and the wood, and the stones, and the 
 
 dust, and licked up the water that was in the trench.' 
 
 The effect was irresistible. ' All the people fell on their 
 
 faces : and they said, The Lord, he is the God ; the Lord, 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 269 
 
 he is the God.' The startling appeal of the prophet is 
 the one I would sound this day in the ears of all those 
 who are halting between God and the world. Oh that 
 the Holy Ghost may be in the midst of us, so that 
 the effect on this occasion may be somewhat like that 
 in the days of old. 
 
 The halting between two opinions has been a habit 
 with professing Christians from that time till now. It 
 is a fearfully prevalent one here, in this village. If infi- 
 delity slay her thousands, indifference slays her tens of 
 thousands. There are few who have made up their 
 mind to dare the worst for eternity, fewer still to suffer 
 the loss of everything, nay, of anything, rather than the 
 loss of their souls. Most people who bear the Chris- 
 tian name turn a deaf ear to the claims of Christianity, 
 slight its ordinances, and live as if it were a lie. They 
 pay a certain respect to its ordinances ; yes — when a 
 child is born, when going to be married, or when they 
 follow the dust of one they have loved to its long home. 
 They do these things from respect to custom rather than 
 Christianity, for it is in vain for them that the bright 
 Lord's Day dawns on them, in vain for them the house 
 of prayer is open, in vain the Sabbath bell rings forth 
 its invitations : they live in habitual neglect of worship 
 and the Word of God. Their Bible is locked up in their 
 drawer as though it were something to be hidden, or it 
 lies covered with dust on a shelf amongst the best cups 
 and saucers — to be looked at, not used. They are neither 
 hot nor cold ; lukewarm, they do not deny Christianity, 
 neither do they embrace it. Speak to them of their souls, 
 they are sullen ; reason with them, and they are silent. 
 
2/0 SEHMONS. 
 
 We, their pastors, meet with civility perhaps, but cold- 
 ness ; assent, but no interest ; a thousand excuses, few 
 acceptances. We meet with many that are ready to put 
 off the work. They say, 'Time enough ; we are too busy ; 
 cares of life oppress us ; we have a family to provide for, 
 we have not met with " a convenient season ;" but yet 
 we mean some day to repent and prepare to meet our 
 God ; we do not intend to die as we are ; we know we 
 are not ready for death.' Others again live without 
 God and without hope in the world. They say, ' We 
 are but as others. If we perish, God help others ! If 
 we are not good enough for heaven we are too good for 
 hell. God is too good to destroy so many. Surely at 
 the last a change will come over us ; sorrow, sickness, 
 old age, deathbed, will bring a change ; we cannot be 
 lost ; we do not intend to be lost : time enough.' And 
 so they go on, wavering, resolving, breaking resolutions, 
 having good impressions, their good impressions passing 
 away like the morning cloud and the early dew. They 
 put their hands to the plough, but soon look back. 
 Sometimes in time of sickness or sorrow they resolve to 
 give themselves to the Lord, but it must be said of them 
 as it was of the lepers, ' Were there not ten cleansed ; 
 but where are the nine V There does but return here 
 and there, sometimes, a poor stranger, ' to give glory to 
 God.' It is not right to class all under the twofold 
 character of the fervent believer and the decided unbe- 
 liever ; there lies between them a vast middle territory. 
 Between these two extremes — the zealous and the in- 
 different — there lies the vast, mixed, motley crowd of 
 the wavering many. Here it is that the minister of 
 
yVLIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 271 
 
 Christ perhaps has most to deplore ; here he finds his 
 labours often the most fruitless, because his parishioners 
 are always ready to nod the head in assent, but never 
 ready to consent with the heart. They are always pro- 
 mising, but never performing. They go on in pleasure, 
 amusement, \vorldliness, sloth, and fleshly sin, determin- 
 ing at some future day to be Christ's, which day never 
 arrives, till death often comes and finds them almost 
 saved and altogether lost, — finds them intending to be 
 Christ's, but remaining the devil's. 
 
 Am I exaggerating } Am I misrepresenting } Would 
 God the picture were not true ! We appeal to the 
 faithful few — to those who care for their own souls and 
 other people's too ; we appeal to those who are them- 
 selves halting between Christ and the world, is not the 
 portrait like some who are here } Does not the Spirit 
 of God at this moment say to you, ' I am the man ' } 
 The Eye that sees all things sees what is passing within 
 you, and knows therefore whether you are amongst 
 the halting, wavering multitude that call Christ ' Lord, 
 Lord,' but do not the things that He tells them. 
 
 In his name, therefore, and as a fellow-sinner, and 
 yet an ambassador of Christ, I say, ' Come and let 
 us reason together.' Let me endeavour to plead with 
 you for yourselves — to plead with yourselves for 
 Christ. Not that I would come to reproach ; nay, I 
 come to beseech. I come not to threaten, but to en- 
 treat. I come not to alarm so much as to constrain. 
 ' Knowing the terrors of the Lord, we persuade men.' 
 May our words make an impression on your con- 
 sciences. Let me reason, then, with you on the gross 
 
272 SERMONS. 
 
 inconsistency of the position you occupy. You are, 
 whether you will or not, Christian in name, in pledge, 
 and in covenant. You were baptised into Christ; in 
 profession you put on Christ. It was an unspeakable 
 privilege, if you do not convert it into an unspeakable 
 curse. You were signed with the sign of the cross, in 
 token that thereafter you should not be ashamed to 
 confess the faith of Christ crucified, but manfully fight 
 under his banner against sin, the world, and the devil, 
 and to continue Christ's soldiers and servants until your 
 lives' end. If, then, you are not fighting under the 
 standard of the Captain of your Salvation, I arrest you, 
 in his name, as deserters from his cross. You cannot 
 perish as heathen ; if you perish, you perish as baptised 
 men and women ; and baptised men and women, as they 
 have an immeasurable privilege, have with it an immea- 
 surable responsibility. If the water of baptism on the 
 brow is not the sign of the washing of regeneration by 
 the Holy Ghost in the heart, then will it rise up an 
 awful witness against you in the last day. Out of your 
 own mouths will you be condemned, for you are wit- 
 nesses against yourselves. The very Christian name 
 by which you are daily called, and by which you sign 
 every letter you write, witnesses your dedication to the 
 Lord. Why have you that name t If your father's 
 name reminds you of your duty to your earthly parent, 
 your Christian name should remind you of your duty to 
 Christ. And if God be a Father, where is His honour ? 
 If He be a Master, where is His fear .' Beloved, there 
 is no consistent man but the man who is an enthusi- 
 astic believer or an utter atheist. But the lukewarm 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 273 
 
 man, who wavers between Christ and Satan, earth and 
 heaven, time and eternity, his own conscience condemns 
 him ; and of all men he is the most inconsistent and 
 the most foolish. Let me then speak to you on the 
 folly of your conduct. You halt because, you say, the 
 world must be attended to, the family be provided for, 
 cares and distractions overwhelm you. Oh ! but ought 
 not that which is the first to be the first, the chiefest, 
 chiefest .'' God above all. Let earth wait, let time wait, 
 let family wait, let appetite wait, let life wait — let all wait 
 for God. ' Seek first the kingdom of God and his righte- 
 ousness, and everything needful will be added.' Did ever 
 man put God to the proof on that promise, and found it 
 broken t Never. Heaven and earth shall pass away, 
 but his word shall not pass away. What folly then 
 to delay and to trifle ! For, will it become easier to 
 seek God ? Will waiting make evil habit less powerful, 
 evil dispositions less obstinate, a stubborn will easier to 
 bend .' The longer you delay, the harder it will become 
 to repent, if ever you should repent. ' Can the Ethio- 
 pian change his skin, or the leopard his spots .' Then 
 may those that are accustomed to do evil learn to do 
 well.' The gossamer threads that first were wound 
 around your soul in early life are thickening into 
 cables — chains of iron. Conscience loses its tenderness, 
 the heart its sensibility ; your better impressions fade 
 away, your passions become more violent, your lusts 
 more intense, your evil tongues more uncontrollable, 
 Satan more supreme. No folly greater than to think 
 that change of time, life, scene, circumstance, will change 
 the man. The world will change, but it will not change 
 
 S 
 
274 SESMONS. 
 
 you. Circumstances will alter, but will not alter you. 
 You are as the countryman in the fable, who is repre- 
 sented as coming to the side of the swift-flowing river. 
 Because it flowed so swiftly he foolishly fancied it 
 would soon run dry, and he sat down on its bank, and 
 he waited and waited, but it flowed on, and still flows 
 on while earth lasts. So it is with the man that waits 
 till the more convenient time — that waits till altered 
 circumstances shall change his heart. The river of cor- 
 ruption, the river of impediment, runs on, and broadens 
 as it runs, and deepens as it broadens, and bears him on 
 and on to an eternity of woe. 
 
 The folly of delay ! For is a man delaying that 
 which is a curse or that which is a blessing? Is he 
 putting from him a cup of bitterness, or a cup of bless- 
 ing .' Oh, the stupidity of man, that he should require 
 to be goaded, threatened, terrified, into being blessed ! 
 Surely the love of peace, the thirst for happiness, the 
 wish for solace in sorrow, strength in weakness, advice 
 in perplexity, refuge in danger, joy under all circum- 
 stances, ought to constrain him, even now, to harden 
 his heart no more. 
 
 Again, let me reason with you on the baseness of halt- 
 ing between two opinions. It is in God's sight a thing 
 most nauseous and distasteful. Listen to the descrip- 
 tion which he gave when he walked amid the golden 
 candlesticks, and looked upon a church which had 
 sunk into this state : ' I know thy works, that thou art 
 neither cold nor hot. I would that thou wert cold or 
 hot : so then, because thou art neither cold nor hot, but 
 lukewarm, I will spue thee out of my mouth.' -What 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 275 
 
 an expression of abhorrence from the lips of infinite 
 Love ! Oh, how Jesus must hate an indifferent, luke- 
 warm man ! He thinks himself better than others. 
 He knows not what an amount df guilt rests on him, 
 because he is neither altogether Christ's, nor altogether 
 Satan's. He wears a parti-coloured livery. He thinks 
 to go to heaven holding Christ's cross with one hand 
 and the world with the other. But the voice of the 
 Captain of Salvation in his ear is, ' How long halt ye 
 between two opinions V If I am thy Saviour, serve 
 Me ; if the world, serve it. 
 
 Ah ! brethren, what baseness is involved in indecision 
 for Christ. He was not undecided in his love to thee, 
 sinner. He did not come wavering with half a heart, to 
 go through the agony of the garden and the cross. No. 
 ' Lo, I come,' he said, ' to do thy will, O God ;' and 
 when the bitter cup trembled in his hand, he prayed, 
 ' O Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me ; 
 nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.' Oh then, 
 'by the agony and bloody sweat, by the cross and 
 passion, by the precious death and burial, by the glo- 
 rious resurrection and ascension' of Jesus, I entreat 
 thee, undecided one, look on the Crucified ; weep, love, 
 till your earthward affections are drawn up to him, and 
 you can say, in those lines you have often sang, — 
 
 ' When I survey the wondrous cross 
 
 On which the Prince of Glory died, 
 My richest gain I count but loss, 
 
 And pour contempt on all my pride. 
 Were the whole realm of nature mine, 
 
 That were a present far too small ; 
 Love so amazing, so divine, 
 
 Demands my soul, my life, my all. ' 
 
276 SERMOm. 
 
 Now, come and let us reason with you on the un- 
 happiness of halting between two opinions. You have 
 too much conscience altogether to enjoy sin ; you have 
 too little conscience to enjoy holiness and peace. You 
 have rocked to and fro between heavenward desires and 
 earthward habits. You have bitterness of mind in the 
 hour of sorrow and solitude ; you now laugh away these 
 things in the public-house, but it will return again. A 
 man that is all for this world has all that the world 
 gives ; a man that is all for Christ has all that Christ 
 bestows on his saints on earth : but a man that is 
 neither wholly given to the world, nor wholly to God, 
 is swinging between world and church, Christ and 
 Satan ; he has not even his reward in this world, pitiful 
 as it is at best, and he sacrifices his soul for nought. 
 ' What will it profit a man if he gain the whole world, 
 and lose his own soul ?' But what is the loss of that 
 man who loses his soul, and gains only what the world 
 can give ? Ah ! you put off happiness while you put off 
 decision. To the poorer here especially I say, as you 
 meet here you will meet in the great day before God's 
 throne. You rob yourselves then, let me assure you, 
 most cruelly when you rob yourselves of the peace, the 
 joy, the consolation of Christ's gospel. Take from the 
 rich man his hope of heaven, still he has something to 
 live for : he can indulge every whim, gratify every taste, 
 pamper every appetite, eat, drink, and be merry, though 
 to-morrow he die. But take from the poor man, the 
 son of toil and trouble, the bright hope that alone can 
 lighten his burden and sustain his toil, and what has he 
 left 1 It struck me the other day very sadly as I passed 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 277 
 
 along the high-road and looked at a poor man in mid-life 
 and mean attire, as he sat on the top of a heap of broken- 
 stones, with goggles on his nose to protect his eyes from 
 the flint, and with his, iron ring and hammer in his 
 hands. With this ring he clutched stone after stone, 
 and brought it to the top of a larger stone he had 
 picked for the purpose, and with his hammer he broke 
 it into small pieces. And. so it was from early morn 
 till late at night, so it was day after day, week, month, 
 year ; he saw no end to his toil, no fruit of his labour 
 but the poor attire and the mean fare he was thus able to 
 eke out, and nothing before him but the parish work- 
 house, and a burial unwept and unnoticed. It struck 
 me sadly. What a miserable existence to live for 
 nothing higher than to break stones, and have no hope 
 beyond ! But, oh ! if that poor fellow brake stones in 
 faith of Christ and fear of God, if he did it as doing 
 "his duty ' in the state of life in which it pleased God to 
 call him,' if he did it ' heartily, as unto God and not to 
 men,' if the love of Christ sweetened his hard crust, and 
 softened his hard pallet, and lighted up even the work- 
 house in his old age, then he had none to envy— no, 
 not the Queen on her throne, for all things were his. 
 'Whether life, or death, or things present, or things to 
 come,' all were his, for he was Christ's, and Christ was 
 God's. And as it has been nobly said, ' If two arch- 
 angels came from heaven to do God's will on earth, and 
 his will was that one should rule an empire and the 
 other sweep the streets, each would be just as happy as 
 the other, for each would be doing what God would 
 have done, and doing God's will is heaven on earth as 
 
278 SERMONS. 
 
 it is the heaven of heaven.' Oh ! when the poor man 
 can pray from the depth of his heart, and realise what 
 he prays, ' Thy will be done on earth as it is done in 
 heaven,' there is none he need envy. 'As poor, yet 
 making many rich ; as having nothing, yet possessing 
 all things.' 
 
 But let me reason with you, as on the unhappiness, 
 so on the danger of halting between two opinions. 
 What are you wavering about .' Between dust and 
 ashes and ' a crown of glory that fadeth not away.' On 
 your right hand is Christ, heaven, bliss ; on your left, 
 disobedience, rebellion, discontent, remorse, despair, 
 never-ending death. Between these you are halting. 
 While you are halting, the gulf is forming that will 
 soon be fixed, the character is deepening that will soon 
 be settled for ever. Indecision becomes decision, for you 
 decide for hell while you waver for heaven. And how 
 threatening is the peril of those that are wavering ! It 
 is now, or it is never ; it is here, or it is nowhere. The 
 door will soon be shut that never can be opened, the 
 dark gulf set that never can be crossed. Oh that I 
 could bring home to every halting one here the position 
 he is in without Christ ! 
 
 Some may have read a little tale in one of the tracts 
 published for the labouring classes. It tells how a poor 
 man, on one of the rocky coasts of our country, who 
 got his bread by gathering sea-fowls' eggs, went forth 
 one morning on his dangerous adventure, and looking 
 down a terrific steep, he saw midway a ledge abutting on 
 the rock, covered with a cluster of the sea-fowls' nests. 
 He fastened his rope to a tree, above the cliff, and 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 279 
 
 lowered himself cautiously down till he stood on the 
 ledge. In his eagerness to grasp the spoil, he uncon- 
 sciously dropped the noose of the rope by which he 
 had descended, and it swung, as it appeared, far beyond 
 his reach. And there he stood on that narrow ledge, 
 above him a fearful height he had no hope to scale, 
 below him a- terrific precipice, with the sea dashing at 
 its base. It was a moment of unutterable terror. 
 Every one of us can fancy the peril of that man. But 
 how like this, though intensely more awful, the condi- 
 tion of every waverer ! He stands on the narrow ledge 
 of life, above him is the terrific mountain of his sins 
 that he has no power in himself to scale, below him is 
 the fearful abyss of death, the death that never dies. 
 There is but the breath in his nostrils between him 
 and the bottomless pit. Oh ! fellow-man, fellow-sinner, 
 awake to your dangerous position ! It is late, but not 
 too late ! There is yet the rope that hangs from the cross 
 of Jesus, or rather from the throne of God ; that rope 
 can lift thee over the mountain of thy guilt, and land thee 
 on the brink of the shore of eternal safety. Oh, leap 
 and live ! ' Flee for refuge to lay hold of the hope that 
 is set before you,' and, as God liveth, your soul shall 
 live ! ' As I live, saith the Lord God, I have no plea- 
 sure in the death of the sinner, but rather that he should 
 repent and live. Turn ye, for why will ye die ?' Oh, 
 the peril of staying in a wavering state ! An infidel 
 said to a believer once, ' If Christianity be false, what do 
 you gain V Answer, ' If Christianity be true, what do 
 you lose ?' If it were only a mere possibility that our 
 conduct here determines our destiny hereafter for 
 
28o SERMONS. 
 
 heaven or hell, that possibility should outweigh all the 
 realities seeming realities, of earth. But it is no 
 possibility or probability, but certainty ; sure as the sun 
 shines at noon-day, sure as that we have ears to hear 
 and minds to understand. 
 
 Now, brethren, I have reasoned with you on the in- 
 consistency, the folly, the base ingratitude, the unhappi- 
 ness, the peril of remaining in an undecided state of 
 mind ; and what can I say more to persuade you to 
 seek your Saviour now ? ' Behold, now is the accepted 
 time, now is the day of salvation.' There is not a 
 sinner within these walls, whatever his darkness or 
 guilt, though he may have be6n last night in scenes he 
 would blush to tell his fellow-worms, but in which the 
 Eye of fire saw and searched him through — there is not 
 even such as that we are not allowed to tell, 'Now 
 thei;e.is hope for you.' We cannot say so of to-morrow. 
 To-morrow is not ours ; it is His in whose hands is our 
 breath. To-night, then — nay, now — call upon God. 
 Do not put it off; delay has well-nigh ruined thee 
 before, it will ruin thee again, and altogether. Cherish 
 the good desire, as you would on a desert island the 
 solitary spark from the flint that was to keep you from 
 cold and starvation. Oh, foster the better desire within 
 you! Who shall say it may not be the seed of a 
 blessed immortality .' Who shall say it may not be the 
 dawn of the day-spring from on high in thy breast .' 
 Follow it out, fellow-sinner ; take thy neglected Bible, 
 study it on thy knees, water it with thy tears, plead 
 with God, 'Open mine eyes to see wondrous things 
 out of thy law.' ' Thou that didst command the light to 
 
JULIAN CHARLES YOUNG. 281 
 
 shine out of darkness shine into my heart, to give the 
 light of the knowledge of thy glory in the face of thy 
 Son. Lord, I believe ; help thou mine unbelief. Lord, 
 be merciful to me a sinner.' Plead till thou prevailest 
 Take no denial. God loves to be importuned. Begin 
 to attend the house of God. Come in such dress as you 
 have, and you shall have better. Go where you hear the 
 simple truth as it is in Jesus, and abide there. Wander 
 not to and fro, but wait patiently on the Lord in His 
 appointed ordinances. In due time mayest thou be led 
 to the blessed Supper of the Saviour, there to renew 
 thy oft-broken covenant, and there to pledge thyself 
 His, and receive the pledge that He is thine. 
 
 Dear brethren, has the love of Christ occupied your 
 souls, so that now old things are passed away, and all 
 things are become new.' Be more decided for' God. 
 You cannot be decided enough. One that had served 
 God faithfully said, when dying, 'The preparation of 
 the longest life is little enough for an hour like this.' 
 Heard you ever of a dying man who regretted he had 
 been too earnest .' I have heard numbers bewail their 
 lukewarmness and backsliding. Be earnest to win souls. 
 Look about you, on the right hand and on the left. 
 Rivers, railways, streets, lanes, taverns, tea-gardens, beer- 
 shops, public-houses, skittle-grounds, gaming-houses, 
 brothels, — ^what multitudes there are ! Let the same 
 mind be in you that is in Christ Jesus. Did He come 
 to seek and save the lost .-' Go thou and do likewise. 
 Be helpers with God. ' Go out into the highways and 
 hedges, and compel them to come in.' Take the hand 
 of your lingering fellow-sinners, as the angels took the 
 
 T 
 
282 SERMONS. 
 
 hand of lingering Lot of old, and try to get them to speed 
 their way through the plain of indifference, for behind 
 them is the city of destruction — before, the city of 
 refuge. Warn them to escape for their lives ; and God 
 grant that the working man may exchange the dram-shop 
 for God's house — ^habits of prayer for habits of excess 
 and self-indulgence. Then may it be said of our coun- 
 try, ' Happy is the people that is in such a case ; yea, 
 blessed the people that have lived for the Lord.' Take 
 then, each of you, to his home, the simple, thrilling 
 appeal, if it belong to you, of the text, and, ere to- 
 morrow's sun, let the decision be come to, formed in 
 God's strength, and kept through faith in Christ Jesus, 
 and it shall be to you the beginning of that path which 
 shineth more and more unto the perfect day of glory. 
 
 EDINBURGH : T. AND A. CONSTABLE, 
 PRINTERS TO THE QUEEN, AND TO VhE UNIVERSITY. 
 
88 Phincbs Street, 
 
 ■ Edinibwrgh, Januai-y 1875. 
 
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