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 the Dutch service and busy with his literary work. His ‘English-Dutch Dictionary’ has a preface dated Rotterdam, 21 Sept. 1647, and he probably died about 1650.

Hexham's most solid work is his edition of Mercator's ‘Atlas;’ this was a translation into English of the edition by Jodocus Hondius [q. v.], but Hexham made additions of his own, and was further assisted by Hondius's son Henry. The preface is dated Amsterdam, 1 Jan. 1636 ‘stilo veteri,’ and the work is dedicated by Hexham to Charles I; it was published at Amsterdam in 1636–7 (2 vols. fol.), contains many maps and coloured plates, and is the standard edition of Mercator. Another important work by Hexham was his ‘Copious English and Nether-duytch Dictionarie … as also a compendious grammar for the instruction of the learner.’ The English-Dutch part was published at Rotterdam (1648, 4to), and dedicated by Hexham to his friend Sir Bartholomew van Vouw, knt.; the Dutch-English part was not published until 1658 (Rotterdam, 4to), and Hexham's preface has no date. He claims that his is the first dictionary of the kind, and a second edition was published by Daniel Manly, the Dutch-English part in 1672, and the English-Dutch part in 1675 (both Rotterdam, 4to).

Hexham's other works relate to military history and are of original value as dealing with events in which he himself took part. They are: 1. ‘A Historicall Relation of the Famous Siege of the Busse and the Surprising of Wesell …,’ Delft, 1630, 12mo (dedicated to the merchants adventurers living at Delft); a Dutch edition was published in the same year in quarto (, Biographisch Woordenbock, viii. 764–5). 2. ‘A Journall of the taking of Venlo, Roermont, Strale, the memorable Siege of Mastricht, the towne and castle of Limbruch … anno 1632,’ Delft, 1633, 4to; dedicated to his kinsman Francis Morrice, clerk of the king's ordnance, who had married his uncle Jerome Heydon's widow; a Dutch edition was published at 's Gravenhage (1633, fol.) 3. ‘The Principles of the Art Militarie practised in the Warres of the United Netherlands,’ London, 1637, fol.; dedicated on 5 Sept. 1637 to Henry Rich, earl of Holland [q. v.] A second and enlarged edition was published in three parts: the first two at Delft in 1642, folio, and the third at Rotterdam in 1643, folio; Dutch editions appeared at the same time, dedicated to William of Orange and the elector Charles Lewis. 4. ‘A True and Briefe Relation of the famous Siege of Breda,’ Delft, 1637, 4to, dedicated to the Earl of Holland; a Dutch edition was published at The Hague (1638, 4to). 5. ‘An Appendix of the Quarter for the ransoming of Officers … together with the Lawes and Articles of Marshall discipline enacted on the States side,’ Delft, 1637, fol.; another edition, The Hague, 1643, fol. (not in Brit. Mus. Libr.; cf., Military Bibliogr. 1900, pp. 108, 109). 6. ‘The Art of Fortification … by Samvell Marolois … augmented by Albert Girard … and translated by Henry Hexham,’ Amsterdam, 1638, fol.; it is dedicated to Sir Henry Vane the elder [q. v.], and is said to be the first work on fortification printed in English in which the subject is treated scientifically (, p. 111). 7. ‘A True Relation of the Battell of Nieupoort,’ Delft, 1641, fol. 8. ‘An Appendix of Lawes, Articles, and Ordinances established for Marshall Discipline in the service of the … States Generall … translated out of Dutch into English,’ The Hague, 1643, fol.; dedicated to Hexham's cousins, John Heydon and John Harvey. In the preface, dated Delft, 30 Jan. 1643 ‘stilo novo,’ Hexham says he wishes to prevent the pillage committed on both sides during the civil wars by showing the means taken by the Dutch to check it; he also remarks that he had served forty-two years in the wars and had never been wounded.

[Hexham's works in Brit. Mus. Libr.; Cal. State Papers, Dom.; Van der Aa's Biographisch Woordenbock, viii. 764–5; Markham's Fighting Veres, passim, esp. pp. 447–50; M. G. D. Cockle's Bibliography of Military Books up to 1642, 1900; cf. arts. , and .]  HICKS, HENRY (1837–1899), geologist, was born on 26 May 1837 at St. David's, Pembrokeshire, where his father, Thomas Hicks, was in practice as a surgeon, his mother, Anne, being a daughter of William Griffiths of Carmarthen. After passing through the cathedral chapter school of that town, he studied medicine at Guy's Hospital, becominga licentiate of the Society of Apothecaries and a member of the Royal College of Surgeons in 1862. He then returned to follow his profession at St. David's. Here he made the acquaintance of John William Salter [q. v.], palæontologist to the Geological Survey, and became inspired with his enthusiasm for discovery in a field which was then almost virgin. Hicks's eyes proved singularly acute in detecting even obscure traces of organisms, and before long he found a fossil in the hitherto barren red flaggy rocks of the Cambrian system near St. David's. This (a 'lingulella') was described by the fellow-workers in a communication to the Geological Society in 1867. Stimulated by its reception and a


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Rh "Here's to your Honor,"—"Long life to your Honor,"—"God bless your Honor,"—Honors followed with such rapidity that I turned away in disgust. The breeze freshened and we proceeded fast on our way. Perhaps to-morrow may see me safe on land again perhaps—to-morrow may see us all stranded, perishing where the beautiful "Albion" went ashore.

St. George's Channel, Thursday, July 20. I am approaching very fast the shores of England, indeed Wales is abreast of our ship, and we can plainly distinguish the hedges that divide the fields of grain; but what nakedness the country exhibits, scarce a patch of timber to be seen; our fine forests of pine, of oak, of heavy walnut-trees, of magnificent magnolias, of hickories or ash or maple, are represented here by a diminutive growth called "furze." But I must not criticise so soon! I have not seen the country, I have not visited any of the historic castles, or the renowned parks, for never have I been in England nor Scotland, that land made famous by the entrancing works of Walter Scott. We passed yesterday morning the Tuskar, a handsome light on a bare rock. This morning we saw Holyhead, and we are now not more than twenty-five miles from Liverpool; but I feel no pleasure, and were it not for the sake of my Lucy and my children, I would readily embark to-morrow to return to America's shores and all they hold for me.… The pilot boat that came to us this morning contained several men all dressed in blue, with overcoats of oiled linen,—all good, hearty, healthy-looking men.… I have been on deck, and from the bow the land of England is plainly distinguishable; the sight around us is a beautiful one, I have counted fifty-six vessels with spreading sails, and on our right are mountains fading into the horizon; my dull thoughts have all abandoned me, I am elated, my heart is filled with hope. To-morrow we shall land at the city of Liverpool, but when I think of Custom House officials,

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98 of Bills, hunting up lodgings,—again my heart fails me; I must on deck. Mersey River opposite Liverpool, 9.30 P.M. The night is cloudy, and we are at anchor! The lights of the city show brightly, for we are not more than two hundred yards distant from them. Liverpool, July 21. This morning when I landed it was raining, yet the appearance of the city was agreeable; but no sooner had I entered it than the smoke became so oppressive to my lungs that I could hardly breathe; it affected my eyes also. All was new to me. After a breakfast at an inn with Mr. Swift for 2/6, we went to the Exchange Buildings, to the counting-house of Gordon and Forstall, as I was anxious to deliver my letters to Mr. Gordon from Mr. Briggs. I also presented during the morning my bill of exchange. The rest of the day was spent in going to the Museum, gazing about, and clearing my brains as much as possible; but how lonely I feel,—not a soul to speak to freely when Mr. Swift leaves me for Ireland. We took lodgings at the Commercial Inn not far from the Exchange Buildings; we are well fed, and well attended to, although, to my surprise, altogether by women, neatly dressed and modest. I found the persons of whom I enquired for different directions, remarkably kind and polite; I had been told this would not be the case, but I have met with only real politeness from all. Liverpool, July 22. The Lark that sings so sweetly, and that now awakened me from happy dreams, is nearly opposite my table, prisoner in a cage hanging by a window where from time to time a young person comes to look on the world below; I think of the world of the West and—but the Lark, delightful creature, sings sweetly, yet in a cage!

The Custom House suddenly entered my head, and after considerable delay there, my drawings went through a regular, strict, and complete examination. The officers

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Hexham, Henry


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Edwards, George (1694-1773)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Edwards, George (1752-1823)


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Rh were all of opinion that they were free of duty, but the law was looked at and I was obliged to pay two pence on each drawing, as they were water-colored. My books being American, I paid four pence per pound, and when all was settled, I took my baggage and drawings, and went to my lodgings. The noise of pattens on the sidewalk startles me very frequently; if the sound is behind me I often turn my head expecting to see a horse, but instead I observe a neat, plump-looking maid, tripping as briskly as a Killdeer. I received a polite note from Mr. Rathbone this morning, inviting me to dine next Wednesday with him and Mr. Roscoe. I shall not forget the appointment.

Sunday, July 23. Being Sunday I must expect a long and lonely day; I woke at dawn and lay for a few moments only, listening to the sweet-voiced Lark; the day was beautiful; thermometer in the sun 65°, in the shade 41°; I might say 40°, but I love odd numbers,—it is a foolish superstition with me. I spent my forenoon with Mr. Swift and a friend of his, Mr. R. Lyons, who was afterwards kind enough to introduce us to the Commercial Reading Room at the Exchange Buildings. In the afternoon we went across the Mersey. The country is somewhat dull; we returned to supper, sat chatting in the coffee room, and the day ended.

July 24, Monday. As early as I thought proper I

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 turned my steps to No. 87 Duke Street, where the polite English gentleman, Mr. Richard Rathbone, resides. My locks blew freely from under my hat in the breeze, and nearly every lady I met looked at them with curiosity. Mr. Rathbone was not in, but was at his counting-house, where I soon found myself. A full dozen of clerks were at their separate desks, work was going on apace, letters were being thrown into an immense bag belonging to a packet that sailed this day for the shores where I hope my Lucy is happy—dearest friend! My name was taken to the special room of Mr. Rathbone, and in a moment I was met by one who acted towards me as a brother. He did not give his card to poor Audubon, he gave his hand, and a most cordial invitation to be at his house at two o'clock, which hour found me there. I was ushered into a handsome dining-room, and Mr. Rathbone almost immediately entered the same, with a most hearty greeting. I dined with this hospitable man, his charming wife and children. Mrs. Rathbone is not only an amiable woman,

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Rh but a most intelligent and highly educated one. Mr. Rathbone took me to the Exchange Buildings in order to see the American consul, Mr. Maury, and others. Introduction followed introduction; then I was taken through the entire building, the mayor's public dining-hall, etc. I gazed on pictures of royalty by Sir Thomas Lawrence and others, mounted to the dome and looked over Liverpool and the harbor that Nature formed for her. It was past five when I went to keep my appointment with Mr. Swift.

July 25. The day has passed quickly. In the morning I made a crayon portrait of Mr. Swift—or rather began it—for his father, then took a walk, and on my return found a note from Mr. Richard Rathbone awaiting me. He desired me to come at once with one of my portfolios to Duke Street. I immediately took a hackney coach and found Mr. and Mrs. Rathbone with Mr. James Pyke awaiting me, to take me to the home of Mr. Rathbone, Sr., who lives some miles out of Liverpool. Their youngest boy, Basil, a sweet child, took a fancy to me and I to him, and we made friends during our drive. The country opened gradually to our view, and presently passing up an avenue of trees we entered the abode of the venerable pair, and I was heartily made welcome. I felt painfully awkward, as I always do in new company, but so much kindness and simplicity soon made me more at ease. I saw as I entered the house a full and beautiful collection of the birds of England, well prepared and arranged. What sensations I had whilst I helped to untie the fastenings of my portfolio! I knew by all around me that these good friends were possessed of both taste and judgment, and I did not know that I should please. I was panting like the winged Pheasant, but ah! these kind people praised my Birds, and I felt the praise to be honest; once more I breathed freely. My portfolio thoroughly

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102 examined, we returned to Liverpool, and later the Rev. Wm. Goddard, rector of Liverpool, and several ladies called on me, and saw some drawings; all praised them. Oh! what can I hope, my Lucy, for thee and for us all?

July 26. It is very late, and I am tired, but I will not omit writing on that account. The morning was beautiful, but for some reason I was greatly depressed, and it appeared to me as if I could not go on with the work before me. However, I recollected that the venerable Mr. Maury must not be forgotten. I saw him; Mr. Swift left for Dublin with his crayon portrait; I called at the post-office for news from America, but in vain. I wrote for some time, and then received a call from Mr. Rathbone with his brother William; the latter invited me to dine on Friday at his house, which I promised to do, and this evening I dined with Mr. Rd. Rathbone. I went at half-past six, my heart rather failing me, entered the corridor, my hat was taken, and going upstairs I entered Mr. Rathbone's drawing-room. I have frequently thought it strange that my observatory nerves never give way, no matter how much I am overcome by mauvaise honte, nor did they now. Many pictures embellished the walls, and helped, with Mr. Rathbone's lively mien, to remove the misery of the moment. Mr. Edward Roscoe came in immediately, tall, with a good eye under a well marked brow. Dinner announced, we descended to the room I had entered on my first acquaintance with this charming home, and I was conducted to the place of honor. Mr. Roscoe sat next, Mr. Barclay of London, and Mr. Melly opposite with Consul Maury; the dinner was enlivened with mirth and bon mots, and I found in such good company infinite pleasure. After we left the table Mrs. Rathbone joined us in the parlor, and I had now again to show my drawings. Mr. Roscoe, who had been talking to me about them at dinner, would not give me any hopes, and I felt unusually gloomy as one by one I slipped them from their case; but after

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Rh looking at a few only, the great man said heartily: "Mr. Audubon, I am filled with surprise and admiration." On bidding me adieu he invited me to dine with him to-morrow, and to visit the Botanical Gardens. Later Mrs. Rathbone showed me some of her drawings, where talent has put an undeniable stamp on each touch.

July 27. I reached Mr. Roscoe's place, about one and a half miles distant from Liverpool, about three o'clock, and was at once shown into a little drawing-room where all was nature. Mr. Roscoe was drawing a very handsome plant most beautifully. The room was ornamented with many flowers, receiving from his hands the care and treatment they required; they were principally exotics from many distant and different climes. His three daughters were introduced to me, and we then started for the Gardens. Mr. Roscoe and I rode there in what he called his little car, drawn by a pony so small that I was amazed to see it pull us both with apparent ease. Mr. Roscoe is a come-at-able person, who makes me feel at home immediately, and we have much in common. I was shown the whole of the Gardens, which with the hot-house were in fine order. The ground is level, well laid out, and beautifully kept; but the season was, so Mr. Roscoe said, a little advanced for me to see the place to the best advantage. On our return to the charming laboratoire of Mr. Roscoe the large portfolio is again in sight. I will not weary you with the details of this. One of the daughters draws well, and I saw her look closely at me very often, and she finally made known her wish to take a sketch of my head, to which I gave reluctant consent for some future time. Mr. Roscoe is very anxious I should do well, and says he will try to introduce me to Lord Stanley, and assured me nothing should be left undone to meet my wishes; he told me that the honorable gentleman "is rather shy." It was nine o'clock when I said good-night, leaving my drawings with him at his request. On my return to Dale Street I found

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Edwards, George Nelson


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Rh heard a voice speaking close to her, and she thought she could recognise the voice of her own child:—

"'Every time you hit that Tjostul, the people in the hill hit me.'

"The third Thursday evening she gave the changeling a thrashing again, and suddenly a woman, carrying a youngster, came rushing up to her, as if she had burnt herself.

"'Give me Tjöstul back again,—there's your own brat!' she said, as she threw the child at the woman, who stretched out her hands to receive it; she got hold of one leg, which she held in her hand, but the rest of the child she never saw,—so violent had the troll's wife thrown it from her."

During this story the mistress of the house began to show unmistakable signs of uneasiness, and towards its end they became so apparent, that even the story-teller, who seemed to be fully taken up by her narrative, also noticed them.

"What's the matter?" said the witch. "Oh, I see!—it's your husband that's coming," she continued, as she looked out through the open door, and added in a grave tone: "There's no room here for Gubjör any longer; but don't you be afraid, mother;—I'll go round by the churchyard, and then he won't see me."


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Edwards, Henry Thomas


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was once upon a time a charcoal-burner who had a son, and he was also a charcoal-burner. When the father died, the son got married, but he would not do any work, and he neglected also to look after his kilns, and very soon no one would have him to burn charcoal any more for them.

But one days he had got a kiln of charcoal ready burnt, and he set out for town with some loads of it and sold them. When he had done his business, he loitered down some of the streets and looked


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 the following note: "Mr. Martin, of the Royal Institution of Liverpool, will do himself the pleasure to wait upon Mr. Ambro to-morrow at eleven o'clock." Why do people make such errors with my simple name?

July 28. A. full grown man with a scarlet vest and breeches, black stockings and shoes for the coloring of his front, and a long blue coat covering his shoulders and back reminds me somewhat of our summer red bird (Tanagra rubra). Both man and bird attract the eye, but the scientific appellation of the man is unknown to me. At eleven Mr. Martin (who I expect is secretary to the Royal Institution) called, and arranged with me a notice to the members of the Institution, announcing that I would exhibit my drawings for two hours on the mornings of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday following, at the Institution. Later, feeling lonely and sad, I called on Mrs. R. Rathbone, whom I found putting away in a little box, a dissected map, with which, Edgeworth-like, she had been transmitting knowledge with pleasure. She is so truly delightful a companion that had it been possible I should have made my call long instead of short, but I walked home by a roundabout way, and found a note from Mr. Wm. Rathbone reminding me of my promise to dine with him, and adding that he wished me to meet a brother-in-law of his from London who may be of use to me, so will I bring a few drawings? At the hour named I found myself in Abercrombie Street and in the parlor with two little daughters of my host, the elder about thirteen, extremely handsome. Mrs. Rathbone soon entered and greeted me as if she had known me all my life; her husband followed, and the guests, all gentlemen, collected. Mr. Hodgson, to whom I had a letter from Mr. Nolté was particularly kind to me, but every one seemed desirous I should succeed in England. A Swiss gentleman urged me not to waste time here, but proceed at once to Paris, but he was

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Rh not allowed to continue his argument, and at ten I left with Mr. Pyke for my lodgings.

July 29. To-day I visited Mr. Hunt, the best landscape painter of this city. I examined much of his work and found some beautiful representations of the scenery of Wales. I went to the Royal Institution to judge of the light, for naturally I wish my work to have every possible advantage. I have not found the population of Liverpool as dense as I expected, and except during the evenings (that do not at this season commence before eight o'clock) I have not been at all annoyed by the elbowings of the crowd, as I remember to have been in my youth, in the large cities of France. Some shops here are beautifully supplied, and have many customers. The new market is in my opinion an object worth the attention of all travelers. It is the finest I have ever seen—it is a large, high and long building, divided into five spacious avenues, each containing its specific commodities. I saw here viands of all descriptions, fish, vegetables, game, fruits,—both indigenous and imported from all quarters of the globe,—bird sellers, with even little collections of stuffed specimens, cheeses of enormous size, butter in great abundance, immense crates of hen's-eggs packed in layers of oats imported from Ireland, twenty-five for one shilling. This market is so well lighted with gas that this evening at ten o'clock I could plainly see the colors of the irids of living pigeons in cages. The whole city is lighted with gas; each shop has many of these illuminating fires, and fine cambric can be looked at by good judges. Mr. A. Hodgson called on me, and I am to dine with him on Monday; he has written to Lord Stanley about me. He very kindly asked if my time passed heavily, gave me a note of admittance for the Athenæum, and told me he would do all in his power for me. I dined at the inn to-day for the second time only since my arrival.

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 July 30. It is Sunday again, but not a dull one; I have become better acquainted, and do not feel such an utter stranger. I went to the church of the Asylum for the Blind. A few steps of cut stone lead to an iron gate, and under a colonnade; at the inner gate you pay whatever you please over sixpence. Near the entrance is a large picture of Christ healing the blind. The general structure is a well proportioned oblong; ten light columns support the flat ceiling. A fine organ is placed over the entrance in a kind of upper lobby, which contains also the musicians, who are blind. All is silent, and the mind is filled with heavenly thoughts, when suddenly the sublime music glides into one's whole being, and the service has begun. Nowhere have I ever seen such devotion in a church. In the afternoon the Rev. Wm. Goddard took me to some institutions for children on the Lancastrian system; all appeared well dressed, clean, and contented. I dined with Mr. and Mrs. Gordon; Anne advised me to have my hair cut, and to buy a fashionable coat.

July 31. This day has been one of trial to me. At nine of the morning I was quite busy, arranging and disposing in sets my drawings, that they might be inspected by the public. The doors were thrown open at noon, and the ladies flocked in. I knew but one, Mrs. Richard Rathbone, but I had many glances to meet and questions to answer. The time passed, however, and at two the doors were closed. At half-past four I drove with Mr. Adam Hodgson to his cottage, where I was introduced to Mrs. Hodgson, a tall young woman with the freshness of spring, who greeted me most kindly; there were three other guests, and we passed a quiet evening after the usual excellent dinner. Soon after ten we retired to our rooms.

August 1. I arose to listen to the voice of an English Blackbird just as the day broke. It was a little after three, I dressed; and as silently as in my power moved

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bale, Robert (d.1503)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Edwards, Humphrey


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 of the judicial department, Bombay, in 1854; first director of public instruction in Western India, 1855–9; member of council, 1860–2; judge of Bombay high court, 1862–1863. He was a highly accomplished man and a good lawyer. He died in London on 5 June 1893.

Erskine's younger son,, C.S.I. (1832-1893), also a distinguished civilian, arrived in Bombay in 1853, was commissioner of northern division, 1877-9, and commissioner of Scinde, 1879-1887. He died at Great Malvern on 4 Dec. 1893 (article in Times of India, 20 Jan. 1894;, Things of India made Plain, London, 1884, p. 13; private information; Fergusson, Chronicles of the Cumming Club, Edinburgh, 1887).

ESCOMBE, HARRY (1838–1899), premier of Natal, the son of Robert Escombe of Chelsea, who was of a family of Somersetshire yeomen, and of Anne, his wife, was born at Netting Hill, London, on 25 July 1838, and educated at St. Paul's school, which he entered in 1847 and left in 1855 to enter the office of a stockbroker. In 1859 he emigrated to the Cape, and early in 1860 went on to Natal, where he obtained employment under (Sir) John Robinson (afterwards first premier of the colony) as bookkeeper in the office of the 'Natal Mercury;' afterwards he went into the employ of Hermon Salomon, general agent, at Pietermaritzburg. He then commenced business on his own account in Durban, but did not succeed, and so decided to qualify himself as an attorney-at-law. He first became partner with J. D. Davis, and later with W. Shepstone, finally founding a firm of his own. In Natal, as in the United States and elsewhere, the solicitor is also advocate, and Escombe rapidly became successful in the courts till he was recognised as the first pleader in Natal, and was always employed in cases of importance. Later he was appointed solicitor and standing counsel for Durban.

In 1872 Escombe was elected for Durban as a member of the old mixed legislative council; he was at the time absent in Zululand at the crowning of Cetywayo. At the next general election in August 1873 he was again re-elected, but resigned when the council met. In the next year he was in England, and acted as immigration agent for the colony. He served with the Durban rifles through the Zulu campaign of 1879-80, and gained a medal. In November 1879 he was again elected for Durban to the legislative council, and a year later was also placed on the executive council, when he came out as the strong opponent of responsible government, in this respect working with Sir [q. v. Suppl.] In 1880 he obtained by his personal influence the enactment of the law constituting the Natal harbour board, and as chairman of the board he began at once to interest himself in the question of harbour accommodation at Durban, with which his name is specially connected. In 1881 he served through the Transvaal war with the royal Durban rifles. In 1882, in the elections for the legislative council, he opposed Sir John Robinson in his campaign for reform, but soon afterwards his views as regards responsible government underwent a change. Consequently in 1883 he ceased to be a member of the executive council. In 1885 he lost his seat in the legislature. In March 1886 he was delegate to a conference with the Orange Free State, held at Harrismith, on customs, the post office, and other questions. The same year he was re-elected to the council as member for Newcastle.

In 1887-8 Escombe was in England for some time, but hurried out to Natal to defend Dinizulu against the charge of rebellion, conducting the case with entire success. Soon after this he was asked to return to England and enter parliament in the liberal interest, but declined. Later, in 1888, he was elected again to the council as member for Klip River district, but in 1890 became member for Durban, which he continued to represent in future.

On the advent of responsible government Escombe became on 10 Oct. 1893 attorney-general in Sir John Robinson's ministry, and was appointed Q.C. He was during the following years chiefly connected with the policy of developing at all costs the commercial capacities of the colony; and some thought that he was inclined to sacrifice agricultural interests. On 15 Feb. 1897, when Sir John Robinson's health had broken down, Escombe became premier, combining with the office of Rh


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 Rh undutifulness to her father. As Mr. Hartland showed long ago (The Outcast Child, Folk-Lore Journal, IV) the earliest medieval example of this incident is Geoffrey of Monmouth's story of Lear and his Daughters, a tale we may regard with every reason as drawn from then current Welsh tradition. So far, British origin (immediate origin, at least) of a not unimportant element of the story-cvcle as certain. It should be noted that in this oldest example the outcast heroine, daughter of a British king, weds a French prince, as happens in so many stories of the second type-form, now about to be discussed

The second, the Catskin type-form, opens as a rule with he unnatural marriage incident. Moved by his daughter's likeness to, or by her ability to wear some special part of the dead mother's attire, a king seeks his daughter in marriage She resists, and is cast forth or flees. Often, her hands are hewed off and she is set adrift in a boat. The theme was a favourite one in the Middle Ages, and the numerous examples collected by Miss Cox (pp.xliii-lxvi) may be grouped as follows. I cite the continental versions (i.e. such as are not written in England or by Englishmen) first:—

A. The father is a king or lord in France; the heroine seeks refuge in England, whose king she weds. Thus in the fifteenth century Spanish romance Victorial, the story there being told to account for the origin of the wars between France and England. A fifteenth century Italian version of the story by Bart. Fazio avows the same object but the rôles are inverted: the unnatural father is an Edward of England, the heroine weds a French dauphin In the fifteenth century German romance of Hans der Buheler (p. Ini) the heroine is a French princess, and it is at London that she weds the English king.

B. In the oldest continental version, the twelfth century


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508 yet plenty of Red-headed Woodpeckers. Our captain has just sent out four hunters this evening, who are to hunt early to-morrow morning, and will meet the boat some distance above; Squires has gone with them. How I wish I were twenty-five years younger! I should like such a tramp greatly; but I do not think it prudent now for me to sleep on the ground when I can help it, while it is so damp. May 23, Tuesday. The wind blew from the south this morning and rather stiffly. We rose early, and walked about this famous Cedar Island, where we stopped to cut large red cedars [Juniperns virginianus] for one and a half hours; we started at half-past five, breakfasted rather before six, and were on the lookout for our hunters. Hunters! Only two of them had ever been on a Buffalo hunt before. One was lost almost in sight of the river. They only walked two or three miles, and camped. Poor Squires' first experience was a very rough one; for, although they made a good fire at first, it never was tended afterwards, and his pillow was formed of a buck's horn accidentally picked up near the place. Our Sioux Indian helped himself to another, and they all felt chilly and damp. They had forgotten to take any spirits with them, and their condition was miserable. As the orb of day rose as red as blood, the party started, each taking a different direction. But the wind was unfavorable; it blew up, not down the river, and the Buffaloes, Wolves, Antelopes, and indeed every animal possessed of the sense of smell, had scent of them in time to avoid them. There happened however to be attached to this party two good and true men, that may be called hunters. One was Michaux; the other a friend of his, whose name I do not know. It happened, by hook or by crook, that these two managed to kill four Buffaloes; but one of them was drowned, as it took to the river after being shot. Only a few pieces from a young bull, and its tongue, were

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 136 Alexandre de Bernai's French metrical romance, De la belle Helayne de Constantinople, the heroine is a daughter of Antony, Emperor of Constantinople, and it is a Henry of England whom she weds. A widely-spread German chap-book goes back to this romance (p. lii).

C. The father is a king of Hungary, the daughter comes to Scotland. Thus, the Roman de Manekine one of the most popular of French thirteenth century romances, from which the fourteenth century French play, Un Miracle de Nostre Dame, seems derived (p. lix).

D. The story of St. Dipne (first met with in France at the end of the seventeenth century), daughter to a king of Ireland. In accordance with the hagiological nature of this story the heroine's fate is martyrdom and not wedlock (p. lxv).

So far the continental versions. I have not cited the forms from which the connection with Britain is absent, but these all seem to be later than and dependent upon the type-forms cited above.

On turning to stories written in England we are at once confronted with a remarkable counterpart to the Victorial version in the Life of the second Offa by the thirteenth century Matthew Paris. This tells how a beautiful but evil Frankish princess, doomed to exposure on the sea, reaches England, is seen and beloved of the Angle king. Her explanation of her banishment is, it should be noted, that she was fleeing marriage with a suitor of lowly birth sought to be forced upon her. Otherwise, there is no hint in this story of the unnatural marriage incident, but this is found, in its orthodox form, in the same Matthew's Life of the first Offa, where the erring father is a king of York.


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 Rh A still more interesting English version is the story of Emare found in the early fifteenth century MS., Caligula, Ail. The names of the heroine's father and mother—Artyus, Erayne—at once betray connection with the Arthurian cycle. Emare is put out to nurse on her mother's death, and it is a chanre sight of her, dressed in a rich robe of golden cloth, that routes the father's passion. She, too, is exposed in a boat, lands in "Galys" (not France, which country is separately mentioned), and weds its king (pp. l-li).

I think it may be taken as certain that the continental versions are derived from English sources, also that the oldest English and continental versions are not directly connected, but both come down from an older stratum of which can only be very briefly glanced at here. Matthew's story of the second Offa has been connected with that told in Beowulf of Offa and Thrytho, but the Beowulf Offa is, of course, the first, the continental Offa. The Beowulf story explicitly, and that told by Matthew of the second Offa implicitly, seem to fall under the King Thrushbeard formula, where a haughty and fierce princess, after disdainful and savage treatment of many suitors, is at length tamed by the right wooer.

This, the King Thrushbeard formula, seems to be represented in Miss Cox's analogues by the Pecorone story (p. li), where the princess is also from France (the disagreeable suitor being a German), and escapes to England. Here again it is marriage, and not incestuous marriage, that is shunned. But if this is so, as it would seem to be, with the Matthew Paris second Offa story, how are we to account for the fact of its being such a decided counterpart to the Victorial version? Was that also originally a Thrushbeard, rather than an unnatural marriage story? If so, the change must have been of old standing when the story was heard by its fifteenth century Spanish narrator, as the point of it (the explanation of the enmity between France and England) is implicated in the unnatural marriage opening, and could hardly arise with the other. (As to the Offa lives, cf. Ten Brink in Paul's Grundriss, ii, 534.) It should be noted that the after history of all these heroines belongs, as a rule, to the calumniated wife or Genoveva storygroup, a story of great importance in early English literature, if, as seems likely, the eighth-ninth century poem, known as The Wife's Complaint, is a dramatic idyl based upon it.


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Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society

 * Volume 1
 * Volume 2
 * Volume 3


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 138 story-telling, elaborated, if not originating, in Britain. We notice, then, that one English form, Matthew's Life of Offa, connects the incident with the legendary history of the Teutonic race-element of our people, whilst the other rather indicates a Celtic origin. The latter, again, is favoured by Alexandre's version, which makes the heroine St. Helena of Constantinople. The part played by Helena, wife of Constantius and mother of Constantine, in Welsh legend is too well known to need emphasising. And Cynewulfs poem of Elene shows that she was popular also among the Englishmen. In this connection it is worth noting that, in the version of the Manekine story found in the Anglo-Norman chronicle of Nicolas Trivet, the heroine's name is Constance, a name derived, I think, from the Romano-British cycle. In this version the Catskin opening is missing, as it also is in Chaucer and Gower, who seem to have followed Nicolas Trivet. As regards Matthew, it has been said that he is influenced by Saxo Grammaticus; this is possible, but it only shifts back the question, as any legends told by Saxo of the Angle Offa are likely, to my mind, to be the reflex of tales heard by Saxo's Danish fellow-countrymen during their stay in England.

Personally, I see no reason to postulate the exclusive attribution of the incident to either Celts or Teutons. But those who are so minded can hardly fail to underestimate the import of the Irish story which I was able to communicate to Miss Cox in time to be noted on the last page of her volume. This tells how Raghallach, the seventh-century King of Connaught, being warned that evil would befall him from his offspring, charged his wife to have her child slain. But the swineherd to whom she


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Rh downstairs carrying my boots in my hand, gently opened the door, and was off to the fields and meadows. I walked a good deal, went to the seashore, saw a Hare, and returned to breakfast, after which and many invitations to make my kind hosts frequent visits, I was driven back to town, and went immediately to the Institution, where I met Dr. Traill and many other persons of distinction. Several gentlemen attached to the Institution, wished me to be remunerated for exhibiting my pictures, but though I am poor enough, God knows, I do not think I should do that, as the room has been given to me gratis. Four hundred and thirteen persons were admitted to see my drawings.

August 2. I put up this day two hundred and twenty-five of my drawings; the coup d'œil was not bad, and the room was crowded. Old Mr. Roscoe did me the honor to present me to Mr. Jean Sismondi, of Geneva. Mr. and Mrs. Rathbone had gone to their country home, "Green Bank," but I sent a note telling them how many pictures I had added to the first day's exhibition. I have decided to collect what letters I can for London, and go there as soon as possible. I was introduced to Mr. Booth of Manchester, who promised me whatever aid he could in that city. After a call at Mr. Roscoe's, I went, with a gentleman from Charleston, S. C., to the theatre, as I was anxious to see the renowned Miss Foote. Miss Foote has been pretty, nay, handsome, nay, beautiful, but—she has been. The play was good, the playhouse bad, and the audience numerous and fashionable.

August 4. I had no time to write yesterday; my morning was spent at the Institution, the room was again crowded, I was wearied with bowing to the many to

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 Rh gave the babe for that purpose relents, and confides her to a hermit, by whom she is brought up. She becomes the fairest maid in Ireland, and her father, hearing of her beauty, and not knowing who she is, loves her, and takes her to himself He refuses to put her away at the bidding of the saints of Ireland, is cursed by them, and dies a shameful death (p. 535).

The MS. in which this story is found is of the fifteenth century only; but the story forms a portion of annals which stop at the end of the tenth century. Parts of these same annals are found in eleventh century MSS., and the language of our story is, as Professor Meyer tells me, twelfth century in character. We shall not, then, do wrong in assigning the Raghallach story, as we have it, to the twelfth or preceding century, i.e., it is at least of equal age with the oldest English or continental tales in which the unnatural marriage-incident occurs. But we can, I believe, look upon it as much older, substantially as old as the date of the personages it deals with, i.e., as the seventh century. For the old war-chariot (which fell out of use during the period of the Viking invasions of Ireland, during, that is, the ninth and tenth centuries) is still the ordinary vehicle. We learn this from a delightful touch of the Irish story-teller, who, when he wishes to express the extent of Raghallach's passion, "his love towards her was such", says he, "that when her chariot went before, she must needs turn her face backwards upon him; whereas he, if his chariot led, would set his face to her. It is even thought that in Ireland none ever had done the like."

An interesting point in connection with this story is the air of probability it wears. Grant the premiss—the exposed child (a commonplace of early Irish story-telling )—and the sequence of incidents is a possible one, involving no such shock to our moral sense as do the other versions.


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 whom I was introduced. Some one was found copying one of the pictures, but the doorkeeper, an alert Scotchman, saw his attempt, turned him out, and tore his sketch. Mr. A. Hodgson invited me to dine with Lord Stanley to-morrow in company with Mr. Wm. Roscoe, Sr. Mr. Sismondi gave me a letter to Baron von Humboldt, and showed me a valuable collection of insects from Thibet, and after this I took tea with Mr. Roscoe.

This morning I breakfasted with Mr. Hodgson, and met Mrs. Wm. Rathbone somewhat later at the Institution; never was a woman better able to please, and more disposed to do so; a woman possessed of beauty, good sense, great intelligence, and rare manners, with a candor and sweetness not to be surpassed. Mr. William Roscoe sent his carriage for me, and I again went to his house, where quite a large company had assembled, among others two botanists who knew every plant and flower, and were most obliging in giving me much delightful information. Having to walk to "Green Bank," the home of Mr. William Rathbone, Sr., I left Mr. Roscoe's at sunset (which by the way was beautiful). The evening was calm and lovely, and I soon reached the avenue of trees leading to the house I sought Almost immediately I found myself on the lawn with a group of archers, and was interested in the sport; some of the ladies shot very well. Mr. Rathbone, Sr., asked me much about Indians, and American trees, the latter quite unknown here, and as yet I have seen none larger than the saplings of Louisiana. When the other guests had left, I was shown the new work on the Birds of England; I did not like it as well as I had hoped; I much prefer Thomas Bewick. Bewick is the Wilson of England.

August 5. Miss Hannah Rathbone drove me into Liverpool with great speed. Two little Welsh ponies, well matched, drew us beautifully in a carriage which is

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 Wellesley of the Irish court of exchequer. Subsequently he became auditor and registrar of the royal hospital near Dublin, of which in 1725 he published an account (‘Account of the Foundation of the Royal Hospital of King Charles II, near Dublin, for Relief and Maintenance of Antient and Maimed Officers and Soldiers of the Army of Ireland,’ 1725, 12mo). Meanwhile, in 1723, Colley succeeded to the Kildare estates on the death of his elder brother Henry. On 23 Sept. 1728 he succeeded to the estates of his cousin Garrett Wesley or Wellesley of Dangan and Mornington, co. Meath, M.P. for co. Meath, who died without issue. Thereupon Colley assumed the additional surname of Wesley, which is ordinarily spelt Wellesley. (This Garrett Wesley was son of Garrett Wesley of Dangan and Mornington, by his wife, Elizabeth Colley, eldest daughter of Dudley Colley, the first Lord Mornington's grandfather.)

From 1729 to 1746 Wesley represented Trim, and in 1734 was high sheriff of Meath. On 9 July 1746 he was created a peer of Ireland by the title of Baron Mornington of Meath, and took his seat on 6 Oct. 1747. He built and endowed near Trim a charter working school for fifty children, which was opened on 5 Nov. 1748. He died at his house, on the north-west side of Grafton Street, Dublin, on 31 Jan. 1758.

Mary Delany [q. v.] was an intimate friend of the Wesley family, and often stayed at Dangan, the family seat near Trim. Of the owner she wrote: ‘He has certainly more virtues and fewer faults than any man I know. He valued his riches only as a means for making those about him happy.’ In 1731 she records that the Wesley family was drawn by Hogarth.

Wesley married, on 23 Dec. 1719, Elizabeth, eldest daughter of John Sale, registrar of the diocese of Dublin. She died on 17 June 1738. The only son, Garrett Wellesley, earl of Mornington [q. v.], is separately noticed. Of the daughters, Elizabeth married Chichester Fortescue, of Dromsken, co. Louth; and Frances married William Francis Crosbie.

[O'Hart's Irish Pedigrees, 4th edit. ii. 123–7 (for Colley pedigree). With the Wellesley pedigree (ii. 443) in Burke's Peerage compare Lodge's Peerage of Ireland, ed. Archdall, iii. 59–72, and Pearce's Memoirs of Marquis Wellesley, chap. i. See also Gent. Mag. 1758, p. 94; Gilbert's Hist. of Dublin, iii. 198; Cat. of Dublin Grad.; G. E. C[okayne]'s Peerage; Mrs. Delany's Autobiogr. and Corresp. i. 283–4, 312, 348–9, 406–8 sq.]  WELLESLEY, RICHARD COLLEY, (1760–1842), governor-general of India, born at Dangan Castle on 20 June 1760, was the eldest of the six sons of Garrett Wellesley, first viscount Wellesley of Dangan Castle and earl of Mornington in the county of Meath [q. v.] His mother was Anne, eldest daughter of Arthur Hill-Trevor, first viscount Dungannon. Henry Wellesley, baron Cowley [q. v.], Arthur Wellesley, the great duke of Wellington [q. v.], and William Wellesley-Pole, first baron Maryborough and third earl of Mornington [q. v.], were his younger brothers. Richard began his education in a private school at Trim, whence he was sent to Harrow. There he was implicated in barring out a newly appointed headmaster named Heath, whose appointment was resented by the elder Harrow boys. He was then sent to Eton, where he speedily acquired an accurate knowledge of the Greek and Latin classics, and also the remarkable facility in composition in those languages which distinguished him to the end of his life. From Eton he went to Oxford, matriculating from Christ Church on 24 Dec. 1778. In 1780 he won the chancellor's prize for Latin verse, the subject being Captain Cook. He was elected a student of Christ Church. His father dying in 1781, he left Oxford without taking a degree, and returned to Ireland, where he devoted himself to putting his estates in order and to looking after the education of his brothers. The estates he placed under the management of his mother. He at the same time took upon himself the payment of his father's debts. When he came of age he entered the Irish House of Peers, where he contracted a great admiration for Grattan. William Wyndham Grenville (afterwards Baron Grenville) [q. v.], who had been his intimate friend both at Eton and at Oxford, was at that time chief secretary for Ireland, and the former intimacy was renewed. On 3 April 1784 Wellesley was returned to the English House of Commons as member for Beeralston in Devonshire, on 19 July 1787 and on 16 June 1790 for Windsor, and on 13 May 1796 for Old Sarum. He was one of the original knights of St. Patrick on the foundation of the order in 1783, and was made a lord of the treasury in 1786. He early imbibed liberal principles. He sympathised with Pitt's free-trade principles and with Wilberforce regarding the slave trade; but in the earlier part of his life, influenced by what he saw of revolutionary proceedings in Paris, he was opposed to parliamentary reform. He has been called a typical representative of the conservatism which owed its birth to Pitt and Burke. In 1793 he was appointed by Pitt a member of the board of control for Indian affairs,


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User talk:Indyrl

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 Wellesley obtain Rome as a capital, the fall of the kingdom of Naples, the expedition of Garibaldi which ended at Aspromonte, the Schleswig-Holstein war, the Austro-Prussian war of 1866, the invasion of Mexico, and the constant attempts of the emperor to obtain some rectification of the eastern frontier of France, kept the hands of the British ambassador at Paris constantly full during the remainder of his active career. If the ship of the French empire did not sooner strike the rocks on which it ultimately foundered, it was in no small degree owing to the wise counsels of the British ambassador and of his old chief, Lord Clarendon, who had again joined the cabinet in 1864, and at the end of 1865 returned to the foreign office, when Lord Russell had become prime minister on the death of Lord Palmerston. In the opinion of competent persons, Cowley's retirement from the embassy in 1867, followed by the death of Lord Clarendon in 1870, were potent causes in hastening the probably inevitable conflict between France and Germany by depriving the emperor of two advisers who, owing to long acquaintance, were able to put before him with a certain familiarity what others had either an interest in concealing or were afraid to speak. When in 1867 Cowley retired from the French embassy, a diplomatic banquet was given in his honour by the Marquis de Moustier, minister of foreign affairs. In replying to the toast of his health the ambassador paid a tribute to the unceasing efforts which had been made by Napoleon III to promote good relations between France and England (Times, 16 July 1884); and that this was true of the emperor personally will not now be doubted. It was noticed as ominous that the news of the tragic death of the Emperor Maximilian reached Paris on the very day on which Cowley took leave of his colleagues at this banquet.

In 1863 Cowley unexpectedly inherited the estate of Draycot, near Chippenham in Wiltshire, by bequest from his cousin, the Earl of Mornington, who had died childless. The diplomatic tact of the ambassador was perhaps never more needed than when, almost simultaneously with the announcement of the bequest, he is said to have received an invitation to Draycot from the sister of the late earl, who not at all unnaturally had assumed herself to be Lord Mornington's successor in the property. Cowley was nominated G.C.B. on 21 Feb. 1853, and K.G. on 3 Feb. 1866, and on 22 June 1870 he received the honorary degree of D.C.L. from the university of Oxford. He died at Draycot on 15 July 1884. ‘I never knew a man of business so naturally gifted for his profession,’ said Lord Malmesbury, who had twice occupied the foreign office in the period covered by Cowley's embassy. ‘Straightforward himself, he easily discovered guile in others who sought to deceive him, and this was well known to such’ (Memoirs of an Ex-Minister, p. 418).

On 23 Oct. 1833 Cowley married Olivia Cecilia, second daughter of Charlotte, baroness de Ros, and Lord Henry Fitzgerald. ‘Her knowledge of the world, of society, and of courts’ not a little assisted him (ib.), especially as these gifts neutralised the effects of the diffidence in general society which occasionally hampered Cowley's diplomatic abilities. She died on 21 April 1885. Cowley was succeeded in his title by his son, Lieutenant-colonel William Henry, viscount Dangan, who had served with distinction in the Crimean war and the Indian mutiny.

 WELLESLEY or WESLEY, RICHARD COLLEY, first in the peerage of Ireland (1690?–1758), born about 1690, was the youngest son, but eventually the heir, of Henry Colley of Castle Carbury, Kildare, by his first wife, Mary, daughter of Sir William Usher of Dublin. The family of Cowley, Colley, or Cooley, was probably of English origin, and has been variously stated to have come from Rutland, Staffordshire, and Gloucestershire. The last appears the most probable; but there is substantially no evidence. They were settled in Ireland early in the sixteenth century. Robert Cowley or Colley (d. 1543) was the first of the family who is recorded to have settled in Ireland; he was bailiff of Dublin in 1515. His grandson, Sir Henry Colley (d. 1584), was knighted by Sir Henry Sidney, lord deputy of Ireland, in 1560, was called to the privy council, and received the grant of Castle Carbury, Kildare, in 1563. This Sir Henry's son, also Sir Henry Colley (d. 1637), received large grants of land in Wexford in 1617. His son and successor, Dudley Colley (d. 1674), a commissioner under the Irish act of settlement, was the first Lord Mornington's grandfather.

Richard Colley graduated at Trinity College, B.A. in 1711 and M.A. in 1714. In 1713 he was appointed second chamberlain


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Rh the young lady's special property. After she left me my head was full of Lord Stanley. I am a very poor fool, to be sure, to be troubled at the idea of meeting an English gentleman, when those I have met have been in kindness, manners, talents, all I could desire, far more than I expected. The Misses Roscoe were at the Institution, where they have been every day since my pictures were exhibited. Mrs. Wm. Rathbone, with her daughter—her younger self—at her side, was also there, and gave me a packet of letters from her husband. On opening this packet later I found the letters were contained in a handsome case, suitable for my pocket, and a card from Mr. Rathbone asking me to use it as a token of his affectionate regard. In the afternoon I drove with Mr. Hodgson to his cottage, and while chatting with his amiable wife the door opened to admit Lord Stanley. I have not the least doubt that if my head had been looked at, it would have been thought to be the body, globularly closed, of one of our largest porcupines; all my hair—and I have enough—stood straight on end, I am sure. He is tall, well formed, made for activity, simply but well dressed; he came to me at once, bowing to Mrs. Hodgson as he did so, and taking my hand in his, said: "Sir, I am glad to see you." Not the words only, but his manner put me at once at my ease. My drawings were soon brought out. Lord Stanley is a great naturalist, and in an instant he was exclaiming over my work, "Fine!" "Beautiful!" and when I saw him on his knees, having spread my drawings on the floor, the better to compare them, I forgot he was Lord Stanley, I knew only he too loved Nature. At dinner I looked at him closely; his manner reminded me of Thomas Sully, his forehead would have suited Dr.

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 A QUARTERLY REVIEW

OF

MYTH, TRADITION, INSTITUTION, & CUSTOM.

VOL. III.—1892.

Fleuron at title page of Folklore journal.png

LONDON:

DAVID NUTT, 270, STRAND.

1892.


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 A QUARTERLY REVIEW

OF

MYTH, TRADITION, INSTITUTION, & CUSTOM.

VOL. II.—1891.

Publisher's design in Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties.png

LONDON:

DAVID NUTT, 270, STRAND.

1891.


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 Wellesley honours is not to adorn a favoured character, nor to extol individual reputation, nor to transmit an esteemed name with lustre to posterity, but to commemorate public services and to perpetuate public principles. The conscious sense of the motives, objects, and results of my endeavours to serve my country in this arduous station inspires me with an unfeigned solicitude that the principles which I revere should be preserved for the security of the interests now entrusted to my charge and destined hereafter to engage my lasting and affectionate attachment.’

The most brilliant part of Wellesley's career was unquestionably his government of India. He must be regarded as one of the three men who consolidated the empire of which Clive laid the foundation. In many respects he resembled Dalhousie more than Hastings; but the difficulties which he was called upon to encounter were greater than those which confronted Dalhousie. His services in Spain as ambassador to the Spanish junta, and his subsequent action as foreign secretary in London, must be regarded as having largely conduced to the success of the Peninsular war in the indefatigable support which he gave to his illustrious brother. His policy in Ireland was wise and statesmanlike. This cannot be said of the foreign policy which he advocated in 1814 and afterwards, when, if his views had prevailed, the peace of Europe which followed the downfall of Napoleon would have been indefinitely postponed. As a member of a constitutional government such as that of Great Britain he was somewhat out of place owing to his autocratic habits and the contempt which he felt, and did not attempt to conceal, for the failings of his less able colleagues. Mackintosh called him ‘a sultanized Englishman.’ He was fond of display, but here he seems to have been actuated not so much by vanity, although he was by no means free from self-consciousness, as by a deliberate conviction of the expediency of maintaining pomp and state, especially when dealing with orientals.

His style of writing and speaking was largely affected by his constant study of the great orators and poets of antiquity. Although he professed the greatest admiration for the oratory of Demosthenes and the terse writing of Tacitus, the model which he practically followed was to be found in the more diffuse speeches of Cicero.

He was gifted with a keen sense of humour and was a very popular member of society, especially with the fair sex. Notwithstanding his indefatigable devotion to his public duties, his pursuits in his moments of leisure were those of a man of pleasure, as well in middle age as in youth.

In the latter part of his life his chief friend was Lord Brougham, whose gifts as a scholar made them congenial companions. Wellesley continued his classical studies and writings up to the last year of his life. In 1840 he privately printed (and often revised later) a little book entitled ‘Primitiæ et Reliquiæ,’ for the most part composed of Latin verses written by him at different periods of his life. In 1841, on the occasion of a statue being erected in honour of his brother by the citizens of London, he wrote a Latin inscription. Several of his Latin poems appeared in the ‘Anthologia Oxoniensis.’ But Wellesley's literary studies were not confined to the ancient classics; he was a good Italian scholar and had an extensive knowledge of the Italian poets, and especially of Dante. Shakespeare also was often quoted in his letters and despatches.

Wellesley died at Kingston House, Brompton, on 26 Sept. 1842 in his eighty-third year, and was buried at Eton in the college chapel on 8 Oct. His widow, who was a lady of the bedchamber to the Queen-dowager Adelaide, died at Hampton Court Palace on 17 Dec. 1853.

The best portrait of Wellesley is by Sir Thomas Lawrence, and a good sketch was made by Count D'Orsay in 1841. Portraits by J. Hoppner and C. Fortescue Bute are in the possession of the Duke of Wellington; and a third, by George Romney, is at Eton College. Two portraits of Wellesley by J. P. Davis, and a marble bust by John Bacon, are in the National Portrait Gallery of London. A bust is also at Eton. A marble statue, subscribed for by British residents, was erected in Government House, Calcutta.

[Montgomery's Martin's Despatches, Minutes, and Correspondence of the Marquis Wellesley, K.G., during his Administration in India, London, 1836–7, 5 vols. 8vo; Selections from Wellesley's Despatches, ed. Sidney J. Owen, Oxford, 1897; Pearce's Memoirs and Correspondence of Marquis Wellesley, 1846; Malleson's Life of the Marquis Wellesley (Statesmen Series), 1889; Thornton's Hist. of the British Empire in India, 1842, vol. iii.; Torrens's Marquis Wellesley, 1880; Hutton's Marquis Wellesley (Rulers of India Series), 1893.]  WELLESLEY-POLE, WILLIAM, third in the peerage of Ireland and first  of the United Kingdom (1763–1845), born at Dangan Castle on 20 May 1763, was the second son of Garrett Wellesley, first earl [q. v.], and the brother of the Marquis Wellesley and the Duke of Wellington. Having been educated


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Edwards, James


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Esher attorney-general those of minister of education and minister of defence. One of his first measures was the passing of the Natal act for restraining unsatisfactory immigration. In June 1897 he joined the other premiers of colonies in London to celebrate the queen's sixtieth year of rule. Be was at this time one of the most influential men in the whole of South Africa. Shortly after his return to Natal he had to face the constituencies and was beaten ; accordingly, in September 1897, not without some satisfaction, as the treble work which he was doing had told upon him, he resigned office and made way for a new ministry under Sir Henry Binns. He did not go into opposition, but maintained an independent attitude.

On the outbreak of the Boer war in October 1899 Escombe went up to the northern part of the colony to encourage the inhabitants, and remained in or near Newcastle till the Boers pressed down and occupied that part of the colony. He hoped to the end that better counsels would prevail and that a permanent friendly understanding would be established. Shortly after his return to Durban he died suddenly on 27 Dec. 1899.

Escombe was tall and of commanding mien. In speech he was eloquent; in argument quick and searching. He was a chess player, and fond of astronomy, on which, as well as other subjects, he occasionally lectured at the Durban institute and elsewhere. (See, Life and Times in South Africa, p. xxix.) He was a keen volunteer, joined the royal Durban rifles in 1860, and became cornet in 1868; he was one of the founders and the first commander of the Natal naval volunteers; for many years up to the time when he became premier he joined them in their annual encampment. But his name will chiefly be remembered in connection with the formation of the port of Durban, which owes its successful completion entirely to Escombe's persistence, in the face of many obstacles. He was made a privy councillor in 1897, and an honorary LL.D. of Cambridge at the same time.

Escombe married in 1865 Theresa, daughter of Dr. William Garbutt Taylor of Durban, and left four daughters; a son died young.

[Natal Mercury, 28 Dec. 1899; South Africa, 30 Dec. 1899.]  ESHER,. [See Brett, William Baliol (DNB01), 1815–1899.]

 EVANS, EVAN HERBER (1836–1896), Welsh divine, was the eldest son of Josiah and Sarah Evans of Pant-yr-onen, near Newcastle Emlyn, Carmarthenshire, where he was born on 5 July 1836. He spent several of his earlier years with his grandfather, Jonah Evans, at Pen-yr-Herber, whence, some twenty years later, he adopted his second name. When fourteen years of age, young Evan was apprenticed to a local draper, who was known as a man of literary tastes, and after four years' service in Wales he removed to Liverpool, where in 1857 he commenced to preach in connection with the Welsh congregational church (the Tabernacle), Great Crosshall Street, then under the pastorate of John Thomas (1821-1892) [q. v.] After twelve months' preparatory training at the Normal College, Swansea, he proceeded in September 1858 to the Memorial College, Brecon, where he remained for four years. He was ordained to the pastorate of Libanus Church, Morriston, on 26 June 1862, and almost immediately he stepped into the first rank of the pulpit orators of Wales. After three years at Morriston (during which time a debt of 2,000l. was paid off the chapel) he removed in the autumn of 1865 to Carnarvon to undertake the charge of a comparatively weak church, Salem, formed two or three years previously, and still burdened with a heavy debt. Before he left it, in April 1894, it was, in point of members, the largest belonging to the denomination in North Wales, the chapel having been much enlarged in 1890. In 1891-2 he filled the chair of the congregational union of England and Wales, and his first presidential address, on 'The Free Churches and their own Opportunities,' was described by Dr. Fairbairn as 'magnificent;' while his second address, delivered at Bradford, on 'A Living Church,' was by special vote of the assembly ordered to be printed in a cheap form for general circulation. In 1891 he accepted the appointment as lecturer on homiletics at 'Bala-Bangor' Congregational College, and in 1894 became its principal.

Throughout his life he took an active part in civic work; he was elected on the first school board at Carnarvon, and on the first county council. He declined, however, to stand as liberal candidate for Carnarvon boroughs in April 1890. In 1895 he was placed on the commission of the peace for Carnarvonshire, an honour never previously conferred (it is believed) on a Welsh dissenting minister.

Evans performed some useful literary work as editor of 'Y Dysgedydd' ('The Instructor'), one of the monthly magazines of the Welsh congregationalists. From 1874 to 1880 he shared its editorship with Ap Vychan, but had sole charge of it from 1880 till his death. A selection of his editorial 'notes,' which were remarkable for their freshness and racy


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 A QUARTERLY REVIEW

OF

MYTH, TRADITION, INSTITUTION, & CUSTOM.

VOL. I.—1890.

Publisher's design in Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties.png

LONDON:

PUBLISHED FOR THE FOLK-LORE SOCIETY

BY DAVID NUTT, 270, STRAND.

1890.

[XXVII.]


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 Harlan, his brow would have assured that same old friend of his great mental powers. He cordially invited me to call on him in Grosvenor Street in town (thus he called London), shook hands with me again, and mounting a splendid hunter rode off. I called to thank Mr. Rathbone for his letters and gift, but did so, I know, most awkwardly. Oh! that I had been flogged out of this miserable shyness and mauvaise honte when I was a youth.

August 6, Sunday. When I arrived in this city I felt dejected, miserably so; the uncertainty as to my reception, my doubts as to how my work would be received, all conspired to depress me. Now, how different are my sensations! I am well received everywhere, my works praised and admired, and my poor heart is at last relieved from the great anxiety that has for so many years agitated it, for I know now that I have not worked in vain. This morning I went to church; the sermon was not to my mind, but the young preacher may improve. This afternoon I packed up Harlan's "Fauna" for Mr. E. Roscoe, and went to the Institution, where Mr. Munro was to meet me and escort me to Mr. Wm. Roscoe, Jr., where I was to take tea. Mr. Munro was not on hand, so, after a weary waiting, I went alone to Mr. Roscoe's habitation. It was full of ladies and gentlemen, all his own family, and I knew almost every one. I was asked to imitate the calls of some of the wild birds, and though I did not wish to do so, consented to satisfy the curiosity of the company. I sat between Mr. Wm. Roscoe and his son Edward, and answered question after question. Finally, the good old gentleman and I retired to talk about my plans. He strongly advises me not to exhibit my works without remuneration. Later more guests came in, and more questions were asked; they appeared surprised that I have no wonderful tales to tell, that, for instance, I have not been devoured at least six times by tigers, bears, wolves, foxes; no, I never was troubled by any larger animals than ticks

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text:
User talk:Xulpheecaralee

Welcome

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title: User talk:Xulpheecaralee


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Edwards, John (fl.1638)


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Rh and mosquitoes, and that is quite enough. At last one after another took leave. The well bred society of England is the perfection of manners; such tone of voice I never heard in America. Indeed, thus far, I have great reason to like England. My plans now are to go to Manchester, to Derbyshire to visit Lord Stanley (Earl of Derby), Birmingham, London for three weeks, Edinburgh, back to London, and then to France, Paris, Nantes, to see my venerable stepmother, Brussels, and return to England. I am advised to do this by men of learning and excellent judgment, who say this will enable me to find where my work may be published with greatest advantage. I have letters given me to Baron Humboldt, General La Fayette, Sir Walter Scott, Sir Humphry Davy, Miss Hannah More, Miss Edgeworth, Sir Thomas Lawrence, etc., etc. How I wish Victor could be with me; what an opportunity to see the best of this island; few ordinary individuals ever enjoyed the same reception. Many persons of distinction have begged drawing lessons of me at a guinea an hour. I am astonished at the plainness of the ladies' dress; in the best society there are no furbelows and fandangoes.

August 7. I am just now from the society of the learned Dr. Traill, and have greatly enjoyed two hours of his interesting company; to what perfection men like him can rise in this island of instruction. I dined at Mr. Edward Roscoe's, whose wife wished me to draw something for her while she watched me. I drew a flower for her, and one for Miss Dale, a fine artist. I am grieved I could not reach "Green Bank" this evening to enjoy the company of my good friends, the Rathbones; they with the Roscoes and Hodgsons have done more for me in every way than I can express. I must have walked twenty miles to-day on these pavements; that is equal to forty-five in the woods, where there is so much to see.

August 8. Although I am extremely fatigued and it is past midnight, I will write. Mr. Roscoe spoke much of

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112 my exhibiting my drawings for an admission fee, and he, as well as Dr. Traill and others, have advised me so strongly to do so that I finally consented, though not quite agreeable to me, and Mr. Roscoe drew a draft of a notice to be inserted in the papers, after which we passed some charming hours together. August 9. The Committee of the Royal Institution met to-day and requested me to exhibit my drawings by ticket of admission. This request must and will, I am sure, take off any discredit attached to the tormenting feeling of showing my work for money. August 10. The morning was beautiful, and I was out very early; the watchmen have, however, ceased to look upon me with suspicion, and think, perhaps, I am a harmless lunatic. I walked to the "Mound " and saw the city and the country beyond the Mersey plainly; then I sat on the grass and watched four truant boys rolling marbles with great spirit; how much they brought before me my younger days. I would have liked them still better had they been clean; but they were not so, and as I gave them some money to buy marbles, I recommended that some of it be spent in soap. I begin to feel most powerfully the want of occupation at drawing and studying the habits of the birds that I see about me; and the little Sparrows that hop in the streets, although very sooty with coal smoke, attract my attention greatly; indeed, I watched one of them to-day in the dust of the street, with as much pleasure as in far different places I have watched the play of finer birds. All this induced me to begin. I bought water colors and brushes, for which I paid dearer than in New Orleans. I dined with Mr. Edward Roscoe. As you go to Park Place the view is extensive up and down the Mersey; it gives no extraordinary effects, but is a calming vision of repose to the eyes wearied with the bustle of the streets. There are plenty of steam vessels, but not to be compared to those on the Ohio; these look like smoky,

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Wellesley, Garrett


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bales, Christopher


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Rh dirty dungeons. Immediately opposite Mr. Roscoe's dwelling is a pond where I have not yet seen a living thing, not even a frog. No moccasin nor copper-headed snake is near its margin; no snowy Heron, no Rose-colored Ibis ever is seen here, wild and charming; no sprightly trout, nor waiting gar-fish, while above hovers no Vulture watching for the spoils of the hunt, nor Eagle perched on dreary cypress in a gloomy silence. No! I am in England, and I cannot but long with unutterable longing for America, charming as England is, and there is nothing in England more charming than the Roscoe family. Our dinner is simple, therefore healthful. Two ladies and a gentleman came in while we were at dessert, and almost as soon as we left the table tea was announced. It is a singular thing that in England dinner, dessert, wines, and tea drinking follow each other so quickly that if we did not remove to another room to partake of the last, it would be a constant repast. 1 walked back to Liverpool, and more than once my eyes were shocked whilst crossing the fields, to see signs with these words: "Any person trespassing on these grounds will be prosecuted with the rigor of the law." This must be a mistake, certainly; this cannot be English freedom and liberty, surely. Of this I intend to know more hereafter; but that I saw these words painted on boards there is really no doubt.

Sunday, August 13. I am greatly disappointed that not yet have I had letters from home, though several vessels have arrived; perhaps to-morrow may bring me what I long for inexpressibly. This morning I went again to the church for the blind, and spent the remainder of the day at my kind friend's, Mr. Wm. Roscoe.

August 14. This day I have passed with the delightful Rathbone family at Green Bank; I have been drawing for Mrs. Rathbone, and after dinner we went through the

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114 greenhouse and jardin potager. How charming is Green Bank and the true hospitality of these English friends. It is a cold night, the wind blowing like November; it has been the first day of my exhibition of pictures per card, and one hundred and sixty-four persons were admitted.

''August 15. Green Bank, three miles from Liverpool''. I am now at this quiet country home; the morning passed in drawing, and this afternoon I took a long walk with Miss Rathbone and her nephew; we were accompanied by a rare dog from Kamschatka. How I did wish I could have conducted them towards the beech woods where we could move wherever fancy led us; but no, it could not be, and we walked between dreary walls, without the privilege of advancing towards any particular object that might attract the eye. Is it not shocking that while in England all is hospitality within, all is so different without? No one dare trespass, as it is called. Signs of large dogs are put up; steel traps and spring guns are set up, and even eyes are kept out by high walls. Everywhere we meet beggars, for England though rich, has poverty gaping every way you look, and the beggars ask for bread,—yes, absolutely for food. I can only pray, May our Heavenly Father have mercy on them. ''August 17. Green Bank''. This morning I lay on the grass a long time listening to the rough voice of a Magpie; it is not the same bird that we have in America. I drove to the Institution with the Queen Bee of Green Bank, and this afternoon began a painting of the Otter in a trap, with the intention to present it (if it is good) to my friend Mr. Roscoe's wife. This evening dined at Mr. Wm. Rathbone's, and there met a Quaker lady, Mrs. Abigail——, who talked much and well about the present condition of England, her poor, her institutions, etc. It is dreadful to know of the want of bread here; will it not lead to the horrors of another revolution? The children of the very poor are often forced by their parents to collect daily a certain

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Escombe, Harry


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Esher, Viscount


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bales, Peter


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Rh were some nun-like cousin immovably vowed to dwell with thee in thy strange exile. Show not to me,—never show more any visible conscious token of love. I will never to thee. Our mortal lives, oh, my heavenly Pierre, shall henceforth be one mute wooing of each other; with no declaration; no bridal; till we meet in the pure realms of God's final blessedness for us;—till we meet where the ever-interrupting and ever-marring world cannot and shall not come; where all thy hidden, glorious unselfishness shall be gloriously revealed in the full splendour of that heavenly light; where, no more forced to these cruellest disguises, she, she too shall assume her own glorious place, nor take it hard, but rather feel the more blessed, when, there, thy sweet heart shall be openly and unreservedly mine. Pierre, Pierre, my Pierre!—only this thought, this hope, this sublime faith now supports me. Well was it, that the swoon, in which thou didst leave me, that long eternity ago—well was it, dear Pierre, that though I came out of it to stare and grope, yet it was only to stare and grope, and then I swooned again, and then groped again, and then again swooned. But all this was vacancy; little I clutched; nothing I knew; 'twas less than a dream, my Pierre, I had no conscious thought of thee, love; but felt an utter blank, a vacancy;—for wert thou not then utterly gone from me? and what could there then be left of poor Lucy?—But now, this long, long swoon is past; I come out again into life and light; but how could I come out, how could I any way be, my Pierre, if not in thee? So the moment I came out of the long, long swoon, straightway came to me the immortal faith in thee, which though it could offer no one slightest possible argument of mere sense in thy behalf, yet was it only the more mysteriously imperative for that, my Pierre. Know then, dearest Pierre, that

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Balfe, Michael William


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432 with every most glaring earthly reason to disbelieve in thy love; I do yet wholly give myself up to the unshakable belief in it. For I feel, that always is love love, and cannot know change, Pierre; I feel that heaven hath called me to a wonderful office toward thee. By throwing me into that long, long swoon,—during which, Martha tells me, I hardly ate altogether, three ordinary meals,—by that, heaven, I feel now, was preparing me for the superhuman office I speak of; was wholly estranging me from this earth, even while I yet lingered in it; was fitting me for a celestial mission in terrestrial elements. Oh, give to me of thine own dear strength! I am but a poor weak girl, dear Pierre; one that didst once love thee but too fondly, and with earthly frailty. But now I shall be wafted far upward from that; shall soar up to thee, where thou sittest in thine own calm, sublime heaven of heroism.

'Oh seek not to dissuade me, Pierre. Wouldst thou slay me, and slay me a million times more? and never have done with murdering me? I must come! I must come! God Himself cannot stay me, for it is He that commands me.—I know all that will follow my flight to thee;—my amazed mother, my enraged brothers, the whole taunting and despising world.—But thou art my mother and my brothers, and all the world, and all heaven, and all the universe to me—thou art my Pierre. One only being does this soul in me serve—and that is thee, Pierre.—So I am coming to thee, Pierre, and quickly;—to-morrow it shall be, and never more will I quit thee, Pierre. Speak thou immediately to her about me; thou shalt know best what to say. Is there not some connection between our families, Pierre? I have heard my mother sometimes trace such a thing out,—some indirect cousinship. If thou approvest, then, thou shalt say to her, I am thy cousin, Pierre;—thy

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Rh resolved and immovable nun-like cousin; vowed to dwell with thee forever; to serve thee and her, to guard thee and her without end. Prepare some little corner for me somewhere; but let it be very near. Ere I come, I shall send a few little things,—the tools I shall work by, Pierre, and so contribute to the welfare of all. Look for me then. I am coming! I am coming, my Pierre; for a deep, deep voice assures me, that all noble as thou art, Pierre, some terrible jeopardy involves thee, which my continual presence only can drive away. I am coming! I am coming!.'

III

When surrounded by the base and mercenary crew, man, too long wonted to eye his race with a suspicious disdain, suddenly is brushed by some angelical plume of humanity, and the human accents of superhuman love, and the human eyes of superhuman beauty and glory, suddenly burst on his being; then how wonderful and fearful the shock! It is as if the sky-cope were rent, and from the black valley of Jehoshaphat, he caught upper glimpses of the seraphim in the visible act of adoring.

He held the artless, angelical letter in his unrealising hand; he started, and gazed round his room, and out at the window, commanding the bare, desolate, all-forbidding quadrangle, and then asked himself whether this was the place that an angel should choose for its visit to earth. Then he felt a vast, out-swelling triumphantness, that the girl whose rare merits his intuitive soul had once so clearly and passionately discerned, should indeed, in this most tremendous of all trials, have acquitted herself with such infinite majesty. Then again, he sunk utterly down from her, as in a bottomless gulf, and ran shuddering through hideous galleries of despair, in pursuit

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434 of some vague, white shape, and lo! two unfathomable dark eyes met his, and Isabel stood mutely and mournfully, yet all ravishingly before him.

He started up from his plank; cast off his manifold wrappings, and crossed the floor to remove himself from the spot, where such sweet, such sublime, such terrific revelations had been made him.

Then a timid little rap was heard at the door.

'Pierre, Pierre; now that thou art risen, may I not come in—just for a moment, Pierre?'

'Come in, Isabel.'

She was approaching him in her wonted most strange and sweetly mournful manner, when he retreated a step from her, and held out his arm, not seemingly to invite, but rather as if to warn.

She looked fixedly in his face, and stood rooted.

'Isabel, another is coming to me. Thou dost not speak, Isabel. She is coming to dwell with us so long as we live, Isabel. Wilt thou not speak?'

The girl still stood rooted; the eyes, which she had first fixed on him, still remained wide-openly riveted.

'Wilt thou not speak, Isabel?' said Pierre, terrified at her frozen, immovable aspect, yet too terrified to manifest his own terror to her; and still coming slowly near her. She slightly raised one arm, as if to grasp some support; then turned her head slowly sideways toward the door by which she had entered; then her dry lips slowly parted—'My bed; lay me; lay me!'

The verbal effort broke her stiffening enchantment of frost; her thawed form sloped sidelong into the air; but Pierre caught her, and bore her into her own chamber, and laid her there on the bed.

'Fan me; fan me!'

He fanned the fainting flame of her life; by and by she turned slowly toward him.

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Rh 'Oh! that feminine word from thy mouth, dear Pierre:—that she, that she!'

Pierre sat silent, fanning her.

'Oh, I want none in the world but thee, my brother—but thee, but thee! and, oh God! am I not enough for thee? Bare earth with my brother were all heaven for me; but all my life, all my full soul, contents not my brother.'

Pierre spoke not; he but listened; a terrible, burning curiosity was in him, that made him as heartless. But still all that she had said thus far was ambiguous.

'Had I known—had I but known it before! Oh bitterly cruel to reveal it now. That she! That she!'

She raised herself suddenly, and almost fiercely confronted him.

'Either thou hast told thy secret, or she is not worthy the commonest love of man! Speak, Pierre,—which?'

'The secret is still a secret, Isabel.'

'Then is she worthless, Pierre, whoever she be—foolishly, madly fond!—Doth not the world know me for thy wife?—She shall not come! 'Twere a foul blot on thee and me. She shall not come! One look from me shall murder her, Pierre!'

'This is madness, Isabel. Look: now reason with me. Did I not before opening the letter, say to thee, that doubtless it was from some pretty young aunt or cousin?'

'Speak quick—a cousin?'

'A cousin, Isabel.'

'Yet, yet, that is not wholly out of the degree, I have heard. Tell me more, and quicker! more! more!'

'A very strange cousin, Isabel; almost a nun in her notions. Hearing of our mysterious exile, she, without knowing the cause, hath yet as mysteriously vowed herself ours—not so much mine, Isabel, as ours, ours—to serve us; and by some sweet heavenly fancying, to guide us and guard us here.'

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436 'Then, possibly, it may be all very well, Pierre, my brother—my brother—I can say that now?'

'Any,—all words are thine, Isabel; words and worlds with all their containings, shall be slaves to thee, Isabel.'

She looked eagerly and inquiringly at him; then dropped her eyes, and touched his hand; then gazed again. 'Speak so more to me, Pierre! Thou art my brother; art thou not my brother?—But tell me now more of—her; it is all newness, and utter strangeness to me, Pierre.'

'I have said, my sweetest sister, that she has this wild, nun-like notion in her. She is wilful in it; in this letter she vows she must and will come, and nothing on earth shall stay her. Do not have any sisterly jealousy, then, my sister. Thou wilt find her a most gentle, unobtrusive, ministering girl, Isabel. She will never name the not-to-be-named things to thee; nor hint of them; because she knows them not. Still, without knowing the secret, she yet hath the vague, unspecialising sensation of the secret—the mystical presentiment, somehow, of the secret. And her divineness hath drowned all womanly curiosity in her; so that she desires not, in any way, to verify the presentiment; content with the vague presentiment only; for in that, she thinks, the heavenly summons to come to us, lies;—even there, in that, Isabel. Dost thou now comprehend me?'

'I comprehend nothing, Pierre; there is nothing these eyes have ever looked upon, Pierre, that this soul comprehended. Ever, as now, do I go all a-grope amid the wide mysteriousness of things. Yes, she shall come; it is only one mystery the more. Doth she talk in her sleep, Pierre? Would it be well, if I slept with her, my brother?'

'On thy account; wishful for thy sake; to leave thee incommoded; and—and—not knowing precisely how things really are;—she probably anticipates and desires otherwise, my sister.'

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Rh She gazed steadfastly at his outwardly firm, but not interiorly unfaltering aspect; and then dropped her glance in silence.

'Yes, she shall come, my brother; she shall come. But it weaves its thread into the general riddle, my brother.—Hath she that which they call the memory, Pierre; the memory? Hath she that?'

'We all have the memory, my sister.'

'Not all! not all!—poor Bell hath but very little. Pierre! I have seen her in some dream. She is fair-haired—blue eyes—she is not quite so tall as I, yet a very little slighter.'

Pierre started. 'Thou hast seen Lucy Tartan, at Saddle Meadows?'

'Is Lucy Tartan the name?—Perhaps, perhaps;—but also, in the dream, Pierre; she came, with her blue eyes turned beseechingly on me; she seemed as if persuading me from thee;—methought she was then more than thy cousin;—methought she was that good angel, which some say, hovers over every human soul; and methought—oh, methought that I was thy other,—thy other angel, Pierre. Look: see these eyes,—this hair—nay, this cheek;—all dark, dark, dark,—and she—the blue-eyed—the fair-haired—oh, once the red-cheeked!'

She tossed her ebon tresses over her; she fixed her ebon eyes on him.

'Say, Pierre; doth not a funerealness invest me? Was ever hearse so plumed?—Oh, God! that I had been born with blue eyes, and fair hair! Those make the livery of heaven! Heard ye ever yet of a good angel with dark eyes, Pierre?—no, no, no—all blue, blue, blue—heaven's own blue—the clear, vivid, unspeakable blue, which we see in June skies, when all clouds are swept by.—But the good angel shall come to thee, Pierre. Then both will be close by thee, my brother; and thou

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438 mayest perhaps elect,—elect!—She shall come; she shall come.—When is it to be, dear Pierre?'

'To-morrow, Isabel. So it is here written.'

She fixed her eye on the crumpled billet in his hand. 'It were vile to ask, but not wrong to suppose the asking.—Pierre,—no, I need not say it,—wouldst thou?'

'No; I would not let thee read it, my sister; I would not; because I have no right to—no right—no right;—that is it; no: I have no right. I will burn it this instant, Isabel.'

He stepped from her into the adjoining room; threw the billet into the stove, and watching its last ashes, returned to Isabel.

She looked with endless intimations upon him.

'It is burnt, but not consumed; it is gone, but not lost. Through stove, pipe, and flue, it hath mounted in flame, and gone as a scroll to heaven! It shall appear again, my brother.—Woe is me—woe, woe!—woe is me, oh, woe! Do not speak to me, Pierre; leave me now. She shall come. The Bad angel shall tend the Good; she shall dwell with us, Pierre. Mistrust me not; her considerateness to me, shall be outdone by mine to her.—Let me be alone now, my brother.'

IV

Though by the unexpected petition to enter his privacy—a petition he could scarce ever deny to Isabel, since she so religiously abstained from preferring it, unless for some very reasonable cause, Pierre, in the midst of those conflicting, secondary emotions, immediately following the first wonderful effect of Lucy's strange letter, had been forced to put on, toward Isabel, some air of assurance and understanding concerning its contents; yet at bottom, he was still a prey to all manner of devouring mysteries.

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