The Life of John Sterling ....................................................................................................................................1

Near seven years ago, a short while before his death in 1844, John Sterling committed the care of his literary

Character and printed Writings to two friends, Archdeacon Hare and myself. His estimate of the bequest was

far from overweening; to few men could the small sumtotal of his activities in this world seem more

inconsiderable than, in those last solemn days, it did to him. He had burnt much; found much unworthy;

looking steadfastly into the silent continents of Death and Eternity, a brave man's judgments about his own

sorry work in the field of Time are not apt to be too lenient. But, in fine, here was some portion of his work

which the world had already got hold of, and which he could not burn. This too, since it was not to be

abolished and annihilated, but must still for some time live and act, he wished to be wisely settled, as the rest

had been. And so it was left in charge to us, the survivors, to do for it what we judged fittest, if indeed doing

nothing did not seem the fittest to us. This message, communicated after his decease, was naturally a sacred

After some consultation on it, and survey of the difficulties and delicate considerations involved in it,

Archdeacon Hare and I agreed that the whole task, of selecting what Writings were to be reprinted, and of

drawing up a Biography to introduce them, should be left to him alone; and done without interference of

mine:as accordingly it was,[1] in a manner surely far superior to the common, in every good quality of

editing; and visibly everywhere bearing testimony to the friendliness, the piety, perspicacity and other gifts

In one respect, however, if in one only, the arrangement had been unfortunate. Archdeacon Hare, both by

natural tendency and by his position as a Churchman, had been led, in editing a Work not free from

ecclesiastical heresies, and especially in writing a Life very full of such, to dwell with preponderating

emphasis on that part of his subject; by no means extenuating the fact, nor yet passing lightly over it (which a

layman could have done) as needing no extenuation; but carefully searching into it, with the view of excusing

and explaining it; dwelling on it, presenting all the documents of it, and as it were spreading it over the whole

field of his delineation; as if religious heterodoxy had been the grand fact of Sterling's life, which even to the

Archdeacon's mind it could by no means seem to be. Hinc illae lachrymae. For the Religious Newspapers,

and Periodical Heresyhunters, getting very lively in those years, were prompt to seize the cue; and have

prosecuted and perhaps still prosecute it, in their sad way, to all lengths and breadths. John Sterling's

character and writings, which had little business to be spoken of in any Churchcourt, have hereby been

carried thither as if for an exclusive trial; and the mournfulest set of pleadings, out of which nothing but a

misjudgment can be formed, prevail there ever since. The noble Sterling, a radiant child of the empyrean,

clad in bright auroral hues in the memory of all that knew him,what is he doing here in inquisitorial

sanbenito, with nothing but ghastly spectralities prowling round him, and inarticulately screeching and

"The sin of Hare's Book," says one of my Correspondents in those years, "is easily defined, and not very

condemnable, but it is nevertheless ruinous to his task as Biographer. He takes up Sterling as a clergyman

merely. Sterling, I find, was a curate for exactly eight months; during eight months and no more had he any

special relation to the Church. But he was a man, and had relation to the Universe, for eightandthirty years:

and it is in this latter character, to which all the others were but features and transitory hues, that we wish to

know him. His battle with hereditary Church formulas was severe; but it was by no means his one battle with

things inherited, nor indeed his chief battle; neither, according to my observation of what it was, is it

successfully delineated or summed up in this Book. The truth is, nobody that had known Sterling would

recognize a feature of him here; you would never dream that this Book treated of him at all. A pale sickly

shadow in torn surplice is presented to us here; weltering bewildered amid heaps of what you call 'Hebrew

Oldclothes;' wrestling, with impotent impetuosity, to free itself from the baleful imbroglio, as if that had

been its one function in life: who in this miserable figure would recognize the brilliant, beautiful and cheerful

John Sterling, with his everflowing wealth of ideas, fancies, imaginations; with his frank affections,

inexhaustible hopes, audacities, activities, and general radiant vivacity of heart and intelligence, which made

the presence of him an illumination and inspiration wherever he went? It is too bad. Let a man be honestly

forgotten when his life ends; but let him not be misremembered in this way. To be hung up as an

ecclesiastical scarecrow, as a target for heterodox and orthodox to practice archery upon, is no fate that can

be due to the memory of Sterling. It was not as a ghastly phantasm, choked in Thirtyninearticle

controversies, or miserable Semitic, AntiSemitic streetriots,in scepticisms, agonized selfseekings, that

this man appeared in life; nor as such, if the world still wishes to look at him should you suffer the world's

memory of him now to be. Once for all, it is unjust; emphatically untrue as an image of John Sterling:

perhaps to few men that lived along with him could such an interpretation of their existence be more

Whatever truth there might be in these rather passionate representations, and to myself there wanted not a

painful feeling of their truth, it by no means appeared what help or remedy any friend of Sterling's, and

especially one so related to the matter as myself, could attempt in the interim. Perhaps endure in patience till

the dust laid itself again, as all dust does if you leave it well alone? Much obscuration would thus of its own

accord fall away; and, in Mr. Hare's narrative itself, apart from his commentary, many features of Sterling's

true character would become decipherable to such as sought them. Censure, blame of this Work of Mr. Hare's

was naturally far from my thoughts. A work which distinguishes itself by human piety and candid

intelligence; which, in all details, is careful, lucid, exact; and which offers, as we say, to the observant reader

that will interpret facts, many traits of Sterling besides his heterodoxy. Censure of it, from me especially, is

On the whole, my private thought was: First, How happy it comparatively is, for a man of any earnestness of

life, to have no Biography written of him; but to return silently, with his small, sorely foiled bit of work, to

the Supreme Silences, who alone can judge of it or him; and not to trouble the reviewers, and greater or lesser

public, with attempting to judge it! The idea of "fame," as they call it, posthumous or other, does not inspire

one with much ecstasy in these points of view.Secondly, That Sterling's performance and real or seeming

importance in this world was actually not of a kind to demand an express Biography, even according to the

world's usages. His character was not supremely original; neither was his fate in the world wonderful. What

he did was inconsiderable enough; and as to what it lay in him to have done, this was but a problem, now

beyond possibility of settlement. Why had a Biography been inflicted on this man; why had not

Nobiography, and the privilege of all the weary, been his lot?Thirdly, That such lot, however, could now

no longer be my good Sterling's; a tumult having risen around his name, enough to impress some pretended

likeness of him (about as like as the GuyFauxes are, on GunpowderDay) upon the minds of many men: so

that he could not be forgotten, and could only be misremembered, as matters now stood.

Whereupon, as practical conclusion to the whole, arose by degrees this final thought, That, at some calmer

season, when the theological dust had well fallen, and both the matter itself, and my feelings on it, were in a

suitabler condition, I ought to give my testimony about this friend whom I had known so well, and record

clearly what my knowledge of him was. This has ever since seemed a kind of duty I had to do in the world

And so, having on my hands some leisure at this time, and being bound to it by evident considerations, one of

which ought to be especially sacred to me, I decide to fling down on paper some outline of what my

recollections and reflections contain in reference to this most friendly, bright and beautiful human soul; who

walked with me for a season in this world, and remains to me very memorable while I continue in it.

Gradually, if facts simple enough in themselves can be narrated as they came to pass, it will be seen what

kind of man this was; to what extent condemnable for imaginary heresy and other crimes, to what extent

laudable and lovable for noble manful orthodoxy and other virtues;and whether the lesson his life had to

teach us is not much the reverse of what the Religious Newspapers hitherto educe from it.

Certainly it was not as a "sceptic" that you could define him, whatever his definition might be. Belief, not

doubt, attended him at all points of his progress; rather a tendency to too hasty and headlong belief. Of all

men he was the least prone to what you could call scepticism: diseased selflistenings, selfquestionings,

impotently painful dubitations, all this fatal nosology of spiritual maladies, so rife in our day, was eminently

foreign to him. Quite on the other side lay Sterling's faults, such as they were. In fact, you could observe, in

spite of his sleepless intellectual vivacity, he was not properly a thinker at all; his faculties were of the active,

not of the passive or contemplative sort. A brilliant improvisatore; rapid in thought, in word and in act;

everywhere the promptest and least hesitating of men. I likened him often, in my banterings, to

sheetlightning; and reproachfully prayed that he would concentrate himself into a bolt, and rive the

mountainbarriers for us, instead of merely playing on them and irradiating them.

True, he had his "religion" to seek, and painfully shape together for himself, out of the abysses of conflicting

disbelief and shambelief and bedlam delusion, now filling the world, as all men of reflection have; and in

this respect too,more especially as his lot in the battle appointed for us all was, if you can understand it,

victory and not defeat,he is an expressive emblem of his time, and an instruction and possession to his

contemporaries. For, I say, it is by no means as a vanquished doubter that he figures in the memory of those

who knew him; but rather as a victorious believer, and under great difficulties a victorious doer. An example

to us all, not of lamed misery, helpless spiritual bewilderment and sprawling despair, or any kind of

drownage in the foul welter of our socalled religious or other controversies and confusions; but of a swift

and valiant vanquisher of all these; a noble asserter of himself, as worker and speaker, in spite of all these.

Continually, so far as he went, he was a teacher, by act and word, of hope, clearness, activity, veracity, and

human courage and nobleness: the preacher of a good gospel to all men, not of a bad to any man. The man,

whether in priest's cassock or other costume of men, who is the enemy or hater of John Sterling, may assure

himself that he does not yet know him,that miserable differences of mere costume and dialect still divide

him, whatsoever is worthy, catholic and perennial in him, from a brother soul who, more than most in his

Nor shall the irremediable drawback that Sterling was not current in the Newspapers, that he achieved neither

what the world calls greatness nor what intrinsically is such, altogether discourage me. What his natural size,

and natural and accidental limits were, will gradually appear, if my sketching be successful. And I have

remarked that a true delineation of the smallest man, and his scene of pilgrimage through life, is capable of

interesting the greatest man; that all men are to an unspeakable degree brothers, each man's life a strange

emblem of every man's; and that Human Portraits, faithfully drawn, are of all pictures the welcomest on

human walls. Monitions and moralities enough may lie in this small Work, if honestly written and honestly

read;and, in particular, if any image of John Sterling and his Pilgrimage through our poor Nineteenth

Century be one day wanted by the world, and they can find some shadow of a true image here, my swift

scribbling (which shall be very swift and immediate) may prove useful by and by.

John Sterling was born at Kaimes Castle, a kind of dilapidated baronial residence to which a small farm was

then attached, rented by his Father, in the Isle of Bute,on the 20th July, 1806. Both his parents were Irish

by birth, Scotch by extraction; and became, as he himself did, essentially English by long residence and habit.

Of John himself Scotland has little or nothing to claim except the birth and genealogy, for he left it almost

before the years of memory; and in his mature days regarded it, if with a little more recognition and

intelligence, yet without more participation in any of its accents outward or inward, than others natives of

The climate of Bute is rainy, soft of temperature; with skies of unusual depth and brilliancy, while the

weather is fair. In that soft rainy climate, on that wildwooded rocky coast, with its gnarled mountains and

green silent valleys, with its seething rainstorms and manysounding seas, was young Sterling ushered into

his first schooling in this world. I remember one little anecdote his Father told me of those first years: One of

the cows had calved; young John, still in petticoats, was permitted to go, holding by his father's hand, and

look at the newly arrived calf; a mystery which he surveyed with open intent eyes, and the silent exercise of

all the scientific faculties he had;very strange mystery indeed, this new arrival, and fresh denizen of our

Universe: "Wull't eat abody?" said John in his first practical Scotch, inquiring into the tendencies this

mystery might have to fall upon a little fellow and consume him as provision: "Will it eat one,

Father?"Poor little openeyed John: the family long bantered him with this anecdote; and we, in far other

years, laughed heartily on hearing it.Simple peasant laborers, ploughers, houseservants, occasional

fisherpeople too; and the sight of ships, and crops, and Nature's doings where Art has little meddled with

her: this was the kind of schooling our young friend had, first of all; on this bench of the grand worldschool

Edward Sterling his Father, a man who subsequently came to considerable notice in the world, was originally

of Waterford in Munster; son of the Episcopalian Clergyman there; and chief representative of a family of

some standing in those parts. Family founded, it appears, by a Colonel Robert Sterling, called also Sir Robert

Sterling; a Scottish GustavusAdolphus soldier, whom the breaking out of the Civil War had recalled from

his German campaignings, and had before long, though not till after some waverings on his part, attached

firmly to the Duke of Ormond and to the King's Party in that quarrel. A little bit of genealogy, since it lies

ready to my hand, gathered long ago out of wider studies, and pleasantly connects things individual and

present with the dim universal crowd of things past,may as well be inserted here as thrown away.

This Colonel Robert designates himself Sterling "of Glorat;" I believe, a younger branch of the wellknown

Stirlings of Keir in Stirlingshire. It appears he prospered in his soldiering and other business, in those bad

Ormond times; being a man of energy, ardor and intelligence,probably prompt enough both with his word

and with his stroke. There survives yet, in the Commons Journals,[2] dim notice of his controversies and

adventures; especially of one controversy he had got into with certain victorious Parliamentary official

parties, while his own party lay vanquished, during what was called the Ormond Cessation, or Temporary

Peace made by Ormond with the Parliament in 1646:in which controversy Colonel Robert, after repeated

applications, journeyings to London, attendances upon committees, and such like, finds himself worsted,

What became of him when Cromwell got to Ireland, and to Munster, I have not heard: his knighthood, dating

from the very year of Cromwell's Invasion (1649), indicates a man expected to do his best on the

occasion:as in all probability he did; had not Tredah Storm proved ruinous, and the neck of this Irish War

been broken at once. Doubtless the Colonel Sir Robert followed or attended his Duke of Ormond into foreign

parts, and gave up his management of Munster, while it was yet time: for after the Restoration we find him

again, safe, and as was natural, flourishing with new splendor; gifted, recompensed with lands;settled, in

short, on fair revenues in those Munster regions. He appears to have had no children; but to have left his

property to William, a younger brother who had followed him into Ireland. From this William descends the

family which, in the years we treat of, had Edward Sterling, Father of our John, for its representative. And

Of Edward Sterling, Captain Edward Sterling as his title was, who in the latter period of his life became well

known in London political society, whom indeed all England, with a curious mixture of mockery and respect

and even fear, knew well as "the Thunderer of the Times Newspaper," there were much to be said, did the

present task and its limits permit. As perhaps it might, on certain terms? What is indispensable let us not omit

to say. The history of a man's childhood is the description of his parents and environment: this is his

inarticulate but highly important history, in those first times, while of articulate he has yet none.

Edward Sterling had now just entered on his thirtyfourth year; and was already a man experienced in

fortunes and changes. A native of Waterford in Munster, as already mentioned; born in the "Deanery House

of Waterford, 27th February, 1773," say the registers. For his Father, as we learn, resided in the Deanery

House, though he was not himself Dean, but only "Curate of the Cathedral" (whatever that may mean); he

was withal rector of two other livings, and the Dean's friend,friend indeed of the Dean's kinsmen the

Beresfords generally; whose grand house of Curraghmore, near by Waterford, was a familiar haunt of his and

his children's. This reverend gentleman, along with his three livings and high acquaintanceships, had

inherited political connections;inherited especially a Government Pension, with survivorship for still one

life beyond his own; his father having been Clerk of the Irish House of Commons at the time of the Union, of

which office the lost salary was compensated in this way. The Pension was of two hundred pounds; and only

expired with the life of Edward, John's Father, in 1847. There were, and still are, daughters of the family; but

Edward was the only son;descended, too, from the Scottish hero Wallace, as the old gentleman would

sometimes admonish him; his own wife, Edward's mother, being of that name, and boasting herself, as most

This Edward had picked up, at Waterford, and among the young Beresfords of Curraghmore and elsewhere, a

thoroughly Irish form of character: fire and fervor, vitality of all kinds, in genial abundance; but in a much

more loquacious, ostentatious, much louder style than is freely patronized on this side of the Channel. Of

Irish accent in speech he had entirely divested himself, so as not to be traced by any vestige in that respect;

but his Irish accent of character, in all manner of other more important respects, was very recognizable. An

impetuous man, full of real energy, and immensely conscious of the same; who transacted everything not

with the minimum of fuss and noise, but with the maximum: a very Captain Whirlwind, as one was tempted

In youth, he had studied at Trinity College, Dublin; visited the Inns of Court here, and trained himself for the

Irish Bar. To the Bar he had been duly called, and was waiting for the results,when, in his twentyfifth

year, the Irish Rebellion broke out; whereupon the Irish Barristers decided to raise a corps of loyal

Volunteers, and a complete change introduced itself into Edward Sterling's way of life. For, naturally, he had

joined the array of Volunteers;fought, I have heard, "in three actions with the rebels" (Vinegar Hill, for

one); and doubtless fought well: but in the messrooms, among the young military and civil officials, with all

of whom he was a favorite, he had acquired a taste for soldier life, and perhaps high hopes of succeeding in it:

at all events, having a commission in the Lancashire Militia offered him, he accepted that; altogether quitted

the Bar, and became Captain Sterling thenceforth. From the Militia, it appears, he had volunteered with his

Company into the Line; and, under some disappointments, and official delays of expected promotion, was

continuing to serve as Captain there, "Captain of the Eighth Battalion of Reserve," say the Military Almanacs

of 1803,in which year the quarters happened to be Derry, where new events awaited him. At a ball in

Derry he met with Miss Hester Coningham, the queen of the scene, and of the fair world in Derry at that time.

The acquaintance, in spite of some Opposition, grew with vigor, and rapidly ripened: and "at Fehan Church,

Diocese of Derry," where the Bride's father had a countryhouse, "on Thursday 5th April, 1804, Hester

Coningham, only daughter of John Coningham, Esquire, Merchant in Derry, and of Elizabeth Campbell his

wife," was wedded to Captain Sterling; she happiest to him happiest,as by Nature's kind law it is arranged.

Mrs. Sterling, even in her later days, had still traces of the old beauty: then and always she was a woman of

delicate, pious, affectionate character; exemplary as a wife, a mother and a friend. A refined female nature;

something tremulous in it, timid, and with a certain rural freshness still unweakened by long converse with

the world. The tall slim figure, always of a kind of quaker neatness; the innocent anxious face, anxious bright

hazel eyes; the timid, yet gracefully cordial ways, the natural intelligence, instinctive sense and worth, were

very characteristic. Her voice too; with its something of soft querulousness, easily adapting itself to a light

thinflowing style of mirth on occasion, was characteristic: she had retained her Ulster intonations, and was

withal somewhat copious in speech. A fine tremulously sensitive nature, strong chiefly on the side of the

affections, and the graceful insights and activities that depend on these:truly a beautiful, muchsuffering,

muchloving housemother. From her chiefly, as one could discern, John Sterling had derived the delicate

aroma of his nature, its piety, clearness, sincerity; as from his Father, the ready practical gifts, the

impetuosities and the audacities, were also (though in strange new form) visibly inherited. A man was lucky

Meanwhile the new Wife appears to have had, for the present, no marriageportion; neither was Edward

Sterling rich,according to his own ideas and aims, far from it. Of course he soon found that the fluctuating

barracklife, especially with no outlooks of speedy promotion, was little suited to his new circumstances: but

how change it? His father was now dead; from whom he had inherited the Speaker Pension of two hundred

pounds; but of available probably little or nothing more. The rents of the small family estate, I suppose, and

other property, had gone to portion sisters. Two hundred pounds, and the pay of a marching captain: within

the limits of that revenue all plans of his had to restrict themselves at present.

He continued for some time longer in the Army; his wife undivided from him by the hardships, of that way of

life. Their first son Anthony (Captain Anthony Sterling, the only child who now survives) was born to them

in this position, while lying at Dundalk, in January, 1805. Two months later, some eleven months after their

marriage, the regiment was broken; and Captain Sterling, declining to serve elsewhere on the terms offered,

and willingly accepting such decision of his doubts, was reduced to halfpay. This was the end of his

soldiering: some five or six years in all; from which he had derived for life, among other things, a decided

military bearing, whereof he was rather proud; an incapacity for practicing law;and considerable

For the present, his views lay towards farming: to establish himself, if not as country gentleman, which was

an unattainable ambition, then at least as some kind of gentlemanfarmer which had a flattering resemblance

to that. Kaimes Castle with a reasonable extent of land, which, in his inquiries after farms, had turned up, was

his first place of settlement in this new capacity; and here, for some few months, he had established himself

when John his second child was born. This was Captain Sterling's first attempt towards a fixed course of life;

not a very wise one, I have understood:yet on the whole, who, then and there, could have pointed out to

A fixed course of life and activity he could never attain, or not till very late; and this doubtless was among the

important points of his destiny, and acted both on his own character and that of those who had to attend him

Edward Sterling never shone in farming; indeed I believe he never took heartily to it, or tried it except in fits.

His Bute farm was, at best, a kind of apology for some far different ideal of a country establishment which

could not be realized; practically a temporary landingplace from which he could make sallies and

excursions in search of some more generous field of enterprise. Stormy brief efforts at energetic husbandry,

at agricultural improvement and rapid fieldlabor, alternated with sudden flights to Dublin, to London,

whithersoever any flush of bright outlook which he could denominate practical, or any gleam of hope which

his impatient ennui could represent as such, allured him. This latter was often enough the case. In wet

haytimes and harvesttimes, the dripping outdoor world, and lounging indoor one, in the absence of the

master, offered far from a satisfactory appearance! Here was, in fact, a man much imprisoned; haunted, I

doubt not, by demons enough; though ever brisk and brave withal,iracund, but cheerfully vigorous, opulent

in wise or unwise hope. A fiery energetic soul consciously and unconsciously storming for deliverance into

better arenas; and this in a restless, rapid, impetuous, rather than in a strong, silent and deliberate way.

In rainy Bute and the dilapidated Kaimes Castle, it was evident, there lay no Goshen for such a man. The

lease, originally but for some three years and a half, drawing now to a close, he resolved to quit Bute; had

heard, I know not where, of an eligible cottage without farm attached, in the pleasant little village of

Llanblethian close by Cowbridge in Glamorganshire; of this he took a lease, and thither with his family he

moved in search of new fortunes. Glamorganshire was at least a better climate than Bute; no groups of idle or

of busy reapers could here stand waiting on the guidance of a master, for there was no farm here;and

among its other and probably its chief though secret advantages, Llanblethian was much more convenient

The removal thither took place in the autumn of 1809. Chief part of the journey (perhaps from Greenock to

Swansea or Bristol) was by sea: John, just turned of three years, could in aftertimes remember nothing of

this voyage; Anthony, some eighteen months older, has still a vivid recollection of the gray splashing tumult,

and dim sorrow, uncertainty, regret and distress he underwent: to him a "dissolvingview" which not only

left its effect on the plate (as all views and dissolvingviews doubtless do on that kind of "plate"), but

remained consciously present there. John, in the close of his twentyfirst year, professes not to remember

anything whatever of Bute; his whole existence, in that earliest scene of it, had faded away from him: Bute

also, with its shaggy mountains, moaning woods, and summer and winter seas, had been wholly a

dissolvingview for him, and had left no conscious impression, but only, like this voyage, an effect.

Llanblethian hangs pleasantly, with its white cottages, and orchard and other trees, on the western slope of a

green hill looking far and wide over green meadows and little or bigger hills, in the pleasant plain of

Glamorgan; a short mile to the south of Cowbridge, to which smart little town it is properly a kind of suburb.

Plain of Glamorgan, some ten miles wide and thirty or forty long, which they call the Vale of

Glamorgan;though properly it is not quite a Vale, there being only one range of mountains to it, if even

one: certainly the central Mountains of Wales do gradually rise, in a miscellaneous manner, on the north side

of it; but on the south are no mountains, not even land, only the Bristol Channel, and far off, the Hills of

Devonshire, for boundary,the "English Hills," as the natives call them, visible from every eminence in

those parts. On such wide terms is it called Vale of Glamorgan. But called by whatever name, it is a most

pleasant fruitful region: kind to the native, interesting to the visitor. A waving grassy region; cut with

innumerable ragged lanes; dotted with sleepy unswept human hamlets, old ruinous castles with their ivy and

their daws, gray sleepy churches with their ditto ditto: for ivy everywhere abounds; and generally a rank

fragrant vegetation clothes all things; hanging, in rude manycolored festoons and fringed odoriferous

tapestries, on your right and on your left, in every lane. A country kinder to the sluggard husbandman than

any I have ever seen. For it lies all on limestone, needs no draining; the soil, everywhere of handsome depth

and finest quality, will grow good crops for you with the most imperfect tilling. At a safe distance of a day's

riding lie the tartarean copperforges of Swansea, the tartarean ironforges of Merthyr; their sooty battle far

away, and not, at such safe distance, a defilement to the face of the earth and sky, but rather an

encouragement to the earth at least; encouraging the husbandman to plough better, if he only would.

The peasantry seem indolent and stagnant, but peaceable and wellprovided; much given to Methodism when

they have any character;for the rest, an innocent goodhumored people, who all drink homebrewed beer,

and have brown loaves of the most excellent homebaked bread. The native peasant village is not generally

beautiful, though it might be, were it swept and trimmed; it gives one rather the idea of sluttish

stagnancy,an interesting peep into the Welsh Paradise of Sleepy Hollow. Stones, old kettles, naves of

wheels, all kinds of broken litter, with live pigs and etceteras, lie about the street: for, as a rule, no rubbish is

removed, but waits patiently the action of mere natural chemistry and accident; if even a house is burnt or

falls, you will find it there after half a century, only cloaked by the everready ivy. Sluggish man seems

never to have struck a pick into it; his new hut is built close by on ground not encumbered, and the old stones

This is the ordinary Welsh village; but there are exceptions, where people of more cultivated tastes have been

led to settle, and Llanblethian is one of the more signal of these. A decidedly cheerful group of human homes,

the greater part of them indeed belonging to persons of refined habits; trimness, shady shelter, whitewash,

neither conveniency nor decoration has been neglected here. Its effect from the distance on the eastward is

very pretty: you see it like a little sleeping cataract of white houses, with trees overshadowing and fringing it;

John Sterling spent his next five years in this locality. He did not again see it for a quarter of a century; but

retained, all his life, a lively remembrance of it; and, just in the end of his twentyfirst year, among his

earliest printed pieces, we find an elaborate and diffuse description of it and its relations to him,part of

which piece, in spite of its otherwise insignificant quality, may find place here:

"The fields on which I first looked, and the sands which were marked by my earliest footsteps, are completely

lost to my memory; and of those ancient walls among which I began to breathe, I retain no recollection more

clear than the outlines of a cloud in a moonless sky. But of L, the village where I afterwards lived, I

persuade myself that every line and hue is more deeply and accurately fixed than those of any spot I have

since beheld, even though borne in upon the heart by the association of the strongest feelings.

"My home was built upon the slope of a hill, with a little orchard stretching down before it, and a garden

rising behind. At a considerable distance beyond and beneath the orchard, a rivulet flowed through meadows

and turned a mill; while, above the garden, the summit of the hill was crowned by a few gray rocks, from

which a yewtree grew, solitary and bare. Extending at each side of the orchard, toward the brook, two

scattered patches of cottages lay nestled among their gardens; and beyond this streamlet and the little mill and

bridge, another slight eminence arose, divided into green fields, tufted and bordered with copsewood, and

crested by a ruined castle, contemporary, as was said, with the Conquest. I know not whether these things in

truth made up a prospect of much beauty. Since I was eight years old, I have never seen them; but I well

know that no landscape I have since beheld, no picture of Claude or Salvator, gave me half the impression of

living, heartfelt, perfect beauty which fills my mind when I think of that green valley, that sparkling rivulet,

that broken fortress of dark antiquity, and that hill with its aged yew and breezy summit, from which I have

so often looked over the broad stretch of verdure beneath it, and the countrytown, and churchtower, silent

"In that little town there was, and I believe is, a school where the elements of human knowledge were

communicated to me, for some hours of every day, during a considerable time. The path to it lay across the

rivulet and past the mill; from which point we could either journey through the fields below the old castle,

and the wood which surrounded it, or along a road at the other side of the ruin, close to the gateway of which

it passed. The former track led through two or three beautiful fields, the sylvan domain of the keep on one

hand, and the brook on the other; while an oak or two, like giant warders advanced from the wood, broke the

sunshine of the green with a soft and graceful shadow. How often, on my way to school, have I stopped

beneath the tree to collect the fallen acorns; how often run down to the stream to pluck a branch of the

hawthorn which hung over the water! The road which passed the castle joined, beyond these fields, the path

which traversed them. It took, I well remember, a certain solemn and mysterious interest from the ruin. The

shadow of the archway, the discolorizations of time on all the walls, the dimness of the little thicket which

encircled it, the traditions of its immeasurable age, made St. Quentin's Castle a wonderful and awful fabric in

the imagination of a child; and long after I last saw its mouldering roughness, I never read of fortresses, or

heights, or spectres, or banditti, without connecting them with the one ruin of my childhood.

"It was close to this spot that one of the few adventures occurred which marked, in my mind, my boyish days

with importance. When loitering beyond the castle, on the way to school, with a brother somewhat older than

myself, who was uniformly my champion and protector, we espied a round sloe high up in the hedgerow.

We determined to obtain it; and I do not remember whether both of us, or only my brother, climbed the tree.

However, when the prize was all but reached,and no alchemist ever looked more eagerly for the moment

of projection which was to give him immortality and omnipotence,a gruff voice startled us with an oath,

and an order to desist; and I well recollect looking back, for long after, with terror to the vision of an old and

illtempered farmer, armed with a billhook, and vowing our decapitation; nor did I subsequently remember

without triumph the eloquence whereby alone, in my firm belief, my brother and myself had been rescued

"At the entrance of the little town stood an old gateway, with a pointed arch and decaying battlements. It gave

admittance to the street which contained the church, and which terminated in another street, the principal one

in the town of C. In this was situated the school to which I daily wended. I cannot now recall to mind

the face of its good conductor, nor of any of his scholars; but I have before me a strong general image of the

interior of his establishment. I remember the reverence with which I was wont to carry to his seat a

wellthumbed duodecimo, the History of Greece by Oliver Goldsmith. I remember the mental agonies I

endured in attempting to master the art and mystery of penmanship; a craft in which, alas, I remained too

short a time under Mr. R to become as great a proficient as he made his other scholars, and which my

awkwardness has prevented me from attaining in any considerable perfection under my various subsequent

pedagogues. But that which has left behind it a brilliant trait of light was the exhibition of what are called

'Christmas pieces;' things unknown in aristocratic seminaries, but constantly used at the comparatively

humble academy which supplied the best knowledge of reading, writing, and arithmetic to be attained in that

"The long desks covered from end to end with those painted masterpieces, the Life of Robinson Crusoe, the

Hunting of ChevyChase, the History of Jack the GiantKiller, and all the little eager faces and trembling

hands bent over these, and filling them up with some choice quotation, sacred or profane;no, the galleries

of art, the theatrical exhibitions, the reviews and processions,which are only not childish because they are

practiced and admired by men instead of children,all the pomps and vanities of great cities, have shown

me no revelation of glory such as did that crowded schoolroom the week before the Christmas holidays. But

these were the splendors of life. The truest and the strongest feelings do not connect themselves with any

scenes of gorgeous and gaudy magnificence; they are bound up in the remembrances of home.

"The narrow orchard, with its grove of old appletrees against one of which I used to lean, and while I

while I was ready to squall at the sight of a cur, and run valorously away from a casually approaching cow;

the field close beside it, where I rolled about in summer among the hay; the brook in which, despite of maid

and mother, I waded by the hour; the garden where I sowed flowerseeds, and then turned up the ground

again and planted potatoes, and then rooted out the potatoes to insert acorns and applepips, and at last, as

may be supposed, reaped neither roses, nor potatoes, nor oaktrees, nor apples; the grassplots on which I

played among those with whom I never can play nor work again: all these are places and

employments,and, alas, playmates,such as, if it were worth while to weep at all, it would be worth

"I remember the house where I first grew familiar with peacocks; and the millstream into which I once fell;

and the religious awe wherewith I heard, in the warm twilight, the psalmsinging around the house of the

Methodist miller; and the doorpost against which I discharged my brazen artillery; I remember the window

by which I sat while my mother taught me French; and the patch of garden which I dug for But her name is

best left blank; it was indeed writ in water. These recollections are to me like the wealth of a departed friend,

a mournful treasure. But the public has heard enough of them; to it they are worthless: they are a coin which

only circulates at its true value between the different periods of an individual's existence, and good for

nothing but to keep up a commerce between boyhood and manhood. I have for years looked forward to the

possibility of visiting L; but I am told that it is a changed village; and not only has man been at work,

but the old yew on the hill has fallen, and scarcely a low stump remains of the tree which I delighted in

In Cowbridge is some kind of free school, or grammarschool, of a certain distinction; and this to Captain

Sterling was probably a motive for settling in the neighborhood of it with his children. Of this however, as it

turned out, there was no use made: the Sterling family, during its continuance in those parts, did not need

more than a primary school. The worthy master who presided over these Christmas galas, and had the honor

to teach John Sterling his reading and writing, was an elderly Mr. Reece of Cowbridge, who still (in 1851)

survives, or lately did; and is still remembered by his old pupils as a worthy, ingenious and kindly man, "who

wore drab breeches and white stockings." Beyond the Reece sphere of tuition John Sterling did not go in this

In fact the Sterling household was still fluctuating; the problem of a task for Edward Sterling's powers, and of

anchorage for his affairs in any sense, was restlessly struggling to solve itself, but was still a good way from

being solved. Anthony, in revisiting these scenes with John in 1839, mentions going to the spot "where we

used to stand with our Father, looking out for the arrival of the London mail:" a little chink through which is

disclosed to us a big restless section of a human life. The Hill of Welsh Llanblethian, then, is like the mythic

Caucasus in its degree (as indeed all hills and habitations where men sojourn are); and here too, on a small

scale, is a Prometheus Chained! Edward Sterling, I can well understand, was a man to tug at the chains that

held him idle in those the prime of his years; and to ask restlessly, yet not in anger and remorse, so much as

in hope, locomotive speculation, and evernew adventure and attempt, Is there no task nearer my own natural

size, then? So he looks out from the Hillside "for the arrival of the London mail;" thence hurries into

Cowbridge to the Postoffice; and has a wide web, of threads and gossamers, upon his loom, and many

By the Marquis of Bute's appointment he had, very shortly after his arrival in that region, become Adjutant of

the Glamorganshire Militia, "Local Militia," I suppose; and was, in this way, turning his military capabilities

to some use. The office involved pretty frequent absences, in Cardiff and elsewhere. This doubtless was a

welcome outlet, though a small one. He had also begun to try writing, especially on public subjects; a much

more copious outlet,which indeed, gradually widening itself, became the final solution for him. Of the year

1811 we have a Pamphlet of his, entitled Military Reform; this is the second edition, "dedicated to the Duke

of Kent;" the first appears to have come out the year before, and had thus attained a certain notice, which of

course was encouraging. He now furthermore opened a correspondence with the Times Newspaper; wrote to

it, in 1812, a series of Letters under the signature Vetus: voluntary Letters I suppose, without payment or

preengagement, one successful Letter calling out another; till Vetus and his doctrines came to be a

distinguishable entity, and the business amounted to something. Out of my own earliest Newspaper reading, I

can remember the name Vetus, as a kind of editorial hacklog on which ableeditors were wont to chop straw

now and then. Nay the Letters were collected and reprinted; both this first series, of 1812, and then a second

of next year: two very thin, very dimcolored cheap octavos; stray copies of which still exist, and may one

day become distillable into a drop of History (should such be wanted of our poor "Scavenger Age" in time

coming), though the reading of them has long ceased in this generation.[4] The first series, we perceive, had

even gone to a second edition. The tone, wherever one timidly glances into this extinct cockpit, is trenchant

and emphatic: the name of Vetus, strenuously fighting there, had become considerable in the talking political

world; and, no doubt, was especially of mark, as that of a writer who might otherwise be important, with the

proprietors of the Times. The connection continued: widened and deepened itself,in a slow tentative

manner; passing naturally from voluntary into remunerated: and indeed proving more and more to be the true

ultimate arena, and battlefield and seedfield, for the exuberant impetuosities and faculties of this man.

What the Letters of Vetus treated of I do not know; doubtless they ran upon Napoleon, Catholic

Emancipation, true methods of national defence, of effective foreign Antigallicism, and of domestic ditto;

which formed the staple of editorial speculation at that time. I have heard in general that Captain Sterling,

then and afterwards, advocated "the Marquis of Wellesley's policy;" but that also, what it was, I have

forgotten, and the world has been willing to forget. Enough, the heads of the Times establishment, perhaps

already the Marquis of Wellesley and other important persons, had their eye on this writer; and it began to be

Accordingly, in 1814, when victorious Peace unexpectedly arrived; and the gates of the Continent after

fiveandtwenty years of fierce closure were suddenly thrown open; and the hearts of all English and

European men awoke staggering as if from a nightmare suddenly removed, and ran hither and

thither,Edward Sterling also determined on a new adventure, that of crossing to Paris, and trying what

might lie in store for him. For curiosity, in its idler sense, there was evidently pabulum enough. But he had

hopes moreover of learning much that might perhaps avail him afterwards;hopes withal, I have

understood, of getting to be Foreign Correspondent of the Times Newspaper, and so adding to his income in

the mean while. He left Llanblethian in May; dates from Dieppe the 27th of that month. He lived in

occasional contact with Parisian notabilities (all of them except Madame de Stael forgotten now), all summer,

diligently surveying his ground;returned for his family, who were still in Wales but ready to move, in the

beginning of August; took them immediately across with him; a house in the neighborhood of Paris, in the

pleasant village of Passy at once town and country, being now ready; and so, under foreign skies, again set up

Here was a strange new "school" for our friend John now in his eighth year! Out of which the little Anthony

and he drank doubtless at all pores, vigorously as they had done in no school before. A change total and

immediate. Somniferous green Llanblethian has suddenly been blotted out; presto, here are wakeful Passy

and the noises of paved Paris instead. Innocent ingenious Mr. Reece in drab breeches and white stockings, he

with his mild Christmas galas and peaceable rules of Dilworth and Butterworth, has given place to such a

saturnalia of panoramic, symbolic and other teachers and monitors, addressing all the five senses at once.

Who John's express tutors were, at Passy, I never heard; nor indeed, especially in his case, was it much worth

inquiring. To him and to all of us, the expressly appointed schoolmasters and schoolings we get are as

nothing, compared with the unappointed incidental and continual ones, whose schoolhours are all the days

and nights of our existence, and whose lessons, noticed or unnoticed, stream in upon us with every breath we

draw. Anthony says they attended a French school, though only for about three months; and he well

remembers the last scene of it, "the boys shouting Vive l'Empereur when Napoleon came back."

Of John Sterling's express schooling, perhaps the most important feature, and by no means a favorable one to

him, was the excessive fluctuation that prevailed in it. Change of scene, change of teacher, both express and

implied, was incessant with him; and gave his young life a nomadic character,which surely, of all the

adventitious tendencies that could have been impressed upon him, so volatile, swift and airy a being as him,

was the one he needed least. His gentle pioushearted Mother, ever watching over him in all outward

changes, and assiduously keeping human pieties and good affections alive in him, was probably the best

counteracting element in his lot. And on the whole, have we not all to run our chance in that respect; and

take, the most victoriously we can, such schooling as pleases to be attainable in our year and place? Not very

victoriously, the most of us! A wise wellcalculated breeding of a young genial soul in this world, or alas of

any young soul in it, lies fatally over the horizon in these epochs!This French scene of things, a grand

school of its sort, and also a perpetual banquet for the young soul, naturally captivated John Sterling; he said

afterwards, "New things and experiences here were poured upon his mind and sense, not in streams, but in a

Niagara cataract." This too, however, was but a scene; lasted only some six or seven months; and in the

For in the spring of the next year, Napoleon abruptly emerged from Elba; and set all the populations of the

world in motion, in a strange manner;set the Sterling household afloat, in particular; the big European tide

rushing into all smallest creeks, at Passy and elsewhere. In brief, on the 20th of March, 1815, the family had

to shift, almost to fly, towards home and the seacoast; and for a day or two were under apprehension of

being detained and not reaching home. Mrs. Sterling, with her children and effects, all in one big carriage

with two horses, made the journey to Dieppe; in perfect safety, though in continual tremor: here they were

joined by Captain Sterling, who had stayed behind at Paris to see the actual advent of Napoleon, and to report

what the aspect of affairs was, "Downcast looks of citizens, with fierce saturnalian acclaim of soldiery:" after

which they proceeded together to London without farther apprehension;there to witness, in due time, the

Captain Sterling never quitted London as a residence any more; and indeed was never absent from it, except

on autumnal or other excursions of a few weeks, till the end of his life. Nevertheless his course there was as

yet by no means clear; nor had his relations with the heads of the Times, or with other high heads, assumed a

form which could be called definite, but were hanging as a cloudy maze of possibilities, firm substance not

yet divided from shadow. It continued so for some years. The Sterling household shifted twice or thrice to

new streets or localities,Russell Square or Queen Square, Blackfriars Road, and longest at the Grove,

Blackheath, before the vapors of Wellesley promotions and such like slowly sank as useless precipitate,

and the firm rock, which was definite employment, ending in lucrative coproprietorship and more and more

These changes of place naturally brought changes in John Sterling's schoolmasters: nor were domestic

tragedies wanting, still more important to him. New brothers and sisters had been born; two little brothers

more, three little sisters he had in all; some of whom came to their eleventh year beside him, some passed

away in their second or fourth: but from his ninth to his sixteenth year they all died; and in 1821 only

Anthony and John were left.[5] How many tears, and passionate pangs, and soft infinite regrets; such as are

appointed to all mortals! In one year, I find, indeed in one halfyear, he lost three little playmates, two of

them within one month. His own age was not yet quite twelve. For one of these three, for little Edward, his

next younger, who died now at the age of nine, Mr. Hare records that John copied out, in large schoolhand,

a History of Valentine and Orson, to beguile the poor child's sickness, which ended in death soon, leaving a

Of his grammar and other schools, which, as I said, are hardly worth enumerating in comparison, the most

important seems to have been a Dr. Burney's at Greenwich; a large dayschoo] and boardingschool, where

Anthony and John gave their attendance for a year or two (181819) from Blackheath. "John frequently did

themes for the boys," says Anthony, "and for myself when I was aground." His progress in all school learning

was certain to be rapid, if he even moderately took to it. A lean, tallish, loosemade boy of twelve; strange

alacrity, rapidity and joyous eagerness looking out of his eyes, and of all his ways and movements. I have a

Picture of him at this stage; a little portrait, which carries its verification with it. In manhood too, the chief

expression of his eyes and physiognomy was what I might call alacrity, cheerful rapidity. You could see, here

looked forth a soul which was winged; which dwelt in hope and action, not in hesitation or fear. Anthony

says, he was "an affectionate and gallant kind of boy, adventurous and generous, daring to a singular degree."

Apt enough withal to be "petulant now and then;" on the whole, "very selfwilled;" doubtless not a little

I rather think Anthony, as the steadier, more substantial boy, was the Mother's favorite; and that John, though

the quicker and cleverer, perhaps cost her many anxieties. Among the Papers given me, is an old browned

halfsheet in stiff school hand, unpunctuated, occasionally ill spelt,John Sterling's earliest remaining

Letter,which gives record of a crowning escapade of his, the first and the last of its kind; and so may be

inserted here. A very headlong adventure on the boy's part; so hasty and so futile, at once audacious and

"DEAR MAMMA,I am now at Dover, where I arrived this morning about seven o'clock. When you

thought I was going to church, I went down the Kent Road, and walked on till I came to Gravesend, which is

upwards of twenty miles from Blackheath; at about seven o'clock in the evening, without having eat anything

the whole time. I applied to an inkeeper (sic) there, pretending that I had served a haberdasher in London,

who left of (sic) business, and turned me away. He believed me; and got me a passage in the coach here, for I

said that I had an Uncle here, and that my Father and Mother were dead;when I wandered about the quays

for some time, till I met Captain Keys, whom I asked to give me a passage to Boulogne; which he promised

to do, and took me home to breakfast with him: but Mrs. Keys questioned me a good deal; when I not being

able to make my story good, I was obliged to confess to her that I had run away from you. Captain Keys says

Anthony remembers the business well; but can assign no origin to it,some penalty, indignity or cross put

suddenly on John, which the hasty John considered unbearable. His Mother's inconsolable weeping, and then

his own astonishment at such a culprit's being forgiven, are all that remain with Anthony. The steady

historical style of the young runaway of twelve, narrating merely, not in the least apologizing, is also

This was some six months after his little brother Edward's death; three months after that of Hester, his little

sister next in the family series to him: troubled days for the poor Mother in that small household on

Blackheath, as there are for mothers in so many households in this world! I have heard that Mrs. Sterling

passed much of her time alone, at this period. Her husband's pursuits, with his Wellesleys and the like, often

carrying him into Town and detaining him late there, she would sit among her sleeping children, such of them

as death had still spared, perhaps thriftily plying her needle, full of mournful affectionate

nightthoughts,apprehensive too, in her tremulous heart, that the head of the house might have fallen

At a later stage, John had some instruction from a Dr. Waite at Blackheath; and lastly, the family having now

removed into Town, to Seymour Street in the fashionable region there, he "read for a while with Dr. Trollope,

In this his everchanging course, from Reece at Cowbridge to Trollope in Christ's, which was passed so

nomadically, under ferulas of various color, the boy had, on the whole, snatched successfully a fair share of

what was going. Competent skill in construing Latin, I think also an elementary knowledge of Greek; add

ciphering to a small extent, Euclid perhaps in a rather imaginary condition; a swift but not very legible or

handsome penmanship, and the copious prompt habit of employing it in all manner of unconscious English

prose composition, or even occasionally in verse itself: this, or something like this, he had gained from his

grammarschools: this is the most of what they offer to the poor young soul in general, in these indigent

times. The express schoolmaster is not equal to much at present,while the unexpress, for good or for evil,

is so busy with a poor little fellow! Other departments of schooling had been infinitely more productive, for

our young friend, than the gerundgrinding one. A voracious reader I believe he all along was,had "read

the whole Edinburgh Review" in these boyish years, and out of the circulating libraries one knows not what

cartloads; wading like Ulysses towards his palace "through infinite dung." A voracious observer and

participator in all things he likewise all along was; and had had his sights, and reflections, and sorrows and

adventures, from Kaimes Castle onward,and had gone at least to Dover on his own score. Puer bonae spei,

as the schoolalbums say; a boy of whom much may be hoped? Surely, in many senses, yes. A frank veracity

is in him, truth and courage, as the basis of all; and of wild gifts and graces there is abundance. I figure him a

brilliant, swift, voluble, affectionate and pleasant creature; out of whom, if it were not that symptoms of

delicate health already show themselves, great things might be made. Promotions at least, especially in this

country and epoch of parliaments and eloquent palavers, are surely very possible for such a one!

Being now turned of sixteen, and the family economics getting yearly more propitious and flourishing, he, as

his brother had already been, was sent to Glasgow University, in which city their Mother had connections.

His brother and he were now all that remained of the young family; much attached to one another in their

College years as afterwards. Glasgow, however, was not properly their College scene: here, except that they

had some tuition from Mr. Jacobson, then a senior fellowstudent, now (1851) the learned editor of St. Basil,

and Regius Professor of Divinity in Oxford, who continued ever afterwards a valued intimate of John's, I find

nothing special recorded of them. The Glasgow curriculum, for John especially, lasted but one year; who,

after some farther tutorage from Mr. Jacobson or Dr. Trollope, was appointed for a more ambitious sphere of

In the beginning of his nineteenth year, "in the autumn of 1824," he went to Trinity College, Cambridge. His

brother Anthony, who had already been there a year, had just quitted this Establishment, and entered on a

military life under good omens; I think, at Dublin under the Lord Lieutenant's patronage, to whose service he

was, in some capacity, attached. The two brothers, ever in company hitherto, parted roads at this point; and,

except on holiday visits and by frequent correspondence, did not again live together; but they continued in a

true fraternal attachment while life lasted, and I believe never had any even temporary estrangement, or on

either side a cause for such. The family, as I said, was now, for the last three years, reduced to these two; the

rest of the young ones, with their laughter and their sorrows, all gone. The parents otherwise were prosperous

in outward circumstances; the Father's position more and more developing itself into affluent security, an

agreeable circle of acquaintance, and a certain real influence, though of a peculiar sort, according to his gifts

Sterling's Tutor at Trinity College was Julius Hare, now the distinguished Archdeacon of Lewes:who soon

conceived a great esteem for him, and continued ever afterwards, in looser or closer connection, his loved and

loving friend. As the Biographical and Editorial work above alluded to abundantly evinces. Mr. Hare

celebrates the wonderful and beautiful gifts, the sparkling ingenuity, ready logic, eloquent utterance, and

noble generosities and pieties of his pupil;records in particular how once, on a sudden alarm of fire in

some neighboring College edifice while his lecture was proceeding, all hands rushed out to help; how the

undergraduates instantly formed themselves in lines from the fire to the river, and in swift continuance kept

passing buckets as was needful, till the enemy was visibly fast yielding,when Mr. Hare, going along the

line, was astonished to find Sterling, at the riverend of it, standing up to his waist in water, deftly dealing

with the buckets as they came and went. You in the river, Sterling; you with your coughs, and dangerous

tendencies of health!"Somebody must be in it," answered Sterling; "why not I, as well as another?"

Sterling's friends may remember many traits of that kind. The swiftest in all things, he was apt to be found at

the head of the column, whithersoever the march might be; if towards any brunt of danger, there was he

surest to be at the head; and of himself and his peculiar risks or impediments he was negligent at all times,

Mr. Hare justly refuses him the character of an exact scholar, or technical proficient at any time in either of

the ancient literatures. But he freely read in Greek and Latin, as in various modern languages; and in all

fields, in the classical as well, his lively faculty of recognition and assimilation had given him large booty in

proportion to his labor. One cannot under any circumstances conceive of Sterling as a steady dictionary

philologue, historian, or archaeologist; nor did he here, nor could he well, attempt that course. At the same

time, Greek and the Greeks being here before him, he could not fail to gather somewhat from it, to take some

hue and shape from it. Accordingly there is, to a singular extent, especially in his early writings, a certain

tinge of Grecism and Heathen classicality traceable in him;Classicality, indeed, which does not satisfy

one's sense as real or truly living, but which glitters with a certain genial, if perhaps almost meretricious

halfjapannish splendor,greatly distinguishable from mere gerundgrinding, and death in longs and shorts.

If Classicality mean the practical conception, or attempt to conceive, what human life was in the epoch called

classical,perhaps few or none of Sterling's contemporaries in that Cambridge establishment carried away

But here, as in his former schools, his studies and inquiries, diligently prosecuted I believe, were of the most

discursive wideflowing character; not steadily advancing along beaten roads towards College honors, but

pulsing out with impetuous irregularity now on this tract, now on that, towards whatever spiritual Delphi

might promise to unfold the mystery of this world, and announce to him what was, in our new day, the

authentic message of the gods. His speculations, readings, inferences, glances and conclusions were doubtless

sufficiently encyclopedic; his grand tutors the multifarious set of Books he devoured. And perhaps,as is

the singular case in most schools and educational establishments of this unexampled epoch,it was not the

express set of arrangements in this or any extant University that could essentially forward him, but only the

implied and silent ones; less in the prescribed "course of study," which seems to tend nowhither, thanif

you will consider itin the generous (not ungenerous) rebellion against said prescribed course, and the

voluntary spirit of endeavor and adventure excited thereby, does help lie for a brave youth in such places.

Curious to consider. The fagging, the illicit boating, and the things forbidden by the schoolmaster,these, I

often notice in my Eton acquaintances, are the things that have done them good; these, and not their

inconsiderable or considerable knowledge of the Greek accidence almost at all! What is Greek accidence,

compared to Spartan discipline, if it can be had? That latter is a real and grand attainment. Certainly, if

rebellion is unfortunately needful, and you can rebel in a generous manner, several things may be acquired in

that operation,rigorous mutual fidelity, reticence, steadfastness, mild stoicism, and other virtues far

transcending your Greek accidence. Nor can the unwisest "prescribed course of study" be considered quite

useless, if it have incited you to try nobly on all sides for a course of your own. A singular condition of

Schools and Highschools, which have come down, in their strange old clothes and "courses of study," from

the monkish ages into this highly unmonkish one;tragical condition, at which the intelligent observer

One benefit, not to be dissevered from the most obsolete University still frequented by young ingenuous

living souls, is that of manifold collision and communication with the said young souls; which, to every one

of these coevals, is undoubtedly the most important branch of breeding for him. In this point, as the learned

Huber has insisted,[6] the two English Universities,their studies otherwise being granted to be nearly

useless, and even ill done of their kind,far excel all other Universities: so valuable are the rules of human

behavior which from of old have tacitly established themselves there; so manful, with all its sad drawbacks, is

the style of English character, "frank, simple, rugged and yet courteous," which has tacitly but imperatively

got itself sanctioned and prescribed there. Such, in full sight of Continental and other Universities, is Huber's

opinion. Alas, the question of University Reform goes deep at present; deep as the world;and the real

University of these new epochs is yet a great way from us! Another judge in whom I have confidence

declares further, That of these two Universities, Cambridge is decidedly the more catholic (not Roman

catholic, but Human catholic) in its tendencies and habitudes; and that in fact, of all the miserable Schools

and Highschools in the England of these years, he, if reduced to choose from them, would choose

Cambridge as a place of culture for the young idea. So that, in these bad circumstances, Sterling had perhaps

Sterling at Cambridge had undoubtedly a wide and rather genial circle of comrades; and could not fail to be

regarded and beloved by many of them. Their life seems to have been an ardently speculating and talking

one; by no means excessively restrained within limits; and, in the more adventurous heads like Sterling's,

decidedly tending towards the latitudinarian in most things. They had among them a Debating Society called

The Union; where on stated evenings was much logic, and other spiritual fencing and ingenuous

collision,probably of a really superior quality in that kind; for not a few of the then disputants have since

proved themselves men of parts, and attained distinction in the intellectual walks of life. Frederic Maurice,

Richard Trench, John Kemble, Spedding, Venables, Charles Buller, Richard Milnes and others:I have

heard that in speaking and arguing, Sterling was the acknowledged chief in this Union Club; and that "none

even came near him, except the late Charles Buller," whose distinction in this and higher respects was also

The questions agitated seem occasionally to have touched on the political department, and even on the

ecclesiastical. I have heard one trait of Sterling's eloquence, which survived on the wings of grinning rumor,

and had evidently borne upon Church Conservatism in some form: "Have they not,"or perhaps it was, Has

she (the Church) not,"a black dragoon in every parish, on good pay and rations, horsemeat and

man'smeat, to patrol and battle for these things?" The "black dragoon," which naturally at the moment

ruffled the general young imagination into stormy laughter, points towards important conclusions in respect

to Sterling at this time. I conclude he had, with his usual alacrity and impetuous daring, frankly adopted the

antisuperstitious side of things; and stood scornfully prepared to repel all aggressions or pretensions from

the opposite quarter. In short, that he was already, what afterwards there is no doubt about his being, at all

points a Radical, as the name or nickname then went. In other words, a young ardent soul looking with hope

and joy into a world which was infinitely beautiful to him, though overhung with falsities and foul cobwebs

as world never was before; overloaded, overclouded, to the zenith and the nadir of it, by incredible uncredited

traditions, solemnly sordid hypocrisies, and beggarly deliriums old and new; which latter class of objects it

was clearly the part of every noble heart to expend all its lightnings and energies in burning up without delay,

and sweeping into their native Chaos out of such a Cosmos as this. Which process, it did not then seem to

him could be very difficult; or attended with much other than heroic joy, and enthusiasm of victory or of

battle, to the gallant operator, in his part of it. This was, with modifications such as might be, the humor and

creed of College Radicalism fiveandtwenty years ago. Rather horrible at that time; seen to be not so

horrible now, at least to have grown very universal, and to need no concealment now. The natural humor and

attitude, we may well regret to say,and honorable not dishonorable, for a brave young soul such as

I do not find that Sterling had, at that stage, adopted the then prevalent Utilitarian theory of human things.

But neither, apparently, had he rejected it; still less did he yet at all denounce it with the damnatory

vehemence we were used to in him at a later period. Probably he, so much occupied with the negative side of

things, had not yet thought seriously of any positive basis for his world; or asked himself, too earnestly,

What, then, is the noble rule of living for a man? In this world so eclipsed and scandalously overhung with

fable and hypocrisy, what is the eternal fact, on which a man may front the Destinies and the Immensities?

The day for such questions, sure enough to come in his case, was still but coming. Sufficient for this day be

the work thereof; that of blasting into merited annihilation the innumerable and immeasurable recognized

deliriums, and extirpating or coercing to the due pitch those legions of "black dragoons," of all varieties and

purposes, who patrol, with horsemeat and man'smeat, this afflicted earth, so hugely to the detriment of it.

Sterling, it appears, after above a year of Trinity College, followed his friend Maurice into Trinity Hall, with

the intention of taking a degree in Law; which intention, like many others with him, came to nothing; and in

1827 he left Trinity Hall and Cambridge altogether; here ending, after two years, his brief University life.

Here, then, is a young soul, brought to the years of legal majority, furnished from his trainingschools with

such and such shining capabilities, and ushered on the scene of things to inquire practically, What he will do

there? Piety is in the man, noble human valor, bright intelligence, ardent proud veracity; light and fire, in

none of their many senses, wanting for him, but abundantly bestowed: a kingly kind of man;whose

"kingdom," however, in this bewildered place and epoch of the world will probably be difficult to find and

For, alas, the world, as we said, already stands convicted to this young soul of being an untrue, unblessed

world; its high dignitaries many of them phantasms and players'masks; its worthships and worships

unworshipful: from Dan to Beersheba, a mad world, my masters. And surely we may say, and none will now

gainsay, this his idea of the world at that epoch was nearer to the fact than at most other epochs it has been.

Truly, in all times and places, the young ardent soul that enters on this world with heroic purpose, with

veracious insight, and the yet unclouded "inspiration of the Almighty" which has given us our intelligence,

will find this world a very mad one: why else is he, with his little outfit of heroisms and inspirations, come

hither into it, except to make it diligently a little saner? Of him there would have been no need, had it been

And yet perhaps of no time or country, for the last two thousand years, was it so true as here in this

wasteweltering epoch of Sterling's and ours. A world all rocking and plunging, like that old Roman one

when the measure of its iniquities was full; the abysses, and subterranean and supernal deluges, plainly

broken loose; in the wild dimlighted chaos all stars of Heaven gone out. No star of Heaven visible, hardly

now to any man; the pestiferous fogs, and foul exhalations grown continual, have, except on the highest

mountaintops, blotted out all stars: willo'wisps, of various course and color, take the place of stars. Over

the wildsurging chaos, in the leaden air, are only sudden glares of revolutionary lightning; then mere

darkness, with philanthropistic phosphorescences, empty meteoric lights; here and there an ecclesiastical

luminary still hovering, hanging on to its old quaking fixtures, pretending still to be a Moon or Sun,though

visibly it is but a Chinese lantern made of paper mainly, with candleend foully dying in the heart of it.

If you want to make sudden fortunes in it, and achieve the temporary hallelujah of flunkies for yourself,

renouncing the perennial esteem of wise men; if you can believe that the chief end of man is to collect about

him a bigger heap of gold than ever before, in a shorter time than ever before, you will find it a most handy

and every way furthersome, blessed and felicitous world. But for any other human aim, I think you will find

it not furthersome. If you in any way ask practically, How a noble life is to be led in it? you will be luckier

than Sterling or I if you get any credible answer, or find any made road whatever. Alas, it is even so. Your

heart's question, if it be of that sort, most things and persons will answer with a "Nonsense! Noble life is in

Drury Lane, and wears yellow boots. You fool, compose yourself to your pudding!"Surely, in these times,

if ever in any, the young heroic soul entering on life, so opulent, full of sunny hope, of noble valor and divine

Of the three learned Professions none offered any likelihood for Sterling. From the Church his notions of the

"black dragoon," had there been no other obstacle, were sufficient to exclude him. Law he had just

renounced, his own Radical philosophies disheartening him, in face of the ponderous impediments, continual

uphill struggles and formidable toils inherent in such a pursuit: with Medicine he had never been in any

contiguity, that he should dream of it as a course for him. Clearly enough the professions were unsuitable;

they to him, he to them. Professions, built so largely on speciosity instead of performance; clogged, in this

bad epoch, and defaced under such suspicions of fatal imposture, were hateful not lovable to the young

radical soul, scornful of gross profit, and intent on ideals and human noblenesses. Again, the professions,

were they never so perfect and veracious, will require slow steady pulling, to which this individual young

radical, with his swift, fardarting brilliancies, and nomadic desultory ways, is of all men the most averse and

unfitted. No profession could, in any case, have well gained the early love of Sterling. And perhaps withal the

most tragic element of his life is even this, That there now was none to which he could fitly, by those wiser

than himself, have been bound and constrained, that he might learn to love it. So swift, lightlimbed and fiery

an Arab courser ought, for all manner of reasons, to have been trained to saddle and harness. Roaming at full

gallop over the heaths,especially when your heath was London, and English and European life, in the

nineteenth century,he suffered much, and did comparatively little. I have known few creatures whom it

was more wasteful to send forth with the bridle thrown up, and to set to steeplehunting instead of running on

highways! But it is the lot of many such, in this dislocated time,Heaven mend it! In a better time there will

be other "professions" than those three extremely cramp, confused and indeed almost obsolete ones:

professions, if possible, that are true, and do not require you at the threshold to constitute yourself an

impostor. Human association,which will mean discipline, vigorous wise subordination and

coordination,is so unspeakably important. Professions, "regimented human pursuits," how many of

honorable and manful might be possible for men; and which should not, in their results to society, need to

stumble along, in such an unwieldy futile manner, with legs swollen into such enormous elephantiasis and no

go at all in them! Men will one day think of the force they squander in every generation, and the fatal damage

The career likeliest for Sterling, in his and the world's circumstances, would have been what is called public

life: some secretarial, diplomatic or other official training, to issue if possible in Parliament as the true field

for him. And here, beyond question, had the gross material conditions been allowed, his spiritual capabilities

were firstrate. In any arena where eloquence and argument was the point, this man was calculated to have

borne the bell from all competitors. In lucid ingenious talk and logic, in all manner of brilliant utterance and

tonguefence, I have hardly known his fellow. So ready lay his store of knowledge round him, so perfect was

his ready utterance of the same,in coruscating wit, in jocund drollery, in compact articulated clearness or

high poignant emphasis, as the case required,he was a match for any man in argument before a crowd of

men. One of the most supplewristed, dexterous, graceful and successful fencers in that kind. A man, as Mr.

Hare has said, "able to argue with four or five at once;" could do the parrying all round, in a succession swift

as light, and plant his hits wherever a chance offered. In Parliament, such a soul put into a body of the due

toughness might have carried it far. If ours is to be called, as I hear some call it, the Talking Era, Sterling of

Probably it was with some vague view towards chances in this direction that Sterling's first engagement was

entered upon; a brief connection as Secretary to some Club or Association into which certain public men, of

the reforming sort, Mr. Crawford (the Oriental Diplomatist and Writer), Mr. Kirkman Finlay (then Member

for Glasgow), and other political notabilities had now formed themselves,with what specific objects I do

not know, nor with what result if any. I have heard vaguely, it was "to open the trade to India." Of course

they intended to stir up the public mind into cooperation, whatever their goal or object was: Mr. Crawford,

an intimate in the Sterling household, recognized the fine literary gift of John; and might think it a lucky hit

that he had caught such a Secretary for three hundred pounds a year. That was the salary agreed upon; and for

some months actually worked for and paid; Sterling becoming for the time an intimate and almost an inmate

in Mr. Crawford's circle, doubtless not without results to himself beyond the secretarial work and pounds

sterling: so much is certain. But neither the Secretaryship nor the Association itself had any continuance; nor

can I now learn accurately more of it than what is here stated;in which vague state it must vanish from

Sterling's history again, as it in great measure did from his life. From himself in afteryears I never heard

mention of it; nor were his pursuits connected afterwards with those of Mr. Crawford, though the mutual

In fact, however splendid and indubitable Sterling's qualifications for a parliamentary life, there was that in

him withal which flatly put a negative on any such project. He had not the slow steadypulling diligence

which is indispensable in that, as in all important pursuits and strenuous human competitions whatsoever. In

every sense, his momentum depended on velocity of stroke, rather than on weight of metal; "beautifulest

sheetlightning," as I often said, "not to be condensed into thunderbolts." Add to this,what indeed is

perhaps but the same phenomenon in another form,his bodily frame was thin, excitable, already

manifesting pulmonary symptoms; a body which the tear and wear of Parliament would infallibly in few

months have wrecked and ended. By this path there was clearly no mounting. The fardarting, restlessly

coruscating soul, equips beyond all others to shine in the Talking Era, and lead National Palavers with their

spolia opima captive, is imprisoned in a fragile hectic body which quite forbids the adventure. "Es ist dafur

gesorgt," says Goethe, "Provision has been made that the trees do not grow into the sky;"means are always

Of all forms of public life, in the Talking Era, it was clear that only one completely suited Sterling,the

anarchic, nomadic, entirely aerial and unconditional one, called Literature. To this all his tendencies, and fine

gifts positive and negative, were evidently pointing; and here, after such brief attempting or thoughts to

attempt at other posts, he already in this same year arrives. As many do, and ever more must do, in these our

years and times. This is the chaotic haven of so many frustrate activities; where all manner of good gifts go

up in farseen smoke or conflagration; and whole fleets, that might have been warfleets to conquer

kingdoms, are consumed (too truly, often), amid "fame" enough, and the admiring shouts of the vulgar, which

is always fond to see fire going on. The true Canaan and Mount Zion of a Talking Era must ever be

Literature: the extraneous, miscellaneous, selfelected, indescribable Parliamentum, or Talking Apparatus,

A literary Newspaper called The Athenaeum, the same which still subsists, had been founded in those years

by Mr. Buckingham; James Silk Buckingham, who has since continued notable under various figures. Mr.

Buckingham's Athenaeum had not as yet got into a flourishing condition; and he was willing to sell the

writing for it. At all events, Sterling, who had already privately begun writing a Novel, and was clearly

looking towards Literature, perceived that his gifted Cambridge friend, Frederic Maurice, was now also at

large in a somewhat similar situation; and that here was an opening for both of them, and for other gifted

friends. The copyright was purchased for I know not what sum, nor with whose money, but guess it may have

been Sterling's, and no great sum;and so, under free auspices, themselves their own captains, Maurice and

he spread sail for this new voyage of adventure into all the world. It was about the end of 1828 that readers of

periodical literature, and quidnuncs in those departments, began to report the appearance, in a Paper called

the Athenaeum, of writings showing a superior brilliancy, and height of aim; one or perhaps two slight

specimens of which came into my own hands, in my remote corner, about that time, and were duly

recognized by me, while the authors were still far off and hidden behind deep veils.

Some of Sterling's best Papers from the Athenaeum have been published by Archdeacon Hare: firstfruits by

a young man of twentytwo; crude, imperfect, yet singularly beautiful and attractive; which will still testify

what high literary promise lay in him. The ruddiest glow of young enthusiasm, of noble incipient spiritual

manhood reigns over them; once more a divine Universe unveiling itself in gloom and splendor, in auroral

firelight and manytinted shadow, full of hope and full of awe, to a young melodious pious heart just arrived

upon it. Often enough the delineation has a certain flowing completeness, not to be expected from so young

an artist; here and there is a decided felicity of insight; everywhere the point of view adopted is a high and

noble one, and the result worked out a result to be sympathized with, and accepted so far as it will go. Good

reading still, those Papers, for the lessfurnished mind,thriceexcellent reading compared with what is

usually going. For the rest, a grand melancholy is the prevailing impression they leave;partly as if, while

the surface was so blooming and opulent, the heart of them was still vacant, sad and cold. Here is a beautiful

mirage, in the dry wilderness; but you cannot quench your thirst there! The writer's heart is indeed still too

vacant, except of beautiful shadows and reflexes and resonances; and is far from joyful, though it wears

In some of the Greek delineations (The Lycian Painter, for example), we have already noticed a strange

opulence of splendor, characterizable as halflegitimate, halfmeretricious,a splendor hovering between

the raffaelesque and the japannish. What other things Sterling wrote there, I never knew; nor would he in any

mood, in those later days, have told you, had you asked. This period of his life he always rather accounted, as

the Arabs do the idolatrous times before Mahomet's advent, the "period of darkness."

0n the commercial side the Athenaeum still lacked success; nor was like to find it under the highly

uncommercial management it had now got into. This, by and by, began to be a serious consideration. For

money is the sinews of Periodical Literature almost as much as of war itself; without money, and under a

constant drain of loss, Periodical Literature is one of the things that cannot be carried on. In no long time

Sterling began to be practically sensible of this truth, and that an unpleasant resolution in accordance with it

would be necessary. By him also, after a while, the Athenaeum was transferred to other hands, better fitted in

that respect; and under these it did take vigorous root, and still bears fruit according to its kind.

For the present, it brought him into the thick of London Literature, especially of young London Literature and

speculation; in which turbid exciting element he swam and revelled, nothing loath, for certain months

longer,a period short of two years in all. He had lodgings in Regent Street: his Father's house, now a

flourishing and stirring establishment, in South Place, Knightsbridge, where, under the warmth of increasing

revenue and success, miscellaneous cheerful socialities and abundant speculations, chiefly political (and not

John's kind, but that of the Times Newspaper and the Clubs), were rife, he could visit daily, and yet be master

of his own studies and pursuits. Maurice, Trench, John Mill, Charles Buller: these, and some few others,

among a wide circle of a transitory phantasmal character, whom he speedily forgot and cared not to

remember, were much about him; with these he in all ways employed and disported himself: a first favorite

No pleasanter companion, I suppose, had any of them. So frank, open, guileless, fearless, a brother to all

worthy souls whatsoever. Come when you might, here is he openhearted, rich in cheerful fancies, in grave

logic, in all kinds of bright activity. If perceptibly or imperceptibly there is a touch of ostentation in him,

blame it not; it is so innocent, so good and childlike. He is still fonder of jingling publicly, and spreading on

the table, your big purse of opulences than his own. Abrupt too he is, cares little for bigwigs and garnitures;

perhaps laughs more than the real fun he has would order; but of arrogance there is no vestige, of insincerity

or of illnature none. These must have been pleasant evenings in Regent Street, when the circle chanced to be

well adjusted there. At other times, Philistines would enter, what we call bores, dullards, Children of

Darkness; and then,except in a hunt of dullards, and a borebaiting, which might be permissible,the

evening was dark. Sterling, of course, had innumerable cares withal; and was toiling like a slave; his very

recreations almost a kind of work. An enormous activity was in the man;sufficient, in a body that could

have held it without breaking, to have gone far, even under the unstable guidance it was like to have!

Thus, too, an extensive, very variegated circle of connections was forming round him. Besides his

Athenaeum work, and evenings in Regent Street and elsewhere, he makes visits to countryhouses, the

Bullers' and others; converses with established gentlemen, with honorable women not a few; is gay and

welcome with the young of his own age; knows also religious, witty, and other distinguished ladies, and is

admiringly known by them. On the whole, he is already locomotive; visits hither and thither in a very rapid

flying manner. Thus I find he had made one flying visit to the Cumberland Lakeregion in 1828, and got

sight of Wordsworth; and in the same year another flying one to Paris, and seen with no undue enthusiasm

the SaintSimonian Portent just beginning to preach for itself, and France in general simmering under a scum

of impieties, levities, SaintSimonisms, and frothy fantasticalities of all kinds, towards the boilingover

which soon made the Three Days of July famous. But by far the most important foreign home he visited was

that of Coleridge on the Hill of Highgate,if it were not rather a foreign shrine and DodonaOracle, as he

then reckoned,to which (onwards from 1828, as would appear) he was already an assiduous pilgrim.

Concerning whom, and Sterling's allimportant connection with him, there will be much to say anon.

Here, from this period, is a Letter of Sterling's, which the glimpses it affords of bright scenes and figures now

sunk, so many of them, sorrowfully to the realm of shadows, will render interesting to some of my readers.

To me on the mere Letter, not on its contents alone, there is accidentally a kind of fateful stamp. A few

months after Charles Buller's death, while his loss was mourned by many hearts, and to his poor Mother all

light except what hung upon his memory had gone out in the world, a certain delicate and friendly hand,

hoping to give the poor bereaved lady a good moment, sought out this Letter of Sterling's, one morning, and

called, with intent to read it to her:alas, the poor lady had herself fallen suddenly into the languors of

death, help of another grander sort now close at hand; and to her this Letter was never read!

On "Fanny Kemble," it appears, there is an Essay by Sterling in the Athenaeum of this year: "16th December,

1829." Very laudatory, I conclude. He much admired her genius, nay was thought at one time to be vaguely

on the edge of still more chivalrous feelings. As the Letter itself may perhaps indicate.

"MY DEAR ANTHONY,Here in the Capital of England and of Europe, there is less, so far as I hear, of

movement and variety than in your provincial Dublin, or among the Wicklow Mountains. We have the old

prospect of bricks and smoke, the old crowd of busy stupid faces, the old occupations, the old sleepy

amusements; and the latest news that reaches us daily has an air of tiresome, doting antiquity. The world has

nothing for it but to exclaim with Faust, "Give me my youth again." And as for me, my month of Cornish

amusement is over; and I must tie myself to my old employments. I have not much to tell you about these;

"I wrote to Polvellan (Mr. Buller's) to announce the day on which I intended to be there, so shortly before

setting out, that there was no time to receive an answer; and when I reached Devonport, which is fifteen or

sixteen miles from my place of destination, I found a letter from Mrs. Buller, saying that she was coming in

two days to a Ball at Plymouth, and if I chose to stay in the mean while and look about me, she would take

me back with her. She added an introduction to a relation of her husband's, a certain Captain Buller of the

Rifles, who was with the Depot there,a pleasant person, who I believe had been acquainted with

"On leaving Devonport with Mrs. Buller, I went some of the way by water, up the harbor and river; and the

prospects are certainly very beautiful; to say nothing of the large ships, which I admire almost as much as

you, though without knowing so much about them. There is a great deal of fine scenery all along the road to

Looe; and the House itself, a very unpretending Gothic cottage, stands beautifully among trees, hills and

"And here, among pleasant, goodnatured, wellinformed and clever people, I spent an idle month. I dined at

one or two Corporation dinners; spent a few days at the old Mansion of Mr. Buller of Morval, the patron of

West Looe; and during the rest of the time, read, wrote, played chess, lounged, and ate red mullet (he who has

not done this has not begun to live); talked of cookery to the philosophers, and of metaphysics to Mrs. Buller;

and altogether cultivated indolence, and developed the faculty of nonsense with considerable pleasure and

unexampled success. Charles Buller you know: he has just come to town, but I have not yet seen him. Arthur,

his younger brother, I take to be one of the handsomest men in England; and he too has considerable talent.

Mr. Buller the father is rather a clever man of sense, and particularly goodnatured and gentlemanly; and his

wife, who was a renowned beauty and queen of Calcutta, has still many striking and delicate traces of what

she was. Her conversation is more brilliant and pleasant than that of any one I know; and, at all events, I am

bound to admire her for the kindness with which she patronizes me. I hope that, some day or other, you may

"I believe I have seen no one in London about whom you would care to hear,unless the fame of Fanny

Kemble has passed the Channel, and astonished the Irish Barbarians in the midst of their bloodyminded

politics. Young Kemble, whom you have seen, is in Germany: but I have the happiness of being also

acquainted with his sister, the divine Fanny; and I have seen her twice on the stage, and three or four times in

private, since my return from Cornwall. I had seen some beautiful verses of hers, long before she was an

actress; and her conversation is full of spirit and talent. She never was taught to act at all; and though there

are many faults in her performance of Juliet, there is more power than in any female playing I ever saw,

except Pasta's Medea. She is not handsome, rather short, and by no means delicately formed; but her face is

marked, and the eyes are brilliant, dark, and full of character. She has far more ability than she ever can

display on the stage; but I have no doubt that, by practice and selfculture, she will be a far finer actress at

least than any one since Mrs. Siddons. I was at Charles Kemble's a few evenings ago, when a drawing of

Miss Kemble, by Sir Thomas Lawrence, was brought in; and I have no doubt that you will shortly see, even

in Dublin, an engraving of her from it, very unlike the caricatures that have hitherto appeared. I hate the

stage; and but for her, should very likely never have gone to a theatre again. Even as it is, the annoyance is

much more than the pleasure; but I suppose I must go to see her in every character in which she acts. If

Charlotte cares for plays, let me know, and I will write in more detail about this new Melpomene. I fear there

are very few subjects on which I can say anything that will in the least interest her.

Sterling and his circle, as their ardent speculation and activity fermented along, were in all things clear for

progress, liberalism; their politics, and view of the Universe, decisively of the Radical sort. As indeed that of

England then was, more than ever; the crust of old hidebound Toryism being now openly cracking towards

some incurable disruption, which accordingly ensued as the Reform Bill before long. The Reform Bill

already hung in the wind. Old hidebound Toryism, long recognized by all the world, and now at last obliged

to recognize its very self, for an overgrown Imposture, supporting itself not by human reason, but by flunky

blustering and brazen lying, superadded to mere brute force, could be no creed for young Sterling and his

friends. In all things he and they were liberals, and, as was natural at this stage, democrats; contemplating

rootandbranch innovation by aid of the hustings and ballotbox. Hustings and ballotbox had speedily to

vanish out of Sterling's thoughts: but the character of rootandbranch innovator, essentially of "Radical

Reformer," was indelible with him, and under all forms could be traced as his character through life.

For the present, his and those young people's aim was: By democracy, or what means there are, be all

impostures put down. Speedy end to Superstition,a gentle one if you can contrive it, but an end. What can

it profit any mortal to adopt locutions and imaginations which do not correspond to fact; which no sane

mortal can deliberately adopt in his soul as true; which the most orthodox of mortals can only, and this after

infinite essentially impious effort to put out the eyes of his mind, persuade himself to "believe that he

Piety of heart, a certain reality of religious faith, was always Sterling's, the gift of nature to him which he

would not and could not throw away; but I find at this time his religion is as good as altogether Ethnic,

Greekish, what Goethe calls the Heathen form of religion. The Church, with her articles, is without relation to

him. And along with obsolete spiritualisms, he sees all manner of obsolete thrones and bigwigged

temporalities; and for them also can prophesy, and wish, only a speedy doom. Doom inevitable, registered in

Heaven's Chancery from the beginning of days, doom unalterable as the pillars of the world; the gods are

With gay audacity, with enthusiasm tempered by mockery, as is the manner of young gifted men, this faith,

grounded for the present on democracy and hustings operations, and giving to all life the aspect of a

chivalrous battlefield, or almost of a gay though perilous tournament, and bout of "A hundred knights

against all comers,"was maintained by Sterling and his friends. And in fine, after whatever loud

remonstrances, and solemn considerations, and such shaking of our wigs as is undoubtedly natural in the

case, let us be just to it and him. We shall have to admit, nay it will behoove us to see and practically know,

for ourselves and him and others, that the essence of this creed, in times like ours, was right and not wrong.

That, however the ground and form of it might change, essentially it was the monition of his natal genius to

this as it is to every brave man; the behest of all his clear insight into this Universe, the message of Heaven

through him, which he could not suppress, but was inspired and compelled to utter in this world by such

methods as he had. There for him lay the first commandment; this is what it would have been the

unforgivable sin to swerve from and desert: the treason of treasons for him, it were there; compared with

The message did not cease at all, as we shall see; the message was ardently, if fitfully, continued to the end:

but the methods, the tone and dialect and all outer conditions of uttering it, underwent most important

Coleridge sat on the brow of Highgate Hill, in those years, looking down on London and its smoketumult,

like a sage escaped from the inanity of life's battle; attracting towards him the thoughts of innumerable brave

souls still engaged there. His express contributions to poetry, philosophy, or any specific province of human

literature or enlightenment, had been small and sadly intermittent; but he had, especially among young

inquiring men, a higher than literary, a kind of prophetic or magician character. He was thought to hold, he

alone in England, the key of German and other Transcendentalisms; knew the sublime secret of believing by

"the reason" what "the understanding" had been obliged to fling out as incredible; and could still, after Hume

and Voltaire had done their best and worst with him, profess himself an orthodox Christian, and say and print

to the Church of England, with its singular old rubrics and surplices at Allhallowtide, Esto perpetua. A

sublime man; who, alone in those dark days, had saved his crown of spiritual manhood; escaping from the

black materialisms, and revolutionary deluges, with "God, Freedom, Immortality" still his: a king of men.

The practical intellects of the world did not much heed him, or carelessly reckoned him a metaphysical

dreamer: but to the rising spirits of the young generation he had this dusky sublime character; and sat there as

a kind of Magus, girt in mystery and enigma; his Dodona oakgrove (Mr. Gilman's house at Highgate)

The Gilmans did not encourage much company, or excitation of any sort, round their sage; nevertheless

access to him, if a youth did reverently wish it, was not difficult. He would stroll about the pleasant garden

with you, sit in the pleasant rooms of the place,perhaps take you to his own peculiar room, high up, with a

rearward view, which was the chief view of all. A really charming outlook, in fine weather. Close at hand,

wide sweep of flowery leafy gardens, their few houses mostly hidden, the very chimneypots veiled under

blossomy umbrage, flowed gloriously down hill; gloriously issuing in widetufted undulating plaincountry,

rich in all charms of field and town. Waving blooming country of the brightest green; dotted all over with

handsome villas, handsome groves; crossed by roads and human traffic, here inaudible or heard only as a

musical hum: and behind all swam, under olivetinted haze, the illimitable limitary ocean of London, with its

domes and steeples definite in the sun, big Paul's and the many memories attached to it hanging high over all.

Nowhere, of its kind, could you see a grander prospect on a bright summer day, with the set of the air going

southward,southward, and so draping with the citysmoke not you but the city. Here for hours would

Coleridge talk, concerning all conceivable or inconceivable things; and liked nothing better than to have an

intelligent, or failing that, even a silent and patient human listener. He distinguished himself to all that ever

heard him as at least the most surprising talker extant in this world,and to some small minority, by no

The good man, he was now getting old, towards sixty perhaps; and gave you the idea of a life that had been

full of sufferings; a life heavyladen, halfvanquished, still swimming painfully in seas of manifold physical

and other bewilderment. Brow and head were round, and of massive weight, but the face was flabby and

irresolute. The deep eyes, of a light hazel, were as full of sorrow as of inspiration; confused pain looked

mildly from them, as in a kind of mild astonishment. The whole figure and air, good and amiable otherwise,

might be called flabby and irresolute; expressive of weakness under possibility of strength. He hung loosely

on his limbs, with knees bent, and stooping attitude; in walking, he rather shuffled than decisively steps; and

a lady once remarked, he never could fix which side of the garden walk would suit him best, but continually

shifted, in corkscrew fashion, and kept trying both. A heavyladen, highaspiring and surely muchsuffering

man. His voice, naturally soft and good, had contracted itself into a plaintive snuffle and singsong; he spoke

as if preaching,you would have said, preaching earnestly and also hopelessly the weightiest things. I still

recollect his "object" and "subject," terms of continual recurrence in the Kantean province; and how he sang

and snuffled them into "ommmject" and "summmject," with a kind of solemn shake or quaver, as he

rolled along. No talk, in his century or in any other, could be more surprising.

Sterling, who assiduously attended him, with profound reverence, and was often with him by himself, for a

good many months, gives a record of their first colloquy.[8] Their colloquies were numerous, and he had

taken note of many; but they are all gone to the fire, except this first, which Mr. Hare has printed,unluckily

without date. It contains a number of ingenious, true and halftrue observations, and is of course a faithful

epitome of the things said; but it gives small idea of Coleridge's way of talking;this one feature is perhaps

the most recognizable, "Our interview lasted for three hours, during which he talked two hours and three

quarters." Nothing could be more copious than his talk; and furthermore it was always, virtually or literally,

of the nature of a monologue; suffering no interruption, however reverent; hastily putting aside all foreign

additions, annotations, or most ingenuous desires for elucidation, as wellmeant superfluities which would

never do. Besides, it was talk not flowing anywhither like a river, but spreading everywhither in

inextricable currents and regurgitations like a lake or sea; terribly deficient in definite goal or aim, nay often

in logical intelligibility; what you were to believe or do, on any earthly or heavenly thing, obstinately

refusing to appear from it. So that, most times, you felt logically lost; swamped near to drowning in this tide

To sit as a passive bucket and be pumped into, whether you consent or not, can in the longrun be

exhilarating to no creature; how eloquent soever the flood of utterance that is descending. But if it be withal a

confused unintelligible flood of utterance, threatening to submerge all known landmarks of thought, and

drown the world and you!I have heard Coleridge talk, with eager musical energy, two stricken hours, his

face radiant and moist, and communicate no meaning whatsoever to any individual of his hearers,certain

of whom, I for one, still kept eagerly listening in hope; the most had long before given up, and formed (if the

room were large enough) secondary humming groups of their own. He began anywhere: you put some

question to him, made some suggestive observation: instead of answering this, or decidedly setting out

towards answer of it, he would accumulate formidable apparatus, logical swimbladders, transcendental

lifepreservers and other precautionary and vehiculatory gear, for setting out; perhaps did at last get under

way,but was swiftly solicited, turned aside by the glance of some radiant new game on this hand or that,

into new courses; and ever into new; and before long into all the Universe, where it was uncertain what game

His talk, alas, was distinguished, like himself, by irresolution: it disliked to he troubled with conditions,

abstinences, definite fulfilments;loved to wander at its own sweet will, and make its auditor and his claims

and humble wishes a mere passive bucket for itself! He had knowledge about many things and topics, much

curious reading; but generally all topics led him, after a pass or two, into the high seas of theosophic

philosophy, the hazy infinitude of Kantean transcendentalism, with its "summmjects " and "

ommmjects." Sad enough; for with such indolent impatience of the claims and ignorances of others, he had

not the least talent for explaining this or anything unknown to them; and you swam and fluttered in the

mistiest wide unintelligible deluge of things, for most part in a rather profitless uncomfortable manner.

Glorious islets, too, I have seen rise out of the haze; but they were few, and soon swallowed in the general

element again. Balmy sunny islets, islets of the blest and the intelligible:on which occasions those

secondary humming groups would all cease humming, and hang breathless upon the eloquent words; till once

your islet got wrapt in the mist again, and they could recommence humming. Eloquent artistically expressive

words you always had; piercing radiances of a most subtle insight came at intervals; tones of noble pious

sympathy, recognizable as pious though strangely colored, were never wanting long: but in general you could

not call this aimless, cloudcapt, cloudbased, lawlessly meandering human discourse of reason by the name

of "excellent talk," but only of "surprising;" and were reminded bitterly of Hazlitt's account of it: "Excellent

talker, very,if you let him start from no premises and come to no conclusion." Coleridge was not without

what talkers call wit, and there were touches of prickly sarcasm in him, contemptuous enough of the world

and its idols and popular dignitaries; he had traits even of poetic humor: but in general he seemed deficient in

laughter; or indeed in sympathy for concrete human things either on the sunny or on the stormy side. One

right peal of concrete laughter at some convicted fleshandblood absurdity, one burst of noble indignation

at some injustice or depravity, rubbing elbows with us on this solid Earth, how strange would it have been in

that Kantean hazeworld, and how infinitely cheering amid its vacant aircastles and dimmelting ghosts

and shadows! None such ever came. His life had been an abstract thinking and dreaming, idealistic, passed

amid the ghosts of defunct bodies and of unborn ones. The moaning singsong of that

In close colloquy, flowing within narrower banks, I suppose he was more definite and apprehensible; Sterling

in aftertimes did not complain of his unintelligibility, or imputed it only to the abtruse high nature of the

topics handled. Let us hope so, let us try to believe so! There is no doubt but Coleridge could speak plain

words on things plain: his observations and responses on the trivial matters that occurred were as simple as

the commonest man's, or were even distinguished by superior simplicity as well as pertinency. "Ah, your tea

is too cold, Mr. Coleridge!" mourned the good Mrs. Gilman once, in her kind, reverential and yet protective

manner, handing him a very tolerable though belated cup."It's better than I deserve!" snuffled he, in a low

hoarse murmur, partly courteous, chiefly pious, the tone of which still abides with me: "It's better than I

But indeed, to the young ardent mind, instinct with pious nobleness, yet driven to the grim deserts of

Radicalism for a faith, his speculations had a charm much more than literary, a charm almost religious and

prophetic. The constant gist of his discourse was lamentation over the sunk condition of the world; which he

recognized to be given up to Atheism and Materialism, full of mere sordid misbeliefs, mispursuits and

misresults. All Science had become mechanical; the science not of men, but of a kind of human beavers.

Churches themselves had died away into a godless mechanical condition; and stood there as mere Cases of

Articles, mere Forms of Churches; like the dried carcasses of once swift camels, which you find left

withering in the thirst of the universal desert,ghastly portents for the present, beneficent ships of the desert

no more. Men's souls were blinded, hebetated; and sunk under the influence of Atheism and Materialism, and

Hume and Voltaire: the world for the present was as an extinct world, deserted of God, and incapable of

welldoing till it changed its heart and spirit. This, expressed I think with less of indignation and with more

of longdrawn querulousness, was always recognizable as the groundtone:in which truly a pious young

heart, driven into Radicalism and the opposition party, could not but recognize a too sorrowful truth; and ask

The remedy, though Coleridge himself professed to see it as in sunbeams, could not, except by processes

unspeakably difficult, be described to you at all. On the whole, those dead Churches, this dead English

Church especially, must be brought to life again. Why not? It was not dead; the soul of it, in this parchedup

body, was tragically asleep only. Atheistic Philosophy was true on its side, and Hume and Voltaire could on

their own ground speak irrefragably for themselves against any Church: but lift the Church and them into a

higher sphere. Of argument, they died into inanition, the Church revivified itself into pristine florid

vigor,became once more a living ship of the desert, and invincibly bore you over stock and stone. But how,

but how! By attending to the "reason" of man, said Coleridge, and duly chaining up the "understanding" of

man: the Vernunft (Reason) and Verstand (Understanding) of the Germans, it all turned upon these, if you

could well understand them,which you couldn't. For the rest, Mr. Coleridge had on the anvil various

Books, especially was about to write one grand Book On the Logos, which would help to bridge the chasm

for us. So much appeared, however: Churches, though proved false (as you had imagined), were still true (as

you were to imagine): here was an Artist who could burn you up an old Church, root and branch; and then as

the Alchemists professed to do with organic substances in general, distil you an "Astral Spirit" from the

ashes, which was the very image of the old burnt article, its airdrawn counterpart,this you still had, or

might get, and draw uses from, if you could. Wait till the Book on the Logos were done;alas, till your own

terrene eyes, blind with conceit and the dust of logic, were purged, subtilized and spiritualized into the

sharpness of vision requisite for discerning such an "ommmject."The ingenuous young English head, of

those days, stood strangely puzzled by such revelations; uncertain whether it were getting inspired, or getting

infatuated into flat imbecility; and strange effulgence, of new day or else of deeper meteoric night, colored

Let me not be unjust to this memorable man. Surely there was here, in his pious, everlaboring, subtle mind,

a precious truth, or prefigurement of truth; and yet a fatal delusion withal. Prefigurement that, in spite of

beaver sciences and temporary spiritual hebetude and cecity, man and his Universe were eternally divine; and

that no past nobleness, or revelation of the divine, could or would ever be lost to him. Most true, surely, and

worthy of all acceptance. Good also to do what you can with old Churches and practical Symbols of the

Noble: nay quit not the burnt ruins of them while you find there is still gold to be dug there. But, on the

whole, do not think you can, by logical alchemy, distil astral spirits from them; or if you could, that said

astral spirits, or defunct logical phantasms, could serve you in anything. What the light of your mind, which

is the direct inspiration of the Almighty, pronounces incredible,that, in God's name, leave uncredited; at

your peril do not try believing that. No subtlest hocuspocus of "reason" versus "understanding" will avail for

The truth is, I now see, Coleridge's talk and speculation was the emblem of himself: in it as in him, a ray of

heavenly inspiration struggled, in a tragically ineffectual degree, with the weakness of flesh and blood. He

says once, he "had skirted the howling deserts of Infidelity;" this was evident enough: but he had not had the

courage, in defiance of pain and terror, to press resolutely across said deserts to the new firm lands of Faith

beyond; he preferred to create logical fatamorganas for himself on this hither side, and laboriously solace

To the man himself Nature had given, in high measure, the seeds of a noble endowment; and to unfold it had

been forbidden him. A subtle lynxeyed intellect, tremulous pious sensibility to all good and all beautiful;

truly a ray of empyrean light;but embedded in such weak laxity of character, in such indolences and

esuriences as had made strange work with it. Once more, the tragic story of a high endowment with an

insufficient will. An eye to discern the divineness of the Heaven's spendors and lightnings, the insatiable wish

to revel in their godlike radiances and brilliances; but no heart to front the scathing terrors of them, which is

the first condition of your conquering an abiding place there. The courage necessary for him, above all things,

had been denied this man. His life, with such ray of the empyrean in it, was great and terrible to him; and he

had not valiantly grappled with it, he had fled from it; sought refuge in vague daydreams, hollow

compromises, in opium, in theosophic metaphysics. Harsh pain, danger, necessity, slavish harnessed toil,

were of all things abhorrent to him. And so the empyrean element, lying smothered under the terrene, and yet

inextinguishable there, made sad writhings. For pain, danger, difficulty, steady slaving toil, and other highly

disagreeable behests of destiny, shall in nowise be shirked by any brightest mortal that will approve himself

loyal to his mission in this world; nay precisely the higher he is, the deeper will be the disagreeableness, and

the detestability to flesh and blood, of the tasks laid on him; and the heavier too, and more tragic, his

For the old Eternal Powers do live forever; nor do their laws know any change, however we in our poor wigs

and churchtippets may attempt to read their laws. To steal into Heaven,by the modern method, of

sticking ostrichlike your head into fallacies on Earth, equally as by the ancient and by all conceivable

methods,is forever forbidden. Hightreason is the name of that attempt; and it continues to be punished as

such. Strange enough: here once more was a kind of Heavenscaling Ixion; and to him, as to the old one, the

just gods were very stern! The everrevolving, neveradvancing Wheel (of a kind) was his, through life; and

from his CloudJuno did not he too procreate strange Centaurs, spectral Puseyisms, monstrous illusory

Hybrids, and ecclesiastical Chimeras,which now roam the earth in a very lamentable manner!

This magical ingredient thrown into the wild caldron of such a mind, which we have seen occupied hitherto

with mere Ethnicism, Radicalism and revolutionary tumult, but hungering all along for something higher and

better, was sure to be eagerly welcomed and imbibed, and could not fail to produce important fermentations

there. Fermentations; important new directions, and withal important new perversions, in the spiritual life of

this man, as it has since done in the lives of so many. Here then is the new celestial manna we were all in

quest of? This thricerefined pabulum of transcendental moonshine? Whoso eateth thereof,yes, what, on

Sterling never spoke much to me of his intercourse with Coleridge; and when we did compare notes about

him, it was usually rather in the way of controversial discussion than of narrative. So that, from my own

resources, I can give no details of the business, nor specify anything in it, except the general fact of an ardent

attendance at Highgate continued for many months, which was impressively known to all Sterling's friends;

and am unable to assign even the limitary dates, Sterling's own papers on the subject having all been

destroyed by him. Inferences point to the end of 1828 as the beginning of this intercourse; perhaps in 1829 it

was at the highest point; and already in 1830, when the intercourse itself was about to terminate, we have

proof of the influences it was producing,in the Novel of Arthur Coningsby, then on hand, the first and only

Book that Sterling ever wrote. His writings hitherto had been sketches, criticisms, brief essays; he was now

trying it on a wider scale; but not yet with satisfactory results, and it proved to be his only trial in that form.

He had already, as was intimated, given up his brief proprietorship of the Athenaeum; the commercial

indications, and state of sales and of costs, peremptorily ordering him to do so; the copyright went by sale or

gift, I know not at what precise date, into other fitter hands; and with the copyright all connection on the part

of Sterling. To Athenaeum Sketches had now (in 182930) succeeded Arthur Coningsby, a Novel in three

volumes; indicating (when it came to light, a year or two afterwards) equally hasty and much more ambitious

aims in Literature;giving strong evidence, too, of internal spiritual revulsions going painfully forward, and

in particular of the impression Coleridge was producing on him. Without and within, it was a wild tide of

things this ardent light young soul was afloat upon, at present; and his outlooks into the future, whether for

Among his familiars in this period, I might have mentioned one Charles Barton, formerly his fellowstudent

at Cambridge, now an amiable, cheerful, rather idle young fellow about Town; who led the way into certain

new experiences, and lighter fields, for Sterling. His Father, LieutenantGeneral Barton of the Lifeguards,

an Irish landlord, I think in Fermanagh County, and a man of connections about Court, lived in a certain

figure here in Town; had a wife of fashionable habits, with other sons, and also daughters, bred in this sphere.

These, all of them, were amiable, elegant and pleasant people;such was especially an eldest daughter,

Susannah Barton, a stately blooming blackeyed young woman, attractive enough in form and character; full

of gay softness, of indolent sense and enthusiasm; about Sterling's own age, if not a little older. In this house,

which opened to him, more decisively than his Father's, a new stratum of society, and where his reception for

Charles's sake and his own was of the kindest, he liked very well to be; and spent, I suppose, many of his

vacant halfhours, lightly chatting with the elders or the youngsters,doubtless with the young lady too,

Nor, with all the Coleridge fermentation, was democratic Radicalism by any means given up;though how

it was to live if the Coleridgean moonshine took effect, might have been an abtruse question. Hitherto, while

said moonshine was but taking effect, and coloring the outer surface of things without quite penetrating into

the heart, democratic Liberalism, revolt against superstition and oppression, and help to whosoever would

revolt, was still the grand element in Sterling's creed; and practically he stood, not ready only, but full of

alacrity to fulfil all its behests. We heard long since of the "black dragoons,"whom doubtless the new

moonshine had considerably silveredover into new hues, by this time;but here now, while Radicalism is

tottering for him and threatening to crumble, comes suddenly the grand consummation and explosion of

Radicalism in his life; whereby, all at once, Radicalism exhausted and ended itself, and appeared no more

In those years a visible section of the London population, and conspicuous out of all proportion to its size or

value, was a small knot of Spaniards, who had sought shelter here as Political Refugees. "Political Refugees:"

a tragic succession of that class is one of the possessions of England in our time. Sixandtwenty years ago,

when I first saw London, I remember those unfortunate Spaniards among the new phenomena. Daily in the

cold spring air, under skies so unlike their own, you could see a group of fifty or a hundred stately tragic

figures, in proud threadbare cloaks; perambulating, mostly with closed lips, the broad pavements of Euston

Square and the regions about St. Pancras new Church. Their lodging was chiefly in Somers Town, as I

understood: and those open pavements about St. Pancras Church were the general place of rendezvous. They

spoke little or no English; knew nobody, could employ themselves on nothing, in this new scene. Old

steelgray heads, many of them; the shaggy, thick, blueblack hair of others struck you; their brown

complexion, dusky look of suppressed fire, in general their tragic condition as of caged Numidian lions.

That particular Flight of Unfortunates has long since fled again, and vanished; and new have come and fled.

In this convulsed revolutionary epoch, which already lasts above sixty years, what tragic flights of such have

we not seen arrive on the one safe coast which is open to them, as they get successively vanquished, and

chased into exile to avoid worse! Swarm after swarm, of evernew complexion, from Spain as from other

countries, is thrown off, in those everrecurring paroxysms; and will continue to be thrown off. As there

could be (suggests Linnaeus) a "flowerclock," measuring the hours of the day, and the months of the year,

by the kinds of flowers that go to sleep and awaken, that blow into beauty and fade into dust: so in the great

Revolutionary Horologe, one might mark the years and epochs by the successive kinds of exiles that walk

London streets, and, in grim silent manner, demand pity from us and reflections from us.This then extant

group of Spanish Exiles was the Trocadero swarm, thrown off in 1823, in the Riego and Quirogas quarrel.

These were they whom Charles Tenth had, by sheer force, driven from their constitutionalisms and their

Trocadero fortresses,Charles Tenth, who himself was soon driven out, manifoldly by sheer force; and had

to head his own swarm of fugitives; and has now himself quite vanished, and given place to others. For there

Of these poor Spanish Exiles, now vegetating about Somers Town, and painfully beating the pavement in

Euston Square, the acknowledged chief was General Torrijos, a man of high qualities and fortunes, still in the

vigor of his years, and in these desperate circumstances refusing to despair; with whom Sterling had, at this

Torrijos, who had now in 1829 been here some four or five years, having come over in 1824, had from the

first enjoyed a superior reception in England. Possessing not only a language to speak, which few of the

others did, but manifold experiences courtly, military, diplomatic, with fine natural faculties, and high

Spanish manners tempered into cosmopolitan, he had been welcomed in various circles of society; and found,

perhaps he alone of those Spaniards, a certain human companionship among persons of some standing in this

country. With the elder Sterlings, among others, he had made acquaintance; became familiar in the social

circle at South Place, and was much esteemed there. With Madam Torrijos, who also was a person of amiable

and distinguished qualities, an affectionate friendship grew up on the part of Mrs. Sterling, which ended only

with the death of these two ladies. John Sterling, on arriving in London from his University work, naturally

inherited what he liked to take up of this relation: and in the lodgings in Regent Street, and the

democraticoliterary element there, Torrijos became a very prominent, and at length almost the central

The man himself, it is well known, was a valiant, gallant man; of lively intellect, of noble chivalrous

character: fine talents, fine accomplishments, all grounding themselves on a certain rugged veracity,

recommended him to the discerning. He had begun youth in the Court of Ferdinand; had gone on in

Wellington and other arduous, victorious and unvictorious, soldierings; familiar in camps and councilrooms,

in presencechambers and in prisons. He knew romantic Spain;he was himself, standing withal in the

vanguard of Freedom's fight, a kind of living romance. Infinitely interesting to John Sterling, for one.

It was to Torrijos that the poor Spaniards of Somers Town looked mainly, in their helplessness, for every

species of help. Torrijos, it was hoped, would yet lead them into Spain and glorious victory there; meanwhile

here in England, under defeat, he was their captain and sovereign in another painfully inverse sense. To

whom, in extremity, everybody might apply. When all present resources failed, and the exchequer was quite

out, there still remained Torrijos. Torrijos has to find new resources for his destitute patriots, find loans, find

Spanish lessons for them among his English friends: in all which charitable operations, it need not be said,

John Sterling was his foremost man; zealous to empty his own purse for the object; impetuous in rushing

hither or thither to enlist the aid of others, and find lessons or something that would do. His friends, of course,

had to assist; the Bartons, among others, were wont to assist;and I have heard that the fair Susan, stirring

up her indolent enthusiasm into practicality, was very successful in finding Spanish lessons, and the like, for

these distressed men. Sterling and his friends were yet new in this business; but Torrijos and the others were

getting old in it?and doubtless weary and almost desperate of it. They had now been seven years in it,

Torrijos is described as a man of excellent discernment: who knows how long he had repressed the

unreasonable schemes of his followers, and turned a deaf ear to the temptings of fallacious hope? But there

comes at length a sumtotal of oppressive burdens which is intolerable, which tempts the wisest towards

fallacies for relief. These weary groups, pacing the EustonSquare pavements, had often said in their despair,

"Were not death in battle better? Here are we slowly mouldering into nothingness; there we might reach it

rapidly, in flaming splendor. Flame, either of victory to Spain and us, or of a patriot death, the sure harbinger

of victory to Spain. Flame fit to kindle a fire which no Ferdinand, with all his Inquisitions and Charles

Tenths, could put out." Enough, in the end of 1829, Torrijos himself had yielded to this pressure; and hoping

against hope, persuaded himself that if he could but land in the South of Spain with a small patriot band well

armed and well resolved, a band carrying fire in its heart,then Spain, all inflammable as touchwood, and

groaning indignantly under its brutal tyrant, might blaze wholly into flame round him, and incalculable

victory be won. Such was his conclusion; not sudden, yet surely not deliberate either,desperate rather, and

forced on by circumstances. He thought with himself that, considering Somers Town and considering Spain,

the terrible chance was worth trying; that this big game of Fate, go how it might, was one which the omens

His whole industries and energies were thereupon bent towards starting the said game; and his thought and

continual speech and song now was, That if he had a few thousand pounds to buy arms, to freight a ship and

make the other preparations, he and these poor gentlemen, and Spain and the world, were made men and a

saved Spain and world. What talks and consultations in the apartment in Regent Street, during those winter

days of 182930; setting into open conflagration the young democracy that was wont to assemble there! Of

which there is now left next to no remembrance. For Sterling never spoke a word of this affair in afterdays,

nor was any of the actors much tempted to speak. We can understand too well that here were young fervid

hearts in an explosive condition; young rash heads, sanctioned by a man's experienced head. Here at last shall

enthusiasm and theory become practice and fact; fiery dreams are at last permitted to realize themselves; and

now is the time or never!How the Coleridge moonshine comported itself amid these hot telluric flames, or

whether it had not yet begun to play there (which I rather doubt), must be left to conjecture.

Mr. Hare speaks of Sterling "sailing over to St. Valery in an open boat along with others," upon one occasion,

in this enterprise;in the final English scene of it, I suppose. Which is very possible. Unquestionably there

was adventure enough of other kinds for it, and running to and fro with all his speed on behalf of it, during

these months of his history! Money was subscribed, collected: the young Cambridge democrats were all

ablaze to assist Torrijos; nay certain of them decided to go with him,and went. Only, as yet, the funds were

rather incomplete. And here, as I learn from a good hand, is the secret history of their becoming complete.

Which, as we are upon the subject, I had better give. But for the following circumstance, they had perhaps

never been completed; nor had the rash enterprise, or its catastrophe, so influential on the rest of Sterling's

A certain Lieutenant Robert Boyd, of the Indian Army, an Ulster Irishman, a cousin of Sterling's, had

received some affront, or otherwise taken some disgust in that service; had thrown up his commission in

consequence; and returned home, about this time, with intent to seek another course of life. Having only, for

outfit, these impatient ardors, some experience in Indian drill exercise, and five thousand pounds of

inheritance, he found the enterprise attended with difficulties; and was somewhat at a loss how to dispose of

himself. Some young Ulster comrade, in a partly similar situation, had pointed out to him that there lay in a

certain neighboring creek of the Irish coast, a wornout royal gunbrig condemned to sale, to be had

dogcheap: this he proposed that they two, or in fact Boyd with his five thousand pounds, should buy; that

they should refit and arm and man it;and sail aprivateering "to the Eastern Archipelago," Philippine Isles,

Boyd naturally paused a little at this great proposal; did not quite reject it; came across, with it and other fine

projects and impatiences fermenting in his head, to London, there to see and consider. It was in the months

when the Torrijos enterprise was in the birththroes; crying wildly for capital, of all things. Boyd naturally

spoke of his projects to Sterling,of his gunbrig lying in the Irish creek, among others. Sterling naturally

said, "If you want an adventure of the Seaking sort, and propose to lay your money and your life into such a

game, here is Torrijos and Spain at his back; here is a golden fleece to conquer, worth twenty Eastern

Archipelagoes."Boyd and Torrijos quickly met; quickly bargained. Boyd's money was to go in purchasing,

and storing with a certain stock of arms and etceteras, a small ship in the Thames, which should carry Boyd

with Torrijos and the adventurers to the south coast of Spain; and there, the game once played and won, Boyd

was to have promotion enough,"the colonelcy of a Spanish cavalry regiment," for one express thing. What

exact share Sterling had in this negotiation, or whether he did not even take the prudent side and caution

Boyd to be wary I know not; but it was he that brought the parties together; and all his friends knew, in

And so a ship was hired, or purchased, in the Thames; due furnishings began to be executed in it; arms and

stores were gradually got on board; Torrijos with his Fifty picked Spaniards, in the mean while, getting ready.

This was in the spring of 1830. Boyd's 5000 pounds was the grand nucleus of finance; but vigorous

subscription was carried on likewise in Sterling's young democratic circle, or wherever a member of it could

find access; not without considerable result, and with a zeal that may be imagined. Nay, as above hinted,

certain of these young men decided, not to give their money only, but themselves along with it, as democratic

volunteers and soldiers of progress; among whom, it need not be said, Sterling intended to be foremost. Busy

weeks with him, those spring ones of the year 1830! Through this small Note, accidentally preserved to us,

addressed to his friend Barton, we obtain a curious glance into the subterranean workshop:

"MY DEAR CHARLES,I have wanted to see you to talk to you about my Foreign affairs. If you are going

to be in London for a few days, I believe you can be very useful to me, at a considerable expense and trouble

to yourself, in the way of buying accoutrements; inter alia, a sword and a saddle,not, you will understand,

"Things are going on very well, but are very, even frightfully near; only be quiet! Pray would you, in case of

necessity, take a free passage to Holland, next week or the week after; stay two or three days, and come back,

all expenses paid? If you write to B at Cambridge, tell him above all things to hold his tongue. If you

are near Palace Yard tomorrow before two, pray come to see me. Do not come on purpose; especially as I

may perhaps be away, and at all events shall not be there until eleven, nor perhaps till rather later.

"I fear I shall have alarmed your Mother by my irruption. Forgive me for that and all my exactions from you.

Busy weeks indeed; and a glowing smithylight coming through the chinks!The romance of Arthur

Coningsby lay written, or halfwritten, in his desk; and here, in his heart and among his hands, was an acted

Doubts from the doctors, for his health was getting ominous, threw some shade over the adventure.

Reproachful reminiscences of Coleridge and Theosophy were natural too; then fond regrets for Literature and

its glories: if you act your romance, how can you also write it? Regrets, and reproachful reminiscences, from

Art and Theosophy; perhaps some tenderer regrets withal. A crisis in life had come; when, of innumerable

possibilities one possibility was to be elected king, and to swallow all the rest, the rest of course made noise

Meanwhile the ship was fast getting ready: on a certain day, it was to drop quietly down the Thames; then

touch at Deal, and take on board Torrijos and his adventurers, who were to be in waiting and on the outlook

for them there. Let every man lay in his accoutrements, then; let every man make his packages, his

arrangements and farewells. Sterling went to take leave of Miss Barton. "You are going, then; to Spain? To

rough it amid the storms of war and perilous insurrection; and with that weak health of yours; andwe shall

never see you more, then!" Miss Barton, all her gayety gone, the dimpling softness become liquid sorrow,

and the musical ringing voice one wail of woe, "burst into tears,"so I have it on authority:here was one

possibility about to be strangled that made unexpected noise! Sterling's interview ended in the offer of his

hand, and the acceptance of it;any sacrifice to get rid of this horrid Spanish business, and save the health

"Illhealth," as often afterwards in Sterling's life, when the excuse was real enough but not the chief excuse;

"illhealth, and insuperable obstacles and engagements," had to bear the chief brunt in apologizing: and, as

Sterling's actual presence, or that of any Englishman except Boyd and his money, was not in the least vital to

the adventure, his excuse was at once accepted. The English connections and subscriptions are a given fact, to

be presided over by what English volunteers there are: and as for Englishmen, the fewer Englishmen that go,

the larger will be the share of influence for each. The other adventurers, Torrijos among them in due

readiness, moved silently one by one down to Deal; Sterling, superintending the naval hands, on board their

ship in the Thames, was to see the last finish given to everything in that department; then, on the set evening,

Behold! Just before the set evening came, the Spanish Envoy at this Court has got notice of what is going on;

the Spanish Envoy, and of course the British Foreign Secretary, and of course also the Thames Police. Armed

men spring suddenly on board, one day, while Sterling is there; declare the ship seized and embargoed in the

King's name; nobody on board to stir till he has given some account of himself in due time and place! Huge

consternation, naturally, from stem to stern. Sterling, whose presence of mind seldom forsook him, casts his

eye over the River and its craft; sees a wherry, privately signals it, drops rapidly on board of it: "Stop!"

fiercely interjects the marine policeman from the ship's deck."Why stop? What use have you for me, or I

for you?" and the oars begin playing."Stop, or I'll shoot you!" cries the marine policeman, drawing a

pistol."No, you won't.""I will!""If you do you'll be hanged at the next Maidstone assizes, then; that's

all,"and Sterling's wherry shot rapidly ashore; and out of this perilous adventure.

That same night he posted down to Deal; disclosed to the Torrijos party what catastrophe had come. No

passage Spainward from the Thames; well if arrestment do not suddenly come from the Thames! It was on

this occasion, I suppose, that the passage in the open boat to St. Valery occurred;speedy flight in what boat

or boats, open or shut, could be got at Deal on the sudden. Sterling himself, according to Hare's authority,

actually went with them so far. Enough, they got shipping, as private passengers in one craft or the other; and,

by degrees or at once, arrived all at Gibraltar,Boyd, one or two young democrats of Regent Street, the fifty

picked Spaniards, and Torrijos,safe, though without arms; still in the early part of the year.

Sterling's outlooks and occupations, now that his Spanish friends were gone, must have been of a rather

miscellaneous confused description. He had the enterprise of a married life close before him; and as yet no

profession, no fixed pursuit whatever. His health was already very threatening; often such as to disable him

from present activity, and occasion the gravest apprehensions; practically blocking up all important courses

whatsoever, and rendering the future, if even life were lengthened and he had any future, an insolubility for

him. Parliament was shut, public life was shut: Literature,if, alas, any solid fruit could lie in literature!

Or perhaps one's health would mend, after all; and many things be better than was hoped! Sterling was not of

a despondent temper, or given in any measure to lie down and indolently moan: I fancy he walked briskly

enough into this tempestuouslooking future; not heeding too much its thunderous aspects; doing swiftly, for

the day, what his hand found to do. Arthur Coningsby, I suppose, lay on the anvil at present; visits to

Coleridge were now again more possible; grand news from Torrijos might be looked for, though only small

yet came:nay here, in the hot July, is France, at least, all thrown into volcano again! Here are the

miraculous Three Days; heralding, in thunder, great things to Torrijos and others; filling with babblement and

So rolled along, in tumult of chaotic remembrance and uncertain hope, in manifold emotion, and the confused

struggle (for Sterling as for the world) to extricate the New from the falling ruins of the Old, the summer and

autumn of 1830. From Gibraltar and Torrijos the tidings were vague, unimportant and discouraging: attempt

on Cadiz, attempt on the lines of St. Roch, those attempts, or rather resolutions to attempt, had died in the

birth, or almost before it. Men blamed Torrijos, little knowing his impediments. Boyd was still patient at his

post: others of the young English (on the strength of the subscribed moneys) were said to be thinking of

tours,perhaps in the Sierra Morena and neighboring Quixote regions. From that Torrijos enterprise it did

On the edge of winter, here at home, Sterling was married: "at Christchurch, Marylebone, 2d November,

1830," say the records. His blooming, kindly and truehearted Wife had not much money, nor had he as yet

any: but friends on both sides were bountiful and hopeful; had made up, for the young couple, the

foundations of a modestly effective household; and in the future there lay more substantial prospects. On the

finance side Sterling never had anything to suffer. His Wife, though somewhat languid, and of indolent

humor, was a graceful, piousminded, honorable and affectionate woman; she could not much support him in

the evershifting struggles of his life, but she faithfully attended him in them, and loyally marched by his side

through the changes and nomadic pilgrimings, of which many were appointed him in his short course.

Unhappily a few weeks after his marriage, and before any household was yet set up, he fell dangerously ill;

worse in health than he had ever yet been: so many agitations crowded into the last few months had been too

much for him. He fell into dangerous pulmonary illness, sank ever deeper; lay for many weeks in his Father's

house utterly prostrate, his young Wife and his Mother watching over him; friends, sparingly admitted, long

despairing of his life. All prospects in this world were now apparently shut upon him.

After a while, came hope again, and kindlier symptoms: but the doctors intimated that there lay consumption

in the question, and that perfect recovery was not to be looked for. For weeks he had been confined to bed; it

was several months before he could leave his sickroom, where the visits of a few friends had much cheered

him. And now when delivered, readmitted to the air of day again,weak as he was, and with such a liability

still lurking in him,what his young partner and he were to do, or whitherward to turn for a good course of

One of his Mother Mrs. Edward Sterling's Uncles, a Coningham from Derry, had, in the course of his

industrious and adventurous life, realized large property in the West Indies,a valuable Sugarestate, with

its equipments, in the Island of St. Vincent;from which Mrs. Sterling and her family were now, and had

been for some years before her Uncle's decease, deriving important benefits. I have heard, it was then worth

some ten thousand pounds a year to the parties interested. Anthony Sterling, John, and another a cousin of

theirs were ultimately to be heirs, in equal proportions. The old gentleman, always kind to his kindred, and a

brave and solid man though somewhat abrupt in his ways, had lately died; leaving a settlement to this effect,

This property, which is still a valuable one, was Sterling's chief pecuniary outlook for the distant future. Of

course it well deserved taking care of; and if the eye of the master were upon it, of course too (according to

the adage) the cattle would fatten better. As the warm climate was favorable to pulmonary complaints, and

Sterling's occupations were so shattered to pieces and his outlooks here so waste and vague, why should not

It was fixed upon as the eligiblest course. A visit to St. Vincent, perhaps a permanent residence there: he went

into the project with his customary impetuosity; his young Wife cheerfully consenting, and all manner of new

hopes clustering round it. There are the rich tropical sceneries, the romance of the torrid zone with its new

skies and seas and lands; there are Blacks, and the Slavery question to be investigated: there are the bronzed

Whites and Yellows, and their strange new way of life: by all means let us go and try!Arrangements being

completed, so soon as his strength had sufficiently recovered, and the harsh spring winds had sufficiently

abated, Sterling with his small household set sail for St. Vincent; and arrived without accident. His first child,

a son Edward, now living and grown to manhood, was born there, "at Brighton in the Island of St. Vincent,"

Sterling found a pleasant residence, with all its adjuncts, ready for him, at Colonarie, in this "volcanic Isle"

under the hot sun. An interesting Isle: a place of rugged chasms, precipitous gnarled heights, and the most

fruitful hollows; shaggy everywhere with luxuriant vegetation; set under magnificent skies, in the mirror of

the summer seas; offering everywhere the grandest sudden outlooks and contrasts. His Letters represent a

placidly cheerful riding life: a pensive humor, but the thunderclouds all sleeping in the distance. Good

relations with a few neighboring planters; indifference to the noisy political and other agitations of the rest:

friendly, by no means romantic appreciation of the Blacks; quiet prosperity economic and domestic: on the

whole a healthy and recommendable way of life, with Literature very much in abeyance in it.

He writes to Mr. Hare (date not given): "The landscapes around me here are noble and lovely as any that can

be conceived on Earth. How indeed could it be otherwise, in a small Island of volcanic mountains, far within

the Tropics, and perpetually covered with the richest vegetation?" The moral aspect of things is by no means

so good; but neither is that without its fair features. "So far as I see, the Slaves here are cunning, deceitful and

idle; without any great aptitude for ferocious crimes, and with very little scruple at committing others. But I

have seen them much only in very favorable circumstances. They are, as a body, decidedly unfit for freedom;

and if left, as at present, completely in the hands of their masters, will never become so, unless through the

In the Autumn came an immense hurricane; with new and indeed quite perilous experiences of WestIndian

life. This hasty Letter, addressed to his Mother, is not intrinsically his remarkablest from St. Vincent: but the

body of fact delineated in it being so much the greatest, we will quote it in preference. A WestIndian

tornado, as John Sterling witnesses it, and with vivid authenticity describes it, may be considered worth

"MY DEAR MOTHER,The packet came in yesterday; bringing me some Newspapers, a Letter from my

Father, and one from Anthony, with a few lines from you. I wrote, some days ago, a hasty Note to my Father,

on the chance of its reaching you through Grenada sooner than any communication by the packet; and in it I

spoke of the great misfortune which had befallen this Island and Barbadoes, but from which all those you

"From the day of our arrival in the West Indies until Thursday the 11th instant, which will long be a

memorable day with us, I had been doing my best to get ourselves established comfortably; and I had at last

bought the materials for making some additions to the house. But on the morning I have mentioned, all that I

had exerted myself to do, nearly all the property both of Susan and myself, and the very house we lived in,

were suddenly destroyed by a visitation of Providence far more terrible than any I have ever witnessed.

"When Susan came from her room, to breakfast, at eight o'clock, I pointed out to her the extraordinary height

and violence of the surf, and the singular appearance of the clouds of heavy rain sweeping down the valleys

before us. At this time I had so little apprehension of what was coming, that I talked of riding down to the

shore when the storm should abate, as I had never seen so fierce a sea. In about a quarter of an hour the

HouseNegroes came in, to close the outside shutters of the windows. They knew that the plantaintrees

about the Negro houses had been blown down in the night; and had told the maidservant Tyrrell, but I had

heard nothing of it. A very few minutes after the closing of the windows, I found that the shutters of Tyrrell's

room, at the south and commonly the most sheltered end of the House, were giving way. I tried to tie them;

but the silk handkerchief which I used soon gave way; and as I had neither hammer, boards nor nails in the

house, I could do nothing more to keep out the tempest. I found, in pushing at the leaf of the shutter, that the

wind resisted, more as if it had been a stone wall or a mass of iron, than a mere current of air. There were one

or two people outside trying to fasten the windows, and I went out to help; but we had no tools at hand: one

man was blown down the hill in front of the house, before my face; and the other and myself had great

difficulty in getting back again inside the door. The rain on my face and hands felt like so much small shot

"The windows at the end of the large room were now giving way; and I suppose it was about nine o'clock,

when the hurricane burst them in, as if it had been a discharge from a battery of heavy cannon. The shutters

were first forced open, and the wind fastened them back to the wall; and then the panes of glass were

smashed by the mere force of the gale, without anything having touched them. Even now I was not at all sure

the house would go. My books, I saw, were lost; for the rain poured past the bookcases, as if it had been the

Colonarie River. But we carried a good deal of furniture into the passage at the entrance; we set Susan there

on a sofa, and the Black Housekeeper was even attempting to get her some breakfast. The house, however,

began to shake so violently, and the rain was so searching, that she could not stay there long. She went into

"Under the forepart of the house, there are cellars built of stone, but not arched. To these, however, there was

no access except on the outside; and I knew from my own experience that Susan could not have gone a step

beyond the door, without being carried away by the storm, and probably killed on the spot. The only chance

seemed to be that of breaking through the floor. But when the old Cook and myself resolved on this, we

found that we had no instrument with which it would be possible to do it. It was now clear that we had only

God to trust in. The front windows were giving way with successive crashes, and the floor shook as you may

have seen a carpet on a gusty day in London. I went into our bedroom; where I found Susan, Tyrrell, and a

little Colored girl of seven or eight years old; and told them that we should probably not be alive in half an

hour. I could have escaped, if I had chosen to go alone, by crawling on the ground either into the kitchen, a

separate stone building at no great distance, or into the open fields away from trees or houses; but Susan

could not have gone a yard. She became quite calm when she knew the worst; and she sat on my knee in what

seemed the safest corner of the room, while every blast was bringing nearer and nearer the moment of our

"The house was under two parallel roofs; and the one next the sea, which sheltered the other, and us who

were under the other, went off, I suppose about ten o'clock. After my old plan, I will give you a sketch, from

The a, a are the windows that were first destroyed: b went next; my books were between the windows b, and

on the wall opposite to them. The lines c and d mark the directions of the two roofs; e is the room in which

we were, and 2 is a plan of it on a larger scale. Look now at 2: a is the bed; c, c the two wardrobes; b the

corner in which we were. I was sitting in an armchair, holding my Wife; and Tyrrell and the little Black

child were close to us. We had given up all notion of surviving; and only waited for the fall of the roof to

"Before long the roof went. Most of the materials, however, were carried clear away: one of the large couples

was caught on the bedpost marked d, and held fast by the iron spike; while the end of it hung over our heads:

had the beam fallen an inch on either side of the bedpost, it must necessarily have crushed us. The walls did

not go with the roof; and we remained for half an hour, alternately praying to God, and watching them as they

"Tyrrell and the child, when the roof was off, made their way through the remains of the partition, to the

outer door; and with the help of the people who were looking for us, got into the kitchen. A good while after

they were gone, and before we knew anything of their fate, a Negro suddenly came upon us; and the sight of

him gave us a hope of safety. When the people learned that we were in danger, and while their own huts were

flying about their ears, they crowded to help us; and the old Cook urged them on to our rescue. He made five

attempts, after saving Tyrrell, to get to us; and four times he was blown down. The fifth time he, and the

Negro we first saw, reached the house. The space they had to traverse was not above twenty yards of level

ground, if so much. In another minute or two, the Overseers and a crowd of Negroes, most of whom had

come on their hands and knees, were surrounding us; and with their help Susan was carried round to the end

of the house; where they broke open the cellar window, and placed her in comparative safety. The force of

the hurricane was, by this time, a good deal diminished, or it would have been impossible to stand before it.

"But the wind was still terrific; and the rain poured into the cellars through the floor above. Susan, Tyrrell,

and a crowd of Negroes remained under it, for more than two hours: and I was long afraid that the wet and

cold would kill her, if she did not perish more violently. Happily we had wine and spirits at hand, and she

was much nerved by a tumbler of claret. As soon as I saw her in comparative security, I went off with one of

the Overseers down to the Works, where the greater number of the Negroes were collected, that we might see

what could be done for them. They were wretched enough, but no one was hurt; and I ordered them a dram

"Before I could make my way back, the hurricane became as bad as at first; and I was obliged to take shelter

for half an hour in a ruined Negro house. This, however, was the last of its extreme violence. By one o'clock,

even the rain had in a great degree ceased; and as only one room of the house, the one marked f; was

standing, and that rickety,I had Susan carried in a chair down the hill, to the Hospital; where, in a small

paved unlighted room, she spent the next twentyfour hours. She was far less injured than might have been

"Next day, I had the passage at the entrance of the house repaired and roofed; and we returned to the ruins of

our habitation, still encumbered as they were with the wreck of almost all we were possessed of. The walls of

the part of the house next the sea were carried away, in less I think than half an hour after we reached the

cellar: when I had leisure to examine the remains of the house, I found the floor strewn with fragments of the

building, and with broken furniture; and our books all soaked as completely as if they had been for several

"In the course of a few days I had the other room, g, which is under the same roof as the one saved, rebuilt;

and Susan stayed in this temporary abode for a week,when we left Colonarie, and came to Brighton. Mr.

Munro's kindness exceeds all precedent. We shall certainly remain here till my Wife is recovered from her

confinement. In the mean while we shall have a new house built, in which we hope to be well settled before

"The roof was half blown off the kitchen, but I have had it mended already; the other offices were all swept

away. The gig is much injured; and my horse received a wound in the fall of the stable, from which he will

not be recovered for some weeks: in the mean time I have no choice but to buy another, as I must go at least

once or twice a week to Colonarie, besides business in Town. As to our own comforts, we can scarcely

expect ever to recover from the blow that has now stricken us. No money would repay me for the loss of my

books, of which a large proportion had been in my hands for so many years that they were like old and

faithful friends, and of which many had been given me at different times by the persons in the world whom I

"But against all this I have to set the preservation of our lives, in a way the most awfully providential; and the

safety of every one on the Estate. And I have also the great satisfaction of reflecting that all the Negroes from

whom any assistance could reasonably be expected, behaved like so many Heroes of Antiquity; risking their

lives and limbs for us and our property, while their own poor houses were flying like chaff before the

hurricane. There are few White people here who can say as much for their Black dependents; and the force

and value of the relation between Master and Slave has been tried by the late calamity on a large scale.

"Great part of both sides of this Island has been laid completely waste. The beautiful wide and fertile Plain

called the Charib Country, extending for many miles to the north of Colonarie, and formerly containing the

finest sets of works and best dwellinghouses in the Island, is, I am told, completely desolate: on several

estates not a roof even of a Negro hut standing. In the embarrassed circumstances of many of the proprietors,

the ruin is, I fear, irreparable.At Colonarie the damage is serious, but by no means desperate. The crop is

perhaps injured ten or fifteen per cent. The roofs of several large buildings are destroyed, but these we are

already supplying; and the injuries done to the cottages of the Negroes are, by this time, nearly if not quite

"Indeed, all that has been suffered in St. Vincent appears nothing when compared with the appalling loss of

property and of human lives at Barbadoes. There the Town is little but a heap of ruins, and the corpses are

reckoned by thousands; while throughout the Island there are not, I believe, ten estates on which the buildings

are standing. The Elliotts, from whom we have heard, are living with all their family in a tent; and may think

themselves wonderfully saved, when whole families round them were crushed at once beneath their houses.

Hugh Barton, the only officer of the Garrison hurt, has broken his arm, and we know nothing of his prospects

of recovery. The more horrible misfortune of Barbadoes is partly to be accounted for by the fact of the

hurricane having begun there during the night. The flatness of the surface in that Island presented no obstacle

to the wind, which must, however, I think have been in itself more furious than with us. No other island has

"I have told both my Uncle and Anthony that I have given you the details of our recent history;which are

not so pleasant that I should wish to write them again. Perhaps you will be good enough to let them see this,

This Letter, I observe, is dated 28th August, 1831; which is otherwise a day of mark to the world and

me,the Poet Goethe's last birthday. While Sterling sat in the Tropical solitudes, penning this history, little

European Weimar had its carriages and statecarriages busy on the streets, and was astir with compliments

and visitingcards, doing its best, as heretofore, on behalf of a remarkable day; and was not, for centuries or

At Brighton, the hospitable home of those Munros, our friends continued for above two months. Their first

child, Edward, as above noticed, was born here, "14th October, 1831;"and now the poor lady, safe from all

It was in this year that I first heard definitely of Sterling as a contemporary existence; and laid up some note

and outline of him in my memory, as of one whom I might yet hope to know. John Mill, Mrs. Austin and

perhaps other friends, spoke of him with great affection and much pitying admiration; and hoped to see him

home again, under better omens, from over the seas. As a gifted amiable being, of a certain radiant tenuity

and velocity, too thin and rapid and diffusive, in danger of dissipating himself into the vague, or alas into

death itself: it was so that, like a spot of bright colors, rather than a portrait with features, he hung

The ruin of his house had hardly been repaired, when there arrived out of Europe tidings which smote as with

a still more fatal hurricane on the four corners of his inner world, and awoke all the old thunders that lay

asleep on his horizon there. Tidings, at last of a decisive nature, from Gibraltar and the Spanish democrat

adventure. This is what the Newspapers had to reportthe catastrophe at once, the details by degreesfrom

Torrijos, as we have seen, had hitherto accomplished as good as nothing, except disappointment to his

impatient followers, and sorrow and regret to himself. Poor Torrijos, on arriving at Gibraltar with his wild

band, and coming into contact with the rough fact, had found painfully how much his imagination had

deceived him. The fact lay round him haggard and ironbound; flatly refusing to be handled according to his

scheme of it. No Spanish soldiery nor citizenry showed the least disposition to join him; on the contrary the

official Spaniards of that coast seemed to have the watchfulest eye on all his movements, nay it was

conjectured they had spies in Gibraltar who gathered his very intentions and betrayed them. This small

project of attack, and then that other, proved futile, or was abandoned before the attempt. Torrijos had to lie

painfully within the lines of Gibraltar,his poor followers reduced to extremity of impatience and distress;

the British Governor too, though not unfriendly to him, obliged to frown. As for the young Cantabs, they, as

was said, had wandered a little over the South border of romantic Spain; had perhaps seen Seville, Cadiz,

with picturesque views, since not with belligerent ones; and their money being done, had now returned home.

The French Three Days breaking out had armed the Guerrillero Mina, armed all manner of democratic

guerrieros and guerrilleros; and considerable clouds of Invasion, from Spanish exiles, hung minatory over the

North and NorthEast of Spain, supported by the newborn French Democracy, so far as privately possible.

These Torrijos had to look upon with inexpressible feelings, and take no hand in supporting from the South;

these also he had to see brushed away, successively abolished by official generalship; and to sit within his

lines, in the painfulest manner, unable to do anything. The fated, gallantminded, but too headlong man. At

length the British Governor himself was obliged, in official decency and as is thought on repeated

remonstrance from his Spanish official neighbors, to signify how indecorous, improper and impossible it was

to harbor within one's lines such explosive preparations, once they were discovered, against allies in full

peace with us,the necessity, in fact, there was for the matter ending. It is said, he offered Torrijos and his

people passports, and British protection, to any country of the world except Spain: Torrijos did not accept the

passports; spoke of going peaceably to this place or to that; promised at least, what he saw and felt to be

clearly necessary, that he would soon leave Gibraltar. And he did soon leave it; he and his, Boyd alone of the

It was on the last night of November, 1831, that they all set forth; Torrijos with Fiftyfive companions; and

in two small vessels committed themselves to their nighdesperate fortune. No sentry or official person had

noticed them; it was from the Spanish Consul, next morning, that the British Governor first heard they were

gone. The British Governor knew nothing of them; but apparently the Spanish officials were much better

informed. Spanish guardships, instantly awake, gave chase to the two small vessels, which were making all

sail towards Malaga; and, on shore, all manner of troops and detached parties were in motion, to render a

Crowd all sail for Malaga, then; there perhaps a regiment will join us; there,or if not, we are but lost!

Fancy need not paint a more tragic situation than that of Torrijos, the unfortunate gallant man, in the gray of

this morning, first of December, 1831,his last free morning. Noble game is afoot, afoot at last; and all the

hunters have him in their toils.The guardships gain upon Torrijos; he cannot even reach Malaga; has to run

ashore at a place called Fuengirola, not far from that city;the guardships seizing his vessels, so soon as he

is disembarked. The country is all up; troops scouring the coast everywhere: no possibility of getting into

Malaga with a party of Fiftyfive. He takes possession of a farmstead (Ingles, the place is called); barricades

himself there, but is speedily beleaguered with forces hopelessly superior. He demands to treat; is refused all

treaty; is granted six hours to consider, shall then either surrender at discretion, or be forced to do it. Of

course he does it, having no alternative; and enters Malaga a prisoner, all his followers prisoners. Here had

Express is sent to Madrid; express instantly returns; "Military execution on the instant; give them shriving if

they want it; that done, fusillade them all." So poor Torrijos and his followers, the whole Fiftysix of them,

Robert Boyd included, meet swift death in Malaga. In such manner rushes down the curtain on them and their

affair; they vanish thus on a sudden; rapt away as in black clouds of fate. Poor Boyd, Sterling's cousin,

pleaded his British citizenship; to no purpose: it availed only to his dead body, this was delivered to the

British Consul for interment, and only this. Poor Madam Torrijos, hearing, at Paris where she now was, of

her husband's capture, hurries towards Madrid to solicit mercy; whither also messengers from Lafayette and

the French Government were hurrying, on the like errand: at Bayonne, news met the poor lady that it was

already all over, that she was now a widow, and her husband hidden from her forever.Such was the

Sterling's friends never heard of these affairs; indeed we were all secretly warned not to mention the name of

Torrijos in his hearing, which accordingly remained strictly a forbidden subject. His misery over this

catastrophe was known, in his own family, to have been immense. He wrote to his Brother Anthony: "I hear

the sound of that musketry; it is as if the bullets were tearing my own brain." To figure in one's sick and

excited imagination such a scene of fatal manhunting, lost valor hopelessly captured and massacred; and to

add to it, that the victims are not men merely, that they are noble and dear forms known lately as individual

friends: what a Dance of the Furies and wildpealing Deadmarch is this, for the mind of a loving, generous

and vivid man! Torrijos getting ashore at Fuengirola; Robert Boyd and others ranked to die on the esplanade

at MalagaNay had not Sterling, too, been the innocent yet heedless means of Boyd's embarking in this

enterprise? By his own kinsman poor Boyd had been witlessly guided into the pitfalls. "I hear the sound of

These thoughts dwelt long with Sterling; and for a good while, I fancy, kept possession of the proscenium of

his mind; madly parading there, to the exclusion of all else,coloring all else with their own black hues. He

was young, rich in the power to be miserable or otherwise; and this was his first grand sorrow which had now

An important spiritual crisis, coming at any rate in some form, had hereby suddenly in a very sad form come.

No doubt, as youth was passing into manhood in these Tropical seclusions, and higher wants were awakening

in his mind, and years and reflection were adding new insight and admonition, much in his young way of

thought and action lay already under ban with him, and repentances enough over many things were not

wanting. But here on a sudden had all repentances, as it were, dashed themselves together into one grand

whirlwind of repentance; and his past life was fallen wholly as into a state of reprobation. A great remorseful

misery had come upon him. Suddenly, as with a sudden lightningstroke, it had kindled into conflagration all

the ruined structure of his past life; such ruin had to blaze and flame round him, in the painfulest manner, till

it went out in black ashes. His democratic philosophies, and mutinous radicalisms, already falling doomed in

his thoughts, had reached their consummation and final condemnation here. It was all so rash, imprudent,

arrogant, all that; false, or but half true; inapplicable wholly as a rule of noble conduct;and it has ended

It is evident, Sterling's thoughts had already, since the old days of the "black dragoon," much modified

themselves. We perceive that, by mere increase of experience and length of time, the opposite and much

deeper side of the question, which also has its adamantine basis of truth, was in turn coming into play; and in

fine that a Philosophy of Denial, and world illuminated merely by the flames of Destruction, could never

have permanently been the restingplace of such a man. Those pilgrimings to Coleridge, years ago, indicate

deeper wants beginning to be felt, and important ulterior resolutions becoming inevitable for him. If in your

own soul there is any tone of the "Eternal Melodies," you cannot live forever in those poor outer, transitory

grindings and discords; you will have to struggle inwards and upwards, in search of some diviner home for

yourself!Coleridge's prophetic moonshine, Torrijos's sad tragedy: those were important occurrences in

Sterling's life. But, on the whole, there was a big Ocean for him, with impetuous Gulfstreams, and a doomed

voyage in quest of the Atlantis, before either of those arose as lights on the horizon. As important

beaconlights let us count them nevertheless;signaldates they form to us, at lowest. We may reckon this

Torrijos tragedy the crisis of Sterling's history; the turningpoint, which modified, in the most important and

by no means wholly in the most favorable manner, all the subsequent stages of it.

Old Radicalism and mutinous audacious Ethnicism having thus fallen to wreck, and a mere black world of

misery and remorse now disclosing itself, whatsoever of natural piety to God and man, whatsoever of pity

and reverence, of awe and devout hope was in Sterling's heart now awoke into new activity; and strove for

some due utterance and predominance. His Letters, in these months, speak of earnest religious studies and

efforts;of attempts by prayer and longing endeavor of all kinds, to struggle his way into the temple, if

temple there were, and there find sanctuary.[10] The realities were grown so haggard; life a field of black

ashes, if there rose no temple anywhere on it! Why, like a fated Orestes, is man so whipt by the Furies, and

driven madly hither and thither, if it is not even that he may seek some shrine, and there make expiation and

In these circumstances, what a scope for Coleridge's philosophy, above all! "If the bottled moonshine

be actually substance? Ah, could one but believe in a Church while finding it incredible! What is faith; what

is conviction, credibility, insight? Can a thing be at once known for true, and known for false? 'Reason,'

'Understanding:' is there, then, such an internecine war between these two? It was so Coleridge imagined it,

the wisest of existing men!"No, it is not an easy matter (according to Sir Kenelm Digby), this of getting up

your "astral spirit" of a thing, and setting it in action, when the thing itself is well burnt to ashes. Poor

Sterling; poor sons of Adam in general, in this sad age of cobwebs, wornout symbolisms, reminiscences and

simulacra! Who can tell the struggles of poor Sterling, and his pathless wanderings through these things!

Long afterwards, in speech with his Brother, he compared his case in this time to that of "a young lady who

has tragically lost her lover, and is willing to be halfhoodwinked into a convent, or in any noble or

During the summer of 1832, I find traces of attempts towards AntiSlavery Philanthropy; shadows of

extensive schemes in that direction. Halfdesperate outlooks, it is likely, towards the refuge of

Philanthropism, as a new chivalry of life. These took no serious hold of so clear an intellect; but they hovered

now and afterwards as daydreams, when life otherwise was shorn of aim;mirages in the desert, which are

found not to be lakes when you put your bucket into them. One thing was clear, the sojourn in St. Vincent

Perhaps one might get some scheme raised into life, in Downing Street, for universal Education to the Blacks,

preparatory to emancipating them? There were a noble work for a man! Then again poor Mrs. Sterling's

health, contrary to his own, did not agree with warm moist climates. And again, These were the outer

surfaces of the measure; the unconscious pretexts under which it showed itself to Sterling and was shown by

him: but the inner heart and determining cause of it (as frequently in Sterling's life, and in all our lives) was

not these. In brief, he had had enough of St. Vincent. The strangling oppressions of his soul were too heavy

for him there. Solution lay in Europe, or might lie; not in these remote solitudes of the sea,where no shrine

or saint's well is to be looked for, no communing of pious pilgrims journeying together towards a shrine.

After a residence of perhaps fifteen months Sterling quitted St. Vincent, and never returned. He reappeared at

his Father's house, to the joy of English friends, in August, 1832; well improved in health, and eager for

English news; but, beyond vague schemes and possibilities, considerably uncertain what was next to be done.

After no long stay in this scene,finding Downing Street dead as stone to the SlaveEducation and to all

other schemes,he went across, with his wife and child, to Germany; purposing to make not so much a tour

as some loose ramble, or desultory residence in that country, in the Rhineland first of all. Here was to be

hoped the picturesque in scenery, which he much affected; here the new and true in speculation, which he

inwardly longed for and wanted greatly more; at all events, here as readily as elsewhere might a temporary

household be struck up, under interesting circumstances.I conclude he went across in the Spring of 1833;

perhaps directly after Arthur Coningsby had got through the press. This Novel, which, as we have said, was

begun two or three years ago, probably on his cessation from the Athenaeum, and was mainly finished, I

think, before the removal to St. Vincent, had by this time fallen as good as obsolete to his own mind; and its

destination now, whether to the press or to the fire, was in some sort a matter at once of difficulty and of

insignificance to him. At length deciding for the milder alternative, he had thrown in some completing

touches here and there,especially, as I conjecture, a proportion of Coleridgean moonshine at the end; and

It was in the sunny days, perhaps in May or June of this year, that Arthur Coningsby reached my own hand,

far off amid the heathy wildernesses; sent by John Mill: and I can still recollect the pleasant little episode it

made in my solitude there. The general impression it left on me, which has never since been renewed by a

second reading in whole or in part, was the certain prefigurement to myself, more or less distinct, of an

opulent, genial and sunny mind, but misdirected, disappointed, experienced in misery;nay crude and hasty;

mistaking for a solid outcome from its woes what was only to me a gilded vacuity. The hero an ardent youth,

representing Sterling himself, plunges into life such as we now have it in these anarchic times, with the

radical, utilitarian, or mutinous heathen theory, which is the readiest for inquiring souls; finds, by various

courses of adventure, utter shipwreck in this; lies broken, very wretched: that is the tragic nodus, or apogee of

his lifecourse. In this mood of mind, he clutches desperately towards some new method (recognizable as

Coleridge's) of laying hand again on the old Church, which has hitherto been extraneous and as if nonextant

to his way of thought; makes out, by some Coleridgean legedermain, that there actually is still a Church for

him; that this extant Church, which he long took for an extinct shadow, is not such, but a substance; upon

which he can anchor himself amid the storms of fate;and he does so, even taking orders in it, I think. Such

could by no means seem to me the true or tenable solution. Here clearly, struggling amid the tumults, was a

lovable young fellowsoul; who had by no means yet got to land; but of whom much might be hoped, if he

ever did. Some of the delineations are highly pictorial, flooded with a deep ruddy effulgence; betokening

much wealth, in the crude or the ripe state. The hope of perhaps, one day, knowing Sterling, was welcome

and interesting to me. Arthur Coningsby, struggling imperfectly in a sphere high above circulatinglibrary

novels, gained no notice whatever in that quarter; gained, I suppose in a few scattered heads, some such

recognition as the above; and there rested. Sterling never mentioned the name of it in my hearing, or would

In those very days while Arthur Coningsby was getting read amid the Scottish moors, "in June, 1833,"

Sterling, at Bonn in the Rhinecountry, fell in with his old tutor and friend, the Reverend Julius Hare; one

with whom he always delighted to communicate, especially on such topics as then altogether occupied him.

A man of cheerful serious character, of much approved accomplishment, of perfect courtesy; surely of much

piety, in all senses of that word. Mr. Hare had quitted his scholastic labors and distinctions, some time ago;

the call or opportunity for taking orders having come; and as Rector of Herstmonceux in Sussex, a place

patrimonially and otherwise endeared to him, was about entering, under the best omens, on a new course of

life. He was now on his return from Rome, and a visit of some length to Italy. Such a meeting could not but

be welcome and important to Sterling in such a mood. They had much earnest conversation, freely

communing on the highest matters; especially of Sterling's purpose to undertake the clerical profession, in

It appears, Sterling already intimated his intention to become a clergyman: He would study theology,

biblicalities, perfect himself in the knowledge seemly or essential for his new course;read diligently "for a

year or two in some good German University," then seek to obtain orders: that was his plan. To which Mr.

Hare gave his hearty Euge; adding that if his own curacy happened then to be vacant, he should be well

"A year or two" of serious reflection "in some good German University," or anywhere in the world, might

have thrown much elucidation upon these confused strugglings and purposings of Sterling's, and probably

have spared him some confusion in his subsequent life. But the talent of waiting was, of all others, the one he

wanted most. Impetuous velocity, allhoping headlong alacrity, what we must call rashness and impatience,

characterized him in most of his important and unimportant procedures; from the purpose to the execution

there was usually but one big leap with him. A few months after Mr. Hare was gone, Sterling wrote that his

purposes were a little changed by the late meeting at Bonn; that he now longed to enter the Church

straightway: that if the Herstmonceux Curacy was still vacant, and the Rector's kind thought towards him still

Answer being in the affirmative on both heads, Sterling returned to England; took orders,"ordained deacon

at Chichester on Trinity Sunday in 1834" (he never became technically priest):and so, having fitted

himself and family with a reasonable house, in one of those leafy lanes in quiet Herstmonceux, on the edge of

The bereaved young lady has taken the veil, then! Even so. "Life is growing all so dark and brutal; must be

redeemed into human, if it will continue life. Some pious heroism, to give a human color to life again, on any

To such length can transcendental moonshine, cast by some morbidly radiating Coleridge into the chaos of a

fermenting life, act magically there, and produce divulsions and convulsions and diseased developments. So

dark and abstruse, without lamp or authentic fingerpost, is the course of pious genius towards the Eternal

Kingdoms grown. No fixed highway more; the old spiritual highways and recognized paths to the Eternal,

now all torn up and flung in heaps, submerged in unutterable boiling mudoceans of Hypocrisy and

Unbelievability, of brutal living Atheism and damnable dead putrescent Cant: surely a tragic pilgrimage for

all mortals; Darkness, and the mere shadow of Death, enveloping all things from pole to pole; and in the

raging gulfcurrents, offering us willo'wisps for loadstars,intimating that there are no stars, nor ever

were, except certain OldJew ones which have now gone out. Once more, a tragic pilgrimage for all mortals;

and for the young pious soul, winged with genius, and passionately seeking land, and passionately abhorrent

of floating carrion withal, more tragical than for any!A pilgrimage we must all undertake nevertheless, and

make the best of with our respective means. Some arrive; a glorious few: many must be lost,go down upon

the floating wreck which they took for land. Nay, courage! These also, so far as there was any heroism in

them, have bequeathed their life as a contribution to us, have valiantly laid their bodies in the chasm for us: of

these also there is no ray of heroism lost,and, on the whole, what else of them could or should be "saved"

Concerning this attempt of Sterling's to find sanctuary in the old Church, and desperately grasp the hem of

her garment in such manner, there will at present be many opinions: and mine must be recorded here in flat

reproval of it, in mere pitying condemnation of it, as a rash, false, unwise and unpermitted step. Nay, among

the evil lessons of his Time to poor Sterling, I cannot but account this the worst; properly indeed, as we may

say, the apotheosis, the solemn apology and consecration, of all the evil lessons that were in it to him. Alas, if

we did remember the divine and awful nature of God's Truth, and had not so forgotten it as poor doomed

creatures never did before,should we, durst we in our most audacious moments, think of wedding it to the

World's Untruth, which is also, like all untruths, the Devil's? Only in the world's last lethargy can such things

be done, and accounted safe and pious! Fools! "Do you think the Living God is a buzzard idol," sternly asks

Milton, that you dare address Him in this manner?Such darkness, thick sluggish clouds of cowardice and

oblivious baseness, have accumulated on us: thickening as if towards the eternal sleep! It is not now known,

what never needed proof or statement before, that Religion is not a doubt; that it is a certainty,or else a

mockery and horror. That none or all of the many things we are in doubt about, and need to have

demonstrated and rendered probable, can by any alchemy be made a "Religion" for us; but are and must

continue a baleful, quiet or unquiet, Hypocrisy for us; and bringsalvation, do we fancy? I think, it is

another thing they will bring, and are, on all hands, visibly bringing this good while!

The time, then, with its deliriums, has done its worst for poor Sterling. Into deeper aberration it cannot lead

him; this is the crowning error. Happily, as beseems the superlative of errors, it was a very brief, almost a

momentary one. In June, 1834, Sterling dates as installed at Herstmonceux; and is flinging, as usual, his

whole soul into the business; successfully so far as outward results could show: but already in September, he

begins to have misgivings; and in February following, quits it altogether,the rest of his life being, in great

part, a laborious effort of detail to pick the fragments of it off him, and be free of it in soul as well as in title.

At this the extreme point of spiritual deflexion and depression, when the world's madness, unusually

impressive on such a man, has done its very worst with him, and in all future errors whatsoever he will be a

By Mr. Hare's account, no priest of any Church could more fervently address himself to his functions than

Sterling now did. He went about among the poor, the ignorant, and those that had need of help; zealously

forwarded schools and beneficences; strove, with his whole might, to instruct and aid whosoever suffered

consciously in body, or still worse unconsciously in mind. He had charged himself to make the Apostle Paul

his model; the perils and voyagings and ultimate martyrdom of Christian Paul, in those old ages, on the great

scale, were to be translated into detail, and become the practical emblem of Christian Sterling on the coast of

Sussex in this new age. "It would be no longer from Jerusalem to Damascus," writes Sterling, "to Arabia, to

Derbe, Lystra, Ephesus, that he would travel: but each house of his appointed Parish would be to him what

each of those great cities was,a place where he would bend his whole being, and spend his heart for the

conversion, purification, elevation of those under his influence. The whole man would be forever at work for

this purpose; head, heart, knowledge, time, body, possessions, all would be directed to this end." A high

enough model set before one:how to be realized!Sterling hoped to realize it, to struggle towards

"He was continually devising some fresh scheme for improving the condition of the Parish. His aim was to

awaken the minds of the people, to arouse their conscience, to call forth their sense of moral responsibility, to

make them feel their own sinfulness, their need of redemption, and thus lead them to a recognition of the

Divine Love by which that redemption is offered to us. In visiting them he was diligent in all weathers, to the

risk of his own health, which was greatly impaired thereby; and his gentleness and considerate care for the

sick won their affection; so that, though his stay was very short, his name is still, after a dozen years,

How beautiful would Sterling be in all this; rushing forward like a host towards victory; playing and pulsing

like sunshine or soft lightning; busy at all hours to perform his part in abundant and superabundant measure!

"Of that which it was to me personally," continues Mr. Hare, "to have such a fellowlaborer, to live

constantly in the freest communion with such a friend, I cannot speak. He came to me at a time of heavy

affliction, just after I had heard that the Brother, who had been the sharer of all my thoughts and feelings

from childhood, had bid farewell to his earthly life at Rome; and thus he seemed given to me to make up in

some sort for him whom I had lost. Almost daily did I look out for his usual hour of coming to me, and watch

his tall slender form walking rapidly across the hill in front of my window; with the assurance that he was

coming to cheer and brighten, to rouse and stir me, to call me up to some height of feeling, or down to some

depth of thought. His lively spirit, responding instantaneously to every impulse of Nature and Art; his

generous ardor in behalf of whatever is noble and true; his scorn of all meanness, of all false pretences and

conventional beliefs, softened as it was by compassion for the victims of those besetting sins of a cultivated

age; his neverflagging impetuosity in pushing onward to some unattained point of duty or of knowledge: all

this, along with his gentle, almost reverential affectionateness towards his former tutor, rendered my

intercourse with him an unspeakable blessing; and time after time has it seemed to me that his visit had been

like a shower of rain, bringing down freshness and brightness on a dusty roadside hedge. By him too the

There are many poor people still at Herstmonceux who affectionately remember him: Mr. Hare especially

makes mention of one good man there, in his young days "a poor cobbler," and now advanced to a much

better position, who gratefully ascribes this outward and the other improvements in his life to Sterling's

generous encouragement and charitable care for him. Such was the curate life at Herstmonceux. So, in those

actual leafy lanes, on the edge of Pevensey Level, in this new age, did our poor New Paul (on hest of certain

oracles) diligently study to comport himself,and struggle with all his might not to be a moonshine shadow

It was in this summer of 1834,month of May, shortly after arriving in London,that I first saw Sterling's

Father. A stout broad gentleman of sixty, perpendicular in attitude, rather showily dressed, and of gracious,

ingenious and slightly elaborate manners. It was at Mrs. Austin's in Bayswater; he was just taking leave as I

entered, so our interview lasted only a moment: but the figure of the man, as Sterling's father, had already an

interest for me, and I remember the time well. Captain Edward Sterling, as we formerly called him, had now

quite dropt the military title, nobody even of his friends now remembering it; and was known, according to

his wish, in political and other circles, as Mr. Sterling, a private gentleman of some figure. Over whom hung,

moreover, a kind of mysterious nimbus as the principal or one of the principal writers in the Times, which

gave an interesting chiaroscuro to his character in society. A potent, profitable, but somewhat questionable

position; of which, though he affected, and sometimes with anger, altogether to disown it, and rigorously

insisted on the rights of anonymity, he was not unwilling to take the honors too: the private pecuniary

advantages were very undeniable; and his reception in the Clubs, and occasionally in higher quarters, was a

John Sterling at Herstmonceux that afternoon, and his Father here in London, would have offered strange

contrasts to an eye that had seen them both. Contrasts, and yet concordances. They were two very

differentlooking men, and were following two very different modes of activity that afternoon. And yet with

a strange family likeness, too, both in the men and their activities; the central impulse in each, the faculties

applied to fulfil said impulse, not at all dissimilar,as grew visible to me on farther knowledge.

Thus it went on for some months at Herstmonceux; but thus it could not last. We said there were already

misgivings as to health, in September:[12] that was but the fourth month, for it had begun only in June. The

like clouds of misgiving, flights of dark vapor, chequering more and more the bright sky of this promised

land, rose heavier and rifer month after month; till in February following, that is in the eighth month from

starting, the sky had grown quite overshaded; and poor Sterling had to think practically of departure from his

promised land again, finding that the goal of his pilgrimage was not there. Not there, wherever it may be!

March again, therefore; the abiding city, and post at which we can live and die, is still ahead of us, it would

"Illhealth" was the external cause; and, to all parties concerned, to Sterling himself I have no doubt as

completely as to any, the one determining cause. Nor was the illhealth wanting; it was there in too sad

reality. And yet properly it was not there as the burden; it was there as the last ounce which broke the camel's

back. I take it, in this as in other cases known to me, illhealth was not the primary cause but rather the

ultimate one, the summingup of innumerable far deeper conscious and unconscious causes,the cause

which could boldly show itself on the surface, and give the casting vote. Such was often Sterling's way, as

one could observe in such cases: though the most guileless, undeceptive and transparent of men, he had a

noticeable, almost childlike faculty of selfdeception, and usually substituted for the primary determining

motive and set of motives, some ultimate ostensible one, and gave that out to himself and others as the ruling

impulse for important changes in life. As is the way with much more ponderous and deliberate men;as is

Enough, in February, 1835, Sterling came up to London, to consult with his physicians,and in fact in all

ways to consider with himself and friends,what was to be done in regard to this Herstmonceux business.

The oracle of the physicians, like that of Delphi, was not exceedingly determinate: but it did bear, what was a

sufficiently undeniable fact, that Sterling's constitution, with a tendency to pulmonary ailments, was

illsuited for the office of a preacher; that total abstinence from preaching for a year or two would clearly be

the safer course. To which effect he writes to Mr. Hare with a tone of sorrowful agitation; gives up his

clerical duties at Herstmonceux;and never resumed them there or elsewhere. He had been in the Church

eight months in all: a brief section of his life, but an important one, which colored several of his subsequent

This we may account the second grand crisis of his History. Radicalism, not long since, had come to its

consummation, and vanished from him in a tragic manner. "Not by Radicalism is the path to Human

Nobleness for me!" And here now had English Priesthood risen like a sun, over the waste ruins and extinct

volcanoes of his dead Radical world, with promise of new blessedness and healing under its Wings; and this

too has soon found itself an illusion: "Not by Priesthood either lies the way, then. Once more, where does the

way lie!"To follow illusions till they burst and vanish is the lot of all new souls who, luckily or lucklessly,

are left to their own choice in starting on this Earth. The roads are many; the authentic fingerposts are

few,never fewer than in this era, when in so many senses the waters are out. Sterling of all men had the

quickest sense for nobleness, heroism and the human summum bonum; the liveliest headlong spirit of

adventure and audacity; few gifted living men less stubbornness of perseverance. Illusions, in his chase of the

summum bonum, were not likely to be wanting; aberrations, and wasteful changes of course, were likely to be

many! It is in the history of such vehement, trenchant, farshining and yet intrinsically light and volatile

souls, missioned into this epoch to seek their way there, that we best see what a confused epoch it is.

This clerical aberration,for such it undoubtedly was in Sterling,we have ascribed to Coleridge; and do

clearly think that had there been no Coleridge, neither had this been,nor had English Puseyism or some

other strange enough universal portents been. Nevertheless, let us say farther that it lay partly in the general

bearing of the world for such a man. This battle, universal in our sad epoch of "all old things passing away"

against "all things becoming new," has its summary and animating heart in that of Radicalism against

Church; there, as in its flaming core, and point of focal splendor, does the heroic worth that lies in each side

of the quarrel most clearly disclose itself; and Sterling was the man, above many, to recognize such worth on

both sides. Natural enough, in such a one, that the light of Radicalism having gone out in darkness for him,

the opposite splendor should next rise as the chief, and invite his loyalty till it also failed. In one form or the

other, such an aberration was not unlikely for him. But an aberration, especially in this form, we may

certainly call it. No man of Sterling's veracity, had he clearly consulted his own heart, or had his own heart

been capable of clearly responding, and not been dazzled and bewildered by transient fantasies and

theosophic moonshine, could have undertaken this function. His heart would have answered: "No, thou canst

not. What is incredible to thee, thou shalt not, at thy soul's peril, attempt to believe!Elsewhither for a

refuge, or die here. Go to Perdition if thou must,but not with a lie in thy mouth; by the Eternal Maker, no!"

Alas, once more! How are poor mortals whirled hither and thither in the tumultuous chaos of our era; and,

under the thick smokecanopy which has eclipsed all stars, how do they fly now after this poor meteor, now

after that!Sterling abandoned his clerical office in February, 1835; having held it, and ardently followed it,

It was on this his February expedition to London that I first saw Sterling,at the India House incidentally,

one afternoon, where I found him in company with John Mill, whom I happened like himself to be visiting

for a few minutes. The sight of one whose fine qualities I had often heard of lately, was interesting enough;

and, on the whole, proved not disappointing, though it was the translation of dream into fact, that is of poetry

into prose, and showed its unrhymed side withal. A loose, carelesslooking, thin figure, in careless dim

costume, sat, in a lounging posture, carelessly and copiously talking. I was struck with the kindly but restless

swiftglancing eyes, which looked as if the spirits were all out coursing like a pack of merry eager beagles,

beating every bush. The brow, rather sloping in form, was not of imposing character, though again the head

was longish, which is always the best sign of intellect; the physiognomy in general indicated animation rather

We talked rapidly of various unmemorable things: I remember coming on the Negroes, and noticing that

Sterling's notion on the Slavery Question had not advanced into the stage of mine. In reference to the

question whether an "engagement for life," on just terms, between parties who are fixed in the character of

master and servant, as the Whites and the Negroes are, is not really better than one from day to day,he said

with a kindly jeer, "I would have the Negroes themselves consulted as to that!"and would not in the least

believe that the Negroes were by no means final or perfect judges of it.His address, I perceived, was

abrupt, unceremonious; probably not at all disinclined to logic, and capable of dashing in upon you like a

charge of Cossacks, on occasion: but it was also eminently ingenious, social, guileless. We did all very well

together: and Sterling and I walked westward in company, choosing whatever lanes or quietest streets there

were, as far as Knightsbridge where our roads parted; talking on moralities, theological philosophies; arguing

In his notions on such subjects, the expected Coleridge cast of thought was very visible; and he seemed to

express it even with exaggeration, and in a fearless dogmatic manner. Identity of sentiment, difference of

opinion: these are the known elements of a pleasant dialogue. We parted with the mutual wish to meet

again;which accordingly, at his Father's house and at mine, we soon repeatedly did; and already, in the few

days before his return to Herstmonceux, had laid the foundations of a frank intercourse, pointing towards

pleasant intimacies both with himself and with his circle, which in the future were abundantly fulfilled. His

Mother, essentially and even professedly "Scotch," took to my Wife gradually with a most kind maternal

relation; his Father, a gallant showy stirring gentleman, the Magus of the Times, had talk and argument ever

ready, was an interesting figure, and more and more took interest in us. We had unconsciously made an

acquisition, which grew richer and wholesomer with every new year; and ranks now, seen in the pale

moonlight of memory, and must ever rank, among the precious possessions of life.

Sterling's bright ingenuity, and also his audacity, velocity and alacrity, struck me more and more. It was, I

think, on the occasion of a party given one of these evenings at his Father's, where I remember John Mill,

John Crawford, Mrs. Crawford, and a number of young and elderly figures of distinction,that a group

having formed on the younger side of the room, and transcendentalisms and theologies forming the topic, a

number of deep things were said in abrupt conversational style, Sterling in the thick of it. For example, one

sceptical figure praised the Church of England, in Hume's phrase, "as a Church tending to keep down

fanaticism," and recommendable for its very indifferency; whereupon a transcendental figure urges him:

"You are afraid of the horse's kicking: but will you sacrifice all qualities to being safe from that? Then get a

dead horse. None comparable to that for not kicking in your stable!" Upon which, a laugh; with new laughs

on other the like occasions;and at last, in the fire of some discussion, Sterling, who was unusually eloquent

and animated, broke out with this wild phrase, "I could plunge into the bottom of Hell, if I were sure of

finding the Devil there and getting him strangled!" Which produced the loudest laugh of all; and had to be

repeated, on Mrs. Crawford's inquiry, to the house at large; and, creating among the elders a kind of silent

shudder,though we urged that the feat would really be a good investment of human industry,checked or

stopt these theologic thunders for the evening. I still remember Sterling as in one of his most animated moods

that evening. He probably returned to Herstmonceux next day, where he proposed yet to reside for some

Arrived at Herstmonceux, he had not forgotten us. One of his Letters written there soon after was the

following, which much entertained me, in various ways. It turns on a poor Book of mine, called Sartor

Resartus; which was not then even a Book, but was still hanging desolately under bibliopolic difficulties,

now in its fourth or fifth year, on the wrong side of the river, as a mere aggregate of Magazine Articles;

having at last been slit into that form, and lately completed so, and put together into legibility. I suppose

Sterling had borrowed it of me. The adventurous hunter spirit which had started such a bemired Auerochs, or

Urus of the German woods, and decided on chasing that as game, struck me not a little;and the poor

"MY DEAR CARLYLE,I have now read twice, with care, the wondrous account of Teufelsdrockh and his

Opinions; and I need not say that it has given me much to think of. It falls in with the feelings and tastes

which were, for years, the ruling ones of my life; but which you will not be angry with me when I say that I

am infinitely and hourly thankful for having escaped from. Not that I think of this state of mind as one with

which I have no longer any concern. The sense of a oneness of life and power in all existence; and of a

boundless exuberance of beauty around us, to which most men are wellnigh dead, is a possession which no

one that has ever enjoyed it would wish to lose. When to this we add the deep feeling of the difference

between the actual and the ideal in Nature, and still more in Man; and bring in, to explain this, the principle

of duty, as that which connects us with a possible Higher State, and sets us in progress towards it,we have

a cycle of thoughts which was the whole spiritual empire of the wisest Pagans, and which might well supply

food for the wide speculations and richly creative fancy of Teufelsdrockh, or his prototype Jean Paul.

"How then comes it, we cannot but ask, that these ideas, displayed assuredly with no want of eloquence,

vivacity or earnestness, have found, unless I am much mistaken, so little acceptance among the best and most

energetic minds in this country? In a country where millions read the Bible, and thousands Shakspeare; where

Wordsworth circulates through bookclubs and drawingrooms; where there are innumerable admirers of

your favorite Burns; and where Coleridge, by sending from his solitude the voice of earnest spiritual

instruction, came to be beloved, studied and mourned for, by no small or careless school of disciples?To

answer this question would, of course, require more thought and knowledge than I can pretend to bring to it.

"In the first place, as to the form of composition,which may be called, I think, the RhapsodicoReflective.

In this the Sartor Resartus resembles some of the masterworks of human invention, which have been

acknowledged as such by many generations; and especially the works of Rabelais, Montaigne, Sterne and

Swift. There is nothing I know of in Antiquity like it. That which comes nearest is perhaps the Platonic

Dialogue. But of this, although there is something of the playful and fanciful on the surface, there is in reality

neither in the language (which is austerely determined to its end), nor in the method and progression of the

work, any of that headlong selfasserting capriciousness, which, if not discernible in the plan of

Teufelsdrockh's Memoirs, is yet plainly to be seen in the structure of the sentences, the lawless oddity, and

strange heterogeneous combination and allusion. The principle of this difference, observable often elsewhere

in modern literature (for the same thing is to be found, more or less, in many of our most genial works of

imagination,Don Quixote, for instance, and the writings of Jeremy Taylor), seems to be that wellknown

one of the predominant objectivity of the Pagan mind; while among us the subjective has risen into

superiority, and brought with it in each individual a multitude of peculiar associations and relations. These, as

not explicable from any one external principle assumed as a premise by the ancient philosopher, were

rejected from the sphere of his aesthetic creation: but to us they all have a value and meaning; being

connected by the bond of our own personality and all alike existing in that infinity which is its arena.

"But however this may be, and comparing the Teufelsdrockhean Epopee only with those other modern

works,it is noticeable that Rabelais, Montaigne and Sterne have trusted for the currency of their writings,

in a great degree, to the use of obscene and sensual stimulants. Rabelais, besides, was full of contemporary

and personal satire; and seems to have been a champion in the great cause of his time,as was Montaigne

also,that of the right of thought in all competent minds, unrestrained by any outward authority. Montaigne,

moreover, contains more pleasant and lively gossip, and more distinct goodhumored painting of his own

character and daily habits, than any other writer I know. Sterne is never obscure, and never moral; and the

costume of his subjects is drawn from the familiar experience of his own time and country: and Swift, again,

has the same merit of the clearest perspicuity, joined to that of the most homely, unaffected, forcible English.

These points of difference seem to me the chief ones which bear against the success of the Sartor. On the

other hand, there is in Teufelsdrockh a depth and fervor of feeling, and a power of serious eloquence, far

beyond that of any of these four writers; and to which indeed there is nothing at all comparable in any of

"Of the other points of comparison there are two which I would chiefly dwell on: and first as to the language.

A good deal of this is positively barbarous. 'Environment,' ' vestural,' 'stertorous,' 'visualized,' 'complected,'

and others to be found I think in the first twenty pages,are words, so far as I know, without any authority;

some of them contrary to analogy: and none repaying by their value the disadvantage of novelty. To these

must be added new and erroneous locutions; 'whole other tissues' for all the other, and similar uses of the

word whole; 'orients' for pearls; 'lucid' and 'lucent' employed as if they were different in meaning; 'hulls'

perpetually for coverings, it being a word hardly used, and then only for the husk of a nut; 'to insure a man of

misapprehension;' 'talented,' a mere newspaper and hustings word, invented, I believe, by O'Connell.

"I must also mention the constant recurrence of some words in a quaint and queer connection, which gives a

grotesque and somewhat repulsive mannerism to many sentences. Of these the commonest offender is 'quite;'

which appears in almost every page, and gives at first a droll kind of emphasis; but soon becomes wearisome.

'Nay,' 'manifold,' 'cunning enough significance,' 'faculty' (meaning a man's rational or moral power), 'special,'

'not without,' haunt the reader as if in some uneasy dream which does not rise to the dignity of nightmare.

Some of these strange mannerisms fall under the general head of a singularity peculiar, so far as I know, to

Teufelsdrockh. For instance, that of the incessant use of a sort of odd superfluous qualification of his

assertions; which seems to give the character of deliberateness and caution to the style, but in time sounds

like mere trick or involuntary habit. 'Almost' does more than yeoman's, almost slave's service in this way.

Something similar may be remarked of the use of the double negative by way of affirmation.

"Under this head, of language, may be mentioned, though not with strict grammatical accuracy, two standing

characteristics of the Professor's style,at least as rendered into English: First, the composition of words,

such as 'snowandrosebloom maiden:' an attractive damsel doubtless in Germany, but, with all her charms,

somewhat uncouth here. 'Lifevision' is another example; and many more might be found. To say nothing of

the innumerable cases in which the words are only intelligible as a compound term, though not distinguished

by hyphens. Of course the composition of words is sometimes allowable even in English: but the habit of

dealing with German seems to have produced, in the pages before us, a prodigious superabundance of this

form of expression; which gives harshness and strangeness, where the matter would at all events have been

surprising enough. Secondly, I object, with the same qualification, to the frequent use of inversion; which

generally appears as a transposition of the two members of a clause, in a way which would not have been

practiced in conversation. It certainly gives emphasis and force, and often serves to point the meaning. But a

style may be fatiguing and faulty precisely by being too emphatic, forcible and pointed; and so straining the

"Another class of considerations connects itself with the heightened and plethoric fulness of the style: its

accumulation and contrast of imagery; its occasional jerking and almost spasmodic violence;and above all,

the painful subjective excitement, which seems the element and groundwork even of every description of

Nature; often taking the shape of sarcasm or broad jest, but never subsiding into calm. There is also a point

which I should think worth attending to, were I planning any similar book: I mean the importance, in a work

of imagination, of not too much disturbing in the reader's mind the balance of the New and Old. The former

addresses itself to his active, the latter to his passive faculty; and these are mutually dependent, and must

coexist in certain proportion, if you wish to combine his sympathy and progressive exertion with willingness

and ease of attention. This should be taken into account in forming a style; for of course it cannot be

"But chiefly it seems important in determining the plan of a work. If the tone of feeling, the line of

speculation are out of the common way, and sure to present some difficulty to the average reader, then it

would probably be desirable to select, for the circumstances, drapery and accessories of all kinds, those most

familiar, or at least most attractive. A fable of the homeliest purport, and commonest everyday application,

derives an interest and charm from its turning on the characters and acts of gods and genii, lions and foxes,

Arabs and Affghauns. On the contrary, for philosophic inquiry and truths of awful preciousness, I would

select as my personages and interlocutors beings with whose language and 'whereabouts' my readers would

be familiar. Thus did Plato in his Dialogues, Christ in his Parables. Therefore it seems doubtful whether it

was judicious to make a German Professor the hero of Sartor. Berkeley began his Siris with tarwater; but

what can English readers be expected to make of Gukguk by way of prelibation to your nectar and tokay?

The circumstances and details do not flash with living reality on the minds of your readers, but, on the

contrary, themselves require some of that attention and minute speculation, the whole original stock of which,

in the minds of most of them, would not be too much to enable them to follow your views of Man and

Nature. In short, there is not a sufficient basis of the common to justify the amount of peculiarity in the work.

In a book of science, these considerations would of course be inapplicable; but then the whole shape and

coloring of the book must be altered to make it such; and a man who wishes merely to get at the

philosophical result, or summary of the whole, will regard the details and illustrations as so much

"The sense of strangeness is also awakened by the marvellous combinations, in which the work abounds to a

degree that the common reader must find perfectly bewildering. This can hardly, however, be treated as a

consequence of the style; for the style in this respect coheres with, and springs from, the whole turn and

tendency of thought. The noblest images are objects of a humorous smile, in a mind which sees itself above

all Nature and throned in the arms of an Almighty Necessity; while the meanest have a dignity, inasmuch as

they are trivial symbols of the same one life to which the great whole belongs. And hence, as I divine, the

startling whirl of incongruous juxtaposition, which of a truth must to many readers seem as amazing as if the

Pythia on the tripod should have struck up a drinkingsong, or Thersites had caught the prophetic strain of

"All this, of course, appears to me true and relevant; but I cannot help feeling that it is, after all, but a poor

piece of quackery to comment on a multitude of phenomena without adverting to the principle which lies at

the root, and gives the true meaning to them all. Now this principle I seem to myself to find in the state of

mind which is attributed to Teufelsdrockh; in his state of mind, I say, not in his opinions, though these are, in

him as in all men, most important,being one of the best indices to his state of mind. Now what

distinguishes him, not merely from the greatest and best men who have been on earth for eighteen hundred

years, but from the whole body of those who have been working forwards towards the good, and have been

the salt and light of the world, is this: That he does not believe in a God. Do not be indignant, I am blaming

"Teufelsdrockh does not belong to the herd of sensual and thoughtless men; because he does perceive in all

Existence a unity of power; because he does believe that this is a real power external to him and dominant to

a certain extent over him, and does not think that he is himself a shadow in a world of shadows. He had a

deep feeling of the beautiful, the good and the true; and a faith in their final victory.

"At the same time, how evident is the strong inward unrest, the Titanic heaving of mountain on mountain; the

stormlike rushing over land and sea in search of peace. He writhes and roars under his consciousness of the

difference in himself between the possible and the actual, the hopedfor and the existent. He feels that duty is

the highest law of his own being; and knowing how it bids the waves be stilled into an icy fixedness and

grandeur, he trusts (but with a boundless inward misgiving) that there is a principle of order which will

reduce all confusion to shape and clearness. But wanting peace himself, his fierce dissatisfaction fixes on all

that is weak, corrupt and imperfect around him; and instead of a calm and steady cooperation with all those

who are endeavoring to apply the highest ideas as remedies for the worst evils, he holds himself aloof in

savage isolation; and cherishes (though he dare not own) a stern joy at the prospect of that Catastrophe which

is to turn loose again the elements of man's social life, and give for a time the victory to evil;in hopes that

each new convulsion of the world must bring us nearer to the ultimate restoration of all things; fancying that

each may be the last. Wanting the calm and cheerful reliance, which would be the spring of active exertion,

he flatters his own distemper by persuading himself that his own age and generation are peculiarly feeble and

decayed; and would even perhaps be willing to exchange the restless immaturity of our selfconsciousness,

and the promise of its long throepangs, for the unawakened undoubting simplicity of the world's childhood;

of the times in which there was all the evil and horror of our day, only with the difference that conscience had

not arisen to try and condemn it. In these longings, if they are Teufelsdrockh's, he seems to forget that, could

we go back five thousand years, we should only have the prospect of travelling them again, and arriving at

"Something of this state of mind I may say that I understand; for I have myself experienced it. And the root of

the matter appears to me: A want of sympathy with the great body of those who are now endeavoring to

guide and help onward their fellowmen. And in what is this alienation grounded? It is, as I believe, simply

in the difference on that point: viz. the clear, deep, habitual recognition of a one Living Personal God,

essentially good, wise, true and holy, the Author of all that exists; and a reunion with whom is the only end of

all rational beings. This belief... [There follow now several pages on "Personal God," and other abstruse or

indeed properly unspeakable matters; these, and a general Postscript of qualifying purport, I will suppress;

extracting only the following fractions, as luminous or slightly significant to us:]

"Now see the difference of Teufelsdrockh's feelings. At the end of book iii. chap. 8, I find these words: 'But

whence? O Heaven, whither? Sense knows not; Faith knows not; only that it is through mystery to mystery,

And this tallies with the whole strain of his character. What we find everywhere, with an abundant use of the

name of God, is the conception of a formless Infinite whether in time or space; of a high inscrutable

Necessity, which it is the chief wisdom and virtue to submit to, which is the mysterious impersonal base of

all Existence,shows itself in the laws of every separate being's nature; and for man in the shape of duty. On

... "And in this state of mind, as there is no true sympathy with others, just as little is there any true peace for

ourselves. There is indeed possible the unsympathizing factitious calm of Art, which we find in Goethe. But

at what expense is it bought? Simply, by abandoning altogether the idea of duty, which is the great witness of

our personality. And he attains his inhuman ghastly calmness by reducing the Universe to a heap of material

... "The sum of all I have been writing as to the connection of our faith in God with our feeling towards men

and our mode of action, may of course be quite erroneous: but granting its truth, it would supply the one

principle which I have been seeking for, in order to explain the peculiarities of style in your account of

Teufelsdrockh and his writings.... The life and works of Luther are the best comment I know of on this

"Reading over what I have written, I find I have not nearly done justice to my own sense of the genius and

moral energy of the book; but this is what you will best excuse.Believe me most sincerely and faithfully

Here are sufficient points of "discrepancy with agreement," here is material for talk and argument enough;

and an expanse of free discussion open, which requires rather to be speedily restricted for convenience' sake,

In all Sterling's Letters to myself and others, a large collection of which now lies before me, duly copied and

indexed, there is, to one that knew his speech as well, a perhaps unusual likeness between the speech and the

Letters; and yet, for most part, with a great inferiority on the part of these. These, thrown off, one and all of

them, without premeditation, and with most rapidflowing pen, are naturally as like his speech as writing can

well be; this is their grand merit to us: but on the other hand, the want of the living tones, swift looks and

motions, and manifold dramatic accompaniments, tells heavily, more heavily than common. What can be

done with champagne itself, much more with sodawater, when the gaseous spirit is fled! The reader, in any

Meanwhile these Letters do excel in honesty, in candor and transparency; their very carelessness secures their

excellence in this respect. And in another much deeper and more essential respect I must likewise call them

excellent,in their childlike goodness, in the purity of heart, the noble affection and fidelity they everywhere

manifest in the writer. This often touchingly strikes a familiar friend in reading them; and will awaken

reminiscences (when you have the commentary in your own memory) which are sad and beautiful, and not

without reproach to you on occasion. To all friends, and all good causes, this man is true; behind their back as

before their face, the same man!Such traits of the autobiographic sort, from these Letters, as can serve to

paint him or his life, and promise not to weary the reader, I must endeavor to select, in the sequel.

Sterling continued to reside at Herstmonceux through the spring and summer; holding by the peaceable

retired house he still had there, till the vague future might more definitely shape itself, and better point out

what place of abode would suit him in his new circumstances. He made frequent brief visits to London; in

which I, among other friends, frequently saw him, our acquaintance at each visit improving in all ways. Like

a swift dashing meteor he came into our circle; coruscated among us, for a day or two, with sudden pleasant

I suppose, he was full of uncertainties; but undoubtedly was gravitating towards London. Yet, on the whole,

on the surface of him, you saw no uncertainties; far from that: it seemed always rather with peremptory

resolutions, and swift express businesses, that he was charged. Sickly in body, the testimony said: but here

always was a mind that gave you the impression of peremptory alertness, cheery swift decision,of a

health which you might have called exuberant. I remember dialogues with him, of that year; one pleasant

dialogue under the trees of the Park (where now, in 1851, is the thing called "Crystal Palace"), with the June

sunset flinging long shadows for us; the last of the Quality just vanishing for dinner, and the great night

beginning to prophesy of itself. Our talk (like that of the foregoing Letter) was of the faults of my style, of my

way of thinking, of my all which admonitions and remonstrances, so friendly and innocent, from this young

juniorsenior, I was willing to listen to, though unable, as usual, to get almost any practical hold of them. As

usual, the garments do not fit you, you are lost in the garments, or you cannot get into them at all; this is not

your suit of clothes, it must be another's:alas, these are not your dimensions, these are only the optical

Another time, of date probably very contiguous, I remember hearing Sterling preach. It was in some new

collegechapel in Somersethouse (I suppose, what is now called King's College); a very quiet small place,

the audience studentlooking youths, with a few elder people, perhaps mostly friends of the preacher's. The

discourse, delivered with a grave sonorous composure, and far surpassing in talent the usual run of sermons,

had withal an air of human veracity as I still recollect, and bespoke dignity and piety of mind: but gave me

the impression rather of artistic excellence than of unction or inspiration in that kind. Sterling returned with

us to Chelsea that day;and in the afternoon we went on the Thames Putneyward together, we two with

my Wife; under the sunny skies, on the quiet water, and with copious cheery talk, the remembrance of which

This was properly my only specimen of Sterling's preaching. Another time, late in the same autumn, I did

indeed attend him one evening to some Church in the City,a big Church behind Cheapside, "built by

Wren" as he carefully informed me;but there, in my wearied mood, the chief subject of reflection was the

almost total vacancy of the place, and how an eloquent soul was preaching to mere lamps and prayerbooks;

and of the sermon I retain no image. It came up in the way of banter, if he ever urged the duty of "Church

extension," which already he very seldom did and at length never, what a specimen we once had of bright

lamps, gilt prayerbooks, baizelined pews, Wrenbuilt architecture; and how, in almost all directions, you

might have fired a musket through the church, and hit no Christian life. A terrible outlook indeed for the

In the Autumn of this same 1835, he removed permanently to London, whither all summer he had been

evidently tending; took a house in Bayswater, an airy suburb, half town, half country, near his Father's, and

within fair distance of his other friends and objects; and decided to await there what the ultimate

developments of his course might be. His house was in Orme Square, close by the corner of that little place

(which has only three sides of houses); its windows looking to the east: the Number was, and I believe still is,

No. 5. A sufficiently commodious, by no means sumptuous, small mansion; where, with the means sure to

him, he could calculate on finding adequate shelter for his family, his books and himself, and live in a decent

manner, in no terror of debt, for one thing. His income, I suppose, was not large; but he lived generally a safe

distance within it; and showed himself always as a man bountiful in money matters, and taking no thought

His studyroom in this house was perhaps mainly the drawingroom; looking out safe, over the little dingy

grassplot in front, and the quiet little row of houses opposite, with the huge dustwhirl of Oxford Street and

London far enough ahead of you as background,as backcurtain, blotting out only half your blue

hemisphere with dust and smoke. On the right, you had the continuous growl of the Uxbridge Road and its

wheels, coming as lullaby not interruption. Leftward and rearward, after some thin belt of houses, lay mere

country; bright sweeping green expanses, crowned by pleasant Hampstead, pleasant Harrow, with their rustic

steeples rising against the sky. Here on winter evenings, the bustle of removal being all well ended, and

family and books got planted in their new places, friends could find Sterling, as they often did, who was

delighted to be found by them, and would give and take, vividly as few others, an hour's good talk at any

His outlooks, it must be admitted, were sufficiently vague and overshadowed; neither the past nor the future

of a too joyful kind. Public life, in any professional form, is quite forbidden; to work with his fellows

anywhere appears to be forbidden: nor can the humblest solitary endeavor to work worthily as yet find an

arena. How unfold one's little bit of talent; and live, and not lie sleeping, while it is called Today? As

Radical, as Reforming Politician in any public or private form,not only has this, in Sterling's case, received

tragical sentence and execution; but the opposite extreme, the Church whither he had fled, likewise proves

abortive: the Church also is not the haven for him at all. What is to be done? Something must be done, and

soon,under penalties. Whoever has received, on him there is an inexorable behest to give. "Fais ton fait,

Do thy little stroke of work:" this is Nature's voice, and the sum of all the commandments, to each man!

A shepherd of the people, some small Agamemnon after his sort, doing what little sovereignty and guidance

he can in his day and generation: such every gifted soul longs, and should long, to be. But how, in any

measure, is the small kingdom necessary for Sterling to be attained? Not through newspapers and

parliaments, not by rubrics and readingdesks: none of the sceptres offered in the world's marketplace, nor

none of the crosiers there, it seems, can be the shepherd'scrook for this man. A most cheerful, hoping man;

and full of swift faculty, though much lamed,considerably bewildered too; and tending rather towards the

wastes and solitary places for a home; the paved world not being friendly to him hitherto! The paved world,

in fact, both on its practical and spiritual side, slams to its doors against him; indicates that he cannot enter,

and even must not,that it will prove a chokevault, deadly to soul and to body, if he enter. Sceptre, crosier,

There remains one other implement, the resource of all Adam's posterity that are otherwise foiled,the Pen.

It was evident from this point that Sterling, however otherwise beaten about, and set fluctuating, would

gravitate steadily with all his real weight towards Literature. That he would gradually try with consciousness

to get into Literature; and, on the whole, never quit Literature, which was now all the world for him. Such is

accordingly the sum of his history henceforth: such small sum, so terribly obstructed and diminished by

Sterling had by no means as yet consciously quitted the clerical profession, far less the Church as a creed. We

have seen, he occasionally officiated still in these months, when a friend requested or an opportunity invited.

Nay it turned out afterwards, he had, unknown even to his own family, during a good many weeks in the

coldest period of next spring, when it was really dangerous for his health and did prove hurtful to it,been

constantly performing the morning service in some Chapel in Bayswater for a young clerical neighbor, a

slight acquaintance of his, who was sickly at the time. So far as I know, this of the Bayswater Chapel in the

spring of 1836, a feat severely rebuked by his Doctor withal, was his last actual service as a churchman. But

the conscious life ecclesiastical still hung visibly about his inner unconscious and real life, for years to come;

and not till by slow degrees he had unwinded from him the wrappages of it, could he become clear about

himself, and so much as try heartily what his now sole course was. Alas, and he had to live all the rest of his

days, as in continual flight for his very existence; "ducking under like a poor unfledged partridgebird," as

one described it, "before the mower; darting continually from nook to nook, and there crouching, to escape

the scythe of Death." For Literature Proper there was but little left in such a life. Only the smallest broken

fractions of his last and heaviestladen years can poor Sterling be said to have completely lived. His purpose

had risen before him slowly in noble clearness; clear at last,and even then the inevitable hour was at hand.

In those first London months, as always afterwards while it remained physically possible, I saw much of him;

loved him, as was natural, more and more; found in him, many ways, a beautiful acquisition to my existence

here. He was full of bright speech and argument; radiant with arrowy vitalities, vivacities and ingenuities.

Less than any man he gave you the idea of illhealth. Hopeful, sanguine; nay he did not even seem to need

definite hope, or much to form any; projecting himself in aerial pulses like an aurora borealis, like a summer

dawn, and filling all the world with present brightness for himself and others. Illhealth? Nay you found at

last, it was the very excess of life in him that brought on disease. This restless play of being, fit to conquer the

world, could it have been held and guided, could not be held. It had worn holes in the outer case of it, and

In our many promenades and colloquies, which were of the freest, most copious and pleasant nature, religion

often formed a topic, and perhaps towards the beginning of our intercourse was the prevailing topic. Sterling

seemed much engrossed in matters theological, and led the conversation towards such; talked often about

Church, Christianity Anglican and other, how essential the belief in it to man; then, on the other side, about

Pantheism and such like;all in the Coleridge dialect, and with eloquence and volubility to all lengths. I

remember his insisting often and with emphasis on what he called a "personal God," and other high topics, of

which it was not always pleasant to give account in the argumentative form, in a loud hurried voice, walking

and arguing through the fields or streets. Though of warm quick feelings, very positive in his opinions, and

vehemently eager to convince and conquer in such discussions, I seldom or never saw the least anger in him

against me or any friend. When the blows of contradiction came too thick, he could with consummate

dexterity whisk aside out of their way; prick into his adversary on some new quarter; or gracefully flourishing

his weapon, end the duel in some handsome manner. One angry glance I remember in him, and it was but a

glance, and gone in a moment. "Flat Pantheism!" urged he once (which he would often enough do about this

time), as if triumphantly, of something or other, in the fire of a debate, in my hearing: "It is mere Pantheism,

that!""And suppose it were Pottheism?" cried the other: "If the thing is true!"Sterling did look hurt at

such flippant heterodoxy, for a moment. The soul of his own creed, in those days, was far other than this

To me his sentiments for most part were lovable and admirable, though in the logical outcome there was

everywhere room for opposition. I admired the temper, the longing towards antique heroism, in this young

man of the nineteenth century; but saw not how, except in some GermanEnglish empire of the air, he was

ever to realize it on those terms. In fact, it became clear to me more and more that here was nobleness of

heart striving towards all nobleness; here was ardent recognition of the worth of Christianity, for one thing;

but no belief in it at all, in my sense of the word belief,no belief but one definable as mere theoretic

moonshine, which would never stand the wind and weather of fact. Nay it struck me farther that Sterling's

was not intrinsically, nor had ever been in the highest or chief degree, a devotional mind. Of course all

excellence in man, and worship as the supreme excellence, was part of the inheritance of this gifted man: but

if called to define him, I should say, Artist not Saint was the real bent of his being. He had endless

admiration, but intrinsically rather a deficiency of reverence in comparison. Fear, with its corollaries, on the

In short, it was a strange enough symptom to me of the bewildered condition of the world, to behold a man of

this temper, and of this veracity and nobleness, selfconsecrated here, by free volition and deliberate

selection, to be a Christian Priest; and zealously struggling to fancy himself such in very truth. Undoubtedly a

singular present fact;from which, as from their point of intersection, great perplexities and aberrations in

the past, and considerable confusions in the future might be seen ominously radiating. Happily our friend, as I

said, needed little hope. Today with its activities was always bright and rich to him. His unmanageable,

dislocated, devastated world, spiritual or economical, lay all illuminated in living sunshine, making it almost

beautiful to his eyes, and gave him no hypochondria. A richer soul, in the way of natural outfit for felicity, for

joyful activity in this world, so far as his strength would go, was nowhere to be met with.

The Letters which Mr. Hare has printed, Letters addressed, I imagine, mostly to himself, in this and the

following year or two, give record of abundant changeful plannings and laborings, on the part of Sterling; still

chiefly in the theological department. Translation from Tholuck, from Schleiermacher; treatise on this thing,

then on that, are on the anvil: it is a life of abstruse vague speculations, singularly cheerful and hopeful

withal, about Will, Morals, Jonathan Edwards, Jewhood, Manhood, and of Books to be written on these

topics. Part of which adventurous vague plans, as the Translation from Tholuck, he actually performed; other

greater part, merging always into wider undertakings, remained plan merely. I remember he talked often

about Tholuck, Schleiermacher, and others of that stamp; and looked disappointed, though full of good

His knowledge of German Literature, very slight at this time, limited itself altogether to writers on Church

matters,Evidences, CounterEvidences, Theologies and Rumors of Theologies; by the Tholucks,

Schleiermachers, Neanders, and I know not whom. Of the true sovereign souls of that Literature, the Goethes,

Richters, Schillers, Lessings, he had as good as no knowledge; and of Goethe in particular an obstinate

misconception, with proper abhorrence appended,which did not abate for several years, nor quite abolish

itself till a very late period. Till, in a word, he got Goethe's works fairly read and studied for himself! This

was often enough the course with Sterling in such cases. He had a most swift glance of recognition for the

worthy and for the unworthy; and was prone, in his ardent decisive way, to put much faith in it. "Such a one

is a worthless idol; not excellent, only shamexcellent:" here, on this negative side especially, you often had

to admire how right he was;often, but not quite always. And he would maintain, with endless ingenuity,

confidence and persistence, his fallacious spectrum to be a real image. However, it was sure to come all right

in the end. Whatever real excellence he might misknow, you had but to let it stand before him, soliciting new

examination from him: none surer than he to recognize it at last, and to pay it all his dues, with the arrears

and interest on them. Goethe, who figures as some absurd highstalking hollow playactor, or empty

ornamental clockcase of an "Artist" socalled, in the Tale of the Onyx Ring, was in the throne of Sterling's

intellectual world before all was done; and the theory of "Goethe's want of feeling," want of appeared to him

Sterling's days, during this time as always, were full of occupation, cheerfully interesting to himself and

others; though, the wrecks of theology so encumbering him, little fruit on the positive side could come of

these labors. On the negative side they were productive; and there also, so much of encumbrance requiring

removal, before fruit could grow, there was plenty of labor needed. He looked happy as well as busy; roamed

extensively among his friends, and loved to have them about him,chiefly old Cambridge comrades now

settling into occupations in the world;and was felt by all friends, by myself as by few, to be a welcome

illumination in the dim whirl of things. A man of altogether social and human ways; his address everywhere

pleasant and enlivening. A certain smile of thin but genuine laughter, we might say, hung gracefully over all

he said and did;expressing gracefully, according to the model of this epoch, the stoical pococurantism

which is required of the cultivated Englishman. Such laughter in him was not deep, but neither was it false (as

lamentably happens often); and the cheerfulness it went to symbolize was hearty and beautiful,visible in

Of wit, so far as rapid lively intellect produces wit, he had plenty, and did not abuse his endowment that way,

being always fundamentally serious in the purport of his speech: of what we call humor, he had some, though

little; nay of real sense for the ludicrous, in any form, he had not much for a man of his vivacity; and you

remarked that his laugh was limited in compass, and of a clear but not rich quality. To the like effect shone

something, a kind of childlike halfembarrassed shimmer of expression, on his fine vivid countenance;

curiously mingling with its ardors and audacities. A beautiful childlike soul! He was naturally a favorite in

conversation, especially with all who had any funds for conversing: frank and direct, yet polite and delicate

withal,though at times too he could crackle with his dexterous petulancies, making the air all like needles

round you; and there was no end to his logic when you excited it; no end, unless in some form of silence on

your part. Elderly men of reputation I have sometimes known offended by him: for he took a frank way in the

matter of talk; spoke freely out of him, freely listening to what others spoke, with a kind of "hail fellow well

met" feeling; and carelessly measured a men much less by his reputed account in the bank of wit, or in any

other bank, than by what the man had to show for himself in the shape of real spiritual cash on the occasion.

But withal there was ever a fine element of natural courtesy in Sterling; his deliberate demeanor to

acknowledged superiors was fine and graceful; his apologies and the like, when in a fit of repentance he felt

His circle of friends was wide enough; chiefly men of his own standing, old College friends many of them;

some of whom have now become universally known. Among whom the most important to him was Frederic

Maurice, who had not long before removed to the Chaplaincy of Guy's Hospital here, and was still, as he had

long been, his intimate and counsellor. Their views and articulate opinions, I suppose, were now fast

beginning to diverge; and these went on diverging far enough: but in their kindly union, in their perfect

trustful familiarity, precious to both parties, there never was the least break, but a steady, equable and duly

increasing current to the end. One of Sterling's commonest expeditions, in this time, was a sally to the other

side of London Bridge: "Going to Guy's today." Maurice, in a year or two, became Sterling's

brotherinlaw; wedded Mrs. Sterling's younger sister,a gentle excellent female soul; by whom the

relation was, in many ways, strengthened and beautified for Sterling and all friends of the parties. With the

Literary notabilities I think he had no acquaintance; his thoughts indeed still tended rather towards a certain

class of the Clerical; but neither had he much to do with these; for he was at no time the least of a tufthunter,

The Rev. Mr. Dunn, a venerable and amiable Irish gentleman, "distinguished," we were told, "by having

refused a bishopric:" and who was now living, in an opulent enough retirement, amid his books and

philosophies and friends, in London,is memorable to me among this clerical class: one of the mildest,

beautifulest old men I have ever seen,"like Fenelon," Sterling said: his very face, with its kind true smile,

with its look of suffering cheerfulness and pious wisdom, was a sort of benediction. It is of him that Sterling

writes, in the Extract which Mr. Hare, modestly reducing the name to an initial "Mr. D.," has given us:[13]

"Mr. Dunn, for instance; the defect of whose Theology, compounded as it is of the doctrine of the Greek

Fathers, of the Mystics and of Ethical Philosophers, consists,if I may hint a fault in one whose holiness,

meekness and fervor would have made him the beloved disciple of him whom Jesus loved,in an

insufficient apprehension of the reality and depth of Sin." A characteristic "defect" of this fine gentle soul. On

Mr. Dunn's death, which occurred two or three years later, Stirling gave, in some veiled yet transparent form,

in Blackwood's Magazine, an affectionate and eloquent notice of him; which, stript of the veil, was excerpted

Of Coleridge there was little said. Coleridge was now dead, not long since; nor was his name henceforth

much heard in Sterling's circle; though on occasion, for a year or two to come, he would still assert his

transcendent admiration, especially if Maurice were by to help. But he was getting into German, into various

inquiries and sources of knowledge new to him, and his admirations and notions on many things were silently

So, amid interesting human realities, and wide cloudcanopies of uncertain speculation, which also had their

interests and their rainbowcolors to him, and could not fail in his life just now, did Sterling pass his year and

half at Bayswater. Such vaporous speculations were inevitable for him at present; but it was to be hoped they

would subside by and by, and leave the sky clear. All this was but the preliminary to whatever work might lie

Sterling's dubieties as to continuing at Bordeaux were quickly decided. The cholera in France, the cholera in

Nice, the In fact his moorings were now loose; and having been fairly at sea, he never could anchor

himself here again. Very shortly after this Letter, he left Belsito again (for good, as it proved); and returned to

On my return from Scotland, that year, perhaps late in September, I remember finding him lodged straitly but

cheerfully, and in happy humor, in a little cottage on Blackheath; whither his Father one day persuaded me to

drive out with him for dinner. Our welcome, I can still recollect, was conspicuously cordial; the place of

dinner a kind of upper room, half garret and full of books, which seemed to be John's place of study. From a

shelf, I remember also, the good soul took down a book modestly enough bound in three volumes, lettered on

the back Carlyle's French Revolution, which had been published lately; this he with friendly banter bade me

look at as a first symptom, small but significant, that the book was not to die all at once. "One copy of it at

least might hope to last the date of sheepleather," I admitted,and in my then mood the little fact was

welcome. Our dinner, frank and happy on the part of Sterling, was peppered with abundant jolly satire from

his Father: before tea, I took myself away; towards Woolwich, I remember, where probably there was another

call to make, and passage homeward by steamer: Sterling strode along with me a good bit of road in the

bright sunny evening, full of lively friendly talk, and altogether kind and amiable; and beautifully

sympathetic with the loads he thought he saw on me, forgetful of his own. We shook hands on the road near

the foot of Shooter's Hill:at which point dim oblivious clouds rush down; and of small or great I remember

Besides running much about among friends, and holding counsels for the management of the coming winter,

Sterling was now considerably occupied with Literature again; and indeed may be said to have already

definitely taken it up as the one practical pursuit left for him. Some correspondence with Blackwood's

Magazine was opening itself, under promising omens: now, and more and more henceforth, he began to look

on Literature as his real employment, after all; and was prosecuting it with his accustomed loyalty and ardor.

And he continued ever afterwards, in spite of such fitful circumstances and uncertain outward fluctuations as

One evening about this time, he came down to us, to Chelsea, most likely by appointment and with

stipulation for privacy; and read, for our opinion, his Poem of the Sexton's Daughter, which we now first

heard of. The judgment in this house was friendly, but not the most encouraging. We found the piece

monotonous, cast in the mould of Wordsworth, deficient in real human fervor or depth of melody, dallying on

the borders of the infantile and "goodygood;"in fact, involved still in the shadows of the surplice, and

inculcating (on hearsay mainly) a weak morality, which he would one day find not to be moral at all, but in

good part maudlinhypocritical and immoral. As indeed was to be said still of most of his performances,

especially the poetical; a sickly shadow of the parishchurch still hanging over them, which he could by no

means recognize for sickly. Imprimatur nevertheless was the concluding word,with these grave

abatements, and rhadamanthine admonitions. To all which Sterling listened seriously and in the mildest

humor. His reading, it might have been added, had much hurt the effect of the piece: a dreary pulpit or even

conventicle manner; that flattest moaning hoohoo of predetermined pathos, with a kind of rocking canter

introduced by way of intonation, each stanza the exact fellow Of the other, and the dull swing of the

rockinghorse duly in each;no reading could be more unfavorable to Sterling's poetry than his own. Such a

mode of reading, and indeed generally in a man of such vivacity the total absence of all gifts for playacting

After much consultation, it was settled at last that Sterling should go to Madeira for the winter. One gray dull

autumn afternoon, towards the middle of October, I remember walking with him to the eastern Dock region,

to see his ship, and how the final preparations in his own little cabin were proceeding there. A dingy little

ship, the deck crowded with packages, and bustling sailors within eightandforty hours of lifting anchor; a

dingy chill smoky day, as I have said withal, and a chaotic element and outlook, enough to make a friend's

heart sad. I admired the cheerful careless humor and brisk activity of Sterling, who took the matter all on the

sunny side, as he was wont in such cases. We came home together in manifold talk: he accepted with the due

smile my last contribution to his seaequipment, a sixpenny box of German lucifers purchased on the sudden

in St. James's Street, fit to be offered with laughter or with tears or with both; he was to leave for Portsmouth

almost immediately, and there go on board. Our next news was of his safe arrival in the temperate Isle. Mrs.

Sterling and the children were left at Knightsbridge; to pass this winter with his Father and Mother.

At Madeira Sterling did well: improved in health; was busy with much Literature; and fell in with society

which he could reckon pleasant. He was much delighted with the scenery of the place; found the climate

wholesome to him in a marked degree; and, with good news from home, and kindly interests here abroad,

passed no disagreeable winter in that exile. There was talking, there was writing, there was hope of better

health; he rode almost daily, in cheerful busy humor, along those fringed shoreroads:beautiful leafy roads

and horsepaths; with here and there a wild cataract and bridge to look at; and always with the soft sky

overhead, the dead volcanic mountain on one hand, and broad illimitable sea spread out on the other. Here are

"MY DEAR CARLYLE,I have been writing a good many letters all in a batch, to go by the same

opportunity; and I am thoroughly weary of writing the same things over and over again to different people.

My letter to you therefore, I fear, must have much of the character of remainderbiscuit. But you will receive

it as a proof that I do not wish you to forget me, though it may be useless for any other purpose.

"I reached this on the 2d, after a tolerably prosperous voyage, deformed by some days of seasickness, but

otherwise not to be complained of. I liked my twenty fellowpassengers far better than I expected;three or

four of them I like much, and continue to see frequently. The Island too is better than I expected: so that my

Barataria at least does not disappoint me. The bold rough mountains, with mist about their summits, verdure

below, and a bright sun over all, please me much; and I ride daily on the steep and narrow paved roads, which

no wheels ever journeyed on. The Town is clean, and there its merits end: but I am comfortably lodged; with

a large and pleasant sittingroom to myself. I have met with much kindness; and see all the society I

"I have got about me what Books I brought out; and have read a little, and done some writing for

Blackwood,all, I have the pleasure to inform you, prose, nay extremely prose. I shall now be more at

leisure; and hope to get more steadily to work; though I do not know what I shall begin upon. As to reading, I

have been looking at Goethe, especially the Life,much as a shying horse looks at a post. In truth, I am

afraid of him. I enjoy and admire him so much, and feel I could so easily be tempted to go along with him.

And yet I have a deeply rooted and old persuasion that he was the most splendid of anachronisms. A

thoroughly, nay intensely Pagan Life, in an age when it is men's duty to be Christian. I therefore never take

him up without a kind of inward check, as if I were trying some forbidden spell; while, on the other hand,

there is so infinitely much to be learnt from him, and it is so needful to understand the world we live in, and

our own age, and especially its greatest minds, that I cannot bring myself to burn my books as the converted

Magicians did, or sink them as did Prospero. There must, as I think, have been some prodigious defect in his

mind, to let him hold such views as his about women and some other things; and in another respect, I find so

much coldness and hollowness as to the highest truths, and feel so strongly that the Heaven he looks up to is

but a vault of ice,that these two indications, leading to the same conclusion, go far to convince me he was

a profoundly immoral and irreligious spirit, with as rare faculties of intelligence as ever belonged to any one.

All this may be mere goody weakness and twaddle, on my part: but it is a persuasion that I cannot escape

from; though I should feel the doing so to be a deliverance from a most painful load. If you could help me, I

heartily wish you would. I never take him up without high admiration, or lay him down without real sorrow

"I have been reading nothing else that you would much care for. Southey's Amadis has amused me; and

Lyell's Geology interested me. The latter gives one the same sort of bewildering view of the abysmal extent

of Time that Astronomy does of Space. I do not think I shall take your advice as to learning Portuguese. It is

said to be very ill spoken here; and assuredly it is the most direful series of nasal twangs I ever heard. One

"The people here are, I believe, in a very low condition; but they do not appear miserable. I am told that the

influence of the priests makes the peasantry all Miguelites; but it is said that nobody wants any more

revolutions. There is no appearance of riot or crime; and they are all extremely civil. I was much interested by

learning that Columbus once lived here, before he found America and fame. I have been to see a deserted

quinta (countryhouse), where there is a great deal of curious old sculpture, in relief, upon the masonry;

many of the figures, which are nearly as large as life, representing soldiers clad and armed much as I should

suppose those of Cortez were. There are no buildings about the Town, of the smallest pretensions to beauty or

charm of any kind. On the whole, if Madeira were one's world, life would certainly rather tend to stagnate;

but as a temporary refuge, a niche in an old ruin where one is sheltered from the shower, it has great merit. I

am more comfortable and contented than I expected to be, so far from home and from everybody I am closely

"Tell Mrs. Carlyle that I have written, since I have been here, and am going to send to Blackwood, a humble

imitation of her Watch and CanaryBird, entitled The Suit of Armor and the Skeleton.[15] I am conscious

that I am far from having reached the depth and fulness of despair and mockery which distinguish the

original! But in truth there is a lightness of tone about her style, which I hold to be invaluable: where she

makes hairstrokes, I make blotches. I have a vehement suspicion that my Dialogue is an entire failure; but I

cannot be plagued with it any longer. Tell her I will not send her messages, but will write to her

"MY DEAR CHARLES,I have often been thinking of you and your whereabouts in Germany, and wishing

I knew more about you; and at last it occurred to me that you might perhaps have the same wish about me,

"I have been here exactly four months, having arrived on the 2d of November,my weddingday; and

though you perhaps may not think it a compliment to Susan, I have seldom passed four months more

cheerfully and agreeably. I have of course felt my absence from my family, and missed the society of my

friends; for there is not a person here whom I knew before I left England. But, on the whole, I have been in

good health, and actively employed. I have a good many agreeable and valuable acquaintances, one or two of

whom I hope I may hereafter reckon as friends. The weather has generally been fine, and never cold; and the

scenery of the Island is of a beauty which you unhappy Northern people can have little conception of.

"It consists of a great mass of volcanic mountains, covered in their lower parts with cottages, vines and

patches of vegetables. When you pass through, or over the central ridge, and get towards the North, there are

woods of trees, of the laurel kind, covering the wild steep slopes, and forming some of the strangest and most

beautiful prospects I have ever seen. Towards the interior, the forms of the hills become more abrupt, and

loftier; and give the notion of very recent volcanic disturbances, though in fact there has been nothing of the

kind since the discovery of the Island by Europeans. Among these mountains, the dark deep precipices, and

narrow ravines with small streams at the bottom; the basaltic knobs and ridges on the summits; and the

perpetual play of mist and cloud around them, under this bright sun and clear sky,form landscapes which

you would thoroughly enjoy, and which I much wish I could give you a notion of. The Town is on the south,

and of course the sheltered side of the Island; perfectly protected from the North and East; although we have

seen sometimes patches of bright snow on the dark peaks in the distance. It is a neat cheerful place; all built

of gray stone, but having many of the houses colored white or red. There is not a really handsome building in

it, but there is a general aspect of comfort and solidity. The shops are very poor. The English do not mix at all

with the Portuguese. The Bay is a very bad anchorage; but is wide, bright and cheerful; and there are some

"I lived till a fortnight ago in lodgings, having two rooms, one a very good one; and paying for everything

fiftysix dollars a month, the dollar being four shillings and twopence. This you will see is dear; but I could

make no better arrangement, for there is an unusual affluence of strangers this year. I have now come to live

with a friend, a Dr. Calvert, in a small house of our own, where I am much more comfortable, and live greatly

cheaper. He is a friend of Mrs. Percival's; about my age, an Oriel man, and a very superior person. I think the

chances are, we shall go home together.... I cannot tell you of all the other people I have become familiar

with; and shall only mention in addition Bingham Baring, eldest son of Lord Ashburton, who was here for

some weeks on account of a dying brother, and whom I saw a great deal of. He is a pleasant, very

"During the first two months I was here, I rode a great deal about the Island, having a horse regularly; and

was much in agreeable company, seeing a great deal of beautiful scenery. Since then, the weather has been

much more unsettled, though not cold; and I have gone about less, as I cannot risk the being wet. But I have

spent my time pleasantly, reading and writing. I have written a good many things for Blackwood; one of

which, the Armor and the Skeleton, I see is printed in the February Number. I have just sent them a long Tale,

called the Onyx Ring, which cost me a good deal of trouble; and the extravagance of which, I think, would

amuse you; but its length may prevent its appearance in Blackwood. If so, I think I should make a volume of

it. I have also written some poems, and shall probably publish the Sexton's Daughter when I return.

"My health goes on most favorably. I have had no attack of the chest this spring; which has not happened to

me since the spring before we went to Bonn; and I am told, if I take care, I may roll along for years. But I

have little hope of being allowed to spend the four first months of any year in England; and the question will

be, Whether to go at once to Italy, by way of Germany and Switzerland, with my family, or to settle with

them in England, perhaps at Hastings, and go abroad myself when it may be necessary. I cannot decide till I

"To my dear Charles I do not like to use the ordinary forms of ending a letter, for they are very inadequate to

express my sense of your long and most unvarying kindness; but be assured no one living could say with

Other Letters give occasionally views of the shadier side of things: dark broken weather, in the sky and in the

mind; ugly clouds covering one's poor fitful transitory prospect, for a time, as they might well do in Sterling's

case. Meanwhile we perceive his literary business is fast developing itself; amid all his confusions, he is

never idle long. Some of his best Piecesthe Onyx Ring, for one, as we perceivewere written here this

winter. Out of the turbid whirlpool of the days he strives assiduously to snatch what he can.

Sterling's communications with Blackwood's Magazine had now issued in some open sanction of him by

Professor Wilson, the distinguished presiding spirit of that Periodical; a fact naturally of high importance to

him under the literary point of view. For Wilson, with his clear flashing eye and great genial heart, had at

once recognized Sterling; and lavished stormily, in his wild generous way, torrents of praise on him in the

editorial comments: which undoubtedly was one of the gratefulest literary baptisms, by fire or by water, that

could befall a soul like Sterling's. He bore it very gently, being indeed past the age to have his head turned by

anybody's praises: nor do I think the exaggeration that was in these eulogies did him any ill whatever; while

surely their generous encouragement did him much good, in his solitary struggle towards new activity under

such impediments as his. Laudari a laudato; to be called noble by one whom you and the world recognize as

noble: this great satisfaction, never perhaps in such a degree before or after had now been vouchsafed to

Sterling; and was, as I compute, an important fact for him. He proceeded on his pilgrimage with new energy,

The Onyx Ring, a curious Tale, with wild improbable basis, but with a noble glow of coloring and with other

high merits in it, a Tale still worth reading, in which, among the imaginary characters, various friends of

Sterling's are shadowed forth, not always in the truest manner, came out in Blackwood in the winter of this

year. Surely a very high talent for painting, both of scenery and persons, is visible in this Fiction; the promise

of a Novel such as we have few. But there wants maturing, wants purifying of clear from unclear;properly

there want patience and steady depth. The basis, as we said, is wild and loose; and in the details, lucent often

with fine color, and dipt in beautiful sunshine, there are several things misseen, untrue, which is the worst

species of mispainting. Witness, as Sterling himself would have by and by admitted, the "empty clockcase"

(so we called it) which he has labelled Goethe,which puts all other untruths in the Piece to silence.

One of the great alleviations of his exile at Madeira he has already celebrated to us: the pleasant circle of

society he fell into there. Great luck, thinks Sterling in this voyage; as indeed there was: but he himself,

moreover, was readier than most men to fall into pleasant circles everywhere, being singularly prompt to

make the most of any circle. Some of his Madeira acquaintanceships were really good; and one of them, if

not more, ripened into comradeship and friendship for him. He says, as we saw, "The chances are, Calvert

Among the English in pursuit of health, or in flight from fatal disease, that winter, was this Dr. Calvert; an

excellent ingenious cheery Cumberland gentleman, about Sterling's age, and in a deeper stage of ailment, this

not being his first visit to Madeira: he, warmly joining himself to Sterling, as we have seen, was warmly

received by him; so that there soon grew a close and free intimacy between them; which for the next three

years, till poor Calvert ended his course, was a leading element in the history of both. Companionship in

incurable malady, a touching bond of union, was by no means purely or chiefly a companionship in misery in

their case. The sunniest inextinguishable cheerfulness shone, through all manner of clouds, in both. Calvert

had been travelling physician in some family of rank, who had rewarded him with a pension, shielding his

own illhealth from one sad evil. Being hopelessly gone in pulmonary disorder, he now moved about among

friendly climates and places, seeking what alleviation there might be; often spending his summers in the

house of a sister in the environs of London; an insatiable rider on his little brown pony; always, wherever you

might meet him, one of the cheeriest of men. He had plenty of speculation too, clear glances of all kinds into

religious, social, moral concerns; and pleasantly incited Sterling's outpourings on such subjects. He could

report of fashionable persons and manners, in a fine human Cumberland manner; loved art, a great collector

of drawings; he had endless help and ingenuity; and was in short every way a very human, lovable, good and

nimble man,the laughing blue eyes of him, the clear cheery soul of him, still redolent of the fresh Northern

breezes and transparent Mountain streams. With this Calvert, Sterling formed a natural intimacy; and they

were to each other a great possession, mutually enlivening many a dark day during the next three years. They

did come home together this spring; and subsequently made several of these healthjourneys in partnership.

In spite of these wanderings, Sterling's course in life, so far as his poor life could have any course or aim

beyond that of screening itself from swift death, was getting more and more clear to him; and he pursued it

diligently, in the only way permitted him, by hasty snatches, in the intervals of continual fluctuation, change

Such, once for all, were the conditions appointed him. And it must be owned he had, with a most kindly

temper, adjusted himself to these; nay you would have said, he loved them; it was almost as if he would have

chosen them as the suitablest. Such an adaptation was there in him of volition to necessity:for indeed they

both, if well seen into, proceeded from one source. Sterling's bodily disease was the expression, under

physical conditions, of the too vehement life which, under the moral, the intellectual and other aspects,

incessantly struggled within him. Too vehement;which would have required a frame of oak and iron to

contain it: in a thin though most wiry body of flesh and bone, it incessantly "wore holes," and so found outlet

for itself. He could take no rest, he had never learned that art; he was, as we often reproached him, fatally

incapable of sitting still. Rapidity, as of pulsing auroras, as of dancing lightnings: rapidity in all forms

characterized him. This, which was his bane, in many senses, being the real origin of his disorder, and of such

continual necessity to move and change,was also his antidote, so far as antidote there might be; enabling

him to love change, and to snatch, as few others could have done, from the waste chaotic years, all tumbled

into ruin by incessant change, what hours and minutes of available turned up. He had an incredible facility of

labor. He flashed with most piercing glance into a subject; gathered it up into organic utterability, with truly

wonderful despatch, considering the success and truth attained; and threw it on paper with a swift felicity,

ingenuity, brilliancy and general excellence, of which, under such conditions of swiftness, I have never seen a

parallel. Essentially an improviser genius; as his Father too was, and of admirable completeness he too,

If Sterling has done little in Literature, we may ask, What other man than he, in such circumstances, could

have done anything? In virtue of these rapid faculties, which otherwise cost him so dear, he has built together,

out of those wavering boiling quicksands of his few later years, a result which may justly surprise us. There is

actually some result in those poor Two Volumes gathered from him, such as they are; he that reads there will

not wholly lose his time, nor rise with a malison instead of a blessing on the writer. Here actually is a real

seerglance, of some compass, into the world of our day; blessed glance, once more, of an eye that is human;

truer than one of a thousand, and beautifully capable of making others see with it. I have known considerable

temporary reputations gained, considerable piles of temporary guineas, with loud reviewing and the like to

match, on a far less basis than lies in those two volumes. Those also, I expect, will be held in memory by the

world, one way or other, till the world has extracted all its benefit from them. Graceful, ingenious and

illuminative reading, of their sort, for all manner of inquiring souls. A little verdant flowery island of poetic

intellect, of melodious human verity; sunlit island founded on the rocks;which the enormous

circumambient continents of mown reedgrass and floating lumber, with their mountainranges of ejected

stablelitter however alpine, cannot by any means or chance submerge: nay, I expect, they will not even quite

hide it, this modest little island, from the welldiscerning; but will float past it towards the place appointed

for them, and leave said island standing. Allah kereem, say the Arabs! And of the English also some still

As it is this last little result, the amount of his poor and everinterrupted literary labor, that henceforth forms

the essential history of Sterling, we need not dwell at too much length on the foreign journeys, disanchorings,

and nomadic vicissitudes of household, which occupy his few remaining years, and which are only the

disastrous and accidental arena of this. He had now, excluding his early and more deliberate residence in the

West Indies, made two flights abroad, once with his family, once without, in search of health. He had two

more, in rapid succession, to make, and many more to meditate; and in the whole from Bayswater to the end,

his family made no fewer than five complete changes of abode, for his sake. But these cannot be accepted as

in any sense epochs in his life: the one last epoch of his life was that of his internal change towards Literature

as his work in the world; and we need not linger much on these, which are the mere outer accidents of that,

Friends still hoped the unrest of that brilliant too rapid soul would abate with years. Nay the doctors

sometimes promised, on the physical side, a like result; prophesying that, at fortyfive or some mature age,

the stress of disease might quit the lungs, and direct itself to other quarters of the system. But no such result

was appointed for us; neither fortyfive itself, nor the ameliorations promised then, were ever to be reached.

Four voyages abroad, three of them without his family, in flight from death; and at home, for a like reason,

five complete shiftings of abode: in such wandering manner, and not otherwise, had Sterling to continue his

Once more I must say, his cheerfulness throughout was wonderful. A certain grimmer shade, coming

gradually over him, might perhaps be noticed in the concluding years; not impatience properly, yet the

consciousness how much he needed patience; something more caustic in his tone of wit, more trenchant and

indignant occasionally in his tone of speech: but at no moment was his activity bewildered or abated, nor did

his composure ever give way. No; both his activity and his composure he bore with him, through all

weathers, to the final close; and on the whole, right manfully he walked his wild stern way towards the goal,

and like a Roman wrapt his mantle round him when he fell.Let us glance, with brevity, at what he saw and

suffered in his remaining pilgrimings and chargings; and count up what fractions of spiritual fruit he realized

Calvert and he returned from Madeira in the spring of 1838. Mrs. Sterling and the family had lived in

Knightsbridge with his Father's people through the winter: they now changed to Blackheath, or ultimately

Hastings, and he with them, coming up to London pretty often; uncertain what was to be done for next

winter. Literature went on briskly here: Blackwood had from him, besides the Onyx Ring which soon came

out with due honor, assiduous almost monthly contributions in prose and verse. The series called Hymns of a

Hermit was now going on; eloquent melodies, tainted to me with something of the same disease as the

Sexton's Daughter, though perhaps in a less degree, considering that the strain was in a so much higher pitch.

Still better, in clear eloquent prose, the series of detached thoughts, entitled Crystals from a Cavern; of which

the set of fragments, generally a little larger in compass, called Thoughts and Images, and again those called

Sayings and Essayings,[17] are properly continuations. Add to which, his friend John Mill had now charge of

a Review, The London and Westminster its name; wherein Sterling's assistance, ardently desired, was freely

afforded, with satisfaction to both parties, in this and the following years. An Essay on Montaigne, with the

notes and reminiscences already spoken of, was Sterling's first contribution here; then one on Simonides:[18]

On these and other businesses, slight or important, he was often running up to London; and gave us almost

the feeling of his being resident among us. In order to meet the most or a good many of his friends at once on

such occasions, he now furthermore contrived the scheme of a little Club, where monthly over a frugal dinner

some reunion might take place; that is, where friends of his, and withal such friends of theirs as suited,and

in fine, where a small select company definable as persons to whom it was pleasant to talk together,might

have a little opportunity of talking. The scheme was approved by the persons concerned: I have a copy of the

Original Regulations, probably drawn up by Sterling, a very solid lucid piece of economics; and the List of

the proposed Members, signed "James Spedding, Secretary," and dated "8th August, 1838."[19] The Club

grew; was at first called the Anonymous Club; then, after some months of success, in compliment to the

founder who had now left us again, the Sterling Club;under which latter name, it once lately, for a time,

owing to the Religious Newspapers, became rather famous in the world! In which strange circumstances the

name was again altered, to suit weak brethren; and the Club still subsists, in a sufficiently flourishing though

happily once more a private condition. That is the origin and genesis of poor Sterling's Club; which, having

honestly paid the shot for itself at Will's Coffeehouse or elsewhere, rashly fancied its bits of affairs were

quite settled; and once little thought of getting into Books of History with them!

But now, Autumn approaching, Sterling had to quit Clubs, for matters of sadder consideration. A new

removal, what we call "his third peregrinity," had to be decided on; and it was resolved that Rome should be

the goal of it, the journey to be done in company with Calvert, whom also the Italian climate might be made

to serve instead of Madeira. One of the liveliest recollections I have, connected with the Anonymous Club, is

that of once escorting Sterling, after a certain meeting there, which I had seen only towards the end, and now

remember nothing of,except that, on breaking up, he proved to be encumbered with a carpetbag, and

could not at once find a cab for Knightsbridge. Some small bantering hereupon, during the instants of

embargo. But we carried his carpetbag, slinging it on my stick, two or three of us alternately, through dusty

vacant streets, under the gaslights and the stars, towards the surest cabstand; still jesting, or pretending to

jest, he and we, not in the mirthfulest manner; and had (I suppose) our own feelings about the poor Pilgrim,

who was to go on the morrow, and had hurried to meet us in this way, as the last thing before leaving

The journey to Italy was undertaken by advice of Sir James Clark, reckoned the chief authority in pulmonary

therapeutics; who prophesied important improvements from it, and perhaps even the possibility henceforth of

living all the year in some English home. Mrs. Sterling and the children continued in a house avowedly

temporary, a furnished house at Hastings, through the winter. The two friends had set off for Belgium, while

the due warmth was still in the air. They traversed Belgium, looking well at pictures and such objects;

ascended the Rhine; rapidly traversed Switzerland and the Alps; issuing upon Italy and Milan, with immense

appetite for pictures, and time still to gratify themselves in that pursuit, and be deliberate in their approach to

Rome. We will take this freeflowing sketch of their passage over the Alps; written amid "the rocks of

Arona,"Santo Borromeo's country, and poor little Mignon's! The "elder Perdonnets" are opulent Lausanne

people, to whose late son Sterling had been very kind in Madeira the year before:

"MY DEAR MOTHER,I bring down the story of my proceedings to the present time since the 29th of

September. I think it must have been after that day that I was at a great breakfast at the elder Perdonnets',

with whom I had declined to dine, not choosing to go out at night.... I was taken by my hostess to see several

pretty pleasuregrounds and points of view in the neighborhood; and latterly Calvert was better, and able to

go with us. He was in force again, and our passports were all settled so as to enable us to start on the morning

of the 2d, after taking leave of our kind entertainer with thanks for her infinite kindness.

"We reached St. Maurice early that evening; having had the Dent du Midi close to us for several hours;

glittering like the top of a silver teapot, far up in the sky. Our course lay along the Valley of the Rhone; which

is considered one of the least beautiful parts of Switzerland, and perhaps for this reason pleased us, as we had

not been prepared to expect much. We saw, before reaching the foot of the Alpine pass at Brieg, two rather

celebrated Waterfalls; the one the Pissevache, which has no more beauty than any waterfall one hundred or

two hundred feet high must necessarily have: the other, near Tourtemagne, is much more pleasing, having

foliage round it, and being in a secluded dell. If you buy a Swiss Waterfall, choose this one.

"Our second day took us through Martigny to Sion, celebrated for its picturesque towers upon detached hills,

for its strong Romanism and its population of cretins,that is, maimed idiots having the goitre. It looked to

us a more thriving place than we expected. They are building a great deal; among other things, a new

Bishop's Palace and a new Nunnery,to inhabit either of which ex officio I feel myself very unsuitable.

From Sion we came to Brieg; a little village in a nook, close under an enormous mountain and glacier, where

it lies like a molehill, or something smaller, at the foot of a haystack. Here also we slept; and the next day our

voiturier, who had brought us from Lausanne, started with us up the Simplon Pass; helped on by two extra

"The beginning of the road was rather cheerful; having a good deal of green pasturage, and some mountain

villages; but it soon becomes dreary and savage in aspect, and but for our bright sky and warm air, would

have been truly dismal. However, we gained gradually a distinct and near view of several large glaciers; and

reached at last the high and melancholy valleys of the Upper Alps; where even the pines become scanty, and

no sound is heard but the wheels of one's carriage, except when there happens to be a storm or an avalanche,

neither of which entertained us. There is, here and there, a small stream of water pouring from the snow; but

this is rather a monotonous accompaniment to the general desolation than an interruption of it. The road itself

is certainly very good, and impresses one with a strong notion of human power. But the common descriptions

are much exaggerated; and many of what the GuideBooks call 'galleries' are merely parts of the road

supported by a wall built against the rock, and have nothing like a roof above them. The 'stupendous bridges,'

as they are called, might be packed, a dozen together, into one arch of London Bridge; and they are seldom

even very striking from the depth below. The roadway is excellent, and kept in the best order. On the whole, I

am very glad to have travelled the most famous road in Europe, and to have had delightful weather for doing

so, as indeed we have had ever since we left Lausanne. The Italian descent is greatly more remarkable than

"We slept near the top, at the Village of Simplon, in a very fair and wellwarmed inn, close to a mountain

stream, which is one of the great ornaments of this side of the road. We have here passed into a region of

granite, from that of limestone, and what is called gneiss. The valleys are sharper and closer,like cracks in

a hard and solid mass;and there is much more of the startling contrast of light and shade, as well as more

angular boldness of outline; to all which the more abundant waters add a fresh and vivacious interest.

Looking back through one of these abysmal gorges, one sees two torrents dashing together, the precipice and

ridge on one side, pitchblack with shade; and that on the other all flaming gold; while behind rises, in a huge

cone, one of the glacier summits of the chain. The stream at one's feet rushes at a leap some two hundred feet

down, and is bordered with pines and beeches, struggling through a ruined world of clefts and boulders. I

never saw anything so much resembling some of the Circles described by Dante. From Simplon we made for

Duomo d'Ossola; having broken out, as through the mouth of a mine, into green and fertile valleys full of

"At this place we dismissed our Swiss voiturier, and took an Italian one; who conveyed us to Omegna on the

Lake of Orta; a place little visited by English travellers, but which fully repaid us the trouble of going there.

We were lodged in a simple and even rude Italian inn; where they cannot speak a word of French; where we

occupied a barnlike room, with a huge chimney fit to lodge a hundred ghosts, whom we expelled by dint of

a hot woodfire. There were two beds, and as it happened good ones, in this strange old apartment; which was

adorned by pictures of Architecture, and by Heads of Saints, better than many at the Royal Academy

Exhibition, and which one paid nothing for looking at. The thorough Italian character of the whole scene

amused us, much more than Meurice's at Paris would have done; for we had voluble, commonplace

"Today we have seen the Lake of Orta, have walked for some miles among its vineyards and chestnuts; and

thence have come, by Baveno, to this place;having seen by the way, I believe, the most beautiful part of

the Lago Maggiore, and certainly the most cheerful, complete and extended example of fine scenery I have

ever fallen in with. Here we are, much to my wonder,for it seems too good to be true,fairly in Italy; and

as yet my journey has been a pleasanter and more instructive, and in point of health a more successful one,

than I at all imagined possible. Calvert and I go on as well as can be. I let him have his way about natural

science, and he only laughs benignly when he thinks me absurd in my moral speculations. My only regrets

are caused by my separation from my family and friends, and by the hurry I have been living in, which has

prevented me doing any work,and compelled me to write to you at a good deal faster rate than the

vapore moves on the Lago Maggiore. It will take me tomorrow to Sesto Calende, whence we go to Varese.

We shall not be at Milan for some days. Write thither, if you are kind enough to write at all, till I give you

Omitting Milan, Florence nearly all, and much about "Art," Michael Angelo, and other aerial matters, here

are some select terrestrial glimpses, the fittest I can find, of his progress towards Rome:

"Lucca, Nov. 27th, 1838.I had dreams, like other people, before I came here, of what the Lombard Lakes

must be; and the week I spent among them has left me an image, not only more distinct, but far more warm,

shining and various, and more deeply attractive in innumerable respects, than all I had before conceived of

them. And so also it has been with Florence; where I spent three weeks: enough for the first hazy radiant

dawn of sympathy to pass away; yet constantly adding an increase of knowledge and of love, while I

examined, and tried to understand, the wonderful minds that have left behind them there such abundant traces

of their presence.... On Sunday, the day before I left Florence, I went to the highest part of the Grand Duke's

Garden of Boboli, which commands a view of most of the City, and of the vale of the Arno to the westward;

where, as we had been visited by several rainy days, and now at last had a very fine one, the whole prospect

was in its highest beauty. The mass of buildings, chiefly on the other side of the River, is sufficient to fill the

eye, without perplexing the mind by vastness like that of London; and its name and history, its outline and

large and picturesque buildings, give it grandeur of a higher order than that of mere multitudinous extent. The

Hills that border the Valley of the Arno are also very pleasing and striking to look upon; and the view of the

rich Plain, glimmering away into blue distance, covered with an endless web of villages and countryhouses,

"Very shortly before leaving Florence, I went through the house of Michael Angelo; which is still possessed

by persons of the same family, descendants, I believe, of his Nephew. There is in it his 'first work in marble,'

as it is called; and a few drawings,all with the stamp of his enginery upon them, which was more powerful

than all the steam in London.... On the whole, though I have done no work in Florence that can be of any use

or pleasure to others, except my Letters to my Wife,I leave it with the certainty of much valuable

knowledge gained there, and with a most pleasant remembrance of the busy and thoughtful days I owe to it.

"We left Florence before seven yesterday morning [26th November] for this place; travelling on the northern

side of the Arno, by Prato, Pistoia, Pescia. We tried to see some old frescos in a Church at Prato; but found

the Priests all about, saying mass; and of course did not venture to put our hands into a hive where the bees

were buzzing and on the wing. Pistoia we only coasted. A little on one side of it, there is a Hill, the first on

the road from Florence; which we walked up, and had a very lively and brilliant prospect over the road we

had just travelled, and the town of Pistoia. Thence to this place the whole land is beautiful, and in the highest

degree prosperous,in short, to speak metaphorically, all dotted with Leghorn bonnets, and streaming with

oliveoil. The girls here are said to employ themselves chiefly in platting straw, which is a profitable

employment; and the slightness and quiet of the work are said to be much more favorable to beauty than the

coarser kinds of labor performed by the countrywomen elsewhere. Certain it is that I saw more pretty

women in Pescia, in the hour I spent there, than I ever before met with among the same numbers of the 'phare

sect.' Wherefore, as a memorial of them, I bought there several Legends of Female Saints and Martyrs, and of

other Ladies quite the reverse, and held up as warnings; all of which are written in ottava rima, and sold for

three halfpence apiece. But unhappily I have not yet had time to read them. This Town has 30,000

inhabitants, and is surrounded by Walls, laid out as walks, and evidently not at present intended to be

besieged,for which reason, this morning, I merely walked on them round the Town, and did not besiege

"The Cathedral [of Lucca] contains some Relics; which have undoubtedly worked miracles on the

imagination of the people hereabouts. The Grandfather of all Relics (as the Arabs would say) in the place is

the Volto Santo, which is a Face of the Saviour appertaining to a wooden Crucifix. Now you must know that,

after the ascension of Christ, Nicodemus was ordered by an Angel to carve an image of him; and went

accordingly with a hatchet, and cut down a cedar for that purpose. He then proceeded to carve the figure; and

being tired, fell asleep before he had done the face; which however, on awaking, he found completed by

celestial aid. This image was brought to Lucca, from Leghorn, I think, where it had arrived in a ship, 'more

than a thousand years ago,' and has ever since been kept, in purple and fine linen and gold and diamonds,

quietly working miracles. I saw the gilt Shrine of it; and also a Hatchet which refused to cut off the head of an

innocent man, who had been condemned to death, and who prayed to the Volto Santo. I suppose it is by way

of economy (they being a frugal people) that the Italians have their Book of Common Prayer and their

"Pisa, December 2d, 1838.Pisa is very unfairly treated in all the Books I have read. It seems to me a quiet,

but very agreeable place; with wide clean streets, and a look of stability and comfort; and I admire the

Cathedral and its appendages more, the more I see them. The leaning of the Tower is to my eye decidedly

unpleasant; but it is a beautiful building nevertheless, and the view from the top is, under a bright sky,

remarkably lively and satisfactory. The Lucchese Hills form a fine mass, and the sea must in clear weather be

very distinct. There was some haze over it when I was up, though the land was all clear. I could just see the

"The quiet gracefulness of Italian life, and the mental maturity and vigor of Germany, have a great charm

when compared with the restless whirl of England, and the chorus of mingled yells and groans sent up by our

parties and sects, and by the suffering and bewildered crowds of the laboring people. Our politics make my

heart ache, whenever I think of them. The base selfish frenzies of factions seem to me, at this distance, half

diabolic; and I am out of the way of knowing anything that may be quietly adoing to elevate the standard of

wise and temperate manhood in the country, and to diffuse the means of physical and moral wellbeing

among all the people.... I will write to my Father as soon as I can after reaching the capital of his friend the

Pope,who, if he had happened to be born an English gentleman, would no doubt by this time be a

respectable oldgentlemanly gouty member of the Carlton. I have often amused myself by thinking what a

mere accident it is that Phillpotts is not Archbishop of Tuam, and M'Hale Bishop of Exeter; and how slight a

change of dress, and of a few catchwords, would even now enable them to fill those respective posts with all

At Rome he found the Crawfords, known to him long since; and at different dates other English friends old

and new; and was altogether in the liveliest humor, no end to his activities and speculations. Of all which,

during the next four months, the Letters now before me give abundant record,far too abundant for our

objects here. His grand pursuit, as natural at Rome, was Art; into which metaphysical domain we shall not

follow him; preferring to pick out, here and there, something of concrete and human. Of his interests,

researches, speculations and descriptions on this subject of Art, there is always rather a superabundance,

especially in the Italian Tour. Unfortunately, in the hard weather, poor Calvert fell ill; and Sterling, along

with his Artstudies, distinguished himself as a sicknurse till his poor comrade got afoot again. His general

impressions of the scene and what it held for him may be read in the following excerpts. The Letters are all

"December 21st, 1838.Of Rome itself, as a whole, there are infinite things to be said, well worth saying;

but I shall confine myself to two remarks: first, that while the Monuments and works of Art gain in

wondrousness and significance by familiarity with them, the actual life of Rome, the Papacy and its pride,

lose; and though one gets accustomed to Cardinals and Friars and Swiss Guards, and ragged beggars and the

finery of London and Paris, all rolling on together, and sees how it is that they subsist in a sort of spurious

unity, one loses all tendency to idealize the Metropolis and System of the Hierarchy into anything higher than

a piece of showy stagedeclamation, at bottom, in our day, thoroughly mean and prosaic. My other remark is,

that Rome, seen from the tower of the Capitol, from the Pincian or the Janiculum, is at this day one of the

most beautiful spectacles which eyes ever beheld. The company of great domes rising from a mass of large

and solid buildings, with a few stonepines and scattered edifices on the outskirts; the broken bare Campagna

all around; the Alban Hills not far, and the purple range of Sabine Mountains in the distance with a cope of

snow;this seen in the clear air, and the whole spiritualized by endless recollections, and a sense of the

grave and lofty reality of human existence which has had this place for a main theatre, fills at once the eyes

"January 22d, 1839.The Modern Rome, Pope and all inclusive, are a shabby attempt at something adequate

to fill the place of the old Commonwealth. It is easy enough to live among them, and there is much to amuse

and even interest a spectator; but the native existence of the place is now thin and hollow, and there is a

stamp of littleness, and childish poverty of taste, upon all the great Christian buildings I have seen here,not

excepting St. Peter's; which is crammed with bits of colored marble and gilding, and GogandMagog

colossal statues of saints (looking prodigiously small), and mosaics from the worst pictures in Rome; and has

altogether, with most imposing size and lavish splendor, a tang of Guildhall finery about it that contrasts

oddly with the melancholy vastness and simplicity of the Ancient Monuments, though these have not the

Athenian elegance. I recur perpetually to the galleries of Sculpture in the Vatican, and to the Frescos of

Raffael and Michael Angelo, of inexhaustible beauty and greatness, and to the general aspect of the City and

the Country round it, as the most impressive scene on earth. But the Modern City, with its churches, palaces,

Of about the same date, here is another paragraph worth inserting: "Gladstone has three little agate crosses

which he will give you for my little girls. Calvert bought them, as a present, for 'the bodies,' at Martigny in

Switzerland, and I have had no earlier opportunity of sending them. Will you despatch them to Hastings when

you have an opportunity? I have not yet seen Gladstone's Church and State; but as there is a copy in Rome, I

hope soon to lay hands on it. I saw yesterday in the Times a furious, and I am sorry to say, most absurd attack

"February 28th, 1839.There is among the people plenty of squalid misery; though not nearly so much as,

they say, exists in Ireland; and here there is a certain freedom and freshness of manners, a dash of Southern

enjoyment in the condition of the meanest and most miserable. There is, I suppose, as little as well can be of

conscience or artificial cultivation of any kind; but there is not the affectation of a virtue which they do not

possess, nor any feeling of being despised for the want of it; and where life generally is so inert, except as to

its passions and material wants, there is not the bitter consciousness of having been beaten by the more

prosperous, in a race which the greater number have never thought of running. Among the laboring poor of

Rome, a bribe will buy a crime; but if common work procures enough for a day's food or idleness, ten times

the sum will not induce them to toil on, as an English workman would, for the sake of rising in the world.

Sixpence any day will put any of them at the top of the only tree they care for,that on which grows the fruit

of idleness. It is striking to see the way in which, in magnificent churches, the most ragged beggars kneel on

the pavement before some favorite altar in the midst of welldressed women and of gazing foreigners. Or

sometimes you will see one with a child come in from the street where she has been begging, put herself in a

corner, say a prayer (probably for the success of her petitions), and then return to beg again. There is

wonderfully little of any moral strength connected with this devotion; but still it is better than nothing, and

more than is often found among the men of the upper classes in Rome. I believe the Clergy to be generally

profligate, and the state of domestic morals as bad as it has ever been represented."

Or, in sudden contrast, take this other glance homeward; a Letter to his eldest child; in which kind of Letters,

more than in any other, Sterling seems to me to excel. Readers recollect the hurricane in St. Vincent; the

hasty removal to a neighbor's house, and the birth of a son there, soon after. The boy has grown to some

articulation, during these seven years; and his Father, from the new foreign scene of Priests and Dilettanti,

"MY DEAR EDWARD,I was very glad to receive your Letter, which showed me that you have learned

something since I left home. If you knew how much pleasure it gave me to see your handwriting, I am sure

you would take pains to be able to write well, that you might often send me letters, and tell me a great many

things which I should like to know about Mamma and your Sisters as well as yourself.

"If I go to Vesuvius, I will try to carry away a bit of the lava, which you wish for. There has lately been a

great eruption, as it is called, of that Mountain; which means a great breakingout of hot ashes and fire, and

"Miss Clark is very kind to take so much pains with you; and I trust you will show that you are obliged to her,

by paying attention to all she tells you. When you see how much more grown people know than you, you

ought to be anxious to learn all you can from those who teach you; and as there are so many wise and good

things written in Books, you ought to try to read early and carefully; that you may learn something of what

God has made you able to know. There are Libraries containing very many thousands of Volumes; and all

that is written in these is,accounts of some part or other of the World which God has made, or of the

Thoughts which he has enabled men to have in their minds. Some Books are descriptions of the earth itself,

with its rocks and ground and water, and of the air and clouds, and the stars and moon and sun, which shine

so beautifully in the sky. Some tell you about the things that grow upon the ground; the many millions of

plants, from little mosses and threads of grass up to great trees and forests. Some also contain accounts of

living things: flies, worms, fishes, birds and fourlegged beasts. And some, which are the most, are about

men and their thoughts and doings. These are the most important of all; for men are the best and most

wonderful creatures of God in the world; being the only ones able to know him and love him, and to try of

"These Books about men are also the most important to us, because we ourselves are human beings, and may

learn from such Books what we ought to think and to do and to try to be. Some of them describe what sort of

people have lived in old times and in other countries. By reading them, we know what is the difference

between ourselves in England now, and the famous nations which lived in former days. Such were the

Egyptians who built the Pyramids, which are the greatest heaps of stone upon the face of the earth: and the

Babylonians, who had a city with huge walls, built of bricks, having writing on them that no one in our time

has been able to make out. There were also the Jews, who were the only ancient people that knew how

wonderful and how good God is: and the Greeks, who were the wisest of all in thinking about men's lives and

hearts, and who knew best how to make fine statues and buildings, and to write wise books. By Books also

we may learn what sort of people the old Romans were, whose chief city was Rome, where I am now; and

how brave and skilful they were in war; and how well they could govern and teach many nations which they

had conquered. It is from Books, too, that you must learn what kind of men were our Ancestors in the

Northern part of Europe, who belonged to the tribes that did the most towards pulling down the power of the

Romans: and you will see in the same way how Christianity was sent among them by God, to make them

wiser and more peaceful, and more noble in their minds; and how all the nations that now are in Europe, and

especially the Italians and the Germans, and the French and the English, came to be what they now are.It is

well worth knowing (and it can be known only by reading) how the Germans found out the Printing of

Books, and what great changes this has made in the world. And everybody in England ought to try to

understand how the English came to have their Parliaments and Laws; and to have fleets that sail over all seas

"Besides learning all these things, and a great many more about different times and countries, you may learn

from Books, what is the truth of God's will, and what are the best and wisest thoughts, and the most beautiful

words; and how men are able to lead very right lives, and to do a great deal to better the world. I have spent a

great part of my life in reading; and I hope you will come to like it as much as I do, and to learn in this way

"But it is a still more serious matter that you should try to be obedient and gentle; and to command your

temper; and to think of other people's pleasure rather than your own, and of what you ought to do rather than

what you like. If you try to be better for all you read, as well as wiser, you will find Books a great help

towards goodness as well as knowledge, and above all other Books, the Bible; which tells us of the will of

"I had a Letter from Mamma today, which left Hastings on the 10th of this month. I was very glad to find in

it that you were all well and happy; but I know Mamma is not well, and is likely to be more uncomfortable

every day for some time. So I hope you will all take care to give her as little trouble as possible. After

sending you so much advice, I shall write a little Story to divert you.I am, my dear Boy,

The "Story" is lost, destroyed, as are many such which Sterling wrote, with great felicity, I am told, and much

Besides these plentiful communications still left, I remember long Letters, not now extant, principally

addressed to his Wife, of which we and the circle at Knightsbridge had due perusal, treating with animated

copiousness about all manner of picturegalleries, pictures, statues and objects of Art at Rome, and on the

road to Rome and from it, wheresoever his course led him into neighborhood of such objects. That was

Sterling's habit. It is expected in this Nineteenth Century that a man of culture shall understand and worship

Art: among the windy gospels addressed to our poor Century there are few louder than this of Art;and if

the Century expects that every man shall do his duty, surely Sterling was not the man to balk it! Various

extracts from these picturesurveys are given in Hare; the others, I suppose, Sterling himself subsequently

Certainly no stranger could address himself more eagerly to reap what artistic harvest Rome offers, which is

reckoned the peculiar produce of Rome among cities under the sun; to all galleries, churches, sistine chapels,

ruins, coliseums, and artistic or dilettante shrines he zealously pilgrimed; and had much to say then and

afterwards, and with real technical and historical knowledge I believe, about the objects of devotion there.

But it often struck me as a question, Whether all this even to himself was not, more or less, a nebulous kind

of element; prescribed not by Nature and her verities, but by the Century expecting every man to do his duty?

Whether not perhaps, in good part, temporary dilettante cloudland of our poor Century;or can it be the real

diviner Pisgah height, and everlasting mount of vision, for man's soul in any Century? And I think Sterling

himself bent towards a negative conclusion, in the course of years. Certainly, of all subjects this was the one I

cared least to hear even Sterling talk of: indeed it is a subject on which earnest men, abhorrent of hypocrisy

and speech that has no meaning, are admonished to silence in this sad time, and had better, in such a Babel as

we have got into for the present, "perambulate their picturegallery with little or no speech."

Here is another and to me much more earnest kind of "Art," which renders Rome unique among the cities of

the world; of this we will, in preference; take a glance through Sterling's eyes:

"January 22d, 1839.On Friday last there was a great Festival at St. Peter's; the only one I have seen. The

Church was decorated with crimson hangings, and the choir fitted up with seats and galleries, and a throne for

the Pope. There were perhaps a couple of hundred guards of different kinds; and three or four hundred

English ladies, and not so many foreign male spectators; so that the place looked empty. The Cardinals in

scarlet, and Monsignori in purple, were there; and a body of officiating Clergy. The Pope was carried in in his

chair on men's shoulders, wearing the Triple Crown; which I have thus actually seen: it is something like a

gigantic Egg, and of the same color, with three little bands of gold,very large Eggshell with three streaks

of the yolk smeared round it. He was dressed in white silk robes, with gold trimmings.

"It was a fine piece of stateshow; though, as there are three or four such Festivals yearly, of course there is

none of the eager interest which breaks out at coronations and similar rare events; no explosion of unwonted

velvets, jewels, carriages and footmen, such as London and Milan have lately enjoyed. I guessed all the

people in St. Peter's, including performers and spectators, at 2,000; where 20,000 would hardly have been a

crushing crowd. Mass was performed, and a stupid but short Latin sermon delivered by a lad, in honor of St.

Peter, who would have been much astonished if he could have heard it. The genuflections, and

trainbearings, and folding up the tails of silk petticoats while the Pontiff knelt, and the train of Cardinals

going up to kiss his Ring, and so forth,made on me the impression of something immeasurably old and

sepulchral, such as might suit the Grand Lama's court, or the inside of an Egyptian Pyramid; or as if the

Hieroglyphics on one of the Obelisks here should begin to pace and gesticulate, and nod their bestial heads

upon the granite tablets. The careless bystanders, the London ladies with their eyeglasses and look of an

Operabox, the yawning young gentlemen of the Guarda Nobile, and the laugh of one of the file of vermilion

Priests round the steps of the altar at the whispered good thing of his neighbor, brought one back to nothing

"At the great Benediction of the City and the World on Easter Sunday by the Pope," he writes afterwards,

"there was a large crowd both native and foreign, hundreds of carriages, and thousands of the lower orders of

people from the country; but even of the poor hardly one in twenty took off his hat, and a still smaller number

knelt down. A few years ago, not a head was covered, nor was there a knee which did not bow."A very

Sterling's view of the Pope, as seen in these his gala days, doing his big playactorism under God's earnest

sky, was much more substantial to me than his studies in the picturegalleries. To Mr. Hare also he writes: "I

have seen the Pope in all his pomp at St. Peter's; and he looked to me a mere lie in livery. The Romish

Controversy is doubtless a much more difficult one than the managers of the ReligiousTract Society fancy,

because it is a theoretical dispute; and in dealing with notions and authorities, I can quite understand how a

mere student in a library, with no eye for facts, should take either one side or other. But how any man with

clear head and honest heart, and capable of seeing realities, and distinguishing them from scenic falsehoods,

should, after living in a Romanist country, and especially at Rome, be inclined to side with Leo against

It is fit surely to recognize with admiring joy any glimpse of the Beautiful and the Eternal that is hung out for

us, in color, in form or tone, in canvas, stone, or atmospheric air, and made accessible by any sense, in this

world: but it is greatly fitter still (little as we are used that way) to shudder in pity and abhorrence over the

scandalous tragedy, transcendent nadir of human ugliness and contemptibility, which under the daring title of

religious worship, and practical recognition of the Highest God, daily and hourly everywhere transacts itself

there. And, alas, not there only, but elsewhere, everywhere more or less; whereby our sense is so blunted to

But let us take a glance at the Carnival, since we are here. The Letters, as before, are addressed to

"February 5th, 1839.The Carnival began yesterday. It is a curious example of the trifling things which will

heartily amuse tens of thousands of grown people, precisely because they are trifling, and therefore a relief

from serious business, cares and labors. The Corso is a street about a mile long, and about as broad as Jermyn

Street; but bordered by much loftier houses, with many palaces and churches, and has two or three small

squares opening into it. Carriages, mostly open, drove up and down it for two or three hours; and the contents

were shot at with handfuls of comfits from the windows,in the hope of making them as noncontent as

possible,while they returned the fire to the best of their inferior ability. The populace, among whom was I,

walked about; perhaps one in fifty were masked in character; but there was little in the masquerade either of

splendor of costume or liveliness of mimicry. However, the whole scene was very gay; there were a good

many troops about, and some of them heavy dragoons, who flourished their swords with the magnanimity of

our LifeGuards, to repel the encroachments of too ambitious little boys. Most of the windows and balconies

were hung with colored drapery; and there were flags, trumpets, nosegays and flirtations of all shapes and

sizes. The best of all was, that there was laughter enough to have frightened Cassius out of his thin carcass,

could the lean old homicide have been present, otherwise than as a fleshless ghost;in which capacity I

thought I had a glimpse of him looking over the shoulder of a particolored clown, in a carriage full of London

Cockneys driving towards the Capitol. This goodhumored foolery will go on for several days to come,

ending always with the celebrated Horserace, of horses without riders. The long street is cleared in the

centre by troops, and half a dozen quadrupeds, ornamented like Grimaldi in a London pantomime, scamper

"February 9th, 1839.The usual state of Rome is quiet and sober. One could almost fancy the actual

generation held their breath, and stole by on tiptoe, in presence of so memorable a past. But during the

Carnival all mankind, womankind and childkind think it unbecoming not to play the fool. The modern

donkey pokes its head out of the lion's skin of old Rome, and brays out the absurdest of asinine roundelays.

Conceive twenty thousand grown people in a long street, at the windows, on the footways, and in carriages,

amused day after day for several hours in pelting and being pelted with handfuls of mock or real

sugarplums; and this no name or presence, but real downright showers of plaster comfits, from which

people guard their eyes with meshes of wire. As sure as a carriage passes under a window or balcony where

are acquaintances of theirs, down comes a shower of hail, ineffectually returned from below. The parties in

two crossing carriages similarly assault each other; and there are long balconies hung the whole way with a

deep canvas pocket full of this mortal shot. One Russian Grand Duke goes with a troop of youngsters in a

wagon, all dressed in brown linen frocks and masked, and pelts among the most furious, also being pelted.

The children are of course preeminently vigorous, and there is a considerable circulation of real sugarplums,

The whole to conclude, as is proper, with a display, with two displays, of fireworks; in which art, as in some

"February 9th, 1839.It seems to be the ambition of all the lower classes to wear a mask and showy

grotesque disguise of some kind; and I believe many of the upper ranks do the same. They even put St. Peter's

into masquerade; and make it a Cathedral of Lamplight instead of a stone one. Two evenings ago this feat

was performed; and I was able to see it from the rooms of a friend near this, which command an excellent

view of it. I never saw so beautiful an effect of artificial light. The evening was perfectly serene and clear; the

principal lines of the building, the columns, architrave and pediment of the front, the two inferior cupolas, the

curves of the dome from which the dome rises, the ribs of the dome itself, the small oriel windows between

them, and the lantern and ball and cross,all were delineated in the clear vault of air by lines of pale yellow

fire. The dome of another great Church, much nearer to the eye, stood up as a great black mass,a funereal

"While I was looking at this latter, a red blaze burst from the summit, and at the same moment seemed to

flash over the whole building, filling up the pale outline with a simultaneous burst of fire. This is a celebrated

display; and is done, I believe, by the employment of a very great number of men to light, at the same instant,

the torches which are fixed for the purpose all over the building. After the first glare of fire, I did not think

the second aspect of the building so beautiful as the first; it wanted both softness and distinctness. The two

"April 4th, 1839.We have just come to the termination of all the Easter spectacles here. On Sunday

evening St. Peter's was a second time illuminated; I was in the Piazza, and admired the sight from a nearer

"On Monday evening the celebrated fireworks were let off from the Castle of St. Angelo; they were said to

be, in some respects more brilliant than usual. I certainly never saw any fireworks comparable to them for

beauty. The Girandola is a discharge of many thousands of rockets at once, which of course fall back, like the

leaves of a lily, and form for a minute a very beautiful picture. There was also in silvery light a very long

Facade of a Palace, which looked a residence for Oberon and Titania, and beat Aladdin's into darkness.

Afterwards a series of cascades of red fire poured down the faces of the Castle and of the scaffoldings round

it, and seemed a burning Niagara. Of course there were abundance of serpents, wheels and cannonshot;

there was also a display of dazzling white light, which made a strange appearance on the houses, the river, the

bridge, and the faces of the multitude. The whole ended with a second and a more splendid Girandola."

Take finally, to people the scene a little for us, if our imagination be at all lively, these three small entries, of

"December 30th, 1838.I received on Christmasday a packet from Dr. Carlyle, containing Letters from the

Maurices; which were a very pleasant arrival. The Dr. wrote a few lines with them, mentioning that he was

only at Civita Vecchia while the steamer baited on its way to Naples. I have written to thank him for his

"March 16th, 1839.I have seen a good deal of John Mill, whose society I like much. He enters heartily into

the interest of the things which I most care for here, and I have seldom had more pleasure than in taking him

to see Raffael's Loggie, where are the Frescos called his Bible, and to the Sixtine Chapel, which I admire and

love more and more. He is in very weak health, but as fresh and clear in mind as possible.... English politics

seem in a queer state, the Conservatives creeping on, the Whigs losing ground; like combatants on the top of

a breach, while there is a social mine below which will probably blow both parties into the air."

"April 4th, 1839.I walked out on Tuesday on the Ancona Road, and about noon met a travelling carriage,

which from a distance looked very suspicious, and on nearer approach was found really to contain Captain

Sterling and an Albanian manservant on the front, and behind under the hood Mrs. A. Sterling and the she

portion of the tail. They seemed very well; and, having turned the Albanian back to the rear of the whole

machine, I sat by Anthony, and entered Rome in triumph."Here is indeed a conquest! Captain A. Sterling,

now on his return from service in Corfu, meets his Brother in this manner; and the remaining Roman days are

of a brighter complexion. As these suddenly ended, I believe he turned southward, and found at Naples the

Dr. Carlyle above mentioned (an extremely intimate acquaintance of mine), who was still there. For we are a

most travelling people, we of this Island in this time; and, as the Prophet threatened, see ourselves, in so

Sterling returned from Italy filled with much cheerful imagery and reminiscence, and great store of artistic,

serious, dilettante and other speculation for the time; improved in health, too; but probably little enriched in

real culture or spiritual strength; and indeed not permanently altered by his tour in any respect to a sensible

extent, that one could notice. He returned rather in haste, and before the expected time; summoned, about the

middle of April, by his Wife's domestic situation at Hastings; who, poor lady, had been brought to bed before

her calculation, and had in few days lost her infant; and now saw a household round her much needing the

master's presence. He hurried off to Malta, dreading the Alps at that season; and came home, by steamer, with

Matters once readjusted at Hastings, it was thought Sterling's health had so improved, and his activities

towards Literature so developed themselves into congruity, that a permanent English place of abode might

now again be selected,on the Southwest coast somewhere,and the family once more have the blessing of

a home, and see its lares and penates and household furniture unlocked from the Pantechnicon repositories,

Clifton, by Bristol, with its soft Southern winds and high cheerful situation, recommended too by the

presence of one or more valuable acquaintances there, was found to be the eligible place; and thither in this

summer of 1839, having found a tolerable lodging, with the prospect by and by of an agreeable house, he and

his removed. This was the end of what I call his "third peregrinity;"or reckoning the West Indies one, his

fourth. This also is, since Bayswater, the fourth time his family has had to shift on his account. Bayswater;

then to Bordeaux, to Blackheath and Knightsbridge (during the Madeira time), to Hastings (Roman time);

and now to Clifton, not to stay there either: a sadly nomadic life to be prescribed to a civilized man!

At Clifton his habitation was speedily enough set up; household conveniences, methods of work, daily

promenades on foot or horseback, and before long even a circle of friends, or of kindly neighborhoods

ripening into intimacy, were established round him. In all this no man could be more expert or expeditious, in

such cases. It was with singular facility, in a loving, hoping manner, that he threw himself open to the new

interests and capabilities of the new place; snatched out of it whatsoever of human or material would suit

him; and in brief, in all senses had pitched his tenthabitation, and grew to look on it as a house. It was

beautiful too, as well as pathetic. This man saw himself reduced to be a dweller in tents, his house is but a

stone tent; and he can so kindly accommodate himself to that arrangement;healthy faculty and diseased

necessity, nature and habit, and all manner of things primary and secondary, original and incidental,

conspiring now to make it easy for him. With the evils of nomadism, he participated to the full in whatever

He had friends enough, old and new, at Clifton, whose intercourse made the place human for him. Perhaps

among the most valued of the former sort may be mentioned Mrs. Edward Strachey, Widow of the late Indian

Judge, who now resided here; a cultivated, graceful, most devout and highminded lady; whom he had

known in old years, first probably as Charles Buller's Aunt, and whose esteem was constant for him, and

always precious to him. She was some ten or twelve years older than he; she survived him some years, but is

now also gone from us. Of new friends acquired here, besides a skilful and ingenious Dr. Symonds, physician

as well as friend, the principal was Francis Newman, then and still an ardently inquiring soul, of fine

University and other attainments, of sharpcutting, restlessly advancing intellect, and the mildest pious

enthusiasm; whose worth, since better known to all the world, Sterling highly estimated;and indeed

practically testified the same; having by will appointed him, some years hence, guardian to his eldest Son;

Sterling was not long in certainty as to his abode at Clifton: alas, where could he long be so? Hardly six

months were gone when his old enemy again overtook him; again admonished him how frail his hopes of

permanency were. Each winter, it turned out, he had to fly; and after the second of these, he quitted the place

altogether. Here, meanwhile, in a Letter to myself, and in Excerpts from others, are some glimpses of his

"Clifton, June 11th, 1839.As yet I am personally very uncomfortable from the general confusion of this

house, which deprives me of my room to sit and read and write in; all being more or less lumbered by boxes,

and invaded by servile domesticities aproned, handled, bristled, and of nondescript varieties. We have very

fine warm weather, with occasional showers; and the verdure of the woods and fields is very beautiful.

Bristol seems as busy as need be; and the shops and all kinds of practical conveniences are excellent; but

those of Clifton have the usual sentimental, not to say meretricious fraudulence of commercial establishments

"The bag which Hannah forgot reached us safely at Bath on Friday morning; but I cannot quite unriddle the

mystery of the change of padlocks, for I left the right one in care of the Head Steamengine at Paddington,

which seemed a very decent person with a good black coat on, and a pen behind its ear. I have been

meditating much on the story of Palarea's 'box of papers;' which does not appear to be in my possession, and I

have a strong impression that I gave it to young Florez Calderon. I will write to say so to Madam Torrijos

speedily." Palarea, Dr. Palarea, I understand, was "an old guerilla leader whom they called El Medico." Of

him and of the vanished shadows, now gone to Paris, to Madrid, or out of the world, let us say nothing!

"June 15th, 1839.We have a room now occupied by Robert Barton [a brotherinlaw]; to which Anthony

may perhaps succeed; but which after him, or in lieu of him, would expand itself to receive you. Is there no

hope of your coming? I would undertake to ride with you at all possible paces, and in all existing directions.

"As yet my books are lying as ghost books, in a limbo on the banks of a certain Bristolian Styx, humanly

speaking, a Canal; but the other apparatus of life is gathered about me, and performs its diurnal functions.

The place pleases me better than I expected: a far lookout on all sides, over green country; a sufficient old

City lying in the hollow near; and civilization, in no tumultuous state, rather indeed stagnant, visible in the

Rows of Houses and Gardens which call themselves Clifton. I hope soon to take a lease of a house, where I

may arrange myself more methodically; keep myself equably boiling in my own kitchen; and spread myself

over a series of bookshelves.... I have just been interrupted by a visit from Mrs. Strachey; with whom I

dined yesterday. She seems a very good and thoroughly kindhearted woman; and it is pleasant to have her

for a neighbor.... I have read Emerson's Pamphlets. I should find it more difficult than ever to write to him."

"June 30th, 1839.Of Books I shall have no lack, though no plethora; and the Readingroom supplies all

one can want in the way of Papers and Reviews. I go there three or four times a week, and inquire how the

human race goes on. I suppose this TurcoEgyptian War will throw several diplomatists into a state of great

excitement, and massacre a good many thousands of Africans and Asiatics?For the present, it appears, the

English Education Question is settled. I wish the Government had said that, in their inspection and

superintendence, they would look only to secular matters, and leave religious ones to the persons who set up

the schools, whoever these might be. It seems to me monstrous that the State should be prevented taking any

efficient measures for teaching Roman Catholic children to read, write and cipher, merely because they

believe in the Pope, and the Pope is an impostor,which I candidly confess he is! There is no question

which I can so ill endure to see made a party one as that of Education."The following is of the same

"MY DEAR CARLYLE,I have heard, this morning, from my Father, that you are to set out on Tuesday for

Scotland: so I have determined to fillip away some spurt of ink in your direction, which may reach you before

"Writing to you, in fact, is considerably easier than writing about you; which has been my employment of

late, at leisure moments,that is, moments of leisure from idleness, not work. As you partly guessed, I took

in hand a Review of Teufelsdrockhfor want of a better Heuschrecke to do the work; and when I have been

well enough, and alert enough, during the last fortnight, have tried to set down some notions about Tobacco,

Radicalism, Christianity, Assafoetida and so forth. But a few abortive pages are all the result as yet. If my

speculations should ever see daylight, they may chance to get you into scrapes, but will certainly get me into

worse.... But one must work; sic itur ad astra,and the astra are always there to befriend one, at least as

"Except my unsuccessful efforts to discuss you and your offences, I have done nothing that leaves a trace

behind;unless the endeavor to teach my little boy the Latin declensions shall be found, at some time short

of the Last Day, to have done so. I haverather I think from dyspepsia than dyspneumonybeen often and

for days disabled from doing anything but read. In this way I have gone through a good deal of Strauss's

Book; which is exceedingly clever and clearheaded; with more of insight, and less of destructive rage than I

expected. It will work deep and far, in such a time as ours. When so many minds are distracted about the

history, or rather genesis of the Gospel, it is a great thing for partisans on the one side to have, what the other

never have wanted, a Book of which they can say, This is our Creed and Code,or rather Anticreed and

Anticode. And Strauss seems perfectly secure against the sort of answer to which Voltaire's critical and

historical shallowness perpetually exposed him. I mean to read the Book through. It seems admitted that the

orthodox theologians have failed to give any sufficient answer.I have also looked through Michelet's

Luther, with great delight; and have read the fourth volume of Coleridge's Literary Remains, in which there

are things that would interest you. He has a great hankering after Cromwell, and explicitly defends the

"Of Mrs. Strachey we have seen a great deal; and might have seen more, had I had time and spirits for it. She

is a warmhearted, enthusiastic creature, whom one cannot but like. She seems always excited by the wish

for more excitement than her life affords. And such a person is always in danger of doing something less wise

than his best knowledge and aspirations; because he must do something, and circumstances do not allow him

to do what he desires. Thence, after the first glow of novelty, endless selftormenting comes from the

contrast between aims and acts. She sets out, with her daughter and two boys, for a Tour in Wales tomorrow

morning. Her talk of you is always most affectionate; and few, I guess, will read Sartor with more interest

"I am still in a very extempore condition as to house, books, One which I have hired for three years will be

given up to me in the middle of August; and then I may hope to have something like a house,so far as that

is possible for any one to whom Time itself is often but a worse or a better kind of cave in the desert. We

have had rainy and cheerless weather almost since the day of our arrival. But the sun now shines more

lovingly, and the skies seem less disdainful of man and his perplexities. The earth is green, abundant and

beautiful. But human life, so far as I can learn, is mean and meagre enough in its purposes, however striking

to the speculative or sentimental bystander. Pray be assured that whatever you may say of the 'landlord at

Clifton,'[21] the more I know of him, the less I shall like him. Well with me if I can put up with him for the

"Love to you Wife and self. My little Charlotte desires me to tell you that she has new shoes for her Doll,

The visit to Clifton never took effect; nor to any of Sterling's subsequent homes; which now is matter of

regret to me. Concerning the "Review of Teufelsdrockh" there will be more to say anon. As to "little

Charlotte and her Doll," I remember well enough and was more than once reminded, this bright little creature,

on one of my first visits to Bayswater, had earnestly applied to me to put her Doll's shoes on for her; which

feat was performed.The next fragment indicates a household settled, fallen into wholesome routine again;

"July 22d, 1839.A few evenings ago we went to Mr. Griffin's, and met there Dr. Prichard, the author of a

wellknown Book on the Races of Mankind, to which it stands in the same relation among English books as

the Racing Calendar does to those of Horsekind. He is a very intelligent, accomplished person. We had also

there the Dean; a certain Dr. of Corpus College, Cambridge (a booby); and a clever fellow, a Mr.

Fisher, one of the Tutors of Trinity in my days. We had a very pleasant evening."

At London we were in the habit of expecting Sterling pretty often; his presence, in this house as in others,

was looked for, once in the month or two, and came always as sunshine in the gray weather to me and mine.

My daily walks with him had long since been cut short without renewal; that walk to Eltham and Edgeworth's

perhaps the last of the kind he and I had: but our intimacy, deepening and widening year after year, knew no

interruption or abatement of increase; an honest, frank and truly human mutual relation, valuable or even

invaluable to both parties, and a lasting loss, hardly to be replaced in this world, to the survivor of the two.

His visits, which were usually of two or three days, were always full of business, rapid in movement as all his

life was. To me, if possible, he would come in the evening; a whole cornucopia of talk and speculation was to

be discharged. If the evening would not do, and my affairs otherwise permitted, I had to mount into cabs with

him; fly far and wide, shuttling athwart the big Babel, wherever his calls and pauses had to be. This was his

way to husband time! Our talk, in such straitened circumstances, was loud or low as the circumambient

groaning rage of wheels and sound prescribed,very loud it had to be in such thoroughfares as London

Bridge and Cheapside; but except while he was absent, off for minutes into some banker's office, lawyer's,

stationer's, haberdasher's or what office there might be, it never paused. In this way extensive strange

dialogues were carried on: to me also very strange,private friendly colloquies, on all manner of rich

subjects, held thus amid the chaotic roar of things. Sterling was full of speculations, observations and bright

sallies; vividly awake to what was passing in the world; glanced pertinently with victorious clearness, without

spleen, though often enough with a dash of mockery, into its Puseyisms, Liberalisms, literary Lionisms, or

what else the mad hour might be producing,always prompt to recognize what grain of sanity might be in

the same. He was opulent in talk, and the rapid movement and vicissitude on such occasions seemed to give

Once, I still remember,it was some years before, probably in May, on his return from Madeira,he

undertook a day's riding with me; once and never again. We coursed extensively, over the Hampstead and

Highgate regions, and the country beyond, sauntering or galloping through many leafy lanes and pleasant

places, in everflowing, everchanging talk; and returned down Regent Street at nightfall: one of the

cheerfulest days I ever had;not to be repeated, said the Fates. Sterling was charming on such occasions: at

once a child and a gifted man. A serious fund of thought he always had, a serious drift you never missed in

him: nor indeed had he much depth of real laughter or sense of the ludicrous, as I have elsewhere said; but

what he had was genuine, free and continual: his sparkling sallies bubbled up as from aerated natural

fountains; a mild dash of gayety was native to the man, and had moulded his physiognomy in a very graceful

way. We got once into a cab, about Charing Cross; I know not now whence or well whitherward, nor that our

haste was at all special; however, the cabman, sensible that his pace was slowish, took to whipping, with a

steady, passionless, businesslike assiduity which, though the horse seemed lazy rather than weak, became

afflictive; and I urged remonstrance with the savage fellow: "Let him alone," answered Sterling; "he is

kindling the enthusiasm of his horse, you perceive; that is the first thing, then we shall do very well!"as

At Clifton, though his thoughts began to turn more on poetic forms of composition, he was diligent in prose

elaborations too,doing Criticism, for one thing, as we incidentally observed. He wrote there, and sent forth

in this autumn of 1839, his most important contribution to John Mill's Review, the article on Carlyle, which

stands also in Mr. Hare's collection.[22] What its effect on the public was I knew not, and know not; but

remember well, and may here be permitted to acknowledge, the deep silent joy, not of a weak or ignoble

nature, which it gave to myself in my then mood and situation; as it well might. The first generous human

recognition, expressed with heroic emphasis, and clear conviction visible amid its fiery exaggeration, that

one's poor battle in this world is not quite a mad and futile, that it is perhaps a worthy and manful one, which

will come to something yet: this fact is a memorable one in every history; and for me Sterling, often enough

the stiff gainsayer in our private communings, was the doer of this. The thought burnt in me like a lamp, for

several days; lighting up into a kind of heroic splendor the sad volcanic wrecks, abysses, and convulsions of

said poor battle, and secretly I was very grateful to my daring friend, and am still, and ought to be. What the

public might be thinking about him and his audacities, and me in consequence, or whether it thought at all, I

Sterling's gainsaying had given way on many points; but on others it continued stiff as ever, as may be seen

in that article; indeed he fought Parthianlike in such cases, holding out his last position as doggedly as the

first: and to some of my notions he seemed to grow in stubbornness of opposition, with the growing

inevitability, and never would surrender. Especially that doctrine of the "greatness and fruitfulness of

Silence," remained afflictive and incomprehensible: "Silence?" he would say: "Yes, truly; if they give you

leave to proclaim silence by cannonsalvos! My HarpocratesStentor!" In like manner, "Intellect and

Virtue," how they are proportional, or are indeed one gift in us, the same great summary of gifts; and again,

"Might and Right," the identity of these two, if a man will understand this God'sUniverse, and that only he

who conforms to the law of it can in the longrun have any "might:" all this, at the first blush, often

awakened Sterling's musketry upon me, and many volleys I have had to stand,the thing not being

In such cases your one method was to leave our friend in peace. By smallarms practice no mortal could

dislodge him: but if you were in the right, the silent hours would work continually for you; and Sterling, more

certainly than any man, would and must at length swear fealty to the right, and passionately adopt it, burying

all hostilities under foot. A more candid soul, once let the stormful velocities of it expend themselves, was

nowhere to be met with. A son of light, if I have ever seen one; recognizing the truth, if truth there were;

hurling overboard his vanities, petulances, big and small interests, in ready loyalty to truth: very beautiful; at

once a loyal child, as I said, and a gifted man!Here is a very pertinent passage from one of his Letters,

"October 15th, 1839.As to my 'overestimate of ,' your expressions rather puzzle me. I suppose there

may be, at the outside, a hundred persons in England whose opinions on such a matter are worth as much as

mine. If by 'the public' you and my Mother mean the other ninetynine, I submit. I have no doubt that, on any

matter not relating peculiarly to myself, the judgment of the ninetynine most philosophical heads in the

country, if unanimous, would be right, and mine, if opposed to them, wrong. But then I am at a loss to make

out, How the decision of the very few really competent persons has been ascertained to be thus in

contradiction to me? And on the other hand, I conceive myself, from my opportunities, knowledge and

attention to the subject, to be alone quite entitled to outvote tens of thousands of gentlemen, however much

my superiors as men of business, men of the world, or men of merely dry or merely frivolous literature.

"I do not remember ever before to have heard the saying, whether of Talleyrand or of any one else, That

all the world is a wiser man than any man in the world. Had it been said even by the Devil, it would

nevertheless be false. I have often indeed heard the saying, On peut etre plus FIN qu'un autre, mais pas plus

FIN que tous les autres. But observe that 'fin' means cunning, not wise. The difference between this assertion

and the one you refer to is curious and worth examining. It is quite certain, there is always some one man in

the world wiser than all the rest; as Socrates was declared by the oracle to be; and as, I suppose, Bacon was in

his day, and perhaps Burke in his. There is also some one, whose opinion would be probably true, if opposed

to that of all around him; and it is always indubitable that the wise men are the scores, and the unwise the

millions. The millions indeed come round, in the course of a generation or two, to the opinions of the wise;

but by that time a new race of wise men have again shot ahead of their contemporaries: so it has always been,

and so, in the nature of things, it always must be. But with cunning, the matter is quite different. Cunning is

not dishonest wisdom, which would be a contradiction in terms; it is dishonest prudence, acuteness in

practice, not in thought: and though there must always be some one the most cunning in the world, as well as

some one the most wise, these two superlatives will fare very differently in the world. In the case of cunning,

the shrewdness of a whole people, of a whole generation, may doubtless be combined against that of the one,

and so triumph over it; which was pretty much the case with Napoleon. But although a man of the greatest

cunning can hardly conceal his designs and true character from millions of unfriendly eyes, it is quite

impossible thus to club the eyes of the mind, and to constitute by the union of ten thousand follies an

equivalent for a single wisdom. A hundred schoolboys can easily unite and thrash their one master; but a

hundred thousand schoolboys would not be nearer than a score to knowing as much Greek among them as

Bentley or Scaliger. To all which, I believe, you will assent as readily as I;and I have written it down only

Besides his prose labors, Sterling had by this time written, publishing chiefly in Blackwood, a large

assortment of verses, Sexton's Daughter, Hymns of a Hermit, and I know not what other extensive stock of

pieces; concerning which he was now somewhat at a loss as to his true course. He could write verses with

astonishing facility, in any given form of metre; and to various readers they seemed excellent, and high

judges had freely called them so, but he himself had grave misgivings on that latter essential point. In fact

here once more was a parting of the ways, "Write in Poetry; write in Prose?" upon which, before all else, it

My own advice was, as it had always been, steady against Poetry; and we had colloquies upon it, which must

have tried his patience, for in him there was a strong leaning the other way. But, as I remarked and urged:

Had he not already gained superior excellence in delivering, by way of speech or prose, what thoughts were

in him, which is the grand and only intrinsic function of a writing man, call him by what title you will?

Cultivate that superior excellence till it become a perfect and superlative one. Why sing your bits of thoughts,

if you can contrive to speak them? By your thought, not by your mode of delivering it, you must live or

die.Besides I had to observe there was in Sterling intrinsically no depth of tune; which surely is the real

test of a Poet or Singer, as distinguished from a Speaker? In music proper he had not the slightest ear; all

music was mere impertinent noise to him, nothing in it perceptible but the mere march or time. Nor in his

way of conception and utterance, in the verses he wrote, was there any contradiction, but a constant

confirmation to me, of that fatal prognostic;as indeed the whole man, in ear and heart and tongue, is one;

and he whose soul does not sing, need not try to do it with his throat. Sterling's verses had a monotonous

rubadub, instead of tune; no trace of music deeper than that of a wellbeaten drum; to which limited range

of excellence the substance also corresponded; being intrinsically always a rhymed and slightly rhythmical

In short, all seemed to me to say, in his case: "You can speak with supreme excellence; sing with

considerable excellence you never can. And the Age itself, does it not, beyond most ages, demand and require

clear speech; an Age incapable of being sung to, in any but a trivial manner, till these convulsive agonies and

wild revolutionary overturnings readjust themselves? Intelligible word of command, not musical psalmody

and fiddling, is possible in this fell storm of battle. Beyond all ages, our Age admonishes whatsoever thinking

or writing man it has: Oh, speak to me some wise intelligible speech; your wise meaning in the shortest and

clearest way; behold I am dying for want of wise meaning, and insight into the devouring fact: speak, if you

have any wisdom! As to song so called, and your fiddling talent,even if you have one, much more if you

have none,we will talk of that a couple of centuries hence, when things are calmer again. Homer shall be

thrice welcome; but only when Troy is taken: alas, while the siege lasts, and battle's fury rages everywhere,

what can I do with the Homer? I want Achilleus and Odysseus, and am enraged to see them trying to be

Sterling, who respected my sincerity, and always was amenable enough to counsel, was doubtless much

confused by such contradictory diagnosis of his case. The question, Poetry or Prose? became more and more

pressing, more and more insoluble. He decided, at last, to appeal to the public upon it;got ready, in the late

autumn, a small select Volume of his verses; and was now busy pushing it through the press. Unfortunately,

in the mean while, a grave illness, of the old pulmonary sort, overtook him, which at one time threatened to

be dangerous. This is a glance again into his interior household in these circumstances:

"December 21st, 1839.The Tin box came quite safe, with all its miscellaneous contents. I suppose we are

to thank you for the Comic Almanac, which, as usual, is very amusing; and for the Book on Watt, which

disappointed me. The scientific part is no doubt very good, and particularly clear and simple; but there is

nothing remarkable in the account of Watt's character; and it is an absurd piece of French impertinence in

Arago to say, that England has not yet learnt to appreciate men like Watt, because he was not made a peer;

which, were our peerage an institution like that of France, would have been very proper.

"I have now finished correcting the proofs of my little Volume of Poems. It has been a great plague to me,

and one that I would not have incurred, had I expected to be laid up as I have been; but the matter was begun

before I had any notion of being disabled by such an illness,the severest I have suffered since I went to the

West Indies. The Book will, after all, be a botched business in many respects; and I much doubt whether it

will pay its expenses: but I try to consider it as out of my hands, and not to fret myself about it. I shall be very

curious to see Carlyle's Tractate on Chartism; which"But we need not enter upon that.

Sterling's little Book was printed at his own expense;[23] published by Moxon in the very end of this year. It

"Feeling, Thought, and Fancy be Gentle sister Graces three: If these prove averse to me, They will

He had dedicated the little Volume to Mr. Hare;and he submitted very patiently to the discouraging neglect

with which it was received by the world; for indeed the "Ye" said nothing audible, in the way of pardon or

other doom; so that whether the "sister Graces" were averse or not, remained as doubtful as ever.

As we said above, it had been hoped by Sterling's friends, not very confidently by himself, that in the gentler

air of Clifton his health might so far recover as to enable him to dispense with autumnal voyages, and to

spend the year all round in a house of his own. These hopes, favorable while the warm season lasted, broke

down when winter came. In November of this same year, while his little Volume was passing through the

press, bad and worse symptoms, spitting of blood to crown the sad list, reappeared; and Sterling had to equip

himself again, at this late season, for a new flight to Madeira; wherein the good Calvert, himself suffering,

and ready on all grounds for such an adventure, offered to accompany him. Sterling went by land to

Falmouth, meaning there to wait for Calvert, who was to come by the Madeira Packet, and there take him on

Calvert and the Packet did arrive, in stormy January weather; which continued wildly blowing for weeks;

forbidding all egress Westward, especially for invalids. These elemental tumults, and blustering wars of sea

and sky, with nothing but the misty solitude of Madeira in the distance, formed a very discouraging outlook.

In the mean while Falmouth itself had offered so many resources, and seemed so tolerable in climate and

otherwise, while this wintry ocean looked so inhospitable for invalids, it was resolved our voyagers should

stay where they were till spring returned. Which accordingly was done; with good effect for that season, and

also with results for the coming seasons. Here again, from Letters to Knightsbridge, are some glimpses of his

"Falmouth, February 5th, 1840.I have been today to see a new tinmine, two or three miles off, which is

expected to turn into a coppermine by and by, so they will have the two constituents of bronze close

together. This, by the way, was the 'brass' of Homer and the Ancients generally, who do not seem to have

known our brass made of copper and zinc. Achilles in his armor must have looked like a bronze statue.I

"February 15th.To some ironworks the other day; where I saw half the beam of a great steamengine, a

piece of iron forty feet long and seven broad, cast in about five minutes. It was a very striking spectacle. I

hope to go to Penzance before I leave this country, and will not fail to tell you about it." He did make trial of

"February 20th.I am going on asy here, in spite of a great change of weather. The Eastwinds are come at

last, bringing with them snow, which has been driving about for the last twentyfour hours; not falling

heavily, nor lying long when fallen. Neither is it as yet very cold, but I suppose there will be some six weeks

of unpleasant temperature. The marine climate of this part of England will, no doubt, modify and mollify the

"The large vessels that had been lying here for weeks, waiting for a wind, have now sailed; two of them for

the East Indies, and having three hundred soldiers on board. It is a curious thing that the longcontinued

westerly winds had so prevented the coasters arriving, that the Town was almost on the point of a famine as

to bread. The change has brought in abundance of flour.The people in general seem extremely

comfortable; their houses are excellent, almost all of stone. Their habits are very little agricultural, but mining

and fishing seem to prosper with them. There are hardly any gentry here; I have not seen more than two

gentlemen's carriages in the Town; indeed I think the nearest one comes from five miles off....

"I have been obliged to try to occupy myself with Natural Science, in order to give some interest to my

walks; and have begun to feel my way in Geology. I have now learnt to recognize three or four of the

common kinds of stone about here, when I see them; but I find it stupid work compared with Poetry and

Philosophy. In the mornings, however, for an hour or so before I get up, I generally light my candle, and try

to write some verses; and since I have been here, I have put together short poems, almost enough for another

small volume. In the evenings I have gone on translating some of Goethe. But six or seven hours spent on my

legs, in the open air, do not leave my brain much energy for thinking. Thus my life is a dull and unprofitable

one, but still better than it would have been in Madeira or on board ship. I hear from Susan every day, and

At Falmouth Sterling had been warmly welcomed by the wellknown Quaker family of the Foxes, principal

people in that place, persons of cultivated opulent habits, and joining to the fine purities and pieties of their

sect a reverence for human intelligence in all kinds; to whom such a visitor as Sterling was naturally a

welcome windfall. The family had grave elders, bright cheery younger branches, men and women; truly

amiable all, after their sort: they made a pleasant image of home for Sterling in his winter exile. "Most

worthy, respectable and highly cultivated people, with a great deal of money among them," writes Sterling in

the end of February; "who make the place pleasant to me. They are connected with all the large Quaker

circle, the Gurneys, Frys, and also with Buxton the Abolitionist. It is droll to hear them talking of all the

common topics of science, literature, and life, and in the midst of it: 'Does thou know Wordsworth?' or, 'Did

thou see the Coronation?' or 'Will thou take some refreshment?' They are very kind and pleasant people to

"Calvert," continues our Diarist, "is better than he lately was, though he has not been at all laid up. He shoots

little birds, and dissects and stuffs them; while I carry a hammer, and break flints and slates, to look for

diamonds and rubies inside; and admire my success in the evening, when I empty my greatcoat pocket of its

specimens. On the whole, I doubt whether my physical proceedings will set the Thames on fire. Give my love

At this time, too, John Mill, probably encouraged by Sterling, arrived in Falmouth, seeking refuge of climate

for a sickly younger Brother, to whom also, while he continued there, and to his poor patient, the doors and

hearts of this kind family were thrown wide open. Falmouth, during these winter weeks, especially while Mill

continued, was an unexpectedly engaging place to Sterling; and he left it in spring, for Clifton, with a very

kindly image of it in his thoughts. So ended, better than it might have done, his first year's flight from the

In April, 1840, he was at his own hearth again; cheerily pursuing his old labors,struggling to redeem, as he

did with a gallant constancy, the available months and days, out of the wreck of so many that were

unavailable, for the business allotted him in this world. His swift, decisive energy of character; the valiant

rally he made again and ever again, starting up fresh from amid the wounded, and cheerily storming in anew,

was admirable, and showed a noble fund of natural health amid such an element of disease. Somehow one

could never rightly fancy that he was diseased; that those fatal everrecurring downbreaks were not almost

rather the penalties paid for exuberance of health, and of faculty for living and working; criminal forfeitures,

incurred by excess of selfexertion and such irrepressible overrapidity of movement: and the vague hope

was habitual with us, that increase of years, as it deadened this overenergy, would first make the man secure

of life, and a sober prosperous worker among his fellows. It was always as if with a kind of blame that one

heard of his being ill again! Poor Sterling;no man knows another's burden: these things were not, and were

Summer went along in its usual quiet tenor at Clifton; health good, as usual while the warm weather lasted,

and activity abundant; the scene as still as the busiest could wish. "You metropolitan signors," writes Sterling

to his Father, "cannot conceive the dulness and scantiness of our provincial chronicle." Here is a little

excursion to the seaside; the lady of the family being again,for good reasons,in a weakly state:

"MY DEAR FATHER,This place is a southern headland at the mouth of the Avon. Susan, and the

Children too, were all suffering from languor; and as she is quite unfit to travel in a carriage, we were obliged

to move, if at all, to some place accessible by water; and this is the nearest where we could get the fresher air

of the Bristol Channel. We sent to take a house, for a week; and came down here in a steamer yesterday

morning. It seems likely to do every one good. We have a comfortable house, with eight rather small

bedrooms, for which we pay four guineas and a half for the week. We have brought three of our own maids,

"A week ago my horse fell with me, but did not hurt seriously either himself or me: it was, however, rather

hard that, as there were six legs to be damaged, the one that did scratch itself should belong to the part of the

machine possessing only two, instead of the quadrupedal portion. I grazed about the size of a halfpenny on

my left knee; and for a couple of days walked about as if nothing had happened. I found, however, that the

skin was not returning correctly; and so sent for a doctor: he treated the thing as quite insignificant, but said I

must keep my leg quiet for a few days. It is still not quite healed; and I lie all day on a sofa, much to my

discomposure; but the thing is now rapidly disappearing; and I hope, in a day or two more, I shall be free

again. I find I can do no work, while thus crippled in my leg. The man in Horace who made verses stans pede

"The Great Western came in last night about eleven, and has just been making a flourish past our windows;

looking very grand, with four streamers of bunting, and one of smoke. Of course I do not yet know whether I

have Letters by her, as if so they will have gone to Clifton first. This place is quiet, green and pleasant; and

will suit us very well, if we have good weather, of which there seems every appearance.

"Milnes spent last Sunday with me at Clifton; and was very amusing and cordial. It is impossible for those

who know him well not to like him.I send this to Knightsbridge, not knowing where else to hit you. Love

The expected "Letters by the Great Western" are from Anthony, now in Canada, doing military duties there.

The "Milnes" is our excellent Richard, whom all men know, and truly whom none can know well without

even doing as Sterling says.In a week the family had returned to Clifton; and Sterling was at his poetizings

and equitations again. His grand business was now Poetry; all effort, outlook and aim exclusively directed

Of the published Volume Moxon gave the worst tidings; no man had hailed it with welcome; unsold it lay,

under the leaden seal of general neglect; the public when asked what it thought, had answered hitherto by a

lazy stare. It shall answer otherwise, thought Sterling; by no means taking that as the final response. It was in

this same September that he announced to me and other friends, under seal of secrecy as usual, the

completion, or complete firstdraught, of "a new Poem reaching to two thousand verses." By working "three

hours every morning" he had brought it so far. This Piece, entitled The Election, of which in due time we

obtained perusal, and had to give some judgment, proved to be in a new vein,what might be called the

mockheroic, or sentimental Hudibrastic, reminding one a little, too, of Wieland's Oberon;it had touches

of true drollery combined not ill with grave clear insight; showed spirit everywhere, and a plainly improved

power of execution. Our stingy verdict was to the effect, "Better, but still not good enough:why follow that

sad 'metrical' course, climbing the loose sandhills, when you have a firm path along the plain?" To Sterling

himself it remained dubious whether so slight a strain, new though it were, would suffice to awaken the

sleeping public; and the Piece was thrown away and taken up again, at intervals; and the question, Publish or

Meanwhile his own feeling was now set more and more towards Poetry; and in spite of symptoms and

dissuasions, and perverse prognostics of outward wind and weather, he was rallying all his force for a

downright struggle with it; resolute to see which was the stronger. It must be owned, he takes his failures in

the kindliest manner; and goes along, bating no jot of heart or hope. Perhaps I should have more admired this

than I did! My dissuasions, in that case, might have been fainter. But then my sincerity, which was all the use

of my poor counsel in assent or dissent, would have been less. He was now furthermore busy with a Tragedy

of Strafford, the theme of many failures in Tragedy; planning it industriously in his head; eagerly reading in

Whitlocke, Rushworth and the Puritan Books, to attain a vesture and local habitation for it. Faithful assiduous

studies I do believe;of which, knowing my stubborn realism, and savage humor towards singing by the

The advance of the dark weather sent him adrift again; to Torquay, for this winter: there, in his old Falmouth

climate, he hoped to do well;and did, so far as welldoing was readily possible, in that sad wandering way

of life. However, be where he may, he tries to work "two or three hours in the morning," were it even "with a

lamp," in bed, before the fires are lit; and so makes something of it. From abundant Letters of his now before

me, I glean these two or three small glimpses; sufficient for our purpose at present. The general date is "Tor,

Tor, November 30th, 1840.I reached this place on Thursday; having, after much hesitation, resolved to

come here, at least for the next three weeks,with some obscure purpose of embarking, at the New Year,

from Falmouth for Malta, and so reaching Naples, which I have not seen. There was also a doubt whether I

should not, after Christmas, bring my family here for the first four months of the year. All this, however, is

still doubtful. But for certain inhabitants of Falmouth and its neighborhood, this place would be far more

attractive than it. But I have here also friends, whose kindness, like much that I met with last winter,

perpetually makes me wonder at the stock of benignity in human nature. A brother of my friend Julius Hare,

Marcus by name, a Naval man, and though not a man of letters, full of sense and knowledge, lives here in a

beautiful place, with a most agreeable and excellent wife, a daughter of Lord Stanley of Alderley. I had

hardly seen them before; but they are fraternizing with me, in a much better than the Jacobin fashion; and one

only feels ashamed at the enormity of some people's goodnature. I am in a little rural sort of lodging; and as

"December 5th.This place is extremely small, much more so than Falmouth even; but pretty, cheerful, and

very mild in climate. There are a great many villas in and about the little Town, having three or four

receptionrooms, eight or ten bedrooms; and costing about fifteen hundred or two thousand pounds each, and

occupied by persons spending a thousand or more pounds a year. If the Country would acknowledge my

merits by the gift of one of these, I could prevail on myself to come and live here; which would be the best

move for my health I could make in England; but, in the absence of any such expression of public feeling, it

"December 22d.By the way, did you ever read a Novel? If you ever mean to do so hereafter, let it be Miss

Martineau's Deerbrook. It is really very striking; and parts of it are very true and very beautiful. It is not so

true, or so thoroughly clear and harmonious, among delineations of English middleclass gentility, as Miss

Austen's books, especially as Pride and Prejudice, which I think exquisite; but it is worth reading. The hour

and the Man is eloquent, but an absurd exaggeration.I hold out so valorously against this Scandinavian

weather, that I deserve to be ranked with Odin and Thor; and fancy I may go to live at Clifton or Drontheim.

"December 28th.Looking back to him [a deceased Uncle, father of his correspondent], as I now very often

do, I feel strongly, what the loss of other friends has also impressed on me, how much Death deepens our

affection; and sharpens our regret for whatever has been even slightly amiss in our conduct towards those

who are gone. What trifles then swell into painful importance; how we believe that, could the past be

recalled, life would present no worthier, happier task, than that of so bearing ourselves towards those we love,

that we might ever after find nothing but melodious tranquillity breathing about their graves! Yet, too often, I

feel the difficulty of always practicing such mild wisdom towards those who are still left me.You will

wonder less at my rambling off in this way, when I tell you that my little lodging is close to a picturesque old

Church and Churchyard, where, every day, I brush past a tombstone, recording that an Italian, of Manferrato,

has buried there a girl of sixteen, his only daughter: 'L' unica speranza di mia vita.'No doubt, as you say,

our Mechanical Age is necessary as a passage to something better; but, at least, do not let us go back."

At the Newyear time, feeling unusually well, he returns to Clifton. His plans, of course, were ever

fluctuating; his movements were swift and uncertain. Alas, his whole life, especially his winterlife, had to

be built as if on wavering driftsand; nothing certain in it, except if possible the "two or three hours of work"

"Clifton, January 10th, 1841.I stood the sharp frost at Torquay with such entire impunity, that at last I took

courage, and resolved to return home. I have been here a week, in extreme cold; and have suffered not at all;

so that I hope, with care I may prosper in spite of medical prognostics,if you permit such profane

language. I am even able to work a good deal; and write for some hours every morning, by dint of getting up

early, which an Arnott stove in my study enables me to do."But at Clifton he cannot continue. Again,

before long, the rude weather has driven him Southward; the spring finds him in his former haunts; doubtful

as ever what to decide upon for the future; but tending evidently towards a new change of residence for

"Penzance, April 19th, 1841.My little Boy and I have been wandering about between Torquay and this

place; and latterly have had my Father for a few days with us,he left us yesterday. In all probability I shall

endeavor to settle either at Torquay, at Falmouth, or here; as it is pretty clear that I cannot stand the sharp air

of Clifton, and still less the London eastwinds. Penzance is, on the whole, a pleasantlooking, cheerful

place; with a delightful mildness of air, and a great appearance of comfort among the people: the view of

Mount's Bay is certainly a very noble one. Torquay would suit the health of my Wife and Children better; or

else I should be glad to live here always, London and its neighborhood being impracticable."Such was his

second wandering winter; enough to render the prospect of a third at Clifton very uninviting.

With the Falmouth friends, young and old, his intercourse had meanwhile continued cordial and frequent.

The omens were pointing towards that region at his next place of abode. Accordingly, in few weeks hence, in

the June of this Summer, 1841, his dubitations and inquirings are again ended for a time; he has fixed upon a

house in Falmouth, and removed thither; bidding Clifton, and the regretful Clifton friends, a kind farewell.

This was the fifth change of place for his family since Bayswater; the fifth, and to one chief member of it the

last. Mrs. Sterling had brought him a new child in October last; and went hopefully to Falmouth, dreading

At Falmouth, as usual, he was soon at home in his new environment; resumed his labors; had his new small

circle of acquaintance, the ready and constant centre of which was the Fox family, with whom he lived on an

altogether intimate, honored and beloved footing; realizing his best anticipations in that respect, which

doubtless were among his first inducements to settle in this new place. Open cheery heights, rather bare of

wood: fresh southwestern breezes; a brisk laughing sea, swept by industrious sails, and the nets of a most

stalwart, wholesome, frank and interesting population: the clean little fishing, trading and packet Town;

hanging on its slope towards the Eastern sun, close on the waters of its basin and intricate bay,with the

miniature Pendennis Castle seaward on the right, the miniature St. Mawes landward to left, and the mining

world and the farming world open boundlessly to the rear:all this made a pleasant outlook and

environment. And in all this, as in the other new elements of his position, Sterling, open beyond most men to

the worth of things about him, took his frank share. From the first, he had liked the general aspect of the

population, and their healthy, lively ways; not to speak of the special friendships he had formed there, which

shed a charm over them all. "Men of strong character, clear heads and genuine goodness," writes he, "are by

no means wanting." And long after: "The common people here dress better than in most parts of England; and

on Sundays, if the weather be at all fine, their appearance is very pleasant. One sees them all round the Town,

especially towards Pendennis Castle, streaming in a succession of little groups, and seeming for the most part

really and quietly happy." On the whole he reckoned himself lucky; and, so far as locality went, found this a

handsome shelter for the next two years of his life. Two years, and not without an interruption; that was all.

Here we have no continuing city; he less than any of us! One other flight for shelter; and then it is ended, and

he has found an inexpugnable refuge. Let us trace his remote footsteps, as we have opportunity:

"Falmouth, June 28th, 1841.Newman writes to me that he is gone to the Rhine. I wish I were! And yet the

only 'wish' at the bottom of my heart, is to be able to work vigorously in my own way anywhere, were it in

some Circle of Dante's Inferno. This, however, is the secret of my soul, which I disclose only to a few."

"Falmouth, July 6th, 1841.I have at last my own study made comfortable; the carpet being now laid down,

and most of my appurtenances in tolerable order. By and by I shall, unless stopped by illness, get myself

together, and begin living an orderly life and doing my daily task. I have swung a cot in my dressingroom;

partly as a convenience for myself, partly as a sort of memorial of my poor Uncle, in whose cot in his

dressingroom at Lisworney I remember to have slept when a child. I have put a good large bookcase in my

"July 6th.No books have come in my way but Emerson's, which I value full as much as you, though as yet

I have read only some corners of it. We have had an Election here, of the usual stamp; to me a droll 'realized

Ideal,' after my late metrical adventures in that line. But the oddest sign of the Times I know, is a cheap

Translation of Strauss's Leben Jesu, now publishing in numbers, and said to be circulating far and wide. What

With the Poem called The Election, here alluded to, which had been more than once revised and

reconsidered, he was still under some hesitations; but at last had wellnigh resolved, as from the first it was

clear he would do, on publishing it. This occupied some occasional portion of his thoughts. But his grand

private affair, I believe, was now Strafford; to which, or to its adjuncts, all working hours were devoted.

Sterling's notions of Tragedy are high enough. This is what he writes once, in reference to his own task in

these weeks: "Few, I fancy, know how much harder it is to write a Tragedy than to realize or be one. Every

man has in his heart and lot, if he pleases, and too many whether they please or no, all the woes of OEdipus

and Antigone. But it takes the One, the Sophocles of a thousand years, to utter these in the full depth and

harmony of creative song. Curious, by the way, how that Dramatic Form of the old Greek, with only some

superficial changes, remains a law not only for the stage, but for the thoughts of all Poets; and what a charm it

has even for the reader who never saw a theatre. The Greek Plays and Shakspeare have interested a hundred

as books, for one who has seen their writings acted. How lightly does the mere clown, the idle schoolgirl,

build a private theatre in the fancy, and laugh or weep with Falstaff and Macbeth: with how entire an oblivion

of the artificial nature of the whole contrivance, which thus compels them to be their own architects,

machinists, scenepainters, and actors! In fact, the artifice succeeds,becomes grounded in the substance of

the soul: and every one loves to feel how he is thus brought face to face with the brave, the fair, the woful and

the great of all past ages; looks into their eyes, and feels the beatings of their hearts; and reads, over the

shoulder, the secret written tablets of the busiest and the largest brains; while the Juggler, by whose cunning

the whole strange beautiful absurdity is set in motion, keeps himself hidden; sings loud with a mouth

unmoving as that of a statue, and makes the human race cheat itself unanimously and delightfully by the

illusion that he preordains; while as an obscure Fate, he sits invisible, and hardly lets his being be divined by

those who cannot flee him. The Lyric Art is childish, and the Epic barbarous, compared to this. But of the

true and perfect Drama it may be said, as of even higher mysteries, Who is sufficient for these things?"On

this Tragedy of Strafford, writing it and again writing it, studying for it, and bending himself with his whole

strength to do his best on it, he expended many strenuous months,"above a year of his life," he computes,

For the rest, what Falmouth has to give him he is willing to take, and mingles freely in it. In Hare's Collection

there is given a Lecture which he read in Autumn, 1841 (Mr. Hare says "1842," by mistake), to a certain

Public Institution in the place,of which more anon;a piece interesting in this, if not much in any other

respect. Doubtless his friends the Foxes were at the heart of that lecturing enterprise, and had urged and

solicited him. Something like proficiency in certain branches of science, as I have understood, characterized

one or more of this estimable family; love of knowledge, taste for art, wish to consort with wisdom and wise

men, were the tendencies of all; to opulent means superadd the Quaker beneficence, Quaker purity and

reverence, there is a circle in which wise men also may love to be. Sterling made acquaintance here with

whatever of notable in worthy persons or things might be afoot in those parts; and was led thereby, now and

then, into pleasant reunions, in new circles of activity, which might otherwise have continued foreign to him.

The good Calvert, too, was now here; and intended to remain;which he mostly did henceforth, lodging in

Sterling's neighborhood, so long as lodging in this world was permitted him. Still good and clear and

cheerful; still a lively comrade, within doors or without,a diligent rider always,though now wearing

Among those accidental Falmouth reunions, perhaps the notablest for Sterling occurred in this his first

season. There is in Falmouth an Association called the Cornwall Polytechnic Society, established about

twenty years ago, and supported by the wealthy people of the Town and neighborhood, for the

encouragement of the arts in that region; it has its Library, its Museum, some kind of Annual Exhibition

withal; gives prizes, publishes reports: the main patrons, I believe, are Sir Charles Lemon, a wellknown

country gentleman of those parts, and the Messrs. Fox. To this, so far as he liked to go in it, Sterling was sure

to be introduced and solicited. The Polytechnic meeting of 1841 was unusually distinguished; and Sterling's

part in it formed one of the pleasant occurrences for him in Falmouth. It was here that, among other profitable

as well as pleasant things, he made acquaintance with Professor Owen (an event of which I too had my

benefit in due time, and still have): the bigger assemblage called British Association, which met at Plymouth

this year, having now just finished its affairs there, Owen and other distinguished persons had taken Falmouth

in their route from it. Sterling's account of this Polytechnic gala still remains,in three Letters to his Father,

which, omitting the extraneous portions, I will give in one,as a piece worth reading among those stilllife

"MY DEAR FATHER,I was not well for a day or two after you went; and since, I have been busy about an

annual show of the Polytechnic Society here, in which my friends take much interest, and for which I have

been acting as one of the judges in the department of the Fine Arts, and have written a little Report for them.

As I have not said that Falmouth is as eminent as Athens or Florence, perhaps the Committee will not adopt

my statement. But if they do, it will be of some use; for I have hinted, as delicately as possible, that people

should not paint historical pictures before they have the power of drawing a decent outline of a pig or a

cabbage. I saw Sir Charles Lemon yesterday, who was kind as well as civil in his manner; and promises to be

a pleasant neighbor. There are several of the British Association heroes here; but not Whewell, or any one

"August 17th.At the Polytechnic Meeting here we had several very eminent men; among others, Professor

Owen, said to be the first of comparative anatomists, and Conybeare the geologist. Both of these gave

evening Lectures; and after Conybeare's, at which I happened to be present, I said I would, if they chose,

make some remarks on the Busts which happened to be standing there, intended for prizes in the department

of the Fine Arts. They agreed gladly. The heads were Homer, Pericles, Augustus, Dante and Michael Angelo.

I got into the boxlike platform, with these on a shelf before me; and began a talk which must have lasted

some three quarters of an hour; describing partly the characters and circumstances of the men, illustrated by

anecdotes and compared with their physiognomies, and partly the several styles of sculpture exhibited in the

Casts, referring these to what I considered the true principles of the Art. The subject was one that interests

me, and I got on in famous style; and had both pit and galleries all applauding, in a way that had had no

precedent during any other part of the meeting. Conybeare paid me high compliments; Owen looked much

pleased,an honor well purchased by a year's hard work;and everybody, in short, seemed delighted.

Susan was not there, and I had nothing to make me nervous; so that I worked away freely, and got vigorously

over the ground. After so many years' disuse of rhetoric, it was a pleasant surprise to myself to find that I

could still handle the old weapons without awkwardness. More by good luck than good guidance, it has done

my health no harm. I have been at Sir Charles Lemon's, though only to pay a morning visit, having declined

to stay there or dine, the hours not suiting me. They were very civil. The person I saw most of was his sister,

Lady Dunstanville; a pleasant, wellinformed and wellbred woman. He seems a most amiable, kindly man,

of fair good sense and cultivated tastes.I had a letter today from my Mother [in Scotland]; who says she

"August 29th.I returned yesterday from Carclew, Sir C. Lemon's fine place about five miles off; where I

had been staying a couple of days, with apparently the heartiest welcome. Susan was asked; but wanting a

"Sir Charles is a widower (his Wife was sister to Lord Ilchester) without children; but had a niece staying

with him, and his sister Lady Dunstanville, a pleasant and very civil woman. There were also Mr. Bunbury,

eldest son of Sir Henry Bunbury, a man of much cultivation and strong talents; Mr. Fox Talbot, son, I think,

of another Ilchester lady, and brother of the Talbot of Wales, but himself a man of large fortune, and known

for photogenic and other scientific plans of extracting sunbeams from cucumbers. He also is a man of known

ability, but chiefly employed in that peculiar department. Item Professors Lloyd and Owen: the former, of

Dublin, son of the late Provost, I had seen before and knew; a great mathematician and optician, and a

discoverer in those matters; with a clever little Wife, who has a great deal of knowledge, quite free from

pretension. Owen is a firstrate comparative anatomist, they say the greatest since Cuvier; lives in London,

and lectures there. On the whole, he interested me more than any of them,by an apparent force and

"Nothing could be pleasanter and easier than the habits of life, with what to me was a very unusual degree of

luxury, though probably nothing but what is common among people of large fortune. The library and pictures

are nothing extraordinary. The general tone of good nature, good sense and quiet freedom, was what struck

me most; and I think besides this there was a disposition to be cordially courteous towards me....

"I took Edward a ride of two hours yesterday on Calvert's pony, and he is improving fast in horsemanship.

The school appears to answer very well. We shall have the Governess in a day or two, which will be a great

satisfaction. Will you send my Mother this scribble with my love; and believe me,

One other little event dwells with me, out of those Falmouth times, exact date now forgotten; a pleasant little

matter, in which Sterling, and principally the Misses Fox, bright cheery young creatures, were concerned;

which, for the sake of its human interest, is worth mention. In a certain Cornish mine, said the Newspapers

duly specifying it, two miners deep down in the shaft were engaged putting in a shot for blasting: they had

completed their affair, and were about to give the signal for being hoisted up,one at a time was all their

coadjutor at the top could manage, and the second was to kindle the match, and then mount with all speed.

Now it chanced while they were both still below, one of them thought the match too long; tried to break it

shorter, took a couple of stones, a flat and a sharp, to cut it shorter; did cut it of the due length, but, horrible to

relate, kindled it at the same time, and both were still below! Both shouted vehemently to the coadjutor at the

windlass, both sprang at the basket; the windlass man could not move it with them both. Here was a moment

for poor miner Jack and miner Will! Instant horrible death hangs over both,when Will generously resigns

himself: "Go aloft, Jack," and sits down; "away; in one minute I shall be in Heaven!" Jack bounds aloft, the

explosion instantly follows, bruises his face as he looks over; he is safe above ground: and poor Will?

Descending eagerly they find Will too, as if by miracle, buried under rocks which had arched themselves over

him, and little injured: he too is brought up safe, and all ends joyfully, say the Newspapers.

Such a piece of manful promptitude, and salutary human heroism, was worth investigating. It was

investigated; found to be accurate to the letter,with this addition and explanation, that Will, an honest,

ignorant good man, entirely given up to Methodism, had been perfect in the "faith of assurance," certain that

he should get to Heaven if he died, certain that Jack would not, which had been the ground of his decision in

that great moment;for the rest, that he much wished to learn reading and writing, and find some way of life

above ground instead of below. By aid of the Misses Fox and the rest of that family, a subscription (modest

AntiHudson testimonial) was raised to this Methodist hero: he emerged into daylight with fifty pounds in his

pocket; did strenuously try, for certain months, to learn reading and writing; found he could not learn those

arts or either of them; took his money and bought cows with it, wedding at the same time some religious

likely milkmaid; and is, last time I heard of him, a prosperous modest dairyman, thankful for the upper light

and safety from the wrath to come. Sterling had some hand in this affair: but, as I said, it was the two young

In the end of 1841, after many hesitations and revisals, The Election came out; a tiny Duodecimo without

name attached;[24] again inquiring of the public what its suffrage was; again to little purpose. My vote had

never been loud for this step, but neither was it quite adverse; and now, in reading the poor little Poem over

again, after ten years' space, I find it, with a touching mixture of pleasure and repentance, considerably better

than it then seemed to me. My encouragement, if not to print this poem, yet to proceed with Poetry, since

This is a small Piece, but aims at containing great things; a multum in parvo after its sort; and is executed

here and there with undeniable success. The style is free and flowing, the rhyme dances along with a certain

joyful triumph; everything of due brevity withal. That mixture of mockery on the surface, which finely

relieves the real earnestness within, and flavors even what is not very earnest and might even be insipid

otherwise, is not ill managed: an amalgam difficult to effect well in writing; nay, impossible in

writing,unless it stand already done and effected, as a general fact, in the writer's mind and character;

As I said, great things are intended in this little Piece; the motto itself foreshadowing them:

A stupid commonplace English Borough has lost its Member suddenly, by apoplexy or otherwise; resolves,

in the usual explosive temper of mind, to replace him by one of two others; whereupon strange stirringup of

rivalattorney and other human interests and catastrophes. "Frank Vane" (Sterling himself), and "Peter

Mogg," the pattern English blockhead of elections: these are the candidates. There are, of course, fierce rival

attorneys; electors of all creeds and complexions to be canvassed: a poor stupid Borough thrown all into red

or white heat; into blazing paroxysms of activity and enthusiasm, which render the inner life of it (and of

England and the world through it) luminously transparent, so to speak;of which opportunity our friend and

his "Muse" take dexterous advantage, to delineate the same. His pictures are uncommonly good; brief,

joyous, sometimes conclusively true: in rigorously compressed shape; all is merry freshness and exuberance:

we have leafy summer embowering red bricks and small human interests, presented as in glowing miniature;

a mockheroic action fitly interwoven;and many a clear glance is carelessly given into the deepest things

by the way. Very happy also is the little loveepisode; and the absorption of all the interest into that, on the

part of Frank Vane and of us, when once this gallant Frank,having fairly from his barrelhead stated his

own (and John Sterling's) views on the aspects of the world, and of course having quite broken down with his

attorney and his public,handsomely, by stratagem, gallops off with the fair Anne; and leaves free field to

Mogg, free field to the Hippopotamus if it like. This portrait of Mogg may be considered to have merit:

"Though short of days, how large the mind of man; A godlike force enclosed within a span! To climb the

skies we spurn our nature's clog, And toil as Titans to elect a Mogg. "And who was Mogg? O Muse! the man

declare, How excellent his worth, his parts how rare. A younger son, he learnt in Oxford's halls The spheral

harmonies of billiardballs, Drank, hunted, drove, and hid from Virtue's frown His venial follies in

Decorum's gown. Too wise to doubt on insufficient cause, He signed old Cranmer's lore without a pause; And

knew that logic's cunning rules are taught To guard our creed, and not invigorate thought, As those bronze

steeds at Venice, kept for pride, Adorn a Town where not one man can ride. "From Isis sent with all her loud

acclaims, The Laws he studied on the banks of Thames. Park, race and play, in his capacious plan, Combined

with Coke to form the finished man, Until the wig's ambrosial influence shed Its last full glories on the

lawyer's head. "But vain are mortal schemes. The eldest son At Harrier Hall had scarce his stud begun, When

Death's pale courser took the Squire away To lands where never dawns a hunting day: And so, while Thomas

"Now, in her chamber all alone, the maid Her polished limbs and shoulders disarrayed; One little taper gave

the only light, One little mirror caught so dear a sight; 'Mid hangings dusk and shadows wide she stood, Like

some pale Nymph in darkleafed solitude Of rocks and gloomy waters all alone, Where sunshine scarcely

breaks on stump or stone To scare the dreamy vision. Thus did she, A star in deepest night, intent but free,

Gleam through the eyeless darkness, heeding not Her beauty's praise, but musing o'er her lot. "Her garments

one by one she laid aside, And then her knotted hair's long locks untied With careless hand, and down her

cheeks they fell, And o'er her maiden bosom's blueveined swell. The righthand fingers played amidst her

hair, And with her reverie wandered here and there: The other hand sustained the only dress That now but

half concealed her loveliness; And pausing, aimlessly she stood and thought, In virgin beauty by no fear

Manifold, and beautiful of their sort, are Anne's musings, in this interesting attitude, in the summer midnight,

"But Anne, at last her mute devotions o'er, Perceived the feet she had forgot before Of her too shocking

nudity; and shame Flushed from her heart o'er all the snowy frame: And, struck from top to toe with burning

It must be owned withal, the Piece is crude in parts, and far enough from perfect. Our good painter has yet

several things to learn, and to unlearn. His brush is not always of the finest; and dashes about, sometimes, in a

recognizably sprawling way: but it hits many a feature with decisive accuracy and felicity; and on the palette,

as usual, lie the richest colors. A grand merit, too, is the brevity of everything; by no means a spontaneous, or

This new poetic Duodecimo, as the last had done and as the next also did, met with little or no recognition

from the world: which was not very inexcusable on the world's part; though many a poem with far less proof

of merit than this offers, has run, when the accidents favored it, through its tens of editions, and raised the

writer to the demigods for a year or two, if not longer. Such as it is, we may take it as marking, in its small

way, in a noticed or unnoticed manner, a new height arrived at by Sterling in his Poetic course; and almost as

vindicating the determination he had formed to keep climbing by that method. Poor Poem, or rather Promise

of a Poem! In Sterling's brave struggle, this little Election is the highest point he fairly lived to see attained,

and openly demonstrated in print. His next public adventure in this kind was of inferior worth; and a third,

which had perhaps intrinsically gone much higher than any of its antecessors, was cut off as a fragment, and

has not hitherto been published. Steady courage is needed on the Poetic course, as on all courses!

Shortly after this Publication, in the beginning of 1842, poor Calvert, long a hopeless sufferer, was delivered

by death: Sterling's faithful fellowpilgrim could no more attend him in his wayfarings through this world.

The weary and heavyladen man had borne his burden well. Sterling says of him to Hare: "Since I wrote last,

I have lost Calvert; the man with whom, of all others, I have been during late years the most intimate.

Simplicity, benevolence, practical good sense and moral earnestness were his great unfailing characteristics;

and no man, I believe, ever possessed them more entirely. His illness had latterly so prostrated him, both in

mind and body, that those who most loved him were most anxious for his departure." There was something

touching in this exit; in the quenching of so kind and bright a little life under the dark billows of death. To me

he left a curious old Print of James Nayler the Quaker, which I still affectionately preserve.

Sterling, from this greater distance, came perhaps rather seldomer to London; but we saw him still at

moderate intervals; and, through his family here and other direct and indirect channels, were kept in lively

communication with him. Literature was still his constant pursuit; and, with encouragement or without,

Poetic composition his chosen department therein. On the ill success of The Election, or any ill success with

the world, nobody ever heard him utter the least murmur; condolence upon that or any such subject might

have been a questionable operation, by no means called for! Nay, my own approval, higher than this of the

world, had been languid, by no means enthusiastic. But our valiant friend took all quietly; and was not to be

repulsed from his Poetics either by the world's coldness or by mine; he labored at his Strafford;determined

He sometimes spoke, with a certain zeal, of my starting a Periodical: Why not lift up some kind of warflag

against the obese platitudes, and sickly superstitious aperies and impostures of the time? But I had to answer,

"Who will join it, my friend?" He seemed to say, "I, for one;" and there was occasionally a transient

temptation in the thought, but transient only. No fighting regiment, with the smallest attempt towards drill,

cooperation, commissariat, or the like unspeakable advantages, could be raised in Sterling's time or mine;

which truly, to honest fighters, is a rather grievous want. A grievous, but not quite a fatal one. For, failing

this, failing all things and all men, there remains the solitary battle (and were it by the poorest weapon, the

tongue only, or were it even by wise abstinence and silence and without any weapon), such as each man for

himself can wage while he has life: an indubitable and infinitely comfortable fact for every man! Said battle

shaped itself for Sterling, as we have long since seen, chiefly in the poetic form, in the singing or hymning

rather than the speaking form; and in that he was cheerfully assiduous according to his light. The unfortunate

Strafford is far on towards completion; a CoeurdeLion, of which we shall hear farther, "CoeurdeLion,

greatly the best of all his Poems," unluckily not completed, and still unpublished, already hangs in the wind.

His Letters to friends continue copious; and he has, as always, a loyally interested eye on whatsoever of

notable is passing in the world. Especially on whatsoever indicates to him the spiritual condition of the world.

Of "Strauss," in English or in German, we now hear nothing more; of Church matters, and that only to special

correspondents, less and less. Strauss, whom he used to mention, had interested him only as a sign of the

times; in which sense alone do we find, for a year or two back, any notice of the Church, or its affairs by

Sterling; and at last even this as good as ceases: "Adieu, O Church; thy road is that way, mine is this: in God's

name, adieu!" "What we are going to," says he once, "is abundantly obscure; but what all men are going

from, is very plain."Sifted out of many pages, not of sufficient interest, here are one or two miscellaneous

"Falmouth, 3d November, 1841.Yesterday was my Weddingday: eleven years of marriage; and on the

whole my verdict is clear for matrimony. I solemnized the day by reading John Gilpin to the children, who

with their Mother are all pretty well.... There is a trick of sham Elizabethan writing now prevalent, that looks

plausible, but in most cases means nothing at all. Darley has real (lyrical) genius; Taylor, wonderful sense,

clearness and weight of purpose; Tennyson, a rich and exquisite fancy. All the other men of our tiny

generation that I know of are, in Poetry, either feeble or fraudulent. I know nothing of the Reviewer you ask

"December 11th.I have seen no new books; but am reading your last. I got hold of the two first Numbers

of the Hoggarty Diamond; and read them with extreme delight. What is there better in Fielding or

Goldsmith? The man is a true genius; and, with quiet and comfort, might produce masterpieces that would

last as long as any we have, and delight millions of unborn readers. There is more truth and nature in one of

these papers than in all 's Novels together."Thackeray, always a close friend of the Sterling house,

will observe that this is dated 1841, not 1851, and have his own reflections on the matter!

"December 17th.I am not much surprised at Lady 's views of Coleridge's little Book on

Inspiration.Great part of the obscurity of the Letters arises from his anxiety to avoid the difficulties and

absurdities of the common views, and his panic terror of saying anything that bishops and good people would

disapprove. He paid a heavy price, viz. all his own candor and simplicity, in hope of gaining the favor of

"February 1st, 1842.English Toryism has, even in my eyes, about as much to say for itself as any other

form of doctrine; but Irish Toryism is the downright proclamation of brutal injustice, and all in the name of

God and the Bible! It is almost enough to make one turn Mahometan, but for the fear of the four wives."

"March 12th, 1842.... Important to me as these matters are, it almost seems as if there were something

unfeeling in writing of them, under the pressure of such news as ours from India. If the Cabool Troops have

perished, England has not received such a blow from an enemy, nor anything approaching it, since

Buckingham's Expedition to the Isle of Rhe. Walcheren destroyed us by climate; and Corunna, with all its

losses, had much of glory. But here we are dismally injured by mere Barbarians, in a War on our part

shamefully unjust as well as foolish: a combination of disgrace and calamity that would have shocked

Augustus even more than the defeat of Varus. One of the four officers with Macnaghten was George

Lawrence, a brotherinlaw of Nat Barton; a distinguished man, and the father of five totally unprovided

children. He is a prisoner, if not since murdered. Macnaghten I do not pity; he was the prime author of the

whole mad War. But Burnes; and the women; and our regiments! India, however, I feel sure, is safe."

So roll the months at Falmouth; such is the ticking of the great WorldHorologe as heard there by a good ear.

"I willingly add," so ends he, once, "that I lately found somewhere this fragment of an Arab's lovesong: 'O

Ghalia! If my father were a jackass, I would sell him to purchase Ghalia!' A beautiful parallel to the French

In the bleak weather of this spring, 1842, he was again abroad for a little while; partly from necessity, or at

least utility; and partly, as I guess, because these circumstances favored, and he could with a good

countenance indulge a little wish he had long had. In the Italian Tour, which ended suddenly by Mrs.

Sterling's illness recalling him, he had missed Naples; a loss which he always thought to be considerable; and

which, from time to time, he had formed little projects, failures hitherto, for supplying. The rigors of spring

were always dangerous to him in England, and it was always of advantage to get out of them: and then the

sight of Naples, too; this, always a thing to be done some day, was now possible. Enough, with the real or

imaginary hope of bettering himself in health, and the certain one of seeing Naples, and catching a glance of

Italy again, he now made a run thither. It was not long after Calvert's death. The Tragedy of Strafford lay

finished in his desk. Several things, sad and bright, were finished. A little intermezzo of ramble was not

His tour by water and by land was brief and rapid enough; hardly above two months in all. Of which the

"MY DEAR CHARLES,My attempts to shoot you flying with my paper pellets turned out very ill. I hope

young ladies succeed better when they happen to make appointments with you. Even now, I hardly know

whether you have received a Letter I wrote on Sunday last, and addressed to The Cavendish. I sent it thither

"In this missive,happily for us both, it did not contain a hundredpound note or any trifle of that kind,I

informed you that I was compelled to plan an expedition towards the South Pole; stopping, however, in the

Mediterranean; and that I designed leaving this on Monday next for Cadiz or Gibraltar, and then going on to

Malta, whence Italy and Sicily would be accessible. Of course your company would be a great pleasure, if it

were possible for you to join me. The delay in hearing from you, through no fault of yours, has naturally put

me out a little; but, on the whole, my plan still holds, and I shall leave this on Monday for Gibraltar, where

the Great Liverpool will catch me, and carry me to Malta. The Great Liverpool leaves Southampton on the

1st of April, and Falmouth on the 2d; and will reach Gibraltar in from four to five days.

"Now, if you should be able and disposed to join me, you have only to embark in that sumptuous teakettle,

and pick me up under the guns of the Rock. We could then cruise on to Malta, Sicily, Naples, Rome, a

discretion. It is just possible, though extremely improbable, that my steamer of Monday (most likely the

Montrose) may not reach Gibraltar so soon as the Liverpool. If so, and if you should actually be on board,

you must stop at Gibraltar. But there are ninetynine chances to one against this. Write at all events to Susan,

"I do not wait till the Great Liverpool goes, because the object for me is to get into a warm climate as soon as

Barton did not go with him, none went; but he arrives safe, and not hurt in health, which is something.

"DEAREST MOTHER,I am writing to Susan through France, by tomorrow's mail; and will also send

"We reached this the day before yesterday, in the evening; having had a strong breeze against us for a day or

two before; which made me extremely uncomfortable,and indeed my headache is hardly gone yet. From

about the 4th to the 9th of the month, we had beautiful weather, and I was happy enough. You will see by the

map that the straightest line from Gibraltar to this place goes close along the African coast; which

accordingly we saw with the utmost clearness; and found it generally a line of mountains, the higher peaks

and ridges covered with snow. We went close in to Algiers; which looks strong, but entirely from art. The

town lies on the slope of a straight coast; and is not at all embayed, though there is some little shelter for

shipping within the mole. It is a square patch of white buildings huddled together; fringed with batteries; and

commanded by large forts on the ridge above: a most uncomfortablelooking place; though, no doubt, there

are cafes and billiardrooms and a theatre within,for the French like to have their Houris, on this side of

"Our party of fifty people (we had taken some on board at Gibraltar) broke up, on reaching this; never, of

course, to meet again. The greater part do not proceed to Alexandria. Considering that there was a bundle of

midshipmen, ensigns, we had as much reason among us as could perhaps be looked for; and from several I

gained bits of information and traits of character, though nothing very remarkable....

"I have established myself in an inn, rather than go to Lady Louis's;[27] I not feeling quite equal to company,

except in moderate doses. I have, however, seen her a good deal; and dine there today, very privately, for

Sir John is not quite well, and they will have no guests. The place, however, is full of official banqueting, for

various unimportant reasons. When here before, I was in much distress and anxiety, on my way from Rome;

and I suppose this it was that prevented its making the same impression on me as now, when it seems really

the stateliest town I have ever seen. The architecture is generally of a corrupt Roman kind; with something of

the varied and picturesque look, though much more massive, of our Elizabethan buildings. We have the finest

At Naples next, for three weeks, was due admiration of the sceneries and antiquities, Bay and Mountain, by

no means forgetting Art and the Museum: "to Pozzuoli, to Baiae, round the Promontory of

Sorrento;"above all, "twice to Pompeii," where the elegance and classic simplicity of Ancient

Housekeeping strikes us much; and again to Paestum, where "the Temple of Neptune is far the noblest

building I have ever seen; and makes both Greek and Revived Roman seem quite barbaric.... Lord Ponsonby

lodges in the same house with me;but, of course, I do not countenance an adherent of a beaten

Party!"[28]Or let us take this more compendious account, which has much more of human in it, from an

"MY DEAR CARLYLE,I hope I wrote to you before leaving England, to tell you of the necessity for my

doing so. Though coming to Italy, there was little comfort in the prospect of being divided from my family,

and pursuits which grew on me every day. However, I tried to make the best of it, and have gained both

"In spite of scanty communications from England (owing to the uncertainty of my position), a word or two

concerning you and your dear Wife have reached me. Lately it has often occurred to me, that the sight of the

Bay of Naples, of the beautiful coast from that to this place, and of Rome itself, all bathed in summer

sunshine, and green with spring foliage, would be some consolation to her.[29] Pray give her my love.

"I have been two days here; and almost the first thing I did was to visit the Protestant burialground, and the

graves of those I knew when here before. But much as being now alone here, I feel the difference, there is no

scene where Death seems so little dreadful and miserable as in the lonelier neighborhoods of this old place.

All one's impressions, however, as to that and everything else, appear to me, on reflection, more affected than

I had for a long time any notion of, by one's own isolation. All the feelings and activities which family,

friends and occupation commonly engage, are turned, here in one's solitude, with strange force into the

channels of mere observation and contemplation; and the objects one is conversant with seem to gain a

tenfold significance from the abundance of spare interest one now has to bestow on them. This explains to me

a good deal of the peculiar effect that Italy has always had on me: and something of that artistic enthusiasm

which I remember you used to think so singular in Goethe's Travels. Darley, who is as much a brooding

hermit in England as here, felt nothing but disappointment from a country which fills me with childish

"Of you I have received some slight notice from Mrs. Strachey; who is on her way hither; and will (she

writes) be at Florence on the 15th, and here before the end of the month. She notices having received a Letter

of yours which had pleased her much. She now proposes spending the summer at Sorrento, or thereabouts;

and if mere delight of landscape and climate were enough, Adam and Eve, had their courier taken them to

that region, might have done well enough without Paradise,and not been tempted, either, by any Tree of

"The ignorance of the Neapolitans, from the highest to the lowest, is very eminent; and excites the admiration

of all the rest of Italy. In the great building containing all the Works of Art, and a Library of 150,000

volumes, I asked for the best existing Book (a German one published ten years ago) on the Statues in that

very Collection; and, after a rabble of clerks and custodes, got up to a dirty priest, who bowing to the ground

regretted 'they did not possess it,' but at last remembered that 'they had entered into negotiations on the

subject, which as yet had been unsuccessful.'The favorite device on the walls at Naples is a vermilion

Picture of a Male and Female Soul respectively up to the waist (the waist of a soul) in fire, and an Angel

above each, watering the sufferers from a wateringpot. This is intended to gain alms for Masses. The same

populace sit for hours on the Mole, listening to rhapsodists who recite Ariosto. I have seen I think five of

them all within a hundred yards of each other, and some sets of fiddlers to boot. Yet there are few parts of the

world where I have seen less laughter than there. The Miracle of Januarius's Blood is, on the whole, my most

curious experience. The furious entreaties, shrieks and sobs, of a set of old women, yelling till the Miracle

"I spent three weeks in this most glittering of countries, and saw most of the usual wonders,the Paestan

Temples being to me much the most valuable. But Pompeii and all that it has yielded, especially the Fresco

Paintings, have also an infinite interest. When one considers that this prodigious series of beautiful designs

supplied the place of our common roompapers,the wealth of poetic imagery among the Ancients, and the

corresponding traditional variety and elegance of pictorial treatment, seem equally remarkable. The Greek

and Latin Books do not give one quite so fully this sort of impression; because they afford no direct measure

of the extent of their own diffusion. But these are ornaments from the smaller class of decent houses in a little

Country Town; and the greater number of them, by the slightness of the execution, show very clearly that

they were adapted to ordinary taste, and done by mere artisans. In general clearness, symmetry and simplicity

of feeling, I cannot say that, on the whole, the works of Raffaelle equal them; though of course he has endless

beauties such as we could not find unless in the great original works from which these sketches at Pompeii

were taken. Yet with all my much increased reverence for the Greeks, it seems more plain than ever that they

"Rome, which I loved before above all the earth, now delights me more than ever;though at this moment

there is rain falling that would not discredit Oxford Street. The depth, sincerity and splendor that there once

was in the semipaganism of the old Catholics comes out in St. Peter's and its dependencies, almost as

grandly as does Greek and Roman Art in the Forum and the Vatican Galleries. I wish you were here: but, at

At Paris, where he stopped a day and night, and generally through his whole journey from Marseilles to

Havre, one thing attended him: the prevailing epidemic of the place and year; now gone, and nigh forgotten,

as other influenzas are. He writes to his Father: "I have not yet met a single Frenchman, who could give me

any rational explanation why they were all in such a confounded rage against us. Definite causes of quarrel a

statesman may know how to deal with, inasmuch as the removal of them may help to settle the dispute. But it

must be a puzzling task to negotiate about instincts; to which class, as it seems to me, we must have recourse

for an understanding of the present abhorrence which everybody on the other side of the Channel not only

feels, but makes a point to boast of, against the name of Britain. France is slowly arming, especially with

Steam, en attendant a more than possible contest, in which they reckon confidently on the eager cooperation

of the Yankees; as, vice versa, an American told me that his countrymen do on that of France. One person at

Paris (M. whom you know) provoked me to tell him that 'England did not want another battle of

Trafalgar; but if France did, she might compel England to gratify her.'"After a couple of pleasant and

profitable months, he was safe home again in the first days of June; and saw Falmouth not under gray iron

skies, and whirls of March dust, but bright with summer opulence and the roses coming out.

It was what I call his "fifth peregrinity;" his fifth and last. He soon afterwards came up to London; spent a

couple of weeks, with all his old vivacity, among us here. The AEsculapian oracles, it would appear, gave

altogether cheerful prophecy; the highest medical authority "expresses the most decided opinion that I have

gradually mended for some years; and in truth I have not, for six or seven, been so free from serious

symptoms of illness as at present." So uncertain are all oracles, AEsculapian and other!

During this visit, he made one new acquaintance which he much valued; drawn thither, as I guess, by the

wish to take counsel about Strafford. He writes to his Clifton friend, under date, 1st July 1842: "Lockhart, of

the Quarterly Review, I made my first oral acquaintance with; and found him as neat, clear and cutting a brain

as you would expect; but with an amount of knowledge, good nature and liberal antibigotry, that would

much surprise many. The tone of his children towards him seemed to me decisive of his real kindness. He

quite agreed with me as to the threatening seriousness of our present social perplexities, and the necessity and

difficulty of doing something effectual for so satisfying the manual multitude as not to overthrow all legal

"Of other persons whom I saw in London," continues he, "there are several that would much interest

you,though I missed Tennyson, by a mere chance.... John Mill has completely finished, and sent to the

bookseller, his great work on Logic; the labor of many years of a singularly subtle, patient and

comprehensive mind. It will be our chief speculative monument of this age. Mill and I could not meet above

two or three times; but it was with the openness and freshness of schoolboy friends, though our friendship

He himself was busier than ever; occupied continually with all manner of Poetic interests. CoeurdeLion, a

new and more elaborate attempt in the mockheroic or comicodidactic vein, had been on hand for some

time, the scope of it greatly deepening and expanding itself since it first took hold of him; and now, soon after

the Naples journey, it rose into shape on the wider plan; shaken up probably by this new excitement, and

indebted to Calabria, Palermo and the Mediterranean scenes for much of the vesture it had. With this, which

opened higher hopes for him than any of his previous efforts, he was now employing all his time and

strength;and continued to do so, this being the last effort granted him among us.

Already, for some months, Strafford lay complete: but how to get it from the stocks; in what method to

launch it? The step was questionable. Before going to Italy he had sent me the Manuscript; still loyal and

friendly; and willing to hear the worst that could be said of his poetic enterprise. I had to afflict him again, the

good brave soul, with the deliberate report that I could not accept this Drama as his Picture of the Life of

Strafford, or as any Picture of that strange Fact. To which he answered, with an honest manfulness, in a tone

which is now pathetic enough to me, that he was much grieved yet much obliged, and uncertain how to

decide. On the other hand, Mr. Hare wrote, warmly eulogizing. Lockhart too spoke kindly, though taking

some exceptions. It was a questionable case. On the whole, Strafford remained, for the present, unlaunched;

and Coeur deLion was getting its first timbers diligently laid down. So passed, in peaceable seclusion, in

wholesome employment and endeavor, the autumn and winter of 184243. On Christmasday, he reports to

"I wished to write to you yesterday; but was prevented by the important business of preparing a Tree, in the

German fashion, for the children. This project answered perfectly, as it did last year; and gave them the

greatest pleasure. I wish you and my Father could have been here to see their merry faces. Johnny was in the

thick of the fun, and much happier than Lord Anson on capturing the galleon. We are all going on well and

quietly, but with nothing very new among us.... The last book I have lighted on is Moffat's Missionary Labors

in South Africa; which is worth reading. There is the best collection of lion stories in it that I have ever seen.

But the man is, also, really a very good fellow; and fit for something much better than most lions are. He is

very ignorant, and mistaken in some things; but has strong sense and heart; and his Narrative adds another to

the many proofs of the enormous power of Christianity on rude minds. Nothing can be more chaotic, that is

human at all, than the notions of these poor Blacks, even after what is called their conversion; but the effect is

produced. They do adopt pantaloons, and abandon polygamy; and I suppose will soon have newspapers and

DURING all these years of struggle and wayfaring, his Father's household at Knightsbridge had stood

healthful, happy, increasing in wealth, free diligence, solidity and honest prosperity: a fixed sunny islet,

towards which, in all his voyagings and overclouded roamings, he could look with satisfaction, as to an

The elder Sterling, after many battles, had reached his field of conquest in these years; and was to be regarded

as a victorious man. Wealth sufficient, increasing not diminishing, had rewarded his labors in the Times,

which were now in their full flower; he had influence of a sort; went busily among busy public men; and

enjoyed, in the questionable form attached to journalism and anonymity, a social consideration and position

which were abundantly gratifying to him. A singular figure of the epoch; and when you came to know him,

which it was easy to fail of doing if you had not eyes and candid insight, a gallant, truly gifted, and manful

figure, of his kind. We saw much of him in this house; much of all his family; and had grown to love them all

right well,him too, though that was the difficult part of the feat. For in his Irish way he played the conjurer

very much,"three hundred and sixtyfive opinions in the year upon every subject," as a wag once said. In

fact his talk, ever ingenious, emphatic and spirited in detail, was much defective in earnestness, at least in

clear earnestness, of purport and outcome; but went tumbling as if in mere welters of explosive unreason; a

volcano heaving under vague deluges of scoriae, ashes and imponderous pumicestones, you could not say in

what direction, nor well whether in any. Not till after good study did you see the deep molten lavaflood,

which simmered steadily enough, and showed very well by and by whither it was bound. For I must say of

Edward Sterling, after all his daily explosive sophistries, and fallacies of talk, he had a stubborn instinctive

sense of what was manful, strong and worthy; recognized, with quick feeling, the charlatan under his

solemnest wig; knew as clearly as any man a pusillanimous tailor in buckram, an ass under the lion's skin,

The sudden changes of doctrine in the Times, which failed not to excite loud censure and indignant

amazement in those days, were first intelligible to you when you came to interpret them as his changes. These

sudden whirls from east to west on his part, and total changes of party and articulate opinion at a day's

warning, lay in the nature of the man, and could not be helped; products of his fiery impatience, of the

combined impetuosity and limitation of an intellect, which did nevertheless continually gravitate towards

what was loyal, true and right on all manner of subjects. These, as I define them, were the mere scoriae and

pumice wreck of a steady central lavaflood, which truly was volcanic and explosive to a strange degree, but

did rest as few others on the grand firedepths of the world. Thus, if he stormed along, ten thousand strong,

in the time of the Reform Bill, indignantly denouncing Toryism and its obsolete insane pretensions; and then

if, after some experience of Whig management, he discerned that Wellington and Peel, by whatever name

entitled, were the men to be depended on by England,there lay in all this, visible enough, a deeper

consistency far more important than the superficial one, so much clamored after by the vulgar. Which is the

lion'sskin; which is the real lion? Let a man, if he is prudent, ascertain that before speaking;but above and

beyond all things, let him ascertain it, and stand valiantly to it when ascertained! In the latter essential part of

the operation Edward Sterling was honorably successful to a really marked degree; in the former, or

prudential part, very much the reverse, as his history in the Journalistic department at least, was continually

An amazingly impetuous, hasty, explosive man, this "Captain Whirlwind," as I used to call him! Great

sensibility lay in him, too; a real sympathy, and affectionate pity and softness, which he had an

overtendency to express even by tears,a singular sight in so leonine a man. Enemies called them maudlin

and hypocritical, these tears; but that was nowise the complete account of them. On the whole, there did

conspicuously lie a dash of ostentation, a selfconsciousness apt to become loud and braggart, over all he

said and did and felt: this was the alloy of the man, and you had to be thankful for the abundant gold along

Quizzing enough he got among us for all this, and for the singular chiaroscuro manner of procedure, like that

of an Archimagus Cagliostro, or Kaiser Joseph Incognito, which his anonymous knownunknown

thunderings in the Times necessitated in him; and much we laughed,not without explosive

counterbanterings on his part;but, in fine, one could not do without him; one knew him at heart for a right

brave man. "By Jove, sir!" thus he would swear to you, with radiant face; sometimes, not often, by a deeper

oath. With persons of dignity, especially with women, to whom he was always very gallant, he had courtly

delicate manners, verging towards the wiredrawn and elaborate; on common occasions, he bloomed out at

once into jolly familiarity of the gracefully boisterous kind, reminding you of messrooms and old Dublin

days. His offhand mode of speech was always precise, emphatic, ingenious: his laugh, which was frequent

rather than otherwise, had a sincerity of banter, but no real depth of sense for the ludicrous; and soon ended,

if it grew too loud, in a mere dissonant scream. He was broad, wellbuilt, stout of stature; had a long lowish

head, sharp gray eyes, with large strong aquiline face to match; and walked, or sat, in an erect decisive

manner. A remarkable man; and playing, especially in those years 183040, a remarkable part in the world.

For it may be said, the emphatic, bigvoiced, always influential and often strongly unreasonable

Times Newspaper was the express emblem of Edward Sterling; he, more than any other man or circumstance,

was the Times Newspaper, and thundered through it to the shaking of the spheres. And let us assert withal

that his and its influence, in those days, was not ill grounded but rather well; that the loud manifold unreason,

often enough vituperated and groaned over, was of the surface mostly; that his conclusions, unreasonable,

partial, hasty as they might at first be, gravitated irresistibly towards the right: in virtue of which grand

quality indeed, the root of all good insight in man, his Times oratory found acceptance and influential

audience, amid the loud whirl of an England itself logically very stupid, and wise chiefly by instinct.

England listened to this voice, as all might observe; and to one who knew England and it, the result was not

quite a strange one, and was honorable rather than otherwise to both parties. A good judge of men's talents

has been heard to say of Edward Sterling: "There is not a faculty of improvising equal to this in all my circle.

Sterling rushes out into the clubs, into London society, rolls about all day, copiously talking modish nonsense

or sense, and listening to the like, with the multifarious miscellany of men; comes home at night; redacts it

into a Times Leader,and is found to have hit the essential purport of the world's immeasurable babblement

that day, with an accuracy beyond all other men. This is what the multifarious Babel sound did mean to say in

clear words; this, more nearly than anything else. Let the most gifted intellect, capable of writing epics, try to

write such a Leader for the Morning Newspapers! No intellect but Edward Sterling's can do it. An

improvising faculty without parallel in my experience."In this "improvising faculty," much more nobly

developed, as well as in other faculties and qualities with unexpectedly new and improved figure, John

Connected with this matter, a remarkable Note has come into my hands; honorable to the man I am writing

of, and in some sort to another higher man; which, as it may now (unhappily for us all) be published without

scruple, I will not withhold here. The support, by Edward Sterling and the Times, of Sir Robert Peel's first

Ministry, and generally of Peel's statesmanship, was a conspicuous fact in its day; but the return it met with

from the person chiefly interested may be considered well worth recording. The following Letter, after

meandering through I know not what intricate conduits, and consultations of the Mysterious Entity whose

address it bore, came to Edward Sterling as the real fleshandblood proprietor, and has been found among

"SIR,Having this day delivered into the hands of the King the Seals of Office, I can, without any

imputation of an interested motive, or any impediment from scrupulous feelings of delicacy, express my deep

sense of the powerful support which that Government over which I had the honor to preside received from

"If I do not offer the expressions of personal gratitude, it is because I feel that such expressions would do

injustice to the character of a support which was given exclusively on the highest and most independent

grounds of public principle. I can say this with perfect truth, as I am addressing one whose person even is

unknown to me, and who during my tenure of power studiously avoided every species of intercourse which

could throw a suspicion upon the motives by which he was actuated. I should, however, be doing injustice to

my own feelings, if I were to retire from Office without one word of acknowledgment; without at least

assuring you of the admiration with which I witnessed, during the arduous contest in which I was engaged,

the daily exhibition of that extraordinary ability to which I was indebted for a support, the more valuable

because it was an impartial and discriminating support.I have the honor to be, Sir,

To which, with due loftiness and diplomatic gravity and brevity, there is Answer, Draught of Answer in

Edward Sterling's hand, from the Mysterious Entity so honored, in the following terms:

"SIR,It gives me sincere satisfaction to learn from the Letter with which you have honored me, bearing

yesterday's date, that you estimate so highly the efforts which have been made during the last five months by

the Times Newspaper to support the cause of rational and wholesome Government which his Majesty had

intrusted to your guidance; and that you appreciate fairly the disinterested motive, of regard to the public

welfare, and to that alone, through which this Journal has been prompted to pursue a policy in accordance

with that of your Administration. It is, permit me to say, by such motives only, that the Times, ever since I

have known it, has been influenced, whether in defence of the Government of the day, or in constitutional

resistance to it: and indeed there exist no other motives of action for a Journalist, compatible either with the

safety of the press, or with the political morality of the great bulk of its readers.With much respect, I have

Of this Note I do not think there was the least whisper during Edward Sterling's lifetime; which fact also one

likes to remember of him, so ostentatious and littlereticent a man. For the rest, his loyal admiration of Sir

Robert Peel,sanctioned, and as it were almost consecrated to his mind, by the great example of the Duke of

Wellington, whom he reverenced always with true heroworship,was not a journalistic one, but a most

intimate authentic feeling, sufficiently apparent in the very heart of his mind. Among the many opinions

"liable to three hundred and sixtyfive changes in the course of the year," this in reference to Peel and

Wellington was one which ever changed, but was the same all days and hours. To which, equally genuine,

and coming still oftener to light in those times, there might one other be added, one and hardly more: fixed

contempt, not unmingled with detestation, for Daniel O'Connell. This latter feeling, we used often laughingly

to say, was his grand political principle, the one firm centre where all else went revolving. But internally the

other also was deep and constant; and indeed these were properly his two centres,poles of the same axis,

O'Connell he had known in young Dublin days;and surely no man could well venerate another less! It was

his deliberate, unalterable opinion of the then Great O, that good would never come of him; that only

mischief, and this in huge measure, would come. That however showy, and adroit in rhetoric and

management, he was a man of incurably commonplace intellect, and of no character but a hollow, blustery,

pusillanimous and unsound one; great only in maudlin patriotisms, in speciosities, astucities,in the

miserable gifts for becoming Chief Demagogos, Leader of a deepsunk Populace towards its Lands of

Promise; which trade, in any age or country, and especially in the Ireland of this age, our indignant friend

regarded (and with reason) as an extremely ugly one for a man. He had himself zealously advocated Catholic

Emancipation, and was not without his Irish patriotism, very different from the Orange sort; but the

"Liberator" was not admirable to him, and grew daily less so to an extreme degree. Truly, his scorn of the

said Liberator, now riding in supreme dominion on the wings of blarney, devilward of a surety, with the

Liberated all following and huzzaing; his fierce gusts of wrath and abhorrence over him,rose occasionally

almost to the sublime. We laughed often at these vehemences:and they were not wholly laughable; there

was something very serious, and very true, in them! This creed of Edward Sterling's would not now, in either

During those ten years which might be defined as the culminating period of Edward Sterling's life, his house

at South Place, Knights bridge, had worn a gay and solid aspect, as if built at last on the high tableland of

sunshine and success, the region of storms and dark weather now all victoriously traversed and lying safe

below. Health, work, wages, whatever is needful to a man, he had, in rich measure; and a frank stout heart to

guide the same: he lived in such style as pleased him; drove his own chariot up and down (himself often

acting as Jehu, and reminding you a little of Times thunder even in driving); consorted, after a fashion, with

the powerful of the world; saw in due vicissitude a miscellany of social faces round him,pleasant parties,

which he liked well enough to garnish by a lord; "Irish lord, if no better might be," as the banter went. For the

rest, he loved men of worth and intellect, and recognized them well, whatever their title: this was his own

patent of worth which Nature had given him; a central light in the man, which illuminated into a kind of

beauty, serious or humorous, all the artificialities he had accumulated on the surface of him. So rolled his

days, not quietly, yet prosperously, in manifold commerce with men. At one in the morning, when all had

vanished into sleep, his lamp was kindled in his library; and there, twice or thrice a week, for a threehours'

space, he launched his bolts, which next morning were to shake the high places of the world.

John's relation to his Father, when one saw John here, was altogether frank, joyful and amiable: he ignored

the Times thunder for most part, coldly taking the Anonymous for nonextant; spoke of it floutingly, if he

spoke at all: indeed a pleasant halfbantering dialect was the common one between Father and Son; and they,

especially with the gentle, simplehearted, justminded Mother for treblevoice between them, made a very

So had it lasted, ever since poor John's voyagings began; his Father's house standing always as a fixed sunny

islet with safe harbor for him. So it could not always last. This sunny islet was now also to break and go

down: so many firm islets, fixed pillars in his fluctuating world, pillar after pillar, were to break and go down;

till swiftly all, so to speak, were sunk in the dark waters, and he with them! Our little History is now

In the beginning of 1843 news reached us that Sterling had, in his too reckless way, encountered a dangerous

accident: maids, in the room where he was, were lifting a heavy table; he, seeing them in difficulty, had

snatched at the burden; heaved it away,but had broken a bloodvessel by the business; and was now, after

extensive hemorrhage, lying dangerously ill. The doctors hoped the worst was over; but the case was

evidently serious. In the same days, too, his Mother had been seized here by some painful disease, which

from its continuance grew alarming. Sad omens for Edward Sterling, who by this time had as good as ceased

writing or working in the Times, having comfortably winded up his affairs there; and was looking forward to

a freer idle life befitting his advanced years henceforth. Fatal eclipse had fallen over that household of his;

By dint of watchful nursing, John Sterling got on foot once more: but his Mother did not recover, quite the

contrary. Her case too grew very questionable. Disease of the heart, said the medical men at last; not

immediately, not perhaps for a length of years, dangerous to life, said they; but without hope of cure. The

poor lady suffered much; and, though affecting hope always, grew weaker and weaker. John ran up to Town

in March; I saw him, on the morrow or next day after, in his own room at Knightsbridge: he had caught fresh

cold overnight, the servant having left his window up, but I was charged to say nothing of it, not to flutter the

already troubled house: he was going home again that very day, and nothing ill would come of it. We

understood the family at Falmouth, his Wife being now near her confinement again, could at any rate

comport with no long absence. He was cheerful, even rudely merry; himself pale and ill, his poor Mother's

cough audible occasionally through the wall. Very kind, too, and gracefully affectionate; but I observed a

certain grimness in his mood of mind, and under his light laughter lay something unusual, something stern, as

if already dimmed in the coming shadows of Fate. "Yes, yes, you are a good man: but I understand they mean

to appoint you to Rhadamanthus's post, which has been vacant for some time; and you will see how you like

that!" This was one of the things he said; a strange effulgence of wild drollery flashing through the ice of

earnest pain and sorrow. He looked paler than usual: almost for the first time, I had myself a twinge of

misgiving as to his own health; for hitherto I had been used to blame as much as pity his fits of dangerous

illness, and would often angrily remonstrate with him that he might have excellent health, would he but take

reasonable care of himself, and learn the art of sitting still. Alas, as if he could learn it; as if Nature had not

laid her ban on him even there, and said in smiles and frowns manifoldly, "No, that thou shalt not learn!"

He went that day; he never saw his good true Mother more. Very shortly afterwards, in spite of doctors'

prophecies, and affectionate illusions, she grew alarmingly and soon hopelessly worse. Here are his last two

"DEAREST MOTHER,I could do you no good, but it would be the greatest comfort to me if I could be

near you. Nothing would detain me but Susan's condition. I feel that until her confinement is over, I ought to

remain here,unless you wished me to go to you; in which case she would be the first to send me off.

Happily she is doing as well as possible, and seems even to gain strength every day. She sends her love to

"The children are all doing well. I rode with Edward today through some of the pleasant lanes in the

neighborhood; and was delighted, as I have often been at the same season, to see the primroses under every

hedge. It is pleasant to think that the Maker of them can make other flowers for the gardens of his other

mansions. We have here a softness in the air, a smoothness of the clouds, and a mild sunshine, that combine

in lovely peace with the first green of spring and the mellow whiteness of the sails upon the quiet sea. The

whole aspect of the world is full of a quiet harmony, that influences even one's bodily frame, and seems to

make one's very limbs aware of something living, good and immortal in all around us. Knowing how you

suffer, and how weak you are, anything is a blessing to me that helps me to rise out of confusion and grief

into the sense of God and joy. I could not indeed but feel how much happier I should have been, this

morning, had you been with me, and delighting as you would have done in all the little as well as the large

beauty of the world. But it was still a satisfaction to feel how much I owe to you of the power of perceiving

meaning, reality and sweetness in all healthful life. And thus I could fancy that you were still near me; and

that I could see you, as I have so often seen you, looking with earnest eyes at wayside flowers.

"I would rather not have written what must recall your thoughts to your present sufferings: but, dear Mother, I

wrote only what I felt; and perhaps you would rather have it so, than that I should try to find other topics. I

still hope to be with you before long. Meanwhile and always, God bless you, is the prayer of

"DEAREST MOTHER,I have just received my Father's Letter; which gives me at least the comfort of

believing that you do not suffer very much pain. That your mind has remained so clear and strong, is an

"I do not know anything in the world that would make up to me at all for wanting the recollection of the days

I spent with you lately, when I was amazed at the freshness and life of all your thoughts. It brought back

fardistant years, in the strangest, most peaceful way. I felt myself walking with you in Greenwich Park, and

on the seashore at Sandgate; almost even I seemed a baby, with you bending over me. Dear Mother, there is

surely something uniting us that cannot perish. I seem so sure of a love which shall last and reunite us, that

even the remembrance, painful as that is, of all my own follies and ill tempers, cannot shake this faith. When

I think of you, and know how you feel towards me, and have felt for every moment of almost forty years, it

would be too dark to believe that we shall never meet again. It was from you that I first learnt to think, to feel,

to imagine, to believe; and these powers, which cannot be extinguished, will one day enter anew into

communion with you. I have bought it very dear by the prospect of losing you in this world,but since you

have been so ill, everything has seemed to me holier, loftier and more lasting, more full of hope and final joy.

"It would be a very great happiness to see you once more even here; but I do not know if that will be granted

to me. But for Susan's state, I should not hesitate an instant; as it is, my duty seems to be to remain, and I

have no right to repine. There is no sacrifice that she would not make for me, and it would be too cruel to

endanger her by mere anxiety on my account. Nothing can exceed her sympathy with my sorrow. But she

cannot know, no one can, the recollections of all you have been and done for me; which now are the most

sacred and deepest, as well as most beautiful, thoughts that abide with me. May God bless you, dearest

Mother. It is much to believe that He feels for you all that you have ever felt for your children.

A day or two after this, "on Good Friday, 1843," his Wife got happily through her confinement, bringing him,

he writes, "a stout little girl, who and the Mother are doing as well as possible." The little girl still lives and

does well; but for the Mother there was another lot. Till the Monday following she too did altogether well, he

affectionately watching her; but in the course of that day, some change for the worse was noticed, though

nothing to alarm either the doctors or him; he watched by her bedside all night, still without alarm; but sent

again in the morning, Tuesday morning, for the doctors,Who did not seem able to make much of the

symptoms. She appeared weak and low, but made no particular complaint. The London post meanwhile was

announced; Sterling went into another room to learn what tidings of his Mother it brought him. Returning

speedily with a face which in vain strove to be calm, his Wife asked, How at Knightsbridge? "My Mother is

dead," answered Sterling; "died on Sunday: She is gone." "Poor old man! " murmured the other, thinking of

old Edward Sterling now left alone in the world; and these were her own last words: in two hours more she

too was dead. In two hours Mother and Wife were suddenly both snatched away from him.

"It came with awful suddenness! " writes he to his Clifton friend. "Still for a short time I had my Susan: but I

soon saw that the medical men were in terror; and almost within half an hour of that fatal Knightsbridge

news, I began to suspect our own pressing danger. I received her last breath upon my lips. Her mind was

much sunk, and her perceptions slow; but a few minutes before the last, she must have caught the idea of

dissolution; and signed that I should kiss her. She faltered painfully, 'Yes! yes!'returned with fervency the

pressure of my lips; and in a few moments her eyes began to fix, her pulse to cease. She too is gone from

me!" It was Tuesday morning, April 18th, 1843. His Mother had died on the Sunday before.

He had loved his excellent kind Mother, as he ought and well might: in that good heart, in all the wanderings

of his own, there had ever been a shrine of warm pity, of mother's love and blessed soft affections for him;

and now it was closed in the Eternities forevermore. His poor Lifepartner too, his other self, who had

faithfully attended him so long in all his pilgrimings, cheerily footing the heavy tortuous ways along with

him, can follow him no farther; sinks now at his side: "The rest of your pilgrimings alone, O Friend,adieu,

adieu!" She too is forever hidden from his eyes; and he stands, on the sudden, very solitary amid the tumult of

fallen and falling things. "My little baby girl is doing well; poor little wreck cast upon the seabeach of life.

My children require me tenfold now. What I shall do, is all confusion and darkness."

The younger Mrs. Sterling was a true good woman; loyalhearted, willing to do well, and struggling

wonderfully to do it amid her languors and infirmities; rescuing, in many ways, with beautiful female

heroism and adroitness, what of fertility their uncertain, wandering, unfertile way of life still left possible,

and cheerily making the most of it. A genial, pious and harmonious fund of character was in her; and withal

an indolent, halfunconscious force of intellect, and justness and delicacy of perception, which the casual

acquaintance scarcely gave her credit for. Sterling much respected her decision in matters literary; often

altering and modifying where her feeling clearly went against him; and in verses especially trusting to her

ear, which was excellent, while he knew his own to be worth little. I remember her melodious rich plaintive

tone of voice; and an exceedingly bright smile which she sometimes had, effulgent with sunny gayety and

Sterling has lost much in these two hours; how much that has long been can never again be for him! Twice in

one morning, so to speak, has a mighty wind smitten the corners of his house; and much lies in dismal ruins

In this sudden avalanche of sorrows Sterling, weak and worn as we have seen, bore up manfully, and with

pious valor fronted what had come upon him. He was not a man to yield to vain wailings, or make repinings

at the unalterable: here was enough to be long mourned over; but here, for the moment, was very much

imperatively requiring to be done. That evening, he called his children round him; spoke words of religious

admonition and affection to them; said, "He must now be a Mother as well as Father to them." On the

evening of the funeral, writes Mr. Hare, he bade them goodnight, adding these words, "If I am taken from

you, God will take care of you." He had six children left to his charge, two of them infants; and a dark

outlook ahead of them and him. The good Mrs. Maurice, the children's young Aunt, present at this time and

Falmouth, it may be supposed, had grown a sorrowful place to him, peopled with haggard memories in his

weak state; and now again, as had been usual with him, change of place suggested itself as a desirable

alleviation;and indeed, in some sort, as a necessity. He has "friends here," he admits to himself, "whose

kindness is beyond all price, all description;" but his little children, if anything befell him, have no relative

within two hundred miles. He is now sole watcher over them; and his very life is so precarious; nay, at any

rate, it would appear, he has to leave Falmouth every spring, or run the hazard of worse. Once more, what is

A still gentler climate, greater proximity to London, where his Brother Anthony now was and most of his

friends and interests were: these considerations recommended Ventnor, in the beautiful Southeastern corner

of the Isle of Wight; where on inquiry an eligible house was found for sale. The house and its surrounding

piece of ground, improvable both, were purchased; he removed thither in June of this year 1843; and set

about improvements and adjustments on a frank scale. By the decease of his Mother, he had become rich in

money; his share of the WestIndia properties having now fallen to him, which, added to his former

incomings, made a revenue he could consider ample and abundant. Falmouth friends looked lovingly towards

him, promising occasional visits; old Herstmonceux, which he often spoke of revisiting but never did, was

not far off; and London, with all its resources and remembrances, was now again accessible. He resumed his

The Poem of CoeurdeLion has been already mentioned, and the wider form and aim it had got since he

first took it in hand. It was above a year before the date of these tragedies and changes, that he had sent me a

Canto, or couple of Cantos, of CoeurdeLion; loyally again demanding my opinion, harsh as it had often

been on that side. This time I felt right glad to answer in another tone: "That here was real felicity and

ingenuity, on the prescribed conditions; a decisively rhythmic quality in this composition; thought and

phraseology actually dancing, after a sort. What the plan and scope of the Work might be, he had not said,

and I could not judge; but here was a light opulence of airy fancy, picturesque conception, vigorous

delineation, all marching on as with cheerful drum and fife, if without more rich and complicated forms of

melody: if a man would write in metre, this sure enough was the way to try doing it." For such

encouragement from that stinted quarter, Sterling, I doubt not, was very thankful; and of course it might

cooperate with the inspirations from his Naples Tour to further him a little in this his now chief task in the

way of Poetry; a thought which, among my many almost pathetic remembrances of contradictions to his

But, on the whole, it was no matter. With or without encouragement, he was resolute to persevere in Poetry,

and did persevere. When I think now of his modest, quiet steadfastness in this business of Poetry; how, in

spite of friend and foe, he silently persisted, without wavering, in the form of utterance he had chosen for

himself; and to what length he carried it, and vindicated himself against us all;his character comes out in a

new light to me, with more of a certain central inflexibility and noble silent resolution than I had elsewhere

noticed in it. This summer, moved by natural feelings, which were sanctioned, too, and in a sort sanctified to

him, by the remembered counsel of his late Wife, he printed the Tragedy of Strafford. But there was in the

public no contradiction to the hard vote I had given about it: the little Book fell deadborn; and Sterling had

again to take his disappointment;which it must be owned he cheerfully did; and, resolute to try it again and

ever again, went along with his CoeurdeLion, as if the public had been all with him. An honorable

capacity to stand single against the whole world; such as all men need, from time to time! After all, who

knows whether, in his overclouded, broken, flighty way of life, incapable of long hard drudgery, and so shut

out from the solid forms of Prose, this Poetic Form, which he could well learn as he could all forms, was not

This work of CoeurdeLion he prosecuted steadfastly in his new home; and indeed employed on it

henceforth all the available days that were left him in this world. As was already said, he did not live to

complete it; but some eight Cantos, three or four of which I know to possess high worth, were finished,

before Death intervened, and there he had to leave it. Perhaps it will yet be given to the public; and in that

case be better received than the others were, by men of judgment; and serve to put Sterling's Poetic

pretensions on a much truer footing. I can say, that to readers who do prefer a poetic diet, this ought to be

welcome: if you can contrive to love the thing which is still called "poetry" in these days, here is a decidedly

superior article in that kind,richer than one of a hundred that you smilingly consume.

In this same month of June, 1843, while the house at Ventnor was getting ready, Sterling was again in

London for a few days. Of course at Knightsbridge, now fallen under such sad change, many private matters

needed to be settled by his Father and Brother and him. Captain Anthony, now minded to remove with his

family to London and quit the military way of life, had agreed to purchase the big family house, which he still

occupies; the old man, now rid of that encumbrance, retired to a smaller establishment of his own; came

ultimately to be Anthony's guest, and spent his last days so. He was much lamed and broken, the half of his

old life suddenly torn away;and other losses, which he yet knew not of, lay close ahead of him. In a year or

two, the rugged old man, borne down by these pressures, quite gave way; sank into paralytic and other

infirmities; and was released from life's sorrows, under his son Anthony's roof, in the fall of 1847.The

house in Knightsbridge was, at the time we now speak of, empty except of servants; Anthony having returned

to Dublin, I suppose to conclude his affairs there, prior to removal. John lodged in a Hotel.

We had our fair share of his company in this visit, as in all the past ones; but the intercourse, I recollect, was

dim and broken, a disastrous shadow hanging over it, not to be cleared away by effort. Two American

gentlemen, acquaintances also of mine, had been recommended to him, by Emerson most likely: one morning

Sterling appeared here with a strenuous proposal that we should come to Knightsbridge, and dine with him

and them. Objections, general dissuasions were not wanting: The empty dark house, such needless trouble,

and the like;but he answered in his quizzing way, "Nature herself prompts you, when a stranger comes, to

give him a dinner. There are servants yonder; it is all easy; come; both of you are bound to come." And

accordingly we went. I remember it as one of the saddest dinners; though Sterling talked copiously, and our

friends, Theodore Parker one of them, were pleasant and distinguished men. All was so haggard in one's

memory, and half consciously in one's anticipations; sad, as if one had been dining in a will, in the crypt of a

mausoleum. Our conversation was waste and logical, I forget quite on what, not joyful and harmoniously

effusive: Sterling's silent sadness was painfully apparent through the bright mask he had bound himself to

wear. Withal one could notice now, as on his last visit, a certain sternness of mood, unknown in better days;

as if strange gorgonfaces of earnest Destiny were more and more rising round him, and the time for sport

were past. He looked always hurried, abrupt, even beyond wont; and indeed was, I suppose, overwhelmed in

One evening, I remember, he came down hither, designing to have a freer talk with us. We were all sad

enough; and strove rather to avoid speaking of what might make us sadder. Before any true talk had been got

into, an interruption occurred, some unwelcome arrival; Sterling abruptly rose; gave me the signal to rise; and

we unpolitely walked away, adjourning to his Hotel, which I recollect was in the Strand, near Hungerford

Market; some ancient comfortable quaintlooking place, off the street; where, in a good warm queer old

room, the remainder of our colloquy was duly finished. We spoke of Cromwell, among other things which I

have now forgotten; on which subject Sterling was trenchant, positive, and in some essential points

wrong,as I said I would convince him some day. "Well, well!" answered he, with a shake of the

head.We parted before long; bedtime for invalids being come: he escorted me down certain carpeted

backstairs, and would not be forbidden: we took leave under the dim skies;and alas, little as I then dreamt

of it, this, so far as I can calculate, must have been the last time I ever saw him in the world. Softly as a

common evening, the last of the evenings had passed away, and no other would come for me forevermore.

Through the summer he was occupied with fitting up his new residence, selecting governesses, servants;

earnestly endeavoring to set his house in order, on the new footing it had now assumed. Extensive

improvements in his garden and grounds, in which he took due interest to the last, were also going on. His

Brother, and Mr. Maurice his brotherinlaw,especially Mrs. Maurice the kind sister, faithfully

endeavoring to be as a mother to her poor little nieces,were occasionally with him. All hours available for

labor on his literary tasks, he employed, almost exclusively I believe, on CoeurdeLion; with what energy,

the progress he had made in that Work, and in the art of Poetic composition generally, amid so many sore

impediments, best testifies. I perceive, his life in general lay heavier on him than it had done before; his mood

of mind is grown more sombre;indeed the very solitude of this Ventnor as a place, not to speak of other

solitudes, must have been new and depressing. But he admits no hypochondria, now or ever; occasionally,

though rarely, even flashes of a kind of wild gayety break through. He works steadily at his task, with all the

strength left him; endures the past as he may, and makes gallant front against the world. "I am going on

quietly here, rather than happily," writes he to his friend Newman; "sometimes quite helpless, not from

distinct illness, but from sad thoughts and a ghastly dreaminess. The heart is gone out of my life. My

From Letters of this period I might select some melancholy enough; but will prefer to give the following one

"MY DEAR CARLYLE,My Irish Newspaper was not meant as a hint that I wanted a Letter. It contained

an absurd long Advertisement,some project for regenerating human knowledge, to which I prefixed my

private mark (a blot), thinking that you might be pleased to know of a fellowlaborer somewhere in

"Your Letter, like the Scriptural oil,(they had no patent lamps then, and used the best oil, 7s. per

gallon),has made my face to shine. There is but one person in the world, I shall not tell you who, from

whom a Letter would give me so much pleasure. It would be nearly as good at Pekin, in the centre of the

most enlightened Mandarins; but here at Ventnor, where there are few Mandarins and no

enlightenment,fountains in the wilderness, even were they miraculous, are nothing compared with your

handwriting. Yet it is sad that you should be so melancholy. I often think that though Mercury was the

pleasanter fellow, and probably the happier, Saturn was the greater god;rather cannibal or so, but one

"It is, as you say, your destiny to write about Cromwell: and you will make a book of him, at which the ears

of our grandchildren will tingle;and as one may hope that the ears of human nature will be growing longer

and longer, the tingling will be proportionately greater than we are accustomed to. Do what you can, I fear

there will be little gain from the Royalists. There is something very small about the biggest of them that I

"Curious to see that you have them exactly preserved in the Country Gentlemen of our day; while of the

Puritans not a trace remains except in History. Squirism had already, in that day, become the caput

mortuum that it is now; and has therefore, like other mummies, been able to last. What was opposed to it was

the Life of Puritanism,then on the point of disappearing; and it too has left its mummy at Exeter Hall on

the platform and elsewhere. One must go back to the Middle Ages to see Squirism as rampant and vivacious

as Biblicism was in the Seventeenth Century: and I suppose our modern Country Gentlemen are about as near

to what the old Knights and Barons were who fought the Crusades, as our modern Evangelicals to the fellows

"Those same Crusades are now pleasant matter for me. You remember, or perhaps you do not, a thing I once

sent you about CoeurdeLion. Long since, I settled to make the Cantos you saw part of a larger Book; and

worked at it, last autumn and winter, till I had a bad illness. I am now at work on it again; and go full sail,

like my hero. There are six Cantos done, roughly, besides what you saw. I have struck out most of the

absurdest couplets, and given the whole a higher though still sportive tone. It is becoming a kind of Odyssey,

with a laughing and Christian Achilles for hero. One may manage to wrap, in that chivalrous brocade, many

things belonging to our Time, and capable of interesting it. The thing is not bad; but will require great labor.

Only it is labor that I thoroughly like; and which keeps the maggots out of one's brain, until their time.

"I have never spoken to you, never been able to speak to you, of the change in my life,almost as great, one

fancies, as one's own death. Even now, although it seems as if I had so much to say, I cannot. If one could

imagine... But it is no use; I cannot write wisely on this matter. I suppose no human being was ever

devoted to another more entirely than she; and that makes the change not less but more bearable. It seems as

"Mr. James, your NewEngland friend, was here only for a few days; I saw him several times, and liked him.

They went, on the 24th of last month, back to London,or so purposed,because there is no pavement here

for him to walk on. I want to know where he is, and thought I should be able to learn from you. I gave him a

Note for Mill, who perhaps may have seen him. I think this is all at present from,

Of his health, all this while, we had heard little definite; and understood that he was very quiet and careful; in

virtue of which grand improvement we vaguely considered all others would follow. Once let him learn well

to be slow as the common run of men are, would not all be safe and well? Nor through the winter, or the cold

spring months, did bad news reach us; perhaps less news of any kind than had been usual, which seemed to

indicate a still and wholesome way of life and work. Not till "April 4th, 1844," did the new alarm occur:

again on some slight accident, the breaking of a bloodvessel; again prostration under dangerous sickness,

There had been so many sudden failings and happy risings again in our poor Sterling's late course of health,

we had grown so accustomed to mingle blame of his impetuosity with pity for his sad overthrows, we did not

for many weeks quite realize to ourselves the stern fact that here at length had the peculiar fall come upon

us,the last of all these falls! This brittle life, which had so often held together and victoriously rallied under

pressures and collisions, could not rally always, and must one time be shivered. It was not till the summer

came and no improvement; and not even then without lingering glimmers of hope against hope, that I fairly

had to own what had now come, what was now day by day sternly advancing with the steadiness of Time.

From the first, the doctors spoke despondently; and Sterling himself felt well that there was no longer any

chance of life. He had often said so, in his former illnesses, and thought so, yet always till now with some

tacit grain of counterhope; he had never clearly felt so as now: Here is the end; the great change is now

here!Seeing how it was, then, he earnestly gathered all his strength to do this last act of his tragedy, as he

had striven to do the others, in a pious and manful manner. As I believe we can say he did; few men in any

time more piously or manfully. For about six months he sat looking steadfastly, at all moments, into the eyes

of Death; he too who had eyes to see Death and the Terrors and Eternities; and surely it was with perfect

courage and piety, and valiant simplicity of heart, that he bore himself, and did and thought and suffered, in

this trying predicament, more terrible than the usual death of men. All strength left to him he still employed

in working: day by day the end came nearer, but day by day also some new portion of his adjustments was

completed, by some small stage his task was nearer done. His domestic and other affairs, of all sorts, he

settled to the last item. Of his own Papers he saved a few, giving brief pertinent directions about them; great

quantities, among which a certain Autobiography begun some years ago at Clifton, he ruthlessly burnt,

judging that the best. To his friends he left messages, memorials of books: I have a Gough's Camden, and

other relics, which came to me in that way, and are among my sacred possessions. The very Letters of his

friends he sorted and returned; had each friend's Letters made into a packet, sealed with black, and duly

At an early period of his illness, all visitors had of course been excluded, except his most intimate ones:

before long, so soon as the end became apparent, he took leave even of his Father, to avoid excitements and

intolerable emotions; and except his Brother and the Maurices, who were generally about him coming and

going, none were admitted. This latter form of life, I think, continued for above three months. Men were still

working about his grounds, of whom he took some charge; needful works, great and small, let them not pause

on account of him. He still rose from bed; had still some portion of his day which he could spend in his

Library. Besides business there, he read a good deal,earnest books; the Bible, most earnest of books, his

chief favorite. He still even wrote a good deal. To his eldest Boy, now Mr. Newman's ward, who had been

removed to the Maurices' since the beginning of this illness, he addressed, every day or two, sometimes daily,

for eight or nine weeks, a Letter, of general paternal advice and exhortation; interspersing sparingly, now and

then, such notices of his own feelings and condition as could be addressed to a boy. These Letters, I have

lately read: they give, beyond any he has written, a noble image of the intrinsic Sterling;the same face we

had long known; but painted now as on the azure of Eternity, serene, victorious, divinely sad; the dusts and

extraneous disfigurements imprinted on it by the world, now washed away. One little Excerpt, not the best,

"MY DEAR BOY,We have been going on here as quietly as possible, with no event that I know of. There

is nothing except books to occupy me. But you may suppose that my thoughts often move towards you, and

that I fancy what you may be doing in the great City,the greatest on the Earth,where I spent so many

years of my life. I first saw London when I was between eight and nine years old, and then lived in or near it

for the whole of the next ten, and more there than anywhere else for seven years longer. Since then I have

hardly ever been a year without seeing the place, and have often lived in it for a considerable time. There I

grew from childhood to be a man. My little Brothers and Sisters, and since, my Mother, died and are buried

there. There I first saw your Mamma, and was there married. It seems as if, in some strange way, London

were a part of Me or I of London. I think of it often, not as full of noise and dust and confusion, but as

"When I fancy how you are walking in the same streets, and moving along the same river, that I used to

watch so intently, as if in a dream, when younger than you are,I could gladly burst into tears, not of grief,

but with a feeling that there is no name for. Everything is so wonderful, great and holy, so sad and yet not

bitter, so full of Death and so bordering on Heaven. Can you understand anything of this? If you can, you will

begin to know what a serious matter our Life is; how unworthy and stupid it is to trifle it away without heed;

what a wretched, insignificant, worthless creature any one comes to be, who does not as soon as possible

bend his whole strength, as in stringing a stiff bow, to doing whatever task lies first before him....

"We have a mist here today from the sea. It reminds me of that which I used to see from my house in St,

Vincent, rolling over the great volcano and the mountains round it. I used to look at it from our windows with

"This Letter is not so well written as I could wish, but I hope you will be able to read it.

These Letters go from June 9th to August 2d, at which latter date vacationtime arrived, and the Boy returned

In this manner he wore the slow doomed months away. Day after day his little period of Library went on

waning, shrinking into less and less; but I think it never altogether ended till the general end came.For

courage, for active audacity we had all known Sterling; but such a fund of mild stoicism, of devout patience

and heroic composure, we did not hitherto know in him. His sufferings, his sorrows, all his unutterabilities in

this slow agony, he held right manfully down; marched loyally, as at the bidding of the Eternal, into the dread

Kingdoms, and no voice of weakness was heard from him. Poor noble Sterling, he had struggled so high and

gained so little here! But this also he did gain, to be a brave man; and it was much.

Summer passed into Autumn: Sterling's earthly businesses, to the last detail of them, were now all as good as

done: his strength too was wearing to its end, his daily turn in the Library shrunk now to a span. He had to

hold himself as if in readiness for the great voyage at any moment. One other Letter I must give; not quite the

last message I had from Sterling, but the last that can be inserted here: a brief Letter, fit to be forever

MY DEAR CARLYLE,For the first time for many months it seems possible to send you a few words;

merely, however, for Remembrance and Farewell. On higher matters there is nothing to say. I tread the

common road into the great darkness, without any thought of fear, and with very much of hope. Certainty

indeed I have none. With regard to You and Me I cannot begin to write; having nothing for it but to keep shut

the lid of those secrets with all the iron weights that are in my power. Towards me it is still more true than

towards England that no man has been and done like you. Heaven bless you! If I can lend a hand when

THERE, that will not be wanting. It is all very strange, but not one hundredth part so sad as it seems to the

"Your Wife knows my mind towards her, and will believe it without asseverations.

It was a bright Sunday morning when this letter came to me: if in the great Cathedral of Immensity I did no

worship that day, the fault surely was my own. Sterling affectionately refused to see me; which also was kind

and wise. And four days before his death, there are some stanzas of verse for me, written as if in starfire and

immortal tears; which are among my sacred possessions, to be kept for myself alone.

His business with the world was done; the one business now to await silently what may lie in other grander

worlds. "God is great," he was wont to say: "God is great." The Maurices were now constantly near him; Mrs.

Maurice assiduously watching over him. On the evening of Wednesday the 18th of September, his Brother, as

he did every two or three days, came down; found him in the old temper, weak in strength but not very

sensibly weaker; they talked calmly together for an hour; then Anthony left his bedside, and retired for the

night, not expecting any change. But suddenly, about eleven o'clock, there came a summons and alarm:

hurrying to his Brother's room, he found his Brother dying; and in a short while more the faint last struggle

was ended, and all those struggles and strenuous oftenfoiled endeavors of eightandthirty years lay hushed

Sterling was of rather slim but wellboned wiry figure, perhaps an inch or two from six feet in height; of

blonde complexion, without color, yet not pale or sickly; darkblonde hair, copious enough, which he usually

wore short. The general aspect of him indicated freedom, perfect spontaneity, with a certain careless natural

grace. In his apparel, you could notice, he affected dim colors, easy shapes; cleanly always, yet even in this

not fastidious or conspicuous: he sat or stood, oftenest, in loose sloping postures; walked with long strides,

body carelessly bent, head flung eagerly forward, right hand perhaps grasping a cane, and rather by the

middle to swing it, than by the end to use it otherwise. An attitude of frank, cheerful impetuosity, of hopeful

speed and alacrity; which indeed his physiognomy, on all sides of it, offered as the chief expression. Alacrity,

velocity, joyous ardor, dwelt in the eyes too, which were of brownish gray, full of bright kindly life, rapid and

frank rather than deep or strong. A smile, half of kindly impatience, half of real mirth, often sat on his face.

The head was long; high over the vertex; in the brow, of fair breadth, but not high for such a man.

In the voice, which was of good tenor sort, rapid and strikingly distinct, powerful too, and except in some of

the higher notes harmonious, there was a clearringing metallic tone,which I often thought was

wonderfully physiognomic. A certain splendor, beautiful, but not the deepest or the softest, which I could call

a splendor as of burnished metal,fiery valor of heart, swift decisive insight and utterance, then a turn for

brilliant elegance, also for ostentation, rashness, short, a flash as of clearglancing sharpcutting steel, lay in

the whole nature of the man, in his heart and in his intellect, marking alike the excellence and the limits of

them both. His laugh, which on light occasions was ready and frequent, had in it no great depth of gayety, or

sense for the ludicrous in men or things; you might call it rather a good smile become vocal than a deep real

laugh: with his whole man I never saw him laugh. A clear sense of the humorous he had, as of most other

things; but in himself little or no true humor;nor did he attempt that side of things. To call him deficient in

sympathy would seem strange, him whose radiances and resonances went thrilling over all the world, and

kept him in brotherly contact with all: but I may say his sympathies dwelt rather with the high and sublime

than with the low or ludicrous; and were, in any field, rather light, wide and lively, than deep, abiding or

There is no Portrait of him which tolerably resembles. The miniature Medallion, of which Mr. Hare has given

an Engraving, offers us, with no great truth in physical details, one, and not the best, superficial expression of

his face, as if that with vacuity had been what the face contained; and even that Mr. Hare's engraver has

disfigured into the nearly or the utterly irrecognizable. Two Pencilsketches, which no artist could approve

of, hasty sketches done in some social hour, one by his friend Spedding, one by Banim the Novelist, whom

he slightly knew and had been kind to, tell a much truer story so far as they go: of these his Brother has

Nor in the way of Spiritual Portraiture does there, after so much writing and excerpting, anything of

importance remain for me to say. John Sterling and his Life in this world weresuch as has been already

said. In purity of character, in the socalled moralities, in all manner of proprieties of conduct, so as

teatables and other human tribunals rule them, he might be defined as perfect, according to the world's

pattern: in these outward tangible respects the world's criticism of him must have been praise and that only.

An honorable man, and good citizen; discharging, with unblamable correctness, all functions and duties laid

on him by the customs (mores) of the society he lived in,with correctness and something more. In all these

particulars, a man perfectly moral, or of approved virtue according to the rules.

Nay in the far more essential tacit virtues, which are not marked on stone tables, or so apt to be insisted on by

human creatures over tea or elsewhere,in clear and perfect fidelity to Truth wherever found, in childlike

and soldierlike, pious and valiant loyalty to the Highest, and what of good and evil that might send

him,he excelled among good men. The joys and the sorrows of his lot he took with true simplicity and

acquiescence. Like a true son, not like a miserable mutinous rebel, he comported himself in this Universe.

Extremity of distressand surely his fervid temper had enough of contradiction in this worldcould not

tempt him into impatience at any time. By no chance did you ever hear from him a whisper of those mean

repinings, miserable arraignings and questionings of the Eternal Power, such as weak souls even well

disposed will sometimes give way to in the pressure of their despair; to the like of this he never yielded, or

showed the least tendency to yield;which surely was well on his part. For the Eternal Power, I still remark,

will not answer the like of this, but silently and terribly accounts it impious, blasphemous and damnable, and

now as heretofore will visit it as such. Not a rebel but a son, I said; willing to suffer when Heaven said, Thou

shalt;and withal, what is perhaps rarer in such a combination, willing to rejoice also, and right cheerily

A pious soul we may justly call him; devoutly submissive to the will of the Supreme in all things: the highest

and sole essential form which Religion can assume in man, and without which all forms of religion are a

mockery and a delusion in man. Doubtless, in so clear and filial a heart there must have dwelt the perennial

feeling of silent worship; which silent feeling, as we have seen, he was eager enough to express by all good

ways of utterance; zealously adopting such appointed forms and creeds as the dignitaries of the World had

fixed upon and solemnly named recommendable; prostrating his heart in such Church, by such accredited

rituals and seemingly fit or halffit methods, as his poor time and country had to offer him,not rejecting

the said methods till they stood convicted of palpable unfitness and then doing it right gently withal, rather

letting them drop as pitiably dead for him, than angrily hurling them out of doors as needing to be killed. By

few Englishmen of his epoch had the thing called Church of England been more loyally appealed to as a

And yet, as I said before, it may be questioned whether piety, what we call devotion or worship, was the

principle deepest in him. In spite of his Coleridge discipleship, and his once headlong operations following

thereon, I used to judge that his piety was prompt and pure rather than great or intense; that, on the whole,

religious devotion was not the deepest element of him. His reverence was ardent and just, ever ready for the

thing or man that deserved revering, or seemed to deserve it: but he was of too joyful, light and hoping a

nature to go to the depths of that feeling, much more to dwell perennially in it. He had no fear in his

composition; terror and awe did not blend with his respect of anything. In no scene or epoch could he have

been a Church Saint, a fanatic enthusiast, or have worn out his life in passive martyrdom, sitting patient in his

grim coalmine, looking at the "three ells" of Heaven high overhead there. In sorrow he would not dwell; all

sorrow he swiftly subdued, and shook away from him. How could you have made an Indian Fakir of the

Greek Apollo, "whose bright eye lends brightness, and never yet saw a shadow"?I should say, not religious

reverence, rather artistic admiration was the essential character of him: a fact connected with all other facts in

the physiognomy of his life and self, and giving a tragic enough character to much of the history he had

Poor Sterling, he was by nature appointed for a Poet, then,a Poet after his sort, or recognizer and delineator

of the Beautiful; and not for a Priest at all? Striving towards the sunny heights, out of such a level and

through such an element as ours in these days is, he had strange aberrations appointed him, and painful

wanderings amid the miserable gaslights, bogfires, dancing meteors and putrid phosphorescences which

form the guidance of a young human soul at present! Not till after trying all manner of sublimely illuminated

places, and finding that the basis of them was putridity, artificial gas and quaking bog, did he, when his

strength was all done, discover his true sacred hill, and passionately climb thither while life was fast

ebbing!A tragic history, as all histories are; yet a gallant, brave and noble one, as not many are. It is what,

to a radiant son of the Muses, and bright messenger of the harmonious Wisdoms, this poor worldif he

himself have not strength enough, and inertia enough, and amid his harmonious eloquences silence

enoughhas provided at present. Many a highstriving, too hasty soul, seeking guidance towards eternal

excellence from the official Blackartists, and successful Professors of political, ecclesiastical, philosophical,

commercial, general and particular Legerdemain, will recognize his own history in this image of a

Overhaste was Sterling's continual fault; overhaste, and want of the due strength,alas, mere want of the

due inertia chiefly; which is so common a gift for most part; and proves so inexorably needful withal! But he

was good and generous and true; joyful where there was joy, patient and silent where endurance was required

of him; shook innumerable sorrows, and thickcrowding forms of pain, gallantly away from him; fared

frankly forward, and with scrupulous care to tread on no one's toes. True, above all, one may call him; a man

of perfect veracity in thought, word and deed. Integrity towards all men,nay integrity had ripened with him

into chivalrous generosity; there was no guile or baseness anywhere found in him. Transparent as crystal; he

could not hide anything sinister, if such there had been to hide. A more perfectly transparent soul I have never

known. It was beautiful, to read all those interior movements; the little shades of affectations, ostentations;

transient spurts of anger, which never grew to the length of settled spleen: all so naive, so childlike, the very

And so he played his part among us, and has now ended it: in this first half of the Nineteenth Century, such

was the shape of human destinies the world and he made out between them. He sleeps now, in the little

buryingground of Bonchurch; bright, everyoung in the memory of others that must grow old; and was

All that remains, in palpable shape, of John Sterling's activities in this world are those Two poor Volumes;

scattered fragments gathered from the general waste of forgotten ephemera by the piety of a friend: an

inconsiderable memorial; not pretending to have achieved greatness; only disclosing, mournfully, to the more

observant, that a promise of greatness was there. Like other such lives, like all lives, this is a tragedy; high

hopes, noble efforts; under thickening difficulties and impediments, evernew nobleness of valiant

effort;and the result death, with conquests by no means corresponding. A life which cannot challenge the

world's attention; yet which does modestly solicit it, and perhaps on clear study will be found to reward it.

On good evidence let the world understand that here was a remarkable soul born into it; who, more than

others, sensible to its influences, took intensely into him such tint and shape of feature as the world had to

offer there and then; fashioning himself eagerly by whatsoever of noble presented itself; participating

ardently in the world's battle, and suffering deeply in its bewilderments;whose Lifepilgrimage

accordingly is an emblem, unusually significant, of the world's own during those years of his. A man of

infinite susceptivity; who caught everywhere, more than others, the color of the element he lived in, the

infection of all that was or appeared honorable, beautiful and manful in the tendencies of his Time;whose

In Sterling's Writings and Actions, were they capable of being well read, we consider that there is for all true

hearts, and especially for young noble seekers, and strivers towards what is highest, a mirror in which some

shadow of themselves and of their immeasurably complex arena will profitably present itself. Here also is one

encompassed and struggling even as they now are. This man also had said to himself, not in mere

Catechismwords, but with all his instincts, and the question thrilled in every nerve of him, and pulsed in

every drop of his blood: "What is the chief end of man? Behold, I too would live and work as beseems a

denizen of this Universe, a child of the Highest God. By what means is a noble life still possible for me here?

Ye Heavens and thou Earth, oh, how?"The history of this longcontinued prayer and endeavor, lasting in

various figures for near forty years, may now and for some time coming have something to say to men!

Nay, what of men or of the world? Here, visible to myself, for some while, was a brilliant human presence,

distinguishable, honorable and lovable amid the dim common populations; among the million little beautiful,

once more a beautiful human soul: whom I, among others, recognized and lovingly walked with, while the

years and the hours were. Sitting now by his tomb in thoughtful mood, the new times bring a new duty for

me. "Why write the Life of Sterling?" I imagine I had a commission higher than the world's, the dictate of

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