[Footnote 17: _Athenaeum_, June 8, 1833.]
_To Mrs. Martin_ Sidmouth: May 27, 1833.
My dearest Mrs. Martin,--I am half afraid of your being very angry indeed with me; and perhaps it would be quite as well to spare this sheet of paper an angry look of yours, by consigning it over to Henrietta. Yet do believe me, I have been anxious to write to you a long time, and did not know where to direct my letter. The history of all my unkindness to you is this: I delayed answering your kind welcome letter from Rome, for three weeks, because Henrietta was at Torquay, and I knew that she would like to write in it, and because I was unreasonable enough to expect to hear every day of her coming home. At the end of the three weeks, and on consulting your dates and plans, I found out that you would probably have quitted Rome before any letter of mine arrived there. Since then, I have been inquiring, and all in vain, about where I could find you out. All I could hear was, that you were somewhere between Italy and England; and all I could do was, to wait patiently, and throw myself at your feet as soon as you came within sight and hearing. And now do be as generous as you can, my dear Mrs. Martin, and try to forgive one who never _could_ be guilty of the fault of forgetting you, notwithstanding appearances. We heard only yesterday of your being expected at Colwall. And although we cannot welcome you there, otherwise than in this way, at the distance of 140 miles, yet we must welcome you in this way, and a.s.sure both of you how glad we are that the same island holds all of us once more. It pleased us very much to hear how you were enjoying yourselves in Rome; and you must please us now by telling us that you are enjoying yourselves at Colwall, and that you bear the change with English philosophy. The fishing at Abbeville was a link between the past and the present; and would make the transition between the eternal city and the eternal t.i.thes a little less striking. My wonder is how you could have persuaded yourselves to keep your promise and leave Italy as soon as you did. Tell me how you managed it. And tell me everything about yourselves--how you are and how you feel, and whether you look backwards or forwards with the most pleasure, and whether the influenza has been among your welcomers to England.
Henrietta and Arabel and Daisy[18] were confined by it to their beds for several days and the two former are only now recovering their strength. Three or four of the other boys had symptoms which were not strong enough to put them to bed. As for me, I have been quite well all the spring, and almost all the winter. I don"t know when I have been so long well as I have been lately; without a cough or anything else disagreeable. Indeed, if I may place the influenza in a parenthesis, we have all been perfectly well, in spite of our fishing and boating and getting wet three times a day. There is good trout-fishing at the Otter, and the n.o.ble river Sid, which, if I liked to stand in it, _might_ cover my ankles. And lately, Daisy and Sette and Occyta have studied the art of catching shrimps, and soak themselves up to their waists like professors. My love of water concentrates itself in the boat; and this I enjoy very much, when the sea is as blue and calm as the sky, which it has often been lately. Of society we have had little indeed; but Henrietta had more than much of it at Torquay during three months; and as for me, you know I don"t want any though I am far from meaning to speak disrespectfully of _Mr.
Boyds_, which has been a pleasure and comfort to me. His house is not farther than a five minutes" walk from ours; and I often make it _four_ in my haste to get there. Ask Eliza Cliffe to lend you the May number of the "Wesleyan Magazine;" and if you have an opportunity of procuring last December"s number, _do_ procure _that_. There are some translations in each of them, which I think you will like. The December translation is my favourite, though I was amanuensis only in the May one. Henrietta and Arabel have a drawing master, and are meditating soon beginning to sketch out of doors--that is, if before the meditation is at an end we do not leave Sidmouth. Our plans are quite uncertain; and papa has not, I believe, made up his mind whether or not to take this house on after the beginning of next month; when our engagement with our present landlord closes. If we do leave Sidmouth, you know as well as I do where we shall go. Perhaps to Boulogne! perhaps to the Swan River. The West Indians are irreparably ruined if the Bill pa.s.ses. Papa says that in the case of its pa.s.sing, n.o.body in his senses would think of even attempting the culture of sugar, and that they had better hang weights to the sides of the island of Jamaica and sink it at once. Don"t you think certain heads might be found heavy enough for the purpose? No insinuation, I a.s.sure you, against the Administration, in spite of the dagger in their right hands. Mr. Atwood seems to me a demi-G.o.d of ingrat.i.tude! So much for the "fickle reek of popular breath" to which men have erected their temple of the winds--who would trust a feather to it? I am almost more sorry for poor Lord Grey who is going to ruin us, than for our poor selves who are going to be ruined. You will hear that my "Prometheus and other Poems" came into light a few weeks ago--a fortnight ago, I think. I dare say I shall wish it out of the light before I have done with it. And I dare say Henrietta is wishing me anywhere, rather than where I am. Certainly I have past _all bounds_. Do write soon, and tell us everything about Mr. Martin and yourself. And ever believe me, dearest Mrs. Martin,
Your affectionate E.B. BARRETT.
[Footnote 18: Alfred, the fifth brother.]
_To Mrs. Martin_ Sidmouth: September 7, 1833.
My dearest Mrs. Martin,--Are you a _little_ angry _again_? I do hope not. I should have written long ago if it had not been for Henrietta; and Henrietta would have written very lately if it had not been for me: and we must beg of you to forgive us both for the sake of each other. Thank you for the kind letter which I have been so tardy in thanking you for, but which was not, on that account, the less gladly received. Do believe how much it pleases me _always_ to see and read dear Mrs. Martin"s handwriting. But I must try to tell you some less ancient truths. We are still in the ruinous house. Without any poetical fiction, the walls are too frail for even _me_, who enjoy the situation in a most particularly particular manner, to have any desire to pa.s.s the winter within them. One wind we have had the privilege of hearing already; and down came the tiles while we were at dinner, and made us all think that down something else was coming. We have had one chimney pulled down to prevent it from tumbling down; and have received especial injunctions from the bricklayers not to lean too much out of the windows, for fear the walls should follow the destiny of the chimney. Altogether there is every reasonable probability that the whole house will in the course of next winter be as like Persepolis as anything so ugly can be! If another house which will fit us can be found in Sidmouth, I am sure papa will take it; but, as he said the other day, "If I can"t find a house, I must go." I hope he may find one, and as near the sea as this ruin. I have enjoyed its moonlight and its calmness all the summer; and am prepared to enjoy its tempestuousness of the winter with as true an enjoyment. What we shall do ultimately, I do not even dream; and, if I know papa, _he_ does not. My visions of the future are confined to "what shall I write or read next," and "when shall we next go out in the boat," and _they_, you know, can do no harm to anybody. Of one thing I have a comforting certainty--that wherever we may go or stay, the decree which moves or fixes us will and must be the "wisest virtuousest discreetest best!" ...
So, I will change the subject to myself. You told me that you were going to read my book, and I want to know what you think of it. If you were given to compliment and insincerity, I should be afraid of asking you; because, among other _evident_ reasons, I might then appear to be asking for your praise instead of your opinion. As it is--I want to know what you think of my book. Is the translation stiff? If you know me at all (and I venture to hope that you do) you will be certain that I shall _like_ your honesty, and love you for being honest, even if you put on the very blackest of black caps....
Of course you know that the late Bill has ruined the West Indians.
That is settled. The consternation here is very great. Nevertheless I am glad, and always shall be, that the negroes are--virtually--free!
May G.o.d bless you, dear Mrs. Martin!
Ever believe me, your affectionate E.B. BARRETT.
_To H.S. Boyd_ Sidmouth: Friday [1834].
My dear Friend,--I don"t know how I shall begin to persuade you not to be angry with me, but perhaps the best plan will be to confess as many sins as would cover this sheet of paper, and then to go on with my merits. Certainly I am altogether guiltless of your charge of not noticing your book"s arrival because no Calvinism arrived with it.
I told you the bare truth when I told you _why_ I did not write immediately. The pa.s.sage relating to Calvinism I certainly read, and as certainly was sorry for; but as certainly as both those certainties, such reading and such regret had nothing whatever to do with the silence which made you so angry with me.
The other particular thing of which I should have written is Mr.
Parker and my letters. I am more and, more sorry that you should have sent them to him at all--not that their loss is any loss to anybody, but that I scarcely like the idea--indeed, I don"t like it at all--of their remaining, worthless as they are, at Mr. P."s mercy. As for my writing about them, I should not be able to make up my mind to do _that_. You know I had nothing to do with their being sent to Mr.
Parker, and was indeed in complete ignorance of it. Besides, I should be half ashamed to write to him now on any subject. A very long interregnum took place in our correspondence, which was his own work; and when he wrote to me the summer before last, I delayed from week to week, and then from month to month, answering it. And now I feel ashamed to write at all.
Perhaps you will wonder why I am not ashamed to write to _you_. Indeed I have meant to do it very, very often. Don"t be severe upon me. I am always afraid of writing to you too often, and so the opposite fault is apt to be run into--of writing too seldom. IF THAT is a _fault_.
You see my scepticism is becoming faster and faster developed.
Let me hear from you soon, if you are not angry. I have been reading the Bridgewater treatise, and am now trying to understand Prout upon Chemistry. I shall be worth something at last, shall I not? Who knows but what I may die a glorious death under the _pons asinorum_ after all? Prout (if I succeed in understanding him) does not hold that matter is infinitely divisible; and so I suppose the seeds of matter--the ultimate molecules--are a kind of _tertium quid_ between matter and spirit. Certainly I can"t believe that any kind of matter, primal or ultimate, can be _indivisible_, which it must according to his view.
Chalmers"s treatise is, as to eloquence, surpa.s.singly beautiful; as to matter, I could not walk with him all the way, although I longed to do it, for he walked on flowers, and under shade--"no tree on which a fine bird did not sit." ...
Believe me, your affectionate friend, E.B.B.
_To H.S. Boyd_ Sidmouth: September 14, [1834].
My dear Mr. Boyd,--I won"t ask you to forgive me for not writing before, because I know very well that you would rather have not heard from me immediately.... And so, you and Mrs. Mathew have been tearing to pieces--to the very rags--all my elaborate theology! And when Mr.
Young is "strong enough," he is to help you at your cruel work! "The points upon which you and I differed" are so numerous, that if I really _am_ wrong upon every one of them, Mrs. Mathew has indeed reason to "punish me with hard thoughts." Well, she can"t help my feeling for her much esteem, although I never saw her. And if I _were_ to see her, I would not argue with her; I would only ask her to let me love her. I am weary of controversy in religion, and should be so were I stronger and more successful in it than I am or care to be. The command is not "argue with one another," but "love one another." It is better to love than to convince. They who lie on the bosom of Jesus must lie there _together_!
Not a word about your book![19] Don"t you mean to tell me anything of it? I saw a review of it--rather a satisfactory one--I think in an _August_ number of the "Athenaeum." If you will look into "Fraser"s Magazine" for August, at an article ent.i.tled "Rogueries of Tom Moore,"
you will be amused with a notice of the "Edinburgh Review"s" criticism in the text, and of yourself in a note. We have had a crowded Bible meeting, and a Church Missionary and London Missionary meeting besides; and I went last Tuesday to the Exmouth Bible meeting with Mrs. Maling, Miss Taylor, and Mr. Hunter. We did not return until half-past one in the morning.... The Bishop of Barbadoes and the Dean of Winchester were walking together on the beach yesterday, making Sidmouth look quite episcopal. You would not have despised it _half so much_, had you been here.
Do you know any person who would like to send his or her son to Sidmouth, for the sake of the climate, and private instruction: and if you do, will you mention it to me? I am very sorry to hear of Mrs.
Boyd being so unwell. Arabel had a letter two days ago from Annie, and as it mentions Mrs. Boyd"s having gone to Dover, I trust that she is well again. Should she be returned, give my love to her.
The black-edged paper may make you wonder at its cause. Our dear aunt Mrs. Butler died last month at Dieppe--and died _in Jesus_. Miss Clarke is going, if she is not gone, to Italy for the winter.
Believe me, affectionately yours, E.B. BARRETT.
Write to me whenever you _dislike it least_, and tell me what your plans are. I hear nothing about our leaving Sidmouth.
[Footnote 19: _The Fathers not Papists_, including a reprint of some translations from the Greek Fathers, which Mr. Boyd had published previously.]
_To Miss Commeline_ September 22, 1834 [Sidmouth].
I am afraid that there can be no chance of my handwriting at least being unforgotten by you, dear Miss Commeline, but in the case of your having a very long memory you may remember the name which shall be written at the end of this note, and which belongs to one who does not, nor is likely to forget you! I was much, _much_ obliged to you for the kind few lines you wrote to me--how long ago! No, do not remember how long--do not remember _that_ for fear you should think me unkind, and--what I am not! I have intended again and again to answer your note, and I am doing it--_at last_! Are you all quite well? Mrs.
Commeline and all of you? Shall I ever see any of you again? Perhaps I shall not; but even if I do not, I shall not cease to wish you to be well and happy "in the body or out of the body."
We came to Sidmouth for two months, and you see we are here still; and when we are likely to go is as uncertain as ever. I like the place, and some of its inhabitants. I like the greenness and the tranquillity and the sea; and the solitude of one dear seat which hangs over it, and which is too far or too lonely for many others to like besides myself. We are living in a thatched cottage, with a green lawn bounded by a _Devonshire lane_. Do you know what that is? Milton did when he wrote of "hedgerow elms and hillocks green." Indeed Sidmouth is a nest among elms; and the lulling of the sea and the shadow of the hills make it a peaceful one. But there are no majestic features in the country. It is all green and fresh and secluded; and the grandeur is concentrated upon the ocean without deigning to have anything to do with the earth. I often find my thoughts where my footsteps once used to be! but there is no use in speaking of that....
Pray believe me, affectionately yours, E.B. BARRETT.
_To Mrs. Martin_ Sidmouth: Friday, December 19, 1834 [postmark].
My dearest Mrs. Martin,--... We have lately had deep anxiety with regard to our dear papa. He left us two months ago to do his London business: and a few weeks since we were told by a letter from him that he was ill; he giving us to understand that his complaint was of a rheumatic character. By the next coach, we were so daring (I can scarcely understand how we managed it) as to send Henry to him: thinking that it would be better to be scolded than to suffer him to be alone and in suffering at a London hotel. We were not scolded: but my prayer to be permitted to follow Henry was condemned to silence: and what was said being said emphatically, I was obliged to submit, and to be
thankful for the unsatisfactory accounts which for many days afterwards we received.... I cannot help being anxious and fearful.
You know he is _all_ left to us--and that without him we should indeed be orphans and desolate. Therefore you may well know what feelings those are with which we look back upon his danger; and forwards to any threatening of a return of it.... It may not be so. Do not, when you write, allude to my fearing about it. Our only feeling now should certainly be a deep feeling of thankfulness towards that G.o.d of all consolation Who has permitted us to know His love in the midst of many griefs; and Who while He has often cast upon us the sorrow and the shadow, has yet enabled us to recognise it as that "shadow of the wings of the Almighty," wherein we may "rejoice." We shall probably see our dear papa next week. At least we know that he is only waiting for strength and that he is already able to go out--I fear, not to _walk_ out. Here we are all well. Belle Vue is sold, and we shall probably have to leave it in March: but I do not think that we shall do so before. Henrietta is still very anxious to leave Sidmouth altogether; and I still feel that I shall very much grieve to leave it: so that it is happy for us that neither is the _decider_ on this point. I have often thought that it is happier _not_ to do what one pleases, and perhaps you will agree with me--if you don"t please at the present moment to do something very particular. And do tell me, dear Mrs. Martin, what you are pleasing to do, and what you are doing: for it seems to me, and indeed is, a long time since I heard of you and Mr. Martin _in detail_. Miss Maria Commeline sent a note to Henrietta a fortnight ago: and in it was honorable mention of you--but I won"t interfere with the sublimities of your imagination, by telling you what it was.... I should like to hear something of Hope End: whether there are many alterations, and whether the new lodge, of which I heard, is built. Even now, the thought stands before me sometimes like an object in a dream that I shall see no more those hills and trees which seemed to me once almost like portions of my existence. This is not meant for murmuring. I have had much happiness at Sidmouth, though with a character of its own. Henrietta and Arabel and I are the only guardians just now of the three youngest boys, the only ones at home: and I a.s.sure you, we have not too little to do.
They are no longer _little_ boys. There is an anxiety among us just now to have letters from Jamaica--from my dear dear Bro--but the packet is only "expected." The last accounts were comforting ones; and I am living on the hope of seeing him back again in the spring.
Stormie and Georgie are doing well at Glasgow. So Dr. Wardlaw says....
Henrietta"s particular love to you; and _do_ believe me always,
Your affectionate E.B. BARRETT.
You have of course heard of poor Mrs. Boyd"s death. Mr. Boyd and his daughter are both in London, and likely, I think, to remain there.
_To H.S. Boyd_ Sidmouth: Tuesday [spring 1835].
My dear Mr. Boyd,--... Now I am going to tell you the only good news I know, and you will be glad, I know, to be told what I am going to tell you. Dear Georgie has taken his degree, and very honorably, at Glasgow, and is coming to us in all the dignity of a Bachelor of Arts.
He was examined in Logic, Moral Philosophy, Greek and Latin, of course publicly: and we have heard from a fellow student of his, that his answers were more pertinent than those of any other of the examined, and elicited much applause. Mr. Groube is the fellow student--but he has ceased to be one, having found the Glasgow studies too heavy for his health. Stormie shrank from the public examination, on account of the hesitation in his speech. He would not go up; although, according to report, as well qualified as Georgie. Mr. Groube says that the ladies of Glasgow are preparing to break their hearts for Georgie"s departure: and he and Stormie leave Glasgow on May I. Now, I am sure you will rejoice with me in the result of the examination. Do you not, dear friend? I was very anxious about it; and almost resigned to hear of a failure--for Georgie was in great alarm and prepared us for the very worst. Therefore the surprise and pleasure were great.
I can"t tell you of our plans; although the Glasgow students come to us in a week and this house will be too small to receive them. We may leave Sidmouth immediately, or not at all. I shall soon be quite qualified to write a poem on the "Pleasures of _Doubt_"--and a very good subject it will be. The pleasures of certainty are generally far less enjoyable--I mean as pleasures go in this unpleasing world. Papa is in London, and much better when we heard from him last--and we are awaiting his decree....
And now what remains for me to tell you? I believe I have read more Hebrew than Greek lately; yet the dear Greek is not less dear than ever. Who reads Greek to you? Who holds my office? Some one, I hope, with an articulation of more congenial slowness.