Augustus J. C. Hare

The Story of My Life, volumes 4-6


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the fair sunshine of her happy home

       Tuned her whole heart and all her life to praise,

       She ever tried to cheer some gloomier lot,

       From the abounding brightness of its ways.

      And many a weary sufferer blest the hand

       Which knew so well a healing balm to pour;

       While hungry voices never were denied

       By her, who kept, as steward, a poor man’s store.

      Thus when, from all the labour of her love,

       She passed so sadly to a bed of pain,

       And when from tongue to tongue the story went,

       That none would see the honoured face again:

      It was a personal grief to thousand hearts

       Outside the sphere in which her lot was cast,

       And tens of thousands sought to have a share

       In loving honour paid her at the last.

      E’en death is powerless o’er a life like hers,

       Its radiance lingers, though its sun has set;

       Rich and unstinted was the seed she sowed,

       The golden harvest is not gathered yet.”

      Journal.

      “March 25.—A ‘Spelling Bee’ at Mrs. Dundas’s. I was plucked as I entered the room over the word Camelopard.

      “Dined at the Tower of London with Everard Primrose; only young Lord Mayo there. At 11 P.M. the old ceremony of relieving guard took place. I stood with Everard and a file of soldiers on a little raised terrace. A figure with a lanthorn emerged from a dark hole.

      “ ‘Who goes there?’ shouted the soldiers.

      “ ‘The Queen.’

      “ ‘What Queen?’

      “ ‘Queen Victoria.’

      “ ‘And whose keys are those?’

      “ ‘Queen Victoria’s keys.’

      “Upon which the figure, advancing into the broad moonlight, said ‘God bless Queen Victoria!’ and all the soldiers shouted ‘Amen’ and dispersed.”

      “March 28.—My lecture on ‘The Strand and the Inns of Court’ took place in 41 Seymour Street. I felt at Tyburn till I began, and then got on pretty well. There was a very large attendance. I was very much alarmed at the whole party, but had an individual dread of Lord Houghton, though I was soon relieved by seeing that he was fast asleep, and remained so all the time.”

      “April 4.—My lecture on Aldersgate, &c. Dinner at the Miss Duff Gordons, meeting the Tom Taylors.[190] He talks incessantly.”

      “April 6.—Dined with Lady Sarah Lindsay, where I was delighted at last to meet Mrs. Greville.[191] She recited in the evening, sitting down very quietly on the sofa with her feet on a stool. Her voice is absorbing, and in her ‘Queen of the May’ each line seems to catch up a fresh echo of pathos from the last.”

      “April 7.—Dined at Sir Stafford Northcote’s.[192] Mrs. Dudley Ryder was there, who told me she had paralysis of the throat, yet sang splendidly. Sir Stafford told a capital story in French in the evening, something like that which I tell in Italian about the Duke of Torlonia.”

      enlarge-image CHAPEL AND GATEWAY, LINCOLN’S INN. CHAPEL AND GATEWAY, LINCOLN’S INN. [193]

      enlarge-image STAPLE INN, HOLBORN. STAPLE INN, HOLBORN. [194]

      “Holmhurst, April 30.—Lea has been in saying, ‘It’s May Day to-morrow, the day to turn the cows out to grass. The poor things must have a bit of a treat then, you know; they always have done. But there’s not the good clover now-a-days there used to be. Eh! what a fuss there used to be, to be sure, putting the cows out in the clover; and we used to watch that they did not eat too much, and to see that they did not swell; if they did, they had to be pricked, or they’d have burst. And then next day there was the making of the first May cheese. … Old John Pearce at Lime used to take wonderful care of Mr. Taylor’s oxen, and proud enough he used to be of them. “Well, you give them plenty to eat, John,” I used to say. “Yes, that’s just about it, Miss Lea,” he said; “I do put it into them right down spitefully, that I do.” ’

      “Here are some more of her sayings:—

      “ ‘Here’s a pretty how-d’ye-do! It’s the master finding fault!—it’s one day one thing and one another. Old bachelors and old maids are all alike. They don’t know what they want, they don’t; but I know: the old maids want husbands, and the old bachelors want wives, that’s what they want.’

      “ ‘It’s the mischief of the farming now-a-days that the farmers always say ‘Go.’ … My father used to say a farmer never ought to say ‘Go;’ if he did, the work was sure to be neglected: a farmer should always say ‘Come, lads,’ and then the work would be done.’

      “ ‘It’s hailing is it? then there’ll be frost, for

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