associated at that time with the memory of many delightful rides), W. Y. Sellar, W. Warburton, Matthew Arnold, and Coleridge Patteson. Another friend, Edmund Bastard, who died while still a young man, was specially dear to him. His tutor, Professor Jowett, he always held in high regard, and though for different reasons his early admiration for him lessened, still the friendship was never severed, and from 1886 until the Master's death, a visit to Balliol was an almost yearly occurrence. Jowett entrusted him, when a young man, with the choice of many of the engravings which hung in his house at Balliol: to collect thus for other people, and to make gifts of some of his favourite works of art was one of his greatly enjoyed pleasures, and one in which he frequently indulged. The strange but beautiful designs of the then little-known William Blake had early begun to fascinate him. Years afterwards he and the late Lord Houghton together attended Mr. Butts' sale of Blake's works, and each encouraged the other to become the possessor of many of his original drawings and engravings. It has often been said to us : 'Your father was one of the first who "preached " Blake.' Even somewhat higher still did he rank him as poet, perceiving the same qualities in his verse as in his art: the 'simple yet often majestic imagination, spiritual insight, profound feeling for grace and colour. . . . His verse is narrow in its range, and at times eccentric to the neighbourhood of madness. But whatever he writes, his eye is always straight upon his subject.' My father would com pare his soul with that of Fra Angelico, each living in the all-pervading presence of the spiritual life. 'To men of this class,' he has said, 'the Invisible world is the Visible, the Supernatural was the Real.'1 The following letter was written in February 1845: To Lady Palgrave Balliol. My dearest Mother,... Yesterday evening Mr. Jowett asked me to have tea with him, after he had looked at some Greek of mine; he was very kind and pleasant, and I hope that I shall see him oftener, now that Mr. Lake is away. He showed me a book which I dare say papa knows— W. Blake's Illustrations of the Book of Job.' They are a number of little etchings, drawn and etched by Blake; and certainly they show immense power and originality. Though often quite out of drawing and grotesque, they are most interesting--far more than Flaxman, for instance. Schiavonetti's etchings in the 'Grave,' though far more correct, give but a faint idea of the force and vigour of these. If you can possibly borrow them, I am sure you will be exceedingly interested by them-I have seen nothing so extraordinary for a long time. Some, as of Job in misery, and of the Morning Stars singing for joy, are beautiful; some, as of a man tormented by dreams and the Vision of the Night, are most awful; and what adds much to the pleasure of seeing them, is that every stroke seems to do its utmost in expression, and to show that one mind both planned and executed them. Brothers, I am sure, would be much pleased with them; at least, if they agree with their affectionate brother and your v. a. and v. d. son, F. T. PALGRAVE. 1 Notes to the Sacred Treasury. The following extracts from letters to his mother, written during 1843 to 1846, give an idea of the life at Oxford. To Lady Palgrave Balliol. My dearest Mother,-. . . I have been reading Coleridge's 'Table Talk'; most interesting the book is, more than any I have read for a long time. But the impression reading his opinions leaves on me is just this: to agree and be pleased with him when he agrees with you; where he does not, to set it down as no authority at all. So that at the end one is little wiser, I fear, than before. For some of his opinions I cannot agree with; as his depreciation of Virgil, and his evident dispetto at Dante and Tasso: and these, again, make one slow to receive his opinions, when they agree with one's own, as really authoritative. . . . You always require a double return of thanks from me, for two letters in answer to my one, whence I argue that you have twice as much to do as I have. There is, however, no news here. I went yesterday to Littlemore, and attended service there; I looked at the painted glass, and I was much struck with its utter inutility for all but antiquaries; and with its great rudeness, not to say ugliness in detail, although the general mosaic effect was rich and beautiful. But is this the first aim of painted glass? The distinction between pleasant and agreeable I meant to be this: that the one coincides necessarily with one's own mind, and the other need not. To look at the 'Ariadne' of Titian is pleasant, at the 'Francia' close by it, agreeable. Yet if I were to choose, I should be much inclined, with Aunt Mary, to prefer the Titian. Now do you understand? I ought to add that most agreeable things are also pleasant, as in this instance. . . . To-day I have called, with Giffy, on Mr. Manuel Johnson, who was, as ever, most kind and pleasant. He has bought some more engravings, more exquisite than anything that I have yet seen; especially a proof of R. Morghen's' Guido's Aurora'; as different from the general impressions as the original from a copy: so light and airy and fresco-like, that it was wonderful to see. Then he has bought a proof of Desnoyer's 'Belle Jardinière,' most lovely and forcible; an old and very fine engraving of A. Caracci's 'Pietà,' and many other lesser ones. On Mrs. Coleridge's recommendation, I read some of the 'Sonnets to Liberty,' and could not agree in her praises; did you? They seem like Alison distilled in a weak way. I did not see much resemblance to Milton except in one-in another set, I think -which begins with 'A book was writ of late, called Peter Bell.' A close similarity was observable in this. Pray give my love to all, and thank papa for his letter-I should no more (please tell him) think of coming without books than of leaving my skin behind here in a drawer. I am your very affectionate and respectful son, To the same . . . In great haste I write to wish you many happy returns of to-morrow, whose anniversary I had nearly forgotten. As for what you say of Coleridge, or rather of one's feeling as to the support or opposition of any person to one's own opinions, I fear it is often true, in a certain extent. But I think in Coleridge far more than usual; both because his life contradicted (in a measure) his opinions, and his opinions (I think) often contradict themselves. Thus I should, I hope, acquiesce in, or at least reverence, an opinion of Johnson (to take him as an instance) (although Coleridge and Wordsworth, like men of true greatness of mind, take pleasure in decrying him); or in one of Southey, or of Mr. Newman; or, to go up higher in age and higher in authority, of Dante, of Cicero, of Aristotle. Yet I doubt not Giffy will like the book much, as I am sure I did. I go on the water now a good deal in the evening, and I can pull seven miles without feeling more than very slightly tired after it. I wish papa would repeal his wish about skiffing, which really is quite safe enough; and what is continually practised by a thousand men cannot be so very dangerous. We had luncheon with uncle' and aunt to-day, who were both, as usual, very kind and agreeable. We saw the baby too, who has a wellshaped head and a very good and amiable temper. . . . I have not been to many wines, but last Saturday I gave one, and to-morrow I give another. I asked about thirty-five men, of whom twenty-five are disengaged. I am, with many wishes for the very happy return of your birthday, Your v. r. and aff. son, To the same F. T. PALGRAVE. Sellar is now here and talking to Giffy, but I think that I can manage to write to you. I am much pleased to hear of the much that E. Coleridge thinks of Bastard; did not what you saw of him confirm it? I have often seen him since this term began. This morning I went first to St. Mary's: the preacher thought it his duty to protest very greatly against what he fancied the errors of the day, in a commonplace railing manner, and when I got out I was surprised to find that it was Dr. Hampden. His sermon was evidently meant for a counterblast to Dr. Pusey's, which I cannot but think very indecent. I really do not know what will become of Dr. Pusey with so many sorrows falling on him; for I have no doubt that the has been, with its usual charity, spitting out its venom against him, and talking about vital religion all the time. I hope you will not be angry with me for writing this. . In the afternoon I attended the parochial service. The church was very full: Mr. Newman preached-and very 1 Bishop Jacobson. |