March 31, 1849.-In the evening to Mr. Brookfield's. Found there Lingen, A. Tennyson; afterwards Thackeray and H. Hallam came. Walked towards Hampstead with A. Tennyson. Conversed on Universities, the 'Princess,' his plans, &c.; he very open and friendly: a noble, solid mind, bearing the look of one who had suffered greatly :— strength and sensitiveness blended.

April 2, 1849.—In the afternoon to A. Tennyson's in the Hampstead Road. Long conversation with him; he read me songs to be inserted in the Princess,' and poems on A. Hallam, some exquisite.

་

He often makes mention too, at this time, of meetings with Mr. Carlyle, whom he describes as 'rough and genial: a man of great sympathies, hence Weltschmerz,' Despite this, Carlyle's opinions, historical and otherwise, were wholly antagonistic and distasteful to him; and they saw but little of one another in after years. Thackeray he often saw during 1849, and allusion is always made to his geniality and friendliness. His pleasure and interest in meeting Macready is also recorded. Palgrave and Arthur Clough would sometimes go to the play or the opera together; for music was at all times a delight to him. In 1848 he heard the Sonnambula

for the first time:

Went to the Opera. Heard the 'Sonnambula': Jenny Lind's first appearance-unspeakably perfect in singing and acting; above all her 'Ah non giunge.' She was received most enthusiastically. Saw the Queen and the old Duke.

And again later in the same year he writes:

Aug. 5.-With Arthur Stanley to I Puritani' (he to

hear Jenny Lind for the first time in an opera-and the last). Admired her acting more than ever-the simplicity of a great soul, who never acts, but shows her thoughts, in action: the singing perfection, as before. A. P. S. rather shocked at the intense reality of the madness-delighted with the joyous, irresistibly winning, cheerful parts. The last time, alas! that I shall hear in an opera the great Jenny Lind-now about to retire. . . . Heard Grisi in 'Norma' very noble; then Alboni's most beautiful 'Non più mesta '; last and best, the last act of 'La Favorita'— with cathedral scenery and music-and Grisi's and Mario's 'Angiol d'amore,' most impassioned and beautiful acting and singing. Grisi's acting in 'La Favorita' equal to J. Lind. Walked with Mr. Gladstone and talked of A. P. S.

'Ah non giunge' remained one of his favourite airs, and though his taste in music, as in the other fine arts, was pre-eminently classical-Mozart, Beethoven, and Weber being foremost with him-Italian opera had a peculiar entrancing attraction for him, and he loved the melody of Bellini and Verdi. With a remarkable knowledge and love of music, it was curious that he could not play a note on the piano, and did not usually distinguish whether others were playing correctly or the reverse. He was fond of playing the violin, and was, fortunately for his own pleasure, quite unconscious of the often discordant notes which he produced; the beauty of the air he might be hearing or playing completely carrying him away.

The choice of what should be his permanent work was now much occupying him and his father. For some time his own inclination leaned strongly towards the study of architecture as a profession, for he inherited this moher's unusually great love and

knowledge of the subject; and his own architectural sketches, though without Lady Palgrave's extreme ability and beauty of drawing, were distinguished by accuracy of detail and much delicacy of touch. Although this project was abandoned, he never ceased to enjoy making designs for imaginary buildings, and not many years after, he had the pleasure of designing a school-house for a friend in Ireland; in this little work he is said to have shown much originality and pure architectural feeling. Later in life he was often asked by personal friends to design churchyard crosses and gravestones. Perhaps of all these, the most graceful and chaste in design is the churchyard cross he erected to his wife's memory at Lyme Regis. The mere fact of being in a beautiful building always gave him a sensible feeling of happiness, and I remember his saying once on entering Milan Cathedral, 'Does not the almost too exquisite beauty seem to add another day to your life?' A ruin, on the other hand, was inexpressibly melancholy to him; a dismantled abbey-the broken shaft of an arch-produced the same pathetic impression as the faded remains of Leonardo's 'Cenacolo.' Besides this more or less æsthetic point of view, a feeling ever pervaded him of the deepest regret that such buildings would never be used again as the monastic houses they originally were. Even the splendid Certosa of Pavia, after its dissolution, he looked upon in a similar light, saying, 'To me there is little more satisfaction in seeing it, than if it were a ruin, it seems so dead and like a fair mockery.'

He ultimately decided upon entering the Education Department (Privy Council) in Whitehall, as an

Examiner first, and afterwards as Assistant Secretary successively under Lord Lingen and the late Lord Sandford, both of whom he looked up to with much affection and sincere regard. When the training college for schoolmasters at Kneller Hall was started under the auspices of the Education Department in 1850, he became Vice-Principal, and held that post during the five years of its existence. The Principal was the present Archbishop of Canterbury (Frederick Temple), whom he had known and admired since the time when he first went to Oxford, and whose lectures he had always attended. They were close and intimate friends, and my father to the very end of his life counted it one of his highest privileges to have been thus closely connected with one whom he revered so deeply. He was very popular among the students, and never found it necessary to call the names over' for his lectures for the purpose of seeing who was absent, as no pupil ever missed his instruction. He took a continued interest in some of these youths, one or two marking out for themselves in after years a literary career, and their gratitude to him always touched him much. The nearness of Kneller Hall to Chapel House, Twickenham, brought about more intercourse with the Tennysons; but during these few years his journals, when written at all, are very scanty. In the summer of 1852 he went for a short time to Germany with Professor Max Müller, where they met and saw much of Coleridge Patteson and other of his Coleridge cousins:

July 3, 1852.-Started early with Max Müller for Cologne, Dresden, &c. . . . The first impression of the 'San Sisto' was of flatness and fresco-like character in

colour, rendering the forms less marked than in the engravings. . . . In the afternoon with Max to a restaurant on the bank of the Elbe; found there his mother, a fine-looking lady, but unhappily very deaf. Many persons sitting round tables in the garden below: this out-of-door sociality is the strong point of external German life, and must be much missed by Germans in England. . . . July 12.-Parted from Max Müller with great regret, from whom I have received every kindness.

When he returned, a great sorrow awaited him, for in August of the same year his beloved mother died. To all her sons she had been the ideal mother, being perhaps even more to them than most mothers are to their sons. In their comparative poverty, she had a cheerful, ennobling and stimulating influence, ever striving for them, loving them, moulding them and early forcing them to realise the need of using their several abilities to the utmost. Frank had loved her with all the strength and ardour of his warm affectionate nature, and it was a severance from one whose interests and sympathies had always been so much his own :

Grief brings no anodyne for grief :

And to forget were worse relief :—

-The day glides on with its own burden rife,

Life heeds no former life.

Our lesson speaks where she lies low;

We hide our woe within our woe :

-For as of yore the fields are green,
The eternal heavens blue:

Moon, stars, and sun their courses run,
And Life is born anew.

(F. T. P., Feb. 1853.)