out no end of tea, glees, and speeches, until 9.30; finished off with a speech until 10 o'clock; came here very bad with cold, took chlorodyne, and went to bed very miserable; woke next morning quite well. Went over the Infirmary, sat out a three hours' public meeting, attended a two hours' Church Extension committee meeting, talked with clergy till 5 o'clock, had my dinner, and am off now to an evening meeting. Such is the easy, luxurious life we bloated prelates lead.

Ye gentlemen in curacies who sit at home at ease How little do ye think upon the labors of our sees.

I am still in the midst of a Confirmation tour, which will not end until next week. The week after I have to preach before the queen; and nearly every day after that, for five weeks, I have to preach or speak somewhere or other, until June 18, when I hope to get away for my summer holidays.

You may see from this at what a pace we "bloated and indolent" English prelates are living. I doubt if any one of us will live as bishop ten years.

God knows, and he only, how I hate patronage. It is the most anxious, thankless, and disappointing duty that any man can be called on to perform.

He is certain to disappoint nineteen out of twenty eligible men, and then it is twenty to one that the twentieth disap

points him!

Canon MacDonnell accuses me of harping on the too famous remark of Magee (in his speech of May 2, 1872). It was universally quoted in the press that "he preferred to see England free to England sober." With all explanations I still regard it as involving a disastrous sophism, a dangerous error in judgment and a most false antithesis. But I have never harped on it. So far as I can remember, I only once publicly tried to expose its falsity, in a speech delivered in the Sheldonian Theatre at Oxford. I did so because I had devoted my utmost efforts to awaken the conscience of my fellow-countrymen to realize the deadliness of a curse which Mr. Gladstone in the House of Commons described as more pernicious than those of war, famine, and pesti

lence combined; and because at every turn the drinksellers were flouting us with this epigram, which, whatever may have been the intention of the speaker, dangerously dazzled and deceived the multitude. "If you did not understand the grounds of my objection to the Permissive Bill," wrote the

bishop to Canon MacDonnell, "it is clear that multitudes besides must have misunderstood it too." For my. self, I never did misunderstand it; but, having once endeavored to show its error, I left it alone. Bishop Magee was bitterly and disproportionately offended by my perfectly fair and honwe had est criticism, and whereas been on cordial terms, he suddenly became cold and hostile without telling me the reason till years later. I then ventured to say to him, very much more plainly than I here write, how far better it would have been if he had at once let me know that he had taken offence. In that case he would have received from me, by return of post, an expression of the most sincere regret if, however unwittingly, I had misrepresented his meaning and wounded his sensitiveness. Nothing would have pleased me more than to of what had been his real meaning. give any explanation which he desired He himself afterwards regretted the form in which he had expressed his meaning; and, in later years, owing to circumstances to which I will not allude, he became entirely friendly, and ceased to speak of me with disdainful anger and contemptuous epithets. I believe that the last sermon which he preached in London was preached at my church by my request. Mr. Gladstone was present, and spoke of it as one of the finest sermons he had ever heard. That day the bishop-it was just before he became Archbishop of York-dined with us, and the Archbishop of Armagh, then Bishop of Derry, was our other guest. He described the sermon as worthy in parts of Bossuet. I had first made the acquaintance of both when one was Dean of Cork and the other Dean of Emly, and I happened to sit between

them on the platform at the Church Congress in Dublin in 1868. The Dean of Cork, as he then was, spoke to me most kindly about the paper I had read, and himself made a speech upon it. The last time I saw him was at the Athenæum, almost immediately before his death, when, in radiant spirits, he thanked me heartily for my congratulations on his recent promotion to the Archbishopric of York, which threw a vivid gleam of happiness upon his closing days, and had, as he expressed it, "given him 'quite a new lease of life.'" He was not exempt from those faults which mark all men, even the best; but he was a good as well as an eminent man, and in these volumes may be found many arguments and opinions of great and permanent value on important subjects. There were some of his public lines of action with which I cannot honestly express any agreement; but his endeavor to procure legal protection for the tormented children of bad parents is one of many efforts for which he deserves all gratitude and praise.

When Archbishop Tait was ill in 1869 Archbishop Magee wrote: "Who and what a Gladstonian archbishop would be, if he resigned or died, God only knows." But the "Gladstonian archbishop" in 1882 was Dr. Benson, the beloved and saintly prelate who has just been taken from us. Dr. Magee had himself pointed out his fitness, and with great prescience indicated the line he would take if chosen. He wrote: "All things considered, age especially, he would, perhaps, prove the best for the Church. He would certainly unite and lead the Episcopate better than the Bishop of Durham." I believe that the recognition of Dr. Benson's goodness and of his rare qualities of head and heart will grow as time goes on. Although I had known him ever since we were undergraduates-he was only a little senior to me at Trinity College, Cambridge, I never got to love him more, or set a higher value on his private character and public services, than during the last eighteen months. As the old

palace of the Archbishop of Canterbury was pulled down by the Puritans in 1558, the archbishops have now no palace at Canterbury, and practically use the Deanery as their palace during their visits, three times a year or oftener, to the premier cathedral. I had never before witnessed SO closely the sunny charm and geniality of fatherliness and brotherliness which characterized his demeanor to all with whom he was thrown, from the greatest of bores down to the most delightful of companions, and from the oldest bedesman of eighty down to the youngest choir-boy of eleven. This "sweetness and light," this power of making himself universally beloved, was undoubtedly a great help to him in his public work. And how admirable had been his career! Gifted, both as a youth and as a man, with great personal comeliness, he always seemed to win all hearts. As a boy at school, he had not only had a stainless character, but was happy in the friendship of two other boys, who remained his lifelong intimates-the late Dr. Lightfoot, Bishop of Durham, and the present Bishop of Durham, Dr. Westcott. Even as boys they were seriously and unfeignedly religious. It is a proud thing for Birmingham School, and for their head master, Dr. Prince Lee, the first Bishop of Manchester, to have trained at the same time three boys, who, though very much unlike each other, grew up to be among the foremost prelates and greatest theologians of their age. Dr. Lightfoot and Dr. Westcott have rendered inestimable services to the elucidation of the text and interpretation of the New Testament. Dr. Benson was, if a less deep, yet, perhaps, an even more graceful scholar than either of them. He was fitted for his high position by his thorough knowledge of and interest in cathedral life, and in all branches of liturgical, ecclesiastical, and archæological lore. He als possessed remarkable tact and practical ability, large-hearted tolerance, genuine sympathy with men who differed from him, and a quiet force of

persuasive influence. And how bright and useful were his labors! He became Chancellor's Medallist at Cambridge, and Scholar and Fellow of his college. There have been few more brilliant writers of Latin and Greek verse than he. His version of Gray's "Ode on the Death of a Favorite Cat," written in the Medal Examinations, became quite famous for its felicity. Probably the last Latin elegiacs which he ever wrote were written at my request, to place under the opus sectile memorial of Bishop Phillips Brooks in St. Margaret's church. They were as follows:

Fervidus eloquio, sacra doctissimus arte, Suadendi gravibus vera Deumque viris, Quæreris ab sedem populari voce regendam,

Quæreris-ab sedem rapte domumque Dei.

They were rendered by his poet son, Mr. Arthur Benson:

preaching to the boys in the temporary chapel, and meeting them at his hospitable table, I saw how kind he was, yet how firm; and how naturally he won the affection of his pupils. He then became canon and chancellor of Lincoln Cathedral, and by the singular success and felicity of his work there evinced his fitness for the arduous post of founding the new cathedral and organizing the new diocese of Truro. At Truro again he won the hearts of all the Cornishmen. When Archbishop Tait died he was at once one of those who were marked out by the popular voice as likely to succeed him. What his primacy was, how deep and real were the services which he was enabled to render to the Church of England and of Wales in dangerous crises, how indefatigable were his self-denying labors, how conciliatory his tone, how firm his principles, how large his tolerance, how munificent his generosity both to rich

October 16, he was laid in his honored

heart;

To feed the flock: thy people's choice was given

the Reformed Church of England to be interred in Canterbury Cathedral, in which repose the remains of the

heaven.

The career of the late archbishop was indeed enviable. After a short spell of work under Dr. Goulburn, as an assistant-master at Rugby, he attracted the favorable notice of the prince consort, and while quite a young man was chosen the first headmaster of Wellington College, which was one of the memorials of Arthur, Duke of Wellington. To start a new school nobly and successfully is a Herculean task; but no one could have achieved it more admirably than Dr. Benson. He stamped all the institutions of the college with his own individuality, gave it the motto Heroum Filii, and, in the words of his son,

taught the sons of hero sires To be the sires of hero sons. Visiting the college, as his guest, at an early stage of its career, and

mates down to Cardinal Pole, who died in 1559. The Duke of York, as representative of H.M. the queen; Prince Charles of Denmark; the representative of the German emperor, and of almost every member of the royal family were present and laid wreaths or floral tributes on his grave. Two archbishops, more than thirty bishops, several headmasters of our great public schools, some judges and literary men, more than three hundred clergy, the mayor and corporation of Canterbury; the mayors of other towns; the commandants and many officers of the soldiers at Canterbury and Dover; delegates from the Universities of Cambridge, Oxford, Dublin, from various great public bodies, and from many schools; the students of St. Augustine's College, boys. of the King's School and Clergy Orphan School, and not these only but also

formists of all denominations flocked to the ancient city on that tempestuous day to do honor to his beloved memory. The universal sorrow manifested at that impressive and pathetic funeral ceremony, together with the messages of condolence which flowed in from America, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and all parts of the world, is the best proof how deep and how sincere was the appreciation of the work and of the character of the 92nd Archbishop of Canterbury, whose sudden yet happy death almost exactly marks the close of the thirteenth century since first the baptism of King Ethelbert by St. Augustine inaugurated the conversion of the Saxon race, and the first establishment in England of the Christian faith.

F. W. FARRAR.

From The Academy. SIR WALTER SCOTT'S FIRST LOVE.1 This little book, which the author with rare modesty describes as a "compilation" tells, for the first time connectedly, the story of good Walter Scott's first experiment in wooing. The facts are well and briefly marshalled, and the tale is simply and sympathetically told. The writer believes with Lockhart that Scott's seven years lost in wooing had a pronounced effect upon his writings, rendering the thought of love so painful that he left much of the love-making between his young heroes and heroines to the imagination of his readers. I do not agree that the disappointment of the great novelist's youth had any such deterrent effect upon his writings.

I wonder if it has been ever noticed how little store Shakespeare set upon first loves. His most romantic lovers had overpast short swallow flights of romance before they followed one

1 The Story of Sir Walter Scott's First Love. By Adam Scott. Edinburgh: Macniven & Wal

lace.

make it halt behind her." What Prospero said of Miranda may be said of Scott's second love, whom he married. "O, how delightful," wrote a friend, "to see the lady that is blessed with Earl Walter's love and has mind enough to discover the blessing." After their marriage, Scott and his wife Charlotte lived in a pretty cottage, in which they indulged a mutual taste for flowers, and where their friends were often entertained in their one sitting-room, from which loving womanly fingers had removed all traces of poverty, and good taste more than fulfilled the uses of wealth:

It was here that, in the ripened glow of manhood, he seems to have felt something of his real strength, and poured himself out in those splendid original ballads which were at once to fix his name upon the roll of great writers.

She

Scott's first love-affair, with "Lady Green Mantle," lasted for seven years, when the lady put an end to it quite unexpectedly by marrying another. Could she have foreseen the future, it would, no doubt, have ended differently, for she was worldly wise. That she in some measure reciprocated his regard there can be little doubt. could appreciate and admire his rising poetic talents. They corresponded often upon literary matters, in which she seems to have had considerable interest. In 1795, the year before the end of the romance, the lady went much into society, which her lover thought "had not in the least altered the meekness of her manners." But, for all his hopefulness, doubts would sometimes creep into his mind-"mean suspicions" the good, trusting soul called them. In the August of the same year he received a letter, in reply to one of his own which must have been most cunningly worded, for Scott, trained as he was to interpret documents, could not quite compass its meaning. A confidential friend, to whom he showed it, interpreted it faShe had, however, merely vorably. temporized, pointing out the impru

dence of a definite engagement, but not throwing over her interesting lover hastily. It was, however, better than he had expected, for he writes:

If you were surprised at reading the important billet, you may guess how agreeably I was at receiving it; for I had, to anticipate disappointment, struggled to suppress every rising gleam of hope; and it would be difficult to describe the mixed feelings her letter occasioned, which, entre nous, terminated in a very heavy fit of crying.

Writing to Miss Edgeworth in 1818, Scott replies to some friendly criticism as follows:

I have not read one of my poems since they were printed, excepting, last year, "The Lady of the Lake," which I liked much better than I expected, but not well enough to induce me to go through the rest. So I may truly say with Macbeth:

I am afraid to think of what I've done: [sic] Look on't again I dare not.

This much of Matilda I recollect (for that is not easily forgotten), that she was attempted from the existing person of a lady who is now no more, so that I am particularly flattered with your distinguishing it from the others, which are in general mere shadows.

He did not dare to look upon what he had done, because he seems strangely to have undervalued his own work. The truth being that his ideas and his pen flowed so rapidly, and with so little mental effort, that his works must have seemed to him the result of a purely mechanical process. Authors are apt to value their work, often erroneously, according to the amount of labor expended upon it.

The real name of "Green Mantle" was the rather uneuphonious one of Wilamina.

She was the only child and the heiress of a cadet of the ancient family of Invermay, who afterwards became Sir John Wishart Belches Stuart, Bart., of Fettercairn. Her mother was the eldest daughter of David, sixth earl of Leven and fifth of Melville.

The materials from which the story is derived are not very full. Indeed, Lockhart, in his life of Scott, touches upon the affair but lightly. The lovers met frequently:

It was a proud night with me [wrote Scott] when I first found that a pretty young woman could think it worth her while to sit and talk with me, hour after hour, in the corner of a ballroom, while all the world were capering in our view. After this they "read together, rode together, and sat together." When apart they corresponded, and Scott "constituted himself her literary mentor." She admired his rising talents loved his society, and led him onward from hope to hope. He visited her

from time to time at her home at Invermay. But the girl was more likely to be moved by self-interest than by sentiment; she valued herself highly, and a struggling young lawyer with a taste for poetry, did not quite come up to her expectations. When a wealthy young baronet, with the addition of a banking business, appeared upon the scene, there was no question between the two suitors. "Lady Greenmantle" passed quietly out of the poet's life, marrying Sir William Forbes, who remained to the end one of his worthiest and best friends.

Scott, who was one of the proudest and manliest of men, endured the dis appointment, as he afterwards endured more real and more bitter trials, calmly and philosophically. The experience enabled him to describe a first love: "a fanciful creature of our own rather than a reality. We build statues of snow, and weep when they melt."

Scott's first love was divinely fair, golden haired and blue eyed. I believe, if all the elderly men, in our own islands at least, could join in a general confession of their first loves. most of the objects of worship would be found to have been blondes-the princesses in the fairy tales were certainly fair, and that is an element in support of the conjecture. But does the remembrance of one's first love