a great deal for He urged the

read his works too often. He read them himself when he desired relaxation. If he could see a school of Berkeleyan philosophy founded on this side of the continent, he should think that California had done a great deal for the human race America, and for Europe likewise. students also to cultivate the æsthetic faculty — a taste for music and the fine arts; to learn to appreciate grace and manners, and beauty of form as studied by the Greeks, who produced the sculptors, painters, and musicians of old. He paid a special tribute to music. He trusted that music would reach the dignity of a science in this University. Not one student in one hundred might continue to give attention to music in after life, and yet the beneficial influence of the study would still be manifest. Music was necessary to the rounding and finishing of the perfect character. With the high regard for the eternal fitness of things that is peculiar to him, the Canon did not indulge in fulsome eulogies of the people and institutions of California, but talked of the future rather than of the present."

TO HIS WIFE: May 31. "Safe at San Francisco after such adventures and such wonders in the Yosemite and the Big Trees, and found the dear English letters waiting for us. ... Tell G. I will write to him all about the sea lions, which I saw this morning. All is more beautiful and wonderful than I expected and oh! the flowers."

June 9.- "We start east to-morrow, thank God, and run the Sierras, and the desert back again, and beautiful as California is, (I think it destined to be the finest country in the world), I want to be nearer and nearer home. We have been so heaped with kindness that this trip will cost us almost nothing. I have got cones from

the big trees, with seeds in them; and we have collected heaps of most exquisite plants. The letters are delectable. Tell all the servants that I wish heartily I was through and safe home again, for there is no place like England."

"During the last few days of his stay in San Francisco, he caught a severe cold, which turning to pleurisy, the doctors ordered him to leave the city as quickly as possible; and after reaching Denver, he went south to Colorado Springs, by the narrow gauge railway, which his son had helped to build four years before. Here Dr. and Mrs. Bell received him and helped his daughter nurse him with the most devoted care, in their English home at the foot of Pike's Peak, and when he was equal to the move took him up to a mountain ranch for change. His chief amusement during these weeks of illness was botany, and though he was not able to get many specimens himself, he took a keen delight in naming those brought in to him every day. On Sunday, the 5th July, he had recovered enough to be able to read a short service in the large diningroom of the ranch, a service to which he often reverted with pleasure and emotion. He then moved down to Glen Eyrie to stay with his kind friends General and Mrs. Palmer, and on July 12 preached in the Episcopal Church at Colorado Springs, in which only one service had as yet been held. The church was crowded, many young Englishmen riding in, twenty miles and more, from distant ranches to hear him. He gave a lecture also in Colorado Springs for the benefit of the church, to a large audience. The

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place was very dear to him from the fact of his eldest son having been one of the first pioneers there. From Manitou, June 18, he had written. to his wife, from whom he desired that his illness might be carefully concealed:

"We are here in perfect peace, at last, after the running and raging of the last three weeks, and safe back over those horrid deserts, in a lovely glen, with red rocks, running and tinkling burn, whispering cotton woods, and all that is delicious, with Pike's Peak and his snow seemingly in the back garden, but 8000 feet over our heads. Oh, it is a delicious place, and the more so, because we have just got a telegram from M. Thank God! . . . The heat is tremendous, but not unwholesome. God's goodness since I have been out no tongue can tell. . . . Please God I shall get safe home, and never leave you again, but settle down into the quietest old theologian, serving God, I hope, and doing nothing else, in humility and peace."

June 29.—“A delightful party has clustered here; and we all go up to Bell's Ranch in Bergun's Park tomorrow, for a few days, to get cool, for the heat here is tropic, and we cannot move by day. That has given me rest, though, and a time for reading.

God has been

so gracious that I cannot think that He means to send my gray hairs down in sorrow to the grave, but will, perhaps, give me time to reconsider myself, and sit quietly with you, preaching and working, and writing no more. Oh how I pray for that! Tell the Dean I have been thinking much of him as I read Arnold's life and letters. Ah, happy and noble man; happy life, and happy death! But I must live, please God, a little longer, for all your sakes."

BERGUN'S PARK: July 2. "Oh, my Love, your birthday-letter was such a comfort to me, for I am very

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371

home-sick, and counting the days till I can get back to you. Ah, few and evil would have been the days of my pilgrimage had I not met you; and now I do look forward to something like a peaceful old age with you.... This place is like an ugly Highland strath, bordered with pine woods. Air almost too fine to breathe, 7,200 feet high. Pike's Peak 7,000 feet more at one end, fifteen miles off; and, alas! a great forest-fire burning for three days between us and it; and at the other end wonderful ragged peaks, ten to twenty miles off. Flowers most lovely and wonderful. Plenty of the dear common harebell, and several Scotch and English plants, mixed with the strangest forms. We are (or rather Rose is) making a splendid collection. She and the local botanist got more than fifty new sorts one morning. Her strength and activity and happiness are wonderful; and M.'s letters make me very happy. Yes; I have much to thank God for, and will try and show my thankfulness by deeds. Love to G. Tell him there are lots of trout here; but it is too hot to catch them." GLEN EYRIE: July 11. "Thank God our time draws nigh. I preach at Colorado Springs to-morrow, and lecture for the church on Wednesday; Denver Friday, and then right away to New York, and embark on the 25th. . . . This is a wonderful spot; such crags, pillars, caves - red and gray-a perfect thing in a stage scene; and the flora, such a jumble-cactus, yucca, poison sumach, and lovely strange flowers, mixed with Douglas's and Menzies' pine, and eatable piñon, and those again with our own harebells and roses, and all sorts of English flowers. Tell Grenville I have seen no rattlesnakes; but they killed twenty-five here a year or two ago. Tell him that there are paintedlady butterflies here, just like our English, and a locust, which, when he opens his wings, is exactly like a white admiral butterfly; and with them enormous tropic but

terflies, all colors, and as big as bats. We are trying to get a horned toad to bring home alive. There is a

cave opposite my window which must have been full of bears once, and a real eagle's nest close by, full of real young eagles. It is as big as a cartload of bavins. I will write again before we start over the plains. Oh! happy day!"

GLEN EYRIE: July 14.-"I cannot believe that I shall see you within twenty-one days; and never longed so for home. I count the hours till I can cross the Great Valley, on this side of which God has been so good to me. But, oh! for the first rise of the eastern hills, to make me sure that the Mississippi is not still between me and beloved Eversley. I am so glad you like Westminster. Yes! we shall rest our weary bones there for awhile before kind death comes, and, perhaps, see our grandchildren round us there.1 Ah! please God, that! I look forward to a blessed quiet autumn, if God so will, having had a change of scene which will last me my whole life, and has taught me many things. The collection of plants grows magnifiGive my love to W. Harrison. I long to hear him preach in the Abbey, and to preach there myself likewise."

cent.

On July 25 he embarked on the Adriatic for England, and was so far recovered that he was said to be the life and soul of all on board on the homeward voyage; but the beginning of the end had come.

During his severe illness in Colorado, he composed these lines; they were the last he ever

wrote:

1 His first grandchild passed away at its birth just before he himself went into the unseen world. Happily he was spared the

news.