Chapter VIII: Conclusion (1)

The title "Founder of Methodism," humanly speaking, must be shared between mother and son. To many minds this will seem to have been a question settled by the action of Mrs. Wesley at Epworth.

But her part in the matter shows a deepening beauty from the first in fulfilment of the words of her Journal concerning John, with special reference to his remarkable rescue from the fire, "I do intend to be more particularly careful of the soul of this child, that Thou hast so mercifully provided for."

When, at college, he and his brother, with their young companions, owing to their living by rule, first won the name of "Methodists," amid sneers and persecutions, his mother cheered him on. At that juncture, subsequently, when he was in a state of hesitancy as to entering the holy ministry, and his father had encouraged the idea of delay, his mother said, "The sooner you are a deacon the better"--and broke the spell of what might have been a fatal backwardness. On that evening, at Aldersgate Street, 24th May, 1738, so memorable in the spiritual history of Methodism, when John Wesley stood up in his newly-found fulness of the assurance of grace, and encountered much sharp rebuke on the spot, he had been well fortified beforehand with his mother's sympathy, saying, "She was glad he had got into such a just way of thinking." She also saw eye to eye with him in his position in the controversy between Calvinism and Arminianism.

The beginning of lay-preaching dates, as we have seen, from her support of Thomas Maxfield, and the leading features of the mode of preaching which John Wesley recommended to his followers may be found, long before, in his mother's counsels to himself--"to avoid nice distinctions in public assemblies"--to exalt Christ and the work of the Spirit. "Here you may give free scope to your souls," and "discourse without reserve, as His Spirit gives you utterance." Well does her son call her "in her measure and degree a preacher of righteousness."

So shines the bright light of Susanna Wesley all along the upbuilding of that great Christian society which bears the name of her sons. Her example must surely also be of special value at the present day, when, alike in the Church and in the world, the place of woman rises in importance, and the demand is for further opportunity of usefulness. For the life of this gifted and saintly woman is characterised by a modesty that is above criticism, and, at the same time, shows no lack of the greatness of power and achievement in the work of the Lord.

JAMES CUNNINGHAM, M.A.

MRS. HEMANS.

Mrs. Hemans is fully entitled to a place in the ranks of Excellent Women, not only on account of her personal character, but also on account of the work she did--a work removed from the "stunning tide," but not the less effectual.

There is no doubt that Mrs. Hemans exerted a distinct influence and made a distinct impression on the national character. She left the world unmistakably better for her having lived in it. Many do not realise what great abiding results flowed from her work. And one chief way in which she was productive of so much good to her race was this: she raised the standard of popular poetry, raised it at a time when it sadly needed raising, to a higher level and tone. "Though she wrote so much and in an age when Byron was the favourite poet of Englishmen, not a line left her pen that indicated anything but a spotless and habitually lofty mind." It was no mean achievement to establish the popularity of a poetry which was by its purity a rebuke to much that had hitherto passed current and received applause.

How well she succeeded in accomplishing the ends which, as we learn in that beautiful piece of hers, "A Poet's Dying Hymn," she had set before herself and others who gave expression to their thoughts in verse!

"And if Thy Spirit on Thy child hath shed
The gift, the vision of the unsealed eye,
To pierce the mist o'er life's deep meanings spread,
To reach the hidden fountain-urns that lie
Far in man's heart--if I have kept it free
And pure, a consecration unto Thee,
I bless Thee, O my God!

* * * * *

Not for the brightness of a mortal wreath,
Not for a place 'midst kingly minstrels dead,
But that, perchance, a faint gale of Thy breath,
A still small whisper, in my song hath led
One struggling spirit upwards to Thy throne,
Or but one hope, one prayer--for this alone
I bless Thee, O my God!"

Many a straggler in life's perplexities found sympathy and help in the sweet verses of this poetess. They felt that there was one struggling by their side, one who could rest on God's promises, and could almost insensibly "weave links for intercourse with God."

I.

EARLY DAYS.

Felicia Dorothea Browne was born in Duke Street, Liverpool, on the 25th of September, 1793. She was the second daughter and the fourth child of a family of three sons and three daughters. Her father, who was a native of Ireland, was a merchant of good position. Her mother, whose maiden name was Wagner, was the daughter of the Venetian consul in Liverpool. The original name was Veniero, but as the result of German alliances it had assumed this German form. Three members of the family had risen to the dignity of Doge. The first six years of Felicia's life were spent in Liverpool. Then commercial losses compelled her father to break up his establishment in that city and remove to Wales. The next nine years of her life were spent at Gwyrch, near Abergele, in North Wales. The house was a spacious old mansion, close to the seashore, and shut in on the land side by lofty hills. Surely a fit place for the early residence of a poetess of Nature. Besides this advantage of situation, she had the privilege of access to the treasures of a large library. The records of her early days show her to have been a child of extreme beauty, with a brilliant complexion and long, curling, golden hair. But her personal beauty was not the only thing that arrested attention. Her talents and sweetness of disposition retained the notice which her attractiveness had obtained. The old gardener used to say that "Miss Felicia could 'tice him to do whatever she pleased." And he was not the only one who fell under her gentle constraint. She was a general favourite.

This girl of many hopes had no regular education. She was never at school. Her mother's teaching and her own avidity for information were almost her only means of instruction. Mrs. Browne was a woman of high acquirements, both intellectual and moral, eminently adapted for the training of so sensitive a mind. For a time the child was taught French, English grammar, and the rudiments of Latin by a gentleman who used to regret that she was not a man, to have borne away the highest honours at college! A remarkable memory was of great benefit to her. Her sister states that she could repeat pages of poetry from her favourite authors after having read them over but once. On one occasion, to satisfy the incredulity of one of her brothers, she learned by heart the whole of Heber's poem of "Europe," containing four hundred and twenty-four lines, in an hour and twenty minutes. She repeated it without a single mistake or a moment's hesitation. Long pieces of both prose and poetry she would often recite after having twice glanced over them. This power of memory stood her in good stead in her later life, when physical weakness prevented her from writing down what she had composed. Her thoughts had to be retained in her mind, and then dictated.

When Felicia Browne was about eleven years old she spent the winter in London with her father and mother. But this visit had not the charm for her that it has for most young people. She saw nothing in the metropolis to compensate for the loss of the country. The sights and scenes of the busy throng were not so congenial as the sights and scenes of the quiet little Welsh home. "She longed to rejoin her younger brother and sister in their favourite rural haunts and amusements--the nutting wood, the beloved apple-tree, the old arbour, with its swing, the post-office tree, in whose trunk a daily interchange of letters was established, the pool where fairy-ships were launched (generally painted and decorated by herself), and, dearer still, the fresh, free ramble on the seashore, or the mountain 'expedition' to the Signal Station, or the Roman Encampment." Town parties and town conventionalities had little in them to gain favour in the eyes of this bonnie free country lass. Not that she did not sometimes derive pleasure from the sights she was taken to. Especially was she impressed by her visits to some of the great works of art. On entering a gallery of sculpture, she involuntarily exclaimed, "Oh, hush:--don't speak!"

II.

FIRST POEMS.

The first appearance in print! What an event in life is this! What a new world it seems to open out to the writer! Felicia Browne was fourteen years old when a collection of her poems was published. The earliest of these early compositions was written when she was only eight years of age.

The volume of poems appeared in 1808. Perhaps it would have been a more judicious course on the part of her friends if they had prevented them from appearing. The young girl of fourteen years was by her youth ill-fitted to face the criticisms of the literary world.

At this time there came across her path the person whose name she was afterwards to bear--Captain Hemans, of the King's Own Regiment. He was on a visit in the neighbourhood of Gwyrch, and soon became an intimate friend in the family which contained Felicia amongst its members. Before he was called upon to embark with his regiment for Spain, an impression had been created which three years' absence did not efface on either side. The friends of both parties hoped that it might be otherwise, and that nothing would come of this attachment. But their hopes were not to be realised.

III.

MARRIAGE.

In 1809 the Browne family removed to Bronwylfa, near St. Asaph. Her self-education and her literary work went on side by side.

Captain Hemans returned to Wales in 1811, and in the following year he was married to Miss Browne. His appointment as adjutant to the Northamptonshire Militia caused them to take up their residence at Daventry, a neighbourhood by its tameness strangely contrasting with her "own mountain-land." But she was not to be long away from her old home. The next year, on the reduction of the corps, a return was made to Bronwylfa. Mrs. Hemans was never again, until death parted them, to leave her mother, "by whose unwearied spirit of love and hope she was encouraged to bear on through all the obstacles which beset her path." A period of domestic privacy in association with literary occupation and study followed. Five children, all sons, were given to her. One can easily understand how many calls there were now on her, as, her marriage being not altogether a happy one, she had to arrange the education of her children. How well she trained them, not only in temporal wisdom, but in the highest of all wisdom, many evidences show. We may anticipate and insert an anecdote of one of her boys at the age of eleven. She had been reading to him Lord Byron's magnificent address to the sea:--

"Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue ocean, roll."

He listened with breathless attention, and at the close broke out with these words--"It is very grand indeed!--but how much finer it would have been, mamma, if he had said at the close, that God had measured out all those waters with the hollow of His hand!" On another occasion she was explaining to her eight-year-old boy the meaning of the title of a story he was reading, "The Atheist." His argument was real and ready: "Not believe in a God, mamma? Who does he expect made the world and his own body?"

IV.

WORK AND FRIENDS.

The plentiful contributions from her pen were becoming increasingly popular, and it may be added increasingly useful. There is no doubt that she was a distinct moral power for good.

As almost every one thinks that he or she can compose poetry, and that better than others, it often happens that in a prize poem competition there is no lack of persons ready to enter the lists. So it was when a patriotic Scotchman offered a prize of £50 for the best poem on "The meeting of Wallace and Bruce." The number of competitors was astounding, and the mass of matter sent in overwhelming, one production being as long as "Paradise Lost." Quality prevailed over quantity, and the award was made to Mrs. Hemans. This was not the only occasion on which she was adjudged the prize in a competition. In 1821 she obtained that awarded by the Royal Society of Literature for the best poem on "Dartmoor."

One of her poems, which was destined to be almost more useful than any of the others, was "The Sceptic." A reviewer's testimony to the elevating influence of the work, after complaining of the grave defect in some of the most popular writers of the day, in that "they are not sufficiently attentive to the moral dignity of the performances," concludes with this encomium on Mrs. Hemans' work:--"With the promise of talents not inferior to any, and far superior to most of them, the author before us is not only free from every stain, but breathes all moral beauty and loveliness; and it will be a memorable coincidence if the era of a woman's sway in literature shall become co-eval with the return of its moral purity and elevation." A more gratifying testimony to the worth of "The Sceptic" was given in a visit of a stranger to Mrs. Hemans. It occurred many years after "The Sceptic" was published; indeed, a very short time before her death. The visitor was told that she was unable to see him, as she was only just recovering from an illness. He entreated for a few minutes' interview with such importunity that it was granted to him. On his admission he explained with the utmost feeling that the object of his visit was to acknowledge the deepest debt of obligation; "that to her he owed, in the first instance, that faith and those hopes which were now more precious to him than life itself; for that it was by reading her poem of 'The Sceptic' he had been first awakened from the miserable delusion of infidelity and induced to 'search the Scriptures.'" This was not the only time she received a comforting assurance of this kind with regard to the poem.

The warm friendship of the Bishop of St. Asaph, Dr. Luxmoore, was a great boon to Mrs. Hemans. He was always ready with his advice and his support; and she found them of singular benefit in her comparatively lonely position. The bishop's palace was like a second home. There she and her children were always welcome. Of like value was the friendship of another who was also destined to have a place on the episcopal bench. Reginald Heber was a frequent visitor at the residence of his father-in-law, the Dean of St. Asaph. He soon became deeply interested in the welfare of Mrs. Hemans. She found in him one whose counsel, especially in literary matters, was of the utmost value. His suggestions and encouragement supplied just what she wanted. Any one who reads his hints with regard to her contemplated poem "Superstition and Revelation" will know how full and painstaking was the trouble he took to assist his friend.

The design of the poem to which reference has just been made was a grand one. It is best described in her own words: "Might not a poem of some extent and importance, if the execution were at all equal to the design, be produced, from contrasting the spirit and tenets of Paganism with those of Christianity? It would contain, of course, much classical allusion; and all the graceful and sportive fictions of ancient Greece and Italy, as well as the superstitions of more barbarous climes, might be introduced, to prove how little consolation they could convey in the hour of affliction, or hope in that of death. Many scenes from history might be portrayed in illustration of this idea; and the certainty of a future state, and of the immortality of the soul, which we derive from revelation, are surely subjects for poetry of the highest class." The poem was commenced, but never completed. It was pressed out by other undertakings.

V.

THE HOME IN WALES.

Mrs. Hemans found peculiar pleasure in reading and speaking German. "I am so delighted," she wrote, "when I meet with any one who knows and loves my favourite _scelenvolle_ (full of soul) German, that I believe I could talk of it for ever." Her sister remarks that her knowledge of the language seemed almost as if it had been born with her.

The poetess could write humorous prose as well as serious verse. Some of her letters written in 1822 give a very amusing description of the inconveniences she had to put up with whilst certain alterations were being made at Bronwylfa. She describes how at last she was driven to seek refuge in the laundry, from which classical locality, she was wont to say, it could be no wonder if sadly _mangled_ lines were to issue. "I entreat you to pity me. I am actually in the melancholy situation of Lord Byron's 'scorpion girt by fire'--her circle narrowing as she goes--for I have been pursued by the household troops through every room successively, and begin to think of establishing my _métier_ in the cellar; though I dare say, if I were to fix myself as comfortably in a hogshead as Diogenes himself, it would immediately be discovered that some of the hoops or staves wanted repair." "There is a war of old grates with new grates, and plaster and paint with dust and cobwebs, carrying on in this once tranquil abode, with a vigour and animosity productive of little less din than that occasioned by 'lance to lance and horse to horse.' I assure you, when I make my escape about 'fall of eve' to some of the green quiet hayfields by which we are surrounded, and look back at the house, which, from a little distance, seems almost, like Shakespeare's moonlight, to 'sleep upon the bank,' I can hardly conceive how so gentle-looking a dwelling can continue to send forth such an incessant clatter of obstreperous sound through its honeysuckle-fringed windows. It really reminds me of a pretty shrew, whose amiable smiles would hardly allow a casual observer to suspect the possibility of so fair a surface being occasionally ruffled by storms."

The lyric "The Voice of Spring" was written in 1823. It was followed by "Breathings of Spring." The season of spring had a marked influence upon her. It was, with all its joy and beauty, generally "a time of thoughtfulness rather than mirth." It has been well observed that autumn in one way is a more joyous time than spring. It reminds us that "we shall go to them," while in spring everything seems to say "they will not return to us."

"But what awakest thou in the _heart_, O Spring!
The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs?
Thou that givest back so many a buried thing,
Restorer of forgotten harmonies!
Fresh songs and scents break forth where'er thou art--
What wakest thou in the heart?

Too much, oh, then too much! We know not well
Wherefore it should be thus, yet, roused by thee,
What fond, strange yearnings, from the soul's deep cell,
Gush for the faces we no more may see!
How are we lamented, in the wind's low tone,
By voices that are gone?"

In 1825 there appeared one of her principal works--the one she considered as almost, if not altogether, the best--_The Forest Sanctuary_. It related to the sufferings of a Spanish Protestant in the time of Philip II., and is supposed to be narrated by the sufferer himself, who escapes with his child to a North American forest. The picture of the burial at sea was the passage of whose merits she had the highest opinion.

VI.

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.

Another change of home took place in 1825. The new home was not more than a quarter of a mile from the old one. Rhyllon could be seen from the windows of Bronwylfa. It was a very different house. The former is described as a tall, staring brick house, almost destitute of trees; the latter as a perfect bower of roses, peeping out like a bird's-nest from amidst the foliage in which it was embosomed. The contrast is playfully depicted in a dramatic scene between Bronwylfa and Rhyllon. The former, after standing for some time in silent contemplation of Rhyllon, breaks out into the following vehement strain of vituperation:--

"You ugliest of fabrics! you horrible eyesore!
I wish you would vanish, or put on a vizor!
In the face of the sun, without covering or rag on,
You stand and outstare me, like any red dragon."

And so on through many amusing and spirited lines, showing the lighter side of the authoress's character. Her sister describes this part of her life as perhaps the happiest of all, and this was produced to a great extent by her seeing the happiness of others, especially that of her boys. She was always ready to join them in their rambles and their sports. The mornings were spent in the instruction of her children, then in answering countless letters and satisfying the demands of impatient editors. And this done, she would revel in the enjoyment of fresh air. "Soft winds and bright blue skies," she writes, "make me, or dispose me to be, a sad idler." For this reason she delighted in the rigour of winter, as being most conducive to literary productiveness.

A heavy sorrow was overshadowing this happy home. Between Mrs. Hemans and her mother there was the strongest bond of affection. In her poems there may be traced the intensity of this love. It is found in the simple lines, "On my Mother's Birthday," when the child was only eight years old, and, after incidentally appearing in many a poem, it is shown in all its intensity in the "Hymn by the Sick-bed of a Mother."

"Father, that in the olive shade,
When the dark hour came on,
Didst, with a breath of heavenly aid,
Strengthen Thy Son;

Oh, by the anguish of that night,
Send us down blest relief;
Or to the chastened, let Thy might
Hallow this grief!"

And if the flame of passionate affection shone out in the time of fear and impending sorrow, no less was it seen after the dread hour had come. What beauty there is in the lines entitled "The Charmed Picture":--

"Sweet face, that o'er my childhood shone,
Whence is thy power of change,
Thus ever shadowing back my own,
The rapid and the strange?

Whence are they charmed--those earnest eyes?
I know the mystery well!
In mine own trembling bosom lies
The spirit of the spell!"

This mother patiently bore sickness for eight months, and then passed away. Something of what this blow meant to the loving daughter may be gathered from her letters. But she knew where true comfort was to be found, and in alluding to the words of another setting forth the Divine consolation, she says, "This is surely the language of real consolation; how different from that which attempts to soothe us by general remarks on the common lot, the course of Nature, or even by dwelling on the release of the departed from pain and trial."

It was not surprising that her health, for a long time delicate, now showed signs of an alarming nature. She often had a complete prostration of strength, succeeded by a wonderful reaction.

VII.

REMOVAL FROM WALES.

The place of Mrs. Hemans in the literary world was established. As might be expected, friendships were formed with those who had tastes in common. Amongst the number were Miss Baillie, Miss Mitford, Mrs. Howitt, Miss Jewsbury, and Dean Milman. From her friends she sought sympathy rather than praise. Always appreciative of words of encouragement, she gave back good exchange in the artless way into which she entered into the pursuits of her correspondents.

Her health continued to give great anxiety to her friends, and matters were not improved by the unconquerable dislike of the patient to the adoption of the necessary precautions and remedies. But in the midst of all her suffering her imagination was busy. Compositions were dictated to friends who sat by her bedside. Her amanuensis record--how the little song "Where is the Sea" came to her like a strain of music whilst lying in the twilight under the infliction of a blister.

In 1828 she published the _Records of Woman_, the work into which she said she had put her heart and individual feelings more than in anything else she had written. One verse amongst many others indicates the pressure put upon her feeble frame by the intensity of her activity of mind.

"Yet I have known it long;
Too restless and too strong
Within this clay hath been the o'ermastering flame;
Swift thought that came and went,
Like torrents o'er me sent,
Have shaken as a reed my thrilling frame."

A severe trial was at hand. The home must again be changed and the beloved Wales left. The marriage of her sister and the appointment of her brother to an official post were the immediate cause. In which direction should she turn her steps with most advantage? The choice was determined by the consideration that at Wavertree near Liverpool she had several attached friends, that there she would meet with advantages for the education of her boys and also with more literary communion for herself.

The wrench from the "land of her childhood, her home, and her dead," was a hard one. She wrote, telling her friends how she literally covered her face all the way from Bronwylfa until her boys told her they had passed the Clwyd range of hills. Then she felt that something of the bitterness was over.

"The sound of thy streams in my spirit I bear;
Farewell, and a blessing be with thee, green land!
On thy hearths, on thy halls, on thy pure mountain air,
On the chords of the harp, and the minstrel's free hand,
From the love of my soul, with my tears it is shed,
As I leave thee, green land of my home and my dead."

Her love for the people of Wales was not an unreciprocated love. Many of them rushed forward to touch the posts of the gate through which the poetess had passed; and when, three years later, she paid a visit to St. Asaph, came and wept over her, and entreated her to make her home among them again.

VIII.

WAVEETEEE.

Wavertree had its advantages, but it certainly had its disadvantages too. She was brought into a scene where all her precious time might have been absorbed in the trivialities of society. She was overwhelmed with offers of service and marks of courtesy. All the gaiety of a large town was open to her. Gladly would she, as one who had made her mark, have been received on all hands. But consideration of both time and inclination demanded that her life should be spent in a more retired way. She had a great distaste to "going out." And so the frivolous soon gave her up, and went their own way. Her dress was not rigorously correct; she seemed to have motives and pursuits unlike theirs. And so they did not desire her company any more than she found satisfaction in theirs. In the society of those with whom she had no interest in common she well describes her state as feeling herself more alone than _when_ alone. There was much to try her in the curiosity which prompted so many to call upon the strange poetess; but she treated this experience in a cheerful manner. She was pursued by albums, their possessors all anxious to have something written on purpose for themselves. We can understand her humorous appeal to a friend "to procure her a dragon, to be kept in her courtyard."

The life at Wavertree was very different from that in Wales in many respects. She had to face the cares and vexations of domestic life, now that she lived alone in her own house. She had to bear her part in general society. The change was not a palatable one. "How I look back upon the comparative peace and repose of Bronwylfa and Rhyllon--a walk in the hayfield--the children playing round me--my dear mother coming to call me in from the dew--and you, perhaps, making your appearance just in the 'gloaming,' with a great bunch of flowers in your kind hand! How have these things passed away from me, and how much more was I formed for their quiet happiness than for the weary part of _femme célèbre_ which I am now enacting."

A visit to Scotland in 1829 was a great event in her life. She seemed to gain fresh energy and vigour. Edinburgh was ready with a hearty welcome. Admiration was in danger of degenerating into adulation; as, for example, when a literary man, on his introduction to her, asked "whether a bat might be allowed to appear in the presence of a nightingale." On another occasion a man of eminence in the book world was honoured with a visit from her. Afterwards he was asked whether he had chanced to see the most distinguished English poetess of the day. "He made no answer," continued the narrator, "but taking me by the arm, in solemn silence, led me into the back parlour, where stood a chair in the centre of the room, isolated from the rest of the furniture: and pointing to it, said, with the profoundest reverence, in a low earnest tone. 'There _she_ sat, sir, on that chair!'" One of the brightest parts of this bright tour was that spent with Sir Walter Scott. The recollection of her walks and talks with the great man was always a treasured memory. And so were the words with which he parted from her. "There are some whom we meet, and should like ever after to claim as kith and kin; and _you_ are one of these."

In 1830 Mrs. Hemans published her volume of _Songs of the Affections._ The principal of the poems, "A Spirit's Return," was suggested as the result of a favourite amusement--that of winding up the evenings by telling ghost stories. A discussion arose as to the feelings with which the presence and the speech of a visitant from another world would be most likely to impress the person so visited. Mrs. Hemans contended that the predominant sensation would partake of awe and rapture, and that the person visited must thenceforward and for ever be inevitably separated from this world and its concerns--that the soul which had once enjoyed so strange and spiritual communion must be raised by its experience too high for common grief to perplex or common joy to enliven.

"The music of another land hath spoken.
No after-sound is sweet; this weary thirst!--
And I have heard celestial fountains burst.
What _here_ shall quench it?"

IX.

HOME IN THE LAKE COUNTRY.

A visit to the Lakes of Westmoreland in 1830 was a source of great enjoyment to Mrs. Hemans. The beauty of the district was one attraction, but the prospect of sharing the society of Mr. Wordsworth was a greater attraction. Wearied out with the "glare and dust of celebrity," she was longing for the hills and the quiet peacefulness of the Lake country. It is needless to say that the first poetess of Nature was charmed with the first poet of Nature, and the poet with the poetess. Her letters were full of expressions of delight and keen appreciation of the privilege she was enjoying. Wordsworth was kindness itself. "I am charmed with Mr. Wordsworth, whose kindness to me has quite a soothing influence over my spirits. Oh! what relief, what blessing there is in the feeling of admiration when it can be freely poured forth! 'There is a daily beauty in his life,' which is in such lovely harmony with his poetry, that I am thankful to have witnessed and _felt_ it."

Mrs. Hemans, after staying a fortnight at Rydal Mount, took a little cottage called Dove's Nest near the lake. Here she was joined by her children, into whose pursuits she heartily threw herself. This was a season of grateful rest to her. "How shall I tell you of all the loveliness by which I am surrounded, of all the soothing and holy influence it seems shedding down into my inmost heart! I have sometimes feared within the last two years, that the effect of suffering and adulation, and feelings too highly wrought and too severely tried, would have been to dry up within me the fountains of such peace and simple enjoyment; but now I know--"

'Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her.'

"I can think of nothing but what is pure, and true, and kind; and my eyes are filled with grateful tears even whilst I am writing to you." But even to this sweet retirement she was pursued by curious tourists, "hunting for lions in doves' nests," and by letters which threatened "to boil over the drawer to which they were consigned."

She had made up her mind that it was a wise step to leave Wavertree. At one time Edinburgh was thought of as a fit place for her residence. But finally Ireland, and not Scotland, became the home of her latter days, one reason for this choice being that her brother would be near to give his advice and guidance as to her sons. In 1831 she took up her abode in Dublin, where, whilst entering very little into general society, she much enjoyed intercourse with many kindred spirits whom she gathered around her. Amongst her most valued friends were the Archbishop of Dublin and Mrs. Whately, from whom she met with marked kindness. These years in Dublin have been described as the happiest as well as the last of her life. Heading was perhaps more than ever a delight to her, especially of works of religious instruction and consolation. Bishop Hall, Leighton, and Jeremy Taylor, and other old divines afforded her great strength and refreshment, whilst the Scriptures were her daily study and delight. Wordsworth was the poet she loved best and read oftenest, never a single day during the last four years of her life being passed, unless sickness prevented, without her reading something of his.

X.

ASPIRATIONS DURING FAILING HEALIH.

"Nervous suffering" is a phrase that describes Mrs. Hemans' state of health. But still her mind was busy and her pen active, especially on subjects of a religious character. "I now feel as if bound to higher and holier tasks which, though I may occasionally lay aside, I could not long wander from without some sense of dereliction. I hope it is not self-delusion, but I cannot help sometimes feeling as if it were my true task to enlarge the sphere of sacred poetry, and extend its influence." In 1834 _Hymns for Childhood_ and _National Lyrics_ appeared in a collected form, and soon after the long-contemplated collection of _Scenes and Hymns of Life_. The aim of these may be best expressed in her own words. It was to enlarge the sphere of sacred poetry "by associating with its themes, more of the emotions, the affections, and even the pure imaginative enjoyments of daily life, than had hitherto been admitted within the hallowed circle."

Two last works were to issue from her mind and heart. The lyric "Despondency and Aspiration" was hoped to be her best production, as it was certainly her most laborious effort. On it she was anxious to concentrate all her powers. It was meant to be the prologue to a poetical work which was to be called _The Christian Temple_. It was her purpose, "by tracing out the workings of passion--the struggle of human affection--through various climes, and ages, and conditions of life, to illustrate the insufficiency of any dispensation, save that of an ill-embracing Christianity, to soothe the sorrows, or sustain the hopes, or fulfil the desires of an immortal being whose lot is cast in a world where cares and bereavements are many." She was never to carry out this design.

She dictated _Thoughts during Sickness_ in the intervals of sickness, when concentrated thought was possible. Their shortness tells of the shortness of those intervals. Who is not better for thinking over these sonnets, recalling as they do a peaceful spirit of resignation and calmness at the approach of the last hour?

"Let others _trembling_ bow,
Angel of Death, before thee;--not to those
Whose spirits with Eternal Truth repose
Art thou a fearful shape. And, oh, for _me_,
How full of welcome would thine aspect shine,
Did not the cords of strong affection twine
So fast around my soul, it _cannot_ spring to thee."

The last of the series is entitled a "Sabbath Sonnet." It was composed by Mrs. Hemans a few days before her death, and dictated to her brother. It ends in these words---fit words for the last utterances of a Christian poet:

"I may not tread
With them those pathways--to the feverish bed
Of sickness bound; yet, O my God, I bless
Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath filled
My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled
To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness."

But we are anticipating. At the end of 1834 Mrs. Hemans was recommended to try change of air. Most kindly Archbishop Whately placed at her disposal his country seat of Redesdale, where she had every comfort. But there was a comfort she had that was not of man's making or man's giving. "Far better than these indications of recovery is the sweet religious peace which I feel gradually overshadowing me with its dove-pinions, excluding all that would exclude thoughts of God."

All around her delighted to ease her suffering and to minister to her comfort. Especially thoughtful was her faithful attendant. And well was that attendant repaid in hearing the words which fell from her mistress's lips. How bright was the testimony of the dying poetess! "I feel like a tired child wearied, and longing to mingle with the pure in heart! I feel as if I were sitting with Mary at the feet of my Redeemer, hearing the music of His voice, and learning of Him to be meek and lowly." "Oh, Anna, do not you love your kind Saviour? The plan of redemption was indeed a glorious one; humility was indeed the crowning work. I am like a quiet babe at His feet, and yet my spirit is full of His strength. When anybody speaks of His love to me, I feel as if they were too slow; my spirit can mount alone with Him into those blissful realms with far more rapidity."

XI.

"THE BETTER LAND" REACHED.

Mrs. Hemans left Redesdale to return to Dublin, so as to be near her physician. She could only leave her bed to be laid upon a couch. The sufferings were great, but there was no complaint. She would never allow those around her to speak of her state as one calling for pity. She seemed to live partly on earth, partly in heaven. "No poetry could express, nor imagination conceive, the visions of blessedness that flitted across her fancy, and made her waking hours more delightful than those even that were given to temporary repose." She would ask to be left perfectly alone, in stillness and darkness, to commune with her own heart and reflect on the mercies of her Saviour. Her trust in the atonement was entire, and often did she speak of the comfort she derived from dwelling upon that central fact. She assured a friend that the tenderness and affectionateness of the Redeemer's character, which they had often contemplated together, was now a source not merely of reliance, but of positive happiness to her--"_the sweetness of her couch_."

As is often the case under such circumstances, her thoughts were busy with the haunts of her childhood, the old home and the old walks. Her memory appeared unweakened. Its powers, always so great, seemed to be greater than ever. She would lie hour after hour, repeating to herself chapters of the Bible and pages of Milton and Wordsworth. When delirium came upon her, it was observed how entirely the beautiful still retained its predominance over her mind. The one material thing that gave her pleasure was to be surrounded with "flowers, fresh flowers."

Often did she thank God for the talents He had entrusted to her, and declared how much more ardently than ever her powers would have been consecrated to His service had life been prolonged. On March 15th she received the Holy Communion for the last time, one of her sons being a partaker of that feast for the first time. But the end was not to come at once. There was another flicker of life. The days that remained were spent in pious preparation, one of her favourite occupations being the listening to the reading of some of her most valued books. The _Lives of Sacred Poets_ and the _Lives of Eminent Christians_, in both of which her life was soon to be worthy of a place, were especially enjoyed. In the latter book she earnestly recommended the perusal of the account of the death of Madame de Mornay, as showing in bright yet not exaggerated colours "how a Christian can die."

On the 26th of April she dictated to her brother the last strain, the "Sabbath Sonnet," to which reference has already been made. From this time she began to sink slowly but steadily. On the 12th of May she was able to read part of the 16th chapter of St. John, her favourite among the evangelists, which was the Gospel for the day, and also the Collect and Epistle. She delighted to hear passages from a book she dearly loved--a selection from the works of Archbishop Leighton. "Beautiful! beautiful!" she exclaimed. To her faithful attendant she said that "she had been making her peace with God; that she felt all at peace within her bosom."

On Saturday the 16th May, 1835, she slumbered nearly all the day: and at nine o'clock in the evening, without pain or struggle, her spirit passed away to the "Better Land."

'I hear thee speak of the better land,
Thou callest its children a happy band;
Mother, oh, where is that radiant shore?
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more?
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle boughs?'
'Not there, not there, my child!'

'Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies?
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange, bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?'
'Not there, not there, my child!'

'Is it far away, in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold?
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand?
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?'
'Not there, not there, my child!'

'Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy,
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair--
Sorrow and death may not enter there:
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,--
It is there, it is there, my child!'

Her remains were laid to rest in a grave within St. Anne's Church, Dublin. A tablet records her name, her age--forty-one years--and the date of her death. There are added the following lines of her own:--

"Calm on the bosom of thy God,
Fair spirit, rest thee now;
E'en while with us thy footsteps trode,
His seal was on thy brow.
Dust to its narrow home beneath,
Soul to its place on high;
They that have seen thy look in death,
No more may fear to die."

XII.

ABIDING WORDS.

Though many of the productions of the gifted poetess will soon be forgotten, there is no doubt that some will live. The subjects are those which gain an admittance to the hearts of all classes. We have already given in full that beautiful poem "The Better Land." There is no danger of "Casabianca" passing into oblivion. Children delight to commit it to memory, and are all the better for the lesson of devotion to duty they have learnt.

"Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though childlike form.

The flames rolled on--he would not go
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard."

Mrs. Hemans was at her best in treating of such matters as those dealt with in "The Homes of England" and "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers." Any one is to be pitied who can read without admiration these lines from the former:--

"The merry homes of England!
Around their hearths by night
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!
There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told,
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.

The blessed homes of England!
How softly on their bowers
Is laid the holy quietness
That breathes from Sabbath hours!
Solemn, yet sweet, the church bell's chime
Floats through their woods at morn;
All other sounds in that still time
Of breeze and leaf are born."

There is little danger of "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers" being forgotten. How well the poetess indicated the, motive which led them from their native country to the unknown land!--

"What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod!
They have left unstained what there they found--
Freedom to worship God!"

As an example of Mrs. Hemans' treatment of sacred subjects, we may quote the concluding verses of "Christ's Agony in the Garden":--

"He knew them all--the doubt, the strife,
The faint perplexing dread,
The mists that hang o'er parting life,
All darkened round His head;
And the Deliverer knelt to pray,
Yet passed it not, that cup, away.

It passed not--though the stormy wave
Had sunk beneath His tread;
It passed not--though to Him the grave
Had yielded up its dead.
But there was sent Him from on high
A gift of strength for man to die.

And was _His_ mortal hour beset
With anguish and dismay?--
How may _we_ meet our conflict yet,
In the dark, narrow way?
How, but through Him, that path who trod?
Save, or we perish, Son of God!"

We are thankful to find that the poetess had such clear views of the atonement as those to be met with in her _Sonnets, Devotional and Memorial,_ for example, in "The Darkness of the Crucifixion."

The last quotation shall be one from "The Graves of a Household," the opening and the closing verses of a literary gem which will never lack appreciation:--

"They grew in beauty side by side,
They filled one home with glee;--
Their graves are severed far and wide.
By mount, and stream, and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair sleeping brow;
She had each folded flower in sight--
Where are those dreamers now'?

* * * * *

And parted thus they rest, who played
Beneath the same green tree;
Whose voices mingled as they prayed
Around one parent knee!

They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And cheered with song the hearth!
Alas, for love! if _thou_ wert all,
And nought beyond, O Earth."

The lyrics of Mrs. Hemans will ever keep her memory fresh. "In these 'gems of purest ray serene,' the peculiar genius of Mrs. Hemans breathes, and burns, and shines pre-eminent; for her forte lay in depicting whatever tends to beautify and embellish domestic life, the gentle overflowings of love and friendship, home-bred delights and heartfelt happiness, the associations of local attachment, and the influences of religious feelings over the soul, whether arising from the varied circumstances and situations of man, or from the aspects of external Nature."

S.F. HARRIS, M.A., B.C.L.

MADAME GUYON

I.

HER BIRTH AND BRINGING-UP.

Jeanne Marie Bouvières de la Mothe, afterwards Madame Guyon, was born at Montargis, about fifty miles south of Paris, on April 13, 1648. Her father, who bore the title of Seigneur de la Mothe Vergonville, was a man of much religious feeling. Although Jeanne was a child of delicate health, her mother does not seem to have bestowed much trouble upon her, sending her, when only two years and a half old, to an Ursuline seminary a short time, and then committing her almost entirely to the care of servants, from whom, as a matter of course, her mental and moral culture at that highly-receptive age did not receive much attention. 'When four years old, she was transferred to the care of the nuns in a Benedictine convent. "Here," she says in her autobiography,[1] "I saw none but good examples; and as my natural disposition was towards the good, I followed it as long as I met with nobody to turn me in another direction. I loved to hear of God, to be at church, and to be dressed up as a nun."

[Footnote 1: _La Vie de Madame J.M.B. de la Mothe-Guyon, écrite par elle-même,_ première partie, ch. ii., 6. The edition from which I quote was published at Paris, in three volumes, by the "Associated Booksellers," in 1791. See also Life by J.C. Upham (Sampson Low & Co., 1872).]

Now, as her opening mind drank in such instruction as came to her, she deeply felt the claims of God upon her love and service. Under the influence of a remarkable dream, she openly expressed her determination to lead a religious life; and one day, with unguarded frankness, she avowed her readiness to become a martyr for God. Her fellow-pupils at the convent, like Joseph's brethren, did not appreciate either her dream or her avowal. With girlish jealousy they laid her devout aspirations at the door of pride, and proceeded to test her professions in a cruel manner. They persuaded her that God had taken her at her word and called her suddenly to undergo the martyrdom for which she had declared her readiness. Her courage did not give way at their summons. So, after allowing her a short time for preparatory prayer, they led her into a room made ready for the purpose, where a cloth was spread on the floor, and an older girl stood behind her, lifting a large cutlass, and seemingly prepared to chop off the child's head. Who can wonder that at this too realistic sight the little girl's valour gave way? She cried out that she must not die without her father's leave. The girls triumphantly asserted that this was a paltry excuse, and let her go, with the scornful assurance that God would not accept as a martyr one who had so little of a martyr's courage.

Poor little Jeanne Marie! This unjust ordeal had a painful effect on her joyous spirit. Child though she was, she saw clearly that, like Simon Peter, she had been too ready and bold in her avowals of devotedness to her Lord. She thought that by her cowardice she had offended God, and that now there was little likelihood of winning His favour and enjoying His support. Her health, always delicate, could not but be injured by this unpleasant episode, and after a while she was taken home and again left to the care of the servants. Placed a second time at the Ursuline convent, she was happy in being under the care of her half-sister,--a good creature, who devoted her excellent abilities to the loving training of Jeanne in learning and piety. While here, the little girl was often sent for by her father; and at his house, on one occasion, she found Henrietta Maria, the widowed queen of England, who was so much pleased with her pretty ways and sprightly answers that she tried to induce M. de la Mothe to place his daughter in her care, intimating that she would make her maid of honour to the princess. The father, much to the queen's annoyance, declined the honour, and Madame Guyon, in after years, considered that perhaps she owed her salvation to his judicious refusal.