Mr. Oscar Browning quotes some phrases from one of James's letters in November, which dwell with lively anticipation upon the coming term. For a time, in fact, he seemed to be in excellent spirits and enjoying his old pursuits and amusements. But a change in his condition soon occurred. He had to leave Cambridge at the end of November; and he died on February 3, 1892. Many bright hopes were buried with him; but those who loved him best may find some solace in the thought that few men have been so surrounded by the affection of their fellows, or have had, in spite of the last sad troubles, so joyous or so blameless a life.

James's college friends have put up a brass to his memory in King's College Chapel. His family erected a fountain near Anaverna. His father added a drinking-cup as his own special gift, and took the first draught from it October 25, 1892, when about to take his final leave of the place.

VI. CONCLUSION

What remains to be told of Fitzjames's life shall be given as briefly as may be. The death of James had been preceded by the death of Lord Lytton, November 24, 1891, which was felt deeply by the survivor. His own health gave fresh cause for anxiety during the latter part of 1889, though happily he had little suffering at any time beyond some incidental inconvenience. On March 17, 1890, he had an attack of illness during the assizes at Exeter resembling that which he had previously had at Derby. He was again ordered to rest for three months. Sir A. Clark allowed him to go on circuit in the summer. Lord Coleridge was his colleague, and Fitzjames enjoyed his society. He afterwards went to Anaverna, and, though unable to walk far, took much pleasure in long drives. Meanwhile it began to be noticed that his mind was less powerful than it had hitherto been. It was an effort to him to collect his thoughts and conduct a case clearly. A competent observer stated as his general view that Fitzjames was at intervals no longer what he had been—a remarkably strong judge—but that he could still discharge his duties in a way which would have caused no unfavourable comments had he been new to the work. Remarks, however, began to be made in the press which may have been more or less exaggerated. I need only say that Fitzjames himself was quite unconscious of any inability to do his duty, and for some time heard nothing of any comments. In March 1891 he was on circuit at Exeter again with Lord Coleridge. It was thought right that certain public remarks should be brought under his notice. He immediately took the obviously right course. He consulted Sir Andrew Clark, who advised resignation. Fitzjames did his last work as judge at Bristol, March 15 to 23, and finally resigned on April 7, 1891, when he took leave of his colleagues at an impressive meeting. The Attorney-General, Sir R. Webster, expressed the feelings of the bar; and the final 'God bless you all,' with which he took leave of the members of his old profession, remains in the memory of his hearers. He was created a baronet in recognition of his services, and received the usual pension.

I may here mention that he was elected a corresponding member of the 'Institut de France' in 1888 ('Académie des Sciences morales et politiques'). The election, I believe, was due to M. de Franqueville, the distinguished French jurist, with whom he had formed a warm friendship in later years. He also received the honorary degree of LL.D. from the University of Edinburgh in 1884, and was an honorary member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences.

After his retirement his health fluctuated. He visited Froude at Salcombe in June, and was able to enjoy sailing. He afterwards went to Homburg, and in the autumn was able to walk as well as drive about Anaverna. He wrote an article or two for the 'Nineteenth Century,' and he afterwards amused himself by collecting the articles of which I have already spoken, published in three small volumes (in 1892) as 'Horæ Sabbaticæ.' On the whole, however, he was gradually declining. The intellect was becoming eclipsed, and he was less and less able to leave his chair. Early in 1893 he became finally unable to walk up and down stairs, and in the summer it was decided not to go to Anaverna. He was moved to Red House Park, Ipswich, in May, where he remained to the end. It had the advantage of a pleasant garden, which he could enjoy during fine weather. During this period he still preserved his love of books, and was constantly either reading or listening to readers. His friends felt painfully that he was no longer quite with them in mind. Yet it was touching to notice how scrupulously he tried, even when the effort had become painful, to receive visitors with all due courtesy, and still more to observe how his face lighted up with a tender smile whenever he received some little attention from those dearest to him. It is needless to say that of such loving care there was no lack. I shall only mention one trifling incident, which concerned me personally. I had been to see him at Ipswich. He was chiefly employed with a book, and though he said a few words, I felt doubtful whether he fully recognised my presence. I was just stepping into a carriage on my departure when I became aware that he was following me to the door leaning upon his wife's arm. Once more his face was beaming with the old hearty affection, and once more he grasped my hand with the old characteristic vigour, and begged me to give his love to my wife. It was our last greeting.

I can say nothing of the intercourse with those still nearer to him. He had no serious suffering. He became weaker and died peacefully at Ipswich, March 11, 1894. He was buried at Kensal Green in the presence of a few friends, and laid by the side of his father and mother and the four children who had gone before him. One other grave is close by, the grave of one not allied to him by blood, but whom he loved with a brotherly affection that shall never be forgotten by one survivor.

I have now told my story, and I leave reflections mainly to my readers. One thing I shall venture to say. In writing these pages I have occasionally felt regret—regret that so much power should have been used so lavishly as to disappoint the hopes of a long life, for I always looked to my brother as to a tower of strength, calculated to outlast such comparative weaklings as myself; and regret, too, that so much power was expended upon comparatively ephemeral objects or upon aims destined to fail of complete fulfilment. Such regrets enable me to understand why the work which he did in India made so deep an impression upon his mind. And yet I feel that the regrets are unworthy of him. The cases are rare indeed where a man's abilities have been directed precisely into the right channel from early life. Almost all men have to acknowledge that they have spent a great portion of their energy upon tasks which have led to nothing, or led only to experience of failure. A man who has succeeded in giving clear utterance to the thoughts that were in him need care comparatively little whether they have been concentrated in some great book or diffused through a number of miscellaneous articles. Fitzjames's various labours came to a focus in his labours upon the Criminal Law. During his short stay in India he succeeded in actually achieving a great work; and I hope that, if his hopes of achieving similar results in England were disappointed, he will have successors who will find some help from the foundations which he laid. But, as he said of his father, the opportunity of directing your powers vigorously and in a worthy direction is its own reward. If to have taken advantage of such opportunities be the true test of success, whatever opinions may be held of you by others, and to whatever account they may turn your labours, Fitzjames may be called eminently successful. It often appears to me, indeed, that a man does good less by his writings or by the mark which he may make upon public affairs than by simply being himself. The impression made upon his contemporaries by a man of strong and noble character is something which cannot be precisely estimated, but which we often feel to be invaluable. The best justification of biography in general is that it may strengthen and diffuse that impression. That, at any rate, is the spirit in which I have written this book. I have sought to show my brother as he was. Little as he cared for popularity (and, indeed, he often rather rejected than courted it), I hope that there will not be wanting readers who will be attracted even by an indifference which is never too common. And there is one thing which, as I venture to believe, no one can deny, or deny to be worth considering. Whatever may be thought of Fitzjames's judgments of men and things, it must be granted that he may be called, in the emphatical and lofty sense of the word, a true man. In the dark and bewildering game of life he played his part with unfaltering courage and magnanimity. He was a man not only in masculine vigour of mind and body, but in the masculine strength of affection, which was animated and directed to work by strenuous moral convictions. If I have failed to show that, I have made a failure indeed; but I hope that I cannot have altogether failed to produce some likeness of a character so strongly marked and so well known to me from my earliest infancy.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] I learn by the courtesy of Mr. James Young Stephen that this James Stephen was son of a previous James Stephen of Ardenbraught, whose brother Thomas was provost of Dundee and died in 1728. James Stephen of Ardenbraught had a younger son John, who was great-grandfather of the present Mr. Oscar Leslie Stephen. Mr. O. L. Stephen is father of Mr. James Young Stephen, Mr. Oscar Leslie Stephen, junior, and Sir Alexander Condie Stephen, K.C.M.G.