“Love to all.”
[8] A hill in Lord Carnarvon’s park at Highclere, near Newbury.
The ride to Keswick, mentioned in this letter, is alluded to also in one which I received in this last sad month of May from one of his companions, who has allowed me to use it for your benefit. Its natural place would perhaps be at the end of this memoir, but I prefer to insert it here:—
“Harrow, May 23rd, 1872.
“My dear Hughes,
“I had seen so little of your brother George of late years that I seemed at first to have no business to write about his death; but now, as the days go on, I cannot resist the desire of saying a word about him, and of asking after his wife and children. Not two years ago I had a delightful day at Offley with him—the only time I ever was there; and all I saw of him then, and on the very rare occasions when we met by accident, confirmed my old remembrance of him—that he was one of the most delightful persons to be with I ever met, and that he had, more than almost anybody one met, the qualities which will stand wear. Everything about him seemed so sound; his bodily health and address were so felicitous that one thought of his moral and intellectual soundness as a kind of reflex from them; and now it is his bodily health which has given way! His death carries me back to old times, and the glory and exploits (which are now so often presented so as to bore one) of youth, and strength, and coolness, have their ideal for me in what I remember of him, and his era. His taking the easy lead at golf latterly, as he did in his old days at football and rowing, seemed to me quite affecting. Tell me about his poor wife; and what children has he left, and what are they doing?
“It will be a great loss to you too. Do you remember our ride together to Keswick some thirty-two years ago? We have all a common ground in the past. I have told Macmillan to send you a little book, of which the chief recommendation is that I believe it is the sort of book my father would have been impelled to make if he had had to do with schools for the poor. My kind regards to your wife.
“Affectionately yours,
“Matthew Arnold.”
From Foxhow George went to visit another of his most intimate school friends. During that visit he gave another proof of coolness and courage of a rare kind, and also of his singular modesty. We at home only heard of what had happened through the newspapers, and never could get him to do anything more than pooh-pooh the whole affair. In fact, the first accurate description of the occurrence came to me after his death, in the letter to his sister which follows. It is written by the schoolfellow just referred to:—