H. D. RAWNSLEY.
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P. S._--When we came to examine the rock, we found the area for thepanel less than we had hoped for, owing to certain rock fissures,which, by acting as drains for the rainwater on the surface, wouldhave much interfered with the durability of the inscription. Theavailable space for the panel remains 3 feet 7 in length by 1 foot 9inches in depth. Owing to the fineness of the grain of the stone, itmay be quite possible to letter the native rock; but it has beendifficult to fix on a style of lettering for the inscription thatshall be at once in good taste, forcible, and plain. It was proposedthat the Script type of letter which was made use of in theinscription cut on the rock, in the late Mr. Ball's garden groundsbelow the Mount at Rydal, should be adopted; but a final decision hasbeen given in favour of a style of lettering which Mrs. Rawnsley hasdesigned. The panel is, from its position, certain to attract the eyeof the wanderer from Patterdale up to the Grisedale Pass. H. D. R." See the note to 'The Waggoner', p. 112, referring to the Rock of Names,on the shore of Thirlmere. The following extract from 'Recollections from 1803 to 1837, with aConclusion in 1868, by the Hon. Amelia Murray' (London: Longmans, Green,and Co. 1868)--refers to the loss of the 'Abergavenny': "One morning, coming down early, I saw what I thought was a great bigship without any hull. This was the 'Abergavenny', East Indiaman,which had sunk with all sails set, hardly three miles from the shore,and all on board perished. Had any of the crew taken refuge in the main-top, they might have beensaved; but the bowsprit, which was crowded with human beings, gave alurch into the sea as the ship settled down, and thus all were washedoff--though the timber appeared again above water when the'Abergavenny' touched the ground. The ship had sprung a leak off St.Alban's Head; and in spite of pumps, she went to the bottom justwithin reach of safety." Pp. 12, 13. A 'Narrative of the loss of the "Earl of Abergavenny" East Indiaman, offPortland, Feb. 5, 1805', was published in pamphlet form (8vo, 1805), byHamilton and Bird, 21 High Street, Islington. For much in reference to John Wordsworth, which illustrates both these'Elegiac Verses', and the poem "On the Naming of Places" which followsthem, I must refer to his 'Life' to be published in another volume ofthis series; but there is one letter of Dorothy Wordsworth's, written toher friend Miss Jane Pollard (afterwards Mrs. Marshall), in reference toher brother's death, which may find a place here. For the use of it I amindebted to the kindness of Mrs. Marshall's daughter, the Dowager LadyMonteagle: "March 16th, 1805. Grasmere. "... It does me good to weep for him, and it does me good to find thatothers weep, and I bless them for it. ... It is with me, when I write,as when I am walking out in this vale, once so full of joy. I can turnto no object that does not remind me of our loss. I see nothing thathe would not have loved, and enjoyed.... My consolations rather cometo me in gusts of feeling, than are the quiet growth of my mind. Iknow it will not always be so. The time will come when the light ofthe setting sun upon these mountain tops will be as heretofore a purejoy; not the same _gladness_, that can never be--but yet a joy evenmore tender. It will soothe me to know how happy he would have been,could he have seen the same beautiful spectacle.... He was taken awayin the freshness of his manhood; pure he was, and innocent as a child.Never human being was more thoroughly modest, and his courage I neednot speak of. He was 'seen speaking with apparent cheerfulness to thefirst mate a few minutes before the ship went down;' and when nothingmore could be done, He said, 'the will of God be done.' I have nodoubt when he felt that it was out of his power to save his life hewas as calm as before, if some thought of what we should endure didnot awaken a pang.... He loved solitude, and he rejoiced in society.He would wander alone amongst these hills with his fishing-rod, or ledon by the mere pleasure of walking, for many hours; or he would walkwith W. or me, or both of us, and was continually pointing out--with agladness which is seldom seen but in very young people--somethingwhich perhaps would have escaped our observation; for he had so finean eye that no distinction was unnoticed by him, and so tender afeeling that he never noticed anything in vain. Many a time has hecalled out to me at evening to look at the moon or stars, or a cloudysky, or this vale in the quiet moonlight; but the stars and moon werehis chief delight. He made of them his companions when he was at sea,and was never tired of those thoughts which the silence of the nightfed in him. Then he was so happy by the fireside. Any little businessof the house interested him. He loved our cottage. He helped us tofurnish it, and to make the garden. Trees are growing now which heplanted.... He staid with us till the 29th of September, having cometo us about the end of January. During that time Mary Hutchinson--nowMary Wordsworth--staid with us six weeks. John used to walk with hereverywhere, and they were exceedingly attached to each other; so mypoor sister mourns with us, not merely because we have lost one whowas so dear to William and me, but from tender love to John and anintimate knowledge of him. Her hopes as well as ours were fixed onJohn.... I can think of nothing but of our departed Brother, yet I amvery tranquil to-day. I honour him, and love him, and glory in hismemory...." Southey, writing to his friend, C. W. W. Wynn, on the 3rd of April 1805,says: "DEAR WYNN, I have been grievously shocked this evening by the loss of the'Abergavenny', of which Wordsworth's brother was captain. Of coursethe news came flying up to us from all quarters, and it has disorderedme from head to foot. At such circumstances I believe we feel as muchfor others as for ourselves; just as a violent blow occasions the samepain as a wound, and he who breaks his shin feels as acutely at themoment as the man whose leg is shot off. In fact, I am writing to youmerely because this dreadful shipwreck has left me utterly unable todo anything else. It is the heaviest calamity Wordsworth has everexperienced, and in all probability I shall have to communicate it tohim, as he will very likely be here before the tidings can reach him.What renders any near loss of this kind so peculiarly distressing is,that the recollection is perpetually freshened when any like eventoccurs, by the mere mention of shipwreck, or the sound of the wind. Ofall deaths it is the most dreadful, from the circumstances of terrorwhich accompany it...." (See 'The Life and Correspondence of Robert Southey', vol. ii. p. 321.) The following is part of a letter from Mary Lamb to Dorothy Wordsworthon the same subject. It is undated: "MY DEAR MISS WORDSWORTH,-- I wished to tell you that you would one day feel the kind of peacefulstate of mind and sweet memory of the dead, which you so happilydescribe, as now almost begun; but I felt that it was improper, andmost grating to the feelings of the afflicted, to say to them that thememory of their affliction would in time become a constant part, notonly of their dreams, but of their most wakeful sense of happiness.That you would see every object with and through your lost brother,and that that would at last become a real and everlasting source ofcomfort to you, I felt, and well knew, from my own experience insorrow; but till you yourself began to feel this, I did not dare totell you so; but I send you some poor lines, which I wrote under thisconviction of mind, and before I heard Coleridge was returning home. ... "Why is he wandering on the sea?--Coleridge should now with Wordsworth be.By slow degrees he'd steal awayTheir woes, and gently bring a ray(So happily he'd time relief,)Of comfort from their very grief.He'd tell them that their brother dead,When years have passed o'er their head,Will be remembered with such holy,True and tender melancholy,That ever this lost brother JohnWill be their heart's companion.His voice they'll always hear,His face they'll always see;There's naught in life so sweetAs such a memory." (See 'Final Memorials of Charles Lamb', by Thomas Noon Talfourd, vol.ii. pp. 233, 234.)--Ed. * * * * * "WHEN, TO THE ATTRACTIONS OF THE BUSY WORLD"
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