Circumstances connected with the increasing delicacy of Lady Ripon’s
health brought me into nearer relations with the family, and although I
kept up my own establishment, I lived much at Putney Heath. I may say I
was made a friend of by this good lady, whom it was a pleasure to serve,
and was engaged by her often in matters pertaining to her private life.
She liked me sometimes to visit Nocton, her paternal home, and report to
her of people and things which, on account of her inability to visit the
place herself, were drifting from her, though her interest in them was
unbroken.
She was gifted with a very fine intellect: she had been carefully
trained in her childhood, and given all the knowledge that is becoming
in a woman. She had a natural wit, and her conversation was much to be
desired, full of anecdotes on past events in which she had taken part.
When I came to know her she lived retired, at the same time exercising
hospitality without limit towards many pleasant guests. When she returned
from Carlton Gardens to Putney Heath for the winter, I found it difficult
to go to and fro from town, so I settled down at Roehampton, which was
near. Among those who visited her were Sir Charles and Lady Douglas and
Mrs. Charles Lushington, sister of Sir Stafford Northcote, all very old
friends, and these would be with her for the week or month together. Lord
and Lady de Grey, too, were, of course, much with her.
At this time George Borrow, having sickened, like myself, of the charm of
country life, was living in Hereford Square; so we met again and had many
dinners together, and as many pleasant walks; these chiefly in Richmond
Park, which my home overlooked, being close to the Robinhood Gate.
While at Roehampton I accidentally made the acquaintance of Dr. Robert
Latham, the grammarian; not exactly a nice person to see much of, though
a good companion, and one overflowing with every sort of knowledge.
While at Roehampton, too, it was that I called on Rossetti. I saw him
then for the first time, and was received by him very warmly, so much so
that he accepted my invitation to dine with me the next day, and many
hours were passed in conversation of the most exhilarating kind.
A generation before, Rossetti had written to me regarding my “Valdarno,
or the Ordeal of Art Worship,” then appearing in _Ainsworth’s Magazine_.
Before that visit to him I had returned to Poetry, my first and last
love, having plenty of leisure, with my imagination unemployed. Spending
some weeks at Nocton, where I went by Lady Ripon’s request, to look over
her beautiful estate and visit the tomb of the late earl, I was often
of a morning in the ancient wood, revelling in it for hours, the ground
covered with hyacinths and lilies of the valley, the stock doves pouring
out their sweet notes from every bough. It was there, to commemorate my
visit, that I committed to paper my pastoral poem of “The Lily of the
Valley,” which will take any one who reads it into Nocton Wood.
“Old Souls” I wrote while staying in Lady Ripon’s house at Putney: Mrs.
Lushington and her beautiful family of daughters were guests. One Sunday,
on returning from church with her to lunch, the idea of that poem crossed
my mind, impressed by the finely dressed crowd that was chatting and
laughing on the way to the fashionable villas in Wimbledon Park.
These two poems were the beginning of a volume named “The World’s
Epitaph,” which was printed anonymously and distributed at random among
friends and strangers, as well as editors of the press, and apparently
it attracted no sort of notice, except from the librarian of a Cambridge
college, who said that he had made it his companion during a pleasant
tour.
I have forgotten the name of this gentleman, and of his college, but I
will one day try to recall it. I must have distributed over a hundred
copies.
One copy, sold at W. B. Scott’s sale, the words “D. G. Rossetti, with the
author’s compliments,” written on the title-page, found its way into a
bookseller’s, who advertised it in his catalogue, price eight shillings
and sixpence. A relative of mine, who called to see it, was informed that
it had been purchased for the library of the British Museum.
Evidently Rossetti had lent the volume to Scott; in his keeping it shared
the lot of so many borrowed books, in being never returned.
A literary celebrity once pointed out to me four hundred books on his
shelves, all of which, he said, had been borrowed.
Mr. Buxton Forman told me only the other day (Nov. ’91), that he was one
evening at Madox Brown’s, when Rossetti entered in a state of excitement,
with the “World’s Epitaph” in his pocket, which he produced, and did
little but talk about “Old Souls.” It must have been the copy of which I
have spoken, dated 1866, a beautifully printed little book from the press
of Woodfall and Kinder.
Dr. R. Latham was good enough to send some copies of the book to his
friends, and they took it as his in their reply, which he regarded as too
good a joke to disturb.