The Henson Journals

[134]

Friday, August 10th, 1917.

1103rd day

The rain has ceased but the sky is still covered with clouds and 'twere a rash venture to count on the sun. As a holiday maker I resent, as a patriot I deplore weather which not only spoils a holiday but arrests & embarrasses a campaign. Meanwhile, I make little or no progress.

Far better never to have heard the name

Of zeal and just ambition, than to live

Baffled and plagued by a mind that every hour

Turns recreant to her task; takes heart again,

Then feels immediately some hollow thought

Hang like an interdict upon her hopes.

This is my lot; for either still I find

Some imperfection in the chosen theme,

Or see of absolute accomplishment

Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself,

That I recoil and droop, and seek repose

In listlessness from vain perplexity,

Unprofitably travelling toward the grave,

Like a false steward who hath much received

And renders nothing back. (Prelude Bk I 255–268)

Wordsworth expresses my present state of mind very accurately. It is difficult to imagine that such vacillation and self–distrust can be morally legitimate for a man of 54, whose powers are beginning to decline, & who has no discoveries of power in himself to make. "Teach me to know my end, and the number of my days, that I may be certified how long I have to live". If my life had ended ten years ago it would have seemed a greater thing than it looks now. The "great divide" of the War has changed values & perspectives so greatly that none of the old estimates of man's achievements hold good any longer.

[135]

I finished the monograph on Sir William Markby. He was a more considerable man than I suspected when I knew him at Oxford in the eighties. But he belonged to a type which, though consistent with the highest moral excellence, has never appealed to me – the type of the thorough–going & conscientious party man. And his party was precisely that which I like least – the Radical. He wobbled loyally with his party, becoming Home Ruler, Little Englander, Socialist, finally by a tour–de–force of salutary illogicality, Fire–eater against Germany, and, of course, always most conscientiously. He worshipped Jowett, followed Gladstone with the adoration of a dog, & thought Barnett a prophet. All this is very repellant, but he was unselfish, hard–working, & transparently honest. He was active in more directions than I suspect, and, though Lady Markby's wifely enthusiasm suggests caution in accepting her version of her husband's achievements, he seems to have done much good. He gave me a large typed English Bible just issued by the Clarendon Press in honour of the Queen's Jubilee when I was ordained on June 5th 1887. He lived long, from 1829 to 1914. I wonder what he really thought of me then. Probably he regarded me with some suspicion as a poor student seduced by the novel luxury of All Souls, and an ecclesiastic visibly shaping for the too familiar type of clerical bigot. I thought him then an amiable but rather puzzle–headed gentleman, carried away by the professorial ardour of Dicey and Holland, and almost always opposed in college meetings to the course of my choice! I notice that Charnwood is referred to more than once as very intimate with Markby when, as Godfrey Benson, he essayed to enter Parliament as a supporter of Gladstone in 1886, and was defeated. His political opinions have certainly undergone much change since those days, but he retains his enthusiasm for Jowett and Markby, which is an amiable & honourable trait. With his entrance into the House of Lords as a result of his marriage with Mundella's grand–daughter, Godfrey has acquired a respect for tradition & a dislike of socialistic experiments, which were sufficiently remote from Mr Godfrey Benson, the Radical candidate!

[136]

Ella and I were tempted by the fineness of the morning to walk after breakfast, & we were well rewarded. The country, washed by yesterday's rain, was looking its best, and the Hexham road, which we had chosen, provides a series of noble prospects. We encountered a burly farmer, with whom we chatted. He told me that the diminution of the population of Blanchland from 518 in 1811 to 232 in 1901 was mainly due to the closing of the lead–works. He added that the young men would not stay on the farms, but moved away to seek higher wages. When we returned to the Hotel, we found our letters. I received a long epistle from Ernest, full of enthusiastic descriptions of Macedonian scenery, and melancholy reflections on military life. Also, a letter from old Lady Scott filled with the praises of her son Jack, who was killed in France some months since. Lord Durham wrote pleasantly: and there were two other letters. One from Harold Cox inviting me to write in the "Edinburgh" on old Howarth's book: another from the Secretary of the Philosophical Institution in Edinburgh inviting me to repeat there on Jany. 15th 1918 the lecture on "The Art of a Biographer" which I have rashly promised to deliver in Newcastle on Jany. 14th. After lunch Hughes and I walked together for nearly 2 hours. Later, Ella and I called at the Vicarage.

The newspaper contains the interesting announcement that the Vicar of Haltwhistle (Rev. E.L.L. McClintock) has resigned his living in order to join the Army.

Senator Elihu Root, who has just returned to America from Russia, is reported to have said that the permanence of the Russian Republic is as certain as anything in human affairs.

Ella and I attended the intercession service in the parish church. There was a small congregation swollen by a party of "Girl Guides" which is staying in the village. After dinner we walked up the hill in the direction of Riding Mill, and enjoyed the prospect of the purple heather illumined by the sun–setting. Returning to the Hotel, we discussed on the way the new embarrassments threatening by the increase of war–taxation. It becomes ever more doubtful whether we could afford to leave Durham.

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