rt was the muse that has the simple lyre and
the sandals of freedom." He took refuge, as it became clear to him that
his wider ambitions could not be realised, that he would not set the
mark he might have set upon the age, in a "proud unworldliness," in
heightened and intensified emotion. He made many friendships. He taught,
as the years went on, as well or better than ever; he took great delight
in the society of a few pupils and younger colleagues; but a shadow fell
on him; he began to feel his strength unequal to the demands upon it;
and he made a sudden resolution to retire from his Eton work.

He had taken some years before, as a house for his holidays, Halsdon, a
country place near his native Torrington, which belonged to his brother,
Archdeacon Wellington Furse of Westminster, who had changed his name
from Johnson to Furse, on succeeding to the property of an uncle.
Here he retired, and strove to live an active and philosophical life,
fighting bravely with regret, and feeling with sensitive sorrow the
turning of the sweet page. He tried, too, to serve and help his simple
country neighbours, as indeed he had desired to do even at Eton, by
showing them many small, thoughtful, and unobtrusive kindnesses, just
as his father had done. But he lived much, like all poetical natures, in
tender retrospect; and the ending of the bright days brought with it
a heartache that even nature, which he worshipped like a poet, was
powerless to console. But he loved his woods and sloping fields, and the
clear river passing under its high banks through deep pools. It served
to remind him sadly of his beloved Thames, the green banks fringed with
comfrey and loosestrife, the drooping willows, the cool smell of
the weedy weir; of glad hours of light-hearted enjoyment with his
boy-companions, full of blithe gaiety and laughter.

After a few years, he went out to Madeira, where he married a wife
much younger than himself, Miss Rosa Caroline Guille, daughter of a
Devonshire clergyman; and at Madeira his only son was born, whom he
named Andrew, because it was a name never borne by a Pope, or, as he
sometimes said, "by a sneak." He devoted himself at this time to the
composition of two volumes of a "Guide to Modern English History." But
his want of practice in historical writing is here revealed, though it
must be borne in mind that it was originally drawn up for the use of a
Japanese student. The book is full of acute perceptions, fine judgm