in Church matters as in politics, followed him here, as we see by his letters; and it was not till his “Life and Correspondence” appeared that his neighbors here understood him.  It has always been difficult, perhaps, for them to understand anything modern, or at all vivacious.  Everybody respected Dr. Arnold for his energy and industry, his services to education, and his devotedness to human welfare; but they were afraid of his supposed opinions.  Not the less heartily did he honor everything that was admirable in them; and when he was gone, they remembered his ways, and cherished every trace of him, in a manner which showed how they would have made much of him, if their own timid prejudices had not stood in the way.  They point out to this day the spot where they saw him stand, without his hat, on Rotha bridge, watching the gush of the river under the wooded bank, or gazing into the basin of vapors within the cul-de-sac of Fairfield,—­the same view which he looked on from his study, as he sat on his sofa, surrounded by books.  The neighbors show the little pier at Waterhead whence he watched the morning or the evening light on the lake, the place where he bathed, and the tracks in the mountains which led to his favorite ridges.  Everybody has read his “Life and Correspondence,” and therefore knows what his mode of life was here, and how great was his enjoyment of it.  We have all read of the mountain-trips in summer, and the skating on Rydal Lake in winter,—­and how his train of children enjoyed everything with him, as far as they could.  It was but for a few years; and the time never came for him to retire hither from Rugby.  In June, 1842, he had completed his fourteenth year at Rugby, and was particularly in need, under some harassing cares, of the solace and repose which a few hours more would have brought him, when he was cut off by an illness of two hours.  On the day when he was to have been returning to Fox How, some of his children were travelling thence to his funeral.  His biographer tells us how strong was the consternation at Rugby, when the tidings spread on that Sunday morning, “Dr. Arnold is dead.”  Not slight was the emotion throughout this valley, when the news passed from house to house, the next day.  As I write, I see the windows which were closed that day, and the trees round the house,—­so grown up since he walked among them!—­and the course of the Rotha, which winds and ripples at the foot of his garden.  I never saw him, for I did not come here till two years after; but I have seen his widow pass on into her honored old age, and his children part off into their various homes, and their several callings in life,—­to meet in the beloved house at Fox How, at Christmas, and at many another time.