and people—­taking each word in its most comprehensive sense, yielded a livelier or more constant joy.  “Never,” as Mr. John Morley said, “shall we know again so blithe and friendly a spirit.”  As we think of him, the endearing traits come crowding on the memory—­his gracious presence, his joy in fresh air and bodily exercise, his merry interest in his friends’ concerns, his love of children, his kindness to animals, his absolute freedom from bitterness, rancour, or envy; his unstinted admiration of beauty, or cleverness, his frank enjoyment of light and colour, of a happy phrase, an apt quotation, a pretty room, a well-arranged dinner, a fine vintage; his childlike pleasure in his own performances—­“Did I say that?  How good that was!”

But all these trifling touches of character-painting, perhaps, tend to overlay and obscure the true portraiture of Matthew Arnold.  He was pre-eminently a good man, gentle, generous, enduring, laborious, a devoted husband, a most tender father, an unfailing friend.  Qualified by nature and training for the highest honours and successes which the world can give, he spent his life in a long round of unremunerative drudgery, working even beyond the limits of his strength for those whom he loved, and never by word or gesture betraying even a consciousness of that harsh indifference to his gifts and services which stirred the fruitless indignation of his friends.  His theology, once the subject of such animated criticism, seems now a matter of little moment; for, indeed, his nature was essentially religious.  He was loyal to truth as he knew it, loved the light and sought it earnestly, and by his daily and hourly practice gave sweet and winning illustration of his own doctrine that conduct is three-fourths of human life.

We who were happy enough to fall under his personal influence can never overstate what we owe to his genius and his sympathy.  He showed us the highest ideal of character and conduct.  He taught us the science of good citizenship.  He so interpreted nature that we knew her as we had never known her before.  He was our fascinating and unfailing guide in the tangled paradise of literature.  And, while for all this we bless his memory, we claim for him the praise of having enlarged the boundaries of the Christian Kingdom by making the lives of men sweeter, brighter, and more humane.

[Footnote 46:  A saying attributed to Bishop Wilberforce.]

[Footnote 47:  See the Introduction to his Romans, 3rd edition, 1870.]

[Footnote 48:  See the Introduction to his Romans, 3rd edition, 1870.]

[Footnote 49:  University and other Sermons, p. 175.]

[Footnote 50:  W.E.  Gladstone:  Later Gleanings.]

[Footnote 51:  Essays in Criticism.  “Pagan and Mediaeval Religious Sentiment.”]

[Footnote 52:  J. Armitage Robinson, D.D., Easter Day, 1903.]

[Footnote 53:  Edward, 12th Duke of Somerset (1804-1885).  Author of Christian Theology and Modern Scepticism.]