He had a heroine in his wife.  She it was who sustained him and traveled the world round with him as his guardian angel, and enabled him to conquer as Sir Walter did.  This he never failed to tell to his intimates.  Never in my life did three words leave so keen a pang as those uttered upon my first call after Mrs. Clemens passed away.  I fortunately found him alone and while my hand was still in his, and before one word had been spoken by either, there came from him, with a stronger pressure of my hand, these words:  “A ruined home, a ruined home.”  The silence was unbroken.  I write this years after, but still I hear the words again and my heart responds.

One mercy, denied to our forefathers, comes to us of to-day.  If the Judge within give us a verdict of acquittal as having lived this life well, we have no other Judge to fear.

          “To thine own self be true,
    And it must follow, as the night the day,
    Thou canst not then be false to any man.”

Eternal punishment, because of a few years’ shortcomings here on earth, would be the reverse of Godlike.  Satan himself would recoil from it.

CHAPTER XXII

MATHEW ARNOLD AND OTHERS

The most charming man, John Morley and I agree, that we ever knew was Matthew Arnold.  He had, indeed, “a charm”—­that is the only word which expresses the effect of his presence and his conversation.  Even his look and grave silences charmed.

[Illustration:  Photograph from Underwood & Underwood, N.Y.

MATTHEW ARNOLD]

He coached with us in 1880, I think, through Southern England—­William Black and Edwin A. Abbey being of the party.  Approaching a pretty village he asked me if the coach might stop there a few minutes.  He explained that this was the resting-place of his godfather, Bishop Keble, and he should like to visit his grave.  He continued: 

“Ah, dear, dear Keble!  I caused him much sorrow by my views upon theological subjects, which caused me sorrow also, but notwithstanding he was deeply grieved, dear friend as he was, he traveled to Oxford and voted for me for Professor of English Poetry.”

We walked to the quiet churchyard together.  Matthew Arnold in silent thought at the grave of Keble made upon me a lasting impression.  Later the subject of his theological views was referred to.  He said they had caused sorrow to his best friends.

“Mr. Gladstone once gave expression to his deep disappointment, or to something like displeasure, saying I ought to have been a bishop.  No doubt my writings prevented my promotion, as well as grieved my friends, but I could not help it.  I had to express my views.”

I remember well the sadness of tone with which these last words were spoken, and how very slowly.  They came as from the deep.  He had his message to deliver.  Steadily has the age advanced to receive it.  His teachings pass almost uncensured to-day.  If ever there was a seriously religious man it was Matthew Arnold.  No irreverent word ever escaped his lips.  In this he and Gladstone were equally above reproach, and yet he had in one short sentence slain the supernatural.  “The case against miracles is closed.  They do not happen.”