kind of tragic surprise, which yet was no one's fault, the wife of a
Catholic.

And that brings me to my father, whose character and story were so
important to all his children that I must try and draw them, though I
cannot pretend to any impartiality in doing so--only to the insight that
affection gives; its one abiding advantage over the critic and the
stranger.

He was the second son of Doctor Arnold of Rugby, and the younger
brother--by only eleven months--of Matthew Arnold. On that morning of
June 12, 1842, when the headmaster who in fourteen years' rule at Rugby
had made himself so conspicuous a place, not merely in the public-school
world, but in English life generally[1] arose, in the words of
his poet son--to tread--

In the summer morning, the road--
Of death, at a call unforeseen--
Sudden--

My father, a boy of eighteen, was in the house, and witnessed the fatal
attack of _angina pectoris_ which, in two hours, cut short a memorable
career, and left those who till then, under a great man's shelter and
keeping, had--

Rested as under the boughs
Of a mighty oak....
Bare, unshaded, alone.

[Footnote 1: At the moment of correcting these proofs, my attention has