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Walter Pater and Matthew Arnold Mr. Walter Pater's style is, to me, like the face of some old woman who has been to Madame Rachel and had herself enamelled. The bloom is nothing but powder and paint and the odour is cherry-blossom. Mr. Matthew Arnold's odour is as the faint sickliness of hawthorn. My Random Passages
As she moved into the room she detached her eyes from Arnold's, feeling as she did so that it was like tearing something. "There was so little to do," Sister Margaret said. "Surgeon-Major Wills saw at once where the mischief lay. Nothing disagreeable was necessary, was it, Mr. Arnold? Perfect quiet, perfect rest that's an easy prescription to take."
"I hope I can do as well," was Arnold's pleased comment. "There's your chance," announced Harry. "See him?" "Come here, rabbit," cried Arnold taking quick aim. At his shot the rabbit bounded into the air, falling as had Harry's. But instead of lying quietly where he had fallen the rabbit struggled and ran limping away. It seemed impossible for him to go rapidly, however.
He had no thought nor care for the men who, after weeks of toilsome effort, had gathered the little army together. Their feelings in the matter, or their standing with their followers, did not enter into his calculations. That, indeed, was the secret of Benedict Arnold's life. He never thought of others. He was ever for self.
Arnold's discourses were directly calculated by their tendency to find ready entrance into the minds of the laity, before whose eyes the worldly lives of the ecclesiastics and monks were constantly present, and to create a faction in deadly hostility to the clergy.
It may very probably be that there was no indulgence; indeed one is convinced that the word, like so many words, says too much. The springs of Arnold's chair were bursting through the bottom, and there were stains on its faded chintz-arms, but it was comfortable, and he leaned back in it, looking up at the paper umbrellas.
Of Arnold's followers the most notable were Morgan's brave riflemen, and the whole column consisted of five hundred men. He marched in advance of them, animating their courage by word and example.
"And yet, you are so exceedingly tender of Harry Arnold's feelings, notwithstanding his agency in your ruin, that you would not have him reminded of his original baseness or rather his dishonesty in not paying you in money, according to your understanding with him, for your work?" "I don't see any use in raking up these old things."
It is not necessary to be biassed by Matthew Arnold's musical epicede of "Thyrsis" in order to admit, nor should any bias against his theological views and his rather restless character be sufficient to induce any one to deny, a distinct vein of poetry in Clough. Ambarvalia had preceded the Bothie, and other things followed.
Mellish's, which I often saw there; and, on subsequent inquiry from his son, Mr. William Mellish, he wrote in 1878 to me to say, "The Sclavonian Grebe was killed by my brother Alfred at Arnold's Pond, just the other side of the Vale Church to the one on which you were." This Arnold's Pond is the one I have so often mentioned before as Mr. De Putron's.
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