The Early Life of Mark Rutherford (W. Hale White)

A FEW years ago I asked my father to put down some facts of his life for those of his family who are too young to remember his early years. In his will he bequeathed these “Notes” to my only sister, Mary Theodora, who has lived with him all her life, but she hesitated, in face of the last sentence, to publish them. Although it is true they were not written with a view to publication, it is evident, from a conversation my father had with his wife about them, that he had no objection to their being made public.

My sister therefore prints them now, in the hope that they may interest a few beyond the “two or three persons” for whom they were intended.

W. HALE WHITE.

June 1913.

List of Illustrations

MARK RUTHERFORD, AGED ABOUT 12, AND HIS FATHER Frontispiece BEDFORD BRIDGE Facing p. 13 ‘THE BEDFORD TIMES’ COACH Facing p. 15 THE OLD MEETING-HOUSE Facing p. 16 MARK RUTHERFORD’S FATHER Facing p. 38 THE SCHOOL, BEDFORD, IN 1831 Facing p. 47 OLD HORNE LANE, BEDFORD, IN 1835 Facing p. 50 MARK RUTHERFORD AT THE AGE OF 24 Facing p. 88

Autobiographical Notes

I HAVE been asked at 78 years old to set down what I remember of my early life. A good deal of it has been told before under a semi-transparent disguise, with much added which is entirely fictitious. What I now set down is fact.

I was born in Bedford High Street, on December 22, 1831. I had two sisters and a brother, besides an elder sister who died in infancy. My brother, a painter of much promise, died young. Ruskin and Rossetti thought much of him. He was altogether unlike the rest of us, in face, in temper, and in quality of mind. He was very passionate, and at times beyond control. None of us understood how to manage him. What would I not give to have my time with him over again! Two letters to my father about him are copied below:

(185—)

“MY DEAR SIR,

“I am much vexed with myself for not having written this letter sooner. There were several things I wanted to say respecting the need of perseverance in painting as well as in other businesses, which it would take me too long to say in the time I have at command—so I must just answer the main question. Your son has very singular gifts for painting. I think the work he has done at the College nearly the most promising of any that has yet been done there, and I sincerely trust the apparent want of perseverance has hitherto been only the disgust of a creature of strong instincts who has not got into its own element—he seems to me a fine fellow—and I hope you will be very proud of him some day—but I very seriously think you must let him have his bent in this matter—and then—if he does not work steadily—take him to task to purpose. I think the whole gist of education is to let the boy take his own shape and element—and then to help—discipline and urge him in that, but not to force him on work entirely painful to him.

“Very truly yours,

(Signed) J. RUSKIN.”

“NATIONAL GALLERY, 3rd April.

(185—)

“MY DEAR SIR,

“Do not send your son to Mr. Leigh: his school is wholly inefficient. Your son should go through the usual course of instruction given at the Royal Academy, which, with a good deal that is wrong, gives something that is necessary and right, and which cannot be otherwise obtained. Mr. Rossetti and I will take care—(in fact your son’s judgement is I believe formed enough to enable him to take care himself) that he gets no mistaken bias in those schools. A ‘studio’ is not necessary for him—but a little room with a cupboard in it, and a chair—and nothing else—is. I am very sanguine respecting him, I like both his face and his work.

“Thank you for telling me that about my books. I am happy in seeing much more of the springing of the green than most sowers of seed are allowed to see, until very late in their lives—but it is always a great help to me to hear of any, for I never write with pleasure to myself, nor with purpose of getting praise to myself. I hate writing, and know that what I do does not deserve high praise, as literature; but I write to tell truths which I can’t help crying out about, and I do enjoy being believed and being of use.