many plans already on foot, but he constantly found something new to do. The practical instinct in him was as strong as the intellectual. He was in haste to act, and not merely from that necessity for expression which belongs to literary genius, but with that passion for realizing ideas which belongs to the reformer. In his early career the latter quality seems to predominate because its effects were obvious, and, besides, literary progress is a slower matter; but both elements worked together equally in developing his character and determining his career. Stockdale had withdrawn the poems of 'Victor and Cazire,' but he was publishing 'St. Irvyne,' and considering 'The Wandering Jew.' The Oxford printers undertook 'The Posthumous Fragments of Margaret Nicholson,' a new collection of poems, and published it. These verses, in which only the slight burlesque element, due to Hogg, was contemporary, represent the results on Shelley's imagination and taste of a really earlier period, and belong with ‘Zastrozzi,' and 'St. Irvyne.' His poetic taste was improving, but the ferment of his mind was now mainly intellectual, and the new elements showed their influence principally in the propagandism of his speculative opinions, his sympathy with the agitators for political reform, and his efforts to be of service to obscure writers. He continued to be interested in Brown's 'Sweden,' and on his last day at Oxford, became joint security with the publishers for £800 — a loss which fell upon them to bring out the work. He also encouraged the publication (and may have undertaken to help pay for it) of a volume of poems by Miss Janetta Phillips, in whom he thought he had discovered a schoolgirl genius like Felicia Brown. He was more deeply interested in the case of Finnerty, an Irish agitator imprisoned for political publications, and published a poem, now lost, for his benefit, and subscribed his guinea to the fund for his relief; and, in connection with this case also he first addressed Leigh Hunt, urging an association of men of liberal principles for mutual protection. His acquaintance with Hume and Locke, and the writings of the English reformers, led him to skeptical views. He informed Stockdale of a novel (presumably 'Leonora,' which was printed but not published, and is now unknown, in which Hogg may have had the principal share) 'principally constructed to convey metaphysical and political opinions by way of conversation,' and also of 'A Metaphysical Essay in support of Atheism, which he intended to promulgate throughout the University.' The most important expression of these new views was made in his letters to his cousin, Harriet Grove, to the alarm of herself and her parents, who communicated with Shelley's father, and broke off the match. Stockdale, also, found it to be his duty to inform Shelley's father of his son's dangerous principles, and at the same time to express injurious ideas of Hogg's influence and character. When Shelley returned home at Christmas, between the anxiety of his family over his state of mind and his own feeling of exasperation and sense of injustice in the check given to his love, he had little enjoyment. On his return to Oxford his intellectual life reached a climax in the publication of his tract, The Necessity of Atheism,' which he seems to have intended as a circular letter for that irresponsible correspondence with strangers of which he had learned the habit from Dr. Lind. He strewed copies of this paper in Slatter's bookstore, where they remained on sale twenty minutes before discovery; but the friends who at once summoned him to remonstrate were shocked when he told them that he had sent copies to every bishop on the bench, to the vice-chancellor, and to each of the Heads of Houses. The college authorities did not at once act, but on March 25, they assembled and summoned him. Hogg describes what followed : 'It was a fine spring morning, on Lady Day, in the year 1811, when I went to Shelley's He was absent, but before I had collected our books he rushed in. He was terribly agitated. I anxiously inquired what had happened. "I am expelled," he said, as

room.

soon as he had recovered himself a little, "I am expelled! I was sent for suddenly a few minutes ago. I went to our common room, where I found our Master and two or three of the Fellows. The Master produced a copy of the little syllabus, and asked me whether I was the author of it. He spoke in a rude, abrupt and insolent tone. I begged to be informed for what purpose he put the question. No answer was given, but the Master loudly and angrily repeated, 'Are you the author of this book?' • If I can judge from your manner,' I said, 'you are resolved to punish me if I should acknowledge that it is my work. If you can prove that it is, produce your evidence. It is neither just nor lawful to interrogate me in such a case and for such a purpose. Such proceedings would become a court of inquisitors, but not free men in a free country.' 'Do you choose to deny that this is your composition?' the Master reiterated in the same rude and angry voice." Shelley complained much of his violence and ungentlemanly deportment, saying, "I have experienced tyranny and injustice before, and I well know what vulgar violence is, but I never met with such unworthy treatment. I told him calmly, but firmly, that I was determined not to answer any questions respecting the publication. He immediately repeated his demands. I persisted in my refusal, and he said furiously, Then you are expelled, and I desire that you will quit the college early to-morrow morning at the latest.' One of the Fellows took up two papers and handed one of them to me, here it is." He produced a regular sentence of expulsion drawn up in due form, under the seal of the college. . . . I have been with Shelley in many trying situations of his after-life, but I never saw him so deeply shocked or so cruelly agitated as on this occasion. He sat on the sofa, repeating with convulsive vehemence the words "expelled! expelled!" his head shaking with emotion, and his whole frame, quivering.'

6

Hogg immediately sent word that he was as much concerned in the affair as Shelley, and received straightway the same sentence. In the afternoon a notice was publicly posted on the hall door, announcing the expulsion of the two students for contumaciously refusing to answer questions proposed to them, and for also repeatedly declining to disavow a publication entitled "Necessity of Atheism." That afternoon Shelley visited his old Eton friend, Halliday, saying, Halliday, I am come to say good-by to you, if you are not afraid to be seen with me.' The next morning the two friends left Oxford for London. Medwin tells how, a day or two later, at four o'clock in the morning, Shelley knocked at his door in Garden Court in the Temple. I think I hear his cracked voice, with his well-known pipe, " Medwin, let me in! I am expelled!" Here followed a loud half-hysteric laugh, and the repetition of the words, "I am expelled," with the addition of "for atheism." He and Hogg took lodgings in London, but in a few weeks the latter went home and left Shelley alone.

If Shelley was shocked, Field Place was troubled. His father demanded that he should return home, place himself submissively under a tutor, give up all connection with Hogg, apologize to the authorities at Oxford, and profess conformity to the church; otherwise he should have neither home nor money. Timothy Shelley was not a harsh man or an unfeeling father; he was kind-hearted, irascible and obstinate, inconsequential in his talk, and destitute of tact, with character and principles neither better nor worse than respectability required. He received the world from Providence, and his opinions from the Duke of Norfolk, and was content. He was a country squire and satisfied his constituents, his tenants, his family, and his servants, and all that was his except his father and his eldest son. It is pleasant to recall the fact that long after Shelley was dead his old nurse received her Christmas gift at the homestead to the end of her days.

Timothy Shelley was both alarmed and scandalized by his son's conduct, and he was evidently sincerely concerned. He did not understand it, and he did not know what to do. At this time, too, Shelley was an important person to his family, which had recently obtained wealth and title. He was looked to, as the heir, to maintain and secure its position, and the entail was already made for a large portion of the estate, —£80,000, although a remainder of £120,000 was still unsettled. Old Sir Bysshe, who had been made a baronet in 1806, was the founder of this prosperity. If he was an abler man than Timothy, whom he was accustomed to curse roundly to his face, he was a worse man. He was miserly, sordid, and vulgar in his tastes. He professed himself an atheist, and though he appears to have favored his grandson, when young, he had set an example which profited him ill. He was born in America, where his father had emigrated early in the last century and had married with a stock not now traceable, so that there were some drops of American blood in Shelley's veins. On his father's return to England, owing to the lunacy of his elder brother, to take charge of the small family place at Fen Place, Bysshe, then eighteen years old, went with him, and began the career of a fortunehunter. He twice eloped with wealthy heiresses, and their property was the nucleus of the estate he built up. Two of his daughters followed his example in their mode of marrying. He had devoted himself to founding a family and had succeeded, and at the end of his days he was deeply concerned in the fate of the settlements. There were reasons, therefore, for making Shelley take a view of his place more in harmony with family expectations.

Shelley, on his side, was not lacking in family affection. He was tenderly attached to his sisters, and Hogg relates that at Oxford he never received a letter from them or his mother without manifest pleasure. He certainly left in their minds only pleasant memories of himself. He had a boy's regard for his father in early years, and his letters are, if firm, not deficient in respect. The only sign of distrust up to this period was the suspicion, already mentioned, that his father intended sending him to a lunatic asylum at the time when he was home from Eton ill with fever. But, however warm his home affections were, he was not, at the age of eighteen, prepared to abandon on command his mind and what was to him moral duty; and he declined to accede to his father's terms. His relatives, the Medwins and Groves, helped him in London, and his sisters, who were at school, sent him their pocket money by a schoolmate. In the course of six weeks, after several ineffectual letters and interviews, a settlement was brought about, apparently through a maternal uncle, Captain Pilfold, who lived near Field Place and was always Shelley's friend; and it was agreed that Shelley should have £200 a year and entire freedom. This was toward the middle of May, and early in June he returned home, where he was well received, though he found his favorite sister, Elizabeth, whom he hoped Hogg might marry, less confiding in her brother than before these events. He was especially struck by the fact that the principles of his parents were social conventions, and that conflict with his own ideas did not proceed from any real convictions.

In Shelley's enforced absence from his family an unknown opportunity had been given for blasting their hopes more effectual than any concession that could have been made which would have kept him near them. He had become acquainted with Harriet Westbrook in the Christmas vacation before he left Oxford. She was a schoolmate of his sisters at Mrs. Fenning's, Clapham, like Sion House a middle-class school; and he had been commissioned to take her a gift. A correspondence sprang up, which, like all of Shelley's correspondences, was confined to his opinions, as he was still in the missionary stage of conviction. When he was living in London, it was she who acted between him

and his sisters and brought him their savings. There was also an elder Miss Westbrook, Eliza, thirty years old, who was very kind to Shelley; she took him to walk with Harriet, invited him to call, and was on all occasions ready to bring them together, guided the conversation upon love, and left them alone. Mr. Westbrook, Shelley noticed, was very civil. He was a retired tavern-keeper. Shelley's interest was the more engaged, because Harriet was reproached at school for being friendly with a youth of his principles, and suffered petty annoyances. She was a pretty, bright, amiable girl, sixteen, slightly formed, with regular features, a pink and white complexion uncommonly brilliant, and pure, brown hair like a poet's dream,' says Helen; and with this youthful bloom she had a frank air, grace, and a pleasant lively laugh. But Shelley, though interested in his 'little friend,' as he called her, was untouched; and when he went down to his uncle Pilfold's in May, in search of reconciliation with his father, he there met another to admire, Miss Hitchener, a school-teacher of twenty-nine, who was to hold a high place in his esteem, and with whom he began his customary correspondence on metaphysics, education, and the causes that interested him. He remained at home a month, and wrote apparently his lost poem on the fête at Carlton House, and in July went to Wales to visit his cousins, the Groves. He was taken soon after his arrival with a brief though violent nervous illness, but recovered, and was greatly delighted with the mountain scenery, then new to him. In his rambles in the neighborhood he met with that adventure with the beggar which seems to have impressed him deeply. He gave the man something and followed him a mile, trying to enter into talk with him. Finally the beggar said, 'I see by your dress that you are a rich man. They have injured me and mine a million times. You appear to me well intentioned, but I have no security of it while you live in such a house as that, or wear such clothes as those. It would be charity to quit me.'

The Westbrooks also were in Wales, and letters came from Harriet, who wrote despondently, complained of unhappiness at home, dwelt upon suicide, and at last asked Shelley's protection. Her letters,' says Shelley, writing two months later to Miss Hitchener, became more and more gloomy. At length one assumed a tone of such despair, as induced me to leave Wales precipitately. I arrived in London. I was shocked at observing the alteration in her looks. Little did I divine its cause. She had become violently attached to me, and feared that I should not return her attachment. Prejudice made the confession painful. It was impossible to avoid being much affected; I promised to unite my fate to hers. I stayed in London several days, during which she recovered her spirits. I promised at her bidding to come again to London.' This was in the early part of August. He wrote to Hogg, whom he had previously told that he was not in love, detailing the affair, and discussed with him whether he should marry Harriet, or, as she was ready to do, should disregard an institution which he had learned from Godwin to consider irrational. He went home and did not anticipate that any decision would be necessary at present. Within a week Harriet called him back because her father would force her to return to school. He went to her, took the course of honor, and in the last week of August went with her to Edinburgh, where they were married, August 28. He was nineteen, and she sixteen years of age.

Shelley was no sooner married than he began to feel the pecuniary embarrassments which were to become familiar to him. He had never been without money, except for the six weeks in London after leaving Oxford, and he did not anticipate that his father would cut him off. He had borrowed the money for his journey from the elder Medwin, and now, his quarterly allowance not being paid, he was kept from want only by a kindly remittance from his uncle Pilfold. Hogg had joined them at Edinburgh, but Shelley

was anxious to make a settlement, and early in October the party went to York, where Shelley left Harriet in Hogg's charge while he went on to his uncle's to seek some communication with his father. Within a week he returned, unsuccessful, to York, whither Harriet's elder sister, Eliza, had preceded him. He found on his arrival that Hogg had undertaken to intrigue with Harriet. A month later, in a letter to Miss Hitchener he gave an account of the interview he had with him:

'We walked to the fields beyond York. I desired to know fully the account of this affair. I heard it from him and I believe he was sincere. All that I can recollect of that terrible day is that I pardoned him,— fully, freely pardoned him; that I would still be a friend to him, and hoped soon to convince him how lovely virtue was; that his crime, not himself, was the object of my detestation; that I value a human being not for what it has been, but for what it is; that I hoped the time would come when he would regard this horrible error with as much disgust as I did. He said little. He was pale, terrorstruck, remorseful.'

After this incident Shelley remained in York but a few days, and in November left without giving Hogg any intimation of his intentions. I leave him,' wrote Shelley, 'to his fate. Would that I could rescue him.'

He took a cottage at Keswick. He had already written to the Duke of Norfolk, who had before been brought in as a peacemaker between father and son, soliciting his intervention, and was invited to Greystoke by the duke, where he spent with his family a few days at the expense of almost his last guinea. He wrote to the elder Medwin: 'We are now so poor as to be actually in danger of every day being deprived of the necessaries of life.' In December Mr. Westbrook allowed Harriet £200 a year, and in January Shelley's father made an equal allowance to him, to prevent his cheating strangers.' At Greystoke he had met Calvert, who introduced him to Southey. Here is a man at Keswick,' wrote Southey, who acts upon me as my own ghost would do; he is just what I was in 1794.' Shelley had long regarded Southey with admiration, and 'Thalaba' remained a favorite book with him. But, although Southey was kind to him, contributing to his domestic comfort in material ways, the acquaintance resulted in a diminution of Shelley's regard. On January 2 he introduced himself to Godwin by letter, according to his custom, having only then heard that the writer whom he really revered was still alive, and he interested the grave philosopher very earnestly in his welfare. Meanwhile he had not been idle. Through all these events, indeed, he must have kept busy with his pen. He designed a poem representing the perfect state of man, gathered his verses to make a volume, worked on his metaphysical essays, and, especially, composed a novel, 'Hubert Cauvin,' to illustrate the causes of the failure of the French Revolution. At Keswick, too, occurred the first of the personal assaults on Shelley, which tried the belief of his friends. He had begun the use of laudanum, as a relief from pain, but he had recovered from the illness which discloses this fact, before the incident occurred. On January 19, at seven o'clock at night, Shelley, hearing an unusual noise, went to the door and was struck to the ground and stunned by a blow. His landlord, alarmed by the noise, came to the scene, and the assailant fled. The affair was published in the local paper, and is spoken of by Harriet as well as Shelley. Some of the neighbors disbelieved in it, but his simple chemical experiments had excited their minds and made him an object of suspicion, and it is to be said that the country was in a disturbed state. Shelley's thoughts were already turned to Ireland as a field of practical action, and, his private affairs being now satisfactorily settled, he determined to go there and work for the cause of Catholic emancipation. At Keswick he wrote his 'Address to the Irish People,' and in spite of