means); and the recollections of friends and
neighbours, as well as those of numerous servants and other attendants.
Why I began on this biographical quest will soon be told. But now Phoebus – the
radiant one – attends us. Let us not keep him waiting.?
Part the Second
Phoebus Rising 1820–1850
I have never yet found Pride in a noble nature: nor humility in an unworthy mind.
[Owen Felltham, Resolves (1623), vi, ‘Of Arrogancy’]
(
9:
Ora et labora?
__________________________________________________________________
___
He was born – according to his own account published in Scenes of Early Life –
on the last stroke of midnight, as heralded by a venerable long-case clock that stood on
the landing outside his mother's room, on the last day of the year 1819, in the industrial
town of Millhead, in Lancashire.
A little while before this great event, his father had been presented to the living of
Millhead by his College, when his Fellowship there was forfeited by marriage. At
Cambridge, as a young Fellow of Trinity who had already taken the degree of Doctor of
Divinity and, by way of diversion from theological dispute, had produced an admirable
edition of Catullus, Achilles Daunt had acquired the reputation of a man who had much
to do in the world of learning, and meant to do it. Certainly his many friends expected
much of him, and but for his sudden – and, to some, inexplicable – decision to marry, his
abilities would, by common consent, have carried him with little effort to high College
and University office.
It was at least widely acknowledged that he had married for love, which is a noble
thing for a man of ambition and limited personal means to do. The lady in question,
though undeniably a beauty and of acceptable parentage, was of delicate constitution, and
had no fortune. Yet love is its own justification, and of course is irresistible.
When Dr Daunt conveyed his decision to the Master of his College, that placid
gentleman did his kindly best to dissuade him from a step that would certainly delay, if it
did not actually curtail, his University career. For the fact was that the College just then
had only one vacant living of which to dispose. Dr Passingham spoke frankly: he did not
think this living would do for a man of Daunt's temper and standing. The stipend was
small, barely enough for a single man; the parish was poor, and the work hard, with no
curate to lend his aid.
And then the place itself: an utterly unlovely spot, scarred by long-established
mine workings and, in latter years, by numerous foundries, workshops, and other
manufactories, around which had grown up a waste of smoke-blackened brick. Dr
Passingham did not say so, but he considered Millhead, which he had visited only once,
to be the kind of place with which no gentleman would wish willingly to be associated.
After some minutes of attempting quiet persuasion, it began to vex the Master
somewhat that Dr Daunt did not respond to his well-meant words in the way he had
hoped, persisting instead in a desire to accept the living, and its attendant hardships, at all
costs. At last, Dr Passingham had no choice but to shake his head sadly and agree to put
the arrangements in hand with all speed.
And so, on a cold day in March, 1819, the Reverend Achilles Daunt took up
residence, with his new wife, at Millhead Vicarage. The house – which I have personally
visited and inspected closely – stands, squat and dismal, with its back to a desolate tract
of moor and facing a gloomy view of tall black chimneys and ugly, close-packed
dwellings in the valley below. Here, indeed, was a change for Dr Daunt. Gone were the
lawns and groves and mellow stone courts of the ancient University. To his daily
contemplation now lay a very different prospect, peopled by a very different humanity.
But the new incumbent of Millhead Vicarage was determined to work hard for his
northern flock; and certainly it
neighbours, as well as those of numerous servants and other attendants.
Why I began on this biographical quest will soon be told. But now Phoebus – the
radiant one – attends us. Let us not keep him waiting.?
Part the Second
Phoebus Rising 1820–1850
I have never yet found Pride in a noble nature: nor humility in an unworthy mind.
[Owen Felltham, Resolves (1623), vi, ‘Of Arrogancy’]
(
9:
Ora et labora?
__________________________________________________________________
___
He was born – according to his own account published in Scenes of Early Life –
on the last stroke of midnight, as heralded by a venerable long-case clock that stood on
the landing outside his mother's room, on the last day of the year 1819, in the industrial
town of Millhead, in Lancashire.
A little while before this great event, his father had been presented to the living of
Millhead by his College, when his Fellowship there was forfeited by marriage. At
Cambridge, as a young Fellow of Trinity who had already taken the degree of Doctor of
Divinity and, by way of diversion from theological dispute, had produced an admirable
edition of Catullus, Achilles Daunt had acquired the reputation of a man who had much
to do in the world of learning, and meant to do it. Certainly his many friends expected
much of him, and but for his sudden – and, to some, inexplicable – decision to marry, his
abilities would, by common consent, have carried him with little effort to high College
and University office.
It was at least widely acknowledged that he had married for love, which is a noble
thing for a man of ambition and limited personal means to do. The lady in question,
though undeniably a beauty and of acceptable parentage, was of delicate constitution, and
had no fortune. Yet love is its own justification, and of course is irresistible.
When Dr Daunt conveyed his decision to the Master of his College, that placid
gentleman did his kindly best to dissuade him from a step that would certainly delay, if it
did not actually curtail, his University career. For the fact was that the College just then
had only one vacant living of which to dispose. Dr Passingham spoke frankly: he did not
think this living would do for a man of Daunt's temper and standing. The stipend was
small, barely enough for a single man; the parish was poor, and the work hard, with no
curate to lend his aid.
And then the place itself: an utterly unlovely spot, scarred by long-established
mine workings and, in latter years, by numerous foundries, workshops, and other
manufactories, around which had grown up a waste of smoke-blackened brick. Dr
Passingham did not say so, but he considered Millhead, which he had visited only once,
to be the kind of place with which no gentleman would wish willingly to be associated.
After some minutes of attempting quiet persuasion, it began to vex the Master
somewhat that Dr Daunt did not respond to his well-meant words in the way he had
hoped, persisting instead in a desire to accept the living, and its attendant hardships, at all
costs. At last, Dr Passingham had no choice but to shake his head sadly and agree to put
the arrangements in hand with all speed.
And so, on a cold day in March, 1819, the Reverend Achilles Daunt took up
residence, with his new wife, at Millhead Vicarage. The house – which I have personally
visited and inspected closely – stands, squat and dismal, with its back to a desolate tract
of moor and facing a gloomy view of tall black chimneys and ugly, close-packed
dwellings in the valley below. Here, indeed, was a change for Dr Daunt. Gone were the
lawns and groves and mellow stone courts of the ancient University. To his daily
contemplation now lay a very different prospect, peopled by a very different humanity.
But the new incumbent of Millhead Vicarage was determined to work hard for his
northern flock; and certainly it
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