Friends still hoped the unrest of that brilliant too rapid soul would abate with years.Nay the doctors sometimes promised,on the physical side,a like result;prophesying that,at forty-five or some mature age,the stress of disease might quit the lungs,and direct itself to other quarters of the system.But no such result was appointed for us;neither forty-five itself,nor the ameliorations promised then,were ever to be reached.Four voyages abroad,three of them without his family,in flight from death;and at home,for a like reason,five complete shiftings of abode:in such wandering manner,and not otherwise,had Sterling to continue his pilgrimage till it ended.
Once more I must say,his cheerfulness throughout was wonderful.Acertain grimmer shade,coming gradually over him,might perhaps be noticed in the concluding years;not impatience properly,yet the consciousness how much he needed patience;something more caustic in his tone of wit,more trenchant and indignant occasionally in his tone of speech:but at no moment was his activity bewildered or abated,nor did his composure ever give way.No;both his activity and his composure he bore with him,through all weathers,to the final close;and on the whole,right manfully he walked his wild stern way towards the goal,and like a Roman wrapt his mantle round him when he fell.--Let us glance,with brevity,at what he saw and suffered in his remaining pilgrimings and chargings;and count up what fractions of spiritual fruit he realized to us from them.
Calvert and he returned from Madeira in the spring of 1838.Mrs.
Sterling and the family had lived in Knightsbridge with his Father's people through the winter:they now changed to Blackheath,or ultimately Hastings,and he with them,coming up to London pretty often;uncertain what was to be done for next winter.Literature went on briskly here:_Blackwood_had from him,besides the _Onyx Ring_which soon came out with due honor,assiduous almost monthly contributions in prose and verse.The series called _Hymns of a Hermit_was now going on;eloquent melodies,tainted to me with something of the same disease as the _Sexton's Daughter_,though perhaps in a less degree,considering that the strain was in a so much higher pitch.Still better,in clear eloquent prose,the series of detached thoughts,entitled _Crystals from a Cavern_;of which the set of fragments,generally a little larger in compass,called _Thoughts and Images_,and again those called _Sayings and Essayings_,[17]are properly continuations.Add to which,his friend John Mill had now charge of a Review,_The London and Westminster_its name;wherein Sterling's assistance,ardently desired,was freely afforded,with satisfaction to both parties,in this and the following years.An Essay on _Montaigne_,with the notes and reminiscences already spoken of,was Sterling's first contribution here;then one on _Simonides_:[18]both of the present season.
On these and other businesses,slight or important,he was often running up to London;and gave us almost the feeling of his being resident among us.In order to meet the most or a good many of his friends at once on such occasions,he now furthermore contrived the scheme of a little Club,where monthly over a frugal dinner some reunion might take place;that is,where friends of his,and withal such friends of theirs as suited,--and in fine,where a small select company definable as persons to whom it was pleasant to talk together,--might have a little opportunity of talking.The scheme was approved by the persons concerned:I have a copy of the Original Regulations,probably drawn up by Sterling,a very solid lucid piece of economics;and the List of the proposed Members,signed "James Spedding,Secretary,"and dated "8th August,1838."[19]The Club grew;was at first called the _Anonymous Club_;then,after some months of success,in compliment to the founder who had now left us again,the _Sterling Club_;--under which latter name,it once lately,for a time,owing to the Religious Newspapers,became rather famous in the world!
In which strange circumstances the name was again altered,to suit weak brethren;and the Club still subsists,in a sufficiently flourishing though happily once more a private condition.That is the origin and genesis of poor Sterling's Club;which,having honestly paid the shot for itself at Will's Coffee-house or elsewhere,rashly fancied its bits of affairs were quite settled;and once little thought of getting into Books of History with them!--But now,Autumn approaching,Sterling had to quit Clubs,for matters of sadder consideration.A new removal,what we call "his third peregrinity,"had to be decided on;and it was resolved that Rome should be the goal of it,the journey to be done in company with Calvert,whom also the Italian climate might be made to serve instead of Madeira.One of the liveliest recollections I have,connected with the _Anonymous Club_,is that of once escorting Sterling,after a certain meeting there,which I had seen only towards the end,and now remember nothing of,--except that,on breaking up,he proved to be encumbered with a carpet-bag,and could not at once find a cab for Knightsbridge.Some small bantering hereupon,during the instants of embargo.But we carried his carpet-bag,slinging it on my stick,two or three of us alternately,through dusty vacant streets,under the gaslights and the stars,towards the surest cab-stand;still jesting,or pretending to jest,he and we,not in the mirthfulest manner;and had (I suppose)our own feelings about the poor Pilgrim,who was to go on the morrow,and had hurried to meet us in this way,as the last thing before leaving England.
