NOTES BY THE WAY. 299
it is the City Hall, the dome of which is surmounted by a gigantic statue of William Perm. Hereupon a humourist has imagined this dialogue :
Quoth William Penn to Martyr Charles,
' You '11 scarcely feel at home Down there upon a window-pane
While I enjoy the dome. ' Let me step down and out, I pray,
And you be patron saint. A Friend ought not to stand in bronze.
And leave a King in paint.' Quoth Martyr Charles to William Penn,
' 'Tis best to let things be ; They 're used to looking up at you,
And they can see through me.' "
Another kind friend of whom Ebsworth always spoke with gratitude was Mr. Hodge, of the firm of Sotheby, Wilkinson & Hodge, who gave "to me continuously at his private rooms full access to rare MSS.' 1 Particularly was this the case when the Jersey Collec- tion was dispersed.
The frequent illness of his wife gave Ebsworth cause for much anxiety, but otherwise their lives went on tranquilly.
One anniversary always held in remembrance was May 29th, their wedding day, which was to Ebsworth, with his Cavalier instincts, what he called " a triple anniversary," as it included the birthday and restoration of Charles II. Friends would send them boxes full of oak-leaves and dainty little oak sprigs.
On the 18th of April, 1906, Ebsworth's wife died, and in the Dea1 if f bis following February he had to part with the larger portion of his valuable library. On the 18th of March he removed to a small house in Godinton Road. Here he had numerous visitors his old friend Dr. Wilks, " the good physician " ; his nephew Mr. Hill of Hythe ; the clergy from St. John's ; Mr. Thimann, the minister of the Congregational Church ; his cousin Mr. Lindsay, and many others. The evening shadows were fast drawing in, but he felt full of the joy of life, working with a will, when health permitted, at his Index to the Ballads, written with his usual beautiful, small, clear hand, and reading again the books that had delighted him in his youth. On the 29th of March. 1908, he wrote :
" This morning bright with sunshine, a true and hopeful ' ar * spring day, as peaceful and sweet as could be wished for. As you already know, I rejoice at the beautiful view from my bedroom window, with its wide expanse of meadow land stretching south- wardly towards the unseen coast at Hythe and Folkestone. The second anniversary of dear Margaret's funeral is drawing nigh, preceded, of course, by the ever-memorable and glorious Easter, which is the festival you and I most dearly love and welcome, year by year. I am well aware how improbable it is that I shall survive
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