‘the living record of your memory.’

shakspere, sonnet lv.

miss beale enjoyed both receiving and writing letters. she kept a very large number, especially of those from old pupils. a letter which told of help or inspiration gained through the life at college would be put away, labelled in her own peculiar and favourite abbreviated way: ‘sent 2 chēr me.’ she was a very ready and at times a very voluminous correspondent. she attended to all her letters herself, and answered all to which she intended to reply, not merely by return of post, but often the moment she received them. if her answer was of some importance she would keep it by her for a time, and often rewrite it before finally sending it. her papers include a very large number of drafts and copies of letters which she sent. the chief part of her correspondence was done before the school hours began each morning, and she generally came to her place at 9 a.m. with her morning letters already answered. where she found she could help by means of letters she would spare no pains nor time over them.

perhaps mrs. charles robinson received more than any one else. in 1878 mrs. robinson, then miss arnold, left cheltenham to become a teacher at the dulwich high school. she was at that time in a state[372] of great religious perplexity; dissatisfied with the teaching of the plymouth brethren, among whom she had been brought up, unable to accept that of the church, she would not attend the services of either. during this time of gloom miss beale wrote every week to miss arnold a letter she might receive on sunday morning, and all her life remained a constant correspondent. it is fitting that this chapter of letters should begin with some of those written to the ‘best-beloved child.’[104]

to miss arnold:—

‘july 1880.

‘it seems to me you have failed in trying to keep the first commandment, and so of course in the others. “thou shalt worship the lord thy god and him only shalt thou serve.” you see it is not when we feel inclined; when we can realise his presence, when we have plenty of spare time.

‘then in your life and work has it not been that you have thought more of pleasing others, of doing work, of being so laborious, so useful, etc. etc., instead of serving him, too much of being well thought of yourself. this often leads to greed of work: we do not say: “lord, what wouldst thou have me to do?” but, “i want to do this or that.”

‘then as regards your public worship. do not you think, if you told your father that you felt church services more helpful, he would be less grieved that you should go to church than go in deadness. he chose the brethren because he felt his religious life quickened with them; would he not wish you to act in the same spirit? could you not frankly talk it over with him?’

in 1881 miss beale wrote to urge miss arnold to attend some addresses mr. wilkinson was about to give:—

‘you will make some effort and some sacrifices, if necessary, to come, will you not, my dear child? even the love of miss —— for which you should give thanks, is a danger too,[373] lest you should learn to look at yourself with the indulgence that we give to those we love, and do not see clearly the faults and failings. mr. wilkinson does help to show how much ground there is for humility.’

to the same:—

‘1882.

‘your letter grieves me very much, just as the painful illness of one i love would; because you have to go through it; but it is right, if you go through it rightly, seeking the truth. only one cannot in a letter, nor in a little while, nor off-hand deal with these difficulties. as in every science, thought, and earnest labour, and aspiration, and desire are necessary if we would find truth; so in religion, the knowledge of absolute wisdom and goodness, which transcends all we can know, there must be a deep devotion to truth, which spares no pains in the search.

‘will you begin with a simple and clear book first,—i noticed it in the last magazine,—by godet. it is translated by canon lyttelton. i think it shows conclusively the fact of our lord’s resurrection, and with that goes the testimony of miracles, not as wonders but as signs. when you have got thus far, you will find, i trust, the repulsion to the supernatural element diminished, if it exists in you. don’t ever let yourself say, “we can’t know.” we can know enough to believe and trust in god’s goodness, and one must go on seeking by prayer, thought, obedience, very, very patiently, and then through eternity one will draw nearer and nearer.

‘as regards your conception of inspiration, i think it requires correction; claims have been made for the bible which it never made for itself. holy men spake as they were moved by the holy spirit; but the literal dictation of every word we are not taught.

‘but i cannot attempt to answer piecemeal. i have gone through all these questionings, but i think my faith strengthens from year to year,—if i dare say so. so that it seems to me marvellous that any one can fail to feel the divine, underlying all the superficial, the phenomenal which men verily call realities. do you remember how browning makes lazarus feel “marvel that they too see not with his opened eyes!” that objection to the israelites destroying the canaanites seems to me so frightfully superficial. are there not evils far worse than death? would it not be enormously preferable to die than to live as many do? what should we say if we could see[374] beyond the grave? we judge knowing only one side of the grave. and if god saw well that these people should die at once, would it not be part perhaps of the education of a nation chosen to do a particular work, that god should make them burn with indignation against the detestable, unspeakable, moral evils, and make them the executioners of his justice? it would not degrade them to do this, if they did it as a judge condemns the guilty, with no personal hatred. we cannot sit in judgment thus. in the world’s history we see god ever employing men to do the work he has to do. there may be necessities for this, of which we know nothing; i mean in the nature of things: certainly there is good as regards the moral training of men.

‘go on wishing and praying and seeking all your life, never saying anything which you do not believe, and then the god of truth will hear you as you say, “open thou mine eyes, that i may see the wondrous things of thy law.” “lighten our darkness, we beseech thee!” feeling must come in, as the brethren rightly say. we must love, and desire, and know him to be our father; we must trust him. we can’t understand even an earthly friend without trust, but we must use the powers he has given us, we dare not bury them. we shall have to wait for the solution of much hereafter; but we shall grow in grace and in the knowledge of our lord and saviour.

‘my poor child, would i could help you more, but god will help you. “though he tarry, wait.” use the means natural and supernatural. tell me from time to time how you are getting on, and i will try to put you on a course of reading.’

to the same:—

‘1882.

‘my poor child, i do indeed feel for you in your loneliness, but remember him whose eyes were opened spiritually and he was therefore cast out of the synagogue,—but jesus found him. do not fear that because the disciples call down fire that the lord will [send it]. “come unto me all that are heavy-laden,” he says to us now as then. to those who are “without guile,” i.e. sincerely seeking truth, he still promises that they shall see greater things than they have ever done.... no; we cannot and we would not believe that he who is infinitely wiser than man can be less good. he is not a pharaoh to bid us make bricks without straw. he does not tell us to do what we cannot and then punish us for not doing it. “she hath done[375] what she could” was the sentence of the lord when others found fault. god is love, and if we pity and long to draw to our hands any suffering child of earth, must not he? if we pity those who suffer in a less degree, must not he those who are suffering the sorrow greatest of all, the loss in any degree of his presence, of that faith which makes all things possible? go on, my poor child, looking up to him, and trusting in his utter love who will not leave us, not when we cry, “depart from me, for i am a sinful man, o lord.” it is hard sometimes to believe we are not wrong, when we see the disciples, those who really want to do right, acting so differently from the way in which he acted. but we know that in all ages some of the most unchristian things have been done by those who thought they were doing god’s will.

‘i do not think from what you tell me that you can go on at the meeting. if your father wishes it you might for a while abstain from going to church; but if so, let the time you would have spent in public worship be passed in private prayer and studying; just looking up with childlike spirit to the father, feeling his presence, his love.

‘i do not think you should, however, absent yourself long from communion with some body of believers. all scripture and our spiritual experience is against this. if you decide for st. peter’s, i think i can tell you of a friend’s house where you would be welcome most sundays; and we must have you among us for the quiet days at christmas.

‘you know i do not want to proselytise; if with the brethren you had found spiritual nourishment, i would have had you rest there; but now you are starving it is different, like that poor dove who found no rest for the sole of her feet, you need to be taken into an ark.

‘i do not want you to be dependent on man, but it is the order of god’s providence that he sends disciples to lead others to him, and so we are to help one another. and you have a period of trouble before you, outward and inward, until you are able to stand upon the rock once more. trust god if you should have to walk through that dark valley where you cannot see him. each trial will one day result in joy,—the joy of being able to help other troubled souls especially. he descended into hades, he rose again! i shall remember you in prayer, and i shall ask prayers for you at st. peter’s, of course without their knowing the least who you are, but that you are suffering and in darkness. be patient and i think your father’s heart will come back.’

[376]

to the same:—

‘1882.

‘now, my dear child, do not fret about this trial. just try to look up and wait. i believe your father’s heart will come back. you see he has obeyed his opinions before, and truth is like the sun which ever rises higher upon our earthly day, and does not sink as the natural sun. we need sometimes to remember the words, “call no man your father upon earth.” i mean that there is the all-embracing fatherhood, in which we see all earthly relations: we do not, must not, cast those off, but they must be swallowed up in the greater. write to me whenever you feel it would comfort you, i will try to help you, until you feel again that you need not outward help.... one feels more and more how slowly one learns and how infinite is god’s truth; how one need’s patience and deep humility, and utter faith in him who is the light.’

to the same:—

‘january 1883.

‘my poor child, you must not grieve thus. since god loves your father, he is giving to him only that discipline, whatever it be that is necessary. yes, believe this, even though the suffering has come through you, for we must believe it universally. i do not say you will not suffer for it, or that there may not have been some wrong in it on your part. but if, as you know, he does wish you to know and serve god more perfectly, then through this god is leading him on to know and serve him better, and you must trust god to know what he is about. you must go on for your own sake (and for the sake of the children god has given you), seeking for light.’

to the same:—

‘january 1883.

‘i always feel as if i must write by return. your letters draw out my heart to you so. i am glad you went and felt the love shining in on you.

‘now, as regards the a priori argument; it is just the fundamental thing. did you read my browning paper? see, it is just the thought that comes out in “saul.” we, if we love ourselves, we must believe in god’s love. he must be better if he is greater in every other way; it cannot be that we excel him in the power of love, which is the highest gift of all. we[377] can’t think that he does not care for his children, that he has left them orphans.

‘i think one can see too that he in whom dwelt the divine spirit without measure, yet who was truly man, and who therefore grew as man in insight as we do, felt that utter faith grow, tower up, as that intense love, that utter self-devotion which he felt within, told him of his oneness with god; as he prayed that we might be one, even as he was one with the father.

‘and he, trusting the father, knew he could not be deceived by that father; and we knowing him, know he could not deceive us.... so i come a priori to belief in the story of that life, and when i get to it by inward reasons, i am able first to look at the outward [reasons], which to many are enough without the inward, but are not to me. it was in this way too kant got back to belief in christianity. i read it was the moral law within which taught him, and all st. john’s teaching seems to me to be that we must feel the spirit within ere we can recognise the christ without. but then he does give freely of his spirit,—if we seek, we shall find. he knocks at the door of man’s heart, “if any one will hear he will come in.”

‘my child, do remember those comforting words, “if ye were blind ye should have no sin, but now ye say, we see; therefore your sin remaineth.” so blindness is no sin in itself, if is lazy, conceited ignorance that is sin.

‘i wish you could be in the house of rest from friday to monday, and have all saturday of the quiet days. i wish you could have one talk with mr. wilkinson before he leaves.’

to the same:—

‘january 1883.

‘it does seem to me such a strange idea that our service should be acceptable to god in proportion to its difficulty. it is really at bottom the same thing that makes people torture themselves. it lies at the root of that idea regarding the sabbath, which our lord condemned so strongly. he came to make us know better the father’s heart. surely he loves to make it easy to his children to draw near. “i will allure her into the wilderness and will speak comfortably unto her.” under the old dispensation he appointed a solemn ritual, and why did st. paul exhort us to use psalms and hymns but that by the joy of music our hearts may be loosened from their deadness, and then we can trust them whither we will. it[378] seems to me of course that our service is much more in conformity with the apostolic model handed down, and with allusions in the bible. but i do not want to dispute about that. god has left us free. if your father says, “i wish you to go to the meeting,” you should, supposing you think it not wrong, obey. but i don’t believe he would, if you told him you went merely in obedience to his wishes; that you felt it did not help your spiritual life.

‘if it is finally decided that you go to st. peter’s, i should like to ask mr. wilkinson to see you, and i would tell him some of your difficulties; he is so wise.

‘i have been thinking much these holidays about the many who like yourself are full of difficulties and questions. one thing some of us are going to do, and i want you to join: make each week special prayers for the teachers in colleges and high schools,—(you will specially remember me), and ask that some means may be found of helping them....

‘need you dwell upon that question of eternal death? could you not say, “father, i see not yet what thou doest, but i trust thee?” if the death of any of his creatures whom he loves is inevitable, then it does not make us believe him unloving, we know how he yearns to serve us.’

to the same:—

‘march 1883.

‘i do not mean either to say that the carelessness of a time in which you did see and were able to realise divine things was nothing to do with the present trial. who can judge another? i begged him not to be unhappy if your religious life took another form....

‘yes, i was so glad to see your father. i feel i know him much better, and perhaps he knows me better.

‘i quite understand his strong language about the church, only those evils are not inherent in it, but in our sinful nature, and similar ones appear even among the brethren. the unreality does not depend upon the amount of ritual....’

to the same:—

‘april 1883.

‘i have very much enjoyed professor edward caird’s hegel. it is 3s. 6d., published by blackwood. i am not quite sure it would help you, but think it would. i want you to get deeper, and to be very patient until god shows you more light.[379] he is showing it to you, only until you and i are able to see more clearly he must wait. you have not suffered so much for nothing, but i trust you may one day help others. if you get westcott on the resurrection, read the end first on positivism, there is much in it that is so christian, and much in what is called christianity which st. paul would have called carnal. all that about the lord’s glorified body in st. john and st. paul speak to us of a spirit glorified and no longer bound in any space, but a life-giving power, real, substantial....

‘poor george eliot. she had a passionate nature, and she came into circumstances so sad. her life is a great sorrow to those who feel that her teaching was in some way noble, though in others it was really weakening. he who knows all will judge her: “whose mercy endureth for ever.” she was a long way above lewes. if you come across hutton’s essays you ought to read them. i always get a good bit of reading in the holidays that demands thought....’

to the same:—

‘may 1883.

‘i am glad you find the work comforting again, and that god has sent you help through some one else. don’t fret and look forward to next holidays, you don’t know yet how full of blessing they may be. just remember it is a command, “be not anxious for to-morrow,” and so we can obey. i remember once that thought that i must stay seemed the only thing to save me from breaking down, and so failing to do as i ought the work god had given me. see that it is a sin to fret and be anxious about your father’s health, or your future relations to home, or anything. we have to do our best, and then trust to him “who ordereth all things according to the counsel of his will.”

‘then as regards past sins. it seems to me that it enervates you to dwell upon them as you are doing. i may be wrong, but it seems to me that the sense of guiltiness in the past makes you afraid of god, as you ought not to be. if a child were ever so naughty to you, did ever so many wrong things to you, would it shut her out from your love? you know it would not; you would sorrow over her, and seek to do her good. only her continuing naughty, continuing to hate and distrust you, could prevent your doing her good. “ye are not straitened in god, but in your own heart.” “if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us.” we can’t think of him not forgiving us, without thinking of him as less[380] good than he is, and he is infinitely good. of course this does not mean that he will not give us due discipline for our past failures, in order that we may be healed of the sins which caused them; but then we are glad of this, it is only a sign of his love for us.

‘we should confess to him because he is judge, i.e. he separates and enables us to discern, distinguish the good from the evil in us, and separate. one whom i have often quoted to you said, “i forbid you to look at your sins except at the foot of the cross.” do you do this sometimes? the consciousness of guilt would be hardening without the consciousness of the abounding love. this purifies. i wonder if i have met your thought....’

to the same:—

‘may 1883.

‘you say you don’t know what to pray for. i think, perhaps, you are praying too exclusively for yourself. ask for god’s grace, and power to respond. intercede much for your children, your relations, your father, teachers and friends, and any one whom god gives you the means of helping. especially at holy communion pray for the church and all who are separated by darkness from one another, and put yourself quietly in god’s hands. some of our collects help me; one mr. wilkinson was so fond of: “who knowest our necessities before we ask,” etc. etc.: do you know it? i think of him then as coming to us all in holy communion, and from his own hands giving us the pledges of his love, to make us know he is giving us his own glorified life; the life of god in such a way that we can receive it,—emptying himself in christ of that glory which we can’t know: the absolute being, the infinite we cannot conceive. we must trust his word ... and this faith makes us strong, saves us from sickness, delivers us from the power of sin; yes, though we fall again and again, enables us to arise.

‘i so want you not to have that crushing fear, which, i may be wrong, but i think, you sometimes feel of god. he must be so sorry, if we don’t understand him and feel like that.... “i fell at his feet as dead, and he laid his hand on me, saying, fear not.” think of this and of the parting words, “peace be unto you.”’

to the same:—

‘july 1883.

‘ ... you will have heard of our great loss, and yet i ought[381] not to call it so,—in dear mrs. owen. it is good to have known her, and one feels what it is to live and work in the hearts of others, seeing such a life and death. i will tell you more of what she has taught [me] when you come.’

to the same:—

‘july 1883.

‘my dear child, i will certainly ask for both of you to come. yes, it is a naughty letter. you must love not only with pity, but with a stretching forth to sympathise. what if we feel ourselves better than another, because the spirit has stirred the once cold depths of our soul, and so there is some light. is it not because there has been so little that souls near us have remained cold? can we ever glance at their faults without shame in thinking we are responsible for so much? how we shall long to make them some amends, how gladly we shall bear any punishment, or even harshness, if we can through this show our yearning love, alleviate our self-reproval! we cannot feel we are better. our church service does at least try to keep us humble by our repeated confessions, especially at holy communion.’

to the same:—

‘so very glad you have had a happy time. god is good in giving us playgrounds as well as workrooms; we want both, and in both he shines on us, and is glad in our gladness as well as afflicted in our afflictions....’

to the same:—

‘october 1885.

‘i object to your sentence, that you would rather your father thought what was not true, than that he should think what is certainly the truth, viz. that he has been in some way to blame. also to that “i cannot bear this sorrow to fall on him.” we have simply to do the right, and believe that god knows what he is about, when he lets pain come upon us for our mistakes; pains us, yes, “shatters us,” that we may know the truth better. how many a parent or teacher tries to spare a child pain, and wrongly. you will not, of course, willingly pain any, much less the father whom you love so much, but you have both of you simply to speak the truth and do what conscience bids you.... say frankly and firmly what you feel you must do, and then drop the subject.... you remind me of those good christians who[382] beg us not to hang a man, “lest he should fall into the hands of god.” god can care for people whether alive or dead, but i believe your father would really suffer less, and be worried less, by a simple straightforward course of conduct. you are thinking of self too much, thinking yourself of too much importance when you say, “i am only thinking of the sorrow that threatens him and how i can bear it.” perhaps god is leading him to truer views of the father.’

the following letter, written in august 1888, refers to miss arnold’s appointment as head-mistress of the truro high school:—

to the same:—

‘august 1888.

‘do not trouble yourself about whatever you ought to have done now. it is done, and you thought it right, so it was right. i think of your bishop saying in his quiet way, “i do the best i can, and then i just leave it.” i dare say the lakes will refresh you. it is “heart-rending,” i doubt not. i wept all the day that i left queen’s, but it was well. we are having a delightful time....

‘now i must stop my 15th letter. i had to get up at 5 a.m., the days are so full.’

to the same:—

‘september 1888.

‘i think you are beginning to-day, at least you are a good deal in my thoughts, and you will want a lot of wisdom. it is a comfort to remember, “if any man lack wisdom let him ask of god, who giveth to all men liberally.” i am so glad you have miss ——. it is a great thing to have a few who work for love only....

‘don’t be hasty in making changes, and don’t take to caps!’

to the same:—

‘be sure the rooms will brighten when you have prayed some sunshine into them. it is terrible to have such a lot of servants!

‘miss buss gets her girls to help adorn.

‘i am glad we open on st. matthew’s day.’

to the same:—

‘august 1888.

‘miss h. and miss e. wanted me to advise your going out socially a little. i said i thought there were as yet difficulties, as a head-mistress cannot choose; that i thought for the first[383] term it might be best to abstain; then you can look round you and judge better. they did not think there were many who would ask you, that those who would were nice, and it would be better for you not to be quite shut up. what do you think of saying you will go out not more than once a week? you have had so active a life; and intercourse with other people, and varied interests are good for school teachers. also they think for the school it is good. i merely tell you this, i said i could not judge for you.

‘i hope you will not be led by anything i said to speak, if you do not think it is quite best, or indeed to do anything. i cannot judge, and if i could, the responsibility is yours, and i should grieve if i misled you.

‘i am so glad you feel refreshed. it is our general meeting; i shall be glad when it is over.

‘all best wishes, dear child, for you and yours, the children whom god has given you.’

to the same:—

‘october 1888.

‘“be wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.” i should not answer people who lay snares, we have a good example of this to guide us.

‘it is so absurd of people to expect one to make up one’s mind on all subjects. we can no more judge of many questions of foreign or domestic policy than we can about the steering of a ship. but we can of questions of morality and cruelty.

‘mrs. grey’s new book, last words to girls, is so grand. i hope it will be useful.’

to the same:—

‘october 1888.

‘we must put things in the ideal way. religiosity is the death of religion, the grave-clothes which keep the living soul bound in the sepulchre; which you have to help to loosen that it may come forth at christ’s word.

‘no, i don’t know the bishop at all personally. i think if he will let you consult him, you will find his judgment a great help, but after all the responsibility rests on you, you can’t put it on any one.’

to the same:—

‘july 1889.

‘we have, i should think, quite full numbers now. i have[384] not got the lists, but we have at least seventy new pupils; it is strange.

‘i am better, have managed to be in college every day, by means of spending the end in bed. i hope i shall pick up, for work is a tonic.’

to the same:—

‘february 1889.

‘i am so thankful god gives me any words to help you, my dear child. i think, however, it was that passage i sent you from canon body’s notes, was it not, that really helped you, not what i said myself?’

to the same:—

‘january 1890.

‘it was nice to see you. be sure that nothing would be worse for you than to have no worries, to have all speak well of you. besides the more you need wisdom the more you will ask and seek it, and the more it will come for your needs.

‘and it is only by patience under our trials that you can bear witness to her and others of the spirit that is in you.’

to the same:—

‘august 1890.

‘i shall not, i expect, see you. i do not go to oxford till saturday, and leave on monday. i hope you will not be made ill at ammergau; i mean to keep as quiet as i can. i have already begun a good read; all lotze’s book on religion, the children of gibeon, part of stanley, a good deal of green’s philosophical works, and lux mundi, and endless magazines.’

to the same:—

‘august 1890.

‘thanks for your very interesting letter. i think i should have felt as you did. i once went to something of the kind in switzerland, and liked some of the early scenes, but after the agony in the garden i felt i could see no more, and came out....

‘i have had such cheering letters lately. one from a girl whom i thought the most tiresome i ever knew, about thirty-four years ago. she has been writing and saying how sorry she is, and wants to send her niece to be under me: “after many days thou shalt find it.”’

[385]

to the same:—

‘november 1890.

‘all good wishes for “more life and fuller.” don’t trouble about not feeling. remember the lord’s words to those unfeeling disciples who went to sleep during his agony: “the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” there is winter as well as spring or summer in our spiritual life. “die blume verblüht, die frucht muss treiben.” you complain of the outward excitement of others, yet you want inward excitement. see how in the imitatio one finds the same sort of feeling. i foresaw some reaction; there have been times during the last few years, during which you have been overstrained, and now you want a period of hybernation, i believe. you will, of course, go on doing just the same, as if you felt and saw, and you will believe in the presence, and do your best.’

to the same:—

‘june 1891.

‘don’t fret about what “they say,” not even listen, except to learn. i dare say they are right, and have sides of truth that we have not. in tara there are beggars who go about saying: “what god gives, i will take”; each of us can only do that.

‘i am glad you have got advice; you have been too careless with this marvellous body, so complicated and needing to be well-treated. you have driven it on, like some poor ass, with sticks! now you must be a little kind to it or it will stand still and kick.’

to the same:—

‘february 1892.

‘your bishop came last wednesday, and i spoke to him for the first time in my life, after having known him for so many years. he seemed so bright, and i hope the removal of the load of responsibility will restore him, and he will be able to take up some less heavy work. he cannot but do good where-ever he is: it is wonderful what a spiritual power he is felt to be. he did just manage to see us before we broke up, but only in a hurried way; then he lunched with me, and when all were gone he gave me his blessing, which made me feel worse and better. do you understand?

‘i am so glad you are feeling cheered about the school. don’t you think it is right to be content with prosperity as well as with adversity?...

[386]

‘yes, i read the wages of sin when it was coming out, a thing i seldom do, but i was much struck with its power. the author is a daughter of kingsley. i don’t feel inclined to read mrs. ward’s new book.’

to the same:—

‘june 1892.

‘ ... i am enjoying my work. i was on the top of battledown before 7 a.m. to-day. it is the best time for a walk....’

to the same:—

‘july 1892.

‘our new building is to begin, and i am miserable at having to turn out of my house, which is to be pulled down.’

to the same:—

‘august 1892.

‘i think this state is partly reaction; do not bustle about it, but take rest. the excitement of last year is, i fancy, likely to lead to this; our spiritual faculties need rest after overfatigue, so seek repose, “o rest in the lord.” read, too, some lighter literature. farrer’s story of nero’s time i should like you to read. it shows what christianity has done. i had a restful time at our sanatorium after i had got out of my house, and now i have had a very pleasant week with my sisters at woodchester. i really think it would be good for you one day to make your headquarters at leckhampton. the country is so lovely, the air bracing, and there are all sorts of nice excursions by train and omnibus, to most lovely places, and there is such variety....

‘be not anxious. let me recommend you, as a diversion, to learn shorthand. i find it very good. script phonography, it is an easy system, you could teach yourself. i am taking lessons; it is much liked.’

to the same:—

‘january 1893.

‘ ... we began to-day. i dare say i shall feel better when we are once more immersed. we are about the same in numbers, but there is a great deal of illness about, and we are half thinking of having a whooping-cough class, under a separate teacher, for division iii.’

to the same:—

‘june 1893.

‘i have had a great pleasure lately. mrs. russell gurney[387] has been spending six weeks here. you must get her dante’s pilgrim’s progress, just brought out, you will enjoy it; i have given a copy to mrs. rix. mr. alfred gurney came to stay with her, and he has sent me his parsifal, a little book of about eighty pages; it is beautiful too.

‘i should like you to read (in part) mrs. booth’s life. it is very interesting, and i am quite surprised at the clearness and truth of her teaching. she seems never to have joined a party, but always looked for truth, and hates the god of calvin and the doctrine “of assurance,” and the idea that christ could be good for us and we need not be good. her utter devotion is beautiful. i have not finished it, and i can’t see how the work was carried on after the person “was saved.”’

to the same:—

‘august 1894.

‘i am so glad you are feeling somewhat refreshed. you really must forget “the things that are behind”—the bad things as well as the good, or the heart “would fail in looking back.” and if no other way opens, and you are both called to go back to truro, you will be able. “i can do all things,” and the sorrows for both of you will be like the mist which, though it came up from the face of the ground, yet watered paradise and made it fruitful. does not all consciousness of sin and failure bring us nearer not only to him in whom alone is strength, but to our brothers and sisters in sympathy and compassion. we are touched with the feeling of their infirmities.

‘so, my dear child (i feel inclined to say children, for this has made me feel nearer to your friend), “lift up the hands that hang down and the feeble knees, lest that which is weak be turned out of the way, but let it rather be healed” by your sorrows—your wounds too.

‘i have had a very pleasant but exhausting time since we met. i spent a fortnight at oxford, attending both oxford extension and british association. we heard a good deal about social and economic problems. mr. sydney webb and dr. rein of jena, who trains men as teachers, gave some nice lectures. miss louch is come back, having had a delightful time at the educational congress at the clarke university, under the presidency of dr. stanley hall. she says she has learned a great deal.... i think our training department has as many if not more than any college there is, in spite of not having received any of the thousands that have been given to them—or, shall i say, because of it? i am sure it is good to[388] have to pay one’s way. i believe our universities would do better work if they had nothing. “then welcome each rebuff.”

‘we had many parties at st. hilda’s, and everybody admired the house. the girls enjoy the boat very much; i hope there will be no accidents. it is a very safe one, but one is always nervous about the water....

‘i am pleased with the higher cambridge list ... and i am glad that we manage to keep up our lists, because we do not buy up our neighbours’ girls, and try not to make examinations the end. glad your girl has done so well.

‘i am working hard at the magazine and my reports to the council, and trying to rest a little after my oxford labours. on tuesday i hope to go to the hills near stroud.

‘i must lend you some day streets and lanes, by the late miss benson. the archbishop has sent me a copy.

‘may god bless and comfort your hearts, my dear children, and make this light affliction, which is but for a moment, work out an eternal good.’

to the same:—

‘ambleside, may 1895.

‘ ... the lakes are more beautiful and lovable than i had imagined. there is a singular charm in the hills round ambleside, they ripple like the sea.

‘you must not “feel” while you are so weak, just lie, as it were, in the sepulchre, and then come out as browning’s lazarus.’

to the same:—

‘july 1897.

‘i got home from london late last night, and it troubled me, and you were much in my mind when i went to church; and in the service it seemed to me that it must be your energies were to be used to the full, and yet your married life, to which you have now been called, does in some degree restrain you. hitherto i have thought you wanted, like an electric eel, to recuperate; you have gone through too much lately. to-day, it seemed to me as if you should still speak, but in writing; you have the power of writing well. i think i speak better than i write; i don’t know how you speak, but you can write. now see if speaking is not to be your work whether writing is. how i feel i need solitude, and can’t write for want of it; but you have solitude enough to enable you to write. a little later, as i waited for a message, which sometimes comes at[389] the quiet times, the words came: “i became dumb, and opened not my mouth, for it was thy doing.” i thought it was to be sent on to you, so there it is; not with your mouth, but with your hand, and perhaps to a larger audience. i think the solitude of the cycle will help you too....’

there was one friend and old pupil, a writer for whose philosophical and poetical work in particular miss beale had a great admiration, who received many letters from her. a few extracts from these are given. to miss ——:—

‘december 1886.

‘i don’t think you will get any food in spinoza. you say, may we not adopt agnosticism and say of these problems honestly, “i will give it up”? but you cannot. we may try to, but it is not human to be content to be caged in by this little world of time and space. that restless discontent reaching out to wider knowledge, to the infinite, is surely its own witness. if not, man, the crown of all things on earth, is the only irrational creature upon it. you will not be able to give up philosophy.

‘i quite agree that we are not to be allowed here so to “make up our minds.” that spirit ever open to receive more light, is what our master spoke of as the childlike spirit.

‘have you seen a little sixpenny book by armstrong of leeds? he is a unitarian, so i do not agree with the end; but all the early chapters on the belief in god are very good, and i think you would like it. there are also some very satisfactory sermons by professor momerie on the existence of the soul. i read a great deal of philosophy when i get time. have you read martineau’s types of ethical history? if not, do. also green’s prolegomena to ethics. last summer i read lotze’s microcosmus, but i should recommend the two others rather.

‘i wish you entered more than i think you do into browning’s thoughts. he has, it seems to me, so clearly set forth the main basis of faith, not systematically, but recurrently.

‘we must work out these matters for ourselves; but rest we cannot. you cannot in the presence of your brother’s suffering—you cannot in the presence of death say: “i care not to lift the veil, or ever to know whether there is a curtain behind which we pass or a dark abyss.”

[390]

‘indeed, dear child, i do feel for you. when you are freer, you must come and see me, and we will talk over things. i shall not think you wicked, but believe that you do want to know god, and that he is sorry for you, because you do care, but cannot see.... it is only the contemptuous, what i may call the omniscient agnostic, that i do not want to have anything to do with; those who sneer at the most pathetic aspirations and hopes. the reverent and yet sorrowful doubt which yet longs for dawn, shall one day be blest by the sunrise, here or hereafter.’

to the same:—

‘january 5, 1887.

‘my dear child,—no; i don’t mind your saying anything that is in your heart.

‘as regards knowledge. we use this word, it seems, in different senses. it is not at all identical with “to form a conception of”: e.g. i cannot form a conception of what gravitation or electricity is, but i know each in a sense. these are names for something without which the kosmos as it is could not be. or i might perhaps illustrate better by saying i can form no conception of the universe, no complete conception, and yet from my isolated spot i look up and say, it is. of what can we form a complete conception? not of the “flower in the crannied wall.”

‘any other explanation of the facts of the universe seems to me incredible, except one, viz., that it is the utterance of supreme wisdom and love, and that it is adapted to the intelligence of finite beings. the unity of law tells us there is one god, the creator and ruler. as regards the hypothesis of order coming out of chance atoms—the myth of a prim?val chaos—can any one entertain it? ex nihil nihil; the order we see in evolution must have existed with the original atoms, if such were the basis of created life.

‘no, i do not think it your fault, but the fault of spinoza’s system that it cannot give you satisfaction. it is a revival, only in another form, too, of the old greek thought of zeus, over whom there was another god, fate. so spinoza’s and the greek supreme were not supreme.

‘of course i can do nothing in a letter but suggest lines of thought and lines of reading. after armstrong, i should most like you to take either green’s prolegomena or martineau’s types, and read both several times. green will help you to see the unity underlying all possibility of knowledge.

[391]

‘it is perhaps more than anything the harmony of the threefold unity which helps me to realise the conception of the divine which jesus uttered most clearly.

‘one sees the absolute physical unity, each atom forming part of the complete whole, and standing in vital relation to the whole.

‘one sees all knowledge as real, only when it takes its place as in (can i say part of?) the universal thought. one can see things only when one sees all in god. but one sees that this which we have separated off as physical nature, is yet the means and the condition of the intellectual too; for light, which is necessary to vital processes, is the means by which the universal thought is revealed to our intelligence, by which god touches, as it were, from without and awakens, and causes truly to live, our intellectual being.

‘thirdly, each—the physical, the intellectual—are felt by us to be the means to the highest of all, the perfection of the moral nature. without this, goodness, power, and intellect would be worthless or horrible; and as the material can only be translated into the conception by the intellectual, so we feel that the moral alone can interpret the intellectual.

‘that the full solution is not ours must seem natural to us, who know ourselves to be shut in by space and time. but i am sure that men will not long remain blind to other facts, as they have been to some extent in this generation, owing to the scientific sudden growth of our day.

‘the facts of conscience are to me quite inexplicable on any other hypothesis than that of one who is supremely good speaking to his children, not through “eye or ear,” but directly. there is the unity of consciousness which makes memory possible, and moral judgment possible; and yet there is a secondary consciousness, the “categorical imperative,” the ideal goodness, ever revealing to man a higher and better. what if the conscience has never—i should say except in one—received the perfect vision of goodness? this is only to say that the receiver is limited and imperfect, not that the perfect spiritual sun is not, or rather i should say the universal light, for the sun is a localisation of that which is invisible; is saturating through infinite space. words ever fail.

‘i know that endless questions are still unanswered, but this seems to me to be a real knowledge, which is consistent and which gives peace, that all other theories are inconsistent, and that the highest, the moral being is starved upon them.’

[392]

to the same:—

‘january 27, 1892.

‘ ... the bishop of gloucester was here to-day, and began talking about your goethe, which he praised; he is a good judge. i thought you would like to know. would you send him the book, and say i have asked you; he will tell people about it. he reads philosophy too, and specially advises lotze.’

to the same:—

‘written from sudeley castle, (probably) december 1893.

‘i fetched your magazine from the post office about five o’clock, and i have just read it through. i must express to you how delighted i am with it. it is so clear, so well written, it gets to the centre of things. i have seen nothing you have done at all to compare with it. i must get the number. i think i shall take in the magazine, it looks good throughout. a friend takes the philosophical review and lends it to me. i might take this and lend it to her. i have a paper in hand against an article in that, but i fear i shall not be able to polish it off. you must have had days, weeks, of quiet thought to write this. this makes me want you still more to go to oxford, and get to know caird. did i tell you i lunched with jowett tête-à-tête not long before his death?

‘you must come and see me if i can’t come to you....’

‘ps.—if you lend it to other friends, ascertain about the postage.’

to the same:—

‘november 1895.

‘ ... i am sending you a little book on psychology by a young teacher and writer. i wish she had shown me the ms. or the proof. if you feel inclined to look at it, and give her a few written criticisms i should be glad. we want so much common language in all these subjects, words are used so differently; e.g. “conception” is not generally used as she does. intuition is another which we must fix the meaning of, for each book one reads. real, reason, etc., want defining. a dictionary of philosophical terms should be made by some people authorised to establish an eirenicon.’

[393]

to the same:—

‘? 1896.

‘no; i am sure you ought not to give anything. i am sorry even that the notice was sent you. perhaps, however, you may know some one or ones who may have money that they want to put out in some way for the master’s service, and might think this a right way. we shall not get on if the guild has to produce funds unasked. i don’t want any one to be asked, but they might be shown a paper.’

to the same:—

‘january 1897.

‘ ... i find i read not made in germany without knowing it was yours. it is prettily written, but i don’t consider such things worthy of you, and the variations on that one tune are so very numerous. i wish we, like the greeks, had things written which turned on other problems. these things are very well as a diversion. i wonder what is the subject of the novel.

‘one of our teachers has been translating a book of herbart’s. i have sent for his introduction to philosophy. i will tell you if i think it would do for what i want; something giving the fundamental questions which come before beginners. herbart is much read now, but he is difficult to translate, and the people who have tried have not been very successful; i wonder if you have read any of him.

‘i send a letter of introduction to miss swanwick, i suppose you know her translations and writings. i think she is only second to mrs. browning, and she is charming, and young still. when i last saw her, the friend of so many distinguished people, her memory was wonderful. tennyson had one of her books open upon his table during the last days.’

to the same:—

‘(date uncertain.)

‘ ... herbart is a power. i have not got the book yet. you really must not let yourself be diverted altogether from philosophy. you have not thought and suffered so much for nothing, and though your philosophy will come out in most things, even in stories, you must give it us sometimes “neat.” you remind me of darwin’s earth-worms; you have had to burrow and work underground, and you have turned up some fruitful soil. well, the spirit which led you into the wilderness will bring you out of it, and anoint you to tell some good tidings.’

[394]

to the same:—

‘july 4, 1898.

‘ ... i am glad to hear you have come to a satisfactory agreement with blackwood. it is an advantage to have a leading publisher. now as regards the sonnet. i don’t feel as if anything could make the eros of later greek religion pure. he and aphrodite have fallen from heaven, and i cannot think of them at the same time with the sufferer on calvary—so it rather jars on my feelings.

‘i know there is behind the myth the thought of love, of one who is the offspring of truth and purity, of perfect beauty. but love, associated with eros as we know him, is not love....

‘i am feeling wonderfully well; the body responds to the spirit, and is refreshed too by the sympathy of my dear children.’

miss beale’s correspondence with her ‘children’ frequently concerned spiritual and mental difficulties of various kinds. one or two of the letters she wrote on such questions follow.

to one in religious doubt:—

‘(undated.)

‘ ... how i wish some one abler and better than i could help you now, but as god has given you to me, and something of a mother’s heart with my children, i must try.

‘first: i would resolve to take some fixed time each day, say ten minutes on first rising, just to plume one’s feathers for some short flights above the earth.

‘secondly: i would think of some of the blessings and thank god for them.

‘thirdly: then i would plead for light; “show me thy glory; but i would ask in humility, being content to wait till the third or even the fourth watch.” i would ask, “show me the father and it sufficeth; let me know thy love, if i cannot bear thy glory.” and i would utter the prayer not only in aspiration in spoken words, or only in feeling (which is the music of prayer), but i would utter it in act, by reading in a childlike spirit some scripture—climbing as it were the delectable mountains with the shepherds, and trying to make out something through their glasses. ask that same spirit, which has taught the spirit of man, and which i believe taught you[395] specially,—not for your own, but for the church’s sake, to show to you spiritual truths.

‘fourthly: then i would see if there was some selfishness, some “evil eye” preventing my seeing, and ask deliverance from any besetting sin.

‘fifthly: i would ask god to let me offer some sacrifice, permit me to join with him, to hold communion with him in blessing another, and try to look for some to whom i might give some cup of refreshment, some way of entering into his joy, and of crucifying self.

‘sixthly: i would place myself under such influences as have lifted the souls of others. i would join in common worship as much as possible in our prayers here and at church.

‘seventhly: i would receive the teaching of jesus, and through the bread and wine of earth ask god to feed me with the heavenly manna.

‘will you, my child, try some of these ways, and not be soon weary? in due season you will reap, if you faint not.

‘perhaps you will soon find some ways more suited to yourself than some of those i have suggested; but you asked me. i will try to get a beautiful prayer i have heard asking for light. it may be that the answer will be a baptism of fire;—a heaping coals of fire on our heads, and thus purifying us from evil. i would say earnestly, compel yourself (though often unwillingly), to look up to the father, as the noblest souls have done in all ages, whether christian or not. you must catch some beams of heavenly light, and see, as st. stephen did, that man may be glorified to stand at the right hand of god, and to share with him in carrying out his purposes of love. i think you will be led on to see the father revealed in the son; to me he is the way, and it seems his words are true for us now: “no man cometh unto the father (cometh near so as to see and know him) but by me.”

‘may the good shepherd lead you to green pastures and the still waters of comfort.’

to one who found danger and unreality in forms and ceremonies, and who wrote: ‘i feel i am cutting myself off from you in writing like this.’ she replied:—

‘ps.—nothing will cut you off from me. i thought i had given no rules, only such suggestions as a heathen philosopher[396] might have followed. i wrote my letter hastily; i should like to see what i said.

‘your letter gave me pain, which was partly selfish, to find i was too ignorant to help you. we must have a little talk some day.’

to one who had written that she had to fight hard against pessimism caused by much unaccountable and apparently needless suffering. she answered:—

‘november 10, 1895.

‘i think our faith in god, as in any person, rests more on what he is than what he does....

‘now i come to the conclusion:—

‘(1) that in nature is revealed an intelligence whose limits we cannot see; one, i.e. infinitely wise and mighty. (2) in good men we see benevolence, the earnest desire to bless up to the limits of their power. in the christ we see this without any limit of selfishness, and we say, if man, the son, is thus loving, then the father is love. “no man knoweth the father, but the son.” we can approach god, so as to know the character of god, only thus, it seems to me. you have here the argument of saul (browning). then when you allege against the witness of the heart, the facts of nature, i answer that however inexplicable by us these facts are, this witness for god, which comes from within, cannot be overthrown.

‘nor, indeed, does that fact of animals preying on one another trouble me much. death to them, i.e. the stopping of the activities of life suddenly, whilst they are in full vigour, seems better than the gradual decay of sickness. there is with them no anticipation and no joy in cruelty.

‘the facts of moral evil, those are what seem to overwhelm one at times. there are children born into such terrible surroundings, we say. there again we can see a little way up into the darkness, and trust. we do see that the redemption of the lost is often effected by the knowledge that others suffer through their sin....

‘do we not know enough of our interests and god’s infinite wisdom to make us trust god for the universal good? men must be left to work out the consequences of evil, to bear them, and learn it is god’s purpose for them to rise out of the darkness into increasing love of his holy will. at length regenerated humanity will so enter into sympathy with the spirit of[397] god mediated through the indwelling christ, that things in heaven and earth will be recapitulated in him the head, and will become intelligently and lovingly obedient to that will. the cost of suffering is as nothing compared with the infinite good. i can only sketch the outline of my faith.’

the letter which follows was written to a pupil who, while she was at school, did not personally know miss beale very well. a talk at a guild meeting eleven years after she left revealed to miss beale’s penetrating eye some distress caused by disillusionment and disappointment. a fortnight afterwards she wrote:—

‘july 1898.

‘i have so often thought of our interrupted conversation, and must take a bit of my first saturday evening to write a line.

‘you were feeling, i judge, somewhat as wordsworth did when he wrote the ode on immortality. this is, i think, how the matter stands. when we are young, we think that perfection, i.e. the ideal, can be found on earth—we set up, perhaps, some earthly idol, and endow it with every excellence. then we find that we have been in a measure mistaken. what shall we do? doubtless there does then come upon us the shadow of a great darkness, as we find how much evil there is, and we are tempted to believe the lying word of satan, that the kingdoms of the world are his. shall we then lower our ideal, say we will conform to that which is, or believe the heavenly proclamation—“the kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our lord and of his christ”—and work on to make this as true as we can for our own souls, and for those near us? we see that the ideals cannot be realised on earth, because this is a place of discipline. many make a worldly marriage because they give up their ideal, and conform to what is, instead of ever striving to bring about what ought to be—nothing can make that right. but on the other hand we must be content to be the companions of those who, like ourselves, are “compassed about with infirmities,” to arm them for the fight with evil, and to love those who are not perfect, as britomart did the red cross knight. what i want you all to keep before you is that one day the ideal will be realised, as the bible and our own hearts assure us, and to join the army of light and go right on, confident of eventual victory. you have,[398] my dear child, a somewhat heavy burden of responsibility for your age, and you miss the sustaining hand, but you must not look down, but up! take our first cambridge room motto:

“as the soar falcon, so i strive to fly,

in contemplation of the immortal sky.”

there we may look for the realisation of our earthly endeavours, as abt vogler teaches. i wonder if you read browning. i wish you had a browning society.—with much sympathy, ...’

to one who had written of the ‘intolerance of church people’:—

‘july 1884.

‘ ... but it does seem to me quite impossible in education to leave religion an open question, i.e., to teach without hypothesis. how could we unite into one coherent whole the teaching of optics, unless we presuppose the undulatory theory? or the facts of astronomy without the theory of gravitation? yet both may be, and are questioned. for some philosophical theory must underlie all things, and no one can, it seems to me, teach history, or geography, or science without it. we who believe in christian philosophy, and feel that it alone makes the universe intelligible, and life worth living for ourselves or others; who think that it is the power needed to give life to the world, and to deliver us from evil and all the misery which oppresses us, naturally desire with all the energy of our being to teach it, and we most of us would not let little differences hinder our working with those who acknowledge the immeasurable blessings of christ’s teaching. here i found dissenters wishing that the teaching of our college should be church; because they said there must be some basis; that they would rather let their children hear sometimes what they disagreed with, and judge for themselves, than that there should be no definite teaching. they thought our church was on the whole the most liberal.

‘i am so grieved, dear friend, that any of us should bring disgrace on our teacher by our faults, but when we do what our master, the truth, disapproved, the blame should not rest on him. it would not be just to you if we called a child who was in your class and loved you, by your name when she told a lie. nor should you say, “see what christians do,” when they sin against christ. in so far as they are untruthful they are un-christian.

[399]

‘then, had you not, even as you admit, condemned utterly those whose conduct admitted of a more favourable interpretation? we are not utterly truthful, unless we do more than act up to our convictions, unless we do our utmost to make those convictions as near the truth as we are able. and do you know i felt so disappointed after talking to you the other day, because it seemed to me as if you had not cared to search into the depths of things, as if you were content to float about instead of searching for the rock beneath the flood. our apprehension of the truth regarding the goodness of god, and his purpose for us, and our duty to our father and to one another, seems to me the priceless pearl. i found you had not read what i thought you would have read, the works in which the ages have indeed drawn for us pictures of those who wrestled with god in the darkness and cried—“tell me thy name.” and now you disappoint me again, as some other of my dear agnostic friends. they seem wanting in the tenderness of those who ever look up to jesus christ, and therefore learn to feel in the light of his example. this our miserable failure, the habitual self-examination and definite confession of sin, helps us to. there, i have told you what is in my heart. the former on thinking over our conversation i meant to say, because i love you. the latter, (the want of sympathy,) i did not know of. i wonder if you will misunderstand me now,—perhaps,—but i have felt you did not before.’

the following was written to a former student, who after a time of great religious privilege had been assailed by special temptation:—

‘august 1888.

‘my dear friend,—i am grieved that you have suffered so much, and yet it was not sent you in vain. it was to correct faults in yourself, and to help you in your vocation to correct those in others. you did not, i feel sure, yield to the wrong, but fought against it, and temptation is not sin.

‘i have been thinking what you could read. do you know froebel’s own works? i think some of these (which are not light reading) would be nice for you on your travels. i like always a book that is suitable for a little reading and much thinking. he is so bathed in the spirit of love, so deeply christian and so full of the spirit of liberty. when you come home you must come and pay us a visit,—that and rosmini i should like you to read. i have asked miss gore to send you one of[400] my photos, in case you care to have it, when we go home.—with deep sympathy, yours most sincerely,

d. beale.’

among the letters are many to old pupils on the deaths of relations or friends. the next was written to miss alice owen, now mrs. mark collet, on the anniversary of her mother’s death:—

‘june 1891.

‘this was a birthday eight years ago into a world of larger scope than this, and i feel as if her spirit were still watching over those she loved on earth....

‘surely the tides of eternal love, flowing in upon our narrow lives, will make us all of one spirit, sorrowing and rejoicing with one another, instead of judging, because we feel, as she taught in that beautiful parable, that we are one.

‘may our lord give you an ever larger measure of his own love.’

the next letter refers to the death of mrs. russell gurney:—

‘october 1896.

‘i got a letter from orme square this morning. our beloved friend entered into rest yesterday. i think of the glad meeting of those who were kindred souls on earth. i had also a note from addington saying how thankful mrs. benson is, and happy in spite of her loss.’

several other letters of a kindred nature follow.

to miss giles, on the death of her father:—

‘april 1871.

‘still in one way we who are old suffer less from parting. to us the time seems so short, ere we may hope to meet once more where are no more partings or tears.’

to miss susan wood, on the death of her mother:—

‘may 1880.

‘i need not tell you i have felt much for you. one could not have wished the suffering prolonged, and yet one does not feel the loss less. happily, one seems generally to forget, when all is over, the last painful incidents of the sickness, and to remember the past years. few have had a more devoted mother. how proud she was of your successes! how old it makes us[401] feel when we take our place in the front rank of the army of life; may we be able to say, when we too are struck down, “i have fought a good fight.” may god bless your work, my dear child, to the everlasting weal of those whom he has given you.’

to miss frances crawley, afterwards mrs. wells:—

‘july 1881.

‘i must write you one line of sympathy in this great sorrow. i know how much you loved your dear father, and had longed for this visit, and now there will be a great blank. you will not think now “how glad he will be if i do well.” but on the other hand, my dear child, you will feel you must be more than ever to your mother. you children will be all to her now. besides, god never takes but he also gives—only we often miss the gift because we don’t look for it. he will help you to know him better as your father, partly because you will think of your own father as near him, for where our treasure is, there our hearts are also. you will think more of pleasing him, and so preparing to meet those who have loved you and loved god, where there will be no more death for ever.’

to an old pupil, on the death of her father:—

‘november 9, 1896.

‘my dear child,—this is indeed a blessed death for one so good as your father; you must give thanks for him.

‘there is no service i think so strengthening as the burial; may you be comforted and strengthened for the battle of life by a clearer vision of that unseen host which is ever near, though “our eyes are holden that we see them not” through want of faith. soon must we join their ranks. shall we join in their psalms of thanksgiving?’

to miss strong, on the death of miss margaret clarke:—

‘february 3, 1897.

‘indeed i am grieved; she has been a power for good, and has sent out some grand workers, and i shall miss her greatly. i am thankful i was with her at christmas.

‘one feels sure “her works will follow her,” and he who gave her power will raise up others. it is, so far as one can see, too heavy a burden for kate alone. her memory will be a power, her life was so wonderfully guided, and one feels sure she has work to do beyond, for which the training of earth will have prepared her.’

[402]

to miss rowand, on the death of her mother:—

‘june 1901.

‘it is grievous for you and those who loved that dear and noble, simple-minded woman, for her goodness gave unity to her life. now the alabaster box is broken, only the fragrance of the life remains. she has been spared the living death such as i have seen, when the soul finds in the body a tomb. she is released and doubtless carries on ministries of love with your noble father and beloved brother.

‘i have just seen fr?ulein, whose only sister has just passed away.

‘how little the sorrows of earth will seem to us as we look back, i think; even as many which even here issue in blessing. we realise that all things do indeed “work together for good to them that love god,” and i know that through this fresh sorrow the fire will burn up more and more of the earthly, so that the spirit may shine forth more brightly “to give light to all that are in the house.”—yours with deep sympathy and affection.’

to miss caines, just before her death:—

‘march 1901.

‘my very dear friend,—we can only pray now that if it be god’s will you may be spared to the many who love you, and to whom you have been a blessing during these many years of faithful service. but if the master should come and call for you, then he will go with you through the valley of the shadow of death. his rod and staff which stay your tottering steps will comfort you, and he will bring you forth to the light.

‘we must say for you and for ourselves;—“jesus, i trust thee.” we do believe that what the world calls death is birth into a brighter world.

‘may we all meet again where sorrow and sighing are no more.—with much love, your very affectionate.’

to a friend, on the death of miss caines:—

‘this morning my dear friend passed away, full of peace and content to go. the children have been all that we could wish, full of sympathy, but quietly impressed and very sorrowful. we do not wish them to leave, but to learn to look calmly on death, and hopefully up to him who has taught his servants to triumph over death....

‘the loss to me is more than i can say. god’s will be done.’

[403]

the next letter is to mrs. cooper,[105] a much-loved old pupil, who in 1902 lost a son, a promising young artist, and seven months later her husband through death:—

‘june 1903.

‘i am sending you such a nice sermon by our good bishop, which i think you will like. i quite agree with you that one ought not to seek intercourse through mediums. i would never join the psychical society. it was right to enquire as these scientific men have done, but the inexperienced are almost sure to be taken in by such, and it seems to me that we ought not to try to draw aside the veil but wait until god’s herald bids us enter.

‘i think you must expect to feel the sense of loss becoming greater, but then you will get to feel how short is the time of mourning on earth, and to ascend in heart and mind—and so to be above the storms and clouds of earth—even as the lark—and yet with him to hover over the earthly home, “that nest which you can drop into at will,—those quivering limbs comprest.” you will want to speak to and help others with the comfort wherewith you are comforted of god....

‘it is nice to look back on that time forty years ago. i remember your confessions to me then. well, you have not been forsaken, nor left to beg your bread.’

to the same:—

‘october 1903.

‘i have just heard of this fresh trouble. surely you must be intended to do some work for others specially needing heart’s blood.—this paper was put into my hands just as i heard of your fresh disappointment and anxiety.’

to the misses hibbert ware, on the death of their sister:—

‘march 1905.

‘indeed one ought only to give thanks for her. i think of her looking down on us all at peace having escaped from the long enduring pain associated with this earthly body, and springing up like the lark into the larger heaven.

‘well, we must wait to understand these things which it has not entered into the heart of man to conceive in all their joyful reality, though in some measure they are revealed here to saintly souls which have been made partakers of christ’s sufferings.’

[404]

to mrs. mace, on the death of her husband:—

‘may 1906.

‘only to-day did i hear of the death of mr. mace.... it did seem grievous after his suffering with so much courage and hope the operation. one can only give thanks now that the soul has escaped from “the body of humiliation,” through which it has risen to the spiritual life. i don’t like the word resurrection, ?ν?στασι? does not suggest that the soul has put on its old clothing, after being delivered from the body of corruption. you must be glad that he is free.’

miss beale wrote several letters, from which extracts are given, to miss belcher during her last illness.

the following was written after the head-mistresses’ conference on october 8 and 9 at oxford in 1898:—

‘october 1898.

‘my dear friend,—i got home last night. everybody was asking and thinking about you and missing you so much. i hoped for a line this morning; susan will doubtless write to-day. i brought back agnes body for the sunday here. the text in my birthday book for to-day is: “i have prayed for thee that thy faith fail not.” i know this prayer is fulfilled for you. how i long to have some real talk with you now; but i think even in the body there is communion, and still more out of the body. it seems to me as if miss carter must be with you. your love and care for her was returned in blessings on your own life, and through you on others. miss strong looks ill. she has been staying with her bishop; that will strengthen her. that good miss day of westminster was there, and sweet mrs. woodhouse of sheffield.

‘i feel sure the conference will do good, there were so many good women there;—only we missed one.’

a day or two later she wrote:—

‘my very dear friend,—i feel somewhat cheered by susan’s letter to-night. each morning i have so many enquiries, “have you heard?” susan is good in writing. here are three letters from some staying at st. hilda’s, where we were always thinking of you....

‘just two years on the 11th, since the archbishop fell asleep.[405] i wonder if he looks down at the school, and its first head-mistress too. shall we see and be able in some measure to “succour” those on earth? may the peace of god which passeth all understanding be with you.’

the next alludes to a proposed visit of miss beale to miss belcher:—

‘st. luke’s day.

‘dear friend,—i am so looking forward to friday. i thought of you so much on this the physician’s day, as we sang that beautiful hymn and psalm xxx.; and our window told of the raising of the daughter by the healer. my own life seems to me almost a resurrection, i must hope that you too may be raised up to do work on earth, ere you go to a higher sphere.’

after this visit miss belcher wrote:—

‘my dear friend,—the strength and comfort of your visit has been with me ever since, and far from its doing me any harm it has done me untold good. may god bless you for having imparted to me so richly of the “comfort wherewith you yourself have been comforted of god.” i do so trust you were not over-tired; hope to hear from some one to-morrow.

‘will you call me marian in our private letters? i have never liked being only miss belcher, and since the close communion and rich gift of yesterday, i feel i should like it.’

miss beale’s reply was:—

‘october 23, 1898.

‘dearest marian,—it is good to hear that you were none the worse for my visit, and that our lord put into my mouth some words of comfort. i shall hope to hear about dr. broadbent. i had a nice note from susan. all here were so glad to get news of you direct....

‘i wonder if you know fechner’s little book; there is one chapter i like much, from which i am sending you some extracts.’

the next letter was written after an operation miss belcher had undergone:—

‘ ... i lingered this morning, and the postman brought me susan’s cheerful letter, just as i was starting, and i was able to make the service specially a eucharist on your account. what[406] a wonderful epistle; it is one to feed on. it tells how suffering strengthens the inner man, and enlarges one’s sympathies and makes us know the love of god. and the gospel tells of renewed life after going down nearly to the grave. you and i can give thanks for both; may st. paul’s wish be accomplished in us.’

miss belcher replied:—

‘sunday evening.

‘my dear miss beale,—my first few lines written by myself must be to you. all through last week the epistle and your words about it have been such a help. it was just like one of your scripture lessons every day all to myself. i am still going on so well, but of course it must take time, and i am not out of the wood. still, as you said, all is well and will be well. thank you so much for lilla’s letter. i am so sorry she is not well, and lucy soulsby too. i am so rejoiced to hear you are so well and vigorous, and that college is overflowing. how wonderful it all is, and so inspiring.

‘i had begun archbishop benson’s st. cyprian and your book before the operation, but have been too weak to read since. i hope to begin to-morrow. if you have read anything lately you think i should like, will you tell me the names? it must not be philosophy. i hope to have the best papers of the church congress read to me....’

shortly after this miss belcher wrote herself on an anticipated visit from another physician:—

‘my very dear friend,— ... dr. robson of leeds comes to-morrow. i know you will pray that the “right judgment” will be given. it is thought he will operate, but not certain. please let eliza and susan draper know. i cannot forget all i owe to you, my friend and guide, of so many years. we have a private celebration to-morrow at eight, but you will not get this in time to think of us.—ever your loving and grateful friend,

‘m. belcher.

‘you shall hear as soon as possible.’

‘dearest marian,—i have heard from susan.... of course we can’t understand, and we only know that all is well. i thought of you so much at prayers this morning. i read the[407] lesson instead of the epistle. “the souls of the righteous are in the hands of god, and there shall no torment touch them.” we missed your accustomed visit on the term holiday yesterday.’

‘first sunday in advent, 1898.

‘my very dear marian,—we were all so full of hope at first, and are much disappointed that relief has not come, but that you are still stretched upon the cross. “no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous but grievous, yet at such times one can just think of the ‘mystery of pain,’ and realise that each sufferer does in uniting his will with god’s in some measure, ‘fill up that which is behind of the afflictions of christ ... for his body’s sake.’” i think perhaps you may be suffering specially for one, that her faith may be once more awakened. every sufferer thus “lifted up” does in a measure draw the hearts of others to him through whom we are able to reveal the power of faith.... i said to miss drummond, “i dare say you would not have been spared any of the suffering”; she answered so heartily, “not one half-hour.” we see now what a wonderful work she did among the college boys, and it must be that your suffering is a part of the work god has given you to do for the school, and that you, too, will be enabled to say “not one half-hour,” when the darkness passes away, and the true light shines into the things of earth, and we know as we are known. i know that suffering so claims the attention, but one can only know and believe, not feel it; but it is much to live by faith. faith is the illuminating power through which alone we truly know. was not miss carter’s suffering felt by you to be mediatorial too, and you are her successor. i shall try to spend a few days with miss martin at christmas.

‘to-day the jairus window comes before me; the thought of the lord sending away all those who pressed round the maiden, that she might know the advent of him who is the lord and giver of life.’

the following is the last letter miss beale wrote to miss belcher:—

‘december 5, 1898.

‘my very dear friend,—i have tried to write several times, but tore up what i wrote. susan is good in telling me about you, and at times my heart sinks, when i think of all you are suffering, though there do seem to me to be some hopeful[408] signs.... well, we ought not, i suppose, to wish, we are so sure that “in all our afflictions he is afflicted,” and “the angel of his presence saves us,” and makes our souls strong to bear and our “light affliction is but for a moment.”

‘i dare say this term has seemed to you unending. i think when the strain of thinking about school is taken off, you will feel stronger. i hope to go to kilburn from january 5 to the 9th; there we shall think much about you. i am just writing about st. hilda’s east.... things seem going on well, i think i shall stay there after the retreat, and try to get more into touch.’

enclosed in this letter were some verses from ken’s ‘midnight hymn,’ with the words, ‘i thought you might like this if awake at night.’

after miss belcher’s death on december 15, 1898, miss beale wrote to miss strong: ‘three of my noble-hearted friends gone so lately—miss buss, miss clarke, and marian belcher. the road to the dark tower gets lonely, but we look beyond.’

a few letters on general subjects are given. the first of these was written to miss susan wood, in 1897, in reply to an inquiry about women teachers:—

‘i should not like to say i would have none but women teachers. i consider a combination good, better than either men or women only. still, if a woman is equal in knowledge and ability, i consider she generally teaches better than a man. if all women are ultimately forced to go to the university, the higher teaching will be taken out of their hands, or else women will teach there.’

the following extract, from a letter to miss sturge in october 1902, deals with the developments of the college:—

‘the numbers enable us to have an aggregate of schools and to have virtually about seven who might have and ought—headships elsewhere, had they not an independent sphere of their own.

‘lastly, are you right in saying that an inspiring personality[409] can be taken away? the inspiration is not from any person who can pass away; we are but the earthen vessels; the light persists and is given just so long as it is needed, to any one who has to give light. the inspiration for the headship will be given to my successor in turn....

‘i do hope god may allow me to go on longer, and it is a comfort to feel that you are glad i should.

‘as regards the growing size of the college. i may add in addition to what i have said, that i have never wished independently to add to the size merely, and that in each development i have felt i was obliged to go on, though often i dreaded it; e.g. the training of teachers could not be refused when miss newman offered. then the kindergarten grew up, and the elementary teachers was really forced on one. it is unprofitable in money (the elementary school department), and a great strain on me, but i feel we have to do this special work. in fact, it is not our work, but we are set here by the great captain, and i trust we are taking our share in advancing somewhat the kingdom of truth and righteousness. i cannot see that in this erection of buildings, or in any other way, we are acting from self, but under direction. i have not yet read the comments on the buildings, but wanted to reply to the letter at once.’

the following was written to bishop fraser of manchester, who had publicly referred with approbation to the saying of thucydides, that ‘that woman was most to be admired who was least spoken of whether for good or evil’:—

‘december 1878.

‘my lord,—we owe to you so much for education work that i cannot but feel sorry you should by your recent quotation from thucydides place before women a standard lower than the highest. i felt bound to protest against it, when a few days later i read a paper before the social science congress in my own schoolroom.

‘will the excuse be received from us: “i was afraid of being spoken of for good, and so i hid my talent in a napkin?” must we not expect that our work will be measured, as was that of another woman by the words, “she hath done what she could?” i venture to enclose a few lines from an article of mine, signed “a utopian,” in a fraser[106] of 1866. it was[410] provoked by the same quotation from thucydides in a quarterly of that year.—i am, my lord, yours with sincere respect and esteem,

d. beale.’

to mrs. ashley smith, at that date miss lucy hall, a relation of bishop fraser’s, on the same subject:—

‘december 12, 1878.

‘dear lucy,—i was glad to hear you thought you could be of use in the board school. could you not teach the boys some mathematics? if you could, i will send you an amusing book about euclid.

‘i have asked miss gore to send you a copy of what i wrote to the bishop. i think he should have got his secretary just to send me a line. i did not do it in a perky spirit, but i felt bound to protest, and having protested, i thought i should rather say to him, why. many women do leave undone the things they ought to do, because they shrink from coming forward. i have done so myself. if he would preach that we should do what we ought in god’s sight, and never trouble our heads about what people say, when our conscience speaks, it would be better. perhaps he will think twice before he again quotes that, and if so, i shall be satisfied. i would not care, if he were not so good and clever that people listen to what he says. he is, too, not conventional, yet he says what may promote a wrong kind of conventionality. i have since seen such a nice bit of a sermon about the idle lives that women lead; so if you do see him, i should like you to ask him about this too.

‘you must let me know when you really get to work as manager.’

to miss laurie, after reading pasteur’s life:—

‘1902.

‘i want to have a general conference about organising our science work better; we are using razors for stone-cutting. i should like a great deal of the correcting taken from the “professoriate,” and young specialists entrusted with work under superintendence. talk with m. reid and a. johnson. we ought to let our superior minds “expatiate,” and let me have a few notes, as i can’t talk much now. we might bring up a body of inspirers as well as workers. pasteur’s life has specially excited me to ask what more we could do. the teachers ought to read more of the lives of discoverers, e.g. lodge (though that is too slight, history of matter, etc. etc.).

[411]

‘if there are disadvantages in the london changes, at least i hope we shall get more liberty; let us try to find “a soul of goodness in things evil.”

‘what a beautiful character is pasteur’s. i find it quite a sunday book.’

to miss nixon, on henry george’s progress and poverty:—

‘april 1884.

‘i am sorry to have given you pain, but i do hope you will read the writings of those who understand political economy better than we do. i think if you had read about the evils which preceded the abolition of the old poor law, you would have seen why i cannot approve mr. george’s plans, and not thought that i desire less than you do that these miseries of the people should be lessened. it is so important for us teachers to try to get right views about history; to pray by our acts that we may have “a right judgment in all things.”

‘it is more pathetic than anything to see people led by false hopes to follow wandering fires to their destruction; and such, i am sure, are some of the new lights. the history of the crusades and the french revolution ought not to have been written in vain for us. there are three articles that i think you ought to read,—the duke of argyle’s, mr. herbert spencer’s, and mr. brodrick’s, in the last nineteenth century and contemporary.

‘reforms i earnestly desire on laws of succession, land transfer, etc. etc., but i am sure that no external bettering of conditions can do good without this is the outcome of right principles, and that people can be raised only by raising the moral standard of all. perhaps we may have time to talk some day.

to mr. coates after a lecture he had given at cheltenham:—

‘july 1888.

‘dear mr. coates,— ... what i especially regretted was that the lecture raised a number of questions to which it furnished no answers, but seemed to me to suggest erroneous ones; words were used which were not defined.

‘(1) persecution; (2) official dignity; (3) rights of the individual in relation to the community.

‘(1) now as regards persecution, you said people could not, if[412] they were in earnest, help persecuting. that was equivalent to the assertion that persecution was right; but you did not say what you understood by persecution. everything depends on that to girls accustomed to associate persecution with bodily torture. i think what you said would suggest wrong ideas. i can’t agree with your general proposition, but of course i may be wrong.

‘(2) “a dog in office” is to me a different being from one who has not been appointed to the charge. he feels it, and i feel it. he respects himself more, and by his “investiture,” though it be only by a costermonger, he becomes capable of acts of which he would otherwise have been incapable, and his bearing, in combination with his legitimate title derived from the owner of the barrow, obtains recognition from all the street curs.

‘i may, of course, be superstitious, but i do regard a consecrated king, a president elected deliberately by a great nation, a man solemnly set apart to serve a church, as in some sense different from others. it seems to me that this is a matter of some importance in these days, when the sacredness of human relationships is called in question. i think we teachers cannot feel too strongly the duty of doing for thought what the feudal lords did for material forces in erecting bulwarks or breakwaters against the floods of undisciplined opinions in question, passion clothed in rags of thought. we want, like the old alchemists, to make the indeterminate clouds of smoke like actual forms.

‘i do not think you and i really differ, but i suppose the fact of my having a little kingdom has aggravated my sense of responsibility, and i can’t help always regarding teaching as purposeful. i hold in abhorrence the maxim “art for art’s sake.” i always want it to have a purifying influence on the character. i believe you do the same, only you are afraid of “preaching.”

‘you will be saying, “i wish some one else shared my aversion,” so i will spare you no. 3. i hope you will not misunderstand me.’

to mrs. rix:—

‘january 1891.

‘it is always an anxious thing when people of different nations marry....

‘i hope your good husband will not desert his post. i feel sure these scientific things were given us to prevent our feeling crushed by the weight of the “unintelligible world” of philosophy, and the atonement of science and philosophy is the work[413] of our age—through nature we have to go to find the spiritual christ. poor mr. lant carpenter. i wonder if it was the sphinx who killed him.’

to sir joshua fitch, after the death of miss buss:—

‘july (?) 1897.

‘i have been thinking what i could write to you about miss buss. i don’t think i could send you anything that would help in an article, or say much more than i have in the guardian. i am spoken of as her life-long friend, but i did not know her until long after i came to cheltenham, a little before you joined our council. it is said in many papers that i attended with her the evening classes at queen’s college. i never did. she assisted at the evolution which transformed our governing body from a local committee to what it is now, and by getting an enlarged council we were saved from dying of atrophy....

‘from that time we were intimately associated in educational movements, and i ever felt that she was utterly to be trusted never to think,—much less to do anything but what was true, straightforward, unselfish. she was deeply, unostentatiously religious, lived in the spirit of prayer, and had the love of god in its twofold sense ever guiding her thought and actions. often have we knelt together, at her request, the last thing at night and said together the veni creator.

‘if i spoke the other day of troubles with the governing bodies—it was not from anything definite that she said to me; but she has often, to allay my impatience, repeated what one of her governors said: “do you think we come here to register your decrees?” she received it as a deserved reproof, though, of course, she must have known what was best for the school, and never desired her selfish good,—only that of the school.

‘the large view she took of the general outlook for the growing up teachers struck me much. the provision for the future, the opening of new occupations, the health and bodily development. her gymnasium, i think, she herself built and gave to the school.... she had a lady doctor to examine the girls, weigh them, etc., etc.

‘the formation of the head-mistresses’ association was entirely due to her. the first meeting, and, i think, the second was held at myra lodge. she was very anxious about the “teachers’ guild.”

‘i sat with her on the council of the church schools’ company, and was surprised at the amount of time and thought she[414] gave to it. with such solicitude she used to say, “my dear, we must help these young head-mistresses.” whenever any school-mistress got into difficulties she was of such sympathy and help.

‘then she tried so much to help her old girls, to promote the love of reading in her staff, to call out their helpfulness in many ways. that exhibition of things made that cost nothing, was a very original idea, and taught economy by an object lesson....

‘the ways in which she used to help poor girls were hardly known to any one; clothes she used to get sent to them, and she had friends to whom she could mention cases where money help was needed and get it. then she was not one to give up because she could not influence people by what were for her the highest motives; but appealed to the best in them, would give ethics when she could not give religion, and when she spoke of wrong, it was with a sorrow which covered the indignation.

‘there was a real solicitude, in spite of her many occupations, to help all teachers. she would get books to send round to other schools to help them, and never seemed to think of any being rivals, but rather fellow-workers.

‘but you must know most of what i am saying, for you knew her well, and she specially loved your wife. i am only writing what comes to my mind to do what i can; but you see i have so few definite facts, and i knew her only when she was full-grown in character and her work established.

‘i think, having a boarding house as well as a school was a mistake, and she felt it so at last. it was impossible for her to attend to it much herself; and i think she should not have rushed off on foreign tours at christmas.

‘finally, perhaps, i may say that she was, it seemed to me, always pained and surprised at wrong in others, and expectant of good, and able to see the latent good underlying the apparent evil. she had the charity that hopeth all things.

‘her generosity in money matters was very great, especially to her family. she used to speak with such joy and pride of the battles her brother fought in shoreditch, and her brave sister-in-law, and great was her affection for her nephew.

‘forgive my incoherence please, and take the will for the deed.’

miss beale wrote but little about herself, but in her correspondence with an intimate friend, she would[415] give glimpses of her own personal life, even of her doings, as well as of her thought and reading. her letters to miss amy giles are the most interesting from this point of view, covering as they do the last period of her life. some extracts from these are given:—

‘july 6, 1897.

‘dear amy,—i wonder what you will do now that you have quite lost your beloved mother. i was talking with miss sewell about you, and said i wished you could come and spend a week here.... if you came the week after next, perhaps you would like to stay for our quiet days at the end.’

to the same:—

‘august 15, 1897.

‘i have kept your letter so long, hoping i might see my way to pay you a visit, which i should so very much like to do, but i am afraid the prospect is a diminishing one. it was a great pleasure to renew my acquaintance with one whom i had loved as a pupil, and to find we had grown even nearer during the intervening years. it would, too, be a pleasure to see miss sewell, for whom i have so great an admiration. i will not altogether give up hopes, but i am much afraid it will be impossible. the work for longmans is to fill two hundred pages. i get ordinarily a hundred and fifty letters a week on college business, and now that we are beginning this elementary work, there is a head to be found, prospectuses to be drawn up, the education office to be consulted, etc., and also the magazine to be edited, and some few people i must see....

‘there are many things one has to deny one’s self “for the work’s sake,” but it is worth while. i cannot be too thankful for being allowed to do it.’

to the same:—

‘august 25, 1898.

‘my sister has come home on purpose, and i am spending a week with her on the hills; my niece helping to copy the ms.’

in the summer holidays of 1898 miss beale stayed with miss giles at bonchurch. they afterwards visited marlborough college and savernake forest together,[416] parting at marlborough station. miss beale wrote after this to miss giles:—

‘august 28, 1898.

‘i will own that after you were gone all things seemed colder.... the doctor thought me wonderfully well, and my ears much better than usual after so long an absence. he says i can go to-morrow, and highly approves of cycling if i can do it.... may the spiritual sun ever rise for you, my dear child, more and more until the perfect day.’

to the same:—

‘september 7, 1898.

‘i had some bicycle lessons at woodchester, but all united in recommending tricycling instead for me.’

to the same:—

‘october 1898.

‘that cycling is wonderful, i am so much better.’

to the same:—

‘november 13, 1898.

‘miss belcher is still very ill, but yesterday brought me a gleam of hope. thanks to you i am wonderfully well. i have cycled two mornings as far as our sanatorium, and got back about 8 a.m. ... i think this renewed life must mean that there is some more work for me to do, or that i want strength to bear some coming trials....

‘we have been getting some lectures from mr. de sélincourt, also a son-in-law. we like him very much.... next saturday i have to attend six meetings. i had to go to london lately, and spent a night at st. hilda’s east; it looks so nice, and seems going on so well.’

to the same:—

‘november 29, 1898.

‘i am glad you have seen the chapel of the ascension. mr. shields is far the best interpreter i have ever seen of bible thoughts in pictures.... thanks to you i am wonderfully strong this term.... i have joined the aristotelian society. i shall almost never, perhaps never be able to attend the meetings, but i shall get papers.... miss belcher is still battling with the disease. sometimes we hope, and then we fear we may lose her, but to gain time is much.’

[417]

to the same. written when there was some idea of miss giles living abroad:—

‘may 14, 1899.

‘i don’t like the idea of your being uprooted from england.... it is different to go for a time, but it seems to me that most english people who live abroad have their lives comparatively wasted.’

to the same. after alluding to the death of mrs. moyle:—

‘july 16, 1899.

‘it seems so wonderful that i should be alive, and see so many dear children pass away.’

to the same. speaking of the south african war:—

‘december 26, 1899.

‘it is indeed a sad time, and i don’t see how it is to end; surely we as a nation have to pass through the fire.... i think all the advantages we women have had this last half century were to prepare us for some terrible trials. shall we be able to look up and lift up our heads above this earth, and know that salvation draweth nigh? i think you will understand me.’

to the same. also about the south african war:—

‘february 10, 1900.

‘it is difficult to keep up one’s active powers with this nightmare: one is so sure that all suffering is intended to be purifying, and so we must glorify god in the fires. war does seem to be waged in a more humane spirit than ever before, that is one comfort, and there are many others.’

to the same. miss giles had sent a paper for the magazine:—

‘september 1900.

‘i feel sure i shall not accept guinevere as a subject for our magazine. i am not fond of the idylls.’

to the same. on recovering from bronchitis:—

‘1903.

‘thanks for your kind offer, but i must not ask any one to stay this term; i must reserve every bit of strength for the work.’

to the same. towards the end of the easter holidays,[418] when she had been confined to her room with a bronchial attack:—

‘i have been reading a very pretty book, the house of quiet. now i have herbert spencer’s autobiography, which i am not reading, but a friend picks out bits for me. i have been going over again some old friends, dr. jekyl, cecilia de noel, etc.’

to the same:—

‘june 1905.

‘i had a very enjoyable visit to winchester to the annual meeting of head-mistresses, and last week i dined at the clothworkers’, my first experience of a city company’s dinner. there were many interesting people.’

in the summer holidays of 1905 miss giles accompanied miss beale to oeynhausen. the two following letters concern the preparation made for this visit to the german baths.

‘july 1905.

‘have you quite made up your mind not to come to the quiet days?... remember you will have a period of spiritual starvation as regards church-going....

‘i mean to take as little as possible ... we do no visiting ... a few books i must have. if you come, you could write out your notes of addresses and read them to me, as i am not likely to hear them.... we have had twelve concerts, and i was present at most of them. i have not yet signed a report, and have taken leave of only some of the about one hundred and twenty who will leave.

‘i thought of taking illingworth’s personality,—and perhaps lux mundi, if you do not know it well; also some hamlet books: but i shall take chiefly light books, in a material sense.’

on returning from germany miss beale went to hyde court for her niece’s wedding, and wrote on arrival to miss giles.

‘september 1905.

‘lena looks lovely!’

a letter followed describing the wedding, and concluding thus:—

[419]

‘the country is looking lovely—even in the rain; but the swallows are flying about in great excitement. i think they must be departing at once. i wonder how long i shall be privileged to go on working before i too migrate. i do hope i may be able to work on to the end....’

to the same:—

‘september 1905.

‘i had nightmare last night about war in india. russia is quite ready to turn her armies into afghanistan, and she is allowed to keep all ready in manchuria. well, one can only hope that still out of the strife will come soul evolution.’

in september 1905 miss beale’s letters speak of exhaustion, but others wrote of her that she was busy, full of energy, and ‘does not seem to tire.’

to the same. speaking of her visit to london in the christmas holidays:—

‘january 15, 1906.

‘one afternoon i spent with mrs. benson, and miss benson lent me the book recounting her digging up of the temple of mut. arthur benson too was there, and miss tait and mrs. henry sidgwick.

‘what a revolution we have! if we had stood still things might have been as they are in russia. one could not be satisfied with the late government, but one dreads violent changes; it is well there are a few strong men in the ministry. mr. balfour deserves his fate for not bringing in a re-distribution bill, and for tyrannising—but one feels sorry for him too.

‘ps.—think of us on tuesday’ (the opening day of term), ‘i feel so weak.’

the weakness to which miss beale alluded was destined to continue, but amid the decay of natural health long-rooted hopes grew strong and blossomed afresh. but a few weeks before her own death she wrote to a friend who had recently lost her mother:—

‘you will miss your beloved mother, but it is well. i suppose none of us desire to live after our faculties fail.... i am feeling old age is creeping on.... well, we shall soon all meet—behind the veil, behind the veil!’